#Either actually fucking work on it and start correcting your actions like you keep falsely promising you will or just admit that you're

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Jaskier has started referring to the parts of his life as pre-dragon hunt and post-dragon hunt. He doesn't like to refer to the actual incident because he tries to think about it as little as possible, but even pretending like it didn't happen, his life post-hunt is nothing to brag about.

He's never really felt like he belonged anywhere; he didn't fit with his family, he annoyed most of the other kids his age - Oxenfurt may have been the only place he felt comfortable. But all of that changed when he met Geralt because he was just as fucked up as Jaskier is and no one had wanted him either and with him, Jaskier had elevated them both. And it was good, for a while. Or at least he had thought it was. He doesn't think much about his Witcher anymore. His heart aches to know that even someone who knew and understood the pain of not being wanted could throw him away so easily.

Evidently, Jaskier is entirely unlovable.

Which is fine, he tells himself. He can still charm his way through court and find people to keep him company for a time. And even if they too move on, he'll get by. After all, nothing could be as bad as losing someone you thought was a kindred spirit. Nothing could be as bad as losing your one true friend.

But he doesn't think about that anymore.

Except when he's composing. When he can't find the words because anything uplifting sounds false and falls flat on his tongue. The only words he can get to flow are dark and melancholy and they get him thinking about feelings and people he would rather forget. Only how could he? Whatever possessed Geralt to shun him after twenty-two years, Jaskier doesn't share it.

Maybe it's because witchers don't have emotions. Jaskier had thought that was some sort of line, but maybe Geralt is just good at pretending to feel after all.

The longer he spends alone, the more somber his writing becomes and the less people want to pay to hear it. The only thing they want to hear anymore is Toss a Coin and Jaskier can't bring himself to play that anymore. The only song about Geralt he can stomach playing is one he wrote for himself and he's not ready for anyone else to hear. Not that they would want to anyway, it's not as though it's any happier than the rest of his repertoire.

He travels for a while but eventually, without the coin from performing, he needs to find somewhere to settle for a while. Somewhere he can find some other job. No one wants a bard who makes people miserable, so he makes his way to Oxenfurt because it's the only other place he knows he can find work. And maybe someone there will be happy to see him.

He arrives mid-afternoon on a sunny day and while he receives a warmer welcome than he has in months, it still doesn't feel quite right. He and Geralt had something special and no amount of familiar faces will help him recreate that - especially if it was all in his head to begin with.

It feels good to have his position back as a professor and Jaksier enjoys the constant stream of people in and out of the college, but his happiness is hollow. So many of the people here who he once considered friends seem more like acquaintances in comparison to the closeness he felt with Geralt. Maybe he's being too picky; the people here are kind and accepting and much less often request to hear songs about the Witcher he made famous.

So Jaskier tries. He tries harder than he ever has before to fit in and to be accepted, but even as he tries, even as he considers changing things about himself it doesn't feel right. He doesn't only want to be accepted, but to be accepted for who he is. And he's not perfect, but who is? Certainly not any of the people who have abandoned him in the past.

Over the next few months, he makes a routine for himself. He teaches classes during the days and most nights in the evenings will go to the tavern to drink and talk. Occasionally, he can be convinced to play a song or two if he's had a lot to drink, but mostly he goes to watch and listen.

Then one night he's been having a bad day. He can't quite place what's wrong, but everything just feels off and he feels more alone today than he has in a long time. He makes it through the day and doesn't even return to his room before heading off to the tavern to sit alone in the corner with a mug of ale.

He realizes when one of the regulars casts a suspicious look in his direction, that this must be what Geralt felt like that first day so many years ago. All he had wanted was peace and quiet and a drink and instead, he had gotten Jaskier. No wonder he didn't have to think twice about getting rid of him. At least Jaskier doesn't have to worry about anyone approaching him tonight; the few other patrons seem to realize it's best to keep their distance.

He thinks back to a younger version of himself, fearless and fascinated, approaching Geralt of Rivia and demanding a review of his performance. Three words or less he had said and Geralt had given him three exactly. He frowns thinking about it now and his heart aches as though something is wrapped around it, squeezing the life from it.

A group of other professors comes in a little later and the crowd grows. A few people say hello, but no one stays to sit and no one really wants to talk. A young aspiring bard gets up and sings Toss a Coin and Jaskier decides it's time to leave.

He's not drunk, not really, but it seems to take him ages to get back to his room and when he does, he flops down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Every night he spends here, staring up at these same beams and he feels trapped. He misses lying out under the stars and staring up at trees that swayed in the breeze. Even now in the dead of winter, he would trade his comfort and safety for the freedom of traveling.

But what's the point in traveling alone?

For the first time in a long time, he lets himself think of Geralt. He thinks back on all the good times, on all the nights they spend out in the wilderness either out of desire or necessity and he thinks about playing music around the fire. Occasionally, Geralt would even sing with him if he knew the words and those nights were the best of all.

Jaskier aches to think of them now, to think of all they used to have and everything he wishes he could gain back. But Geralt made it inescapably clear that Jaskier is not what he wants and all he can do now is try to accept that.

When he falls asleep at long last, it's thinking about golden eyes and white hair tinged orange by firelight.

The next afternoon there's a commotion in town and Jaskier, wanting something to take his mind off things, goes to check out what it is. He regrets it the second he walks into the inn.

"Is it true the Witcher is here?" someone asks and Jaskier freezes in place.

"They said a witcher," someone corrects, "not the witcher."

"But it is him, isn't it?"

Jaskier doesn't wait around long enough to hear whether or not the consensus is that yes, it is Geralt, the great White Wolf. Jaskier retreats quickly, heading back to his room because if it is him, he doesn't want to see him. Even if it isn't him - not likely, with his luck - Jaskier's had enough of Witchers to last a lifetime, thank you very much.

He tells the few people he sees that he'll be writing and would prefer not to be disturbed before heading up to lock himself away in his room. They're happy enough that he's writing again that there's no hesitation in their agreement and Jaskier feels confident that he will be left alone. His confidence only lasts as long as the peace outside his bedroom door lasts.

Within the hour, there's some sort of argument taking place downstairs and while he wants to know what's going on, he keeps to himself. He has even started writing a little and he'd like to keep the flow going while he can. He ignores it for as long as he can, but then there's a knock on the door. Dreading who might be outside, Jaskier pretends not to hear.

The first two times, he pretends, but then the knock comes again and he sighs and heaves himself up from his bed. He crosses the room on unsteady legs and pulls the door open. He's expecting someone to be there asking him to come down and talk to the Witcher because it is Geralt. He's probably doing something unpleasant like walking around covered in guts or something. What he's not expecting is to open the door to the man himself.

Immediately, he shuts it again. Geralt pushes it open and steps into the room.

"No, no, no, no, no, I am not getting mixed up in whatever this is.

"There's nothing to get mixed up in," Geralt says and despite his best efforts, something inside Jaskier crumbles. It aches to reach out to him, to stand beside him again. Jaskier holds his ground.

"Good," he says, "then you can go." It takes every ounce of his strength, but he crosses to the door, brushing past Geralt and holding the door open for him.

Something in Geralt's face softens and Jaskier pretends not to notice, doing his very best to remain stoic. Geralt steps toward him and as Jaskier's breath catches in his chest, the door is pulled from his hands and Geralt shuts it behind them.

"I was passing through and I heard you were here," he says. Jaskier wants to ask where he's coming from and to where he's going that Oxenfurt just happened to land neatly between them, but he doesn't trust himself to speak. And while he's not trying to remain civil, calling Geralt out on a lie might not be the best course of action.

Geralt sighs, resigning himself to the lack of reciprocation and his shoulders slump. "I knew you were here," he admits. "I've been looking for you for months until I ran into a bard who recognized me and asked why I wasn't with you."

"Did you tell him it was because you decided you'd had enough of me?" Jaskier asks bitterly and Geralt shuts his eyes, breathing sharply.

"No. And that's not true."

"Right," Jaskier scoffs, "because that's why you tell people to leave. If life could give you one blessing, that's what you said."

"I know and I'm sorry." Jaskier's heart is pounding now, beating so quickly he's afraid it might burst, but he doesn't move, even when Geralt takes a step toward him. "Come back," Geralt says and Jaskier can feel every fibre of his being pulling him toward Geralt, but he won't give in so easily.

"You don't want me," he says, "you just don't want to be alone."

"I do. I was wrong when I said those things. I was angry and I took it out on you." Geralt looks at him, but Jaskier refuses to meet his eyes. They're both silent for a moment before Geralt reaches out, hesitating before pulling his arm back. "I miss you."

"Hm," Jaskier responds, not trusting himself with actual words.

"I think about you every day. When someone sings that god awful song or when it's too quiet in the dark at night. I miss having you around, I miss listening to you sing. I want you to come back."

Jaskier shuts his eyes and listens. Geralt has moved closer and if he was to reach out, even to just move his hand forward, he could touch him. He's been dreaming of this moment for a long time but it doesn't feel like he expected it to. He thought he would feel good, that everything would suddenly be fine, but he almost feels more hurt now than he did before.

"I'm sorry I never told you before. I'm leaving in the morning. If you want to come with me, meet me at the stables. If you're not there, I'll know you've made your choice." He turns and pulls the door, disappearing out into the hall and leaving Jaskier alone in the room.

He's overwhelmed and it takes a few minutes for him to even remember how to breathe. In his time alone, he'd forgotten the effect Geralt has on him, and worse, he seemed genuine about his offer. Geralt never says that much at once unless he's mad and he definitely didn't seem mad. He considers it for a moment because maybe he does want him back.

Alone in his room, he realizes there's only one option and he sighs, letting his arms fall limp at his sides.

"Fuck."

- - - - -

The sun is just rising over the horizon and Jaskier is anxious, wondering if he made the right decision. It's a matter of the rest of his life and finding somewhere he can belong and he doesn't know whether he has. He's quiet as the sun rises and down the road and he hears footsteps approaching and the familiar whinny of a horse. Jaskier sucks in a deep breath and one last time and cements his decision in his mind, just as a familiar figure approaches up the hill.

Geralt smiles at him, and Jaskier's heart melts despite himself. Next to him, Roach leans over the gate of her stall, nibbling at his hair and he thinks maybe he chose right.

"Did you really miss me?" he asks as Geralt comes closer.

"Yes," Geralt says, not slowing his stride as he approaches. He wraps strong arms around Jaskier's shoulders and pulls him close, resting his head against his. Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, returning the embrace and inhaling the Geralt's scent.

As he pulls back, he looks up at him and the faintest sliver of doubt creeps into his mind again. "Prove it," he says, stepping back and without a moment's hesitation, Geralt takes his face in his hands, closing the gap between them again and kissing him more tenderly than Jaskier thinks he's ever been kissed in his life.

His knees are weak and his eyes sting with unshed tears as he lets himself be bundled up into loving arms. When Geralt breaks away again, he presses his face into Jaskier's neck, breathing softly.

"Forgive me," he pleads and Jaskier couldn't deny him if he wanted to.

#geraskier #post ep6 #first kiss #rex writes #The witcher #Jaskier #Geralt

[lochnessies]

I feel like 3H discourse gets fucked over a bit by people not taking into account that characters will say inaccurate information (without it having to be a plot hole). Perspective is a huge theme in Three Houses and characters are going to make, sometimes, dramatic actions based off that misinformation.

yeah

Like, Dmitri accuses Edelgard of being involved in the Tragedy of Duscur, but, she was like, 12 when that happened. It’s a lot more likely that Edelgard was being experimented on or recovering from experimentation during that point in time considering that the Tragedy happens not long after Edelgard and Dmitri last see each other.

do i think edelgard was involved? nah. it’s one of the few things i genuinely believe her on. however, it isn’t unreasonable for dimitri to think she was somehow involved. i mean, faerghast is pretty standard medieval when it comes down to fighting. was sent to quell rebellions at like 14. that’s really young. and in the middle ages the standard age that boys trained to be nights was at the very least seven (glenn was 15 when he was full on knighted). felix says he learned to fight before he could write his own name and dimitri was already swinging swords at nine. not to mention she was in the kingdom and then not long after she leaves the tragedy happened. so it could also look like she was a spy even if she didn’t set lambert on fire herself.

then there’s the whole shit of her saying nothing. a whole nation gets wiped out and she has no plans to ever vindicate them. hell, even dedue says that her being involved in any way is unacceptable and he’s fucking pissed. is he delusional? is he being irrational and unfair to edelgard? she isn’t the victim here, dedue, his people, the kingdom royals and co. are.

Likewise, Setheth accuses Edelgard of trying to become a false goddess when that’s not even remotely close to her goals.

ok this part right here is the reason that this fucking thing took forever to come out (sorry anon). i have so much to say and i wanted to write it all but i decided to put in my edelgard essay instead. i then waited to post this answer but sadly it’s taking longer to edit than i planned and i feel bad so you’re going to have to wait for this bit. so if you stick around i’ll talk about that in depth in the essay but just know that i disagree with the op very much.

Edelgard makes a ton of false accusations and misconceptions about Rhea. She accuses Rhea of being a power hungry inhumane tyrant who has no regard for life outside her own when that just isn’t remotely accurate.

And then there’s Claude, literally the only major faction leader that cares to uncover the truth and nuances of everyone’s decisions. He’s literally the only faction leader to not act like his version of events is the definitive truth. He acknowledges that he and Edelgard are fighting for similar things: a system overhaul of Fodlan. He also doesn’t oppose the Church because he’s learned enough about it to want to keep it’s institution in place. That’s why he’s the only faction leader that can survive in every route (I’d consider Seteth and Rhea to share the role as Church Leader since Seteth leads the Church Route but Rhea’s the one actually in charge of the Church). Claude is also the only leader that doesn’t make any false claims about other factions. I said a while ago that Claude would make the best ruler and this is why.

ok this is fine

But going back to what I said earlier about discourse, this impacts discourse drastically because people can just pick whichever version of events they prefer and there’s probably a character who claimed it went that way. The plot also doesn’t seek to clarify events one way or the other in any route. So even if you’ve played every route, it’s up to the player to make judgment calls on who’s speaking out of their ass.

except it’s literally not. we are told what routes have correct information from the devs themselves. and unreliable narrators can be proven and disproven when you put their words against everyone else, their actions, and the lore.

Between all the relevant character and plot details the game hides behind supports, endings, and other easily missable content and the fact that no two characters interpret the series of events that happen in the plot the same way (due to coming from various background, being present for some stuff but not others, having different priorities and biases that will cause them to interpret different things in different ways, etc.), no two players are likely going to interpret the events of 3 Houses the same either.

just because two characters interpret the events differently doesn’t mean they’re right. for example, the agarthans think the crest experiments are good but edelgard and lysithea would say otherwise. but you wouldn’t say that twsitd’s perspective is valid just bc they see things differently.

and when i see players trying to excuse some of the most horrific things bc they don’t want their fave war criminal to look bad yes i will judge them. you can like whoever but don’t excuse shit like imperialism and racism and we will be fine.

So, if you want to talk 3H, please acknowledge that none of the characters should be taken solely on their word, especially when describing major things. With the examples I gave earlier of misinformation in the game, it makes sense that Dmitri would place the blame of the Tragedy of Duscur almost entirely on Edelgard because he doesn’t know about the Agarthans or Edelgard’s history with them.

ok but she’s still complicate if nothing else. that’s still terrible. like if she was planning to clear duscur’s name that’s one thing but she isn’t. the only way to do that is to reveal twsitd and we know she doesn’t since it is a shadow war that the people don’t know about since that would reflect badly on her for working with them.

It makes sense that Edelgard has a lot of misconceptions about the Church because once you start completely rewriting and erasing history (and the Church does openly censor literature, which is shown in Claude’s route), any possible “true story” is more likely than the story you’re giving. Alongside that, Edelgard is getting most of her information from the Agarthans and a very private source only accessible to the Imperial Family.

fair but choosing war at like 13 is an extreme jump. maybe wait till your brain fully develops and you have a better picture of the world around you

It makes sense that Seteth might assume that Edelgard is trying to become a false god because he’s been helping lead a religion based on lies for centuries.

she is. also the religion isn’t based off of lies. sothis exists. she’s in your head. a few details were changed to hide nabateans from a red canyon massacre 2.0. however, the values are the same. also he came to the monastery 20 years ago not centuries.

When you’re trying to understand some part of Three Houses, you have to think about where that information came from, what factors might be biasing that information, and that there might be some detail that shines a new light on that information somewhere else in the game that you’re missing. And that’s generally a good philosophy to have when processing any information.

yeah

That’s something I like about Three Houses. I like how you have to sort through a ton of biases and misinformation within the game to understand the story. If you let your own biases get away from you too much, you’re going to miss the larger picture. The game let’s you know exactly where everyone is coming from in some way and (almost) everyone is given a sympathetic eye in at least one route. And (almost) everyone is viewed as irredeemable in at least one route.

the only people who are portrayed as irredeemable are edelgard and rhea (and maybe dimitri if you count edel’s contempt for him in cf).

#asks

[cant-blink]

Trust, Ch. 1

Summary: Despite being hated enemies with Gigan, Mothra ‘agrees’ to go on a date with him and is forced to put trust in this monster. Both Gigan and Mothra are using the FW design.

-

This was probably going to be one of the worst ideas she’s ever had, but she honestly couldn’t take it anymore. Hearing over and over, the same obnoxious attempts to flirt from this asshole as they battled it out time and time again. Hell, even outside of battle, he would yell out “Give me your number!” every time he saw her. What did that even mean?!

It was clear this alien cyborg didn’t take her seriously, didn’t take their fights seriously and it would be enough to break even the strongest of patience. It certainly has gotten on her very last nerve.

“Maybe after I’m done beating your ass out here,” he had said after slashing at her with a claw. “We can bring the action into the bedroom.”

She finally snapped and without thinking: “Shut up! Shut! UP!! I'll go out with you if you just shut the hell up!”

...

The silence that followed was almost as intense as their battle. The blue cyborg across from her tilted his head slightly, visibly taken aback that she actually said that. But she doesn’t back down from her bluff; one of them was going to fold and it’s not going to be her. Foolish and immature? Perhaps, certainly not something her mother would’ve done.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Mothra continued. “Going on and on about ‘showing me a good time’, how about you actually DO it?”

She was expecting, hoping, that he would immediately deny her, admit that he was just messing around. But instead, she heard him let out a laugh.

“You’re serious?”

She was dead serious, and he knew it. He never actually had any real interest in her, and his taunts were just that: taunts, meant to agitate her. It was funny, hearing the increasing anger in her voice as she kept telling him to shut up and fight. Really, she only encouraged him by saying that. But the idea that she would actually accept his ‘offers’ never crossed his mind and for a moment, he had no idea how to respond. She was bluffing, surely, but does he call her on it?

Well, of course he has to. This has become a game between them, and he was not going to be the one that backpedals. Who knows, maybe it could be fun.

“Alright then, babe,” Gigan chuckled, straightening out from his fighting position. “My bedroom, or yours?”

“No,” she told him firmly, her mind scrambling to avoid THAT fate. “We’re going to do this properly. You want me so bad, take me out on a date first.” Ha! Now the stupid cyborg definitely had to back down first! Surely, he would never-

“A date?” Gigan responded with a combination of disbelief and amusement. Well, now she definitely had his curiosity and still not backing down, he stepped closer. She doesn’t move from where she hovered. “Where to?”

“I don’t know,” Mothra told him. Shit, she’s losing it! “You’re taking me, so wherever you think I’ll have a good time.”

Gigan watched her for a moment. She really was being serious, wasn’t she? Alright then, he’ll bite. He wasn’t exactly sure what SHE would find fun, probably something boring like the beach or something. Nah, he had better ideas on where to go to have fun, and he already had one in mind.

“Tell me, how often have you actually travelled off this pathetic little mudball?”

It was Mothra’s turn to tilt her head and she would narrow her eyes if she could. He’s an alien, so of course he would want to go somewhere off the planet. But... “Never. I can’t fly into space, so whatever you have in mind isn’t going to work.”

Just keep being difficult, he’ll give up eventually.

“Don’t be so sure, babe,” Gigan pressed. “Anyway, there is this one bar I like to go to.”

“A bar?” THAT’S this cyborg’s idea of a date? Granted, she hasn’t been in any sort of relationship before, but she’s next to certain the bar wasn’t the usual choice for a first date. Right? Either way... “In space? Seriously, how exactly am I to get there, genius?”

“I suppose the real question is, how much are you willing to trust me?”

“Not at all.” she deadpanned.

“Smart girl,” Gigan snickered. “Unfortunately, you don’t have much of a choice, do you? After all, I’m taking you, right?” Mothra was clearly not amused with him using her own words against her. “Or do you want to back down? In which case, I’m calling this battle a win.”

“No, no. I’m not backing down from anything.” Her sense of pride forbids it. “But you do know there’s plenty of bars here on Earth, right? We can just go to one of those. I think Anguirus actually has one on Monster Island.”

“Ha! His little shack won’t hold a candle to the one I go to. The location alone is breathtaking, better than anything you’ve ever seen here,” he tells her. “Only the best for you, babe.” He flashed his visor at her, and she flinched the tiniest bit. False alarm, that wasn’t another of his laser blasts; it was his version of a wink. 

He didn’t seem to notice her little flinch as he continued. “That and my friend works there. We’ll get free drinks, without me having to kill anyone for them. Which I will happily do in your local bars. You wouldn’t want innocent blood on your claws, would you?”

He really was making it difficult for her, trying to get her to back down first! He got her in a corner here and neither of them were backing down! What have they gotten themselves into?!

Mothra kept her blue compound eyes on him before she glanced back down towards the ground. After a moment, she looked back up at him and saw him watching her expectantly. There was no way out of this unless she surrendered the battle.......

Which will never happen!!

“Fine.” This is going to be a bad idea, but she can’t back down now. Besides, the more time he’s spending with her, the less time he’s causing trouble. This can work to her advantage. “Again: How am I going to get there?”

“You’ll have to come closer, babe,” he tells her. “Real close.”

Yep, this definitely was going to be a bad idea, but nonetheless she flew closer to the cyborg. Her wingbeats were slow and cautious as she approached, hesitating just out of range. She could imagine her mother yelling at her over this. Hell, even Battra would scold her for this stupidity...

“Closer.”

Her claws twitched, as she gave another flap of her wings to close the distance a little bit more. No sooner had she done that than he reached out a claw and pulled her in. Her legs instinctively pushed against him, trying to keep her body off his and, most importantly, off that buzzsaw. But alas, Gigan pulled her back against him, the smirk ever-present on his beak widening.

“Let go,” she demanded.

“Don’t be so difficult, babe,” Gigan chuckled. “I told you, you’re going to have to trust me, whether you like it or not.” His visor moves to her wings, still fanned open and his other claw trails over the scaly surface, slight dust falling as he does. “I suggest you fold these down. My transport won’t accommodate for them.” His voice took on a sarcastic tone. “Would hate to damage such pretty little sails.”

Why does he keep calling her wings that? It’s annoying as fuck, but she has long since given up correcting him on it.

Without a word, she folds her wings down, as tight as she could against her body. Even rolling up the edges to make extra certain they were safe from whatever was about to happen. Unfortunately, she really did have to trust this cyborg at this point, and she hated it.

Gigan started flying straight upwards, carrying her with him. How far up are they going to go? In no time, she was higher than she usually flew and it was already getting colder, especially as they made it above the clouds. The droplets of water on her fur frosted over, and the air was starting to thin. She felt the muscles in her thorax begin to shiver, and her abdomen contracted and expanded quickly to force in more air, the insect equivalent to gasping for breath. 

Her heart began to race in her abdomen as she began second-guessing Gigan’s intentions. He was going to take her into space without protection, wasn’t he? Swear, she will reincarnate in an instant just to kick his ass!

She already began pushing against him, about to struggle free to commence the ass-whooping when Gigan suddenly curled up around her. Blue energy escapes him and began to solidify around them. Now she understood what he meant about potentially damaging her wings, as it seemed the energy already had a pre-set boundary to construct around. No doubt her wings would be crushed or even cut right off if they got in its way.

Mothra rolled her wings up more, making sure the edges don’t extend beyond Gigan’s body. Only after the diamond was fully formed around them did she relax her wings, unfolding them to rest against the transparent walls of their space-pod. She can breathe properly again, and her abdomen relaxed as well. She wasn’t going to suffocate, she was going to be okay. Hopefully... 

It took a moment for her to comprehend that she’s now trapped in here. With Gigan of all kaiju. The available space was quite snug too, so pushing off of him wasn’t much of an option. He was quite warm at least, especially after the cold trip up here.

What was most alarming, though, was the ever increasing sleepiness blanketing over her. The way it was coming out of nowhere wasn’t natural. Oh, no... She glanced up at the alien’s face, only to find his visor dimming. “Gigan?”

“Hm?” His voice sounded tired and his visor brightened slightly. Oh, he was falling asleep, so whatever it was is effecting him too. That meant it was normal and she wouldn’t be left vulnerable to him. Good, because she wasn’t ready to trust him THAT much. She doesn’t say anything further and instead shifted a bit.

The cyborg made no attempt to hold her still and she moved to peer over his shoulder. His sails were flattened against his back, giving her a clear view behind him. 

There was Earth, getting smaller and smaller behind them. They must be accelerating at insane speeds, yet she felt none of the g-forces involved. Very odd.

She felt Gigan rest his chin down onto her back, and she does nothing to shake him off. No, she focused only on her home getting further away. She hoped everyone there will be okay, and that Battra won’t do anything stupid like kill all her humans. Damn idiot counterpart, thinking he knows better than her; ‘The humans are a threat to the world, blah, blah, they must be destroyed, blah blah’. He’s just mad they worshipped her over him. 

Her mind was getting cloudy as the sleepiness overtook her and she too rests her chin on Gigan’s shoulder, cheek pressing against his neck. She can feel his breathing slowing down, until it was undetectable.

This wasn’t just sleep, she realized. This was full-blown suspended animation, and she wasn’t quite sure if she was ready for that. Didn’t matter, it was already too late to turn back. Her own eyes dimmed and her antennae drooped as she drifted off, her beloved Earth now a speck in the distance.

She’ll be back, she promised.

#gigan #mothra #final wars #godzilla #smol dante reference in there XD #all this because they both don't know how to back down from a bluff #my mothra is that immature

[predictable-affairs]

☽☾ Rotten riches ☽☾

           A script, about a rich yandere, who falls in love and confesses.

*In the building of a big office bureau*

A group of business men talking to each other.

Businessman1: I think that this would be a good aproach to the deal.

Businessman2: Perhaps, but it puts a lot of risk on our side, this one would be better.

Businessman3: No, I disagree, we should be more diverse, have more action.

Businessman2: Yes, but that doesn't guarantee success.

Listener enters the scene, they seem lost...

Businessman1 (questions curiosly): Men, we shouldn't be overthinking this, the best course of action would be- now who is that?

Short pause ensues. Businessman1 approaches listener

Businessman1: Why hello there, what is a lovely little thing like you doing here?

Businessman1: Huh, well yes, this is the Predictable Affairs bureau, what buisness do you carry?

Businessman1: You came to talk to someone? And who would that be?

Businessman1: The higher up boss you say... And what will you be talking to him about?

A short pause.

Businessman1: It's none of my buissness?

Businessman1 laughs.

Businessman1: You're a little fireball, aren't you...

Businessman1: Beause... Well, you see... I think it is my buissness.

Another laugh.

Businessman1 (with regained character, smiling, grinning): Vangelis, Vangelis Pan. Nice to meet you little fireball.

Vangelis winks at listener. Another chuckle ensues.

Vangelis (amused): Aww, are you embarrased? Cat got your tongue? How cute...

Vangelis: Just a minute ago, you were so keen on talking to me; shaking and pulling your neck, seeming so lost, yet looking for something, someone so specific...

Vangelis: Meanwhile, you didn't even know what I look like.

Vangelis (quietly): Searching in the dark, for something you can't even touch...

Vangelis (pondering, mockingly): Tell me, should I be offended? You didn't even bother to do your research before diving head first, right into dark waters.

Vangelis (pondering, mockingly): Or perhaps I should be honored... For it was something about me, that caught the attention of...

Short pause.

Vangelis (darkly):  A gorgeous little fireball like you...

Another pause. Vangelis laughs.

Vangelis (amused, in a high whisper): I love your dumbfounded face, it makes me think of just the most wonderfull things...

Vangelis (mockingly, amused): Hmm, here, drop that mouth just a bit more and maybe we can even act them out...

Vangelis laughs again.

Vangelis: Well of course, of course, why don't we go over to my office, continue our conversation there; maybe then you can tell me what you so eagerly came to see me here for...

Footsteps.

Change of scene.

*Vangelis's office.*

Listener and Vangelis are alone.

Vangelis: Here, take a seat, make yourself comfortable.

Vangelis closes the office door and walks over to his chair in front of listener.

Vangelis: So, what's on your mind, sweetheart?

Listener anwsers.

Vangelis: You have some complaints for me? Mm, how interesting...

A short pause.

Vangelis: Well then, go ahead, I'm listening,

Vangelis: I'm quite interested in what you have to say...

Listener explains.

A pause ensues.

Vangelis: Hmm, is that so? You think my way of business is unethical?

Listener corrects Vangelis.

Vangelis: Oh right, excuse me, my business and way of business...

Listener continues speaking.

Vangelis: And you even have evidence you say?

Listener explains. A short pause. Listener cuts themselves off and questions Vangelis.

Vangelis (distracted, unaffected, dazed): Hm? Oh, no, keep going; your voice, your mouth... It's so cute... Even if it's sputtering utter nonsence...

Listeners gets a bit mad.

Vangelis: What? Is it not? You're actually serious about your claims?

Vangelis (insulted): Really, your ignorance is insulting!

A pause.

Vangelis (annoyed, chuckling): You know, one day, you're really going to fuck yourself over; going into the dark lions den, backwards, not even knowing what kind of animal it is.

Vangelis (annoyed, mockingly): Really, it's such a shame; you're either too pure, someone wanting to make the world a better place, without checking your facts, without realising, that it's corrupt beyond saving,

Vangelis (annoyed): Or stupid; too stupid to realise what your doing, and immediately jumping on any wrong doing you see. So stupid, that your brains are replaced with hope, which, by the way, is not leading you anywhere good!

Vangelis (with regained character, sweetly, mockingly): My, sweetie, I hope you have someone watching over you; so when, oneday, you start drowning in your own ignorance - someone is there to get you out...

Listener is lost and enraged. Listener questions Vangelis again.

Vangelis: Right, and you still haven't realised it...

Vangelis: Fine, I'll anwser your question.

Vangelis: Yes, it is true that those claims have been made, but it was made by only one company-

Listener interrupts Vangelis.

Vangelis (serious): Right, well, if you would've done your research, you would've realised that those other companies are just pawns of the Wind company-

Listener interrupts Vangelis again.

As soon as listener finishes talking, cutting them off a bit.

Vangelis (serious, mockingly, a bit angry): Such a little fireball... Has nobody ever taught you any manners?

Vangelis (calm, serious): The Wind company is controlled by someone, that used to work for me, and it's common knowledge, that this company is the rival of mine...

A pause.

Vangelis (calm, serious): Now... all of this, all this information - you could've found out with a quick internet search, but no...

Vangelis (quietly, relaxed): You decided you want to come straight to me.

Vangelis (pondering): Which, you know, begs the question, perhaps it was something more you came to me for...

Listener anwsers Vangelis immediately, enraged.

Vangelis (mockingly): You wanted to talk to me and get my opinion, before you posted anything on the internet? Oh, sweetheart, even if you did - you wouldn't be talking to me...

Vangelis (serious, moralizing): You'd be talking to your lawyer; and plus - no one would believe you.

Vangelis (mockingly): What's a fiery journalists little article going to do against a huge company, hm?

Vangelis: Might I add, an unapproved and false article...?

A short pause.

Vangelis (mockingly, sweetly): My, my, honey, I'd be careful if I were you; I'm a powerful man, one, who shouldn't be angered...

Another short pause.

Vangelis (drifting away): Though alas... Maybe I should let you anger me... See where that takes you...

Vangelis laughs.

Vangelis (laughing): Aww, are you scared? Again? How adorable...

Vangelis (quietly, pondering): I wonder what would scare you even more...

Another short pause ensues.

Vangelis (pondering, normal): Hm, but nevertheless, my little fireball, what will we do about your blatant insult to me?

Listener questions Vangelis.

Vangelis: Well, yes, you did insult me.

Vangelis: You came into my office, accusing me of made up stories and even threatning, blackmailing me, saying, you'll release a false article.

Vangelis (rhetorically): You also kept interrupting me, and that really hurt my feelings...

Vangelis (darkly): So, I'll repeat my question again, little fireball; what will we... You do?

A longer pause.

Vangelis (relaxed, sitting back in his chair, mockingly): Hmm, just a minute ago I could hardly shut you up and now, your as qiuet as a stick...

Another pause.

Vangelis: How about this - you go on a date with me...

One more pause. Vangelis laughs.

Vangelis (amused): What? What's with that expression? You heard me.

Vangelis (interested, convincing, quietly): Let me take you on a date...

Vangelis (quietly, drifting away): We'll go somewhere nice, we'll see some nice sights, maybe we'll even end it with some... nice... sensations.

Vangelis (quietly): So come on, say yes; let me take you to some place otherwordly, some place you'll never forget, and maybe then...

Vangelis (normal): Maybe just then, I won't be as mad and won't take such offence.

#rotten riches #script #smut script #smut #x reader #x listener #OC

[iwillnotburnmyjournals]

What Are You Doing, Julie??

I made a decision that is vague and formless and without guarantee, and also requires attention, detail, self-awareness, and tirelessness.

I am not working for a month. No day job, no part-time. I am meditating, working through “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron, and writing music for a month. This may sound ideal to some, stupid or entitled or not a big deal to others. One of many motivations for this month was that I recently had a conversation with a friend who had decided to switch from being an actor to going back to school for social work and possibly an eventual law degree. When I asked her why the switch, she responded, “When I really sat down with myself, I just knew I didn’t actually want to spend my energy putting in the kind of work it would take to be an actor. But I’ll always be a performer at heart.”

And I thought, “Good lord, have I ever been that honest with myself about what I want to do?”

For me, this month is a small protest against my denial of past years as well as an experiment. For almost a decade, I have gone through a series of begrudging and slow admittances. At first, I pretended that I just couldn’t find the correct job or career path, I wasn’t sure of what I wanted to do. (This kept concerned adults off my back for a bit). And so I bought myself some time and meandered in a career-malaise for five years after college, working various and multiple jobs, none of them satisfying whatever I was craving. I had an ex tell me I was never going to find what I was looking for – which is laughable considering no one should ever say that to another person, and also considering that I was years away from saying out loud what I actually was looking for.

I wrote two songs in college. Stopped. Started again in 2016 and wrote most of the songs I have now, maybe 10 “finished” – (are they ever fucking finished?) – songs. Stopped. I didn’t write again for three years, but all the while was reading memoirs of artists and musicians, how-to-creativity books while deeply embarrassed that I needed a how-to at all. In 2019, I admitted that I at least wanted to move to New York City so I could be near music, so I could see live shows, so I could perform if I wanted to. I was inching myself closer to the edge, like a little kid who’s still in swimmies inching her way to dip her toes in the deep end. But I still wasn’t writing.

After having a conversation in April with a fellow musician about Charlie Parker locking himself in his apartment for two years to play music for 16 hours a day and do heroin, I said, “Fuck it. I’m tired of saying I want something and not doing anything to move toward it.” It’s easy to think that if you love something enough, you will magically just find a way to do it. This is not the case for me. It seems that I find every excuse I can not to write. When I told a friend a few years ago how writing for me was often like extracting an arrow lodged in my chest and that I ran away from it as much as possible, his response was, “Well, maybe you just shouldn’t write.” I’ve hated that response ever since he voiced it.

Annie Dillard was the one person who gave me permission to realize and admit that I was cripplingly afraid of writing, and rightly so. Her small masterpiece, The Writing Life, is a mortar and pestle to the ego if you’re stuck in the shadowlands of thinking you want to write when all you really want is attention (large neon blinking arrow to my head.) In representing the frustrating, often fruitless, painstaking process of writing, Annie uses the metaphor of an architect who has a sole worker who refuses to work on the architect’s building design, claiming it is faulty. She writes, “Acknowledge, first, that you cannot do nothing . . . Subject the next part, the part at which the worker balks, to harsh tests. It harbors an unexamined and wrong premise. Something completely necessary is false or fatal. Once you find it, and if you can accept the finding, of course it will mean starting again. This is why many experienced writers urge young men and women to learn a useful trade.” I’ve always hated when artistic types say, “If you can do without this [art], you should try.” It’s always seemed egotistical or pejorative to me. But now I get it. The thought of so much self-accountability, starting and failing and having to be one the one who declares you yourself have failed, terrifies me and seems so pointless.

But I really do have masochist in my bloodstream. Whatever terrifies me, I’m a bloodhound for. So, when I realized I kept saying I wanted to be a singer-songwriter while simultaneously sneaking out the backdoor of my brain and action to get away from just that, I figured I should test myself. At least I’ll know whether I’m a total fraud and attention-grabber, or whether this is what I need to do. Bob Dylan’s words that the world doesn’t need any more songs ring in my ears daily. But I guess that’s a good litmus test if I persist in writing songs while the greatest American songwriter repeats that mantra in my ear.

So, I am dedicating this month to meditation, working through “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron, and writing music. I will be giving updates, either written or video recorded, each day. Not for attention or because “this is so original” but because I read a book years ago called Show Your Work by Austin Kleon and one of his pieces of advice was to share your creative processes with others rather than wait to show a perfected result. That and I am so horribly cock-blocked when it comes to expressing what I truly think and feel that I’m forcing myself to put out processes/anything I’m working on where a roving eye could see it if it wanted. Seeing as how I’m pretty obsessed with people’s sketch books and rough drafts, watching people apply makeup on the subway, and existential crises in the midst of trying to get somewhere, I figured keeping some kind of public record was a good idea.

Good lord, here we fucking go.

#theartistsway #pullingaboniversanscabin #musicmonth #singersongwriter #anniedillard

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-09-29

More Homestuck time!  Continuing on the outside-canon plot.  Livebloggin’ starts now...

> CHAPTER 14. The Best Laid Plans

Wait, who’s house is this?  Was this Roxy’s?  (When I saw a glimpse browsing my twitter feed during the debate, I saw Yiffy on the ground accosted.)

> (==>)

THEY’RE JUST HOME?!?!?????

HOW???  HOW could the heat be off so badly?

Jane’s arrogant, but one of the CHARACTERISTICS of her arrogance is that she underestimates the character and capability of her political opponents.  How would she NOT consider the possibility that these kids would return home again even while the heat was on??  How would she assume that JOHN would be too smart to come back to--

...oh right, she may not know John is involved or willing to do anything.  That’s fair.  But the kids??

I’m sure there’s going to be SOME sort of explanation of why the heat is off.  Also, I wonder who made that anti-Jane battle plan chart?  John himself, or Karkat or something?  Karkat’s usually the chart-er.

JOHN: wow, i feel like i'm barely keeping myself sitting. JOHN: if it weren't for keeping you kids safe i'd be out there right now!

Hm.  Are they counting on the fact that Crockercorp would KNOW that John and Vriska are both there to intimidate them from moving in against them?  From a sheer difference-in-firepower standpoint after Vriska’s big display?

HARRY: and some of us aren't gods and shit. JOHN: i'm detecting a hint of judgement in your voice, there, harry anderson JOHN: don't you enjoy being a part of all this? finally getting to be in the thick of it all? HARRY: i mean i was having a fine time at school, if i'm being honest. HARRY: all this tear-assing back and forth between my home and various points of interest over the past few days has me pretty beat.

Yeah, most kids don’t appreciate being involved in war.  Even Vrissy immediately showed some regrets no matter how much she liked to think of herself as wanting to get out there.

HARRY: also i wouldn't call this "the thick of it all" JOHN: oof, getting air quotes'd by my own son. JOHN: we had to hide in a forsythia bush on the way back here when that drone flew by! JOHN: that's the thick of father-son hijinks if i ever saw it! JOHN: well, modern day war hijinks, but i'll take what i can get, you know??

(Be more considerate, John!!)  Hm, so they DID sneak their way back in here?  I mean, John’s powers may have helped them get through unnoticed, but this is still a big stretch.

HARRY: i'm not knocking the old adrenaline thrill, or helping out Vrissy's moms or anything. HARRY: i'm just saying i was literally just here and you told me to leave, so i hope this is where we're gonna park it for a minute. HARRY: a boy's gotta breathe. JOHN: yeah, well, this wasn't my plan, either. JOHN: but rose sent out some false intel about us heading toward my house, so technically this is the safest place we can be right now, since they cleared the area and everything. JOHN: i guess.

Ahhhh.  Okay.  Yeah, a Seer of Light can float an attention lure and know it’ll be an effective enough distraction.

HARRY: hmm. JOHN: what? HARRY: now YOU look like you're hiding some extra commentary. JOHN: oh, i don't need to burden you with all the bureaucratic stuff, it's boring. HARRY: well now hold up, dad. HARRY: a minute ago you were all "we're in the fight together," and now you're backing out of sharing the details? JOHN: it's not really- HARRY: am i a part of this or not? JOHN: well i'd sure say you were! JOHN: but i guess maybe my thoughts on what is or isn't right for the operation aren't up to snuff. JOHN: because here i am, sitting in the dugout, same as you. HARRY: in the dugout?

Mhmm, John’s sore about Rose not counting on John as a heavy hitter.  He got back INTO this in part because he missed all the action and relevance, and now they’re telling him to stop and stand still?  That’s never been a command John’s easily agreed with.  For now, protecting the kids (Blood!) is enough to keep him sitting, but if they (and Vriska) start encouraging him...

HARRY: plus i wouldn’t have been able to get your measurements for some clothes that actually fit you if we hadn’t come back here where all my sewing stuff is.

Thank god, we might get a non-embarrassing god-pajamas John back

HARRY: you were getting pretty into everything back there with rose and them? getting to be with the old crew and everything, like the stories you told me about the game? JOHN: yeah. HARRY: that sucks. JOHN: i had a good plan, too! JOHN: it just wasn't good enough for karkat, i guess. JOHN: i'm just not "experienced enough in combat strategy"

Oh huh, so that’s John’s discarded plan he’s holding.  Karkat's faction hasn’t quite succeeded the bloody (heh) way so far, perhaps he needs John’s Breath to add some inspiration to it for the most success but they’re not giving him enough credit?  It’s hard to blame them for doubting him, though.

JOHN: that is a plus of being here, at least. JOHN: it's been really nice to get to spend so much time with you. HARRY: um. yeah, it's not so bad. HARRY: anyway, before you ruffle my hair or anything, it looks like things are getting a bit heated between the vriskas over there. HARRY: maybe we should offer them a snack to bring the mood back down? JOHN: me, mess up your hair when you’ve worked so hard on that look? i do know you at least that well, harry anderson HARRY: thank god.

Cute!

VRISKA: So you actually want to know what I’m thinking now? You want my opinion? VRISSY: Um...Yes? VRISSY: I'm not Really Sure what’s going on right Now. VRISKA: What? VRISSY: I just was wondering why you’re so pissed off at me. VRISKA: What the fuck are you talking about? VRISKA: I’m not pissed at you, you haven’t done shit 8asically at all since i’ve been here. VRISKA: I just can’t 8elieve I’m 8ack stuck in this tacky rumpusblock after all of that!

Both Vriskas are constantly assuming the other Vriska is thinking about them because they’re both Vriska, when they’re really both self-cente-- no, that’s not quite true.  Vrissy constantly assumes Vriska is thinking about her when she isn’t, and Vriska is somewhat grated because Vrissy belongs in this universe and she isn’t? Or--

Gosh they both have so many issues going on and firewalls up that I can’t actually make heads or tails of it.  Usually what’s on Vriska’s mind is painfully obvious from her dodges, but Vrissy is so oblique with her OWN weird thought processes that-- god I dunno

VRISSY: We could do Something if You Wanted. VRISKA: Huh? VRISSY: If you’re 8ored. VRISSY: This isn’t my House, but Harry has video games and Movies and shit. VRISSY: Actually, we’re pro8a8ly 8etter off not watching his movies. VRISSY: His taste is Worse than His Dad’s. VRISKA: AGGGHHH!!!!!!!!

They’re from two different worlds, yeah.

VRISKA: No, I don’t want to watch a fucking movie! How the fuck can you think a8out movies????????? VRISKA: How are you okay with any of this? VRISSY: Any of What? VRISKA: 8eing left at home like a couple of dri88ling of wigglers!

Vriska invests all of her self-worth in what she can bring to the table relevance-ways.  Her self-esteem couldn’t survive the sidelines.

VRISKA: How are you so calm right now? Your lusii were training you, right? And you’re a troll, you’re definitely five times stronger than a human! And if you’re my clone, you are way more 8adass than little miss Fussy Fangs. VRISKA: I can’t 8elieve you just stayed 8ehind?!?? VRISSY: Well...they told me to. And they’re my Moms.

COMPLETELY different lives.  Vriska has never really accepted, never really KNEW what “peaceful life” is actually supposed to be, nor how alluring and satisfying it is.

VRISKA: Clearly not a good plan, 8ecause then I would 8e part of it! VRISKA: What’s the point of me even coming to this shitty fake reality if I’m not supposed to fix it?

hahahahahahahaha

VRISSY: Yeah, they told me about That stuff, but a Lot of the Shit that Happened in the Session if just not in the History Books. VRISSY: You weren’t Really mentioned that Much. VRISKA: Excuse me? VRISSY: People know who you Are, 'cause we had to Memorize the names of Every one of the Players, Even the ones who didn’t last very Long. VRISKA: You’re trying to tell me that there’s a whole recorded history of SGRUB, and I’m not in it?  VRISSY: You’re not not in it.  VRISSY: I guess they Mostly Focused on the Creators who Ascended, you know?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

--hm, what if some of the pre-retcon timeline where Vriska WASN’T as involved DID fold its way into this one?  Explaining Jane remembering Gamzee showing up early in her session to sell her troll blood when that was (if we’re remembering right, correct me if I’m wrong) erased by the retcon in favor of Vriska time-traveling in in his place?

VRISKA: Whoever was schoolfeeding you was a complete 8ulgesucker, because I “ascended” 8efore any of the humans did!! VRISKA: Literally 8illions of years 8efore, since our session was the one that created theirs!!!!!!!! VRISKA: I was the 8ne who 8uided John’s 8uffoonish 8lue ass all the way through his first 8ew days in the Medium! VRISKA: I m8de all the plans to take down the J8cks! VRISKA: I SINGLE H8ND8DLY! VRISKA: CURED YOUR MOTHER’S FUCKING ALCH8LISM!!!!!!!! JOHN: uh, vriska, everything okay over there? VRISKA: EVERYTHING’S FINE, J8HN! JOHN: okay. JOHN: do you girls want a snack? VRISKA: AAAAGGH!

HA!

HARRY: vriska, eat whatever. HARRY: just not the zebra cakes, those are mine.

(Zebra cakes are kinda Barbasol-bomb-like, right? Doom thing, because black-and-white stripes like most of the black-and-white-striped explosives in Homestuck? --Nah that’s a stretch.)

> (==>)

--That’s not Jane’s head, that’s JOHN’S head giving a thumbs up.  Wow.

...Your plan prominently features Yiffy even though you didn’t know she existed until a couple hours ago?

JOHN: so anyway, as you can see, this would have worked just fine! HARRY: no i think karkat’s right. this looks like shit, dad. JOHN: you know, me letting your earlier use of the word "fuck" slide wasn't a blanket approval for all cursing in front of me. HARRY: sorry. HARRY: try not to make such a shit plan, and i won't call it that. JOHN: haha wow.

Harry really is his son, wow

HARRY: i mean, i still can't believe i told vrissy and them to bring a dead celebrity to school. HARRY: what was i THINKING. JOHN: you were thinking it sounded hilarious! JOHN: but yeah, in hindsight, maybe not the best call. JOHN: maybe it’s genetic? HARRY: yeah.

Harry really is his son, wow

HARRY: i kinda can’t believe we’re all still alive, actually. HARRY: and how did YOU make it this far, being so bad at this? JOHN: i had my friends with me, i guess.

Pretty much!

Plus, they haven’t really had time to talk about what happened with Dave, yet, and he doesn’t want to tank the mood by bringing him up.

Glad John’s taken some time to deal with that offscreen, so he can keep being cheery here.

He’d spent so long seeing mostly the best parts of Roxy in Harry Anderson. He forgot, he guesses, to look for himself in there, too. And if what they have in common right now is a lack of strategic foresight, hey, he’ll take it.

Hah, fair enough!

JOHN: speaking of friends, i will say the snacks were a good call, at least! JOHN: i don’t hear any more screaming, anyway. JOHN: see, that's one good plan between the two of us!

--they left, didn’t they.

> (==>)

HARRY: oh, that was definitely them leaving, wasn’t it. JOHN: ah.

--So was Vrissy peer-pressured along, or practically abducted?

> (==>)

--Oh, this was the picture I glimpsed and scrolled past on Twitter!  She’s not on the ground, she’s running-- good.

> (==>)

--ALREADY!  Fuck yes!  :D

(and those cute paws on jade’s gloves wow)

> (==>)

--Oh I thought that was an air-lift! No, they were just diving to the ground with her.

Man, the pacing of this panel-to-panel composition throws me SO much.  Stuff happens without being properly established, and we’re shown the wrong keyframes to internalize it easily.  (I hope I don’t have to keep mentioning how much I miss Andrew’s talent at it, even though the art WITHIN panels is better here.)

So Jane is confronting them with soldiers.

ROSE: Oh, is this one of those rare and marvelous beasts, the "villain speech"? ROSE: I've written one or two in my time. ROSE: I'm on the edge of my seat. I hope it's better than your political material; I've always found that rather trite. JANE: I haven't given a political speech in years, Ms. Lalonde. I don't know what you're referring to. I'm just a simple business woman. JADE: right with her own talk show JADE: and multi billion dollar merchant company and lobbying groups! JANE: That's what a business woman is, Jade, dear.

--ah, in this perspective maybe Jane DOESN’T have the resources to be “everywhere” yet.  Makes more sense that they could’ve left the home unguarded.

JANE: But enough of that. I'll skip straight to the point. JANE: You are on my territory, in the presence of my secret police, laying your hand on my investment.

QUIT DEHUMANIZING THE GIRL

JANE: You think I come anywhere unprepared? I haven't left the house without an armed guard in years. ROSE: Is it the libidinous power rush that comes from snapping your fingers at men with guns, or are you worried that you might accidentally do something heroic?

Rose usually has decent snapbacks I guess

I don’t think Rose’s plan was to admit themselves into custody like Jane is asking, but I’m not ruling it out.

> (==>)

(this image is so cute)

JADE: wow could you be any more full of yourself?? JADE: shut the fuck up for a minute and look up!

> (==>)

Ahwhoops.  Jane misunderstood who’s in control of the situation.

> (==>)

Ooh!  That’s threatening.  :)

(Tavros is playing along, but he doesn’t HAVE to fake that sweat.)

KANAYA: If You Make One Single Move I Will Bite Him Directly On The Exterior Shout Tunnel KANAYA:  I Will Turn Your Son Into A Rainbow Drinker KANAYA: Then You Will Have A Rainbow Drinker Son JANE: That's not how troll vampirism works, don't treat me like an imbecile! JANE: You think I don't know everything there is to know about your disgusting biology? KANAYA: KANAYA: Okay Then I Will Just Break His Fucking Neck

HAH

Yeah, mutual child-threat standoff.  Jane isn’t going to make that sacrifice, AND can’t be SEEN making that sacrifice.

> (==>)

Jane Crocker hesitates.

This is something that she used to do regularly. Hesitate. Stop and think and weigh her options. Talk out every possible scenario and the impact they might have, morally and optically and socially. What would the political apparatus think? What would her social media followers think, her friends? As the years went by and she honed her instincts, she found herself doing this less and less.

Yeah, the difference between deserving a Just death or not is whether you’re willing to check yourself and allow another’s will to override your own.  To allow someone who ISN’T you to have a say in how reality unfolds, to consider that what you want may not be right.

The impact that her words made became lessened when spread out across such a wide and thirsty audience, as public sentiment began to swing her way. She stopped thinking about how she would be received, and more about how she could play to the people she knew would receive her favorably. 

Yeesh.  Topical.

Looking up she sees Tavvy with tears in his eyes. Rage and guilt surge inside her. This situation is not her fault.

Anger is based in fear.  Jane is not just afraid for Tavros, but afraid that she’s at fault.  And the more she fears and has to deny that, the angrier she’ll get.

Is it angry enough to make a rash decision here?

> (==>)

JANE: This situation is not my fault! 

Jesus, she even said it out loud?

JANE: I'm the only one who has taken any interest in her upbringing or education! JANE: Or have you forgotten who has been paying for her schooling and taking charge of her introduction into society? JADE: i never asked you to do that! JADE: you offered! JADE: so stop calling me ungrateful for not sucking your dick over things i never asked for!

Taking something that was a clear, ostensibly-selfless gift and using it as a transactional club.  I hate that.  Nothing shows how transparently little you actually believed in the “selfless thing to do” than that.

> (==>)

She can't just stand here and let herself be humiliated, allowing two architects of the insurgency mess her around like this.

If they were to kill Tavros, the entire world would see them commit this war crime. And weighed in the balance, Lalonde and Harley would be off the playing board. Saving your daughter certainly counted as a heroic death, and with the damage they'd done to humanity, it would also probably be just.

Tavros has not called out for her once. Perhaps he knows what her choice was always going to be.

Whoa you made that choice pretty easily, psycho-Jane.  Are you actually gonna try it???

> (==>)

JAKE: Tavvy! 

Oh shit, the plan!  :D

--if Jake isn’t just.  Um.  Taking the threat to Tavvy seriously, not having realized this was a bluff.  Um.  Jake?

> (==>)

That looks like he’s taking it seriously.  Shit.

At least Jane will look like even MORE of a monster if she gives the order this way.

> (==>)

JANE: Stand down!

I don’t think Jake’s gonna listen to you when it comes to Tav’s safety anymore.

> (==>)

JANE: Get out of my sight.

Oh.

Is she letting Jade, Rose and Yiffy go?  --probably, but it’s unclear.

Damn this panel-to-panel framing not conveying what’s going on properly.

Guess that’s it for now!  Patreon Commentary....... I’ve been putting off the commentary backlog for a long time, but I think the Homestuck Commentary coverage deficit still has to wait a while longer because the World Is A Fuck and I have to devote more time to stress relief than usual.  Take care y’all

EDIT: extra bit on gamzee corpse here

#Homestuck #hs2 #Homestuck Liveblog #upd8 #Homestuck^2 #spoiler #spoilers

[kiruuuuu]

Thank you for both your kind words as well as that wonderful mental image, anon 💝 :) I’m hella excited you enjoy this ship as well, so I hope you like reading about Blackbeard slowly going mad! (Rating T, BB sure loves rambling, ~4.8 words) - this contains references to underage sex!

.

Goyo is slowly but surely driving him insane.

The man is a fucking enigma. He might as well wear a question mark as his face because it’d tell Blackbeard just as much about his current mood or thoughts or expectations or hopes or fears as his actual face does (though he’s glad Goyo’s face is his actual face, seeing as it’s quite nice to look at, which isn’t to imply he’d like Goyo any less if he had no face, but it’d make kissing him a lot more complicated).

When he met him, Blackbeard thought him to be one of those quiet, cool guys who are just good at their job, and when they’re not at their job, they phase from existence because their job is all they are. Which is fine with Blackbeard. Some of his colleagues are like that: when anyone asks them about their hobbies, they’re hard pressed to come up with a reply since work isn’t a hobby, and neither is preparing for work.

But the moment Goyo first opened his mouth, Blackbeard realised his first impression couldn’t have been more wrong, because he sounds calm and sophisticated and confident and it instantly throws him off kilter. No, this isn’t some genius, this is one of those dudes who can’t take a joke, who think themselves better than everybody else, who react to things they deem profane not with honest opinions but rather thinly-veiled condescension, and they’re the worst. They’re the ones with whom Blackbeard has never gotten along, seeing as he was never sure whether they kept him around to secretly make fun of him, or out of misplaced pity, or to become more popular, or because they’re too awkward to be openly rude.

They’re the ones he can’t read. They never laugh along. They quietly sit next to him until someone calls on them and then they effortlessly trump him with whatever they have to say.

He justified his own actions with the excuse of ‘at least I’m being sincere’ for the longest time. He doesn’t like them, and so he shows it, meaning everyone knows where they’re at. After he’s declared his dislike, some kind of arrangement is made, and they never have to speak to each other again (only he had trouble keeping away because it is kinda gratifying to watch them squirm in discomfort) – and clearly, it’s better than putting up a front made up of false niceties and fake smiles which doesn’t hold up for a second longer as soon as they’re not in the same room anymore.

These days, he’s come to a different conclusion. They simply worried him.

Some of them bested him in various disciplines, causing him to push himself harder because he didn’t want to be left behind and because he can’t let someone he doesn’t like overtake him. Their indifference towards him left him insecure since he’s a people pleaser at heart, wants to be loved and admired by everybody and simply had absolutely no fucking clue how he could get them to like him. And he always thought this sentiment was universal: everyone wants to be popular, don’t they? All humans want to be liked. Only these specific people’s very existence threatened this world view. They didn’t want to be liked by everybody. So what did it mean that they got to the same place as Blackbeard, when he obeyed all the rules and played all the games? Conventions exist for a reason, and shouldn’t be ignored like that.

So yes. Goyo was one of those.

Except he wasn’t. Thermite found him hilarious. Pulse developed a sudden interest in Goyo’s field of expertise. Ash invited him out for drinks. Valkyrie appreciated his earnest nature (and really, what the hell?). The only one with whom Goyo pointedly didn’t interact was Blackbeard.

And they kept going on about how friendly he was, and how well he fit in, and Blackbeard didn’t understand. Stared hard at this mystery of a man and just didn’t understand. Goyo wasn’t stand-offish. He obeyed some rules and played most games, just not Blackbeard's favourite ones, and neither did he let him provoke him, which deprived Blackbeard of the satisfaction of making him uncomfortable as well. What the fuck was he supposed to do with that?

But there was another problem. He’s gay.

It’s a can of worms he’d prefer not to open – if his mind was a house, then he’d shoved all of… that down the stairs into the basement, never to be seen again, collecting dust and sitting untouched. (It’s only recently that he’s begun clearing some of it out, airing it, finding use for it in the living room or somewhere else.) And whenever he learnt that anyone in his vague vicinity was gay, the door slammed open and something yelled at him really loudly the two words which would haunt him for a few weeks:

WHAT IF.

Dumb. Useless.

Disruptive, even, it’s not like he’d do anything, it’s not like the guy would do anything, it’s unlikely to be a topic between them, and still he wonders what it’d be like to kiss whoever was unfortunate enough to haunt Blackbeard for a while. This happens with everyone. Intrusive thoughts he can’t for the life of him control. They do fade the longer he knows the person, fortunately, but in the beginning, whenever the name is mentioned, his brain flashes him a question à la what would it feel like to hug him. Never has he acted on it, nor has he confessed this to anyone, which… likely made it worse, alright, now he knows it, but as a terrified navy officer, his main concern wasn’t whether he might regret neglecting that unwanted basement in his head later in life.

He made a point of never joking about it. Not he himself, at least. Not about this. If anyone ever noticed, they didn’t mention it to him.

In any case, there was the fact that Goyo was there and not going to go away any time soon, and he was gay, and really handsome. The tingly kind of handsome. The car crash kind, making it impossible to look away, with his stupid beard and the weird, sexual way he sits, and how he twirls his pens around without even realising. His smile is…

Blackbeard didn’t want to label him with anything past handsome, not pretty or attractive or (god forbid) hot, because it fell too well in line with the WHAT IF still regularly being screamed at him, despite the weeks they’ve spent as acquaintances already, and for some reason, this time, it doesn’t go away.

With other colleagues, it vanished very quickly, but Goyo? Goyo starts appearing in his dreams. Just once or twice, really, nothing compromising, a few words exchanged or a laugh (and he’s seen him laugh in Valkyrie’s presence, and dear fucking lord), but it has an uncomfortable side effect.

His brain convinces him he has some kind of claim on him. Nothing insane, not like he thinks Goyo owes him anything, and yet… He knows Goyo is single, so he should appreciate any offer he gets, and Blackbeard is certain Goyo would prefer if they got along better anyway, and besides, Blackbeard is a catch, right? He’s good-looking, funny, skilled, forthright, adventurous – nothing to scoff at. Surely it’s enough to warrant a try.

And when he’s instantly shot down, he realises that he can’t read this man at all.

.

Unfortunately for both of them, it’s a recurring theme in their interactions. Even after a while, even after Blackbeard has noticed Goyo’s lips thinning when he disapproves of something, or that his ‘yeah it’s fine’ is sometimes nothing more than a passive-aggressive ‘I’d prefer something else’, even then he doesn’t know the source of it. Because Goyo just doesn’t fucking talk to him.

The basics are there.

Not only that, the basics are great and Blackbeard is fully aware of it: both of them are putting effort into their relationship. He once heard it’s the single most important aspect of anything meant to last, and his prior relationships seem to support this claim – and hands down, both of them are committed to this. There’s not a single day without any type of contact, whether it’s texting, a short call, or meeting up, Goyo keeps track of what he likes to eat and cooks accordingly, Blackbeard brings small gifts, they pay each other compliments which are heartfelt and earnest, and they compromise on how they spend their time together. They’re comfortable around each other. He looks forward to seeing him every day that he does.

And there’s the whole… other stuff. All of which leaves Blackbeard flustered whenever he even thinks about it, and he’ll say this much: Goyo is infinitely more passionate than he would’ve expected. Generous, too. And really, really good.

That said, this is where the ‘but’ comes in (and no, he’s not referring to the fun part anymore).

Goyo can’t fucking communicate. It’s driving Blackbeard up the walls. He’s totally incapable of putting his emotions into words, which makes no sense at all. Once they started dating and Goyo opened up more, the complaints began, and honestly? Blackbeard was delighted. Because Goyo didn’t just nag, he pointed out aspects which bothered him in a constructive way and either suggested a solution or appreciated it when Blackbeard corrected it himself – or he was satisfied with a compromise. Maybe not always satisfied, there are still unresolved issues like him being inept to show up on time, ever, and insisting he’s in the right, but even then he doesn’t make a big fuss over it. Banter, yes. Some teasing. Remarks delivered with a grin. Tongue-in-cheek comments. Blackbeard does exactly the same, so he respects it.

In the past, it’s happened a few times that his current girlfriend was unhappy about something but didn’t mention it, not really, not to the point where Blackbeard would’ve realised it to be as serious as it turned out to be. Instead, her dissatisfaction grew and grew, in one instance accompanied by contempt, and eventually came an outburst he couldn’t have prevented if he tried, seeing as he knew nothing about it. Having a partner this vocal about problems is refreshing.

But there are certain topics Goyo doesn’t mention. Or moments where he simply clams up. It’s impossible to tell when it’ll happen or why, but now and then Goyo gets utterly lost in his own thoughts (or at least that’s what Blackbeard thinks is happening), and then he either loses the thread of their conversation entirely, or takes forever to reply. Blackbeard gets incredibly antsy whenever he receives no reaction, so his boyfriend doing it to him is twice as bad. He’s aware Goyo lives inside his head a lot of the time, sure, and as a result, almost everything he says is well thought through and genuine (at least the non-sarcastic bits), but for him, it’s difficult to deal with nonetheless. He often panics during those pauses and wonders whether he’s done something wrong and Goyo is currently trying to work out how to break it to him.

And when it comes to Goyo’s feelings, he’s a lost cause. Blackbeard doesn’t doubt for a second that Goyo spends a good portion of his time analysing himself and introspecting, it’s just… he doesn’t seem to be very good at it.

That, or he also has a basement full of dusty, forgotten, pushed-away objects.

Goyo thinks himself ‘sociable enough’. It’s how he himself expressed it. Blackbeard begs to differ, and strongly so: Goyo hardly ever seeks out other people, regularly turns down invitations as well and is awfully quiet in groups, not to mention he takes forever to warm up to people (and there’s the not-so-small matter about his lack of punctuality too). Blackbeard finds his behaviour quite rude a lot of the time and is pretty sure the others only give Goyo the benefit of the doubt to be nice.

He says of himself that he’s not very demanding, only to keep demanding things of Blackbeard. More touching. More housework. Less gym time. No shaving. More spontaneity (and he seems to overlook the obvious irony in telling someone to be spontaneous).

This is another thing: he keeps disrupting Blackbeard's daily schedule without feeling a shred of guilt over it. Calling at inopportune times, trying to keep him in bed in the morning, suddenly wanting to eat lunch a specific place, changing plans they made weeks ago a few minutes before leaving. It’s like he’s testing Blackbeard's patience and adaptability.

And the worst thing of all is simultaneously also the best thing: Blackbeard really, really, really likes him.

If he were a dog, his tail wouldn’t stop wagging for a second in Goyo’s presence. His brain fills with exclamation marks any time he sees him. Any compliments Goyo has ever paid him play on repeat, his smile is the last image Blackbeard sees before he goes to sleep, and he’s the first person he texts whenever anything happens. He has no idea what caused Goyo’s change of heart, what made him give Blackbeard a chance, but he’s endlessly grateful it happened. The fluttering in his stomach still hasn’t stopped when they’re spending quality time together, and his heart thumps twice as fast whenever they kiss. It’s the worst crush of his life and he doesn’t even know how it developed.

When he wants to be, Goyo is exceedingly witty, charming, supportive, empathetic, patient, loving, trusting. They’ve had a long conversation about sexuality which corrected some of the preconceptions Blackbeard still held, and at no point did he feel patronised, alienated, or uncomfortable. It’s probably what keeps them together: the knowledge they respect and trust each other. Goyo knows he’d never knowingly hurt his feelings, and he believes the same of Goyo. Jealousy is no topic between them, and boundaries are regularly drawn, re-drawn, negotiated, accepted. (Though not nearly as often as Blackbeard would’ve liked. He’s aware Goyo can feel suffocated sometimes and would prefer them to talk it out properly, but it’s one of the topics Goyo usually deflects.)

.

With how communicative Blackbeard is, he’s suffered from the lack of outside feedback on their relationship. Asking for advice is out of the question as no one else knows he’s dating anyone, and not being able to gush about the way Goyo sometimes wraps himself around him when they’re watching something on his bed kills him a little inside. He wants to share it all, the good and the bad, seeks reassurance on everything he’s doing and desires normality. A state where he can throw in ‘oh yes, my boyfriend mentioned it the other day’ without earning any kind of odd reaction. A world where the others ask him about how Goyo is doing, and whether they’ve been to this restaurant yet, and so on.

He knows that he himself is the only obstacle in this, but his track record in Rainbow hasn’t been the best and he’s worried the girls will call him out on hitting on them with no intention of starting a relationship. Which wouldn’t actually be far off the mark, unfortunately. Valkyrie is his best bet since they’re thick as thieves, but she’s been side-eyeing him for a while already and he’s pretty sure she suspects something. He hates when she can go ‘I told you so’ and be right about it.

Regardless, he’s going to explode if he can’t talk about Goyo to someone soon, and Vigil will certainly not want to hear about how ticklish his Mexican colleague is.

.

“Meghan, I need to tell you something”, he blurts out, startling his best friend and nearly causing her to drop her beer. They’re on Buck’s balcony, holding on to cans as if they were their lifeline to what little bit of their sanity is left after everyone heard Maverick suggest bodyshots earlier (only half jokingly), and then Castle murdered everyone by showing off photos of his newly adopted puppy. Even Blackbeard was squealing like a little girl. He really should look into adopting a dog himself. He wonders whether Goyo likes dogs.

“Don’t tell me you want to join Sanaa on her odyssey”, Valkyrie interrupts his thoughts, looking worried. “They’re all trying to deter her for a reason, we don’t need you encouraging -”

“What are you talking about?”, he interrupts her, aghast, and once her words have sunk in, he repeats: “No, really, what are you talking about? That sounds amazing. I wanna be a part of it. Where is she going?”

“Craig.”

Odd. Goyo sounds almost the same whenever he’s displeased. Blackbeard should text him about the dog later. “Yes. Where was I?”

“You made a vague threat.”

He blinks at her for a moment, mind blank. Goyo has said before that alcohol causes his brain to misfire, and he’s beginning to believe it. “Oh. Yes. Meghan, I’m dating someone. And don’t be smug, okay? I can’t deal with smug right now.”

Valkyrie’s lips twitch in amusement. “Would you like supportive? That’s great! I’m so happy for you! I hope it’s going wonderful, you really deserve it!”

“You’re the worst”, he informs her, prompting a laugh.

“It’s been a while already, hasn’t it?” He nods. He supposes it’s obvious to anyone who knows him well enough, and Valkyrie certainly does. After all, he can’t stop smiling on some days and must look like a lunatic. Maybe he should send a nice text first so Goyo knows he thought of him. “I figured. How is it going and why is it César?”

He chokes on his beer. She doesn’t even have the grace to look guilty while he’s busy coughing his lungs out, and when he makes an inquisitive sound, she even smirks. It was bad enough to learn that Smoke and Mute found out about their relationship (and he’s still not entirely sure about whether they found out on their own or Goyo helped a bit), and now it turns out Valkyrie knew all along?

“Don’t worry, no one else knows. But neither of you were very subtle about it to me. You kept asking about him, he kept asking about you… plus you’ve been really nice to him recently.”

Oh. He asked about Blackbeard? This is relevant information. He opens his mouth to inquire some more, but Valkyrie adds casually: “And he at least is openly gay. Very open. Remember how he mentioned his male ex-fiancé on the first day? He really didn’t allow for any ambiguity.”

And hold up. Blackbeard's brain struggles to process what it just heard. Wait.

Wait what.

.

There are two cans cooking on the stove.

Blackbeard is failing to grasp reality right now. He dumbly stares at the two unlabelled metal cans sitting in boiling water and doesn’t understand what’s happening. He doesn’t understand much of what’s going on at the moment anyway, and he’s fairly sure it’s not just the alcohol’s fault. The water bubbles happily around the objects, and time and space are collapsing around him.

“Hey, Bee”, comes a familiar voice from behind him and he’s embraced in a tight hug, lips planting themselves on his shoulder a few times before he’s released again. “You’re back early.”

“Jack’s apartment flooded. A few went with him to help, but Meghan dropped me off here. The hell are you making? Tin-flavoured soup?”

Goyo laughs and though the sound would normally flood him with endorphins, right now he just eyes the other man with a frown. “No, it’s dulce de leche.”

Blackbeard tries and fails to put the delicious caramel-like substance in any relation to what’s happening before him, though he does file something away for later perusal: he should ask Goyo to speak more Spanish around him. He might be onto something there. “How?”

“Sweetened condensed milk. When you boil it long enough, it turns into gooey ambrosia. You mentioned how you were looking for new ideas for ice cream – swirl this into anything and blow everyone’s minds.”

Oh. That does sound delicious, and the fact that Goyo is staying up late to do him a favour is also heartwarming, but the question burning on Blackbeard's tongue will not sit idly for a second longer. He asks: “Why did you never tell me of your ex-fiancé?”

Goyo, checking out the timer next to the pot, responds with another question without lifting his gaze: “Oh. Which one?”

He can’t be serious. Blackbeard waits, fully expecting him to be joking, but he seems genuinely surprised at Blackbeard's dumbstruck expression when he finally does look up. “I’ve had a turbulent past involving a few poor decisions”, he admits and something tells Blackbeard there’s a good possibility this is a massive understatement. “Is that a problem?”

Is it? He’s not entirely sure. The fact that he had to hear about it from Valkyrie might be one, and then there’s his crumbling impression of Goyo as someone largely sensible. He comes across as well-mannered, composed, logical – though Blackbeard has noticed most of these waver over time. The deeper he dives, the more of the iceberg he sees. “You just… seemed like someone who has his life together”, he says weakly. Goyo has friends and family who care about him, is comfortable in his own skin, good at his job.

His words are mulled over for a while with pursed lips, until Goyo decides: “I suppose I do. Except for my love life.”

“You did say at one point that all relationships you had were long, meaningful and deep. So I figured…”

“My relationships were mostly great, yes. Anything that doesn’t fall into that category, well”, and Goyo makes an uncertain hand gesture which, once again, fills Blackbeard with a sense of foreboding dread as it screams understatement. “I did start out by paying a guy to fuck me.”

Blackbeard has no clue how to react, and so he chooses to stare at his boyfriend in horror.

“Yeah. Life was tough where I grew up. This super hot straight dude caught wind of me being a reliable source of cigarettes and asked me about it. I convinced him to fuck me for smokes – which I was buying with my allowance money, I think.”

“Allowance”, Blackbeard echoes stupidly. “Wait, how old were you?”

“I think fifteen, why does it matter, Bee?”

“How old was the dude?!”

“Early twenties? Thinking about it, he really should’ve handled his finances better.”

Blackbeard is in shock. “So… he took advantage of you. Lightly said.” Very lightly.

To his utter disbelief, Goyo simply frowns and shakes his head. “What? No. It was my idea. I had to talk him into it.”

“Yeah but – you were a minor. He was an adult, he shouldn’t have -”

“Did you miss the part where he not only sold his body for some cigs but also let a teenager get the better of him? What about that makes it seem like he’d fell any reasonable decisions in his life?”

“Did you report him? Did he get arrested?” He can’t wrap his head around why Goyo seems so calm talking about this.

“Huh? Not for sleeping with me, no. He was a thieving piece of shit though, so he did end up in jail.”

“Stop defending him, do you really think he did nothing wrong?”

Goyo eyes him curiously. “Do you think that he did?”

And of course. Of course he does, it’s not just personal opinion with this kind of shit, it’s a fact that an adult exploited Goyo and how does he not see it? How can he view it any other way? Blackbeard has trouble putting his outrage in words, so he attempts a different angle: “Are you saying you’d be alright with someone else who’s twenty sleeping with a teenager who’s -”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Generally, of course not. But we’re talking about me here. I know what happened. I can assess it from my point of view.”

“But you were too young -”

“You don’t get to rewrite my past”, Goyo interrupts him sharply and so Blackbeard shuts up, dissatisfied. Next to them, the kitchen timer erupts into frantic beeping, prompting Goyo to turn the heat off, pluck the cans out of the pot with a pair of tongs and put them on a wire rack to cool.

Meanwhile, Blackbeard tries to decide whether all this changes how he sees the man before him. He’s not sure.

“Laws are in place for a reason and I’d be the first one to tell any teenager not to do what I did”, Goyo continues, directed at the slightly steaming metal. “But what I did happened and it was what I really wanted at the time. We do stupid things when we’re young. You don’t get to judge me for it. Only I can, and I’m not.”

It’s hard to relate. Blackbeard wouldn’t say he grew up sheltered, but certainly privileged, and though there’s plenty of stuff he did which he’d advise against, there’s none he’d defend like this. Except Goyo might be explaining instead of defending. He refuses to condemn while still being aware of the shady circumstances.

“Look, Bee, no one got hurt. Quite the opposite. Let’s leave it at that and go to bed, hm?” Goyo kisses him briefly before exiting the kitchen, already pulling his shirt over his head and exposing his toned back in the process. The sight awakens a strong urge to touch, but not in a sexual way – Blackbeard is filled with a comfortable sense of belonging instead. He knows what Goyo’s smooth skin feels like and that he’s free to caress it as much as he wants. It’s one of his favourite perks of any relationship: being allowed to show physical affection.

A little lost and still dazed from their previous topic, he trails after his lover and watches Goyo strip down to his underwear in the bedroom. “I wasn’t planning on going to sleep immediately”, he says, knowing full well he’ll climb in after Goyo regardless.

“We don’t have to sleep.”

Blackbeard stares at him blankly, thoughts continuously trying to process their conversation.

“I’ll read a bit and you can text some people. You told Meghan about us, didn’t you? She sent me a single message an hour ago which just said good luck.”

It seems this would be all Goyo has to say on the matter of his sexual past for now, and Blackbeard belatedly realises that he avoided mentioning his ex-fiancé (ex-fiancés??) entirely, so he should prepare for a similar talk in the near future. It’s become a habit of theirs which he genuinely doesn’t like – they address a topic, argue, and then drop it without a satisfying conclusion, without being on the same page. Most of the time, it ends up merely postponing the issue as it inevitably comes up again, though he does suppose there’s some merit in being able to think it through on his own before tackling it again. Both of them can be quite stubborn, and a break to sort their thoughts (and in Blackbeard's case, engage some outside advice) is beneficial.

So maybe it’s not so bad to not ruin the night with something they’ll ultimately refuse to agree on, and instead cuddle in bed.

Goyo becomes a temporary magnet in these instances, impossible to pry off, and Blackbeard has no choice but to hold him tight and bask in his body heat. Not like he’d want anything other than exactly this.

“Was it scary?”, Goyo mutters into his hair while stroking his back. They’ll separate soon and wind down in their own way before sleeping, but right now they just enjoy each other’s presence.

“She already knew I’m bi. She likes you and I trust her. Why would it be scary?”

“Still. It’s fine if it was.”

Blackbeard is silent for a minute. “A bit”, he admits and feels Goyo’s lips stretch into a smile.

“I’m glad it seemed to have gone well. And I’m proud of you.”

And this, this is why Blackbeard basically fawns over this bastard all day in his head. His heart throbs and he pulls Goyo even closer, relieved that the prior revelations apparently don’t make a difference between them. Goyo is right, the past can’t be changed, but neither does it need to dictate the present. “It did go well, she said you’d be good for me on the way here. She also mentioned you asking about me.”

Goyo chuckles. “You know, the first thing I ever asked about you was whether you’ve got a wife.”

And it’s a relief to hear that not only Blackbeard used to be terrible at reading him.

#rainbow six siege #blackbeard #goyo #blackbeard/goyo #fanfic #thido #it's so much fun writing from bb's perspective #he sees himself not at all like goyo does #and vice versa #both are convinced they're the reasonable one in this

[peachymess]

On Eren

If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Snk, you keep me up at night. It’s 7am and I can’t sleep. It just hurts too much. All the fears hitting me at once. I need the next chapter, just to further the in-verse present time. Yet at the same time, I can barely read another word or I might perish.

Listen, Eren might have had a very black-and white sort of tunnel vision all his life. He may always have been rash and headstrong and quick to decide what he deems as right and wrong. And he might come down on what he deems “injustice” very hard. But that’s not all there’s been to him. He’s also always cared about strangers in need, his friends, the freedom we’re all born with and deserve to have. He cries for people’s fates, he smiles at others’ joy.

He felt hate, yes, but he also felt love. I’m just gonna go ahead and pick a side. I refuse to accept that we’re meant to land on the far-evil side of his spectrum. If his plan is exactly what he says it is, I actually accept it as IC, because given Eren’s circumstances, we can understand what lead him to become this consumed with hate and misguided action. However, even so, I don’t think that’s where he’ll be by the end of this story. He’s swinging, and he’s gonna land somewhere closer to the middle. I’m not talking redeemed, I’m just talking understood and hopefully reawakened from his hate-consumed state - unless we’re just gonna have a straight up “this had to be done for best ending” twisteroo.

The thing is. If his plan is what he says it is, it’s nuts. But it’s *so* nuts that it’s... almost cartoony. Because not only do we get the plan like he says, it also means that the bleak as hell narrative Mikasa gave this chapter, is meant to be correct. Paraphrasing to a dangerous degree, we can sum it up like this: “Eren is a monster and I’m starting to realize he didn’t become one; he’s always been one”. This, canonized, would erase the weight of any smile, care and love Eren’s shown to give from earlier years. It would mean that beneath care for his friends and laughter at the dinner table, his thoughts and goals were so ugly and selfish that it even at that point outweighed the “shallow” good he projected into the world. Not only does that set the bar extremely low for what people we are meant to consider “evil”, but it also flips the script of the entire story to be one of hatred and fake beauty from start to finish. If we’re told Eren’s meant to be evil masked as good from the get-go, 1. If we accept it, every happy interaction looks empty and pointless as hell and strips the story of its stakes to some degree, or 2. We realize it honestly doesn’t fit because his “good” feelings being genuine is why entire plot points work and the story developed in the way it did.

What I’m trying to say is this: Mikasa’s temporary conclusion that Eren might have been a monster* all along, isn’t correct (and it’s meant to be seen as a wrong read imo). But if his plan is what he says it is, he IS one, thus her conclusion would be correct. Which it isn’t.

Side note: while I believe Eren’s plan and Mikasa’s conclusion need to coincide (plan true = M conclusion true VS plan fake = M conclusion fake), there is an argument to be had that Mikasa could be wrong about Eren always having been a monster while Eren still truly having become one by this point in time. But I don’t believe so. For instance: if Eren wasn’t a monster before but has become one now, Mikasa’s closing conclusion (him being one NOW) is still correct - but the reasoning/buildup used to arrive at that conclusion, is wrong. It would be like solving a mathematical problem incorrectly but arriving at the right answer by luck. She’s asking herself if, looking back, she can actually see the seeds of his true form, where she previously saw him through rose tainted goggles. But if he truly was a good boy before, it would be unfair (and a waste of time) to put on the table, a plot point that’s synthetically explained/constructed, when there is a true calculation/formula to the conclusion since (if) it’s correct. And the other way around, if her conclusion is right, but the plan is fake, the “monstrosity” she’s caused to reflect on, is fake to begin with, so how can she still be right he’s a monster?

So, back on track, I don’t feel like Eren is meant to end on this 100% villain note. His plan of genocide, his on-the-nose villain final titan face, PLUS Mikasa’s “sike, he’s ALWAYS been a monster”... it’s just too much evil. Especially for a story like SNK. It feels to me, like this is the “the night is darkest before the dawn” part of the story, where we go from “he’s a pure boy”** to “my god... no... he’s actually a demon boy, god help us”. Mikasa’s narrative says this, and Armin is having that exact themed melt-down when his desire to see Eren as good, physically stops being compatible with what he sees around him. They’re both so scared of acknowledging Eren’s flawed, that having to accept it, initially feels like a much bigger deal, a much longer fall from grace. So we swing with them, from one outer point to the other. Panic mode... but it won’t end there. It’s too cartoony, too black/white still. Looking back, the good times they shared, they were real. And the pain he’s later caused, is also real. But he’s not setting out to do damage for the sake of damage. He’s not evil to the core. I refuse to believe that’s what we’re meant to be left with at the end; redeemable or not, his goal isn’t pain. A lie is best wrapped in truths, and Isayama is fueling our own fear of Eren’s monstrous side by making us do callbacks to things in the past that could be seen as seeds of evil. And to a degree he’s right. Eren is violent. To be honest, it never say well with me how he killed those men at age nine. I understood the “the end justifies the means” aspect of it, and I think that’s why I was able to let it slide despite the discomfort. Yet it never quite... fell to rest. A nine year old being able to stab other humans to death with no remorse and such violent words... should a nine year old child be able to do that, even if it’s for the greater good? I’m sure I’m not alone. And Isayama intended it this way, to be able to do this callback. It spreads uncertainty. You start to buy into it... Becayse it’s true to some degree: it’s messed up. Your regular kid couldn’t do something like that... But it’s not proof that Eren is evil through and through. It’s just presented in such a way that it makes for a compelling argument. And in the heat of the moment, it provides the “holy shit fuck” the story needs to make the stakes as severe as possible. Taking a step back, I refuse to believe it’s a true revelation, but an intensional gaslighting of his person, presented so we’ll swallow the bait. Eren having always been a monster incubating, is too cartoony to be the final note.

So the question becomes: is the plan true or false? Depending on the answer, we’ll have three different proceedings. In neither scenario, he’s means to be the evil monster he’s seen as right now, though. If the plan is true, he’s become this way through being misguided and lost in perpetual hate and pain caused by all the knowledge and visions. With this backdrop, EMA/SC will have to either take him out despite realizing/finding out the pain that corrupted him - so not hating him but having to end him all the same. Or, they manage to win through to him by countering the hate with love (he could still die though, we might be past the point of no return, ngl).

On the other hand, if Eren’s been playing the long game and about to throw them for a loop, the cast members will all learn this in time and come to accept the bittersweet outcome that after all will be the best ending they can ask for in a world with so much hate. Eren can still die, I’m not delusional (but here’s hoping he won’t).

*when I use the term “monster” - and “evil”/“villain” - I’m pinning that to a personality that intends harm with the end goal of harm. Just because he’s not a monster (if this turns out to be the case), that doesn’t mean he isn’t still in the wrong, antagonistic, irredeemable for actions done in the name of good, etc. This ramble meta is about Eren being a conscious agent of pain versus a bringer of pain yet an agent of “good” (not considering his performance as an agent of such).

**He was already tainted from the attack in Liberio, so while I say “pure boy”, I mean in terms of us/the characters still seeing him as originally good (possibly - but “I refuse to believe it” - bad).

Edit: while I say at the start that if the plan is true, he’s a monster, and later say it could be true and he’s still not a monster for it, what I mean is this: if the plan is true in the sense that he knows how evil and selective it is, and will fight for it till the end, then yes, he turned out to be the monster that Mikasa correctly realized him to be. If, on the other hand, erens goal isn’t the pain but the greater good, he’s a misguided “good boy” who caused more bad than good out of mistake. If this is the case, I also believe he will realize it before the end, to swing that morality pendulum back towards the middle. Hope that clears it up. It’s about intent.

Thus concludes my late night/early morning rambles. I’ve said it before, I’m fine with anyone calling me a naive idiot for still holding out hope, but I’m just not accepting that Eren going full Satan and us accepting that “surprise, he always was Satan” is what Isayama wants to leave us with.

Isayama say sike right now.

#snk #snk 123 #eren yeager #snk meta #snk 123 meta #’you never go full retard’ to quote a good movie lol #save me jesus

[m-oana-archive]

Tease (James x reader smut)

Summary: At Alice’s birthday party, you decide to tease your boyfriend James.  However, as the night progresses, you realize those kinds of actions do not come without consequences.

Words: 6,746

Warnings: smut, dom/sub, public teasing, name calling, explicit language, orgasm denial 

Requested by @siriuslyimmoony using the following 

14: "You look amazing tonight." // 23: “Wanna make you feel good.” // 43: “You have no idea how much I want you right now.” 

read on AO3 | Read other requested work | Masterlist 

The decision started before any stroking of fingers or flirtatious glances that were detectable by James despite the booming music and blaring lights in the nightclub.  Certainly, it went further back then getting ready for the evening.  It was even made before agreeing with Marlene’s suggestion of going clubbing after Alice’s official “birthday,” with all the niceties and the intricately decorated cake and the neatly gift-wrapped presents.  If you were being honest, the decision was made the moment you bought the dress you were wearing that night.  Even on the mannequin it was short and tight; Remus’ suggestion of you trying it on was a joke more than a serious suggestion.  But then Sirius—you, Sirius and Remus went shopping together monthly—started dating you lightly and behind laughter, so you ripped a hanger off the rack and stormed into the nearest dressing room to try it on.  

It was just as tight and short on you as it was on the mannequin, so much so you almost didn’t come out when Remus asked to see.  You probably wouldn’t even have left the dressing room if it weren't for Sirius’ begging becoming embarrassing and unbearable.

Knowing Sirius and Remus would rake their eyes up and down your frame didn’t make your cheeks any less red when it happened.  However, not knowing Remus would say, “I’d fuck you if I weren’t gay,” didn’t make your cheeks any less red when it happened, either.

“Remus,” you hissed, glancing over at Sirius worriedly.  But your eyes weren’t met with any underlying of jealousy—you knew Sirius too well for him to hide it from you—but rather a think smirk and a nod.  You almost would have preferred anger more than Sirius agreeing with his boyfriend about wanting to fuck you if they weren’t already doing so to one another.

And then the idea emerged verbally for the first time out of Sirius’ mouth: “You know, I bet you can use this dress to tease our Jamie quite a bit.”

It was so devious that only Sirius could have come up with it, so devious that you felt guilty while buying the dress regardless of the check out lady continuously telling you how popular it was.  “It’s not for that, Sirius,” you sneered when you noticed him eyeing the shopping bag for the twentieth time.  But there must have been a weakness in your voice you couldn’t cover over: Sirius just winked at you in response, causing you to flush in defeat.

Your voice had to have the same weakness in it the night of Alice’s party, too; Sirius and Remus exchanged a look when you entered Alice’s living room changed from your pressed shirt and rolled-up jeans into your dress accusatory enough to cause you to shout, “It’s not that, I swear!”  An exclamation that was proven false seconds later when you turned your head to find James standing in the kitchen, mouth moving in conversation with Marlene but eyes completely on you.  If it weren’t for the lapse in your words, the strike of pride that ran through you seeing James so obviously interested in the promiscuity of your outfit was more than enough to expose that you were lying.

Because Sirius was right.  Because you had thought the exact same thing before even putting the dress on.  You just didn’t know if you could ever live down the embarrassment of trying on a dress like that in front of friends like those.  Though Sirius’ begging to see you in it was a good enough alibi for trying it on, you were correct in your assumption of unparalleled embarrassment when purchasing it later and wearing it now.

But James’ eyes followed you as you moved across the room, and that was enough.

Your heels were too high to be natural and too slim to be supportive.  Not wanting to seem too eager, you slipped them on carefully, making sure your legs were appropriately crossed during the whole endeavor, for half of teasing is knowing you have something to hide.

James had never understood that concept before.  His genuinity was one of the things you loved most about him, one of the things that made him so refreshing to be around.  Whereas other guys at Hogwarts flaunted themselves with a cool and reserved indifference, as if expecting whoever they were trying to impress to not realize they were trying to impress them, James’ intentions were always relentlessly—and probably accidentally—obvious.  James told you once girls of his past were not impressed by this, had felt too abruptly approached, making your jaw drop.  “It’s not cocky, it’s endearing,” you’d reassure him, turning his self-assured speech into incoherent mumbling (which was, though you’d never admit it, even more endearing).  

Though the translucence of the self-assuredness of his actions allowed for the witty playfulness that passed between the two of you, so casual now you barely had to think before a lighthearted jab left your mouth, it did restrict one thing: James was helpless when it came to teasing outside of the bedroom.  His honesty got the better of him; while his words and actions were textbook definition teasing, James couldn’t leave behind his hallmark obviousness.  But to tease is to be innocent amongst committing the crime, acting as if nothing at all is happening even though your hands are in private parts doing private things in public places and you know exactly what it’s doing.  And maybe he could use his charm to brush past Dumbledore when getting reprimanded or McGonagall when coming home past curfew, but he couldn’t quite stomach the forced indifference necessary to not expose his intentions to you.

So, the moment you bought the dress, you knew you were taking matters into your own hands.

“Well you look like you’re ready to destroy some men's’ egos,” Peter said, sitting down next to you.  Considering the casualness of his dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves and black jeans, you couldn’t necessarily reciprocate the comment (even though James was wearing almost the same thing, only his shirt was maroon and unbuttoned to reveal the white t-shirt underneath, and you were having as much difficulty keeping your eyes off of James as he was looking at anything except you).  

Not meaning it fully, you glared at Peter.  “You make me sound like I’m the devil.”

“Well, you are a murderer,” he countered, making you roll your eyes and go back to tucking in the strap of your heel.  “I mean, have you seen James?  I don’t think he’s breathed since you walked in.  Give it a few more minutes and he’ll be gone.”

“Please don’t joke about my boyfriend dying at my expense, Peter.  I love him very much.”

“So you’re saying this is a totally normal thing for you to wear to a club?”  You could feel how accusatory his glance was despite the fact you were still looking at your shoes; so, when you glanced up at his face, the tautness of his lips and sternness of eyes were no surprise.

You gave him a watery smile.  “I’ve never been to a club.”

“Still.  You’re not fooling any of us.”

“I know,” you breathed, standing up again now that your shoes were more than strapped around your ankles.  “But the only person I need to fool is James.”

“You’re going to Hell,” Peter called after you as you began walking towards James, who was doing an unexpectedly poor job at seeming unbothered by your outfit.  

“Then I’ll meet you there!”  Your voice was rough there, accusatory; it automatically switched tone the minute you met James, becoming intentionally soft and wistful through much effort.  It was almost as light as the brush of your fingertips against his arm, which James nearly toppled into.  

Marlene gave you a playful once-over before whistling.  “Be careful, James.  I could always take Y/N from you when you’re not looking.”

“Yeah, right.”  James had tried to scoff it, you knew, but he was too breathless to do so.  It took an insane amount of effort to swallow down the sly smile you wanted to give; you had to focus all of your energy on giving James a concerned look with wide eyes full of worry.

Comfortingly, you stroked his arm more obviously up and down while asking, “Are you alright, James?” with the same softness of your greeting.

“‘Course,” he responded with a smile so thin it barely counted as one and once again you had to hold back yours.

But you weren’t letting James go that easily: if Peter was correct in where you were going to end up, you wanted to at least have as much fun as possible while your time on Earth lasted.  So you gazed longingly at James’ skin while saying, “You’re looking a little pale,” before turning your head to Marlene and asking her if she thought the same.  She nodded, probably because she didn’t trust herself to speak (having already figured out what was going on, she was biting her lip, struggling to not let a smirk break across her face).

“I mean, look at this,” you continued, adjusting your body slightly so you could face James at an angle while dipping your hand between his chest and the top seam of his t-shirt.  Though your demand was focused at Marlene, you felt James’ eyes following your hand as well, as well as the shallowness of his breathing.  “His skin is almost the same color as his shirt!” you wailed, feigning concern.

“Maybe you two should just head home,” Marlene suggested, voice raspy from holding back laughter.

For the first time, you looked deeply into James’ eyes, asking him silently if he wanted to do that, unaware if he knew what going home actually went and letting that lack of reciprocation help aid the necessary innocence in your glance.

“No, no,” James finally answered, shaking his head rapidly.  “I couldn't miss Alice’s birthday and seeing Remus attempt to dance.”

“Hey!” Remus yelled from somewhere else in the room.

“Well let’s head out then; it’s already getting pretty late,” Marlene said.  “Hey, everyone, we’re heading out now!”  She grabbed her bag and your’s from the coat rack before opening the door.  “After you,” she said and winked.  It took you a moment to catch on—you originally thought she was just winking because of the situation in general—but then you remembered James’ body being ever so slightly behind yours, so sped a few steps up slightly as you walked through the door so he had a perfect view of your ass.

That was truly your only lapse of the evening; all of your other actions were meticulously planned out and effortlessly executed.  The way you forced a topple in your heels while walking on the sidewalk so you had an excuse to plaster James’ hands on your waist to help steady you. The “accidental” spilling of your drink so you could do the cliche drop at the waist to clean it up.  The way you pulled James into you, making his head duck down into your chest to answer your question of if the perfume you were wearing—one he got you for your birthday last year—was still able to be detected amongst the smell of alcohol and sweat that permeated the club.  The way you brushed your lips ever so slightly against his ear to whisper in it, “I think you look cute,” after Sirius gave him shit for “dressing down” from what he was wearing earlier.  The way you used having too much to drink (even though you had secretly passed most of your alcohol to Remus) as an excuse to lean into James at every possible moment, to slide your hands between his thighs at the bar booth you guys found without being outwardly reprimanded.

“Y/N,” he hissed at you while you faked a drunken giggle.

“What?”  Instead of an answer with his voice, your question was responded with James’ eyes, which glanced quickly down at where your hand rested then back up to your face.  “Just keeping myself steady.  You’re sitting too close for me to put my hand on the seat, the seat… thingy…cushion!”

It was planned perfectly: when James looked to his right hoping to slide over slightly, he was met with Peter’s frame, which was squeezed too closely between him and Remus on Peter’s right to be able to budge.  The excuse was formed; your hand stayed.

“At least keep it lower to my knees,” James begged with the slightest hint of a grumble.  You weren’t sure what he was frustrated with: himself, the fact that the booths at this club weren’t big enough to fit five people on one bench with room to breathe, or you.

Automatically, you obliged, but allowed your torso to fall forwards as your hand slid towards his knee.  Quickly, James grabbed your hands under the table and forced you back up, breathing rapidly.  “You alright, Y/N?”

“Definitely,” you said, nodding.  “I just wanted to show you I’m good at listening to instructions.”

James looked back down at his lap—most likely to hide a blush, you reasoned—making the “fuck,” he whispered almost inaudible to you.  But he didn’t make another attempt to move your hands.

You did, though, and maybe too brazenly; considering the straightforwardness of the intention of what you had said, barriers between obvious and oblivious were as hazy as ever.  Of course, the way you had said it—mouth smiling proudly as if there was nothing to be ashamed of; eyes not containing the slightest glimmer of suggestiveness—was innocent, but the words were enough to send you to Hell, as Peter suggested.  But that didn’t make you stop.  Breaking that barrier, crossing that line, those were the next steps to torture.  And by torture you meant variating between sliding the heel of your hand and one finger across James’ inner thigh, going up and down and up and down, watching his fingers coil into a fist and lips part in small puffs of breath all of the while.  

James’ hand only had the capability of unfurling for one thing: a mug of beer Sirius was sliding over to him.  As he tipped it up to take a sip, you ungraciously let your fingers drift from their normal path, going to rest on the zipper of his jeans.

Within milliseconds James was choking on the beer.

To skirt assumptions—even though everyone knew what kind of game you were playing except James—you quickly brought that same hand up to his shoulder, asking, “Are you alright, James?”  He nodded while coughing, lowering the mug to the table all the while.  Though your focus was only on him, you couldn’t not feel the smug looks being sent your way from everyone else at the table.  

“That’s not even a Lager,” Peter criticized.  He then took a long chug of his beer, which was, knowing Peter’s order by heart, a Lager.  Chuckles filled the space across the table in response.

“Well excuse me, Wormy, but I think I’m coming down with something so even this is a bit strong,” James shot back.  Peter raised his arms quickly in a faux surrender.

But not everyone sodded off so quickly: “A little tense, aren’t we, James?” Sirius teased, earning him a light smack on the back by Remus’ hand—which was draped across his shoulders previously—and a glare from James.  

“Well I’m getting shit for coughing even though I just wanted to come out and have a good time with my mates to celebrate Alice’s birthday, so excuse me for being upset,” James said.  “In fact, I think my meds are wearing off, so it’s time I get back.”  Then, he turned his glance to you.  Even though you had been in the club all night, your vision having adjusted to the dimness hours ago, James’ eyes seemed darker than usual.  “Coming, Y/N?”

You outstretched your hand before verbally responding, which James took as the approval you meant by it.  Therefore, as he pulled himself off of the bench, you went with him, allowing the momentum to crash your bodies together ever so slightly, landing your lips near his ear, in which you whispered, “I’ll always come for you.”  Loosing his balance slightly, James almost landed back on the seat he began in.  But with gusto he kept upright, pulling you away from the table without looking back, leaving you to turn your head and say goodbye to your friends when they were still in earshot.

The walking—or more like stomping, in James’ part—continued until you were outside of the club, in the same nearby alley you apparated into previously that night.  He still wouldn’t look at you, so you said, “You know, I don’t think it’s very nice that you didn’t say bye to our friends,” resulting in the attention you sought after as he pulled your arm towards him while turning around, leaving the two of you nearly pressed up against one another.

“I don’t think it’s very nice that you decided tease me in front of them,” he spat back.

You took a small step back so James could see it when you put your hands on your hips.  “So you did know I was teasing?”

“Merlin, of course.”  James’ hand was running through the front of his hair, fingers lacing between curls.  “I’m not an idiot.”

“Then why’d you let me do it for so long?”

James’ glance met the sidewalk automatically, his hand sliding further back to rub his neck nervously.  “Just… you know… I mean, I didn’t want to call attention… didn’t want…”

“You liked it,” you smiled.  It wasn’t even smug or sly or self-assured; for a moment, as James pulled you from your friends, you were worried you would be brought outside to be genuinely yelled at due to discomfort based on something more than just being turned on.  Not only did James register your teasing as what it was, but he enjoyed it.  For the first time that night, the pride you felt was without any traces of sadism.

James scoffed, eyes still avoiding yours.  “Of course; I’d be an idiot not to.  You, in that—I mean, you look amazing tonight—saying the things you were saying, touching me… it makes me want to try it out for myself.”

“Teasing?” you questioned, earning a nod from James.  “You’ve tried it before.  And—I mean this with all the love and adoration in the world—it didn’t go well.”

“Maybe it will be different this time.”

James’ eyes finally met yours; therefore, you were able to narrow yours into a glance of challenge as you asked, “How so?”

“Because,” he said, taking a step towards you, “You will have earned it this time.”  Then, without a question or affirmation, he grabbed your hand and apparated both of you into his bedroom, lit only by the glimmers of starlight pooling in from uncurtained windows.

Half of teasing is acting like you have something to hide, and James had never understood that concept before.  His genuinity was one of the things you loved most about him, one of the things that made him so refreshing to be around.  Whereas other guys at Hogwarts flaunted themselves with a cool and reserved indifference, as if expecting whoever they were trying to impress to not realize they were trying to impress them, James’ intentions were always relentlessly—and probably accidentally—obvious.  Him telling you he was teasing you before doing so was an example of such.  But he wasn’t even teasing: the first thing James did when you arrived in his bedroom was push you onto his bed and kiss you like his lips were a weapon and yours were a target.  Propped up on all fours top you, it didn't seem like there was enough lack to turn into yearning to constitute this as teasing.

A few minutes into it, James pulled up, lips full and parted to make way for his panting breath.  You watched him as his breathing steadied alongside your’s (James had a habit of biting your bottom lip in ways that left you gasping).  After his breathing was no longer audible, he said something too himself too quietly to be discernable, then leaned in once more.

And maybe the entire point was to show you everything than give you a fraction; if that was James’ intent, you had to give the award for best tease of the night to him already, even though he was minutes in and you were hours out.  Because the kiss he gave you next was so light you instinctively craned your neck upwards, causing him to pull back.  There was enough smugness on his face for both sides of this war combined.

You began to sit up but he pushed you down gently, enough that you could have fought back if you wanted to but you didn’t, you didn’t.  Wasn’t this one of the signs of victory, this mutual reciprocation?  Your chance to lay back and feel the specific origin point of every ripple of arousal and deal with it?  That and the swelling of those ripples to full waves that submerge you entirely?  Isn’t this what you asked for?

James took your hands in one of his, lifted them up over your head, and pressed both against the mattress firmly.  He kissed you lightly once more; barely a kiss, more of a brush than anything, before asking, his lips still against yours’, “Is this okay?” as if knowing what questions you had been asking yourself.

Unsure of if you could formulate the correct sounds to mean, “yes,” you nodded, and that was enough.  James kept your hands in place and his body placed above yours’ with just enough airspace that no matter how high you thrust your hips up, your body never got the friction it was beginning to crave.  You’d whisper his name to him against his lips, a silent plead for something more than hips met by air and lips met by a barely extinguishable press of another pair, but he never obliged.

“Please, James,” you whispered, letting your head fall back, tired of keeping it upright for the kisses-not-kisses.  Even though it was just as feathery, the touch of his lips against your now-exposed neck made you shiver and repeat, more fervently this time, “Please.”

“What?” he asked behind a smirk so strong you could hear it dripping in his voice.  “What are you asking me for?”

“Anything.”  At the same time it was an oversimplification, it wasn’t: you literally would have found anything other than what he was doing at the moment forceful enough to leave you trembling.

James finally let his hips dip down, just slightly, just enough to hear the breathy moan you made in response, before lifting them back up.  “Do you want that?”

“Yes,” you groaned.  It was loud before it got swallowed into James’ mouth; out of nowhere he leaned down and kissed you again with the same fire from before.  His tongue was a flame and your bones must have been wax as you melted under the sensation.

“How about that?” he asked as he pulled back.  You nodded, too breathless to use words.  The response sent him into laughter.  “Which one, then?”

“Anything,” you responded, more sternly this time.  “Both,” you suggested, more apprehensively.

James sat back on his heels.  His head was tilted, as if in thought, as if the decision hadn’t already been made.  “Seems like a tall order from someone who teased me all night.  But rightfully slutty.”  For a moment, he paused, looking down at your eyes, his dark and unusually stern yet wide in curiosity.  It took you too long to register the fact that he was acting for permission; you realized he must have not noticed the small lift of your hips when he accused you of being a slut.

“Call me that again.”  You didn’t mean it to be as erotic as it was, but James moaned at your request.  

“Fuck,” he groaned, finally caving in and pressing his body and mouth against yours without hesitation.  Your legs and lungs faltered underneath the roll of his hips, the force of his kiss.  Then, out of nowhere (but if it was, you weren’t sure: by this point, James had repeated the motion a few times) James leapt off of you back into the original position, pressing your hands down more brutal than before.  “Was that enough?”

“More,” you panted.

He tisked his tongue, shook his head.  “Nope.  You don’t get to call the shots here.  Sluts get what they are given and don’t complain.  Understood?”  When you merely nodded in response, James lowered his face and voice, saying, “Answer me when I talk to you.”  You weren’t sure if it was the rasp he had developed or the proximity of his breath to your ear, but you trembled visibly.

“I understand,” you responded after your body had absorbed the shiver.  

“Good,” James said, leaning down and kissing your lips lightly.  “That was good.  And do you know what good girls deserve?”

“Rewards?” you mused.

James smiled.  “Exactly.”

But your brows were furrowed as James began adjusting his position, moving back slightly to begin taking off your pants.  “I thought I was a slut,” you said.

You didn't think it was possible, but James’ smile became even more sinful.  “You can be a slut and a good girl.”  Then, he lifted your dress up your legs, following with removing your panties with one elegant and strong motion before climbing back up your legs, parting them, and saying with his mouth close enough to your inner thighs you could feel his breath against your clit, “You can be my slut and my good girl.  My good little slut.”

You didn’t need the swipe of his tongue across your folds to make you whimper; his words were far enough.  

They echoed across the room, not leaving your ears, mixing with the sounds of your moans, the “fuck”’s, the, “yes”’s, the “James”’s, the incomprehensible mashing up of all three when you couldn’t decide what you wanted to say but knew you had to keep making some sort of noise.  But nothing you sounded was even half as erotic as James’ moans directly into your heat, making you lift your hips up again and again even though his hands were pressing down on them and keeping them in place, because sluts get what they are given and don’t complain.  They don’t complain even when their boyfriend swipes his tongue against their clit so lightly it's just enough to spark desire but not fulfill it, even when he pulls back and exhales onto their pussy to make them want more even though they know they can’t ask.  

So somewhere along the lines with your hands clutching and clawing at bedsheets—James had made it very clear: to become “good” you weren’t to direct him with your hands— you found yourself panting James’ name and his name alone, because that was the closest you could get to asking that was allowed.  Perhaps he thought you were egging him on; after hearing your breathlessness, James would begin eating you out with slightly more force for a handful of seconds, then released back again as if recovering for the temporary lapse in not teasing you, in letting your words get the better of him.  Though you assumed he thought this was a mistake, the somewhat accidental shift in speeds left you a trembling mess each time he’d slow down after a period of recklessness.  

The change in pacing messed with your body’s ability to anticipate what was coming next, including the rise to orgasm you barely caught, choking out to James, “I’m gonna… I’m gonna.”

Then, he stopped.

Your body undulated under the lack of sensation, trying to find something to help you ride out your orgasm.  But James was faster still, pressing all of his weight through his hands which were still on your hips, thus restricting you from moving as you needed to.  Against its will, your body swallowed down the ebbs of its pleasure.

Before you could complain, James spoke from above you.  “Do you really think you’ve earned that?” he asked, head tilting.  You swore in that moment that he invented smugness.

“No?” you offered.  You weren’t used to this; typically, sex between you and James involved equal effort, arousal, and playing fields.  Just like his lapse in letting your voice fuel his thunder, doubt from inexperience in this filled your response.

James seemed to know where he was going, though.  “And why not?”  

“Because I’m a slut?” you offered once more.

James laughed and it didn’t fit the space, was too genuine and full-bodied and full of warmth, not heat.  “That’s not false,” he snickered, and you blushed for the first time that evening, seeing him come back to himself for but a moment.  “I have another question: how long did you tease me for?”

Your heart sank.  “All night.”

The grin returned.  Even though it didn’t fit his normal personality, the way you guys were used to having sex, it still sent chills through you for a reason you couldn’t quite explain.

“So, Y/N,” James cooed, “What makes you think I’m not going to do the same?”

You wanted to argue that your teasing was different, that though it was long and outstretched, ruthless in its timeline, it wasn’t ruthless in its execution.  That the most you had done to James was rub him over his jeans, which was relatively mild (especially considering Sirius and Remus were sitting across the table, who you knew from stories had done a lot worse in a lot more exposure).  But something in you allowed the complaint to die.  You assumed it was the same part of you that was, unabashedly, loving this.  The part that didn't care that you didn’t just come, the part that got close to doing so because James was calling you a slut, the part of you that wanted to be one.

So you let James continue, continue by inserting his fingers inside of you, one by one, torturously slow.  He spent so much time on the first, moving it in and out so lightly it barely constituted as a thrust.  And he must have realized that what he was doing previously with eating you out—that variation in tempo—was what got you so close to the edge, because he started doing it with his fingers, too.  The deliberateness of the repetition made you wonder if he had known what he was doing all along.  The pleasure of the repetition restricted you the physical ability to form the question coherently; all you could find the words for was screaming out praise for James.

“There, yes, there.”  Your back was arched impossibly high from the lack of ability to thrust your hips.

“You like my fingers in your tight hole?” James growled.  All you could do was nod and shiver.  “So much of a slut that this gets you off?  You don’t even need my dick.”

Once again, you wanted to argue, but the combination of James’ words and actions and a well-timed press of his thumb against your clit caused your body to do exactly what James had expected.  Yet again, within the span of less than ten minutes, your body convulsed and was ready to come.  

Unfortunately, yet again, within the span of less than ten minutes, James pulled back right before you were going to release.

Your head was spinning in the best way possible, your body aching but wonderfully so.  “God, James…” you moaned, unsure if it was a complaint, a thanks, or somewhere in between the two.

“What, you think you earned it?” James accused.  “You haven’t even sucked my dick yet.”

“Fuck.”

James readjusted so he was supporting his body over yours again.  It was the first time you had seen his whole face at once for a while.  Even though, as he so graciously explained, you hadn’t touched him yet, his eyes were still dark and his lips swollen and slightly parted.  The sight made you groan lowly.

“What?” James asked, leaning down further, so he was talking up against your lips again.  “Does that get you off?  The thought of sucking my dick?  Are you such a slut for being full you’ll come from that, too?”

A whimper was your only reply.  James’ breath travelled across your face and rested against your ear, making you shiver.

“Are you gonna beg for it, slut?  Beg for my cock in your mouth?”

Teeth bit down on the shell of your ear as you moaned out, “Please.”

“Please what?”

You had no idea where the words came from, but they left your parted mouth as naturally as anything else you had ever said.  “Please fill my mouth with your thick cock.  I need it.  Please let me be a good slut for you and suck your dick.”

“Shit,” James swore, unbuttoning his pants without further hesitation.  He undressed in a whirlwind, making you realize for the first time that he wasn’t naked.  You would have felt guilty if the dick that sprang out of his briefs wasn’t as hard as it was regardless of not being touched.  Or if he didn’t have his dick in your mouth within seconds, his thighs spread over your face in a position you had never been in before, but you found favoritism in within seconds from the way you could see James’ thighs tremble and his face scrunch in the makings of moans.

After a few minutes, James leaned his body forwards slightly, pressing his hands against the headboard of his bed to begin fucking your mouth more earnestly.  “Fuck, Y/N.  Fuck, fucking shit, your mouth is so tight.  Feels so good.  Such a good slut for me.”  As a response you moaned onto his cock.

“Shit, I want to fuck you now.  Wanna make you feel good.” James said, pulling out of your mouth.  “But you’ve got to earn it still.”

“How?” you asked.  For the first time, the question wasn’t full of wonderment, but desperation, a readiness to do whatever required for James.

As if catching on to the tone shift, James’ mouth curved into a cheeky grin.  “Well, I rode you, so now, you ride me.”

Unceremoniously, James plopped down from above you to besides you, shimmying down so his head rested comfortably on the pillows.  As you climbed on top of him, he wordlessly summoned a condom and some lube, spreading both across his cock.  Therefore, as you lowered yourself down, you thought he was ready; the, “Wait!” he yelled out proved otherwise.  Obediently, you paused exactly in place, causing James to snicker.

“You can sit down on my lap,” he offered with a startling amount of gentleness.  You did, so confused you weren’t aroused by the hardness of his cock finally being near your pussy.  Without warning and with similar carefulness, James began lifting your dress off of your body, followed by unhooking the bra underneath.  Both ended up thrown on the floor by the bedside.  

James let his hands trail around your breasts, cupping them, flicking nipples a bit, ghosting over skin so gently you couldn’t help but arch into it.  Whenever you did, of course, James retracted as a silent form of reprimand.  That didn’t stop him from breathlessly whispering, “You’re so fucking gorgeous, you know that?”

“James…” you barely whispered.

“I mean it.  Such a goddamned hot slut.  You have no idea how much I want you right now.”

Then, with more urgency and a roll of the hips, “James!”

“You want it?” James asked again, even though he knew the answer, clarifying what “it” was with a strong thrust of his hips, even though you knew what it meant.  Compliantly, you nodded.  “Earn it, then.”

Taking his dick in your hand, you rose up, align it with your hole, and sank down slowly.  James hissed at the sensation; you whimpered, unable to find the air in your lungs to make a stronger sound.  Somehow, withholding, waiting, earning, it had all made the initial entrance more pleasing than ever.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” James moaned, tipping his head back and running his hands through his hair.  Even though it didn’t take you long to bottom out—James’ fingering had done its job—you assumed from the look of it that James wouldn’t have cared either way.

Just like James did with his dick in your mouth, you placed your palms against the headboard to maintain balance as you began pushing up and down, up and down, sliding atop his dick with your tight hole, rolling your hips all the while.  James was a gasping, blabbering, eyes-screwed-shut mess underneath you.  And the sight, while it turned you on because it was James who was moaning and anything he did in the bedroom held far too much power over you, also spurred you on because you were doing what he asked for.  You were earning it, being good for him.  You moaned and sped up at the thought, making James shout again from beneath you.

Soon enough, James started meeting your thrusts.  Your own head fell back from the sensation of being fucked so deeply, so well.  From James’ hisses from below, the way he grabbed your hips at one point forcing you to take it, his praises of, “such a good slut for me,” that you somehow never got tired of.

Too far in ecstasy, you hadn’t found yourself able to speak until you felt your orgasm coming.  Now, not of out of habitual warning, but instead the want to verify permission, you announced, “James, I’m close.”

James flipped you over without warning.  Now on top, he hovered over you like before, thrusting into you mercilessly, leaving you to arch your back and wail incoherently.  Then, he shot one hand onto your clit, pressing down on it at the same exact time as saying, “Be a good slut and come for me.”

The orgasm was so overpowering and idyllic you didn’t even remember James pulling out of you.  When you opened your eyes again, body finally somewhat settled down, his fingers were looped loosely around his cock, beads of his own cum around them and your stomach.

After considering the aftermath, you looked up at James, whose glance were already on your face.  His hair was lopsided, his bottom lip scraped from a bite mark, his forehead dotted with sweat: all signs of a good fuck.  Except his eyes, which bore into yours with the darkness of uncertainty.

His breathing was still labored as he asked, “Are you alright?  Did I go too far?”  The way he rushed the words together did little to help his state of breathlessness.

“It was incredible, James,” you admitted confidently, despite yourself; you didn’t want your embarrassment at enjoying it to be misconstrued as at not enjoying it at all.

Even though James sigh in response was full of relief, his words continued to be apologetic.  “I didn’t mean that, you know,” he said, glancing at anything that wasn’t your face.  “You’re not a slut.  I don’t… I don’t think you’re one.”

“James.”  You clutched his arm with your hand, drawing his attention towards you.  “James, I know you didn’t mean it seriously.  It was in context.  And don’t worry.  I liked it.”

The smile that broke across James’ face was, for the first time that evening, not one of pride or smugness, but rather shyness.  His cheeks tinged red as he rubbed the back of his neck.  “You really liked it?” he asked.

“That was like, one of the most intense orgasms of my life.  So yes, I think I enjoyed myself.”

“Thank Merlin,” James sighed, finally looking over at you.  “Because, if I’m being honest Y/N, I thought that was really hot.”

“So I don’t have to apologize for teasing you all night?” you smirked.

James laughed before kissing you lightly on the forehead.  “No, love, I think you already more than made up for that.”

⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @siriuslyimmoony @astertist @who-cares-unknown @neewtmas  @boring-viola @gryffndor @finnofamerica @the-apple-princess@theboywhocriedlupin  @sly-vixen-up2nogood @bluemadcnna @lonelyheart-jadedsoul@just-a-blonde-hufflepuff  @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy@jamcspotters @diggorysghost @niffleurs @theseuscmander @wzardings  @siriusement@just-some-nerd @swellwriting

#james potter x reader #james x reader #harry potter fanfic #james potter fanfic #james potter #hpcxr #my writing #requested #smut #emsfam #moonlit members

[dicecast]

The Problem with Thanos Part 2

So the first video is basically about what is actually wrong with Thanos and by extension, Malthusian theory.   Today I want to pivot to something a bit more complicated, Thanos as a character and why he is a less good character because he isn’t a racist.  

I’ve said before that Thanos is a good character and I think that is basically true but I want to clarify.  Thanos is a good character for you know…Superhero movies, where most of the characters at best are a list of consistent traits with a consistent voice and maybe one or two issues that define them . Thanos’s motivations make sense (they are morally and intellectually wrong but it makes sense), he has a general personality template, and he has more complexity than most marvel villains.  But there is a larger issue with his attatchment to Malthusian economics, namely that it doesn’t make any sense he’d be so attracted to it.  

Let me jump back for a moment here.  See, in real life, the Malthusian notions of population control and necessary brutality for the sake of preserving the world’s resources is an ideology that comes with a lot of baggage attached.  From the start, Malthusians aren’t just saying we need mass purges to keep population in check, it always comes with a larger ideological view point about which people should be purged. Malthusianism in real life was directed at the Irish, Catholics, and the poor, and theories influenced by Malthus would be directed at African Americans, Slavs, and Jews, and today it tends to be used in the context of India, China, and Africans.  While it would be a simplification to say that the Nazi concept of “Useless Mouths” is purely Malthusian, the ideas are linked.  Eugenics, Social Darwinism, Imperialism, and Scrooge esc classicism have always been associated with Malthusian though, and that is why this doctrine is still around despite being debunked in the 19th century.  Its less a factual ideology as much as a world view, one obsessed with “us vs. them” mentalities and beliefs in “Nature is a warzone” despite the fact that this is not how society works.  

      Now in theory you could have a debate about Malthusian population control without dipping into the ideologies always associated with it, but in real life…yeah good luck with that. Malthusian economics are like IQ, or Social Darwinism its some people get into to justify their existing racist prejudice, not an ideology that leads them to racism.  That is why it always falls apart so easily when you apply real science to it, because it isn’t just a false scientific theory, its using scientific jargon to justify the same old prejudice.  

 But Thanos is that, he is a Malthusian without any of the baggage, he isn’t racist, classist, religiously intolerant, or a warmonger.  Thanks to the power of the plot, his population control method is actually unbiased, unlike real life Malthusians he doesn’t target a specific group as deserving extermination.   When Thomas Malthus spoke of necessary population control he wasn’t referring to his own group of middle class Englishmen, he meant the poor, the Irish, and the Catholic.  Thanos is truly “Unbias” in this view of extermination, which is equally stupid but lacks the bigotry that comes with Malthusian theory.  

    Now let’s pretend Marvel actually understood the themes of their own movie and they genuinely wanted to talk about this world view, it is understandable they would want to desperate the idea from the baggage surrounding it, otherwise it is too easy to dismiss it.  So while in real life Malthusianism is linked to a bunch of other horrific ideologies, for the purpose of fiction it might be worth debating it on its own merits rather than as part of something else.  It’s not much of a debate because its objectively wrong, but I get the idea.  Try to argue with the theory on its own terms rather than what it is associated with.  

Here is the problem, I’m not sure if it is actually a good thing to separate these ideologies.  Cause Malthusianism literally doesn’t make sense if it isn’t linked to a larger world view, and more importantly Thanos doesn’t make sense.  What I meant by this is that Malthusianism is basically a rational that bigots come to in order to justify their existing bigots.  You embrace Malthus if you already regard the Irish as subhuman, and you need a justification killing 1.5 million of them.  Or if you already don’t want to pay taxes for social programs that help the poor, or if you already don’t want to send aid overseas or sell weapons to war zones.  It’s not a true ideology so much as it’s a way to make standard selfish bigotry seem more reasonable and palatable.  You don’t become a Malthusian because of the strengths of its argument, you become a Malthusian because you already wanted to dehumanize large groups of people and this is a method lets you not come to terms with your own actions.  And this is why Malthusians aren’t convinced by evidence, cause its less a scientific theory so much has a psychological defense mechanism.  

      And that is the problem, Thanos isn’t a bigot, so his attachment to Malthus doesn’t make any sense.  There is no reason why Thanos wouldn’t listen to anybody who suggests to him that “Hey this isn’t how like…anything works” or do some damn research on the subject.  Which means that Marvel is either

Positing Malthusian theory is correct in the universe of Marvel which is basically saying “In this world, Eugenics is real, but we should do the right thing anyways

Thanos is actually a really dumb guy who fell for the pseudo science and never checked his assumptions.  Which you know...isn’t impossible, but that isn’t how he is presented in the film, instead he is shown as a thoughtful if cruel man.  If his main flaw is not his indifference but instead his stupidity, then the movie did a very bad job of conveying that 

      Now this entire time I’ve been giving Marvel the benefit of the doubt and assuming they were doing this on purpose in order to fight back against Malthusian economics, but lets be honest, they don’t deserve that much credit.  Which goes back to the earlier post, which is that they keep mistaking Malthusian for Utilitarianism.  So it is again presenting killing half the population as “Practical but evil’ vs. the protagonists “Moral but inefficient” but as I mentioned before, this simply isn’t the case.  Malthusian theory of population isn’t just immoral, its actively incorrect.  But that isn’t how the conflict is framed, when Thanos and Dr. Strange argue, Strange is like “This is wrong because Trillions will die” while what he, a scientist, should be saying is “This is wrong because....that would not fix the problem like...at all”.  Because again, Thomas Malthus ideas were debunked in the mid 19th century, the only reason why they continue to be relevant today is that they provide a handy justification for racist practices, and as Thanos is not a racist, it doesn’t make sense that he would believe this.  

This also leads to another uncomfortable bit, in his discussion with Dr. Strange, Thanos says ‘Titan was like most planets, too many mouths, not enough to go around.  When we faced extinction I offered a solution”  That is actually quite similar to the “Useless Mouths” rhetoric used in post WWI Germany.  Historical context.  During WWI, Britain placed German under a blockade which basically put the whole country under siege.  Since Germany’s best chance of winning the war was a defensive conflict, slowly giving ground as the allies lost millions and hoping that the ally states would collapse, the steady lack of resources due to this blockade was devestating to the German War effort.  While France and Britain could endlessly resupply thanks to their colonies and the Americas, Germany steadily ran out of oil, iron, lead, and food, and the civilian population of Germany, largely unexposed directly to the war, slowly starved, particularly in the “Turnip Winter” of 1916.   While there was still food, most of it went to the army, leaving the civilians with nothing. About 763,000 German civilians*, the vast majority of German Civilian deaths during WWI, were due to the famine rather than Allied Weapons.   This is not counting those who died of the Spanish Flue epidemic, and an additional 100,000 civilians who died during the negotiation period.  This blockade would eventually lead to the fall of the Kaiserreich, as the civilian government eventually overthrew the Kaiser and negotiated the surrender of Germany.  

Hitler, a soldier in the trenches and thus not starving, was among many of the German army who felt the civilians had betrayed them, leading to the “Stabbed in the Back” myth.  One of the big right wing talking points after WWI was that “we could have won the war, if only we had killed all useless mouths, or “useless eaters”, Lebensunweertes Leben.  Specifically the disabled, though this theory would also be applied to a lesser extent to Jews, Roma, Homosexuals, Slavs, and leftists.  The term used was basically “Life unworthy of life” and the idea was that the weak Kaiser government should have killed all the ‘worthless” people so that Germany could have won the war, and Hitler’s government used this to justify their own extermination of the mentally ill, the idea was faced with starvation, Germany should have made the “difficult choice” to kill the weak for the strong to survive.  

(I hate this fucking story.)  

   Now obviously this world view is immoral but its also....wrong.  The fact is, even if Germany had killed all of the disabled, they would have lost the war anyways, its not like the disabled were using up oil and bullets that would have otherwise gone to the front, nor would it have fixed Germany’s manpower shortage or prevented the US from entering the war.  The conspiracy, like most conspiracy theories, came about because German soldiers didn’t want to face an uncomfortable truth.  That they had suffered, sacrificed, and fought heroically in a war they never had much chance of winning and all of their pain was in vain. The Useless Eater’s theory was just wrong, it was actively incorrect. 

   Now how does that relate to Thanos?  See I am not calling Thanos a Nazi, unlike Hitler or Malthus, Thanos isn’t targeting any one group, he isn’t saying “We need to kill the Irish, Catholics, Jews or disabled to survive” he is applying that same sort of Life Boat morality in a way real life advocates of it never do, because he is including his own empire and family within the category of “those who can be disposed of”  Thanos is looking at a whole vein of right wing thinking which has always existed as a cover for their real policies and taking it at face value and applying it to its own logical extreme, and there could be value in a character like that but...why is Thanos like this?  Why is he mindlessly accepting stupid theories he really should be smart enough to just dismiss this nonsense.  

And that lead to my larger issue with Infinity Wars, that I don’t think Disney realizes that Malthus was just morally wrong, but was factually wrong.  The conflict is presented as if Thanos’ ideas have merit, and so Thanos is presented as a smart guy who lacks empathy, while the actual problem is that he is incorrect.  And it fits the sort of “Status Que” feel of the MCU, where the Super Heroes are mostly preventing a worse future rather than building their own (Black Panther is the exception to this) 

(cough)

*That number is actually really disputed, there are some that put the number as low as 300,000 so don’t take that as the final word.  I tend to assume higher numbers because I don’t want to underscore the death of civilians, but this is not uncontested.  

#Fatal Flaw #Thanos #Diecast Thoughts #avengers endgame #MCU #Marvel #Expanded Universe #Tony Stark #Disney #Superhero Movies #Malthusian Theory #Thomas Malthus #irish potato famine #Utilitarianism #avengers infinity war #Infinity Wars #Endgame #Eugenics #IQ #Pseudo Science #social darwinism #Marvel Studios #Lebensunwertes Leben #Useless Eaters #Useless Mouths #Life unworthy of life

[kaibagirl007]

Come Undone 2/6

( the second part of a mini side-fic series to accompany my RP with @dragontamer05 )

From the way Kaiba had been talking about the charity gala, Seto wasn’t at all surprised by what he saw; a parade of pretentious peacocks flaunting their wealth for the whole world to see. Of course, he was still flummoxed by how such small rectangular devices were capable of alerting other people in multiple nations about the night’s event. The modern world held so many mysteries, though with any luck he wouldn’t be here long enough to uncover them all.

His descendant didn’t seem to be immune from this fervid show of vanity either. The CEO had spent the entire evening parading around with some courtesan,- or rather an ‘escort’ as the other had corrected him,- in an attempt to keep face and be seen as moving on with life after the break-up with Kisara. And those gullible fools with the rectangular devices seemed to lap-up the farcical act as the ‘couple’ smiled and posed at every opportunity presented to them throughout the evening.

Although the pharaoh could empathise with the other’s need to maintain his image and role in society, he failed to understand the stubborn reluctance to fix things with Kisara. Surely the endeavour to regain their relationship was more desirable than this ornate imitation? Or was he just too concerned with his own hidden agenda to consider the whole mindset of this lonely boy? 

Sometime just before midnight, a sea of lights flashed wildly as Kaiba Corp’s young CEO and his ‘mystery woman’ made their exit from the gala. Hand in hand, the couple walked past the crowd of media correspondents in order to reach the limo waiting to whisk them away. As they did so, many of the reporters tried to question Kaiba as they attempted to pry information out of him about his break-up. None of them succeeded, nor did they even get so much as a ’no comment’ in response. 

As the limo pulled away with its passengers seated in the back, Kaiba raised the one-way glass panel to block them from his driver’s view and turned to the woman by his side. “Well done Chizue, your act this evening was extremely convincing.”

‘Pfft, convincing to everyone except you and I.’ Seto commented to his descendant as he sat on the seat opposite the couple. He leered at the woman, angry at the thought that anyone would even consider her to be a fitting substitute for Kisara.

“The evening isn’t over yet, Seto-“

“It’s ‘MR Kaiba’ now,” he was quick to correct her as she leant closer to him. “We’re not in public any more.”

“Of course, please forgive my mistake.” Chizue breathe coquettishly with a hint of a grin as her hand slowly began to run through his hair and her lips pressed against his.

Although Seto saw no visible flinch, he certainly felt the other’s discomfort from the woman’s touch and kiss. ‘Don’t do this. It’s not what you want.’

How dare you presume what I do and do not want! Kaiba’s mind growled at the invisible entity watching them. The spite he felt for the other was enough to make him override the urge to recoil from the woman and instead he returned the kiss with a gluttonous one of his own. It had been so long since he’d last felt the warmth of soft lips upon his own, and maybe,- just maybe,- if he imagined really hard, it would be enough to fool himself into thinking she was his ex.

‘Cease this at once or you will only cause yourself more heartache!’ Seto warned as the CEO’s hands began to wander. ’No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, she is NOT Kisara!’

The kissing and fumbling continued at a more ravenous pace, but as Chizue’s hands made their way towards Kaiba’s crotch, he felt a sense of revulsion hit him so hard that he pulled away from her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

‘Liar,’ Seto scoffed as he watched Kaiba try to remain calm and straighten himself up with as much dignity as possible. He’d caught a flicker of the other’s memory which had warranted the withdrawal; there was no way he was going to venture into that can of worms without a strong invitation. ’Tell her you have had enough and her services are no longer required.’

There was no response from the CEO as he just sat there in frozen silence. The woman by his side noticed the near-vacant look in his eyes and tentatively placed her hand on his leg. “You seem ’troubled’, Mr Kaiba..?”

“I’m fine.”

‘Liar.’

STOP FUCKING DOING THAT! 

Chizue felt her client’s muscles tense beneath her palm. This wasn’t the first time she’d encountered such behaviour. She’d seen this before in many of the men that had been jilted by their exes and were simply looking for a momentary release from their pain. There was no question that each of the men could have benefited more from seeing a therapist instead of losing themselves with her, but retaining morals wouldn’t fund her chosen lifestyle; she needed their money, something she knew she could double if her services were taken full advantage of. Hesitantly, she spoke, “I’ve got something that could… ‘help’ free you from this state of mind.”

‘Pfft, I highly doubt such a thing even exists.’ 

Irritated, but otherwise ignoring Seto’s retort, Kaiba nodded and then curiously watched as the woman rummaged through her purse. What could she possibly have that would provide him with much-needed freedom from himself? 

The answer soon came as Chizue revealed a small plastic bag containing tiny chalky white rocks. She also took out her oversized smartphone and using a credit card, she began to crush the illegal substance into a fine powder. “You ever done lines before?”

“Never,” Kaiba spoke in a tone barely above a whisper as he stared down at the drug being prepared right in front of him. There was cocaine, in HIS limo! If ANYONE were to find out about this, he could kiss his reputation and everything that he’d worked for ‘goodbye’ as such a scandal would ruin him instantly. But seeing as he’d already lost connections with Kisara, Mokuba and Roland, he felt it not such a huge risk after all. With those dearest to him no longer by his side, his life couldn’t possibly get any worse, so why not give it a shot? It could only improve things, right?

’Your life HAS the opportunity to get better WITHOUT that stuff,’ Seto stated after having sensed the other’s dubiety. ‘Narcotics are NOT the answer to your problems.’ 

Now with two neat white lines running parallel to each other on the phone’s scratch resistant screen, Chizue searched her purse once more. This time she revealed a pen that she dismantled until left with the empty barrel casing. She then wasted no time in placing one end of the plastic tubing near the closest line of cocaine and snorted it back in one swift motion. 

“See? Nothing to it,” she grinned, half pinching and wiping her nose before offering the pen casing to Kaiba. “It takes a few minutes to kick in,- probably less for a first-timer like you,- but once it does, you won’t regret it.”

‘Don’t,’ Seto warned once more as he watched the CEO take the plastic tube from the woman’s lazy hold. ’It won’t fix things-’ 

You mistake me for someone who actually gives a shit. Kaiba scoffed at the irritating illusion in his mind before mimicking the action he’d just watched. There was a sharp, brief discomfort as the cocaine hit the back of his nasal cavity, causing him to drop the pen and pinch his nose tightly.

“It’ll get easier the more you do it,” Chizue laughed in response to the comical reaction. She bent down to pick up the plastic tubing and began placing everything back in her purse.

Kaiba felt his nose and the back of his throat gradually turn numb as the rest of the drug slowly seeped into his nasopharynx, leaving a bitter ‘after-taste’ sensation in its wake. His heart started pounding faster in his chest. Was that an effect of the drug he’d just taken, or simply his own adrenaline from having done something he wasn’t supposed to? Either way, it felt good, and for the first time in weeks, HE felt good. 

‘Idiot. It won’t last. Soon you will want more, and more, but it will NEVER be enough.’

“Now then, where were we?” A wicked grin materialised on Kaiba’s face as he turned his attention back to the woman by his side and began kissing her even more voraciously than before as he pulled her close.

‘Neither will copulating with this… WHORE! For just ONCE in your life, LISTEN to the voice of experience!’ Seto’s angry spat of words fell on deaf ears. Only this time it wasn’t due to the other’s choice to ignore him, but rather the effects of the cocaine severing the connection between them like a barrier in Kaiba’s mind. Not that it made a difference either way as he was pretty sure he would have been ignored regardless.

Powerless to avert the impetuous act between the couple now undressing each other, the once ‘great pharaoh’ turned his frustration towards the gods,- or rather one god in particular,- as he cursed in his native tongue: 

“DAMN YOU, OSIRIS!! I thought we had a deal? I relinquished EVERYTHING in exchange for Kisara’s release from her stone prison! You failed to deliver your end of the exchange and simply gave false hope disguised as ‘destiny’ in the hands of a stubborn and uncooperative descendant!... Now she nor I will ever find peace; HOW is that fair?”

He was met with nothing but silence from the god, a sound he’d been used to during the three thousand years spent alone between worlds.

#my crappy writing #fanfiction #seto kaiba #priest seto #tw:drug use #limey #rp stuff

[starry-nightflyer]

A Thief In The Night

@nooowestayandgetcaught SURPRISE! Holy hell, this fic was a lot of fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! @it-secretsanta-2018 was such a cool idea, and I’m so glad I got to participate this year! Merry Christmas, all!

Thud.

Shuffle. 

Bang. 

Eddie sat bolt upright in bed, his knees drawn up to his chest, his heart a beating hammer against his ribs. Sweat clung to his skin and soaked through his sheets. His throat felt like it was tied in a knot. 

The darkness of his bedroom hung over him like a death sentence, his only saving grace comin gin the form of the soft light seeping under his door. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, the outlines of his shelves came into view. He tried to listen for another noise from the other side of the door, his whole body alight with nerves. He could practically feel his blood pulsing through his veins, and at every creak from the floorboards settling, he jolted in place. 

The low light of his room seemed sinister as the shuffling downstairs grew a little louder, coupled with the rustling of fabric. 

Thunk. 

"Shit..." Came a rough whisper. 

Eddie froze. He could have sworn he felt his heart stop completely at the rasping syllable. His eyes darted around his bedroom, trying to pick out something-- anything he could use to defend himself. 

A book?

A-- 

An ornament?

A lamp?

There was another crash from further into the house. "God Fucking--" The intruder broke off into a huff that made Eddie's blood feel like ice in his veins. 

He swallowed hard. 

That'll do.

He reached for the lamp with his heart in his throat and his lower lip clamped firmly between his teeth. 

God, you idiot! Breathe! 

He scolded himself. Forcing himself to take a deep breath in, he swallowed his fear, and stood up, gripping the lamp as though it was a loaded gun. 

What if the thief has a loaded gun?

Piped up a voice in his head.

Eddie swung the door open. 

Shut up.

The hallway was deceptively quiet. The pictures lining the walls watched him with frozen faces as he crept in the direction of the living room, freezing in place every time he heard the noise of footsteps ahead of him, or any noise at all.  He wrapped the lamp's cord around his wrist as tightly as he could manage.  

Right. 

You're going to go in there.

And tell this bastard to get the fuck out of your house. 

Even in his head, it sounded ridiculous. 

He could see the shadow of the theif now, tall, lean, streaking across the floor like a paint spill. 

Of course, the fucker's tall. 

Swallowing, he took a step forward and rounded the corner. 

The first thing he saw was an almost awkwardly lanky figure. It took all he had to keep from screaming. The person-- the robber-- had their head dipped, tilted slightly to show off the glint of their coke-bottle glasses, halfway obscured by flyaway curls. They looked professional, put-together as they effortlessly rifled through Eddie's things, stopping only to examine certain objects. 

Seeing if they're valuable.

He realized. The thought made his stomach turn. 

"Nope..." The thief mumbled under his breath, the low rasp of his voice making Eddie flinch.

With a shaky breath, he raised his lamp high above his head. "What the fuck are you doing in my house?" 

The yelp from the person in black caused him to stagger back in surprise as the tall figure spun to face him. Eddie tried to look threatening as the intruder's wide brown eyes locked with his own. They were wild. Afraid. Hell, almost pitiful. He wasn't wearing a mask, either, leaving his sharp cheekbones splattered with freckles in plain view. 

Good. 

I can report him.

I've got a clean mugshot. 

Eddie adjusted his grip on the lamp, the silence ringing in his ears enough to make his head ache. "I said--"

"Is it not obvious?" The thief cut in, gesturing with one hand to the bag by his feet. His voice wobbled slightly, but the way he narrowed his eyes made Eddie's heart sink. "I'm robbing you." He pointed it out with a mischevious sort of smirk and squared his shoulders. "I'd suggest getting out of my way."

"Excuse me?" Eddie spluttered as the man in front of him tried to take a step in his direction, slinging the bag over his shoulder as he did so. 

"Well," The thief drawled, "I'm assuming you haven't called the police yet, correct?" 

Eddie set his jaw. "That," he hissed, drawing himself up to his full height, "is false." 

The thief snickered. "Liar." 

Eddie raised his lamp. "I swear to god, I'll do it." He choked out, earning a slight laugh. 

"Do what?" The other asked, taking a moment to lean up against the closest wall. The fear Eddie had seen mere moments ago had been replaced with something cocky, as if the man across from him knew exactly what he was doing. 

Eddie tried his best to breathe deeply and fully despite the fact that his throat was closing up into a pinhole. "Well, I-- I've seen you, and I'll-- I'll report you. For breaking and entering." 

The thief made to step forward again. "Go for it." He snarled, shouldering past the smaller man. "They won't catch me." 

Eddie did the only thing he could think to do. 

He swung the lamp. 

The thud of the impact wasn't enough to knock the thief over, but it was more than enough to make him let out a yelp and stagger forward. "FUCK!" The thief doubled over, trying his best to touch the spot on his back Eddie had nailed with the appliance. 

The lamp tumbled from Eddie's hands and clattered to the floor as the thief let out a groan of pain. "God-- Fucking-- what the hell?" The thief spluttered, sinking to his knees. "I was gonna-- fuck-- I was gonna leave!" Eddie inched closer, watching as the thief moaned in pain again. "Stay put," Eddie growled. "I'm calling the police." 

How?

Jeered a voice in his head. 

You've gotta leave him alone to get the phone, and you know he's gonna bolt.

The thief jerked upright and turned his head to look at the boy who'd clocked him in the back. "No! N-Not the Derry police department, p--"

Eddie almost laughed. "What do you mean, 'Not the Derry police department'?" He asked, incredulously. "They're the only--"

"Look," The thief cut in, "I-- I-- there's someone working there, and-- and if I get thrown in one more time--"

"Don't care," Eddie growled, taking another step toward the kitchen. 

"But it's Christmas--" The robber began to protest, slowly staggering to his feet. Eddie was made painfully aware of how tall he was once more. 

"Then it serves you right for robbing me, you creep!" He snapped back, backing up further toward the phone. Toward safety. Toward the sane thing to d--

"I'll-- C'mon, fuck-- I'll do anything!" He pleaded, his huge brown eyes nothing short of desperate. 

You need a date for Bev's--

The thought came so suddenly that it made Eddie choke on a breath. 

The thief pounced on his silence. "I do-- I do get togethers, break-ins, impressions, um--"

This is insane. 

"--dates, intimidations--"

You wouldn't.

"--uhh, surprise visits, birthday parties--"

Eddie snorted against his own will at the thief's serious tone of voice. "Birthday parties?"

"As long as there's booze." The thief affirmed, his voice a little louder than it had been before. 

Eddie turned and swallowed a yelp at seeing him so close. "What about an engagement party?" He let out in a rush, his heart beating heavily in his throat.  

You're insane. 

The thief shot him a wobbly, buck-toothed grin. "R-Really?"

Eddie tried not to look into the huge brown eyes above him. "I..." He trailed off and took a step back, ignoring the sharp intake of breath from the robber at his action. "Fuck-- no-- I'm not doing this, I'm reporting you!" 

He shoved the thief in the chest and ducked his head to hide his blush, his hands starting to tremble as he made for the phone. 

A hand closed around his forearm. "Please don't." 

Eddie wanted nothing more than to pull away. Yank his arm away from the psycho who'd broken into his home. Maybe even hit him for good measure.

I already did that. 

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Let go of me."

"Not until you promise you're not gonna turn me in." 

Eddie, for fuck's sake, get in the kitchen and get the phone!

Eddie gave his arm a tug, earning the thief’s fingernails digging deeper into his skin.

"Please, look-- I'll-- I'll return everything I took from you, and you said an engagement party, right? What's the worst that could happen?" 

The grip on his arm slackened. Eddie could feel the sweat from the thief against his skin. He nearly laughed. "Wh-What's the worst that could happen?" He echoed, tugging away from the taller of the two with a sharp yank. "You're a theif!" He took a few stumbling steps backward as the theif got closer to him. 

"So? I-- I can play the part, just-- I can't spend Christmas in the fucking slammer!" He spluttered, somewhat desperately. "Have a heart!" His voice cracked miserably. 

Eddie froze. 

Don't. 

He turned. 

I'm telling you, don't.

He pointed to the bag the thief had slung over his shoulder. "Give that back and we'll talk."

Eddie hadn't expected them to talk.

He hadn't expected to learn that the thief's name was Richie, or that Richie was actually willing to attend Bev's engagement party with him. He had expected to show him the door, but in his head, it was done more forcefully, and with an angry shout. Maybe even with sirens blaring down the street as Richie whatshisface was shoved into the back of a cop car and hauled down to the station. 

"Bye, Eds!" 

"God, Richie do you ever shut the fuck up?" 

"Not if I can help it.”

Was not exactly the goodbye he'd had in mind.

But one engagement party and several stolen kisses later, he began to think, maybe, it was the goodbye he'd needed. 

"So how'd you two meet?"

The two boys shared a wide grin, Richie's grip on Eddie's hand tightening slightly.  "Well, you could say I... stole his heart."

Eddie set his jaw and elbowed Richie in the ribs. "Were you just a shade of yourself before you met me?"

"Obviously. I was practically a crimina--" Richie hesitated for a second, a small, lopsided grin spreading across his freckled face. "--and was that a lamp pun?

"I am the light of your life."Eddie said with a soft smile, leaning up against Richie's shoulder as he did so. 

Richie had responded by placing a small kiss against his forehead, earning a groan from their audience of one. "Fucking really?"

Richie shrugged. "Like I said, Bev, I couldn't be less in love with this boy if I tried."

Eddie felt his cheeks heat up at the endearment. 

He's not.

He thought.

He's not in love with me.

But for a second, he let himself believe it.

#reddie #it-secretsanta-2018 #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #christmas fic #I guess? #Richie's a robber #but he's like #not threatening #at all

[freedom-of-fanfic]

antishipping as the ‘cool new trend’

or: why are most antis under 25 years old? (posted June 2017)

I really think that antishipping is a movement that’s gaining ground with the younger & newer arrivals to fandom spaces; a kind of ‘cool trend’, so to speak. In aggregate, antishipping culture is beautifully constructed to be particularly appealing to teenage or college-age people in the late 2010′s - and especially American people - who are marginalized, oppressed, often social outcasts in real life and often under-educated about their own marginalized identity, and I kind of wanted to get into why.

EDIT (October 2018): this post is was originally put up in June 2017. I’ve tweaked it a bit to correct some stuff I now think is just patronizing/incorrect, but overall, I now think it’s overly reliant on adolescent growth stages when the best explanations are societal changes (fandom being on viral social media, fandom being conflated with social justice activism, and increasingly authoritarian trends in 21st century America.)

the other day I posted to talk a little about why I think antis tend to be young (and American). To sum up & simultaneously add a little more:

a brain still growing - until the age of 22-25, the frontal lobe of the brain does not finish development. the frontal lobe handles higher reasoning skills and complex problem-solving. Thus: the growing mind is particularly prone to incomplete reasoning, black and white thinking, and total empathy failure, making it hard for those under 25 to fully comprehend the impact of their actions, sympathize with others, or tackle social problems with nuance. Truly comprehending that others come from entirely different worldviews or have entirely different experiences and that being different doesn’t make them wrong and that most deep-seated problems need complex solutions that require nuance tends to come with this final brain growth. (Not always, of course. but often.) nah I’ve completely changed my mind on this. It’s true that physiological changes are still occurring in teens that make empathy harder, but they can respect the choices of others just as well as an adult can.

current American sex education being mostly scaremongering and abstinence-only + ready availability of sexual content, specifically pornographic material, online + hypersexual marketing = a deeply fucked cultural understanding of sex that adolescents are particularly unequipped to detangle

escaping religious/Christian fundamentalism but not  black&white thinking or authoritarian ‘us vs them’ mindset: the moral/communal purity that organized Christianity often demands can take years to deprogram (and this is not to mention the gender essentialism, homophobia/queerphobia, and anti-sex/anti-kink messages, accompanied by a strong undercurrent of anti-intellectualism to discourage self-education on these subjects!) teens just breaking away from this toxicity are especially unequipped to untangle themselves. Young ppl tend to take the same worldview/us vs them/b&w thinking they grew up with to a more liberal cause instead (such as enforcing ‘social justice’ in shipping), with a side-order of internalized, unexamined anti-lgbt/sex/kink/etc rhetoric that dovetails rather neatly with exclusionist rhetoric.

exclusionary gatekeeping as baby’s first lgbt/queer culture lesson - transformative fandom is a frequent haven for marginalized people who don’t see themselves in the media they consume (so they change the media to meet their emotional, sexual, social, etc needs, you see?). because it’s not taught in schools here in the US, it’s not too uncommon for newcomers to get their first big dose of history and cultural education that’s not centered around straight white men in fandom. but what are they learning? here on tumblr, since about 2013, exclusionists have used the relative lack of education on queer history to build an false history, one where the gender binary is strongly enforced and sexualities can only exist on the binary axis: nb/queer/ace/pan and sometimes even bi and trans -identifying people are erased or ‘not oppressed enough’. this history is the one that young entrants into fandom are more likely to encounter first and have no knowledge with which to counter it.  Antishipping derives its mode of operation and principle values from exclusionists. It dictates who can write or do what based on their sexual/gender identity (and sometimes race as well). Its definition of social justice is also heavily influenced by exclusionists because its members are mostly young people who learned all their queer history from exclusionists.

the particularly adolescent vulnerability to peer pressure (the need to belong & the fear of being ostracized): teens are particularly inclined to be influenced by friendships and maintaining social ties. [...]  it’s easy to become an anti in order to keep your friends and almost impossible to quit without losing everything, and teens are especially vulnerable to this kind of social structure.  I think this was a factor 18 months ago, but not so much now. both ‘sides’ of this argument are pretty well-known and people in fandom can have strong opinions on shipping or anti-shipping from very early on.

less focus on teaching critical thinking & self-government. Education in America has long been aimed towards adequate training to work an assembly line, but 21st century American parenting and education both have neglected teaching young people how to make decisions for themselves & how to engage in critical analysis of what they see and read. antishipping is a highly cohesive, insular culture with enforced rules of conduct, striking clear in/out lines and valuing loyalty and groupthink over originality and intellectualism. also: keeping the party line & persecution of outsiders is encouraged, further strengthening the need to conform.

having a just cause & a space to control: antishipping rests its laurels on a(n incomplete, corrupted) form of social justice/righting the wrongs of the privileged. being an anti feels like making a difference b/c your actions have visible impact on your immediate surroundings. (and having a space you feel you can control can be even more urgent with additional pressures like abusive home situations, past traumatic experiences, academic pressure, untreated/unrecognized mental illness, being forced into the closet b/c of queer/transphobia, etc.)

an American (and to a lesser degree, western European) post 9/11* cultural shift from prioritizing personal freedom to prioritizing communal safety; those under the age of 20 were 3 or younger or not yet born when the shift happened. antishipping prioritizes communal ‘safety’ (‘bad’, ‘dangerous’, or ‘inappropriate’ things must never be mentioned to protect people from hearing about them and being either corrupted or harmed) over personal freedom (allowing ‘bad’/’dangerous’ things to be  discussed, and it is up to the individual to personally decide what content to avoid).

(*actually, this shift started in the US before 9/11. 9/11 just sped it up.)

of course, all of this is conjecture based on my own experiences and observations, and it’s not a set of rules - just circumstances that I believe absolutely encourage young fandom members to end up falling headfirst into antishipping and either never notice how hurtful it is or never get the courage to leave it behind. And I think there’s a lot more the popularity/prevalence of antishipping today, but this post is already longer than I meant it to be.

(I always go light on racism when i talk about antishipping because while antis frequently accuse shippers of racism, it’s disingenuous to class racism as the same kind of oppression as lgbt+-phobia & misogyny, particularly in America - they’re related, but not the same. Centering non-white (and especially black) voices does not get the same focus as centering lgbt and women’s voices in fandom, and I think it’s easy to dismiss legitimate charges of racism as ‘anti bullshit’ when we class all these types of marginalization together.)

#ever think about how white feminism seems like such a natural dovetail with radfems? #antishipping #anti culture #why antis do the thing #reg culture #christian fundamentalism #what is sex ed? we just don't know #an americentric post

[exampleofabadexample]

Growing Up Depressed

I honestly didn't realize how bad my depression was until last year. Yeah, it's weird isn't it? I feel like nowadays kids and parents figure it out when the kids are still young, making it easier to find a correct solution and to do so sooner rather than later. Not that I'm blaming the parents who didn't realize it early (unless you knew about it and refused to help them, it is no one's fault.), but it has become increasingly easier. I, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Don't get me wrong, my mom is a wonderful person and I couldn't ask for better. My father is a story for another day though, as he relates less to depression and more to abuse and just generally being a cunt.

I was raised well, I was taught I needed to go to school, be nice to people, and that I either needed to find a job or go to college afterwards. Personally, I think if you can just drop out of high school and get your G.E.D. you should, but of course that's completely a matter of opinion, but I was raised well regardless. However, I did have plenty of days where I didn't think I could do anything. Not because I was lazy and not even necessarily because I didn't want to, but because I literally felt like I couldn't do it. I'm not saying there weren't days were I didn't want to go simply because I wanted to stay home and play games or watch television, but even then I knew the difference between that and the feeling that I would rather lay down and not get up for a few days. Being that young, I didn't really know what depression was, but I still felt it. 

Now if I haven't lost you, because honestly it hardly even makes sense to me, then you probably understand or are at least trying to. To those who understand, I know I'm preaching to the choir here, so I don't blame you if you stop reading. To those who don't and are trying to, I applaud you, it seems as if very few people in the world even want to try. People like me, we aren't sad and we aren't upset. Those are emotions that typically tend to have a reason to exist: Harsh break-ups, pets dying, loved ones dying, and etc. Depression is more like being trapped inside a room with a twin that hates the fact that you even exist. (Imagine a concrete room with one locked door and no windows) Not only do you feel like nothing matters, not only are you filled with self-loathing, but on top of that you hate yourself for being depressed in the first place. That's depression.

Going back to my story, I want to say that I was not an easy child, in some ways I was a horrible child, and I'm not going to sit here and blame every single problem I have on my mental state. The first time I really remember feeling depressed though, is back in the 5th grade, when I would skip school and fake sick simply because the though of doing anything that day made me want to sit and cry. There are two situations that come to mind. The first one was rather simple; I had faked sick and stayed home, but about halfway through the day I decided that I wanted to try going. I had called my mother and told her that I wanted to try to make it through the second half of the day, to which she readily agreed and called to say I was coming. I got up off my grandma's couch (who I would stay with in the morning because mom had to be at work by 6 A.M.), gathered my school supplies together in my backpack, and started walking. I made it past the firehouse, so maybe about 50 feet, before I almost broke down crying and ran back to my grandma's. I called mom and made up some lame excuse that she didn't buy but accepted anyway, and just didn't go. I would like to make it clear that at this point I was not bullied, I honestly loved school still. I had no idea why I acted the way I did, I just knew I would rather cry in front of a fire station than go to school, or go anywhere to be completely honest.

The other situation that jumps out at me is one I'm a bit ashamed of. Mom had taken me to school that day for some reason or other, I honestly can't remember why, and I pretty much refused to go. Nothing new of course, but over the phone it was a lot easier to make her give up and just let me stay. I repeat that I was indeed a horrible child. So it started out calmly enough, I wouldn't go and I refused to get out of the the truck she was driving at the time. It started to quickly escalate as most arguments with parents do, to the point where I got out but refused to actually go into the school, simply walking away in the other direction. I don't remember how, I only remember it was of my own accord (my mom is not abusive and would not physically drag me anywhere, I will repeat that she was and still is an amazing mother.), and when she did grab my arm I decided to yell out the word rape. If I remember correctly, we had not that long ago had one of the people from the local abuse and sexual assault prevention center there to discuss with us how to prevent unwanted altercations. Me, being a very ignorant child, decided that advice applied to that very situation. Mom rightfully scolded me and went and got the principal who finally convinced me to go in the school. Now, ignoring my little mark of childish ignorance there, it was simply another case of me going so far as to cause a scene in order to not have to deal with life for another day. However, that was the length I was willing to go, I was that desperate to stay home from a class I liked and a school I liked. It didn't make sense then and honestly doesn't make sense now. 

The point of those two stories is to establish a pattern, as things would only get worse for awhile, until I either had to cope on my own or drown. Just to touch on things briefly, my parent's got divorced while I was in the 6th grade, I would constantly refuse to go to school to the point where the principal was doing his best to drag me in, threatening to put me into detention if I didn't start going. My parents then got back together. My dad was and is still a piece of shit. I felt like killing myself on a pretty constant basis. I know, it sounds like a pity party, and to some extent it is, but I also now realize that a lot of my feelings were well beyond my control. I started therapy in high school and one of the first things I picked up is that we literally cannot control our emotions. We can control our reactions to them and the actions we take due to them, but not the emotions themselves. You also really can't control suicidal thoughts or even the idea that you don't deserve to live.

That was me, it still is me to be honest. I feel like I lose control a lot and tend to act on those emotions, and on ideas that I know are false. Hell, I'm still suicidal as far as that goes. A little over a year ago now I actually did try to kill myself, it was a terrible attempt and I had no idea what I was doing and I came nowhere close in the time I had, but I had every intention of doing so, no matter how it actually played out. I'm not proud of that. I'm not proud of any of this. I write this not because I want the world to look at me, but because I genuinely believe that shit like this can be prevented. I don't blame my mother at all. Honestly I don't. She didn't know what was going on and I did the best I could to hide it, and I was pretty damn good at it too.

This is what I have to say to parents: If your kid DOES tell you that they are depressed, do not write them off and say it's just a phase. Honestly, that phrase is fucking stupid to begin with. But that's also another topic for another day. But get them help, I don't care what you have to do or what your culture, society, etc tells you. Get them help because whatever your other solutions are, they are wrong. I'm not pulling that punch, not getting help for them is wrong. Mental disorders and illnesses suck, so get them help

To anyone who is suicidal, no matter your age, please don't do it. There are days I have to scream just to reign myself in enough that I don't go crazy. It's a terrible feeling, but it's not worth dying over even if it feels like it is. It's not fair to those who care about you and, more importantly, it's not fair to yourself. It's never too late and you still always have a chance of finally finding that one thing that keeps the darkness at bay.

One more thing I have to add, that I'm sure is more than controversial, is that you need to tell anyone who wishes you to force yourself into situations you are uncomfortable with or aren't ready for, to go kindly fuck off. You, and only you, know how much you can handle, no one has any right to try to tell you otherwise and there is absolutely no excuse for them to force the issue. Kick people like that out of your life, as they don't deserve to be there.

#depression