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moiraineswife · 3 years

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Jasnah and Wit - Presentation Meta

Part 1 of the great saga of Witsnah “WELL ACTUALLY” metas I plan on doing bc y’all have just pushed me That Far.

Well hello there. I’m GRUMPY. And what I do when I’m grumpy is I channel it into a little thing called spite meta. That’s what this is. It’s me angrily yelling for several thousand words about why this thing is a GOOD thing, actually.

Today’s subject, the much controversial post Rhythm of War canon pairing that is: Wit/Jasnah.

So let’s (angrily) explore why this is actually a positive thing for both characters, on a nuanced, meta, character analysis level. Because that’s the only level that I have.

I admit, I was sceptical and uncertain. But when I actually sat and thought about this for a hot second...It started making a lot of sense to me. And then I thought about it for, like, a hot minute, and it made a LOT of sense to me. And now I’ve thought about it for a hot month, so come. Step into my thoughts, and I will explain my perspective on this all…

Firstly we’re going to talk about clothes. Yes, clothes. Clothes and what they symbolise for this pair, together and individually.

He was immaculate, as always, with his perfectly styled hair and sharp black suit. For all his talk of frivolity, he knew exactly how to present himself. It was something they’d bonded over. - RoW, 64

Wit and Jasnah have bonded over the idea of presentation and the effects it can create. Both of them have used this idea to great effect multiple times in the series. Wit displays himself as a more appropriate form of an Alethi highprince at war - a crisp, tailored, military suit in a colour that makes him instantly and easily identifiable in a crowd. It’s part of his subtle mockery of those around him - that the King’s Wit is a better presented highprince than the REAL highprinces. It also makes him recognisable, and it makes him seem professional and able to move easily in high society.

Equally, we’ve seen him take the guise of a poor beggar so as to sneak into Kholinar and go unnoticed and dismissed when he sneaks into the palace to recover Design in Oathbringer.

Jasnah, meanwhile, gives a memorable and impactful speech to Shallan at the beginning of Words of Radiance about the illusion of perception. About how by presenting herself as a princess, looking the way others expect, she is able to effectively use her authority. And would be able to similarly do so if she simply convinced people she was a princess, by manipulating their perception of her.

Both Jasnah and Wit understand this idea - of presenting yourself, not necessarily in the way you want to look, but in the way you want others to look at you. Creating for them the thing you want them to see, which enables you to better be that thing.

It also runs deeper than that. They’re not just people who like to dress well. They understand that this has a power to it. They understand the effect it will have over others. And it’s this deeper thing that I believe they’ve bonded over.

Because they don’t simply appear put together in their clothes; they appear put together in their everything. Wit and Jasnah are people who are consistently calm and composed regardless of the situation. They do it in very different ways. Jasnah with calculating stoicism and intellectual calm. Wit with indifferent frivolity and nonchalant acceptance of what’s happening around him.

The core effect is the same. When the walls are crumbling down, the armies are sweeping in, and everything’s on fucking fire, Wit and Jasnah are two people you expect to be able to look to for direction and a bit of sanity amidst the chaos.

They’ve both cultivated personalities and personas that revolve around appearing and seeming in control and unperturbed whatever is happening. It’s like their whole Thing.

So the presentation is not only about clothes and make up, it’s about who they are deep down as people. The fact that they’re always the strong ones. Always the ones in control. Always the ones who aren’t panicking despite the fact that everything’s on fucking fire.

They’re people that others EXPECT to behave a certain way. There’s a predictability to them. A dependability. In Wit’s case, it’s that you can rely on him to be esoteric, confusing, and unpredictable, but still.

There’s a pressure in that. There’s a pressure in always being THAT put together. In always being THAT on top of things. In always being THAT person who can never break down screaming when things go wrong because that’s not who they are and not what people expect. They have to be more than that. They have to be BETTER than that.

They’re also people that other characters tend to other/deify. Shallan remarks several times about Jasnah being inhuman/beyond ordinary people, and even goes so far as to compare her to the divine, despite her being a heretic.

Wit, meanwhile, gets asked if he’s a Herald, has that odd air of always knowing things that he shouldn’t, and being in places he shouldn’t at the right times.

They’re both ‘positively’ outcast. And I don’t mean that in an overly posh English way and being positively outcast, darling. What I mean is that, instead of being shunted outside of the circle of normality, they’re both placed on pedestals above it. Which is a different sort of outcast, but comes with its own package of problems.

And this brings us to: vulnerability. Because they’ve bonded over this presentation thing, but they’ve ALSO bonded over the fact that they’ve found someone they don’t have to do that around all the time. Someone they can let their guard down with and just be themselves. Someone they don’t have to present and perform for. Someone they can just be HUMAN with.

So we’re going to look more closely at the clothing aspect of this. Because there’s symbolism here, and it deeply interests me. With a focus on Jasnah, because Wit’s a mystery by design, and Jasnah’s got some more intentional stuff going on here I feel, re narrative symbolism.

So from the moment we’re introduced to her, Jasnah always looks immaculate. She always looks perfectly put together. Shallan remarks multiple times on her havah, on her make up, on the intricate and perfectly done braids of her hair. Which is a little bit gay on Shallan’s part (which is valid) but it’s also significant, symbolically.

I talked already about Jasnah’s idea of ‘power is an illusion of perception’, but I feel it’s worth coming back to. Both because of how much it shapes Shallan, but also how much it shapes Jasnah, and informs what we know about her.

Jasnah is ALWAYS put together. She is ALWAYS perfectly made up, the absolute ideal of the perfect Alethi princess. Even in scenes of distress or ‘downtime’ scenes - such as waiting for Shallan in the hospital, or visiting her after her betrayal, or the relatively more relaxed setting being on board the Wind’s Pleasure. The text makes a point to note that Jasnah is perfectly done up and presenting exactly as she wishes.

The times we see slips in that are DEEPLY interesting to me.

The first one I want to look at, briefly, is That Controversial Scene in the way of kings, where Jasnah uses Soulcasting to kill the men who attacked her and Shallan in the alley.

Just prior to this we see her bathing, where Shallan still remarks on how composed Jasnah is. This is also part of her presentation. She’s entirely naked, but that illusion is still up. She’s still more in control than other people are fully clothed.

What I find interesting is the specific note that Jasnah does not take the time to have her hair braided before she sets out with Shallan. It’s mentioned as being unbound a few times.

Symbolically, I like this, because I feel like it speaks to a slight loosening of her usual control. There’s something about that scenario that sets Jasnah on edge. There’s something about it that makes her feel.

Besides, men like those…” There was something in her voice, an edge Shallan had never heard before.

What was done to you? Shallan wondered with horror. And who did it?

Shallan is unnerved because Jasnah seems calm. But I get the sense, from this line, and from the intense repetition of how unnaturally composed Jasnah appears, that her composure is a front. And that if we had her perspective on this scene, it would look very different from how Shallan imagines it.

There’s something driving her here. Something beyond the logic she explains to Shallan, about making the city safer, about the guards not doing anything, about how innocent women will not be able to protect themselves from this, and how she wanted those men gone. All of which I believe is true, but that line from Shallan, and the way in which Jasnah goes about this...It feels personal. There’s something else going on behind the scenes that we don’t know or understand.

Regardless. This is the first time we see Jasnah step out of the cultured, reserved, stoic scholar. She’s something other than an ideal Alethi princess and studious mentor in this scene. And the detail of her hair being unbound, contained, wild, for the first time since we’ve met her feels..Significant. It’s an important detail to linger on, I think.

Which brings us to the next exception to Jasnah’s exceptional presentation rule: her murder!

Even in the scene before where we see Jasnah, arguably, the most vulnerable that we’ve seen her, in the cabin when Shallan confronts her about her fear of the upcoming apocalypse. It’s only a moment. Only a moment of genuine emotion that Shallan manages to glimpse before the mask comes back.

This was not the Jasnah that Shallan was accustomed to seeing. The confidence had been overwhelmed by exhaustion, the poise replaced by worry. Jasnah started to write something, but stopped after just a few words. She set down the pen, closing her eyes and massaging her temples. A few dizzy-looking spren, like jets of dust rising into the air, appeared around Jasnah’s head. Exhaustionspren.

Shallan pulled back, suddenly feeling as if she’d intruded upon an intimate moment. Jasnah with her defenses down. Shallan began to creep away, but a voice from the floor suddenly said, “Truth!”

Startled, Jasnah looked up, eyes finding Shallan—who, of course, blushed furiously.

Jasnah turned her eyes down toward Pattern on the floor, then reset her mask, sitting up with proper posture. “Yes, child?”

The text notes in this segment that Jasnah’s poise and presentation is a mask, but it also describes it as her ‘defenses’. This is her armour. It stops people looking too close. It stops them reading her emotion, her weaknesses. This is also one of very few times we see Jasnah attracting spren in the series.

However, even in this scene, clearly exhausted, overworked, and overwhelmed, Jasnah remains perfectly put together. All of her armour, her immaculate havah, her make-up, her braids, are all in place. Even in this moment.

Which makes a stark contrast to the next scene we find her in where she’s dressed only in a “thin nightgown”, and is lying on the floor with a sword in her chest. The vulnerability of unexpected assassination.

When next we see Jasnah, in the epilogue, is when she’s freshly spat out of Shadesmar after an apparently harrowing ordeal.

Her clothing was ragged, her hair formed into a single utilitarian braid, her face lashed with burns. She’d once worn a fine dress, but that was tattered. She’d hemmed it at the knees and had sewn herself a glove out of something improvised. Curiously, she wore a kind of leather bandolier and a backpack. He doubted she’d had either one when her journey had begun.

Even in another plane, apparently being hounded and in fear of her life, she’s managed to acquire some appropriate clothing, a glove, and a damn bandolier. Because of course she has. Perception. Iconic.

After that we don’t see her out of anything beyond her famous havah-braids-make up combo. Even when she’s with her family, and Navani remarks in her setting down the mask of the queen, she remains masked. There are still defences up. She never fully lets her family in on her plans, or her thoughts and fears.

No, the next time we see her symbolically, and emotionally, vulnerable: is with Wit. Perhaps for the first time, fully, without ANY of her usual masks and pretences, and under her own steam and of her own volition.

Locked away in a central room on the second level—sharing no walls with the outside, alone save for Wit’s company—she could finally let herself relax.

She DELIBERATELY picks a house with a second floor, and an interior room with no outside walls, with multiple fabrial traps to warn of assassins or intruders. But she manages to relax in Wit’s company. There’s a trust there. An understanding. A much needed vulnerability.

Clothing wise, in this scene Jasnah is dressed only in a nightgown and a dressing gown, and is carefully noted to have her safehand uncovered. Jasnah isn’t Vorin, strictly speaking, but she’s still been raised her entire life in a society that views safehands as something inherently sexual/to be hidden. So much so that she takes the time and care to sew herself a safehand glove while in Shadesmar. So all of this is a fairly Big Deal. It’s a Big Deal for anyone. For Jasnah? More miraculous than Kaladin giggling.

Jasnah Kholin is not vulnerable. Jasnah Kholin is never unguarded. Jasnah Kholin never willingly lets her guard down. Jasnah Kholin is absolutely as paranoid as Elhokar, if not more so.

She’s made herself a BUNKER at this point. She’s in an interior room, surrounded by traps, there’s spheres sewn into her dressing gown, and she has a wholeass BOAT waiting for her in Shadesmar JUST IN CASE someone manages to get through: guards, an entire BUILDING, multiple rigged traps, then her, with her plate, her blade, her Soulcasting ability, and all of her wit and skill, to somehow manage to wound her badly enough that she has to retreat to Shadesmar.

This woman does not do trust. She does not do vulnerability. To the point that it is absolutely 1000000% a fault. This IS Jasnah’s greatest flaw. Her isolation. Her mistrust. Her paranoia.

Anyone that comes into her life she’s suspicious of. She blithely warns Shallan about Kabsal stating he’s only using her to get close to Jasnah to steal from her/kill her.

We dismiss this, and look at it as brilliance/Jasnah knowing all, because she’s right. But it’s flawed brilliance. Because it’s the ‘broken clock’ fallacy, you know? If you suspect EVERYONE around you of being an assassin...Well, some of them will be.

Jasnah’s paranoia is another meta, however. But the point here is that: Jasnah doesn’t do anything by halves. She has an ideal for how she wants to live her life and she COMMITS to it. And part of that is her presentation, and the perception she projects, to an unhealthy degree, even around trusted family.

So the fact she has found someone she can relax all of her INCREDIBLY strict and overzealous masking and enforced personal presentation? Is both very significant in terms of her relationship with Wit, but also herSELF?

Because Jasnah NEEDS this. She needs it like Kaladin needs therapy yesterday.

Jasnah is a “strong independent woman” but if you double down on that idea, and follow it up with “Jasnah is a strong independent woman who doesn’t need a man/anyone” then you are absolutely 1000% missing the whole entire point of her character.

All the Stormlight characters are deconstructions of classical fantasy tropes, to varying extents.

Jasnah is the ‘strong independent woman’ trope except asking what if you ACTUALLY apply that to an actual human person? What would that do to them? How would that hurt them? And what it does is everything Jasnah is.

Which has been done so MASTERFULLY because we look at all of these flaws, and these objectively negative things that she does to cope with having this label slapped onto her, and we golf clap quietly in a corner and go ‘wow that’s so badass, that’s so cool, let’s totally romantacise all of these actually deeply worrying coping mechanisms and not look at them at all until Brandon smashes us in the face with them like a baseball bat with the nails of Jasnah’s trauma pounded into it’.

Okay maybe that was SLIGHTLY dramatic. But my point is: Jasnah’s apparent omniscience can also be looked at as extreme paranoia and mistrust.

Her independence and ability to ‘get shit done’ on her own, to the point she doesn’t tell another living soul about the LITERAL APOCALYPSE for more than HALF A DECADE is actually self-inflicted dangerous isolation.

Her constantly being poised, and on her game, and never displaying any emotion is actually extreme repression, to the point her own MOTHER describes her as ‘having the empathy of a corpse’.

Her consistent othering by all of the other characters, from her ward to her mother, deifying her, and othering her, and considering her immortal is actually putting her on a pedestal and cramming an INCREDIBLE amount of pressure to reach an impossible, unattainable, and inhuman level of perfection that becomes so normalised and commonplace that her return from the dead is just like ‘well yeah that’s just Jasnah’.

And all of these things are INCREDIBLY unhealthy!!! They’re not something any real person should have to do just to exist. Especially not in the middle of an apocalypse. When her father was killed in front of her. And then her brother was murdered. And the apocalypse she tried to warn everyone about is happening. And she’s the most experienced Radiant. And she’s also suddenly a queen of her kingdom. Which has been taken over by the enemy btw. And they’re in the middle of a war. And people are dying. And she’s responsible for those people dying. But also some of her highprinces are treacherous bastards. And oh look here’s a couple of slightly mad Heralds she’s taken charge of and- OH MY GOD PLEASE LET HER NAP!?

Again. Slight hyperbole on my end but I feel like I’m #Justified. The point is, her suddenly, after FOUR books, having a single person that she can confide in, and be vulnerable with, and admit she’s afraid, and uncertain, and doesn’t know what she’s doing, and isn’t sure she can actually do this, is not ~anti-feminist~ and it’s not “out of character” and it’s not damaging her ideal it’s actually deeply positive, and healthy, and a symptom of Character Growth.

Jasnah’s is choosing Wit. With her eyes wide open. And she has some reservations about things, because she’s JASNAH, of course she does. But she listens to him. She confides in him. She lets him see HER. She lets him help HER. She admits that she needs that help. She actually says to him, out loud, with full human words, to his face, right in front of him, that she’s frightened. SHE ADMITS THIS!!! Jasnah’s having all this stealth background character development that y’all are sleeping on but I am personally deeply hype about.

And it’s because Wit UNDERSTANDS her. And she understands him. And this is really the crux and core of this whole relationship for me, you know? This whole idea around them always being The Strong One. and finally FINALLY (for him, too) having someone that they don’t have to be strong for. Or regal. Or composed. Or poised. Or in control. Or even knowing what the fuck they’re doing.

She can just...Be. She can ask questions. And show uncertainty. And admit to fear. And to doubt, of herself, of the other Radiants, of humanity in general. And have someone to look to, when everyone is ALWAYS looking at her.

It’s the beginning of an actual support system. Because she needs this SO badly. Because she has her family but she also...Doesn’t have her family? She looks after them. She protects them. From assassins, and then from what was happening in the world/her role in it. Because there’s that line in Oathbringer that she has, about people loving her but still hurting her.

Navani mentions that after she hit adolescence (and after her parents locked her in a dark room and let her scream herself hoarse because they called her mad, lol) she withdrew. And she no longer asked questions. And she no longer wanted a mother, or a support figure, or someone to take care of her. She rejected all notions of that. Because there was something broken there. That trust was gone. And Jasnah will set aside the crown, and the mask of the queen around her family, but she is only fully vulnerable, and fully HERSELF with Wit.

And I cannot understate (i feel like I’m doing a Good Job of not understating this here people) how absolutely fucking ESSENTIAL that is.

Jasnah is NOT a machine. She is not a divine being beyond trauma and pain. She is a human being who has suffered, and who has responses to this.

Jasnah accepting Wit’s support and companionship is as big a step in processing and healing from her trauma as Kaladin accepting he can’t protect everyone and does not deserve to always carry that guilt.

I don’t care if you don’t like the ship. I don’t care if you think it was rushed (there was...a year long time skip. Things did not remain in stasis. Things changed. This is an interesting narrative device bringing us into them and letting us extrapolate backwards). I don’t care if you hate the bones of Hoid and never want to see him on screen: I DON’T CARE.

If you have any respect and regard for Jasnah as a character I need you to acknowledge that this relationship is a positive and healthy thing for her. I need you to see that it’s a step forwards. I need you to see that, from a purely narrative standpoint: this is a thing that should be celebrated for her.

In terms of Wit, too, this is a good thing. I am not about one-sided relationships where only one person is getting something out of it. Even when that one person is the light of my life Jasnah Kholin who deserves all the things ever.

For all his talk of frivolity, he knew exactly how to present himself. It was something they’d bonded over.

Coming back to this RoW quote let me make things as abundantly clear as possible re why I’ve bonded over this ship: They’re kindred spirits. They understand each other. In a way that no-one else has understood them for Jasnah possibly ever, for Wit in a very very very very very very very very very long time.

They’re both brilliant. They’re both intellectually at the pinnacle of humanity. They both know that. They’re also both damaged. They both cover up that damage with a carefully crafted presentation. Jasnah’s is regal composure and Wit’s flamboyant nonchalance, but it’s a mask in both cases.

They understand each other. And they understand the need to have what they’ve found in one another: someone they don’t have to be that way around. Someone they can just be with. Someone who understands why they have to be that way with everyone else; but can give them the freedom to be themselves.

Such parallel. Much power. Very choice.

I was gonna talk about Other Stuff in this meta but lol. 4k words of clothes screaming later and I feel like maybe this should be part 1 of an ongoing saga. Ahem.

The take away from this is: I totally understand why Brandon put these two characters together. For the amount of characters he has, he actually has relatively few romantic relationships. None of them are done on a whim, and they’re always healthy, mutual, and positive for both characters. They make sense, in short.

And these two as a pairing makes sense. On more than a “”””business transaction””””” level of them wanting and getting information out of one another. It makes sense even if there was no Desolation, and no threat to the world, and they were two randomers who met in a tavern and connected.

There’s a personal connection there. There’s an intimacy, and an understanding, and a sense of looking into another person’s eyes and saying ‘yes. You know. You feel it too’. They go through life in much the same way - standing out, never quite fitting, never finding anyone on their level that can relate to them or compete with them or challenge them.

They have someone who can fulfil them. Someone who can actually meet and exceed their abilities for once. But equally someone who can ground them, and meet them at their lowest point, and allow and even encourage that vulnerability.

TL;DR: this relationship is positive for both characters, and healthy, and important for both and this is a hill I WILL fucking die upon. Just watch me.

More metas to follow. Bc I have more to say. Not as long as this one, in all likelihood, bc I feel like this is the Lynchpin argument for this pair. But still. More to say.

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disasterlesbiansunite · 3 years

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Just Two Things: A Young Royals Fix-It Fic

His mama had stood over him as she began talking. Wilhelm could hardly focus; the vision of the video (his video, his and Simon’s video, the video of Simon) burned into his brain on a constant loop. She hadn't asked him if he was alright, not yet, but he had stopped expecting her to early on in life. Duty first, he guessed, as usual. She pulled away and off the bed, rattled off the words about the interview he’ll do to protect the royal family et cetera, et cetera.

“I don’t want you to see Simon for the time being,” she said, and he glanced up, suddenly feeling like his world is fell away underneath him. He wished Erik were here, that Erik was still alive. If he were, then maybe this would all go away. He doubted any of it could now.

August brought him dinner that night when he’s too exhausted to even leave his bed. He said that Erik would want Wille to be himself - but how is August so sure of what Erik would want him to do to fix this, to just get this whole shitshow over with, when the only person who knows that is six feet under.

“Follow your heart, really.” August said. “Follow your heart.”

If anything his heart only thought of two things at the moment. One is the crumpled up rage he feels that’s been broiling under his skin since he saw the video; the screaming, panicked wild thing that wants to shout at the world and watch it shouts back until no part of him remains, no crown prince, nothing.

The other part of his brain thought of Simon. Holding him, soft and warm until his skin, kissing his neck and inhaling as much of him as possible. Kissing him, kissing Simon, an exhilarating feeling he can’t describe, he won’t ever be able to describe. Almost all of the girls he had kissed had kissed gently and slowly, like they were afraid he would disappear right next to them. It always felt like he was being kissed by air, a ghostly possession that was over in a second and just as uncomfortable.

He would have thought that Simon would kiss like that, he had thought Simon would kiss like that, Simon had kissed like that, before they really truly got to know one another. Now, Simon kissed hard and rough, like he knew Wilhelm wouldn’t disappear but just as quick, aware he couldn’t have him by himself ever. Simon’s kiss had the edge of sandpaper, tough grit and fine smoothness rolled into one. Simon kissed for the sake of it, like there was so much he wanted to do to Wille, do with Wille, that he simply couldn’t function enough to do anything but kiss him. Wille fell asleep soon after that, dinner discarded. He wondered if the last time they would ever kiss would be the time that caused both of him to want to recoil from society and away from the world. A part of him hoped so.

The nail on his thumb was raw and bleeding.

As he walked through Hillerska, everyone stared at him in pity. He was used to the stares, used to the way his simple presence shut up people around until all they could do was give him a dumb look. It was pity that was new to him, but he tried not to focus on that as Malin rushed with him to his first class of the day. He knew the things they were saying, drove himself insane as he googled himself over and over again, watching Sweden’s trending page unravel until it felt like it was all over. He watched as Simon walked into their classroom, turning heads for once in his life. Once except for the amount of times he had his, of course. He mindlessly made small talk with his classmate, but all he could think of were two things.

After class he rushed into the locker room to talk to Simon. He looked sullen, his features that were generally framed in a light source of their own were moody and dark, an awkward, ill fitting portrait. He wanted to kiss it all away. Instead, kicked at Simon’s foot, hooking the two into a game of footsie.

“What the hell are we going to do?” Simon asked, wrapping his hands around Wilhelm’s, as if he had any of the answers. Breaking news, he didn’t. All he could do was sit in silence and hold Simon, it felt like the only thing he could do. Unless…

“They’ve asked me to deny it was me in that video.” He could barely get the words out.

“Serious?”

Wille hummed, unable to interpret that reaction. “They want me to make a statement at the castle on Saturday.”

Simon turned, his head moving off of Wille's shoulder in a way that feels entirely unwelcome. Put that back please. Wille had realized that he could only really function anymore in Simon’s arms. As if he wasn’t touch starved enough, but Simon was hot and didn’t mind so it didn’t really matter. “But you’re not going to do it, right?”

“I don’t want to say anything.” Simon doesn’t get it, but Wilhelm doesn’t expect him too; too impossible to explain.

“But, Wille, everyone can see that it’s me in that video,” Wille groaned. He had forgotten that slightly important detail. Simon continued, “What am I supposed to do? But no matter what, they can’t dictate what you say,” Yes, they absolutely can, they’ve done it before.

We haven’t done anything wrong.” He had forgotten that too, spending so much time yesterday going over consequences and contingencies ranging from plan A to Z it made his head bled. But no one had actually told him that they hadn’t done anything wrong. Not even August, with his love is love attitude that came out of nowhere. Not even fucking him.

Mama had been waiting for him. Mama had met Simon. She never looked twice at Wilhelm, veiled disdain souring her mouth as she stared out the window.

“What? Why can’t I just have a relationship with him? And not say anything. Just live a normal life.” He knows why. He just wants to hear her say it.

“You’re the crown prince.” And there’s the world crashing back down onto him. “And that’s a privilege, not a punishment.” It’s both actually, but whatever, mama.

“Yes, but I didn’t ask for this!” Erik should be here. Erik would know what to do.

“Well, nobody has ever, ever asked for this,” his mama shot back. He feels like a little kid again, feels like biting his thumb raw. “You’re the only one who can take over the throne after Erik. Don’t you understand that?” He wished she would just look at him.

“You’re so young. When you’re young love feels like the most important thing in the world. When I was your age, I too had an unfortunate romance.” He wants to laugh or cry or release that panicked, clawed, anxious feeling that’s always been trapped underneath his chest, beating his heart faster and faster and faster. Unfortunate romance, she said, like Simon isn’t the best thing to happen to him, like Simon wasn’t the only one holding him together, like Simon wasn’t the only real thing in his world.

He snapped back into the conversation.“Is it worth it,” she continued. “If you feel that the attention you’ve been getting so far is unacceptable, it’s nothing compared to what you will endure for the rest of your life. We have a chance to cover this up. I urge you to take this chance. You may not get another.”

With Simon on one shoulder, and his mama and the world on the other, it turns out he was going to make the statement after all. Fucking great.

He felt like throwing up, but, to be fair, when hasn’t he.

“Are you ready?” His mama asked, like he could ever be ready to announce to the world, no that definitely was not me in that tape and that boy is definitely not the love of my life, thank you very much.

He dragged his feet, as he went into the room where Rosenqvists sits. Like Mama said, they only have one chance to not fuck this up.

Rosenqvist smiles at Wilhelm, her eyes hawkish. He musters as much of a smile as he can, playing with the buttons on his suit as the photographer directs the two around.

“It’s good to see you again, your highness.”

His eyes darted around the room. He could hear his mama and papa argue in the room they were in

“You too.”

The interview began then, menial questions about his existence that made him want to bite at his thumb. He resisted, knew that if Rosenqvist saw how his anxiety was surging through him like a freight train and mentioned it in her interview, his mama would be more angry then she already was. The questions are simple really, he barely thought about the answers and more about how Erik would have phrased them. Not like Erik would have been in this situation.

“So, Wilhelm, we both know why we’re here.” She smiled apologetically at him. Here we go. “As you are, no doubt, aware of by now there was a video from Hillerska that is going viral of what is rumored to be yourself and another male student,” she paused for a moment, uncomfortable with the what she’s about to say to a boy she’d been interviewing for most of his life, “being intimate. What do you have to say about these rumors, Crown Prince Wilhelm?” She’s less probing, then. He can tell his mom already prepped her on how exactly this interview needed to go. Fuck.

“That’s not-” his words got stuck in his throat.

“That’s not you in the video?” She filled, looking more and more saddened with each word, more maternal that he thinks he’s seen anyone in his entire life. He wanted to nod, wanted to do what his mama wanted for him, wanted to listen to what she feels is best for their country, because it is theirs now, isn’t it? Erik is dead and gone and never coming back no matter how much Wilhelm wishes he had been able to keep him alive. Wilhelm doesn’t exactly know much about what it takes to be king, not like Erik did, but he’s pretty sure a leaked tape is one thing a king is not supposed to have on his record. Wilhelm should want to deny the rumors, so why does it feel like every time he tries to open his mouth that it’s filled with cotton, that panicked wild thing grabbing hold of his brain and shaking it like his snowglobe. It’s begging him to choose the path of least resistance. And then there was Simon. Simon with his pretty soft voice and his even softer lips. Simon with his kind eyes and hands and just Simon, Simon, Simon. Simon, who has already been broken by the video and if Wilhelm denies their relationship then he’ll only break more. The only things he can think about. Just two things. Two things he can’t seem to choose between.

He took a deep breath. Erik would have wanted him to follow his heart, would have said that that would be how he becomes a great king. By being kind and good, and wholly himself.

He chose.

Simon’s mama shouts for a rematch as he laughed into his snack.

Ayub tensed next to him, “Oh, shit.”

“What’s up?” Simon asked, confused. Did his dad ask him to go home or something?

Instead, Ayub read from his phone: an online copy of this week’s Göteborgs-Posten screenshotted and reposted to Twitter. “The Crown Prince addresses rumors of Viral Video.”

“What?” He could have sworn Willie had said he wouldn’t do the interview. His mom and Sara exchange glances.

Ayub read on, “While the Royal Court denies rumors that the Crown Prince appears in the video that has gone viral this past week, his royal highness Prince Wilhelm goes more in depth on his time at Hillerska and the events surrounding the video. He says, ‘I started at Hillerska to focus on my studies and have kept to that.’ At this moment, the prince pauses and grows quiet.

‘That’s not the entire truth. The truth is that that is me in the video. I do not know who took it or why but the facts remain the same. There are many people who would want me to not address the rumors surrounding me at this time, and some even would want me to outright deny them, but I disagree. If I am to be king, and no matter what happens from this I will be king, I want to be the kind of king the people can be proud of, the kind of king my brother would have been, and the kind of king that if he saw me he’d be proud of. And that starts by being genuine and being myself to the citizens of Sweden and to the world.’ ‘Everyone should be allowed to live as gay or straight or whatever they want,’ says the Crown Prince. ‘And I suppose the former includes me, but I would still like this time to decide further who I am and what kind of king I will be.’”

Simon is stunned. Of all things, he didn’t think of this as even an option. He fishes his phone out of his pocket.

To Wille: just read the interview, what. the. fuck.

From Wille: Is that a good “what. the. fuck!!!” or a “bad what. the. fuck?!?”

To Wille: you’re so brave, wille, thank you

To Wille: also according to ayub youre trending as “gay king wilhelm” on twitter rn

From Wille: Fuck yeah, bow down to your king. Meet me before school starts tomorrow, courtyard?

To Wille: see you then, gay king willie

As Simon approached the school - having already been stopped by four journalists, three photographers, two nosy neighbors and one blogger - he could see as Wille nervously paced at the edge of the courtyard, his hand rubbed deep into his chest, shirt creasing around it. Simon couldn't even begin to imagine what had happened in the palace after Wille’s interview. From what he saw the queen didn’t really strike him as the accepting type, but that was one of those things he’d let Wille discuss on his own time. He snuck up behind Wille instead, held his arms and kissed his neck.

“Hello, my prince,” he said and twirled Wille around and into his arms. Wille let out a little sigh of relief and if he could have held Willie there for forever he would. Wille smiles at him and kisses him on the cheek.

“Can we just go one day Simon without having your weird relationship issues making a scene,” Sara huffed past and quickened her pace to the school. Simon hadn’t noticed the stares, it felt like everyone in the courtyard had been watching them from Felice to August to other boarders Simon couldn’t name, but that had definitely called him names. Simon can’t bring himself to care anymore.

“I’m so proud of you, Wille.” Wilhelm let out a little noise, the only amount of negative emotion that being schooled on refinement since before he could talk would allow. He grabbed at Simon’s coat and drew him in for a hug.

“I love you,” Wille said and suddenly Simon’s whole world had shrunk down to three words.

Wille quickly ended the hug and walked towards the school, his bodyguards following quick after. Simon speed walked up to him and grabbed his hand, “I love you too.” Wille broke out into that tiny golden smile Simon loved to tease out and grabbed Simon’s hand.

The stares followed but Simon didn’t care. “Just two things left,” he said, “Get through this last day before break and then find whoever took that video.”

“And then?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet,”

Wille hummed and played with Simon’s as they settled at the doorway of their first class of the day, “You might want to work on your plans.”

“No, my plan only needs those two things.” Simon messied with Wilhelm’s hair and strolled into the classroom.

Wille followed after one hand fixing his hair, the other clutching at Simon’s hand, muttering, “Just two things?”

Just two things.

#if this is bad im sorry #young royals netflix #young royals #wilhelm x simon #fic writing #yes they are my comfort characters #after like two days #character study #myownfics

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palestinianliberator · 3 years

Text

To be Palestinian is exhausting

You will not find a single Palestinian who hasn’t had to endure all of the following and more:

Constantly having to prove our existence

[This is going to be a tremendously long post, but I implore you to read through what you can]

Constantly having to educate everyone around us on our history and people while we continue to be slaughtered

Constantly having to combat Israeli propaganda and dehumanization campaigns against us

Constantly having to combat liberal propaganda from those who simply cannot understand the pain and damage they are doing

Constantly having to defend ourselves from the overwhelming forces that stand in our way, from the Israeli forces to the global institutions that help support it to the structures in the US that mean that any Palestinian who dares speak out risk both their lives and livelihood

Constantly in fear of whether or not you’ll end up on another “list” as a result of daring to speak out

Constantly having to do it all again as soon as we’re back on the news

Constantly having to answer for all other Palestinians in a way that nobody else is expected to

Constantly being seen as the “crazy one” when trying to share your narrative, having to defend against an endless barrage of accusations of antisemitism

Constantly being put into situations by bad-faith actors who attempt to engage in “debate” or “discussion” or “dialogue” with talking points that demean and duhamanize you, all while being expected to maintain a smile and cool composure while someone literally debates to your face your own existence or how “actually it’s YOUR people’s fault you’re being slaughtered! Israel isn’t the bad guy here!”

Constantly being forced to choose between engaging in bad-faith debates framed in a way to make you look like the unreasonable bad guy while the person implicitly defending your ethnic cleansing is made to look like the “rational good guy” or looking after your own mental health, knowing that even refusing these “invitations” is itself a mark against you and your people

Constantly being told that you’re too “biased”, too “close”, too “emotional” about the literal slaughter of your people to be seen as a valid source, while Israelis and complete outsiders are given all the space they want to speak for us endlessly

Constantly seeing people being actively mislead and wondering if you have the capacity to reach out to them and attempt to share your narrative with them, knowing that if you don’t, they’re going to go on to propagate the same lies justifying your ethnic cleansing

Constantly having to combat GENUINE censorship throughout the media, social media, and society itself. It’s a fact proven by former Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Youtube employees that Palestinian voices have their reach censored in a way no one else does, which is why it’s so important to amplify and actively share Palestinian voices rather than just liking or indicating support

Constantly being told you don’t know your own history by people who’ve educated themselves on Youtube and Wikipedia despite having lived the reality yourself and dedicating your entire life to studying every single aspect of it

Constantly seeing those who have the courage to stand alongside you being shut down with accusations of antisemitism and seeing them lose their courage to stand by you out of fear of their own image and livelihood and having to rush to their defense as well

Constantly having to see photos of your people, sometimes even people you know, maimed, injured, murdered, or burned to ash by Israeli aggression but knowing you have a duty to share what’s happening and must stomach the images to show the world the true extent of the suffering we endure

Constantly having to worry not just for your own safety, but the safety of your family and loved ones who can be punished or targeted because of things you yourself say

Constantly wondering who you can actually trust, from new friends and acquaintances to professors to even other Palestinians because we’ve been so heavily infiltrated by Israeli intelligence looking to blackmail Palestinians using anything from their sexual orientation or even made up “evidence” meant to ruin their lives

Constantly having your heart sink every notification you get wondering if it’s news that a loved one has been killed

Constantly seeing the corpses of loved ones shared on social media and reliving the trauma all over again, yet again knowing that you WANT the world to see what’s happening

Constantly seeing the effects this has on your own family and feeling helpless to do anything

Constantly on alert for the FBI at your door as they often “visit” Palestinians who dare speak out, myself included on numerous occasions

Constantly wondering if your advocacy for your people is going to result in the loss of your job, scholarship, license

Constantly being asked to “humanize” and “feel for” those who live their lives day in day out completely unfazed by your suffering despite living in a society that couldn’t even FUNCTION without our subjugation

Constantly being told “don’t blame regular Israelis, blame the government!!” as if the state itself wasn’t founded on our ethnic cleansing, as if it isn’t “normal Israelis” who make up the entirety of the Israeli Military and have actively brutalized you and your people

Seeing allies you fought for suddenly SILENT when it’s their time to speak up

Studying on a US campus where those SAME SOLDIERS WHO ENGAGED IN YOUR PERSECUTION AND ACTIVELY SERVED AS THE ENFORCERS OF YOUR OCCUPATION then re-enact the trauma against you and you’re meant to simply ignore the fact that THEY ARE THE SAME PEOPLE WHO MURDERED YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY, and not being allowed to even be ANGRY at that

Trying to navigate this half-life in the diaspora where it’s a struggle to connect with other Palestinians given the distance between us and yet not being able to connect with anyone around because, again, they simply can’t understand

Constantly being expected to simply give up your time to those who demand you answer them and debate your existence and narrative with them, who them take you blocking them for your own mental health as a “victory” to be lorded over you when you simply can’t take it anymore

Constantly having to EXPLAIN all of this because nobody but other Palestinians can truly understand just how pervasive, overwhelming, and incapacitating this unique form of exhaustion is

Constantly seeing your erasure and ethnic cleansing defended all over the media, all over social media, throughout your academic career, while those ENGAGED in your ethnic cleansing have the audacity to claim that the media is biased against THEM

Constantly on guard with everything you say and write, knowing that unlike those promoting our ethnic cleansing, we don’t have the luxury of making mistakes or getting lazy in our writing and advocacy. One mistaken source, mistaken information, being imperfect is enough to discredit your voice entirely

The crippling obligation you have to share the narrative of your people, knowing that so many people will view you as the spokesperson of your entire people, knowing how unfair it is, but also knowing that if you DON’T speak out, nobody will on your behalf, and even the most well-intentioned, involved allies can simply never understand how it all truly feels

Seeing the entire world stand by and do absolutely nothing while your people are slaughtered time and time again

Seeing your history misconstrued by people implicitly defending your ethnic cleansing and settler-colonialism

Knowing that our parents have been through this and more, seeing them have to go through this yet again while still being forced to go about their daily lives and given no time to mourn or recover

Not being able to even share our culture without being attacked for it

Knowing that so many of your friends and family won’t ever be able to return to their homeland while foreigners from around the globe are flown into Israel free because it’s their “birthright”

A “birthright” denied to even my own parents, born in Jerusalem yet unable to enter it

Having even self-proclaimed “allies” question Palestinian resistance, policing our tone, never /really/ understanding our pain and anger and how they themselves contribute to it

Screaming from the moment you can about what’s happening to us, desperately trying to get people to CARE, and having it often fall on deaf ears

Knowing that if you’re not the source of information for those genuinely seeking to learn, they may find themselves mislead by sources that claim to be fair and balanced while imprinting subtle lies about Palestine and Palestinians on those they engage with

Not even being able to find the energy and ability to respond to genuine messages of love and support, which are greatly appreciated, and feeling bad about it because you don’t want to seem like you’re not genuinely happy to hear it

Feeling a sense of overwhelming exhaustion in times like this while at the same time being unable to sleep

Seeing the effect all of this has had on your people, knowing your people have among the highest rates of depression on the planet and yet we’re all suffering together with no way to ease the pain

Being constantly exposed to the ways in which your people are erased and questioning if you have the energy or sanity left to deconstruct such aggression to help outsiders understand the severity of it all

Seeing allies suddenly call for “peace” when Palestinians are finally fed up enough to rise up and fight back against an overwhelming military force

I could go on, but in case you it’s not already clear, I’m tired and exhausted

Always wondering if any of this is even worth it when the world has ignored your slaughter and ethnic cleansing for nearly 8 decades, knowing that nobody is about to step in to help now.

Constantly wondering if any of this is even worth it, and then feeling inspired by fellow Palestinians, our resilience, the fact that despite ALL of this and more, we continue to fight.

Despite all of this, I would never even consider or entertain the thought of being born as anything other than Palestinian

#Palestine #Israel #Gaza #I could go on for literal hours or days #There is SO much to our pain and suffering #SO much #But I know that even trying to explain EVERY aspect of it is #itself likely to lead to a diminished audience and serve to perpetuate the very things I mentioned

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olderthannetfic · 3 years

Text

Ah, I do see your points, anon. I'm not going to post all your asks publicly because if you really feel that unsafe, it's probably best not to have a bigass chunk of your text for people to analyze and try to guess your identity from. I think one of the best points you made is about how close to home it hits when the non-fave is not only your fave but is similar to you in some way like demographic. You're not wrong for having those emotions. I do wonder if they make it hard to see how some other people feel similarly embattled on other axes.

TBH, I think one of the big problems here is that the large aggregate patterns you're talking about are racist, but most individual fics and fans are not really the problem. It's hard to know how to talk about this or who to tell to "fix" it when we're looking at free, hobbyist art.

A lot of people's tastes are certainly formed by shitty society, but once they're formed, they don't change fast if at all. Asking someone to rewrite their libido is a big ask, yet tumblr does it all the time as though it's as simple as snapping your fingers.

This leaves me with the sense that a lot of tumblr is... like... the political lesbians of porn fic or something: desire is not real, only choosing based on logic and politics. Or maybe people are so asexual that they just don't understand the lizard brain's "YES!" at some porn things and complete indifference to others?

I don't think it's great if great swaths of people feel like bottom!Nicky is super hot and top!Nicky fundamentally isn't, but I also don't think they can necessarily just turn it off like flipping a switch.

(If someone reading this doesn't like their current tastes and wants to attempt to alter them, I do think it's possible. What you should do is line up a large slate of media that prominently features characters of the ethnicity or whatever that you don't find hot/interesting. These should be leads whose emotional development drives the plot and is supposed to be central to the audience's enjoyment of the media. Watch/read/etc. this media all the time. All. The. Time. Try out many pieces because you won't like every character or every show, and we're looking for genuine enjoyment, not the fandom equivalent of a pity fuck. Spend enough time on this, and your unconscious sense of who's hot and interesting will eventually shift somewhat. This is a project you should expect to take a few years.)

But I digress.

The one tweet thing is a very toxic pattern. If TOG fandom is doing that, guys, please try to be more conscious of holding the actors of color to a higher standard (or the women or whomever). I know this often comes from a place of paying more attention to our own and wanting to set a good standard, but the effect is that minorities can't fuck up ever while white dudes get infinite passes.

Okay, on to the fic thing... Gotta say, my instant reaction to that description is "Ooh!"--as it would be for the same scenario with the characters reversed. (Ships who start out trying to kill each other are my favorite! x1000 if they're resurrecting style immortals and they literally do.) I can see how it would feel like slamming into a brick wall if you aren't kinky in just the right way and you didn't know it was coming though.

Part of why I react so strongly to a lot of discourse that runs along these lines is that I am a naturally extremely kinky person. It's not so much about what I do (which as a deeply lazy person in a long distance relationship is essentially nothing), but it's absolutely how I'm wired.

And I can tell you that my quotidian experience in fandom is sharing something I don't even realize is a big deal only to have someone I like, respect, and trust react in horror and tell me that it's triggering and awful and should not be allowed in fandom spaces because it makes "people" unsafe. It's such an instant, kneejerk reaction they don't even realize I was sharing it because it spoke to the very core of me. Lesson learned, friend. Lesson learned.

That sounds a bit off topic, I know, but bear with me: The point of that anecdote is that it's pretty common for me to get people trying to raise my awareness of things I have already thought deeply about while denying my essential humanity and not even realizing. As a kinky person who likes to make my fave the top (and generally a conflicted sadist), this constant request to explain and justify is exhausting.

I doubt most of the top!Joe fans have this precise problem simply because people who make their fave the top are much less common in fandom than people who make their fave the bottom, but I see a similar pattern with fans who are just fundamentally wired for rape fantasies (one of the most common fantasies that exists) vs. fans who just don't get rape fantasies at all. Or substitute your BDSM/kinky/messed up fantasy trope of choice. Covertly radical feminist attitudes towards kink and power are on the rise in fandom, and as a naturally kinky person, boy do I notice it!

I know that it feels like crucial activism to share these insights about why the ratio of top!Joe is hurtful, and the pain you feel is real. But it's also the case that it's a big ask to want people to listen. (Not me. Obviously, I routinely choose to engage with discourse. I mean overall.) The reason for that is that you're only seeing a fraction of what they do or who they are, and you don't know how many previous people they've listened to how many previous times. It's a very different situation from someone whose job is making some major TV series or movie or something. That person does, in my opinion, owe you some amount of listening.

Now, I'm not saying no top Joe fan was ever a jerk. I'll bet they were. There's a tendency to be rude and to publicly air your schadenfreude when you feel like everyone has been yelling at you. What I am saying is that a lot of the problem here boils down to conflicting needs, and that means there isn't a good solution. It's a situation where people are genuinely hurt, but I don't necessarily agree that other people have harmed them.

I like that you did an actual count of the explicit fics, btw. It's good to look at the real numbers. I see too little of that in these situations. My off the cuff reaction is that 2/3 to 1/3 is not a bad ratio at all compared to many fandoms, but yeah, it definitely shows a strong trend, and that can be painful. (I have a fandom where I think there's maybe like 1 bottom so-and-so fic in the entire zine era fandom. One. It's pretty extreme.)

I guess my thinking here overall is: What is the practical solution? What are we hoping to gain? What is reasonable to ask of people?

And it can't be "Well, if they would just listen..." That's just a sneaky way of saying "If you haven't done it my way, it's because you haven't listened to me yet."

So the question I would ask of people is this:

What does a non-racist fic where Joe tops look like?

What does a non-racist sex pollen, dubcon, or even noncon fic where Joe tops look like?

And if you say the latter is impossible... well... sadists exist everywhere in the world. So do doms. So do people who prefer to top in a purely physical sense. People with rape fantasies where they're the rapist exist (people who are not actually rapists, I mean). None of this is restricted to any one group. We can't categorically say fic like that about Joe is coming from a place of racism without denying the fundamental humanity of kinky MENA people who'd want to make Joe like themselves or like their ideal partner. (Yes, I agree this won't be the majority of fic writers writing top!Joe, but this is a place to start for figuring out what the better version would look like.)

IDK, maybe you're that kinkster yourself, but your asks gave me the vibe that you don't really get the drive towards those darker kinds of fics and what might be motivating it besides stereotypes and shittiness.

If we can answer these kinds of questions, we can better critique the way people write what they write without telling them all of their taste is bad and they should just stop writing. Even if we think the latter is true, it isn't going to get us anywhere. Figuring out how to make Joe more multidimensional in the fic they already want to write or finding very specific wording that should be avoided might actually work.

Beyond that, the actions I think are productive would be running prompt fests, exchanges, or other events for bottom!Joe or for top!Joe where he's the main character and the fics are required to be from his POV. Themed collections and recs lists are great. (I've seen a bit of this going around in TOG fandom in the past, and that's an excellent approach! Keep it up!) Positive actions tend to work better here. Make more of what you want. Promote what you want to see.

I don't mean this in some fluffy magical thinking way: you aren't going to change that ratio radically just by the power of positivity. But I've seen this kind of thing play out in many, many fandoms, and going after the people who write what you don't like, even in a well-intentioned effort to educate and even in a polite, kind way doesn't do much. A few people feel guilty. A few feel defensive. A lot ignore you. The overall fic doesn't change. It's not a good use of your limited time and energy.

I'm off to look up that fic to see what I think of it in practice, but I'm going to post this before tumblr manages to eat it.

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rpbetter · 3 years

Note

I'm so tired of roleplaying with people who don't put half the commitment I do into our threads and muses. I'm so tired of feeling like I'm a weirdo or like I don't belong for that. Any other hobby and people wouldn't care if I took it seriously. Why is roleplaying different? How can I keep going like this if I'm getting rudeness from all sides? I can't even go outside my already tiny bubble and find more partners, because I always see people putting roleplayers like me down and it's exhausting.

"Why is roleplaying different?"

Well, Anon, I know that was a rhetorical question, but I have some thoughts on that. To the surprise of no one!

I strongly believe that this is an issue with how fandom has come to dominate roleplaying. As I've said before, it really wasn't always like that. Of course, you always had canon characters and almost all RPers were invested in a fandom or two. The difference was that online RP was once viewed much more like tabletop RPGs are.

When the RPC became a near-total offshoot of Fandom, a lot of shit changed and very rapidly...and within Fandom, a lot of shit was changing very rapidly as well at that time.

RP has always been something looked down on (though, at least no one ever accused written RP online of being literally demonic like they did DnD, or made correlations to murder sprees like they did LARPing, so there's that) as strange, not the good, understandable sort of dorky.

Part of that is almost certainly because of the difference in the way society views writing vs the way it views hobbies like gaming - writing is seen as an intellectual pursuit and a job, gaming, even at its most negative points of view in wider society, has been seen traditionally as a downtime activity only.

But. RP was not looked down upon from within Fandom or in roleplay communities themselves like it is now.

When the whole experience of fandoms themselves became extremely mainstream and open, it welcomed in a ton of shit ideas and behaviors that were not previously prevalent. It changed RP, too, along many of those same lines.

When your hobby is considered objectionably weird by people within the fandoms you love and RP in and that makes you a sort of lowest-tier fan, the viewpoint of RP to RPers becomes something lesser than a valid hobby. When RPers are the same people who engage with Fandom monetarily, anything not monetized is passively consumable content, including RP. And RPers are trying to both deflect shame and struggling with wider society's mixed messages, that now hit them everywhere online as well. Shit like, "you don't have to monetize your hobby, it's okay to just make really good cross stitches of memes for yourself" and "if you're not paying me, you have no control over me."

We seriously do not view RP as a proper hobby anymore, that's why. There are many factors to that, those are just few, but that's the ultimate answer. It's not seen that way because it's not valued in the same way.

I think much of the problem with muns losing their entire shit over anyone else approaching the hobby differently, dare I say...more seriously, is related to a lot of complex psychology about self-esteem, control, and anxiety. So many people here struggle with serious self-worth and confidence issues, and I think to many of them, whether they realize it or not, when they see serious RPers, they feel like that's an inherent judgment and a danger to their own enjoyment. Because RP, as writing, is a skilled hobby - the more you practice it, the more skilled you become with it. Meaning that someone who approaches the writing seriously is going to be at a higher skill level.

Enter the way we're training to think about writing again - when they see someone who is very practiced, skilled, and confident with their writing, the learned idea is that they're somehow superior in a nasty, personal way.

I most certainly do not think that makes it alright, it isn't, and I'm not very tolerant of it.

It's absolutely alright to engage with RP in any way you see fit. If that's extremely casual, it's a minor hobby for you, that's great! I'm so happy you're enjoying yourself, and I mean that in no facetious way. But not when that is the only form of it respected and accepted. It's just as alright to have RP as your primary, serious hobby!

The only way we can all enjoy a hobby with such great variance within it is by respecting each other's variables, not by vilifying them. It's recognizing that, no matter how much you enjoy the mun and/or muse, they're not engaging with the hobby in the way you are, it's not a good fit to write together. (Please, begging y'all to be friends with those who are different, not enemies, shit's sake. You've not got to write together to be friends!) Instead of labeling them and being hateful. Different =/= a threat.

And, to go off a bit lol y'all demonizing serious RPers really don't get that there are some intense tones of ableism and more going on in that narrative of yours, huh?

Not that anyone requires a reason to be serious about any hobby, but when people pick a hobby like RP as their primary one...you should probably have the maturity to consider why that is. Could it be that they focus on a hobby they can do from their homes and that requires low physical involvement, and has a degree of separation from direct socializing, for a reason?

Serious RPers tend to be limited in their ability to pursue other hobbies. Mental and physical health, region, finances, and ability to spend time outside of the home are all very common limits for those who "take RP too seriously/are addicted to RP."

Maybe take five seconds away from your own issues to consider that the person you're shitting on for something so minor as a difference of importance of a hobby might be the full-time caretaker of a special needs child, having to remain home and on a very small income. They might be chronically ill or suffer from agoraphobia. They might live in an area with no hobbies of interest, affordability, or at all...or they might live somewhere that is incredibly dangerous for them.

I honestly do not know where these people have been that they've been aggressed at by serious RPers, but that's usually the excuse. (I'm not saying it has never happened or does not happen, before anyone goes there.) The idea that serious RPers are extreme elitists who are demanding that other muns do what they do, how they do it. That they expect other muns to be online and RPing all the time, that they be "available for entertainment at all times" at the cost of real-life matters. Having the expectation that threads not be dropped constantly or that a writing partner not leave for months with no contact is neither of those things.

In over two decades of RPing across almost every platform type that has existed, I have literally never seen that be either a singular RPer-type problem or one that serious RPers are even more likely to deal in. I've seen the opposite, actually. Which is not a condemnation or a statement that all casual RPers do this, just what my experience has been. And one that actually stands to reason based on the way they view and engage with RP - quick replies, quick entertainment, and very low commitment to threads, muses, or other muns. Of course, it's annoying to them when a more serious RPer is unwilling to do rapid-fire style quick, short threads from an ask with them, but is writing the lengthy replies they already owed instead.

That's probably a factor as well, in here among a plethora of misunderstanding/unawareness of differences - for many serious RPers, it's not easier and more fun to write short, quick threads. So, what a casual RPer is seeing is that they're willing to put all this extraordinary effort into a massive reply to someone else while their easy, fun, quickly done thread is waiting in line.

Misunderstandings and unawareness breed hostility, period. And there is a hell of a lot of those things in the RPC.

What serious RPers are expressing are either boundaries/expectations or frustration. Not a demand that you be around all the time, but an expectation that you leave them alone if you're not also a serious RPer who will be committed to threads and muses. Not hostility and elitism, the frustration that it's already difficult to find muns who will work out before you add in the majority rule of casual RPers.

It's incredibly disheartening, frustrating, and honestly, a bit anxiety-inducing to constantly be the weird one, always have few choices, and to be at risk of being Problematic purely because you take the hobby seriously. You can't vent without someone jumping on your ass to remind you (even if you said numerous times that "real life comes first" and "people can do what they want") that omg, people have lives, people can do what makes them happy, it's just RP.

It's so upsetting when you think you might have found a good writing partner, then, you see a PSA they've reblogged about how it's a "hobby, not a jobby," and "no one owes anyone anything, ever." Excuse me, as that last one is a direct quote, let me redo it so it is verbatim: "no one owes anyone here anything - EVER !!!"

I said I wasn't very tolerant :)

But seriously, exactly what you've expressed is why I'm not...it's another form of controlling others instead of trying your best to control your own experience, and it's often extremely hateful. I'm not tolerant of anything like that, it's no longer supporting preferences at that point. When your preference is the only one that will be tolerated in the community, it's not a preference anymore.

It's something that makes others feel isolated, afraid of harassment, and depressed. It is a hobby and it isn't supposed to make you feel like that!

And, no, absolutely the fuck not lol the "answer" to this isn't that you're taking it too seriously and need to take a break. I'm so tired of seeing that shit tacked onto RPH responses and vents and PSAs. You're not saying that RP is making you feel this way, "just take a break and come back when you agree with everyone else" isn't a solution.

Of course, if you do feel like your time here has become so upsetting? Yeah, obviously, you should try to find some other things to supplement your downtime that make you feel happier again. Engage in some other forms of writing just meant for yourself, or that can be published as fics. Spend some more time on a game you enjoy for a while, or get invested in a new one. Learn to shape bonsai or make no-knead rolls. Whatever would make you happy as a hobby when you're not here.

Other than that, however, well...we're not going to be implying on this blog that you're too serious and need to take a hiatus until you have no emotional investment in your hobby. That's insane. I'd not say it about hiking, martial arts, dog obedience competitions, hobby farming, or painting either.

I wish I could think of some solutions as to where you could look that wasn't like this, but it's definitely the majority of the RPC. It doesn't help that, due to this, serious RPers have a tendency to quietly stick together and not venture out into the RPC. They're just not incredibly easy to find.

I will say that they tend to be:

novella - if you're not here for serious RP and sticking around for a while, you're not going to invest the time and energy into particularly lengthy writing

older RPers - I would say that twenty-five is probably the youngest, with early thirties to late forties being the majority

in fandoms with a large adult base of fans - even if it's a franchise friendly to, or even meant for, younger fans, if it has a particularly active adult fanbase, it's a better chance of finding serious RPers in it

as above, old fandoms - fandoms that have been around for a long time tend to have more serious RPers in them

fandomless OCs - tend to have a higher chance of being written by serious RPers than canons or heavily fandom-involved OCs

RPers who do not do a ton of advertising for their muse(s), but when they do, they don't advertise them based on activism points or trends

slightly more likely to not have an emphasis on highly aesthetic blogs, graphics, icons etc. - they use a modified basic tumblr theme, low on graphics, their aesthetics are not on-trend, for example

anti-content policing/"write what you want" style muns

muns with more extensive rules pages - they plan to be here for a while, they take writing, RP, and their muse(s) seriously, so, it's a bit more important to them to head off problems before they start

those with older characters/FCs - be that literally in age or the character being one that has existed for a long time

"stay in your lane" style muns - if they're opining on fandom or the RPC, they must really be angry about something

those with numerous and detailed headcanons - for example, their response to a HC meme ask like, "what's your muse's favorite ice cream flavor?" is going to be treated seriously, not simply answered with "mint chocolate chip because my bby is gross"

As usual, not a complete or perfect list. I don't fit some of the things on there! It could give you some things to look for when trying to find other serious RPers, though. It's based on observances from someone who was never a casual RPer, even as a minor (me, obviously), and maybe it could at least keep you from continuously running into hostility about your approach to RP.

I've honestly considered making a list of some sort expressly for RPers who are on the more serious end of the spectrum, but...in a RPC back when things were dominated by serious RPers, I did that sort of thing with a RPH I had, and it still got labeled as being a list for and by Elitists. I don't know that anyone would want to put themselves out there for potential harassment on tumblr, you know? It was a joke then, just having a group of RPers label you as an Elitist. Here, you get told to kill yourself, and none of us need more of that shit, right?

Try to hang in there, Anon, I know it's upsetting, and I'm so sorry that something fun has gotten to be like this.

Try to understand that these people are coming from a place of irrational defensiveness, often in response to bullying themselves at some point or feeling bad about themselves. That doesn't make it right, but it does make it easier to not take to heart.

And keep at it! In my experience here, once you find a group of people you fit into, it really is...A Group. Especially among RPers who are ostracized, they stick together, they promote each other, and they're very happy for their mutuals to become your mutuals. Once you find them, it unlocks so many opportunities for the interactions and type of RP you've been missing!

#answered #anonymous #serious rpers #rp problems #rp advice

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flightofaqrow · 3 years

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YOUR CHARACTER IN FIVE QUOTES!

( repost, do not reblog. ) Tell us your favorite quotes from your character. Give us an idea of who they are by five things they’ve said.

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Alright, buckle up, I’m stealing this meme and repurposing it for my own use. Probably more than five, and including some quotes from others about him, though I’m going to try to keep it in groupings, and also not meant to be exhaustive of qrow’s character, but rather, to point out some very poignant lines that have effected my portrayal and... some possibly in an unpopular way compared to what I’ve seen in the fandom? I think Qrow Branwen is more complex than fitting the broody broken boi trope would give credit for (though he at least fits it as an overall stereotype).

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1) I’m absolutely sure Qrow had a rough start and transition from the tribe to ‘civilized society’, coupled with typical teenage hormones and mood swings, but generally, Beacon was a good time, and he sees himself as a good huntsman, and (though we may joke about it sometimes) he absolutely does not have an active nor passive death wish.

Yeah, yeah, I know he has a song all about how he self depreciates and carries shame, but that’s a theme of his attitude, not backed up to be every single aspect of his life by actual canon. Quite the contrary.

I don’t know where fndm gets the idea that he constantly lost his battles (especially to Raven) or was perpetually looked down on or stayed an angsty, broody teenager (who could never possibly have ever even breathed a single happy breath on his own without Summer??) all four years. As if school was hell and he never came into his own until STRQ was a graduated unit or something? If ever?

Leo tells Raven she and her brother are evenly matched. Raven herself - who takes pride in being stronger and more clever than others - describes them as a pair: “we were good.”

“you're talking to a member of the coolest team that graduated Beacon! ...we were pretty well known back in the day. ...hey, we looked good! and I have a number of inappropriate stories to back that up!”

“let me tell ya, these kids are way better than we were at their age. ...well, not better than me, specifically...”

“a professional huntsman like myself is expected to get results as soon as possible.”

The way Qrow talks about his past, as well as carrying a memento of team STRQ around with him, it’s very nostalgic for better times. The way he talks about his work, if not himself, can actually be to the point of being self-aggrandizing, instead of depreciating. He’s even able to admit that his dreaded semblance, Misfortune, “comes in handy in a fight.”

“lots of us thought you were just layin' low. eventually, we just came to accept that you were probably dead. but the stories about you, i based my weapon off of yours. i wanted to be as good as the Grimm Reaper.”

Qrow talks about himself as striving to be better. It seems he never really sees himself as reaching that standard, but it certainly implies he knows he’s not at the bottom - he had an ideal he wanted to reach and likely worked towards. Notice the use of “us” and “we” as well - he talks about himself as part of a group of larger huntsfolk circles. Who knows if this refers to students or licensed professionals or both, but this heavily, heavily implies that he was more than just a sad, outside loner, at least for a time; he chatted with others and traded stories about goings-on and missions and idols.

Somewhat related and leading into...

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2) At least around this blog, Qrow does not have an inferiority complex because of Raven.

Does he have some internalized shame about being soft that he can’t quite shake? A few insecurities about being unwanted compared to her natural leadership and competence? Yes. Does he consciously view himself as lesser than her? No.

Also... he’s not co-dependent on her. To a degree, for while? Yeah, there was probably an unhealthy reliance going on there. But Qrow and Raven establish themselves with their own identities at some point, they’d have to, to chose different paths so stubbornly. There’s a rift there, eventually, if not always having been at odds in some ways and comfort in others.

“Raven's got an interesting way of looking at the world that I don't particularly agree with. [The weak die, the strong live. Those are the rules.]”

“...they were killers and thieves.”

We are shown that the twins were raised with this weak/strong dichotomy. Raven bought into it, but Qrow explicitly separates himself from that belief. Shown again when he mocks Raven with, “because that was your rule, right?”

He believes in true family, he believes in protecting the weak, he believes in doing good, he believes in standing up for what’s right. He may not like being emotionally vulnerable, but he shows softness and kindness to others, and for as much as he likes his flourish when fighting, he also isn’t afraid to look an absolute fool either.

He is shown de-escalating conflict time and again, even if he also falls back into violent, defensive patterns at times, too. He resents Raven for the choices she made, and as far as I interpret, thinks she’s the lesser one for running away and abandoning her family and her mission. (Meanwhile, she thinks the same of him for turning his back on the tribe.)

He all but spits on the tribe’s way of life, is willing to attack them outright to get the Spring Maiden. Why would he judge himself by those standards any longer? No, he lives by his own code, a huntsman’s code, and even has some pride in that. It’s why he can call Clover out on it. It’s why he folds when Robyn holds him to it.

It’s why it hurts when he finds out what gave him more meaning, aligned more with his own heart, than the tribe’s dogma may not actually have any purpose at all...

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3) There’s so much to unpack here:

“No one wanted me... I was cursed... I gave my life to you because you gave me a place in this world... I thought I was finally doing some good... Meeting you... was the worst luck of my life...”

No one wanted him? I believe this means the tribe, maybe even Raven, maybe trying to make friends, but no one until Oz? Does this include STRQ? I have trouble reconciling that one with everything else we’re shown. I still maintain he was part of bigger circles, but we get confirmation that these were probably fleeting or superficial. He knew people and was known, but no one stuck around. Also more confirmation of his values. Gave me a place sounds like so much more than refocusing to me. It’s not gave me a direction, not told me what to do, it’s took who i am and gave that person a place to thrive - despite the bad that comes with - to work towards something better. Just like he always wanted.

But then he backtracks. What is it he regrets? We do know how he likes to go into dramatic hyperbole about these things when he’s upset. [eg. “we’re not family anymore.” “i shouldn’t have come. i shouldn’t have let any of you come.” “we can kill the man who put us here.” “gone. like everybody else.”] (I love that crwby lets their characters do it. we all say things we don’t mean in the moment, give voice to those intrusive thoughts.)

I’ve talked before about how I picture him having flashes of all the lives he could have had instead. Would he have gone back with Raven and at least still had her? Would he just have been a normal huntsman defending people from Grimm without the crushing extra knowledge? Might he have been able to have a relationship or family of his own had he not signed up for the vagabond spy life? Does he just resent losing Summer and Raven because of how things went down? We don’t know, and I think the point is that he probably doesn’t either, but the weight of sacrificing all those alternatives and putting so much faith in Ozpin, stacking so much of his life’s work and identity on being part of the inner circle, comes crashing down on him all at once.

also quite fitting...

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4) "Nice place to raise a family. ...If you're ...into that sort of thing."

This is from his World of Remnant narration, talking about Patch, but it hits so damn hard. The softness and warmth in the first half of the statement, followed by the harsh need to qualify it in regards to his own outlook... We learn all we need to know about his opinion of the subject.

We see the conflict right there - the possibility of such a thing brings a wholesome lilt to his voice, yet he implies that it’s not something he personally intends to pursue. Is that because he doesn’t want it or because he thinks he can’t or shouldn’t have it? I don’t think that’s clear, and he may not know either.

At the very least, I fall into the camp of him believing he doesn’t want it. Combine that with the fact that he does pick up that spy life, which makes keeping his distance a necessity, and makes settling down near impossible, and then he definitely knows it’s not in the cards for him.

So I think it ultimately falls somewhere between. Why would he make the commitment to being a lone spy if he had dreams of love and a family? ...But then why would he resent making the sacrifice of that possibility later if he didn’t?

Having his nieces around probably softened him up to the idea, but he’d already made his decision by that point. He’s also solid and generally happy with his choices at the point it would most matter. He’s married to his job. He’s fulfilling his missions well, in well-suited ways for his strengths and flaws. He has his nieces around as a balm on any sort of biological clock. He has his purpose with Oz. Until he doesn’t.

This is an incredibly long-winded way of restating that one of the headcanon hills I do stand to die on is: Gray-romantic Qrow.

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5) “some people are just born unlucky... my semblance isn't like most - it's not exactly something i... do.”

I am constantly confused by the amount of people trying to do character analysis around Misfortune and Qrow based on standard semblance lore, when he has yet again stated explicitly to the contrary. We all have carte blanche ya’ll. We can do whatever we want with this, because he’s already told us his semblance breaks the rules.

My full headcanon for it is here and my opinion about the direction I hope it takes is here but tl;dr

Unless we learn otherwise, there are very, very few ways I believe Misfortune is a reflection of Qrow’s soul, if at all. This is from the first headcanon, but it’s worth restating, because it’s important to me, aaand fits the theme of pulling in some quotes from other characters:

Everyone likes to quote Ren and his description of someone’s personality being incorporated into a semblance. I don’t buy it for qrow. Here’s the FULL quote: “A common philosophy is that a warrior’s Semblance is a part of who they are. Some say your personality and character can define your Semblance while some claim that it is the other way around. Of course, there are still many who don’t see a connection at all.”

So unless we find out otherwise I will also die on the hill that qrow is an example of the middle part. Qrow’s personality/soul has nothing to do with why his semblance is what it is, but being forced to grow up and live with Misfortune has defined him tremendously.

OKAY, there are some smaller quick ones, but I’ll stick to my five points like I promised at least, and maybe do a lesser version some other time. :]

#qrow branwen #* legends and stories; some of them true; some made up = meta *#* hey don't get mad cause i'm right = headcanon *#long post tw

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destiniesfic · 3 years

Photo

132 Hours, Chapter 3:

“Let me step on your back,” I say abruptly.

Read chapter 3 on AO3, or read below:

“Sherlock Holmes.”

I barely have to think about it. “Sherlock Holmes was an omega.”

“No.” Cardan sounds totally affronted. “No way. How can you even say that?”

For lack of anything better to do, we have been playing this game for nearly an hour. Mostly fictional characters, but some historical figures, too, who are up for debate. As much as alphas would love to lay claim to every known conqueror, it just isn’t realistic. Cardan and I have already gone back and forth on Alexander the Great and Ivan the Terrible and Ghengis Khan. Designations live in a kind of middle space between gender and sexual orientation, so people make assumptions based on the way you present in society, but also whether you’re an alpha, an omega, or a mythical beta is, technically, no one’s business but yours. So, especially in older stories, these things go unsaid or are discreetly left for the reader to surmise.

“Why would he be an alpha?” I challenge.

Cardan is sitting in his corner, one leg propped up, elbow on knee, same as before. He shrugs. “I mean, he feels empowered to take charge in crime scene investigations, he’s assertive—”

“You’re thinking of the BBC reboot,” I scoff. “The way Conan Doyle wrote his Holmes wasn’t like that. He was an expert, yes, and knew it, but he admitted it when someone bested him, and he went out of his way to help vulnerable people. People who had been scammed, or… single women.”

As bad as it seems for omegas and women—especially omega women—now, it would have been even worse in the stratified Victorian era. We still have our strata, but they were more codified then:

Alpha men

Alpha women/omega men (depending on the situation)

Omega women

And, of course, it was all way worse when race and class got thrown in. The point is that someone like Violet Smith of “The Solitary Cyclist”—a woman, assumed omega, and poor—would have been in real trouble without Holmes’ help.

“So he’s an omega because he’s nice to widows?” Cardan asks, with a glare.

“No, he’s an omega because he pays attention,” I reply. “Alphas don’t need to pay attention the way Sherlock Holmes does. You just waltz in and traipse all over whatever or whoever and always get your way. Who cares about the details when you’re an alpha? But Sherlock Holmes looks hard at the little things. You don’t do that if you don’t have to, if you’re not used to walking into a room and assessing threats, figuring out the balance of power. All the time. Because it’s exhausting, but you have to do it.”

Cardan is quiet for a beat too long, and I realize I may have actually said more about myself than about Sherlock Holmes. But he spares me by saying, “Surely we’re not all that bad.”

I make a noncommittal sound.

“Your dad’s an alpha, right?” he continues. “He took you and Taryn in after your parents died. He didn’t have to do that.”

I have to keep myself from snorting. No one who’s met Madoc would ever describe him as particularly nice or even giving. “Did you know Vivi has a pet conspiracy theory that he killed our parents in the first place?”

“What?”

“Not himself, obviously. That he hired someone to sabotage the car we were in.” I don’t know why I tell him. The second it leaves my mouth it feels like a family secret, or an in-joke I’m not supposed to share. But I can’t stop talking. “I mean, it was just luck we weren’t killed, Taryn and Vivi and I. But my parents’ car was new. The brakes shouldn’t have given out like they did. Anyway, Vivi thinks he took us in because he felt guilty.”

“I mean, that’s… crazy to think your dad was involved.” But Cardan says it too slowly, and hastens to add, “He isn’t a supervillain.”

“Yeah, I know. Just with everything that happened after, the way he swooped in, she was always suspicious.” I feel my mouth twitch, but I don’t know whether I want to smile or scowl. “I think she wanted us to be like The Boxcar Children and run away to live in the woods.”

“Well, you’re getting the one-room, no-running-water experience now.”

I catch myself smiling—he’s funny—and force my mouth into a frown, scouring our little room again for anything useful. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Even the socket that would hold a bare lightbulb is empty. Finally, my eyes settle on the one tiny window, set close to the ceiling, letting in a meager amount of natural light that does seem to have grown brighter as we talked.

“Let me step on your back,” I say abruptly.

“You want to what?”

“Step on your back,” I repeat, exasperated. “Are you tall enough to reach that window without a stool?”

“No?”

“Well, neither am I.” I fold my arms. “So I’m going to need you to give me a boost.”

He arches a critical eyebrow. “Why don’t you just sit on my shoulders?”

I blink at him. “Because… I thought you wouldn’t want to put your head anywhere near my crotch? Given how I reek and all.”

“But you thought I’d want to be stepped on? Jesus.” Cardan rubs a hand over his face. “What do you think I’m into? Look, I’ll crouch down, you get on my shoulders and look out the window. It’s not like I’m putting my face in your vag.” I shudder, and he adds, “We’ll never have to talk about it again. Okay?”

“Sounds great to me,” I say.

He nods and crouches down. I am not prepared for the way my heart thumps in my chest at the sight of the guy who made my life miserable since I was in seventh grade, who pushed me during gym, who whispered vile things in my ear whenever he could, who empowered other kids to do the same or worse waiting for me to climb onto his shoulders with his head bowed. It’s not real power, it’s just temporary, but it is intoxicating.

Then Cardan says, “Taking your time, huh?” and I snap out of it.

“Why the rush?” I ask. “Got somewhere to be?”

“I was thinking anywhere but here would be great.” He looks up at me. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I swing my legs over him and let him hoist me up on his shoulders. I haven’t exactly been invited to participate in a ton of games of chicken fight in the pool, so it’s been some time since anyone carried me like this. Maybe not since Taryn and I were very small, just after our parents died, when Madoc would help us get things from high kitchen shelves. I gasp when I’m lifted. Cardan is strong enough that it seems effortless, but I also hear him let out a small grunt.

“Not a word,” I say, dreading the jab he might make about my weight. “Move me closer to the window.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Cardan mutters, but he obliges.

I am extremely conscious of his hands on my bare thighs, the way his muscles shift under my shoulders. Some alphas, like the guy who tried to grab me at the party, are kind of muscle-bound in an unattractive way. Not Cardan. Cardan has just the right amount to be fit and lean, with the bare minimum amount of body fat, but not so much muscle that he tips over into ungraceful. He’s a sports car of a person, lithe and elegant. It’s no mystery why his shirtless TikToks get so many views.

I get my hands on the windowsill so he’s not bearing my full weight, and then I groan. “Bad news.”

“What?”

“Well, I definitely can’t fit through here. I can kind of see the sky, so I would guess it’s maybe ten a.m. Otherwise there’s just a window well. Plastic and dirt. I can’t make out our surroundings at all.” I sigh. “We’re in a basement.”

There’s an awkward pause, and then Cardan says, “At least we know for sure.”

“Yeah. Put me down?”

He does, and we go back to our respective seats, mentally reviewing what we know. The only door is, of course, locked from outside. The floor is bare concrete, the ceiling exposed insulation and tubing, so we might be in a storeroom of some kind, or an unfinished basement in an older house. Our kidnappers left us with absolutely nothing, so no phones. Even my keychain, with the Swiss army knife Madoc gave me before my first summer at sleep-away camp, is gone.

We are growing hungrier and more sullen with each passing minute when there is a knock at the door.

Cardan and I glance at each other from our opposite sides of the room. “Um,” I say. Are kidnappers supposed to be polite?

Cardan shrugs one shoulder, then straightens up, lifting his chin in a decidedly imperious way. Trying to summon some air of command, some macho alpha-ness that will help us out of this. It could work—it is half working on me, I begrudgingly admit to myself, because my stupid brain is wired that way—if we weren’t both grimy from sitting on the floor and still a little woozy from the drugs.

“Come in,” he calls.

The door is opened slightly, and the first thing to poke through it is the barrel of a pistol. A 9mm, by the looks of it. Cardan’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“You kids willing to behave?” comes a voice. It’s a man’s voice, strangely melodious. I was expecting the sandpapery roughness of an old-school gangster. I know it’s stereotypical, but I’ve never been kidnapped before, and it’s not like they make a manual.

Cardan and I glance at each other again. I’m not sure what we’re looking to find in each other’s faces.

“Yeah,” I say. “We’re good.”

“Oh, good. I’d hate to shoot you.” The man pushes the door open the rest of the way, and I have to press my lips shut to keep from gasping. There are disfiguring scars that cut across his cheeks, down his jaw, even one across the bridge of his nose. I’m not even sure what makes scars like that, jagged and rough-edged. If it was a knife, it wasn’t clean work. Someone was making a point.

I am immediately relieved, though, because his resonant voice had made me think we could be dealing with a real alpha, someone whose words hold command. This man is of average height, average build. If not for the scars, for the obviously broken nose, he would be totally unremarkable.

“Who are you?” Cardan asks. I am reluctantly impressed that he manages to sound haughty in this situation. He’s sitting up straight with his back against the wall, one leg outstretched, the other bent, his foot planted on the floor. He’s resting his elbow on that knee, like it’s all effortless.

“Breakfast service,” replies the man, still pointing the pistol at us. He tosses a McDonald’s bag into the room, then he and the gun retreat, and the door shuts behind him. We hear the click of a lock and then, to my horror, the sound of a deadbolt sliding into place.

Cardan exhales and reaches for the bag.

“Don’t!” I exclaim. “Seriously, it might be drugged.”

“It—what?” he asks. “Now you decide to care about whether the food is drugged? This isn’t Flowers in the Attic, Jude. We’re hostages. They want to ransom us. They’re not going to poison us.”

I blink at him. “Flowers in the Attic? You’ve read a book?”

He rolls his eyes and reaches for the bag. “Well, if you’re not going to eat it, I will.”

When he opens the bag, the smell of sausage grease and egg hit me like a truck. My stomach growls. I am suddenly very aware that the last time I ate was before the party, and my nerves had kept me from eating much then. “What… is it?”

“Two McMuffins.” He looks up at me. “See? They don’t want to starve us. They’re keeping us alive.”

“They could still tamper with them. Sedatives or something. Keep us complacent, keep us from doing what we’re going to do, which is try to escape.”

Cardan arches an eyebrow. “Has anyone ever told you you’re unbelievably paranoid?”

I think of Taryn and purse my lips. “Did you know it wouldn’t kill you to take something seriously?”

He holds up one hand, fingers spread wide. “Okay. How about this. I eat a McMuffin because I am fucking starving, and if they put anything in it it’ll get me and work through my system faster. You can stay up scheming or whatever. If nothing happens after like fifteen minutes, you get to eat yours. Or if you decide to be stubborn, I’ll eat it. Deal?”

“It’ll be cold and gross.” I cross my arms. “But fine.”

“Good.” Cardan takes a McMuffin out of the bag—his hands are so big that it barely looks like enough food for him—and devours it in what must be record time. I turn my head away.

“Where’s the nearest McDonald’s, do you think?” I ask

“Huh?”

“We were in East Hampton. They don’t have one there.”

“Uh-huh. That’s a good point.” I look back to see Cardan sucking grease off his thumb. “Dunno. Closer to the middle of the island, maybe?”

“Maybe,” I echo quietly. Without knowing how long we were out, it seems impossible to figure out where they could have taken us. “You’re right. We couldn’t be in the city.”

Cardan shakes his head. “Nah, don’t think so. Too quiet, and like you said, that’s definitely daylight, so people’d be out and about.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking up at the window.

He looks at the window, too, but doesn’t say anything, and we lapse into silence. It’s strange, to be sharing space with him, to be quiet. I could never have imagined anything like it, not with our fraught history. There’s no world in which Cardan Greenbriar and I could be friends, but, at least temporarily, we are not enemies.

“Did you like it?” I asked at last, when the silence stops being neutral and begins to make me feel anew how tired and tense I am.

“Like what?”

“Flowers in the Attic.”

“Oh.” He blinks twice, his dark eyelashes fluttering. “I read it a few years ago, but, yeah. I did. You know, it was nice to read about a family that was more fucked up than mine.” He raises his eyebrows. “Spicy, too.”

I scoff. “How can your family be so fucked up you’d read a gothic novel for catharsis?”

Cardan drums his fingers on his knee. “How much do you know about my family?”

“You’re old money. One of those alpha families that claims they’re pure alpha for generations.” Which is pretty much impossible, but everyone in that tier of society tells the same lie. Half the kids in my school claim to be pure alpha, and on paper both of their parents are alphas. But while alpha men and women can reproduce—they have the right gametes—it’s not easy. More likely omega egg donors, and, before that, omega surrogates who were well-paid. It’s no wonder they see us as breeders.

I start ticking off additional facts on my fingers. “Your great-grandfather was one of the great American magnates, but it was his alpha daughter, Mab Greenbriar, who really made something of his millions. Your dad was her only son, so he inherited the whole corporation. You have five older siblings: Balekin, Elowyn, Dain, Caelia, Rhyia—”

Cardan holds up both his hands. “Yeah, yeah. I get the point.”

“It’s all on Wikipedia.” I shrug, and to sound less like a weird stalker, I add, “And Vivi and Rhyia are like best friends.”

“You know, and I know you said it before, but I do forget Vivienne’s your sister. She’s so cool.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”

I get it, though. He probably thinks Vivi’s cool because she’s an alpha, but she also gets points for being the family rebel. Her biological dad, Madoc, adopted us all after the car crash that killed our parents, but she never wanted to be the natural successor he hoped for. Now she plays rugby at an all-girls’ college, has three cartilage studs and a septum piercing, shaves half her head, and is defiantly, unapologetically queer. It’s a different path than I would take, but marching to the beat of your own drum is definitely something that appeals to people.

“By the way,” Cardan says, “it’s been a few minutes and I feel fine. Well, as fine as one can feel having eaten only one McMuffin. I don’t feel any worse.”

“Okay.” I hold out my hand. “Toss me the bag.”

The bag crinkles when he picks it up, then he looks inside. “I think I’m owed a poison taster’s fee.”

“Huh?”

Cardan takes my McMuffin out of the bag, takes a bite out of it, then drops it back in the bag, which he proceeds to lob at my head. I catch it, face wrinkling in disgust. “Ew!”

“What? I need the calories more.”

I shake the bag at him. “I am not eating this,” I huff.

“We split the water bottle. That didn’t kill you.” Cardan sits back against the wall and closes his eyes. “Besides, who knows when they’re going to decide to feed us again?”

“You’re all so gross,” I mutter as I open the bag and pull out my breakfast. He’s right, and I hate that he’s right. I also hate that my hunger is enough to overcome my revulsion, at both the stolen bite and the undeniable fact that my McMuffin is now cold. I stuff it in my mouth, devouring the rest of it in only a few bites.

“Who’s gross?” he asks. “Alphas? Boys?”

“Alpha boys,” I inform him, with my mouth full.

“Big words from somebody whose designation’s known for leaking fluids everywhere.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “We’re not the only designation that leaks,” I point out. “We’re just the only one that gets shit for it. We’re the ones who’re thought of as gross while you and your type get to go around ruling the world.”

“Oh, sure. That has nothing to do with the way you guys are totally incapacitated for three straight days if you don’t take your drugs.”

“If we don’t get out of here, you’ll be just as screwed as I am,” I snap. “Stuck in a room with me? You won’t have a chance. We’re both going to become brainless fuck machines if that happens, so… shut the hell up.”

He does, to my surprise. I do too. I wipe my greasy hands on the McDonald’s bag, then crumple it into a little ball and toss it into the corner of the room. My anger is a living thing, running through my veins like electricity, vibrating under my skin. It’s been there for so long, but I would never have dared to say that to his face before. The rest of our situation is so absurd, so dire, it feels like there are no consequences for mouthing off at him.

That’s dumb, of course. There are always consequences. But at least they won’t be coming anytime soon.

“‘Brainless fuck machines,’” Cardan whispers quietly, and then he snickers.

“You—shut up,” I say, feeling unlikely mirth bubbling at the corners of my mouth. Cardan lets out another huff of laughter, and then I am giggling, and he’s laughing outright, clutching at his stomach. It’s ridiculous, all of my nerves coming out like that, but he’s laughing and it feels like there’s nothing for me to do but laugh too.

“Oh, man,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “I didn’t know you were a poet.”

“I’m serious!” I squeal, my abs cramping from laughing and trying not to laugh harder all at once. “That’s what happens!”

“God.” Cardan lets his head fall softly into the corner. “We are so screwed.” He points one finger up in the air. “Metaphorically. So far.”

“Jesus.” I cover my face with both of my hands. “Jesus.”

“Jesus was an alpha.”

I peek at him through my fingers. “He was not. He literally said ‘I am the Alpha and the Omega.’”

“I’m just fucking with you.” Cardan grins, his hair flopping in his face, but then his cheer vanishes abruptly. “Wait, you’re not actually religious, are you?”

I shake my head. “Not really.” But I still know that common theology holds that Jesus—and angels, and any other holy beings I don’t know about—are not alphas or omegas, but they aren’t betas, either. They are all things and nothing. Must be a good life. I pull my hands down and squint at him. “Were you worried about offending me?”

“Me?” Cardan shakes his head to toss his hair out of his face. “Nah.”

“Well, good.” I cross my arms again. “Because you’ve never cared before, and it’d really freak me out if you started now. Then I’d know we were both losing it for real.”

“I just thought…” He shrugs. “I mean, it’d be nice if one of us believed in something. That praying could help. I’d like to believe that. Seems tidy.”

“Yeah.” I let my cheek fall against the cold wall, too, and blink away the memories of screaming at the night sky, demanding someone give me my parents back. I can’t fall into that pit. I will not.

I just say, “I stopped believing that anyone was listening a long time ago.”

Cardan scratches at the wall with his finger. “Me too, Duarte,” he said. “Me too.”

#jurdan #judecardan #jude x cardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #the folk of the air #tfota #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #jurdan fanfic #mine: fic #fic: 132 hours

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bashhowardproductions · 3 years

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Is Din in a Cult? An Exploration

After Season 2 of the Mandalorian, there has been a lot of debate regarding whether or not Din’s sect of Mandalorianism(?) is a cult, especially after the comment in The Heiress, which Bo-Katan says “Children of The Watch are a cult of religious zealots that broke away from Mandalorian society.”

Enough people on this site seem to be familiar with Bo-Katan, and her actions, and take this comment as baseless, even going far enough to claim it’s a parallel to religious intolerance. Luckily, that doesn’t matter!! We have enough information about his religious beliefs to make our own assessment, without taking the word of another character who has varying amounts of trustworthiness(again, I didn’t watch the animated series. but also again, that shouldn’t matter).

I’m going to be working off of cultresearch.org ‘s page, “ Characteristics Associated With Cults”. Mind you, not all of these will apply, since they are for real life, practical application, and not for a fictional universe. I will only reference things that have happened in The Mandalorian, and in The Original Trilogy.

Questioning, doubt, and dissent are discouraged or even punished?

-Yes, in “The Sin”, when the fight breaks out.

The leadership dictates, sometimes in great detail, how members should think, act, and feel.

-Yes. However, one could make the case that it’s for safety.

The group is elitist, claiming a special, exalted status for itself, its leader(s), and its members.

-Yes. Obviously religion plays a different role in the Star Wars universe than it does in real life, but the Tribe has a certain level of elitism, mostly against other factions of Mandalorians.

The group has a polarized, us-versus-them mentality.

-This is a big one. They feel this way against everyone. Not just empire, but New Republic, and literally any other organization.

The leader is not accountable to any authorities.

-I’m throwing this one out, due to political turmoil

The leadership induces feelings of shame and/or guilt in order to influence members. Often this is done through peer pressure and subtle forms of persuasion.

-Yes, especially seen in “The Sin”. Paz Vizsla shames Din for accepting an Imperial job, and attempts to remove him from the covert for doing so.

The group is preoccupied with bringing in new members.

-This one’s a little awkward. No, the Tribe isn’t handing out pamphlets on the road, but they certainly are very okay with adopting children and indoctrinating them.

Members are expected to devote inordinate amounts of time to the group and group-related activities.

-This is another awkward one. Star Wars itself is a very goal oriented series, so we’re not incredibly familiar what down time looks like for anyone, besides Mr. Toche Station, but when he has down time in the series, when he still HAS the covert, he spends his time there. And of course, he’s only hunting in order to provide for the covert.

Members are encouraged or required to live and/or socialize only with other group members.

-Yes. It’s only until his covert is destroyed that Din begins to associate with non-Mandalorians. Even then, once he begins his task, his first priority is to find other Mandalorians to help him, rather than exhaust his current social circles.

The most loyal members (the “true believers”) feel there can be no life outside the context of the group. They believe there is no other way to be, and often fear reprisals to themselves or others if they leave— or even consider leaving—the group.

-This is how Din feels for the majority of the series, until “The Rescue”. His identity is so tied to his Tribe that he can’t fathom what would happen if he left.

How are people who left the group treated? What is said about them? Will the group give you names of people who left? Both those who were satisfied and those who were not?

-This is the big one. Din is adopted and takes the Creed as a child, as he explains to Omera in “The Sanctuary”. The implication being, if he didn’t, he would have lost the people that took him in after his parents died. That’s manipulative as hell. Why not wait until they’re 18? A case could be made for the fact that they went into hiding, and needed to make sure they could trust the Foundlings wouldn’t leave and give away their positions etc, but it’s still heinous to adopt children and force them into a restrictive religion under the threat of abandonment.

Are former members willing to speak about their experiences? How do they evaluate their time with the group or person?

-Throwing this one out

What is the process for filing complaints? Is there a feedback mechanism that is real and honored? Are complaints made public? Is there a money-back guarantee?

-Throwing this one out

Are your questions answered directly? Are you told time and again to listen to your heart and not your head? Are you told that you are too new, too uninformed, too nosy, and so on, and shouldn’t be asking such questions?

-Now this ones tricky. We don’t see anyone ask a question that isn’t answered, but an assumption could be made based on how clueless Din seems to be about certain things, like other Mandalorian factions, Jedi, etc.

Is there a leader who appears to be the ultimate authority, spokesperson? Are his or her views challenged by others? Must the leader’s opinion be accepted without question?

-Using the Armorer as the spokesperson, no. Although, we never see someone challenge her besides Paz, and it seems like he was in the wrong.

Is more than one point of view presented? Are other points of view recognized? Are other points of view seen as valid but different?

-Absolutely not, and that’s a big thing that people forget. It’s not like Din says “I keep my face covered because that is how I follow the Creed, but your form is acceptable too,” to Bo-Katan or Boba. He is fully under the assumption that they are Wrong and he is Right. He comes to terms with them, but he still doesn’t respect their beliefs.

What kind of commitment is expected? In time, money, lifestyle changes?

-All three. Until the covert is destroyed, Din’s entire existence hinges on providing for the Covert. That’s why he’s a hunter, that’s where all of his extra money goes, and his lifestyle is entirely dictated by the Creed.

Does it appear that there are secrets? Is information restricted in any way? Is there some information that you are told must not be shared with outsiders? Is there information that you’re told you can’t get until you’re a member of the group or reached a certain level?

-Yes, information is restricted. To be fair, Luke didn’t know at the beginning of ANH what the Jedi were or what the force is, but presumably in 9 ABY, at least SOMETHING is going around about the Jedi that destroyed the Death Star. Hell, the New Republic’s greeting is “May the Force be With You”, meaning some semblance of Force-knowledge is circulating. Additionally, based on his reaction to Bo-Katan and Co, we can guess the Armorer never tells him about other Mandalorian sects.

This is not a checklist by any means, and it’s not definitive, but based on these guidelines, I’m going to go ahead and say it’s a cult. Of course, now that he’s broken the Creed, this might all be proven wrong if he finds another member of his covert, but from what we’ve seen in the Mandalorian, it’s not looking good.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the armorer #boba fett #bo-katan kryze #long post

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

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Written In The Stars CXI (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

Words: 4,734

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Nine: More Bad News.

Mel had to stay in her bedroom because of the dreadful headache she was suffering.

The back of her hand was burning, and she could see the skin actually starting to get a mark.

She wanted to see Ron's try out but she didn't want to fall unconscious in front of everyone. The girl rolled over on her bed, holding her hand and trying to ground herself, but her mind was fixed on Harry and his awful temper. It was true that he didn't deserve the punishment, but she didn't deserve to feel it either!

She went back to the common room, her head feeling heavy. Ron immediately walked up to her and handed her a butterbeer, he was beaming.

"I got in!" Ron did something he'd never done before and hugged her. "I'm on the team!"

"Blimey, Ronnie!" She grinned. "A Prefect and Gryffindor's keeper? You'll be getting dates in no time!"

"Lady!" Fred spoke up. "You knew about this?"

"I helped him train!" She said. "He's good isn't he?"

"He's all right," George shrugged.

"Let's hope his massive nose doesn't get it the way..." Fred smirked.

"Oh, shut up," Mel rolled her eyes.

"Come and make me," He taunted.

Luckily for her, Harry walked in right at that moment, and Ron dragged her with him to meet the boy.

"Harry, I did it, I'm in, I'm Keeper!"

"What? Oh — brilliant!"

"Have a butterbeer. I can't believe it — where's Hermione gone?"

"She's there," said Fred.

Hermione was sleeping soundly on one of the chairs.

"Well, she said she was pleased when I told her..." said Ron.

"Let her sleep..." said George, and in no time a bunch of first years surrounded him and his twin.

"Come here, Ron, and see if Oliver's old robes fit you," said Katie Bell. "We can take off his name and put yours on instead..."

Angelina walked up to Harry and her.

"Sorry I was a bit short with you earlier, Potter. It's stressful, this managing lark, you know, I'm starting to think I was a bit hard on Wood sometimes... Look, I know he's your best mate, but he's not fabulous," She made a vague movement towards Ron. "I think with a bit of training he'll be all right, though. He comes from a family of good Quidditch players. I'm banking on him turning out to have a bit more talent than he showed today, to be honest. Vicky Frobisher and Geoffrey Hooper both flew better this evening, but Hooper's a real whiner, he's always moaning about something or other, and Vicky's involved in all sorts of societies, she admitted herself that if training clashed with her Charm Club she'd put Charms first. Anyway, we're having a practice session at two o'clock tomorrow, so just make sure you're there this time. And do me a favour and help Ron as much as you can, okay?"

Harry nodded and then he turned, his gaze fixed on her.

"You're... you're bleeding."

"Huh?" Mel frowned.

Harry reached for her hand and Mel stepped back.

"I'm fine," She grumbled, walking to where Hermione was sleeping.

"It's happening again, isn't it?" Harry insisted.

"It never stopped," Mel scoffed. "Turning your back on me did nothing."

"You... you were supposed to be safe..."

She looked at him, his voice came out so utterly defeated that she had to take a moment to answer.

"You really thought it'd work?" Mel asked, this time softer. "What am I supposed to say? That I'm sorry? 'Hey, at least you tried!'– I told you..." Her shoulders fell, she had no energy to be angry. "Harry, I told you... What d'you want me to say?"

He stared at her, speechless and disappointed.

"Oh, guys, it's you..." Hermione stirred up in her place. "Good about Ron, isn't it?"

"Yeah..." She responded without breaking eye contact with Harry. "Yeah... I'm really happy for him."

"I'm just so — so — so tired. I was up until one o'clock making more hats. They're disappearing like mad!"

"You and those hats," Mel sighed, finally looking down at her friend.

"Listen," The boy sat in front of them. "Dumbledore said we should stick together, right? All right– I'll tell you what happened– I was just up in Umbridge's office and she touched my arm– and it... it stung! It reminded me of... you know..."

Hermione started slowly.

"You're worried that You-Know-Who's controlling her like he controlled Quirrell?"

"Well, it's a possibility, isn't it?"

"I mean... the Order believes it's very likely Voldemort has a few spies there..." Mel admitted.

"I suppose so," said Hermione. "But I don't think he can be possessing her the way he possessed Quirrell, I mean, he's properly alive again now, isn't he, he's got his own body, he wouldn't need to share someone else's. He could have her under the Imperius Curse, I suppose... But last year your scar hurt when nobody was touching you and didn't Dumbledore say it had to do with what You-Know-Who was feeling at the time? I mean, maybe this hasn't got anything to do with Umbridge at all, maybe it's just coincidence it happened while you were with her?"

"She's evil," said Harry glancing at Mel's hand. "Twisted."

"She's horrible, yes, but... Harry, I think you ought to tell Dumbledore your scar hurt."

"I'm not bothering him with this. Like you just said, it's not a big deal. It's been hurting on and off all summer — it was just a bit worse tonight, that's all —"

"Harry, I'm sure Dumbledore would want to be bothered by this —"

"Yeah, that's the only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn't it, my scar?"

"Don't say that, it's not true!"

"Mel, do you think he'll care?" He asked her, and in his voice, she could tell he was asking for real advice.

"I reckon he'll say it's normal now that Voldemort's alive," She sighed after a bit of pondering. "Doesn't mean he doesn't care about you, though. As I said, he asked me to help you."

"I think I'll write and tell Sirius about it, see what he thinks —"

"Harry, you can't put something like that in a letter! Don't you remember, Moody told us to be careful what we put in writing! We just can't guarantee owls aren't being intercepted anymore!"

"All right, all right, I won't tell him, then!" said Harry getting up. "I'm going to bed. Tell Ron for me, will you?"

"Oh no! if you're going that means I can go without being rude too, I'm absolutely exhausted and I want to make some more hats tomorrow. Listen, you can help me if you like, it's quite fun, I'm getting better, I can do patterns and bobbles and all sorts of things now."

"Er... no, I don't think I will, thanks. Er — not tomorrow. I've got loads of homework to do... why don't you ask Mel? I still have the hat she gave me, she was getting quite good..."

"Nope, sorry," Mel got up and made her way over to the twins and Ron. "Too busy, got loads to do..."

She felt something warming up on her pocket and pulled it out. She smiled down at the watch on her hand, a message glowing on it.

'Sunday, 5 pm'

"Anything interesting?"

"No, just some guff about the bass player in the Weird Sisters getting married... Wait a moment– Oh no... Sirius!"

Mel dropped her fork.

"What now?"

"What's happened?" Harry took the paper so violently it ripped in half.

"'The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer... blah blah blah... is currently hiding in London!"

"Lucius Malfoy, I'll bet anything," said Harry. "He did recognize Sirius on the platform..."

"What? You didn't say —"

"Oh no– if they saw him in the platform that means they saw him with my mother!" Mel realized in horror.

"...'Ministry warns Wizarding community that Black is very dangerous... killed thirteen people... broke out of Azkaban...' the usual rubbish– Well, he just won't be able to leave the house again, that's all. Dumbledore did warn him not to."

"Poor Snuffles, he'll go crazy..."

"Hey! Look at this!" Harry gave a start.

"I've got all the robes I want," said Ron, glancing to what Harry was showing him.

"No, look... this little piece here..."

TRESPASS AT MINISTRY

Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31st August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watch- wizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defence, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban.

"Sturgis Podmore? but he's that bloke who looks like his head's been thatched, isn't he? He's one of the Ord —"

"Ron, shh!"

"Six months in Azkaban! Just for trying to get through a door!" Harry exclaimed.

"Don't be silly, it wasn't just for trying to get through a door — what on earth was he doing at the Ministry of Magic at one o'clock in the morning?"

"D'you reckon he was doing something for the Order?"

"Wait a moment... Sturgis was supposed to come and see us off, remember? Yeah, he was supposed to be part of our guard going to King's Cross, remember? And Moody was all annoyed because he didn't turn up, so that doesn't seem like he was supposed to be on a job for them, does it?"

"Well, maybe they didn't expect him to get caught."

"It could be a frame-up!" Ron exclaimed. "No — listen! The Ministry suspects he's one of Dumbledore's lot so — I dunno — they lured him to the Ministry, and he wasn't trying to get through a door at all! Maybe they've just made something up to get him!"

"Do you know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true," Hermione shook her head. "Right, well, I think we should tackle that essay for Sprout on Self-Fertilizing Shrubs first, and if we're lucky we'll be able to start McGonagall's Inanimatus Conjurus before lunch..."

"We've got Quidditch Ron and I," Harry hurried to say.

"You can come with me, 'Mione," Mel told her. "I'm going to meet Erick in the library, anyway..."

But as soon as she said it she wanted to take it back. The idea didn't feel as appealing as going alone. She decided to bail on it and find another day to meet him in private.

"Hang on– it just came to me– I... I have to do something," She got up, picking up her bag. "Apologize to Erick for me, won't you? Tell him I'll meet him next week..."

"Oh," Hermione's smiled faltered a bit. "All right, I have a few questions about charms, maybe he knows..."

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked as she joined them.

"Don't ask, keep walking," She said. "I don't feel like studying, that's all."

"If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you're getting tired of your study sessions..."

"I would never," Mel frowned. "I know what you're trying to suggest, but you're wrong. Now shut up and keep going."

Harry nodded silently, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"Wish I had your dedication," Ron told her. "The schoolwork isn't killing you. I mean, we can do it tonight and we've got tomorrow. Hermione's the one that gets too worked up about work, that's her problem... D'you think she meant it when she said we weren't copying from her?"

"Yeah, I do. Still, this is important too, we've got to practice if we want to stay on the Quidditch team..."

"Yeah, that's right– And we have got plenty of time to do it all..."

"And you've got me– not that I'm going to give you the answers just like that, but you know, I'm clever and all..." Mel shrugged.

"Well..." Harry looked at her when they reached the dressing room. "See you in a minute..."

Mel nodded shortly before walking to the stands. What was happening to her? She didn't know how to act around anyone anymore. Didn't feel like herself, always bottling up every emotion...

She spotted Malfoy and his team waiting to see the newest Gryffindor addition. Ron had a very thin ego and they couldn't afford to lose him on the very first day.

"What's that Weasley's riding?" Malfoy called as the Gryffindor lot walked out of the dressing room. "Why would anyone put a Flying Charm on a mouldy old log like that?"

"Don't get involved..." Mel mumbled under her breath.

"Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle anyway?" Pansy Parkinson yelled. "Why would anyone want to look like they've got worms coming out of their head?"

The Slytherins hadn't noticed her since she was a few seats behind them, and she didn't want them to, they were bound to tease her and she needed to stay out of trouble.

On his third attempt, Ron caught the Quaffle; perhaps out of relief he passed it on so enthusiastically that it soared straight through Katie's outstretched hands and hit her hard in the face.

"Sorry!" Ron groaned, zooming forward to see whether he had done any damage.

"Get back in position, she's fine!" barked Angelina. "But as you're passing to a teammate, do try not to knock her off her broom, won't you? We've got Bludgers for that!"

Katie's nose was bleeding. Down below the Slytherins were stamping their feet and jeering. Fred and George converged on Katie.

"Okay, maybe..." Mel started, "maybe I'll get involved just a little..."

The lot was now singing 'Gryffindor are losers, Gryffindor are losers,' and many things happened at once: First, directly from her palm, a bunch of red sparks burst and surrounded the Slytherins with an explosion. They covered their faces and jumped out of their seats, trying to put them down. Mel gasped and covered her mouth in shock, she hadn't intended to do that, but there was nothing she could do now.

Back in the Quidditch field, Katie was bleeding profusely, and Angelina stopped the practice to take her to the infirmary. Pansy turned around and spotted Mel, pointing an accusing finger at her.

"You!"

She smiled as innocently as possible. "What's wrong?"

Pansy pulled out her wand and Mel stood up, her smile fading.

"Do it– See what happens, dear prefect, once the teachers find out you attacked an unarmed student."

"You attacked first," She snarled, the rest of her classmates had scattered away, though the firecrackers followed them around.

"Did I?" Mel leaned closer and jumped over the seats that kept them apart, one row after the other. When she was finally in front of her, she added, "Prove it."

No one knew she could do wandless magic. Not to mention that when Pansy asked her to empty her pockets –'prefect orders,' she'd sneered– there was nothing but a pocket watch.

Far from feeling ashamed, a wave of power hit her. No one had to know, and as long as she kept a low profile and a sweet attitude, she could make Pansy and Malfoy's lives an actual hell.

The twins approached the next day when they found out she was the only one near enough the Slytherins to set them on fire. Nothing bad happened to them, but it sure scared them off, and they weren't planning on going back to the training sessions any time soon.

Mel liked the twins' praising and she spent the rest of the day with them, leaving Ron and Harry to do their homework alone.

As a consequence of this, many students approached her. Now that she wasn't around Harry so much they seemed to think she had more common sense than expected. Not that she was talking rubbish about Harry, but she was definitely more likeable when she wasn't attacking others in order to defend him. That without mentioning she was far less loud and dramatic than years prior.

She went back to the common room that night with a bunch of new friends, even better, friends from different houses. Ron didn't like that, he was upset because she hadn't been there to help him as she'd promised. His anger only got worse when he received a letter from his older brother.

"Well," Harry said jokingly once they finished reading it, "if you want to — er — what is it? Oh yeah — 'sever ties' with me, I swear I won't get violent."

"Give it back," He snatched the letter. "He is —the world's biggest git." Ron ripped the letter into small pieces and threw them in the fire. "Come on, we've got to get this finished sometime before dawn..."

"I wonder what rubbish is the Daily Prophet writing now," Mel said absently.

"Oh, give them here," Hermione said abruptly, taking the boy's homework.

"What?"

"Give them to me, I'll look through them and correct them."

"Are you serious? Ah, Hermione, you're a lifesaver, what can I — ?"

"What you can say is, 'We promise we'll never leave our homework this late again,'– Where are you going, Mel? You promised you'd help them too. Sit down."

Mel groaned, but she took Harry's paper and started to review it.

"Thanks a million, girls," said Harry, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah, shut up," Mel grumbled. "Don't interrupt me or I'll mess it up."

"Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met, and if I'm ever rude to you again —"

"— I'll know you're back to normal," said Hermione.

"Harry, you really have to pay attention to the things you... Harry?" Mel looked at the boy, who was now crouching next to the fireplace.

"Er — Harry?" said Ron. "Why are you down there?"

"Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire."

"What?" Mel dropped to her knees as well, pushing the essay aside.

"Sirius's head? You mean like when he wanted to talk to you during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it would be too — Sirius!" Hermione squealed.

"I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared," The man grinned. "I've been checking every hour."

"You've been popping into the fire every hour?" Harry laughed.

"Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear yet."

"But what if you'd been seen?" said Hermione in horror.

"Well, I think a girl — first year by the look of her — might've got a glimpse of me earlier, but don't worry, I was gone the moment she looked back at me and I'll bet she just thought I was an oddly shaped log or something."

"But Sirius, this is taking an awful risk —"

"You sound like Molly– This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to a code — and codes are breakable."

"You impulsive piece of– You... you..." Mel stammered.

"All that you're wishing to call me, Emily has called me twice already this week," He shook his head. "It's fine, I swear, I just wanted to reply to Harry's letter."

"You didn't say you'd written to Sirius!" said Hermione.

"I forgot! Don't look at me like that, Hermione, there was no way anyone would have got secret information out of it, was there, Sirius?"

"No, it was very good," said the man with a proud smile. "Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case we're disturbed — your scar. Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think it's anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?"

"Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion, so maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention."

"Well, now he's back it's bound to hurt more often."

"So you don't think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with her?"

"I doubt it. I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater —"

"She's foul enough to be one..."

"Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. I know she's a nasty piece of work, though — you should hear Remus talk about her."

"Does Lupin know her?"

"No, but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job."

"She called him a half-breed during class! I had to bite my tongue to not yell at her!" Mel scolded.

"What's she got against werewolves?" said Hermione.

"Scared of them, I expect. Apparently, she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose —"

"Sirius!" Hermione said reproachfully. "Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher I'm sure he'd respond, after all, you are the only member of his family he's got left, and Professor Dumbledore said —"

"So what are Umbridge's lessons like? Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?"

"No, she's not letting us use magic at all!"

"All we do is read the stupid textbook," said Ron.

"Ah, well, that figures. Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat."

"Trained in combat? What does he think we're doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?"

"That's exactly what he thinks you're doing," said Sirius, "or rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing — forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic. Mel leading the group, of course."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, including all the stuff that Luna Lovegood comes out with. Certainly, Mel's good enough to lead the class but to lead an army? That's crazy!"

"So we're being prevented from learning Defense Against the Dark Arts because Fudge is scared we'll use spells against the Ministry?" said Hermione in outrage.

"Yep. Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge."

Mel remembered her talk with Dumbledore. In a way, he was training her as if she was going to lead an army, but the mere idea was crazy! He'd said it himself, Mel wasn't supposed to take his place, he just wanted her to be better.

"D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the Daily Prophet tomorrow? Only Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be —"

"I don't know, I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just been Kreacher, Emily and me here..."

"So you haven't had any news about Hagrid, either?"

"Ah... well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him– But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you four get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine."

"But if he was supposed to be back by now..." said Hermione.

"Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home — but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or — well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly okay. Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid, it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back, and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be okay. When's your next Hogsmeade weekend anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? I thought I could —"

"NO!" They said altogether.

"Sirius, didn't you see the Daily Prophet?" said Hermione anxiously.

"Oh that," Sirius, grinned, "they're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue —"

"Yeah, but we think this time they have," said Harry. "Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you, and his father was on the platform, Sirius — you know, Lucius Malfoy — so don't come up here, whatever you do, if Malfoy recognizes you again —"

"All right, all right, I've got the point! Just an idea, thought you might like to get together —"

"I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!" said Harry.

"...You're less like your father than I thought," he said coldly. "The risk would've been what made it fun for James."

"That's not fair, Sirius, now you're in danger—" Mel started, but he ignored her.

"Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Emily -or maybe Kreacher, dunno- coming down the stairs. I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?"

"Oh, get out," Mel huffed.

Sirius vanished with a pop, and Mel carefully turned to Harry.

"Don't listen to him, Glas–" She stopped before they nickname could fully leave her mouth. "Harry. He's just throwing a tantrum."

Harry let out a heavy sigh, stood up and grabbed his essay.

"Thanks for the help. I... I appreciate it."

He went to bed after that.

'MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM

DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST-EVER "HIGH INQUISITOR"'

Mel visibly deflated on her seat, wondering if this was just another nightmare.

"So now we know how we ended up with Umbridge! Fudge passed this 'Educational Decree' and forced her on us! And now he's given her the power to inspect other teachers! I can't believe this. It's outrageous..." Hermione started.

"I know it is," growled Harry.

"Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected," Ron said happily. "Umbridge won't know what's hit her."

"I..." Mel shook her head. "I don't even know what to say..."

"That must be a first," said Hermione, "we'd better get going if she's inspecting Binns's class we don't want to be late..."

Umbridge did not inspect any of their morning classes, and Mel was surprised to see an E on her potions essay, graded as if it were her actual O.W.L. examination, which did nothing but to boost her ego even more than her little trick with the fireworks. Hermione was still talking about it with their friends during lunch.

"So top grade's O for 'Outstanding,'" she was saying, "and then there's A —"

"No, E– E for 'Exceeds Expectations.' And I've always thought Fred and I should've got E in everything because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for the exams."

"So after E, it's A for 'Acceptable,' and that's the last pass grade, isn't it?"

"Yep," said Fred.

"Then you get P for 'Poor' and D for 'Dreadful.' "

"And then T," George reminded Ron.

"T?" asked Hermione. "Even lower than a D? What on earth does that stand for?"

" 'Troll,' " said George.

"You lot had an inspected lesson yet?" Fred asked once everyone stopped laughing.

"No," said Hermione with interest, "have you?"

"Just now, before lunch," said George. "Charms."

"What was it like?"

"Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. She didn't say much. Asked Alicia a couple of questions about what the classes are normally like, Alicia told her they were really good, that was it."

"I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down," said George, "he usually gets everyone through their exams all right."

"Who've you got this afternoon?" Fred asked.

"Trelawney —"

"A T if ever I saw one —"

"— and Umbridge herself."

"Well, be a good boy and keep your temper with Umbridge today. Angelina'll do her nut if you miss any more Quidditch practices."

"Don't worry about that," Harry gave her a sort of sour look. "Mel will take care of that."

The girl barely looked up from her plate to glare at him, that particular morning she didn't feel like fighting, not after the way Sirius had talked to him.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @sarcasticallywitty15

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

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milknette · 4 years

Text

day 31 - dealer’s choice (christmas)

i just wanna keep on waiting, underneath the mistletoe.

tumblr month: @auyeahaugust

links: ao3 | ff.net

LADYBUG is the only one he's excited to see again.

It's understandable though, since he hadn't wanted to go to the Christmas party in the first place. As his father was busy planning for his trip abroad, it had fallen upon Adrien to spend time and speak with adults who really only cared about him because of his family's wealth and stature.

They're all sickly-sweet and overly-kind to him, though it's intensely clear that if he were anything other than an Agreste, they'd never even give him the time of day.

(It's exhausting to spend time with people who don't even really see you, after all.)

The last straw, however, is when he speaks with a particularly snooty lady who corners him to talk about fashion. The conversation is halfway decent, until she brings up the feathered hat in Gabriel Agreste's newest collection— one she says is, verbatim, "the worst thing she's ever seen featured in a runway," and that "it was clear a high schooler was the one who made it."

Adrien surprises both himself and the lady when he answers back.

"Actually," he starts. "That hat is an inspired and unique work that even my father was in awe of. She may only be a high schooler, but her sense of fashion and style has grown so far past that." Adrien looks at his conversational partner's outfit, then pauses. "And that's one thing about her that… not everyone can say about themselves."

The woman splutters, mutters a few words about disrespect and how his father will hear about this, as she almost stomps away from him.

It's weird that he doesn't feel that bad about it.

"You're going to get in so much trouble for that," someone suddenly speaks up, hands haughtily folded in front of her chest. Beside her is another girl, who stands much more calmly but holds the same level of intimidation.

"That was in poor character for you Adrien," she steps in, eyes still the slightest bit wider from surprise. "I had never expected such behavior to come from you," she continues, then slightly tilts her head to her partner. "I mean, I'd expect it from Chloé, but I thought you'd be able to control yourself better."

Ignoring the indignant 'hey!' from the blonde, Kagami looks at him in worry. "What did she say to you?"

"Just… she said something wrong," he finally replies. "And I corrected her."

"We're not here to correct people, Adrikins," Chloé points out. "We're here to listen and agree and make sure they still want to work with our parents."

Adrien sighs. She's right.

"It's not too late to apologize," Kagami says. "We cannot be any less than the perfect children anyone expects of us."

A brief silence encompasses the three, as the weight of the words crush upon them. It isn't easy being in their position; to always have to watch their behavior, growing up quickly in the elite circles of high society. It's strict and limiting, and Adrien can't imagine not having Chat Noir to let him freely express and be his true self.

He misses staying inside the suit more than he does outside of it.

Or maybe he just misses the girl he sees when he's in the feline's costume.

He knows what she'd do if she were in his position.

"I stand by what I said," Adrien finally says, somewhat determined. "She said something bad about a friend, and I'm not sorry for protecting her." He pauses, then adds as an afterthought: "It's what she would do."

Kagami looks shocked, but nods slowly. "An honorable choice."

"You're going to regret it," Chloé only says, though he can see the hint of a smile on her face. "But I think your superhero crush would be proud of you for doing it."

As if perfectly on cue, an all-too-familiar figure steps through the entrances of the hallway.

Dressed in her token red suit and mask, Ladybug comes in, an awkward (but bright) smile on her face.

She looks absolutely beautiful tonight.

(But she always looks beautiful to him— so nothing's really new.)

"Are you a witch or something?" Kagami whispers under her breath. "Your timing is impeccable."

"I have my Ladybug radar on at all times."

"What about your Ryuuko radar?"

Chloé scoffs, then smiles softly. "Is that even a question?"

At that, the two sneak off, likely to some empty hallway to have time for themselves.

Adrien doesn't mind, watching with awe as Ladybug kindly greets all the guests at the party.

(He thanks the lucky stars that Ladybug had accepted Mayor Bourgeois' invitation, even if she only plans on stopping by briefly.)

They gravitate toward each other, as Adrien is the first to spark conversation.

"It's great you're here Ladybug," he says, almost flustered. "I'm a great fan of yours."

"I'm a great fan of yours too— I mean, you're a model! Right? I've seen you on billboards and stuff… you know, while I'm going around and saving Paris!"

The fact that Ladybug, of all people, is a fan of his civilian self brings Adrien a rush of joy that he never thought possible.

"You have no idea how much you being a fan of mine means to me."

"Believe me, I feel the same way."

They smile at each other, and enter into pleasant conversation.

She's definitely Adrien's favorite conversational partner by far.

They spend a good hour or so simply talking to each other (much to the envy of the other guests), and Adrien feels as if he's on cloud nine.

It's only when they walk to the beverage table that they are interrupted, as Ladybug accidentally bumps into a vase of greenery, consequently getting some of it in her hair.

Adrien leans in to help her, only belatedly noticing how closely they're standing together as whispers seem to surround the two of them.

Then:

"Mistletoe!" Someone suddenly chants, pointing enthusiastically at the two of them.

The rest of the crowd joins in, as Ladybug panickedly waves her hands to say 'no'— though it only serves to intensify the situation. He picks at the red berry upon her head, then smiles softly.

"May I, milady?"

She looks at him with wide-eyed surprise, then nods slowly.

Her eyes close, visibly nervous.

And Adrien presses a kiss to her forehead, before picking out the plant in her hair.

He shows it to the rest of the guests, then smiles. "This is actually holly, not mistletoe." Adrien looks almost mischievous, as they dissipate in disappointment.

"Wait… if you knew it was mistletoe, then why did you kiss me?"

He shrugs, the teasing grin still on his face.

"Maybe I just wanted to."

ADRIEN comes to pick her up before they go to school.

It's become a kind of strange tradition between them, for him to stop by the bakery every morning and walk with her to Françoise-Dupont. Ever since he was permitted to go to classes on his own— a freedom long overdue, really— he explains that he's been making the most of it as much as he can.

Her parents don't really mind, after all.

In fact, they think Adrien's a good kid, and it helps that someone else is around to make sure their daughter gets to school on time. Sabine and Tom also think that the two of them are pretty cute together, but decide to keep that little factoid to themselves.

Marinette's late, as per usual, stumbling down into the shop as she's greeted by the sight of her boy friend— emphasis on the space— comfortably leaning upon the counter, talking animatedly with his parents about some random topic about the happenings of the previous day.

(Is it strange that she's already getting used to that sight?)

"Marinette!" He notices her first, brightening up as she awkwardly waves at him. He's snuggly wrapped up in a warm jacket and hat, holding a to-go cup of hot chocolate in his hands.

"Morning, Adrien," she says, before quickly planting a kiss to her parents' cheeks. "Mom, dad."

"What? No kiss for Adrien here?"

Marinette splutters, to the amusement of his family— and even Adrien, who quickly coughs into his hand to hide the laughter that threatens to escape his lips.

She can't even say anything, with Adrien finally taking pity on her and tapping on the chair beside him, gesturing for her to take a seat.

"I was just talking with your parents," he starts. "About your plans for the holidays."

"Yes," her mom chimes in, smiling brightly as she leans onto her father. "You know, poor Adrien here doesn't have any plans for Christmas Eve? Mr. Agreste is only coming back from New York on Christmas Day, and I can't imagine how lonely it's going to be…," she side-eyes her husband, then gently nudges him at his blissfully unaware expression.

"Ah, right!" He coughs, then speaks in an almost overly-dramatic way: "How sad for Adrien, if only there was something we could do for him… if only he had somewhere to spend the day…"

Both of Marinette's parents eye her with sad eyes, as she only rubs tiredly at her forehead.

Why are her parents like this?

She takes a side glance to see Adrien, who has a somewhat soft smile on his face. (If anything, he even looks hopeful that she'll say yes.

Which is strange, considering that he can probably spend his Christmas anywhere he so wanted— from all the most lavish Christmas parties and celebrations… maybe she just doesn't understand the rich.

And it's not like she wants to tell him no, either.)

"Are you okay with this?" Marinette finally decides to ask, turning to face him directly.

After years of being friends and spending time together, she's glad to see that her tendency to stutter and stammer (and ultimately fail as a human being) around him has lessened by quite a bit.

But as he sits only a few meters away from her, close enough for her to almost count how many eyelashes he has, she frankly becomes reminded of how little it lessened.

And how her crush on him has only grown exponentially since they first met.

He smiles at her, and she has to physically force down the blush threatening to take over her face.

"Of course I am," he says honestly, maintaining eye contact with her as he leans the slightest bit closer. Marinette can't look away. "There's no place I'd rather be."

She wants to stay in the moment— really, she does— but her parents watching from beside her with the hugest smiles she's ever seen is more than enough to sever the mood.

Coughing awkwardly, she steps back and slings her bag over her shoulder. "That sounds great, then!" She finally says, "Christmas with Adrien Agreste, no big deal, nope! I'd love that— I mean, not that I love you but…," she pauses, then sighs in resignation. "Just. We'd love to have you there."

He laughs lightly, then stands up as well, holding the cup with one hand. He bows lightly to her parents. "It's always nice to talk to you, Mr. and Mrs. Dupain-Cheng."

"Please, just call us mom and dad."

They wink, and Marinette decides against turning back so she doesn't have to see their faces. Instead, she grabs Adrien's hand and pulls him forward.

"Let's go," she says, only belatedly realizing that ohmygod they're holding hands and they fit so perfectly together do all fingers intertwine and meld this amazingly—?

They're one foot out the door, when her parents speak up:

"Ahem, Marinette," her mother says, forcing her to turn back.

"What?"

She only smiles, before gesturing for her to look up.

Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

At her exhausted expression, Adrien looks at where she's staring:

Consequently noticing the mistletoe hanging above the bakery door.

"Really?"

Her parents look excited.

"I'm not going to—"

Marinette turns to Adrien, fully expecting him to decline as well: until she sees his awkward (though almost… excited?) smile.

His fingers tighten their grip around her own, as he looks down at their intertwined hands.

"It's just a harmless tradition," he says quietly, some sound of amusement resounding from his tone. "A little holiday fun?"

She can't speak.

Is he serious?

He leans closer, and she closes her eyes in anticipation.

Then she feels the unmistakable touch of someone's warm lips.

Upon her hand.

Marinette's eyes flutter open, in time for her to see him press a kiss to her knuckles.

"What?" He asks, almost playful. "Did you expect anything else?"

She can't even speak.

(And thankfully doesn't notice the stifled laughter from behind the counter. Betrayal.)

"Come on, we're going to be late!"

He tugs her forward, as they disappear outside the bakery.

Marinette doesn't realize that Adrien's still holding her hand until they arrive at François-Dupont.

MARINETTE waits for him outside the balcony.

It's eleven-fifty in the evening as the snow starts to pile up, leaving Marinette to wish she'd put on more layers than her pair of pajamas and a cardigan around her small frame. Her nose is getting red from the cold, but she doesn't quite mind it as much as it should.

Because when she thinks about him, all Marinette can really feel is warmth.

Blonde hair, bright green eyes, and a smile that can bring even the sun to shame…

She's only distracted from her thoughts as a familiar suit of black starts making its way toward her.

He arrives almost clumsily at her balcony, holding a bright-red box in his hands as he furtively tries to hide it from her attention.

(It doesn't work.)

"Chat," she only says, then rolls her eyes. "You're late."

The first thing he does is bow down to her.

"Yes, and I'm so sorry, but I had some issues at home and—"

"Never mind that," she only says instead. "Do you have it?"

He smiles. "Of course I do," he starts, jokingly saluting at her. "Your local delivery man, at your service."

Marinette brightens up almost immediately as the words escape his lips.

"And it's really from him?" She asks, slowly taking the box into her hands.

It's quite small, fitting the palm of her hand, but Marinette knows that whatever's inside— the worth is immeasurable.

She hugs it close to her chest. "I can't believe he got me a Christmas present."

Chat Noir smiles at how excited the girl seems to be. "I— I know he's just really sorry that he couldn't give it to you himself."

"It's fine," Marinette only responds, the soft smile still on her face. "I know that he really wanted to go, and that's more than enough for me."

She recalls how apologetic Adrien had sounded over the phone, after telling her that he couldn't spend Christmas Eve with her family. (If anything, Marinette thought that he sounded more upset than she did about it—

Which is saying a lot, considering that she'd been looking forward to it as soon as he said he'd go.)

She tinkers with the box for a few more moments, then looks up at the superhero.

"Did he tell you what was inside?"

He ponders her question a bit longer than he should have. "Technically, no," he says, then pauses. "But I do know what it is."

"How do you know?!"

Chat Noir smiles lithely. "Let's just say that Adrien and I are similar in a lot of ways."

Marinette has to stop herself from snorting. "Please," she laughs lightly. "The two of you couldn't be any more worlds apart."

"... and what do you mean by that?"

"Adrien's the perfect type," she starts, then stops as she notices the superhero's almost hurt expression.

"So I'm not?"

"Nope," Marinette says easily. "But that's what I admire about you. You're imperfect and messy and chaotic, but you love and embrace your flaws, and even my own. It's so easy to be around you."

"Then Adrien is…?"

"He's kind," Marinette says carefully. "He's the kind of boy everyone dreams of, me included. But I always wished he'd drop his perfect interior in front of me and show his true self."

"The flawed self?"

"Yes. Because I'm sure I'd still love him just as much."

She smiles absentmindedly, then carefully starts to open the box.

Inside is a locket; gold, with a simple ladybug token hanging upon the chain.

Marinette belatedly notices the simple paper put inside the box:

To our Everyday Ladybug—

She turns the paper around.

And my ladybug.

Marinette isn't even given a moment to process the information as she looks away from the box, to notice none other than the boy in question standing before her.

Plagg floats next to him, a cautious expression on his face.

"Adrien, I— you— wait…" He tries to make calming gestures with his hand, giving her time to understand what's happening. "This can't be real…? You— are you really… and Plagg… wait, I thought I wasn't supposed to know your true identity…"

He looks absolutely nervous, and can't even get the words out.

Plagg speaks in his place:

"Sorry for the surprise, kid, but Tikki and I talked it over. With you being the guardian and all, it was only a matter of time before you two find out," then he sighs tiredly. "Adrien found out about your true identity by accident. And after that, he's been insistent on being the one to do the reveal."

"I— but— you— I'm— this is—"

The sudden buzz of Marinette's phone informs them that it's midnight.

"Merry Christmas, Marinette," Adrien finally says, voice soft as he takes her hands. "I love you."

He leans closer to her, as she suddenly stops him.

"Wait— but a kiss— it's too soon, and so out of nowhere…"

Adrien pauses thoughtfully, then smiles; almost mischievous.

He retrieves a pen from his pocket, then takes the box from her hands:

The word 'our everyday ladybug' is crossed out, as a simple word proudly displays itself in black, bold, lettering.

He holds it above their heads.

MISTLETOE.

"Is this enough of a good reason?"

Marinette can't stop herself from laughing. "You couldn't even draw it?"

"I'm not the artist," he only says. "That's your job."

"Then what's yours?"

"I provide the quality humor and flirting, I think."

She has to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

"Fine then," Marinette starts, leaning close to him before…

Pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"The cheek?!"

"You didn't even get real mistletoe. So you don't get the real thing, either."

He hmphs, before his eyes suddenly twinkle. "But if I get real mistletoe, then I'll get a real kiss?"

"As long as it's still Christmas, then sure."

"Great," he grins. "Twenty-four hours then."

CHAT NOIR looks at her for confirmation.

The mistletoe stands proudly above the two of them as the purified akuma flies away into the night, easily forgotten by the rest of the Parisians.

All they care about— and all he cares about is the girl held in his embrace, as she looks at him with eyes that he can't at all decipher.

(Or maybe he can: but it's too terrifying to think of what things could be if he were wrong.)

From the background, Alya holds her phone as the scene is livestreamed to all the families and friends celebrating their Christmas together.

He leans in close to her, hesitant, as if asking a question.

The outsiders can't make it out, but he whispers in her ear:

"That's real mistletoe," he points out. Then slowly: "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

Ladybug doesn't say yes.

She doesn't say no, either.

Instead, she only smiles, leans forward:

Then kisses him.

Alya drops her phone as she throws her fist in the air, and the quiet chill of the city is instantaneously broken with a series of loud celebratory cheers and cries for celebration.

Everyone calls it one of the greatest Christmas miracles of all time—

And neither Ladybug nor Chat Noir can correct them.

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pebblysand · 3 years

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[may '21] - the life update no one asked for (and some quick links)

Hello team! How are you? What a month it has been! But: we have had some proper sun, the days are getting longer, I have gin&tonic with me to give me fuel to write this and it is now the 30th of april - yay! I know I'm bending the rules of these monthly posts a bit there, by writing the may post by anticipation but I really want to focus on 'proper' writing this weekend, so I hope that you will forgive me :).

But, first, some quick links to different blog pages you might not see on mobile :

to read my fics [links to the hinny ficfest fics: one ; two ; three]

to read my original work

fic recs [new additions]

proper blog/site [that I never update but maybe one day I’ll bother]

[NOTE: i am currently accepting prompts for short ficlets on the hp fandom if you fancy. my ask box is open :).]

Everything else, under the cut (contains: ETAs for current WIPs - say, if you’re waiting for chapter 8 of castles, for instance... -, reading lists, and life update)

Currently, I’m writing:

**Castles [HP - post-war canon]**

links extended a/n-s: chapter v ; chapter vi

This is ONE HUNDRED PERCENT the priority for the coming days. We are having a bank holiday here in Ireland on Monday and the main objective now is to get the first draft of next chapter done. I have the outlines (both general and particular) and have - maybe - around 15% of the actual chapter done. Due to external factors (more on that below), I've had quite a hard time finding the time and energy to actually focus on this over the past few weeks which is why I kind of booked out this weekend to Get Shit Done. Hopefully, it works. ETA for next chapter: 30th May.

**R O A R series**

Harry&Hermione one-shot [ETA: July probably]

An original horror/thriller story [ETA: this is the next thing (after castles chap 8 on the agenda. Considering the ETA for chapter 8 of castles, we're probably looking at beginning of June for this.]

Something to fill this silk prompt [ETA: TBD]

That Peaky Blinders fic I started and never finished [ETA: TBD]

** Hinny Ficfest **

I am very happy to announce that I'll have not one but two short stories coming out for the upcoming hinny ficfest. I obviously can't talk about them too much on here but here's what I can tell you.

- the first one will be called: [like fire in the rain] and answers to prompt 78 - "truth or dare". It's a short three sentence story (a format I used to enjoy but haven't done on tumblr in aaaaages) that's a bit angsty (you know me) and is set within the 'sunlit days' in year 6.

- the second one, I'm not too sure of the title yet, but right now I'm thinking of a line from a song by passenger called 'holes': [she said the wolf's just a puppy and the door's double-locked (so what'd you gotta worry me for?)]. this is (loosely) inspired by prompt 27 (Molly finding out about Ginny/Harry) the summer after the war, but has kind of grown into a what-if-castles-wasn't-my-headcanon kind of fic. It's currently just shy of 3,000 words. I'm considering posting it on AO3/FF as well by the time it comes out on here but I'm not sure. We'll see.

They're both fully written but need a bit of polish but will definitely be ready by the 10th :).

Currently, I’m reading:

Calypso by David Sedaris: I've finished this! It was absolutely lovely - would highly recommend if you're looking for a nice, non-fiction read. I'd probably give it four stars. Not magnificent but definitely worth a read.

I’ve started re-reading the Divergent series because I have the attention span of a five year old atm. -- Update: yeah, still there. I don't think I've picked this up recently.

I've also started Watch Her Fall by Erin Kelly. I really loved her thriller He Said/She Said so thought I'd give it a try. For now, it's fine but I've found it sort of hard to get into it if I'm honest.

I’m still labouring through Troubled Blood, the JKR/RobertGalbraith book (ugh), but I have made significant progress on this. I'm on page 789 so almost at the end. I cannot wait to be finished with it. On top of everything else, it's just way too long. And, that's coming from someone whose favourite HP book is OOTP.

In other news:

I have to say, this month's been a bit of a struggle. Not in terms of mental health but just a lot of things happening at once. I had my exams at the start of the month, obviously, then I went home to France. Then, Ireland decided to introduce mandatory hotel quarantine so I had to change my tickets, come back early to avoid it. Then, the day before I left, my mother had a stroke. I just - I don't want to dwell on this too much. It's over, now, she's fine, has (from what the MRI showed) very little damage to her brain. She's at home and living her best life. Frankly, she's a bit of a miracle. This being said, I can't explain to you the stress and anxiety and heartache of last few weeks, and of not knowing what to do. Of not being able to fly home, having to be in Ireland because I was starting a new job and couldn't afford the hotel quarantine; it was just a lot. I think I didn't even have words to put on it at the time, which is why I didn't write about it before. It's easier now, now that it's over. In the thick of it, I didn't know where to start.

Now, I also didn't want to mention this because I don't mean it as a sob story. I just feel like I should explain why I haven't been the best at putting content out, lately. For that first week after it happened, when we were waiting for the medical exams to come through, I had to start a new job, pretend to be 'happy to be here' and 'excited' like everything was fine and that alone kind of sucked all the energy out of me. I was texting her every half hour at the same time, anxiously waiting for a reply. She lives alone, you see, and she's the only family I have left. I feel bad about not being able to write, but it's been hard. I just couldn't focus. On top of that, while the new job is interesting (and it pays money, yaaaay!), it's just a new routine to get back into, so I've also been feeling very tired.

Additionally, the extrovert in me has been begging to see more of her mates, lately. The weather has been really nice and I'm so eager to go out that I have struggled to keep my resolutions of 'no, I'm staying in and writing tonight.' I used to get plenty of social interactions at work, back in the day, but now that I'm fully remote, all I want to do on my days off is see people (especially with the easing of restrictions in Ireland). I feel like overall, it's fair, though. Introverts have struggled in our society for years, now, it's fair that we, extroverts, during the pandemic, bear more of the burden. It's just that this sudden return of my social life has also not truly catered to much writing time, haha. Hopefully, May will be more stable.

I am feeling better, now. Mum is doing good, the results of her MRI were very positive and the only real thing that's changed is that she says she's 'exhausted' which I guess can be expected after a stroke, haha. She's a warrior and I love her. This week, I've been feeling finally more able to focus and with the bank holiday, I really hope to get some proper writing done. I just need to escape in the magic of HP again, haha.

Anyways, sorry for this rather grim update. I suppose I also want to be honest and say that it's not always rainbows and butterflies. Here's to May, though. Hopefully, it'll treat us better :).

#writing #life update

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #401

“my love is just waiting to turn your tears to roses”

Do you typically do your makeup the same each time? Or do you like to change it up often? IF I wear makeup, it's essentially always the same. Who is the last person you were in a room with just the two of you? What were you doing? Yesterday with Mom. We were trying to find the best deal on Eco Earth, a substrate we're getting for Venus. What was the last really good book you read, and what was it about? If we're talking REALLY good book, then The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. In short summary, it's a dystopian future novel where women are now basically just objects used only for repopulation, even having their names stripped from them. They follow very strict rules as society has returned to horrible misogyny. As a woman, the "oh my god, this is possible" aspect of it is terrifying, and it causes such a sense of disgust and urge to ensure women rights always continue to be fought for. Do you feel safe in your country? For the most part, I'd say. I guess. There are places I'd feel safer, though. How many meals do you eat a day? Three. Have you ever performed a solo dance in front of a crowd? No, but I was supposed to my senior year in high school; the seniors at my dance studio were always welcome to do a solo in celebration. Mine was a modern dance to "Coma White" by Marilyn Manson, wanting to tell a story about depression and how being medicated could feel, but I eventually decided like halfway through learning the choreography that I was just too nervous to do a solo. Have you ever sung a solo? No. When you go to McDonalds, what drink do you usually get? Coke. Have you ever had to call and complain about a product you bought? No. Do you own a designer purse? Definitely not. I'm not wasting that much money on something like that. What’s the weirdest rumor you’ve ever heard about yourself? Apparently, Jason and I had a baby in high school even though I was obviously never pregnant. To my knowledge, it was started by his ex. Who is now a good friend of mine lmaooo. Life is funny. What was your favorite Saturday morning cartoon growing up? Pokemon, of course. Would you ever have an affair? Nope. Would you ever have a one night stand? Nope. Where you present at any major historical events (e.g. 9/11)? No. What are your opinions on marijuana legalization? Legalize it, but treat it similarly to alcohol in that driving under the influence is illegal and punishable, and I believe you should be of a certain age. How about abortion? I am pro-choice. I was pro-life most of my own life, but now I am very firm about a mother being able to choose if she wants to endure a pregnancy or not. Like, that is a MASSIVE life event that almost inevitably changes - and sometimes traumatizes - people. I do believe a fetus is its own body and not part of the mother's, but rather in the mother's, but the belief that a woman decides what she wants in her body is her choice, too. I'm not very fond of people treating abortion as a simple, regular form of birth control, like it's nothing but an "lol whoops," but I still believe it is ultimately her decision, and she should always be free of judgment for doing what is best for her. Do you wear skirts or dresses more often? Neither. I wouldn't dare wear a skirt more so, though. What do you think about tipping at restaurants? There should always be an expected minimum, imo, unless the person was truly, sincerely, genuinely fucking awful. Waiters do not have an easy job, fight me about it, and they're just trying to survive while putting on a happy, jovial face, all the while dealing with hungry people who can be such assholes. I believe the actual tip should relate to actual service, but again, give them something. Would you ever get back together with any of your exes? One, absolutely. The other would take a shitload of consideration and proper communication on his part. Do you have a preferred coffee brand? No, because I don't like coffee. Do you usually befriend your coworkers, or do you prefer to keep work separate from your personal life? IF I had a job, I'd like to build a friendship with those I have to engage with almost every day. What is something you frequently forget? Dates, ages, names, what I was about to do five seconds before I forgot... Pretty much everything. My memory is frightfully poor. Is there any drama currently going on with your family? No. When you take a nap, do you nap in bed or on the couch? In my bed. Were you raised by both of your parents? If not, then who raised you? Both; my parents split when I was somewhere around 17, though, but I'd say there wasn't much more "raising" to do at that age. Have you ever stolen anything? If so, why? No. Have you ever plagiarized someone else's work? Hell no. What's your most-used mode of transportation? My mom's car. Have you ever taught someone else a useful skill? Not to my recollection. Does seeing everyone else's 'perfect lives' posted on social media ever bring you down or affect how you feel about yourself? It actually does, honestly. Not ALWAYS, but if I'm being honest, it does most of the time. I've contemplated deleting Facebook for that reason, but with is also comes things that make me happy, and I think I'd feel even more isolated without it. What is your favorite Hostess/Little Debbie snack? This is SO impossible for me to answer. I loooove Hostess and Little Debbie treats. I want to say honeybuns, but I also love those chocolate cupcakes with the white swirls on top, as well as Twinkies. Very few exist that I don't like. Do you/your family buy loafs from the bakery or bagged on the shelf? We just buy bagged bread. What’s the best news you’ve gotten lately? My APAP mask is definitively WORKING!!!!! :') Mom got an app that connects to the machine via Bluetooth that monitors the effectiveness of the mask, evaluating many factors of your sleep, and it's detecting a definite decrease in disruptive behaviors or something like that. It is so, SO encouraging to know that. ^And, the worst? Hm. Oh, probably some news on something serious a good friend is going through, but I don't feel it's my right to disclose what. It's just a very worrying and potentially dangerous issue that I wish I could help her with. Would you rather receive (or give) flowers, chocolates or jewelry? I'd appreciate any, but my fat ass is drawn to the chocolate, ha ha. What *I* would give would vary depending on what the person liked. How do you feel about coconut? Smells lovely, but is otherwise gross. ^ Ever cracked one open? No, but omg I've always wanted to, haha. What’s the best thing about being your gender? I guess the fact it's more "normal" and "accepted" to show our emotions. Fuck that generalization, though. I don't give a shit what your gender is, you experiencing emotions is NORMAL and welcomed to be expressed. ^ And the worst thing? The ability to be raped and impregnated by it. Do you do your part to save the earth? I don't do nearly enough. :/ We recycle, but that's about it. Well, none of us DARE to litter either, but I still don't feel like it's as much as the earth deserves from its denizens. Who do you think should have their portrait on a bill? I don't know or care. Why did you last feel exhausted? Yesterday was my niece's birthday, and I spent essentially ALL day playing with her and her brother. I have a very limited battery when it comes to kids, and I was running on empty for hours. My anxiety was SO high and I really needed a break from them, but they're too young to really understand that Aunt Britt can only socially run for so long before I'm completely burnt out, and TRUST ME, I was there for sure. I didn't want them to think they did something wrong, you know? I just had to keep going. I slept like a baby last night though for sure, haha. Have you ever used emotional blackmail to get your own way? Wow, no. Has anybody ever used emotional blackmail on you? No. Who did you last worry about and why? Sara for health reasons. Are you currently looking for a new place to live? Not actively, but Mom and I definitely want to move. We feel very out-of-place here in the suburbs. Which would you prefer as a view; mountains or the sea? Mountains. Do you have a mouse for your laptop? (Assuming you have a laptop) Yes. I canNOT play games with a trackpad. Do you apologize a lot? Extremely excessively. When you get married what do you think you’ll put most of your focus and money into? Do you mean like, for the wedding? In that case, probably the venue. Being a photography buff, I want a place I think is really pretty to have pictures taken. What’s something you complain about frequently? My legs hurting, my weight, and being hot. Do you have anything planned for the summer? Nope, and that's fine with me. I'd rather stay inside away from the heat. Who usually makes dinner in your household? My ma. Do you have a blog? Just on Tumblr. Does anyone in your family snore loudly? My mother does because of gerd, and at least when my father still lived with us, he snored super loud, too. Do you want to fix anything with anyone? Yeah, a few people. What shows do you watch? Right now, only Meerkat Manor: Rise of the Dynasty. Whenever The Edge of Sleep comes out, I will 110% be watching that, too, because Mark is a key actor in it. :') Plus the concept seems super cool. Have you ever broken someone’s heart? I don't know. Who was the last person you had a conversation with on the phone? Me mum. Does the song you’re currently listening to remind you of anyone specific? No, given it has like... one lyric, haha. Do you own any TV show soundtracks? No. Last thing you did that made you feel like an adult? I mean I guess sign myself in at the doctor's. What’s your favorite picture of your mom? Dad? Oh my god, there's a candid one I got of Mom laughing when she was posing as my subject for a photography assignment, and I cherish it with ALL my heart. I want to share it with essentially the whole world, but yeah, I'm not gonna put my mom's picture here. As for my dad, I like this one I took of us at Red Lobster for his birthday a year or two back. Last TV show series you finished? Fullmetal Alchemist with Sara. Favorite flavor of cream cheese? Regular. What US state would you like to visit? Alaska. Last meal you made yourself? I put a chicken pesto thing in the microwave earlier for dinner.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''whispers in the dark'' by skillet

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makeste · 4 years

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killing is not so easy as the innocent believe

or, some follow-up thoughts on Hawks, and chapter 265.

you guys this chapter has got people in some kind of way though. myself included lol.

it’s never a good thing when I get an ask like this on a Wednesday. and SURE ENOUGH, lmao. hang in there anon we’re in this together.

I love how all three of these asks seem to be implying that Hawks is basically toast. death certificate all but signed and notarized. which is reasonable to be fair!

regarding Machia though, after giving it some thought, the fact that he was mentioned when he didn’t have to be leads me to believe that Fatgum is correct, and he will not be making an appearance. it’s possible this is just the manga attempting to catch us off guard, but if Horikoshi wanted to do that, he could have just as easily bided his time and made no mention of him at all until he suddenly came barging out of his hidden basement room at an inopportune moment. going out of his way to say “hey remember Gigantomachia? yes well he is in sleep mode at the moment so not to worry” is kind of a waste of time unless it really is true. could be wrong on this though!

regarding the voice recorder/communication/mystery device thing, I now have a brand new ridiculous theory on that thanks to a chat with @blessedgirthma, but more on that shortly.

now then, let’s talk a bit more (or, to be honest, a lot more) about Hawks.

lol y’all I am being called out. but in seriousness, this is honestly one of my favorite things about doing the recaps though. the fact that my reactions are recorded for posterity for better or worse. the thing is, when I’m actually reading the chapter for the first time, it’s a complete rollercoaster lol. it’s just whiplash reactions to stuff (which is why 90% of it is dumb jokes because that is my honest instinctive reaction to 90% of everything) and speculating wildly on the spot. and a lot of times it is way off.

one of the things that particularly impressed me about this latest chapter is the fact that Horikoshi was genuinely able to manipulate my emotions so effectively and make me so anxious about the fates of both of these characters in the heat of the moment. not every writer can do that! in fact it’s pretty rare for a shounen manga in particular to actually get me to really start doubting and wondering whether a character is actually going to die. because let’s be real guys, it’s a rarity. especially with this particular series. and even when people do die, they come back as OFA ghosts, or they’re brought back to life as Kurogiri, or they never died to begin with and they’re currently trying to kill Hawks, etc. so on top of the shounen manga tropes, we also have comic book “no one is ever truly dead” tropes. so yeah.

so the point I’m leading up to here is that I don’t think Hawks is actually going to die. I know it’s ridiculous; I know he was just set on fire and isn’t looking too hot (ha) right now, but again. it’s a shounen manga. other characters have survived (1) breaking their arms a dozen times, (2) having holes of all shapes and sizes pierced through their lungs, (3) everything All Might and AFO did to each other at Kamino jesus christ, (4) having their entrails spilled out, (5) being crushed by a water tower, (6) pissing Todoroki off during the climax of Heroes Rising, (6) being blown up from the inside out by a quirk, and (7) having their eye sliced open and being blasted through a building and falling fifty feet from the sky onto the hood of a car while on fire. and this is far from an exhaustive list. this is an off-the-top-of-my-head list. yeah. so neither Hawks nor Twice is actually dying if this is anything to go by.

now then. I said I was going to talk about Hawks, so let’s talk. first off, I just want to make it clear that I’m not part of the pro-Hawks faction, or the pro-Villains faction, or whatever. I’m in neither of those factions, or both of them. or whatever you want to call it. basically I love Twice and I love Dabi and I love Hawks. and recent events have not changed this at all, except perhaps to make me love them even more. but anyway, just wanted to put that on the record. and yes, I told Dabi to set Hawks on fire, and I would say it again too, because Dabi setting Hawks on fire potentially saved both Hawks and Twice, so yeah. homicidal though it may have been, it was good timing all the same, Dabi.

so Hawks! let’s talk about what actually happened in this chapter. “um Hawks tried to kill Twice, is what happened.” well, not quite! what actually happened is that Hawks said he was going to kill Twice. and then... he didn’t.

lol, yeah. eyeroll-inducing technicality there, I know. wishful thinking, naive, willfully disregarding what we actually saw in favor of trying to support my own interpretation of the character. absolutely that’s what it is! but since we all acknowledge that, might as well continue down this line of thinking and see where it leads. so indulge me if you will.

so. three things:

(1) Hawks is a spy. he lies. he lies all the time. when Horikoshi wants us to know what he’s actually thinking, he shows us.

so naturally the reason I bring this up is just to point out the fact that throughout all of chapters 263, 264, and 265, we have not actually seen a single one of Hawks’s thoughts (assuming Caleb is correct in his translation of 264). he’s making speeches, he’s trying to plead his case to Jin, and we see a ton of Jin’s thoughts. but none of Hawks’s. not so much as an ‘I was afraid of this...’ or ‘his quirk is too dangerous, I can’t let a single one of the clones slip through’ or any of your typical run-of-the-mill fight narration we might normally expect to see for a scene like this. there’s nothing. and what this tells me is that Hawks’s words may not in fact line up with what he’s actually thinking.

(2) Hawks is hesitating. we know how fast he is. hell, even if we didn’t, this chapter would be all the evidence we need. but we do in fact have plenty of other evidence.

these things are deadly. each one is solid and we’ve seen he’s capable of using them like bladed weapons. if he wanted to, he could stab Twice through the heart in the blink of an eye. look at the precision he used to tear his mask open (to distinguish the real Twice from the clones) without actually harming him. he wouldn’t even have to move. but he is deliberately holding back and trying to stop Twice in other ways -- by pleading with him (“I don’t want to fight you”), hitting him with a disabling blow, and finally by pinning him down and trying to intimidate him.

but then he just sits there.

saying he has no choice. holding the feather knife above him. but he doesn’t actually do it. and okay, maybe it’s because he truly is fond of Twice, as we know, and so he’s giving him the chance to say his last words or something. but what was it he said just a few pages before this one, though? “we eliminate villains with haste”? I don’t know about you, but I for one sure wasn’t seeing any haste in those last few pages. the man who goes too fast, huh. I’m just saying.

but maybe he was just psyching himself up to do it. maybe he would have gone through with it on the very next page if Dabi hadn’t intervened. maybe. but you know what though? that hesitance -- the fact that he was so conflicted despite supposedly believing that he’s doing the right thing, and despite being groomed by the shadier elements of hero society since childhood to make this precisely kind of decision -- to me, that does indicate that Hawks is not a killer by nature. he’s battling with himself right now. he’s desperate. he doesn’t want to go through with it; he resists the act; and then crucially, right at the decisive moment, Horikoshi prevents us from seeing whether or not he actually would have done it.

(3) and what about that? it’s interesting that this question is one which has come up over and over ever since the disappearance of Best Jeanist, isn’t it? the question of just how far Hawks is actually willing to go. the question of whether or not, when push comes to shove, he will make the cutthroat decision. will Hawks kill for the greater good? Horikoshi poses this question again and again, and yet he still refuses to give us an actual answer.

(oh hey, that’s a nice flashback you’re having. sure would be a shame if it were to... cut off right there so that we never find out what actually happened past this point!!)

(“whether this is really him” -- really?? you actually go and show what is by all accounts and appearances Jeanist’s actual dead body stuffed in a bag, and yet you still cast doubt on it? why? at this point you’re just fucking with us. and also, actually, the fact that it’s a dead body is not, in fact, proof that he killed someone, because morgues exist. and appearance-altering quirks. and clones. and all sorts of other conspiracy-theory-fueling shit. so yeah.)

isn’t that strange? well no, actually, it’s not strange at all, because you only need to take one glance at the fandom (or my own indecisive recaps) to see that this refusal to confirm this one crucial fact about Hawks’s nature is having precisely its intended effect. when you write a story, you want the readers to care. you want them to be invested in what’s happening. you want to keep them in suspense. and so in Hawks’s case, the fact that we just don’t know for sure makes him an insanely compelling character to watch, because will he actually do it?? will he kill Twice?? is he a killer??

and still we don’t know. even now, Horikoshi refuses to lift the veil for certain. and all I have to say about that is this: maybe he is. but if he is, if the answer to this lingering and drawn-out mystery ultimately turns out to be a simple “yes”, then that would be a bit anticlimactic to say the least.

so those are my thoughts! oh, except that I did say I was going to talk about this thing though:

so we don’t know what this is, or why Hawks pulled it out at such a strange moment. I’ve read a few theories, but I have to give @blessedgirthma credit because this one is my new favorite omfg:

like. guys. guys. I know it’s absurd and it’s not going to happen lol. but can you just imagine, though. Dabi’s standing there with the crazy eyes, talking about how heroes are all scum, and how he never trusted Hawks, and the fact that Hawks was even willing to kill a fellow hero to gain their trust only to betray them is yet more proof of how hypocritical and disgusting these so-called heroes are. and then, just as he’s about to deal the final blow, HIS OWN CLOTHES TURN ON HIM and he’s all “?!” and IN BURSTS BEST FUCKING JEANIST oh snap, whaaat, HE LIVED, BITCH.

don’t look at me like that. let me have this. all I’m saying is it could happen.

so that’s it! those are all my current thoughts about Hawks and about this contentious chapter which is tearing fandoms and loved ones apart. in my perfect world Hawks lives and Twice lives and Best Jeanist lives and Dabi lives but gets captured maybe so as to have Endeavor angst along with some fucking flashbacks at goddamn last. as of today March 22nd 2020 all of these are still possible outcomes, so I’m gonna embrace it.

and lastly, getting back to the real mystery of this chapter,

WE CAN ONLY HOPE.

#bnha 265 #hawks #dabi #twice (bnha)#bnha meta #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks #hawks meta

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wonder-cripple · 5 years

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Hey world, stop telling my disabled ass to go to war with itself!

I’ve been disabled all my life, and I can say with absolute certainty that being raised in a society that frames the very idea of disability as something to “be aware of” so that we can “fight against it” has been seriously detrimental to my mental health and sense of self-worth.

Encouraging millions of people to approach the life circumstances of disabled people within such an incredibly ableist paradigm comes with some very disturbing assumptions made about us and expectations set forth of us, arguably the most common of which stipulates that, in order for us to not only actively participate in and contribute to society, but to – God forbid – be happy doing so, WE must “fight”. WE must “overcome”. In essence, society tells us that we must resist our very nature in order to live truly fulfilling lives, because there is apparently no way on God’s green earth that we are “happy AND disabled”, not “happy DESPITE being disabled”.

And yet, curiously, while screaming this message in our befuddled faces, society simultaneously turns its back on us and exploits us. We’re told to “stop making excuses”, “quit faking” and “try harder” one minute, and used as the centerpiece of cringe worthy “inspirational” sob stories the next, because hey, how are you ever going to feel good about yourself if you don’t know that someone “has it worse than you” but is living life anyway, so what’s your excuse, buddy? Right?

So basically, we’re only allowed to be disabled when it somehow benefits the abled population. And even then, society refuses to take responsibility for disabling us by using person-first language and coming up with apologist-sounding terms like “differently abled”, “physically challenged” and “special needs” to excuse the fact that we wouldn’t HAVE needs that are considered “special”, or that you feel you need to make exceptions for, if this world had been designed with disabled people and their various (and varying) needs in mind.

These terms, as unassuming as they seem, are packed with a plethora of disconcerting implications. They tell me, a full-time wheelchair user who encounters a multitude of accessibility issues on an almost daily basis, that the problem is with me. They tell me that my inability to climb stairs, work with the physical manipulatives required for the psychological assessments that I administer, and toilet myself have nothing to do with the fact that the only stairclimbing wheelchair on the market right now sells at the price of a car, or that I will likely only have access to physical testing kits wherever I end up working unless I specifically request (and the place budgets for) digital ones, or that my cerebellum is nonfunctional. Instead, my difficulty completing these tasks exists because I’m lazy. Because I’m melodramatic. Because I don’t try. Because I make excuses. Because I’m supposed to be a fighter. A warrior, effectively fighting against myself, and I’m not fighting hard enough.

This is why I experience crippling anxiety. This is why I say “I’m sorry” so often, I actually annoy and frustrate people. This is why I’m borderline phobic when it comes to asking for help and often don’t, even when I desperately need it. Because awareness is not acceptance. Because people knowing about my disability has never rendered them cognizant of everything that it means, and willing to see it as anything other than a bad thing. A stain on my life.

For too long, that lack of acceptance extended to me and how I viewed my own disability. I pushed it away at every turn and distanced myself from it as much as was possible given its pervasive impact on my life. I did what society told me to and fought it with everything I had. I pretended it didn’t exist.

So what did that look like?

Well, I pissed myself in class in the fifth grade because I really had to pee and was too embarrassed to ask for help. I was so isolated and angry as a teenager that I basically bitched out everyone and lost all my friends, all because I thought my disability and subsequent lack of proficiency in adaptive skills was somehow my fault, and I hated myself for that. And when the time came to assess possible career paths as I was entering college, I convinced myself that I was going to be either a med student or a pharmacist, because what motor skill deficits? I don’t see any!

Perhaps what I am most ashamed of is that for the longest time, I was adamant that, once I figured out what I wanted to do, I wasn’t going to “box myself in” and work exclusively with disabled people, like everyone was suggesting based on my unique perspective. To be honest, that was a possibility that I was not only reluctant to consider, but actively avoiding in my mind.

It is the idea of acceptance that has changed my perception. The realization that fighting my core self is not only exhausting, but unnecessary, was the most liberating, enlightening eureka moment that someone in my position and with my mindset could have experienced. You wanna talk about a handicap? You wanna talk about disabling? Think about how disabling it is to feel like you MUST deny your most defining characteristic, and watch your very soul slowly suffocate under the crushing delusion that, in doing so, you will one day reach an impossible ideal. THAT, to me, is even more disabling than a flight of stairs, because it is a notion that has the capacity to negatively impact every single aspect of a person: mental, physical, emotional, spiritual, you name it. It breaks my heart to know that, if I had been guided towards acceptance as a child instead of consistently being encouraged to “push through” my circumstances, I would now be so much healthier in each of these respects.

Given this, I cannot even begin to expound upon how much it bothers me to see parents of disabled children calling their kids “[insert disability here] warriors”. In doing so, these children are expected to essentially come out of the womb battling themselves and wishing that an integral part of their existence would just disappear. As a disabled person and future psychologist, who once hit the rock bottom that I hope to God these kids won’t get to, I feel that I have a responsibility to advocate for acceptance, both personally and professionally, and I will.

Awareness is good. It’s a start. But it’s only half of the equation, and it’s time to move forward.

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antiquecompass · 4 years

Text

Untamed Spring Fest Day 24: Gentle

Ouyang Zizhen was a gentle soul. He was sweet, kind, and good; loved with his whole heart, romantic, overly sentimental, wonderful. It would’ve been so easy for the entire world to break him or take advantage of him, but that gentle soul came with an absolute backbone of steel. Zizhen didn’t act gentle or sweet or kind or good for praise or to try and show himself up--it was just who he was at his very core.

Business had a way of destroying gentle souls.

And that was perhaps why Jin Ling had turned into--probably--the harshest, most arrogant, most mouthy ‘trophy’ spouse on the entirety of the East Coast. He was determined that his good, kind, gentle, Zizhen would stay that way; had promised Zizhen’s father as much before Mr. Ouyang stopped attending all these functions, and nothing was going to keep him from failing that mission.

“So much for America’s Sweetheart,” Zizhen murmured into Jin Ling’s ear after Jin Ling had loudly scoffed at the group that had just suggested Ouyang Transport was losing their hold at the top of that particular business mountain. “They’re going to take away your Wheaties Box.”

“Never ate a bowl of them in my life anyway,” Jin Ling said with a shrug. He glared daggers at the group until they collectively backed off, disappearing to another corner of this massive garden party in the Hamptons.

He knew when he acted like the spoiled, arrogant, peacock prince it always brought out the questions of why Zizhen stayed with him, but Jin Ling would gladly weather those rumors if it kept the assholes at bay. The one good thing about the Jin’s reputation was that it was almost expected of him to be an arrogant jackass. And he was fine with that reputation, would gladly play into it, as long as it kept the worst of the hovering masses away from his sweet prince.

At least in Boston, or general New England, most people knew to respect them or give them a wide berth. Jin Ling was related to far too many prominent families--either by blood, marriage, or business ties--for little shits eager to dig their claws in or try to pitch their business to bother them. All Jin Ling had to do was mention an uncle--any uncle--or a grandmother--any grandmother--and the little pests scurried back into the dark.

New York was a different place and a different society.

The Zizhens were well known because of their yachts and transport company and their various Connecticut, New York, and New Jersey connections.

Jin Ling was that Olympic archer who became the face of Gucci sportswear for a season.

Those things made people want to talk to them or drag them into their social media posts and it was just so exhausting when they were supposed to be here on vacation. They’d only stopped into this little gathering to be polite to their neighbors.

“Next year we’re going to Maine,” Jin Ling said. He looked around the white tent. “I swear they must all go to the same plastic surgeon because every other one has the same exact nose.”

Zizhen laughed as his arm tightened around Jin Ling’s waist. “They can hear you.”

“Good,” Jin Ling said. He nodded, considered his job here well done, and turned in his boyfriend’s arms. “You made nice with the neighbors, now can we please go home to the dogs? They’re far, far better company.”

“When have I ever denied you anything?”

Jin Ling opened his mouth to respond only to have Zizhen place a soft finger against his lips to silence him.

“And the years of waiting don’t count. We both had to be ready and at the right place in life.”

Jin Ling knew Zizhen was right, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t forever grumble over those years. And the brief appearance of that Scottish lord. He still couldn’t look at tartan or salmon without becoming irrationally annoyed.

Zizhen laughed, his bright, genuine, beautiful one, that carried above the murmurs of the crowd. It was clear from the shake of his head he knew exactly what Jin Ling was thinking about.

“It was always you,” Zizhen said as he leaned down to capture Jin Ling’s lips in a sweet, soft kiss.

Jin Ling flexed up onto his tiptoes to meet him and didn’t care if it was too much for this crowd; didn’t care if there were going to be photos everywhere in the next twenty minutes; Zizhen was one of the few real and honest people here, brave enough to be himself at all times, and Jin Ling basked in that strength and love and care.

They were cuddled as close as they could be on the walk back to the Ouyang summer home, walking past dunes and beach grass, exchanging small laughs and little kisses as the sun started to set. It was a relief to see their back porch where Daisy and Luna were already pawing at the sliding glass door to get to them.

Inside it was their sanctuary. They’d given the staff two weeks off so they could enjoy their own time and their own vacations. Behind these walls it was just them. And Jin Ling, who had spent most of his life with a house full, found he actually loved when it was just them and the dogs.

But that didn’t mean he’d always want it to be that way.

He smiled as Zizhen greeted their puppies, hugging them both tight in spite of the white fur that was bound to go everywhere. He was gentle and sweet with them as he was with everyone else.

Zizhen would be an outstanding father.

Jin Ling knew that was years ahead in their future, but it settled something in him, right there, as he stood and watched him.

They would have a house full one day. And Zizhen would come home from work with arms open to give hugs to their children and would be pressing kisses to everyone’s foreheads, and asking after homework and how their days went. Jin Ling could see it--perfectly--and it made him grin.

“What’s that smile for?” Zizhen asked as he stood up, one hand still on each of the dogs’ heads.

“Just you,” Jin Ling said. “Just us.”

#untamed spring fest #zhenling #verse: lahl #fandom: the untamed #fic: crimson blue and gold #my ridic writing

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