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anarchoherbalism · 2 years

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Mental health is a lawn; Desire is a prairie

Introduction

A little over a month ago, I began posting about upcoming changes in my practice, which I’ve been working on since. As I said in an instagram story, I realized that I’ve been pretty bad about replacing surface-level words instead of actually challenging underlying concepts; so, I’ve been taking some time to work on learning to better articulate my philosophy.

In the following essay I am going to try to explain my critique of psychiatry and offer a framework to replace it. You don’t have to agree with anything I say to receive herbs, advice or education from me. If I only wanted to work with people that believe the same things as me, I would stick to caring for my network of friends and accomplices. I have a public-facing practice to offer something immediately and materially useful to (broadly speaking) anyone that asks for it. I’m writing this because—while we may or may not be/become friends—my services are a personal gift, and I do not want them to be received as a function of psychiatry.

Most of all, I believe that everyone has an idea about what the future will hold, and everyone is trying to bring that idea to fruition. Ultimately there is nothing in my lifetime that will result in everyone being on the same page about what we all “should” be doing; and we are all relatively powerless on a global scale. What I can do is help the people I can touch, and walk away from those that want to force me to believe things I don’t want to believe in. I can’t make universal healthcare happen, right now or decades in the future; but I can fight tooth and nail to help heal the people around me for free, and I can share, liberate and generate knowledge to help others do the same.

I’m writing with a very limited scope here—if I was having an easier time writing this it would very quickly become an entire book, not a 3,700-some-odd word essay. I’m asking to you believe at face value that this is what I consider to be true; unfortunately I don’t have the capacity to write out an argument containing all the applicable historical evidence and referential sources right now. I hope at some point I do.

Part 1: Groundwork

Lobotomistic violence

I’m going to start by laying out a definition that I think is important to understanding where I’m coming from. I started using this term because I think it marks a useful distinction in how certain people are treated by psychiatry.

Lobotomistic violence is the set of psychiatric “treatments” that intend to make someone “normal” by reducing/inhibiting function in certain parts of their brain. While surgical lobotomies are generally considered outdated and barbaric in mental health culture, the root concept is still very much alive and well. Several antipsychotic drugs have similar effects to surgical lobotomies, and many more otherwise limit brain function in other ways. These drugs can prevent the people they’re prescribed to from thinking abstractly or feeling deeply, and often cut them off from meaningful parts of themselves.

According to the psychiatric framework there are people who need support, understanding, and accommodation; and people who need their bodyminds* to be physically altered and parts of them literally removed/made nonfunctional. Lobotomistic violence is a “last ditch” effort, when less extreme forms of medication or therapy are considered “ineffective”. Sometimes this comes after a long process of trying different treatments—but a lot of people are subjected to lobotomistic violence because they occupy a social position that society sees as a lost cause from the start, like people kidnapped off the street by ambulances in the middle of a psychotic break, or kids in state custody.

*Bodymind is a popular term in mad liberation that refers to the mind and body as a cohesive whole–it invokes the idea that we do not just inhabit our bodies, we ARE our bodies.

Defining mental health

(In this section, I’m using a very charitable interpretation of psychiatry from a scientific standpoint. Even the most advanced neuroscience cannot reliably identify specific mental disorders or their causes—but even if it could, it would still be fundamentally bad, and that’s the point I want to make.)

Civilization is an organism and an ecosystem in its own right, with structures to achieve equilibrium and to perpetuate itself. The choices that we make and options we see as available have been formed by thousands of years of accidents and choices that shape patterns of behavior and create social constructs. It is these structures I’m referring to when I talk about control.

In order for civilization to exist as it currently does, the people and things subjected to it must be easily understood, because things that are understood can be controlled. An example my friend used was a small, early agrarian state—a ruler wants to collect tax, with the goal of collecting as much as possible to enrich his position against neighboring states. He cannot collect too much tax, or else the population will either starve, or get angry and refuse to participate in the state; so to maximize what can be taken he has to know how much is produced, and in turn the farmers have to know how much they produce to know what they owe and what they need to meet immediate needs. Civilization needs to reduce complicated questions to knowable categories in order to respond in ways that benefit itself. This legibility occludes true understanding, pares down the messy, beautiful, difficult-to-communicate nature of life into one-dimensional criteria to be accounted for and processed. To see how these criteria are constructed, let’s look at an oak tree.

The name “oak tree” refers to a thing that exists, pretty indisputably (at least until you get into existentialism but, uh, let’s not go there). However, the name “oak” is something people made up. There are many different perspectives one might understand an oak tree from. Whatever lens you want to use impacts what characteristics you focus on and how you understand them in relation to the whole. You focus on certain attributes to create a story—if you’re using a scientific lens, you might look at DNA and draw connections to other DNA to tell a story about genetic history. Genetic history is also a human construct that only focuses on the pieces that are significant to the stories our culture wants to tell. These stories are what we use to build knowable categories; but a squirrel doesn’t give two nuts about the genetic history of an oak tree, and likely has its own stories that are entirely alien to us—because different attributes are significant to its life.

Mental disorders are real in the same way an oak tree is real—and fake in the same way an oak tree is fake.

The experiences that diagnostic labels describe are real, but the way disorders are defined is 100% a social construct that is entirely dependent on what is significant to our culture, scientifically backed or not.

“Health” is defined as bodymind states that are convenient for cultural perpetuation; and illness is bodymind states that are not. What experiences and attributes are constructed as diagnostic categories is dependent on what is valued and relevant to the dominant culture—and more importantly, what is conducive to the reproduction of that culture.

In our modern society, people who do not fit squarely into the mold of a responsible, reproductive citizen are either validated or marginalized. These are both methods of control, pushing people into legible categories to make them more easily understood and influenced by society. Validation might look like a kid who’s disruptive in class getting diagnosed with ADHD and working more closely with the school to receive accommodation, whereas marginalization might look like a disruptive kid getting diagnosed with ODD and being treated as if any resistance to an authority figure is a symptom of disease for the rest of their life.

In psychiatry, validation is “positivity”. This extends from clinical practice to what I’m going to call “mental health culture”, the expansion of psychiatry from a form of medicine to a fixture of culture. I’m going to talk about this more in a minute, but for now the point is: mental health does not identify a list of “problems” that exist in a vacuum. It constructs sicknesses in order to justify control. Which leads us to…

This wouldn’t work if we didn’t care about each other

Unfortunately, there’s no simple malice to blame here. A lot of the ways psychiatry hurts people are made possible by compassion. I try not to make generalizations about the human condition OR evolution-based arguments, but I do believe very deeply that humans are a fundamentally social species and that we are physically predisposed to caring about each other—evidenced in part by how much of the coerced labor necessary for society to function depends on making it hard to even SEE enslaved and low-class people, let alone extend solidarity and care to each other. The history of modern psychiatry (mostly over the past 200 years) and the birth of mental health is a chaotic mash of capitalistic profiteering, attempts to stifle liberatory movements, and individuals who are genuinely trying to take care of other people, all informed by the underlying assumptions about what “mental illness” is that I just described.

Brief digression: I’m always tempted to put “mental health” into quotes, but “mental health” implies a distinction between what I’m referring to and some other legitimate, non-fucked-up mental health that just doesn’t exist, so assume whenever I say mental health I’m using a slightly sarcastic tone.

Mental illnesses are, by and large, defined and diagnosed based on suffering, and the treatments, by and large, are designed to reduce suffering—or, the assumption that someone is suffering. How that suffering is measured and defined is still dependent on the basic assumption that correctly reproducing culture is good for you and not doing so is bad for you. For example, many diagnostic criteria measure one’s ability to work productively, and our society assumes wage labor is the norm for a healthy life. Sometimes, this is obfuscated by so many layers of reformed language and liberal feel-good-ism that many people who would disagree with that assumption when said so plainly (reproducing culture is good for you and not doing it is bad for you) are still deeply invested in mental health culture.

Diagnostic categories pick out certain experiences and characteristics to name as symptoms of a disease—but human brains are not very easy to put into boxes. Who is pathologized—labeled as diseased—is heavily dependent on their class status, and how well their behaviors contribute to the status quo. A lower-class non-Christian is more likely to be labeled as psychotic for describing their spiritual beliefs and experiences; whereas a richer person who talks about “being spoken to by the Holy Ghost” is simply a religious fanatic. We see consistently demographic-based diagnostic biases for disorders that are supposedly an issue with predetermined brain “hardwiring”, such as autism and ADHD being diagnosed more in white children, whereas Black children receive ODD diagnoses. By associating abnormality with suffering, and enforcing suffering for the abnormal, attempting to make people normal can represent reduction of suffering and a kindness. This dynamic is even more heavily enforced when people actively choose non-normative lifestyles: someone’s body state is not conducive to them living a “normal” life and they don’t even WANT to change, that means they are extra unhealthy. Under this logic, (attempting to/)forcing them to change is doing a good thing for them and thus the kindest course of action.

Everyone who advocates for broader mental health services is contributing to psychiatric and lobotomistic violence through kindness. There are plenty of people who think positively of their interactions with psychiatric institutions or mental health culture, AND there are ways to reduce harm when participating in mental health culture/be more honest about the risks involved; but encouraging people to participate in clinical settings is still encouraging people to put themselves in vulnerable, potentially dangerous positions.

Madness vs. pathology

Anyone can be crazy. I highly recommend trying it. Experiences are individually varied and highly personal—some people see and hear things other people don’t, some think in ways that are strange or confusing to others, and so on—but madness is simply refusal to conform to normative categories of mind-state and behavior. It is not bowing to social norms and the embrace of abnormal experiences that get in the way of a middle-class aspirations.

Pathologizing is the process by which madness is constructed as sickness. Pathology includes all the things that are “unapproved” about madness and it increasingly includes things that are only minorly inconvenient to our legibility and our participation. People re-contextualize experiences they never thought twice about as part of a disease, simply because they were given a label. “I never knew that was a BPD thing!”

Mental health culture encourages and facilitates this creep because even though its participants will often nominally criticizing practitioners who enact psychiatric violence, they continue to rely on the frameworks this violence is based on. Mainstream criticism of psych focuses on the idea that individual doctors (and/or institutions) apply psychiatry poorly, but it caries the implicit assumption that if it was only used correctly it would be a benefit. This can look like social/support groups of people identifying with a common or related diagnoses criticizing the way psychiatrists behave while encouraging people to self-diagnose, seek certain medication or therapy, or otherwise enforcing mainstream assumptions about the ontology of mental disorders.

Pathologizing talk surrounds us: “I think you might have ___”, “I’m like this because I have ___”, etc. It feels very similar to the ways in which certain queer spaces invent and push labels to describe every possible facet of gender or attraction, because well, it is. Both fixations gain traction because we are told that making ourselves legible to the outside world and making those around us legible in the same way will make us feel less lonely or invisible. Unfortunately, only letting people understand us in terms of our categories instead of on our own, unique terms continues to compound this loneliness. In an effort to make the system “work” we expand what experiences are known, create new labels and try to champion “inclusion”, instead of addressing the forces and dynamics surrounding the things that feel lonely, invisible, and difficult to communicate… A list of abbreviations doesn’t tell the world who you are, it tells the world how to react to you.

Many people who ascribe to psychiatric frameworks still live in ways that resist legibility. There are also plenty of people who are both mad and mentally ill, who use diagnostic labels but do not seek to conform to standards of “treatment”. There are also many people who use these labels to pressure conformity from themselves and those around them. It seems to me like the majority of people who, for example, encourage everyone around them to go to therapy, have never had a practitioner make good on the implicit threat of psychiatric violence.

The role of saneism

It would be incomplete for me to talk about the role of kindness without talking about the role of prejudice.

Saneism is a different form of bigotry than say, racism. It is not hatred of an “other” group that the “perpetrator” is not and never will be a part of. It’s more like fatphobia: hatred of a body state that every human being has the potential to experience. It is self-inflicted as much as it is wielded against the other.

Saneism is a tool to select who is and isn’t crazy. It should be clear at this point that there is no “sane” human being; sanity is only the ideal they beat you with. If you can emulate sanity well enough, driven by fear of internal and external hatred of madness, you are sane. If you can’t, you are insane, and either you can be mentally ill, assimilate to the categories and modes of behavior that are deemed acceptable for people like you; or, if you can’t do that, you’re crazy, and your options are either to submit to lobotomistic violence or to refuse to participate in psychiatry.

Part 2: Praxis

As I said at the beginning: The experiences that psychiatry addresses are real. Critique is all well and good in that it helps us name and understand the systems we live in, but it is only part of the process towards doing something better. Here is my attempt at building a model. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.

A lawn is an artificially maintained shape, but a prairie is created organically through small and large events, which lines up nicely with the idea that mental health, as a noun is a standard that must be maintained, but desire, as a verb is a process of seeking, experiencing and evaluating that builds and grows in symbiosis.

Mental Health is a Lawn

The process of maintaining mental health through the reduction of suffering is like the process of maintain a lawn. A lawn is a pre-defined shape created through the prescription of behaviors and chemicals (weeding/mowing; herbicides/pesticides); regulated to be non-challenging and “safe” (no spikey plants, bee or wasp nests, etc) in the name people’s comfort and at the cost of native species; and prioritizing a certain socially-imposed aesthetic at great cost to the environment. Lawns have to be nourished (fertilized and watered) to grow, but are not allowed to get taller or more robust than a set value so that they’re easy to trim regularly with minimal effort. Lawns are monocultures with shallow roots that do not stand up to environmental conditions like drought without intervention. Lawns are also a standard everyone knows–and holds each other to, judges each other based on.

Likewise, to maintain “mental health”, people are regulated to a predefined standard that prioritizes “normal” aesthetics and the “safety” and comfort of others through the prescription of chemicals and habits (medication and therapy). Everyone knows the rules enough to police themselves and each other. Peoples’ material and emotional needs are taken into consideration enough for them to survive (and not commit suicide), but no one is well-supported enough to not feel the pressure to work; and people do not have the freedom to self-regulate on their own so when crisis occurs, you either have to keep working or rely on psychiatric intervention such as hospitalization.

Desire is a Prairie

Seeking desire is like how a prairie or grassland maintains itself as an ecosystem. Many types of plants grow deep symbiotic root systems that create resiliency and allow the ecosystem to survive through many environmental changes. Critters and bugs may kill/destroy plants at times, but they also reuse and decompose detritus and allow the ecosystem to recycle material and stored energy, spread seeds, etc. A prairie is too tall to be mowed easily by a conventional lawn mower and must be poisoned or crushed via heavy machinery. It is a complicated, compelling and beautiful organism that takes years of interaction to understand.

Desire cultivates varied experiences that let us practice the flexibility to survive distress emotionally, and shapes our lifestyles to prioritize self-regulation. Pain, whether external, self inflicted, or both, is an inherent part of life; but pain can allow us to grieve, process and grow, to clarify our desires, and maintain our bodyminds. When we live by desire we become unwilling to bend to social rules that don’t suit us, become uncontrollably mad, and are accustomed to freedom such that we can only be recuperated through incarceration and lobotomistic violence.

A prairie takes a long time to grow, and is difficult to support in a society that demands lawns. Switching from a mental health model to a desire model isn’t a simple or quick thing. Most of us will resemble something more like an overgrown lot, which is just as valuable.

Part 3: What this means for me

It’s taken a long-ass time to be able to articulate these concepts, so it feels extremely good to have finally made the pieces click.

Ultimately, what I offer isn’t substantially changing—at least right now, though I do have a new offering I’ll be announcing in the near future that incorporates herbalism into pleasure-seeking activities. I’ll still be here for consultations, workshops, and informal support; but the foundations are different, and I will be more explicitly incorporating these ideas into how I teach and discuss concepts. You might notice that the pages on my website have been rewritten and restructured, hopefully in ways that represent these ideological changes.

Something that comes up fairly frequently in conversation with my friends and accomplices who do similar public-facing non-hierarchical healing work is how to respond when people come to us expecting more standard frameworks: When people talk to us expecting to be told things about their bodies, or for us to diagnose a sickness and tell them what to do about it. To me, figuring out how to deal with these interactions is a matter of building and improving social skills; figuring out what questions to ask to break the script. This is just as much practical as it is ideological: What I do is in no way compatible with Western Medicine or psychiatry—the tools I have work granularly, effecting a few parts of the body at a time in specific ways. I can help you sleep, eat, relax, play, reduce fear, increase focus, cope with grief, ground thoughts and emotions, feel pleasure… but I do not use diagnostic categories, I do not offer “antidepressants” or treat disease. Someone telling me they have PTSD gives me exactly 0 information about what they want me to be doing for them. In some ways what I think what I already do in these interactions does more to ground my practice outside of psychiatry than any long-ass manifesto or theoretical explanation; but if you want to know why I do what I do, well, there you have it I guess.

#theory #manifesto #anti civ #anti psych #survivingpsych #mad liberation #anticiv theory #anarchoherbalism

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bostonbashers · 3 years

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Hear me out.. How do mercs behave around a person they have a huge crush on?! :D

AAAAAA this one is so cute, i’m in love!! 🤩❤️

Scout:

literally a fucking DORK around you. tries to impress you constantly with anything and everything he has, ranging from his skill set to his appearance to his personal belongings and much more.

always finds excuses to spend time with you and it can be the most asanine ones in existence. oh? you have free time tomorrow? let’s go take a run down the street. you miss your puppy that got lost when you were a kid? let’s go to the ends of the earth to find it.

made you borrow his jacket/shirt once because he accidentally spilled a drink all over your shirt. once he saw you in it, he nearly died and didn’t want it back. takes it back anyway due to his pride and though he seems outwardly okay with it, he secretly doesn’t wash the clothing for a long while.

his flirtatious behavior around other people goes down immensely. scout becomes strictly loyal to you once his crush grows stronger and can’t bear the thought of talking with someone else, even if you don’t like him back. it just doesn’t sit with him right.

Soldier:

soldier is much softer and kinder around you. he restrains himself from using any harsh words that could hurt your feelings and tries to slow down on your training.

shows you his pets!! one of his prized possessions that he won’t allow anyone else to touch, like ever. he trusts you to love and take care of them the same way he does.

everyone has to respect you. if they even give you a slight problem, he’ll get on their case about it and probably give them hell before they could even mutter out an apology. you deserve respect and he’s gonna make sure you get nothing less.

lots of supportive comments from him! even if it’s something small, he’ll grin at you proudly and yell out a, “good job, cupcake! you did great!” while giving you a strong pat in the back or an approving nod.

Pyro:

pyro is usually sweet and kind with a certain crowd and tries to do the best they can for others, but with their crush? it’s a whole different story. they’re absolutely head over heels for them.

like a lovesick puppy; they will follow you wherever they go with a skip in their step. like, i mean they’ll follow you everywhere. “no, pyro you can’t follow me to the bathroom-!” they don’t really listen but patiently wait outside anyway.

one of the many mercs who won’t hesitate to show affection and sees nothing wrong in it. runs up to them and holds their hand firmly with a happy hum, hugs them more than usual, and just straight up gives you all their attention.

Demoman:

oh boy, if tavish has a crush on you, he’ll show it when he’s absolutely wasted. demo will literally smother you with affection regardless of where you both are and literally latch onto you every second he gets a chance to.

lots of drunk ramblings; he’ll lay his head on your shoulder or lap while he mindlessly slurs about how amazing you are, what his favorite thing is about you, and so much more.

it’s pretty obvious at that point demo likes you so you admit your liking to him pretty quick and it’s funny how shocked he gets. “ya knew i liked ya?!” yes, demo, they did.

when he’s sober, he’s much more shy with it and controls his actions a lot more. apologizes for his behavior while drunk. tavish exhibits more gentleman behavior, from opening doors to making you a decent dinner and just basically ensuring your comfortability.

Heavy:

heavy is very mature and will accept his feelings pretty quick compared to the others. it’s a 50/50 chance with him; if they feel the same, that’s great! if they don’t, then.. he’d have no choice but to move on. that’s how life works.

once he does accept it, be expecting a lot of mother hen behavior; he literally watches your every move to make sure you’re safe and healthy. even if you are, he goes out of his way to give you things whenever he knows you’re around; a homemade meal, a blanket, probably some candy. your smile is already more than enough to make up for the little things he does for you.

no one will ever dare to hurt you around heavy (or just in general, really). he senses danger and issues pretty quickly, so it’s easy for him to detect any bad intentions. he’s like that scary bodyguard who looms behind you, glaring at anyone who radiates rancid vibes to scare them away.

Medic:

probably takes a while to accept or realize it cause he’s always so preoccupied in his lab, being busy and all. but once he does realize it, it’s sort of foreign to him at first, so of course, he goes to heavy to speak about his emotions. after being told it was a crush, he pays attention to you a lot more than usual, sometimes even without him noticing.

he gets all giddy when you’re around and although it’s not the jumpy, squealing giddy, it’s certainly one shown through happy greetings and continuous conversations that seem to be never ending. (you don’t mind though)

makes up random appointments and checkups for the smallest things just to see you and gets very, very excited whenever you decide to come to visit him without his knowledge. nearly drops everything just to attend to you.

he talks to archimedes so much about you that his precious pet basically knows who you are based off his owners reactions and automatically flies to you whenever you enter his lab. that bird is a lot smarter than you think. they get along with you pretty well and medic melts whenever he sees you talk to his birds like he does and play with them.

Sniper:

bless his heart, the poor man will literally faint around his crush. just the sight of them flusters him to his core, and don’t even get me started on their little habits and that godforsaken smile. [hes literally almost died when they grinned at him]

he’s already so reserved and quiet as he is, but around them, it’s even worse. he’s always so scared he’s gonna scare them away or say something stupid, but he eventually lets go of the fear and tries to muster up the courage to talk to you.

once he does, he spends a lot of his time with you, often inviting you out to drive around with him or just simply sit outside and enjoy the breeze. he talks a lot more than usual and though he doesn’t completely open up about his past just yet, he does indirectly hint that he trusts you more than anyone in his life.

lots of sleepless nights when he realizes he’s in love. he does everything to take you off his mind but all fails in the end and he’s kept wide awake thinking about what you two could be. from then on, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep his cool around you and silently begs you’ll confess one day or he’ll lose it.

Engineer:

sweetheart mode: activated. like it’s not a big switch up, since he’s naturally a gentleman but it’s noticeable enough. you’ll notice that your nicknames will start slowly forming to more romantic ones and how he blushes with a smile everytime it leaves his lips.

the other mercs can tell when dell has a crush; he blushes a lot more than usual and they catch him smiling more than once by himself. they realize it when you approach him and he automatically fixes himself to look presentable without a second breath. his voice also changes to a much happier and giddy tone, it’s so cute!

stares at you from a distance a lot or whenever you’re distracted with something. half of the time he doesn’t even realize he’s doing so but once he catches himself, he blushes and looks away, silently telling himself to quit it. often you’ll catch him staring at you, but you ignore it for his sake and laugh to yourself when he smiles back and waves shyly.

Spy:

takes a long while before he actually accepts the crush, seeing that he’s a very secretive and reserved person but once he does, you best believe you’ll be spoiled and loved by this man. lots of gentleman behavior!! opening doors, buying you gifts, giving you his coat, and all that fancy stuff.

teases you a lot more than he should; he enjoys your reactions. he’ll lean in close enough where your fingers brush slightly, tilt your chin up when he talks to you and makes intense eye contact while doing so. whenever he gets too close or the moment gets too tense, he backs away with a smirk and pretends as if nothing happens.

he listens to you and anything you have on your mind. his door is literally open for you 24/7 and even if you come knocking at 3 am, he’ll let you in and listen to what you have to say. you think he’s not listening cause he’s very unresponsive but when you’re finished and about to leave, he gives really good advice and tells you quietly that he’s there for you in an indirect way. depending how close he is to you, he’ll let out an experience or two about him to put you at comfort and as thanks for confiding in him. he then walks you back to your room with a simple nod and goodnight.

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belfrygargoyles · 3 years

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*whispers* I would like to hear what you have to say on reader inserts in the SW fandom because I too have a problem with them and I feel like not enough people are calling it out 👉👈

I’ve made a few posts about it in the past but I think it’s high time I actually Do This and really get into it.

Before I start: 1) This will be in specific reference to fanfiction written for the Star Wars fandom, particularly tcw and the mandalorian eras, 2) A lot of the issues come down to racist fetishization of men of color by white women; I am white, so there is much that is simply not my place to make statements on. What I can speak most on is my take from the gender side of things.

I’d honestly recommend reading this post by @nibeul with addition by @clonehub first, as they discuss the core issue with reader inserts in the Star Wars fandom.

And 3) some of this will involve discussion of sexual acts (as they relate to fanfiction) and sexual fantasies. These discussions will be non-explicit, and no pornographic text or content will be displayed.

Also. I’m GNC and nonbinary. I’m also a very feminine looking person that falls under the generalization of “small and petite.” I don’t have dysphoria, I like my body and the traits I have, and treating them like inherently female sends me into a blind fury. This is, unfortunately, important.

For the sake of making sure I come across as clearly as possible, I will be writing as though the reader of this post has never read or is broadly unfamiliar with reader-insert fanfiction.

Without further ado.

Hey, Star Wars reader insert fic writers? Please get your shit together.

INTRODUCTION

I’ve been reading reader-insert fanfiction since I was a grade schooler waking up early to check Quizilla. I love it! It got me into fandom, kept me engaged, helped me make and develop some of my oldest OCs, and it’s just fun to read and write- it’s like a self-indulgent little gift you can give to a bunch of people all at once. Because who doesn’t like the idea of starring in their own little adventure, usually alongside some of their favorite characters? It can be fun, immersive, get you attached in ways other ways of fandom interaction may not, make you feel just a little bit special, or be a way to express some feelings you might have about canon and the way the story went.

Like any form of fiction, it ends up saying more about the author’s feelings than anything else, whether the author realizes it or not. For many, many authors of reader-insert fanfiction, the primary enjoyment comes from writing “themselves” into the story- before the readers, the author most often makes the “reader character” someone they, themselves, can relate to and substitute for themselves. They write to live out a self-indulgent fantasy they have, and their readers can come along for the ride.

Some writers do actually try to write as diverse or as vague of a reader character as possible- as few details about the body, identity, etc. as possible so anyone could superimpose their image without the narrative directly contradicting it. This is not the kind of reader insert author I will be discussing.

The kind of author I will be discussing is the one most common in the Star Wars tag on Ao3: White, AFAB, cisgender, gender-conforming, able-bodied women who assume all of their readers are also White, AFAB, cisgender, gender-conforming, able-bodied women. Yes, you can tell.

ISSUE: fetishization of men of color

Again, this post puts it in the best words, but there is a rampant problem with Star Wars reader-inserts, particularly those involving the clones, Boba Fett, and Din Djarin, fetishizing characters played by men of color as either “physically aggressive and threatening, hypersexual and dominant, big strong men who are scary because they do violence and fuck constantly when they’re not” or “completely inexperienced baby who doesn’t know anything about things and needs a gentle nurturing guiding touch to introduce him to the mere idea of a vagina.” The former is common across all of them, the latter most common among clone trooper fics or Din/Reader.

I went into the Boba Fett/Reader tag on Ao3, because I like him and hoped to find something alright. Here are some stats I tallied up (give or take some) based solely on tags, summaries, and warnings:

There are 284 works in the Boba Fett/Reader category as of the time of this post.

198/284 are rated E for explicit sexual content. 69.7% of all Boba Fett/Reader works are sexually explicit.

259/284 are in the F/M category. 91.2% of all Boba Fett/Reader works involve an explicitly female or AFAB reader.

24/284 are tagged with or mention “Age difference,” “Older man/Younger woman,” “Innocence kink” or “Virginity kink.” 8.4% of all Boba Fett/Reader works are written explicitly with an age gap, with Boba Fett as the older party

26/198 E rated fics are tagged with or make reference to “Daddy kink” or involve the reader being called some variation of “little girl” by Boba. 13% of all E-rated works under Boba Fett/Reader are daddy kink fics, or allude to Boba Fett being a daddy dom/sugar daddy.

102/198 E rated fics are tagged as, make reference to, or suggest in the summary that Boba Fett takes a dominant sexual role with a submissive reader involving rough or painful play, or make reference to Boba Fett being frightening, physically intimidating, having a power dynamic over the reader, or being possessive or violent. 51.51% of all E-rated works under Boba Fett/Reader portray Boba Fett as sexually dominant and/or enacting use of physical force or pain play.

Just using this as an example, because it’s the easiest stats I can gather and also what made me realize there was a pattern.

The problem isn’t even necessarily that people write explicit fic about Boba- it’s that 1) over half of all fics in the category are explicitly pornographic, and 2) the way those pornographic fics are written. The two things compound on each other. They’re dominance fantasies projected onto a character of color in which he becomes extremely sexual, physically rough with the reader, possessive, and demeaning towards a reader character who is always written as White, AFAB, and petite.

This brings me to the next issue.

ISSUE: The way sexual relationships are portrayed.

Let me clarify so there is no chance of me being misunderstood: sex is good. Liking and wanting and enjoying sex isn’t bad. It is not bad if you are AFAB and have submissive fantasies. It is not bad to be sexually attracted to a man of color. You can write about sex even if you haven’t had it. Writing about sex can be a good way to express some more complicated feelings you could have about certain things. It doesn’t even have to be realistic. It has its time and it has its place.

This being said.

Sexual relationships as they are portrayed in the vast majority of E-rated Star Wars reader inserts are… not great.

The reader is always AFAB. I can think of maybe one fic off the top of my head where an AFAB reader was written with they/them pronouns and not just she/her.

The reader is almost always submissive, the dominant character is almost always portrayed as cis male. Even when the characters are supposed to just be having spontaneous casual sex, D/S or BDSM aspects will be introduced with no prior discussion or talks about it afterwards. Sometimes characters will start using dirty talk and it just does not fit at all, but it’s what the author thought was hot.

Sometimes, it just reads like a quick smutty oneshot. More often than that, it reads like the author doesn’t realize that sex… isn’t always a dom/sub thing. Or that someone can take the lead in sex and that doesn’t automatically make them a dom.

It’s not bad to be inexperienced. It’s not bad to have preferences or kinks or specific turn-ons.

But it gets… tiring to read, over and over and over and over, because that’s all there is.

That and… I dunno, it just has me a little worried? It doesn’t make me feel good knowing so many people can only portray a sexual relationship if it’s dom/sub. I don’t know why it makes me so uneasy.

Vanilla sex isn’t a bad thing I promise. It's this feeling of insistence that something "spicy" absolutely has to happen for it to be worth writing that gives... some weird vibes.

I’m going to move on to the next Big-

ISSUE: Every “reader” character is exactly the same

By which I mean the following:

Always cis AFAB female

If a character is written with gender neutral pronouns they will always be AFAB and written like Girl Lite

I have never seen an explicitly stated nonbinary/gnc reader character unless it was a request specifically for a nonbinary reader

I have never seen a gender neutral reader insert fic where the reader was AMAB

I have seen a grand total of 1 cis male reader fic and 1 trans male reader fic. The trans male reader fic was about dysphoria.

The reader is allowed to have one of the following backstories: slave/runaway, mechanic, medic, ex-Rebel, secret Jedi, bounty hunter.

The reader is allowed to have one of the following personality traits: throws knives, babysitter, completely civilian, WOMAN, says curse words.

The reader is never written with any narrative agency- things only ever happen to the reader character or around the reader character, they are never written to take charge and actually affect things on their own. Essentially the sexy lamp trope.

Remember when I said the majority of people writing Star Wars reader-insert fanfic on Ao3 were White, cisgender AFAB women who are gender-conforming and able-bodied? This is how you can tell.

It’s at this point where you can tell they’re really not meant to be reader-inserts, but author-inserts with the names removed- they were only meant for a very narrow selection of readers.

I’m nonbinary, I’m gnc, and I’m a very feminine looking person, generally speaking. I’m used to people looking at me and assuming oh, girl. I’m at peace with that.

I can barely stand reading some of these fics just because of how much the author emphasizes that the reader is FEMALE shes a WOMAN with BOOBS and a VAGINA and FEMININE WILES. There’s barely ever even a chance to give myself room to mentally vault over all the “she”s and “her”s because then I’m getting hit with Din or someone calling the reader “girl” or “the woman.” It’s unbearable, and I even fall into the general description every fucking fic author uses for their generic protagonist!

Even with the “gender-neutral reader” fics, it is just. Painfully clear that they just wrote a female character and changed the pronouns- no, there is no such thing as “male behavior” or “female behavior,” and I quite heartily rebel against the concept of gender essentialism. And honestly, I can barely even begin piecing together how I know it and what it feels like, because it’s just one of those vague conglomerates of cues and writing patterns I can’t consciously pick up on but I know it’s there- it’s frustrating, it’s demeaning, and it feels like you’d have to threaten these authors at gunpoint to get them to write a reader character who was any major deviation from the same three cutouts they use every time.

It seems like they can’t possibly force themselves to write a reader character who isn’t meek and submissive or has the sole personality traits of “mean and can hit things”- you can actually strike a balance between “absolutely no personality” and “fleshed out oc” you know? And you don’t actually have to tell the reader what their hair looks like or how full their figure is

It’s like 2:20 AM and I started this at like 8something PM but.

I’m someone who loves reader-inserts. I enjoy them. I still check for new ones regularly. I’ve been reading them for well over half my life now.

So many of these authors are just locked in on exactly one way to write things and it fucking shows. It’s like a self-feeding loop, they just keep writing the same things and the same dynamics because they see each other doing it and they never think about taking a step back.

It’s… exhausting. I’m exhausted. If you’re a reader-insert fic writer and you want to improve your reader character inclusivity and have also read this far, you can DM me or shoot me an ask.

#star wars #x reader #star wars x reader #star wars reader insert #maintagging because for once i actually want ppl to see this #i hope my points are made clearly enough #if something needs clarification you can shoot me a DM or an ask

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harfanfare · 3 years

Text

Aether x Reader || Glaze Lilies

"This one is delicious too," you said, swallowing another piece of the dish. “Paimon would probably create another stomach for these miracles.”

Aether chuckled softly as he bites off another piece of hot roll filled with traditional Liyue-rich stuffing. “I guess even that is not enough when the competition is the Sticky Honey Roast that Amber offered her.”

You smiled in response.

Late fall in Liyue was a beautiful time of the year.

The city was always full of red and gold colours like towns straight from fairy tales, but in this time, when the leaves have already turned dark orange and the air was carrying an aroma of seasonal seed cookies, Liyue looked even more breathtaking.

You were sure that it was Amber who made it possible for you to go somewhere on Aether's day off from doing… everything. Normally, you would be sitting in some restaurant watching Paimon heartlessly ordering all the dishes from a menu without looking at the number of zeros of each price.

But when Amber heard you mention dates accompanied by beautiful, falling leaves, she blushed as the flame of pure determination appeared in her eyes. In the evening she appeared in front of Paimon and offered her to go out to the city for one day.

Oh, if she only knew how much it will cost her...

"[Name], stay close to me, or I will lose you in this crowd." Aether gripped your hand tighter.

"Getting lost in such a big city would be romantic, wouldn't it?" you giggled.

"Getting lost and being found in the wrong place and time wouldn’t be," he replied. “Every city is much more dangerous when the night comes.”

You turned into another street to finally reach the viewpoint in Liyue.

You could see a lot more from there, but less people could see you. Who would twist their neck to see two little dots on top of a mountain?

"It's going to rain soon," Aether nodded at the clouds, which were moving quickly toward the city. He clicked his tongue. “If we don't want to get wet, we should be getting ready.”

"Oh, isn't that Aether?"

You turned around to see a girl approaching you two.

She was gorgeous—her long blonde hair waved in the breeze as if it existed only to be an effect for them. She had every girl's dream figure, bright, sparkling eyes, and rosy cheeks.

Perfect girl.

And the perfect person to compare yourself with to create a trillion complexes about your body.

She had a very charismatic, attractive aura around her, but the way she behaved towards Aether was slowly starting to bother you. Of course, it might just be some kind of funny, totally wrong prejudice against her, but ...

“[Girl's name]?” Aether muttered, not noticing your pleading gaze saying: ‘let's get out of here.’ “—What are you doing here?”

"I was just passing by," she laughed, her voice soft, pearl-like. “I couldn't go without saying hi, haha!” Then she looked at you and fixed you with a stare. It wasn't a cold look, but it wasn't friendly either. “And who is that?”

"Ah," Aether shook his head, as if only now remembering that he had not come here alone. He put his hand around your waist. “This is my girlfriend, [Name]”

“I didn't know you had a girlfriend! You always have to be so mysterious?” Aether rolled his eyes at her words, even if he smiled slightly. Then she turned to you. “Could I kidnap him for a moment? I need help moving my luggage to my new apartment.”

She grabbed his hand without waiting for your answer, as if it were a rhetorical question. As Aether released his hand from your waist, you felt as if you were left alone in a foreign land.

“I'll be back in a minute!” After these words, he turned to the blonde and at an equal pace, they turned around the corner of some house, behind the wall of which you could see an extremely high pile of boxes.

"It probably won't be a minute," you sighed.

You leaned against the railing and stared at the toes of your shoes, telling yourself that you should have opposed her. Would that be selfish? You've been dreaming about a date with Aether for so long, without third parties, and now that the moment has come, it turns out that someone will take from you your boyfriend anyway.

Five minutes passed... eight minutes... ten... thirteen...

After fourteen minutes, you got up and decided to check how much was already packed. Some of the super-heavy boxes seemed to be gone, but that was up for discussion since there were dozens of them here.

You couldn't find a familiar face in sight. Did... they just leave you here? More likely, they were just carrying some luggage into one of the nearby houses, but you couldn't knock on every door to find them—it would take hours.

You felt yourself slowly breaking down.

You knew you were a little (a little very much) jealous of this girl, but more depressing was the fact that this was going to be yours and Aether’s day. COMMON. Now you thought you were the loneliest person in the universe.

"I'm not going to get upset," you repeated aloud, trying to motivate yourself to leave this place. "I'll go... I’ll go somewhere and have a good time... alone."

With a quick step, as if you didn't want to think about this anymore, you turned back and followed the alleys you and Aether had previously travelled. You came to the food stores that you had only glanced at before, but you didn't have time to taste anything else because you were in a hurry to get to the viewpoint.

It is true that you ordered take-out rolls, but the whole range of different types of food seemed very tempting despite the filling bread.

And the smell of such highly seasoned dishes was tempting—very much.

"Sorry," a young girl approached you after you shoved a piece of meat into your mouth. You swallowed it quickly, almost choking on it. “Would you like to buy some flowers?”

“…Why not?” you replied.

The girl put the money in the pocket of her dress. Instead of putting a flower on your hand, she came closer and gently braided a glaze lily into your hair near right ear.

"Here you are," she replied and looked at you. A smile beamed across her face. “You look really pretty!”

"Thank you," you replied. You noticed that this was the last flower in her basket, and because of that, the ten-year-old girl seemed proud of herself. She walked away, thanking again for the purchase.

I think that one more on the other side and all would be perfect...

You glanced at the setting sun and concluded that you could give Aether a similar lily. Wouldn't that look cute on him? There was still some time before it will get completely dark. Even the rain clouds that had previously seemed to be crossing the sky at an alarming pace now seem to have stopped.

You finished eating and walked briskly towards the Danyu Ruins, hoping to find some pretty lilies on your way.

The silence, or rather the sound of the wind and the leaves rustling against each other, were the only thing that accompanied your footsteps since you left Liyue. It seemed relaxing at first, but now that the skies were a deeper blue than orange, you concluded that a travelling companion would not be a bad idea.

“They're here!” you finally found two lilies that glistened slightly in the dark. You collected them quickly and turned to head back into town.

…You were surprised when you encountered many, many roads, each of them unfamiliar.

"I should have left a trail of breadcrumbs," you joked, though panic had already paralyzed your legs.

Your problems were not diminished by the fact that you heard mad laughter near you. You felt your heart leap into your throat, tears welling up in your eyes as a figure emerged from behind the bushes.

Abyss mage.

You have heard about them from the stories of Aether, who sometimes told you about his adventures when you tried to bandage his wounds with a bandage, herbs, or other medicines.

As soon as your heart was beating, so quickly the magician saw you. He teleported a meter away from you and you started running.

Faster, faster, faster.

Before you ran a hundred meters, a mage appeared before you. You didn't even have time to stop when he waved his hand, and a large ice crystal formed in front of him. Huge and pointed towards you.

Almost as soon as it was launched, a certain force pushed both of you backwards. You felt pain in your left leg, but somehow you didn't fall. Strong arms held you and made you be in a comforting, familiar embrace.

You looked up to see Aether running towards the cliff to finally jump, open his gliding set and take you two away from the icy monster.

You didn't say a word to each other all this time.

As soon as you touched the ground, you stepped out of his embrace, as if feeling that you had abused his closeness too much. Instead, he grabbed your wrist, turned to face him, and initiated a long, passionate kiss.

He didn't pull away until you both were breathless, and your cheeks were burning like hot coals. You couldn't say you were cold anymore.

“Why?” He took a deep breath. However, his voice still trembled. “Why didn't you wait for me? If I did not make it on time—"

“I was waiting for you!” You interrupted him. You bit your lower lip as you tried to contain the tide of frustration. “It's you who disappeared somewhere. You went somewhere with that girl. I already thought you weren't coming back.”

Aether, an intelligent boy, immediately paraphrased your words "I was maybe jealous". At the thought, he smiled apologetically.

"Sorry," he said, scratching his neck. “I accidentally dropped a box on her leg and, oh, it was hard to treat someone who screams in pain before even a finger touches them…”

"Oh," you felt a deep flush of embarrassment coming up to your cheeks. Indeed, the previous redness of the cheeks did not disappear, but now it only preserved their shade for the next minutes. “I'm really sorry. I left you, put you and myself in danger, just to find some stupid flowers...”

For the third time since finding you, Aether hugged you tightly. He planted a kiss on the top of your head. You stood for a few minutes in pleasant silence, cuddling tightly to each other, and finally, you both relaxed completely.

You took the tangled lilies out of your pocket; one was practically worn out, but the other seemed to be in good condition. You dropped the massacred one, and you tried to straighten the petals with your fingers.

"Turn around," you told him.

He did it without batting an eye. You ran your fingers through his hair and braided his plant into a braid.

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought yours, still artfully arranged, flashed a pleasant blue light as Aether examined his looks.

"It suits you," you said. You both decided to go back to Liyue and spend the rest of the night there. You held hands all the way back.

"You too," he replied. "We are complementing each other very nicely now with these flowers ...and also without them," he added with a smile.

"So, you still think getting lost isn't romantic?" You looked at him from under your lashes.

“Still. I wish I could have you with me without any excuse that you will get lost.”

#Aether #Aether x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact aether #genshin impact scenario #genshin impact traveler #traveler x reader #genshin x reader

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rahleeyah · 3 years

Text

Did somebody ask for Nick Amaro punching Elliot Stabler in the face?

It's nice to be back in New York. He wishes it was under different circumstances - Christ does he wish - but he missed the city. LA isn't the same. Zara's there, and Gil's in San Diego, and they have both grown so much in the last five years and he wouldn't have missed that for anything, but he does wish, sometimes, that they could have stayed at home. In New York.

He's come to bury his mother and clean out her apartment. Before that gets started, though, he's got some faces he wants to see. He doesn't know for sure if they'll still be there, doesn't know what he'll find, but he knows he has to look, and in his heart he believes that as long as Liv is still alive and in possession of two good legs, she'll be at SVU. That place, it's more than just a job, to her. It's a calling. She's a goddamn crusader.

For a minute he stands looking up at the station, weighing whether or not he wants to go in. Whether or not he wants to know what's happened to Barba, and Carisi, and Fin, and Rollins. Shit. Rollins. No way is she still there, he thinks.

He could have called. Should have called. Friends for life, he and Liv had promised each other, and they are, and they will be, but not the kind of friends who call each other and gab on the phone on Saturday afternoons. The kind of friends who'll take a bullet for each other, who'll drop everything and fly to the other side of the country after five years of no contact, if that's what they need. But not Facebook friends. It's just not in their DNA. They're bound by blood now; they don't need a phone call.

So he takes a deep breath and walks into the station, gets on the elevator behind some asshole in a flashy suit like the kind Barba used to wear, and the guy is talking on his phone but he's pressed the button for SVU so Nick can't escape him, just has to stand there and listen.

"I'm not asking, I'm telling," the guy says. "why? 'Cause I'm your father, that's why."

The guy's tone and the words coming out of his mouth remind Nick forcefully of his own father, and that makes him hate this man he doesn't even know. The door slides open and Nick goes to step out but the guy must not have registered he's there; the guy almost steps on him on his way out of the elevator and doesn't even apologize, just hangs up his phone and goes heading towards SVU and Nick is once again following him. His knee never healed right and Nick isn't as quick as he used to be, and the guy gets further and further ahead of him.

"She here?" The guy calls to a young female detective sitting at one of the desks. The squad room looks completely different, now, and for a second Nick feels like all the breath has just been knocked out of him. The girl says yeah, go on back, and the suit heads for Liv's office. Must be the ADA, Nick thinks. And shit, this is weird. It's like walking into his childhood home and seeing another family living there. It's like finding out there's no such thing as home, really. Like whatever home is, one day you stop belonging there.

"Help you?" The girl calls to him.

"Yeah," he says. It's too late to pretend he's not here. There's no sign of Rollins, or Fin, or Liv, but he's gonna do what he came here to do.

"Is Benson around?"

The girl gives him an appraising look.

"Who's asking?"

Before he can answer, a voice is calling out behind him.

"Nick?"

He turns, and there she is. Amanda Rollins. Still blonde, still beautiful, and shit, Carisi is standing right beside her.

"Amanda," he says, and in the next second she's running at him, flinging her arms around him. They hit so hard he could have picked her clean up and spun her around, if it weren't for his bad knee. As it is he nearly goes flying, but he catches himself, and holds on to her tight. He's missed her, more than he wants to admit.

"Oh, my God," she says as she pulls back. "It's so good to see you. You look good."

"Yeah," he says. "So do you."

And she does, and he wishes that didn't hurt.

"Carisi," he says next, and holds his hand out for a shake. Carisi’s hair has gone grey, and his suit is too flash for a cop, but he’s still Carisi, and he bats Nick’s hand away, and pulls him in for a hug.

“If we’d known you were coming we’d have gotten a cake or something,” Carisi says as they part.

“I wasn’t sure you guys would even still be here,” Nick tells them. “Kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Is Liv around?”

As if in answer to his question the door to the Captain’s office opens behind them, and she comes walking out, with the suit hot on her heels.

She stops dead in her tracks when she sees him, and shit, he just about stops breathing. That woman; she’s like a sister to him. Better than a sister; he trusts her more than his own blood. A thousand memories flash through his mind. The angry Liv he’d first met, calling him Serpico and looking at him like she was certain he wouldn’t last a week. Remember when you asked me about my father, and I told you it was a long story? It’s not that long. Standing beside her on the porch at the beach house, her clothes ripped and burned, her body bruised, her eyes wild. Liv’s eyes in the rearview mirror, Lewis’s blood sprayed across her face. Liv’s hands on him, while the EMTs wheeled him away after Johnny D shot him. Friends for life, Nick Amaro.

Her hair is longer, and her face is more lined, but she’s still so goddamn gorgeous. She covers her heart with her hand, and he grins, and they both start to move, then, not running, but walking straight towards each other, determined, no one else in the world but them, in that moment, and the next thing he knows he’s got his arms wrapped around her, and she’s holding him so tight it almost hurts.

“Nick,” she whispers his name shakily, and he laughs, because he can tell she’s about to cry and shit he is, too.

“Good to see ya, Liv,” he manages to choke out, and when he pulls back she reaches up and touches his face, her dark eyes searching his. She doesn’t have to say it; he knows she’s wondering if he’s ok, and he hopes she finds the answer in his face. Truth is, he’s doing better now than he was five years ago. Better than ten years ago. He’s settled. He’s happy. He hopes she is, too.

“You gonna introduce me to your friend?”

This from the suit. The sound of his voice shatters the moment, and Liv pulls away, and Nick is thinking he really, really hates this guy. This guy with his easy arrogance, this guy whose voice, whose posture, whose belligerent expression reveals a possessiveness towards Liv that Nick doesn’t like, not one bit. Liv laughs and steps back from him but Nick keeps his hand resting at the small of her back. There’s a petulant part of his heart that wants this guy, whoever he is, to see Nick touching her. To know that he’s allowed to, that she’ll let him, that whatever problem the suit may have Liv cares about Nick.

“Yeah,” Liv says, and a little bit of Nick’s anger fades, because she sounds happy.

“This is Nick Amaro, my old partner.” He can hear the grin in her voice. “Nick, this is Elliot Stabler.”

It’s not something he can control. It comes over him so suddenly, so viciously; he always thought that when people talking about seeing red they were just exaggerating. He always thought people had more control over themselves than that. But Liv says that name, and damn if he doesn’t see red.

“Elliot Stabler?” he says.

“Yeah,” Stabler answers, taking a step forward, and maybe he’s about to ask Nick if he’s got a problem with that, but he never gets the chance.

Stabler. The one who left her. The one who was the reason she was so standoffish, with Nick. The reason she was so angry all the damn time, walking around nursing a broken heart and letting it get her into trouble. The one with the anger issues and the dinged up service record that nearly derailed her whole career. The one with the wife at home, while Liv was half in love with him - Nick isn’t supposed to know that part, but he does. And anybody who could do that to Liv, who could hurt her so bad, treat her like she was second class, disposable, anybody who could stand there and act like he had a right to be by her side after all the shit he put her through, anybody like that, they’re gonna get what’s coming to them, courtesy of Nick Amaro. It’s been ten years since Stabler walked out on her, but however he came back, whatever the reason is for him standing here right now, Nick doesn’t give a single shit. He knows Liv and he knows she would never tell this guy just how bad he hurt her, just how much she lost when he left, knows she’s got a good heart and she’ll forgive the people she loves. She won’t hold this asshole accountable.

Nick, on the other hand, has no qualms about it.

“Ok,” Nick says, and then before anyone can so much as take a breath, he hauls off and punches that smug son of a bitch right in the mouth, as hard as he can. And shit, but it feels good.

#e.o #e.o thoughts #NICK!!!!#my disaster son

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aressss1 · 3 years

Text

Through Fire and Ice Chapter 9

(Technoblade x Reader)

Chapter 9

< Prev Chapter | Next Chapter >

~~~~~~

You were sitting on the porch staring off into space, your chin resting in your hand. You were thoroughly bored. You couldn’t even read your old books. You didn’t have any chance to grab any of your things, you were thankful you hadn’t gotten a dog or a cat after you had moved into your house. Though you wished you could go back and get some of your belongings. Dream had offered up to help you get through the snow, to get some of the things that you missed. You shook your head when he said that.

You had no idea what the surface looked like up there, but people had come back with stories about how the snow was as tall as they were. You shuddered at the thought. You loved feeling the sun shine down on you, on days that you would read outside… It was weird to think that you wouldn’t feel that ever again. Depressing thoughts crept up on you, and as you tried pushing those thoughts away, you felt your mood plummet. Just as you let out a sigh, a familiar sight of a red cloak entered your vision, and you felt yourself perk up.

“Techno!” You waved at him. He seemed to be focused on something. Maybe he hadn’t heard you. You shrugged it off as that anyway. Not wanting to sit and sulk any longer, you push yourself to your feet. Your pace quickened the closer you got to Techno. But you didn’t know the area as well as you should have, you tripped on a small piece of stone that jutted up from the ground. You gave a little yelp and watched as the ground came closer and closer. You closed your eyes waiting for impact.

“What are you doing?” His voice rang through your ears. The impact never came. Opening your eyes, you were mere inches away from the stone ground. His arm had snaked around you, mid fall, saving you once again. “I can’t leave you anywhere without you getting into trouble.” Though the words were meant to tease you, you could hear the grumpiness in his voice. You liked that you were starting to pick up on things you didn’t normally pick up on when he was still new to you.

“Why are you so grumpy today?” Your eyes narrowed at him, as he set you upright with a huff. “More importantly where were you yesterday? I waited as long as I could for you.” You saw something flash in his eyes, but he quickly looked away.

“I was mining,” he muttered, “lost track of time.” He kept walking leaving you where you stood. You huff in annoyance.

“Can I come with you this time?” You asked. Only receiving nothing but a grunt from him. “You know, to make up for lost time?” This felt similar to your past partner, who you begged to be with for any amount of time, only for them to tell you that you were needy and that you couldn’t do anything on your own… You didn’t like that feeling. You knew Techno wasn’t like that. So… Why did it hurt so much?

He stopped dead in his tracks. His golden eyes turning to study your face. He didn’t say anything, just jerked his head in the direction he was walking in. You took that as permission, and you fell into stride with him as he slowed himself down. You two fell into silence, your stomach twisted and turned with anxiety. You didn’t want to lose Techno as a friend, so why did it feel as if you were losing him?

“What did I do?” You tried so hard to keep your composure, but Techno heard that crack in your voice… And it pained him.

“Nothing,” His voice came out with a sigh, “I’ve been thinking,” Oh god… your chest tightened. Those were the words that came before disaster in your life. Your ex used those words on you before leaving you, telling you how useless you really were. Grinding your teeth, you listened to him speak. “No one around here wants me around.” His voice was even, and you were still panicking. “I think I should just pack up and leave, in a few days when Phil doesn’t need me, when the mine is done.”

“W-why?” Your squeak, making him look you fully in the face from behind his mask.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed the looks I get around The Burrow.” His hand absentmindedly rested on the handle of the pickaxe hanging off his belt. “I think it would be better for yours and Phil’s image if I just leave.” Your chest was tense, and your anxiety eased a tiny bit but… You didn’t want him to leave…

“Our image?” You raised your eyebrows. “Techno who the fuck cares about images?” You heard him chuckle.

“Well, a lot of people do,” you could hear a smile come through his words, “I’m the big scary Blood God, here to kill all of you.” He motions wildly with his arms dramatically leering at you. He makes you laugh. His heart soars at your laughter.

“You’re not scary,” you catch his hand in the air. Noticing the air shift around you, you look around and you were now in front of a small strip mine sort of hidden away in The Burrow. Your eyes flick back to his hand. “I know you’re not exactly human, but that’s not a bad thing.” Your fingers on your left-hand lace through his, and your right hand was left caressing his arm making its way up behind his skull mask. You lightly touch his down pointed ears, running your fingers over the golden earrings he wore, causing a shudder from him. You giggle. “You have both parts human and… They’re called piglins right?” He nodded his eyes fully entranced by you.

“I’ve never been to the nether,” you confess. “And while I have never seen a piglin… Never seen how they are… You have shown me nothing but kindness, saved me many times in many ways.” Your hand runs to the back of his neck feeling past scars, lingering there for just a second. “Human’s never showed me any of that.” Your hand drops to his chest where you could feel his heart thrumming below your fingers. “Your heart beats like a human’s, and I bet you don’t love like a human.” He cocks his head at your statement. “I’ve seen your devotion, to Phil. I bet when you find someone or something to love it’s stronger than what a human can handle.” You give him a smile. “If you can love Phil that deeply, like a brother, I-I want to meet him.”

“You want to meet Phil?” He seemed baffled. Remembering how you requested that he bring Phil and Kristin their rations because you were still scared of Phil. You nodded keeping your eyes down.

“I don’t care about image, Techno,” You didn’t allow him to derail the topic at hand. “I’m not going to stop you if it’s truly what you want, but… please don’t leave…” There you were begging someone not to leave your life again. You felt pathetic. You felt his hand tip your chin up as tears welled up in your eyes.

“For you,” he leveled with you, “I’ll stay.” What he really meant was… ‘I’ll follow you to the deepest depths of the earth.’ His hand still intertwined with yours he pulled you to his chest and he gave you a tight hug, his whole body enveloped you and you held on tightly to him. You didn’t feel so alone with him there, and your heart thudded in your chest. You were starting to develop feelings for this hybrid… The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, while he let his jaw rest on the top of your head.

“You’ve never seen the nether?” He questioned you, and you nodded into his chest, just relishing the feel of his hands rubbing your back. “I promise I’ll take you there,” You pulled back from him, excitement rising in your chest.

“Really?” You bounced on your heels, gripping his shirt. He couldn’t help but chuckle at your reaction.

“Just give me some time to get a set of armor prepared for you.” He stepped away from your excited form.

“Deal!” You nodded to him. He held the iron door open for you as you both entered the mineshaft, unknowing that certain eyes were watching from a far.

You were in that strip mine almost all day with Techno, and as much as you loved mining and talking with him. You were tired, well… That is… until Techno broke through into a cave of sorts. You had found a second wind.

“Huh…” He cleared out the stone in front of him. “We found ourselves a mineshaft.” He ducked below low hanging stone and walked through onto wood. “Have you seen one of these?”

“Can’t say I have…” You shook your head following him into the mineshaft. “I always bought the things I needed; I never really went exploring for things.” You lingered close to him. The two of you walk through the halls of the mineshaft. He had to duck his head to not hit his head on the wood of the support beams keeping the walls and ceiling supported.

“You know where these places came from?” He craned his neck to look down at you through his mask. When you shook your head, he continued. You felt yourself lean closer into him as you listened to him. The interest on your face, brought a blush to Technoblade’s cheeks not that you could see it from behind the mask.

“They say in the times of old before any of us walked this earth, the inhabitants of this land, ruled over everything peacefully. This world used to have more people, who were probably just like us. Some say that they had better technology, others would say that their lands were barren and the world, as we knew it, wasn’t like this. Savannahs, deserts, swamps, you name it… They weren’t a thing back then… Or so they say. The only thing that was constant was grass and cobblestone. Some even say there weren’t even any trees in the beginning.” You bite your lip trying to process what he was saying. It was hard to imagine. You heard his chuckle.

“Things rapidly changed, and the people of this world thrived. Building these mineshafts, desert temples, ocean monuments, and jungle temples. People formed villages, and as time would go on, the land would change so much so that the villagers sometimes would be stuck in their homes buried under dirt, with no way to get out, until someone with the capabilities to help did.” Techno took a second to breathe and to see if you were still listening, and you were wholeheartedly listening to every single word, you practically hung on his arm. “The ocean floor used to be nothing but gravel, and the oceans housed very little fish.”

“What happened to that world?” You eagerly asked your hand tightening on his arm. You could see a devilish grin spread upon his face.

“Well, you see…” He turns and slowly backs you up to the stone wall, his eyes flooding black and his irises turning silver, the sight making you shudder. “There’s a legend, that a mighty being named Herobrine walked these lands, wreaking havoc on any who crossed his path. Many saw a face with shining white eyes staring back at them, in mineshafts… Much like this one.” His face was inches away from yours “Hiding around the corners that ended up being dead ends with no place for him to go.” You felt goosebumps rise on your arms at his words. “Making tunnels that weren’t there previously before, using Redstone torches to lead you to your demise.”

You felt his hot breath on your skin. His closeness was almost too much for you to handle. You were having trouble listening to his words, and to top it off his hand rested on the wall next to your head. You tried not showing how flustered you were.

“People theorize that he was the one changing the world to his liking. They also theorized that he was the one to wipe everyone out.” Techno’s eyes flash almost in a predatory manner. “Who knows… Maybe he’s… watching us right now.” Before you could react, he lets out a playful roar and picks you up as he spins you in the air and you let out a scream in surprise. His laughter calms you down almost immediately and you give him a playful glare.

“How dare you Techno.” You grumble out, still in his arms.

“You make it too easy.” He was still laughing as he set you down onto the ground. Letting you regain your composure.

“Do you think that’s what really happened?” You ask after a second of thinking over his words.

“No… I don’t, but I don’t think the people were killed when they disappeared…” He shrugs “People have their stories, but… I found a book, an incredibly old book, and it has more than one author.” You look at him questioningly. “As I told you, the world was barren, and it was mentioned in this book. But as the book fell into different hands, pages were added, and they recorded the changes of the world. The book would find someone else, and it would be passed down. It found me in my travels and once I am at my end in this world, I will leave it for someone else to add more pages.” After a few moments getting back on track he continues.

“The book described people disappearing and people appearing almost out of thin air, and they claimed they had been in other worlds. I honestly think that whatever happened… People were just moved to a different world. Scattering everyone to different places, and this world was mostly abandoned by the old inhabitants.” He looked down in thought. “But that book also spoke of another possibility. Have you heard the music disk titled ‘11’?”

“That creepy recording?” You had a copy of it in your old home, you had kept it because it was one of the rarer music disks. It was something that you had found just randomly on the ground one day in your old village. He nodded.

“That’s the one…” He sighed. “I don’t think that that disk was a fake recording meant to just scare people…” He let his words sink in and you shuddered. “Whatever was chasing the person recording, could very well be the cause of everyone disappearing from this world.” You were having a hard time wrapping your head around it all. “I think that’s where the legend of Herobrine was started.”

He gave you the time you needed to think about everything, you watch as he mined the nearby materials. The both of you rounded a corner and there sitting in a minecart was a chest. You heard Techno chuckle feeling his hand on the small of your back, he pushes you toward the box.

“It’s all yours, darlin’,” He felt his breath catch in his throat, and you felt butterflies take flight in your stomach just by hearing the nickname. He definitely didn’t mean to call you that, and it was just a slip of a tongue, and he wasn’t sure if he had offended you with the nickname. Though judging by your red face, maybe you had liked the name. He didn’t know he was just thankful for the mask obscuring his own blush. Clearing his throat, he looks away as if nothing happened. He nudged you toward the chest.

When you open the chest, your eyes widen. Inside, were a few seeds which were going to come in handy, some bones, and some rails sitting at the bottom of the chest. But what really caught your attention, was an enchanted book, a name tag and a golden apple. You grabbed everything you could and flipped through the enchanted books pages. It was in a language you didn’t know how to speak or write. Looking up at Techno, he takes the book from your hands.

“Fire Protection III,” He chuckled reading it out for you. “This will help a lot when I make the armor for you, for when I show you the nether.” He beamed handing the book back to you. You gave him a smile at the thought of another adventure with Techno. It was funny, the world was so screwed up, but this hybrid had managed to show you more of it than you ever had seen in your entire life in just a short amount of time. You were excited to see the other things he had in store for you.

You had even found your first set of diamonds in this mineshaft, Techno insisted that you keep these too as well as the other treasure the two of you had found. By the time you two had found the entrance to the mineshaft you were spent, and you were so happy to be on the way back to Niki’s.

“I still can’t wait for you to meet Phil,” Techno grinned, and you gave a happy sigh, loving his smile. “There’s a reason he’s the leader of The Burrow, and that’s because he’s like the resident dad. There’s a lot of people who respect him.”

“Well…” You couldn’t believe you were about to say this. “We could go visit him, now if you want?” There was a small part of you that wanted him to say no, but you knew that wasn’t a possibility with the way he genuinely smiled at you.

“If that is what you’re comfortable with.” His eyes searched for any doubt in your eyes. Your hand gently reached for his when you nodded.

“I’m ready.”

“Schlatt, I need a favor.” Dream sat across from Schlatt in Schlatt’s newly formed office. The sight he saw in front of that mineshaft making his blood boil. He wasn’t worried though he had a plan, and that’s why when he saw you hug Techno, he came straight to Schlatt.

The construction loud outside the room. Schlatt had many workers working on his arena, and it was impossible to drown the sounds out. Schlatt’s desk sat in front of an angled thick window that gave him the perfect view of the huge arena. The office was the only thing that had been finished out of the whole arena, and it was impressive looking complete with fancy looking potted plants.

“What can I do for ya bud?” Dream had no idea where Schlatt had come across a cigar or if he was saving them but Schlatt let the lit cigar hang from his mouth, taking drags off of it when he saw fit.

“I want to fight Technoblade.” The words hung the air, and they brought a smile to Schlatt’s face. The plans already working through the gears in his mind.

“I see.” Schlatt chewed on the end of the cigar. “What are we thinking? You want it to be a fair fight?” Puff of smoke emitted from his lips as he spoke. He laced his hands together setting his elbows on his desk so he could rest his chin on his interlaced fingers.

“Whatever gives the best show.” Dream smiled from behind his mask. “The details can be worked out in the wash. I just need you… To get Technoblade to agree to a fight with me.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You waited outside Phil’s house apprehensively. Your jaw started to hurt; it was then when you noticed that you were clenching your teeth. You rubbed your jaw hoping to find relief for the pain. Techno had gone in to explain the situation to Phil. You let your eyes wander; this was the area of the residential district you wanted to have your house in. In fact, the wall you had looked at before with Dream, had been across the way on the other side of the cavern.

When you looked over at the wall once again… You could see Dream and his friend, Sapnap working, they were mining out the area you had wanted to claim. When you remembered Dream wanted to help you build your house, the thought made you smile. Dream was always so nice to you. You weren’t sure if they had seen you, but you leaned over the railing, opening your mouth to say hi to Dream. But you were quickly interrupted by the door opening behind you.

Well… At least Dream was able to distract you from the anxiety that now pooled in your stomach for at least a little bit. You stepped away from the railing and turn back to Phil’s door. Techno’s eyes searched your face.

“Ready?” He held his hand out for you to take. “You can leave at any time. Phil knows not to push you.” You swallowed down your courage and nodded, slipping your hand into his. He led you into the house. The house was normal, nicely built and decorated. It was weird associating this sort of house with someone who had almost killed you. But Phil wasn’t a bad guy, or so everyone told you. Techno led you through the main room into the kitchen which led into a dining room.

There sitting at the head of the table was Phil. He was just a normal guy, but that still hadn’t helped your anxiety. You still had nightmares about his blade piercing your flesh. You needed to get over this, for yourself… Not for anyone else, not for Techno… You.

“Hello.” Phil drew out the word, looking up from below a green and white bucket hat sitting on his head. He stood his eyes locked on you, and you felt your grip tighten on Techno. Techno rubbed circles over your hand in a comforting manner. Phil waited for you with patient and kind eyes, he noted the way you clung to Techno, and how Techno responded. He couldn’t help the warm smile emerging on his lips.

“I-I uh…” You sputtered out, your cheeks reddening. Why was this so hard to do? The words were in your mind, but your mouth turned them into jelly. You took a second letting out a calming breath. “Techno says nothing but nice things about you.” You started off. Phil motioned for all of you to sit, and you do tentatively.

“I can say the same about you.” He was careful with his words. “First off… I just want to say, I’m sorry for everything.” His eyes lower to the table, his hat obscuring his face. “If there is one thing that is important to me it’s my family.” He started, his eyes rising to meet yours. “I have Kristin, my boys and Techno.” He motioned to Techno, who had been watching your reactions. “And when I found you in Techno’s house… I thought the worst. I thought you had taken a part of my family. And when we spoke… I- well… I wasn’t going to let you take me away from Kristin and my boys. I was overzealous, and I am willing to do anything in my power to make it up to you.”

You let a shaky breath out. Processing this information. You couldn’t blame him, but that still didn’t take the trauma away from you. Feeling Techno squeeze your hand as if to encourage you, you looked up into his eyes. Yeah… Just in the few weeks that you had known Techno you could say you would kill for him. You thought back on what he did to Phil when he had found the both of you in his house. You were pretty sure, if it wasn’t Phil Techno would have already killed him.

“I’m sorry too.” Your voice was barely just above a whisper, “I forgive you Philza,” and you did. All of that could have been avoided, had you two just sat and talked it out, though that could be said for a lot of situations like that. You didn’t have any family in your life, and you couldn’t blame someone for protecting their own family. For your own peace of mind, you forgave him.

“How’s the shoulder? Any pain?” He leaned forward his eyes scanning over your shoulder, worry lining his features. You shook your head.

“I have some good nurses.” Squeezing Techno’s hand, you chuckled.

“Techno does know a lot about keeping someone alive.” Phil added in, memories that were mysteries to you flashing behind his eyes. “I’d love to have you over for dinner with the family sometime so you can get acquainted with my little family. I know they have been curious about you too.” Feeling a smile pull at your lips you nodded.

“I’d like that.”

#technoblade x reader #technoblade/reader #c!techno x reader #techno fanfic #c!techno #angst #dream x reader #dream mcyt #through fire and ice #mcyt x reader

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bronyinabottle · 3 years

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MY LITTLE PONY: A NEW GENERATION (G5 Movie) THOUGHTS

It’s finally here. The beginning of Generation 5. Though before I get into the movie in some detail I’m going to reiterate one more time what G5 means for my content and a non-spoilery summary of the movie.

Again, I will say that the movie nor will the G5 series coming later have much of an effect at all on any of my blogs. The revelation in Secrets of the Dragon’s Tear that life itself is also magic means that a world that implied to have no magic for years would mean the extinction of all life (Perhaps resulting in the wasteland we saw in the Season 5 finale). There may be something I’ll probably do at some point on a certain different blog. But even then, that may likely be a one-time thing and probably come around the time the series is starting to air.

That said, just because I’m continuing with mainly G4 content doesn’t mean I disapprove of G5. In fact, my non-spoilers thoughts on the movie is I think it is a good start for this new generation. There are questions I have that I’m not sure will be answered (Though many of those questions are the same ones I had in my Trailer/Preliminary thoughts) quickly enough. But the movie is structured well enough, in fact it’s probably a better movie as a whole compared to any of the movies G4 had (The 2017 movie, Rainbow Roadtrip, and all 4 Equestria Girls movies). As the 2017 movie was fun, but it jumped around a lot, sometimes scenes transitioning too fast. And while Rainbow Roadtrip may have been this on purpose, the entirely slice-of-life story taking up a long length… made it something of a less interesting plot to follow. It feels like some of that special could of been cut to at least a two-parter length and keep the same beats they hit. And while i have a soft spot for the 3rd and 4th Equestria Girls movies, I’ll always say a full-length pony adventure feels better suited for what I want to see out of MLP then spin-off movies with high school movie cliches and weird pony/human world shenanigans.

So movie-wise I’m not a G4 purist. It’ll take some time to see how Gen 5 compares to Friendship is Magic when we get to the series. As I feel it’d take a lot for it to surpass G4 in my mind. But I’m going to try to be as fair as possible and judge on it’s own merits. The implied connection to G4 by referring to G4 being ancient Equestria is going to naturally get the staff and hasbro pressured by fans to tell us what happened in-between the generations. Because that’s the trap they put the writers in when they made it so they want to try to say it’s in the same universe. That’s the double-edged sword Hasbro chose to have, trying to appease the G4 fanbase and keep at least some of them around. But at the cost of questions both nitpicky (Such as character design being inconsistent) or actual honest questions that need to be known (Why did magic disappear, and what happened to the Alicorns) for some of us to truly see this as the same Equestria.

After the break, I’ll have more spoilery thoughts

Even for a brief moment, it was nice seeing the Mane 6 and 2D animation. The former because of course those are the ponies many of us that saw all of G4 loved. And the latter, because while the animation wasn’t bad in this movie. I’m one of those who’d prefer to have 2D animation in an animated film. As in most cases aside from Pixar, it’s just a strong preference of mine. If this had the animation of the 2017 MLP movie but otherwise everything else was generally the same here, I feel that would of have been great.

I wish they didn’t have to have Sunny’s dad die off-screen, as he seems like he could of been a compelling character. And not to mention if perhaps he has any connection the “ancient” days in any fashion. But *sigh* I get it, it’s an old trope where part of the character’s offscreen growth is not having their parent(/s) around.

On a side note there’s quite a few times during the beginning of the movie that somewhat foreshadow what happens to Sunny later. 3 times where she had a fake horn and wings on her. Once in the flashback, then 2 separate times when she’s doing her protest where she has her own costumed wings and horn. As well as the helmet and mechanical wings.

Also, there’s no way around it. Some of the discussions this movie are going to get quite political. (Namely one part of Sunny’s song that could be seen as having a double meaning of a jab at Trumpsts regarding “Building your wall”) From the very premise in the early times, we know that the inspiration for the story was last year’s Black Lives Matter protests. Which honestly, I do support the message they’re going for. Having an anti-racism message to tell kids from the very beginning and making a focus on it is important when in G4 it only got briefly touched upon in Bridle Gossip and the Heath’s Warming Eve play. Although it certainly rose up to some form of prominence with Season 8 and onward. Still, while you can argue if G4 executed the anti-racism message well. it does come with something of a problem that the series finale left Equestria in the least divided it’s ever been.

And personally, I feel it’s a terrible interpretation of time to say “Well, it’s a realistic take. Racism has existed for years in our world. Same should go for the ponies” and while yes, racism is still rampant in today’s world. That said, that ignores that if we went from The Last Problem to the start of G5. There’s a huge difference between our world and Equestria. There is no ancient civilization that we look at like “Yeah, those were the golden days of world peace” when normally the “Golden age” was reserved for the high classes of Ancient Greece or Rome. It was most decidedly not perfect, with slavery rampant and wars for the sake of expanding an empire. While if you look at The Last Problem’s Equestria, you not only have peace between the three main types of ponies. But you literally have non-pony citizens in Equestria. You can see a dragon handing off a flower to a pony which can imply cross-species romantic relations. With the Friendship school still going strong, and was the reason that the world was saved in The Ending of the End. While perhaps it may be too glowing to say that future is perfect for everyone even in-universe. It’s certainly a hell of a lot better outlook then comparing to how we view even the so called Golden age of ancient civilizations. The Last Problem’s Equestria implies it looks to ally with every country outside of Equestria, not conquer them.

So it should still be a valid question on just how this world collapses to the point it gets to where G5 is at the start. I at least assume that it’s not the fault at all of any of the Mane 6 nor Twilight. Or at least I hope it isn’t, as I’d rather the MLP fanbase not have to deal with a The Last Jedi Luke Skywalker situation. (Where after the joyful end of the original trilogy, things go wrong as Luke almost murders the son of one of his best friends and his sister despite trying to hard and succeeding at redeeming his father who at that point in the canon was a galaxy-wide known ruthless mass-murderer.) I assume we’re at a point where everyone of the Mane 6 sans maybe Twilight are presumed dead. And even in Twilight’s case, there’s a chance that G5 decides to say that G4 overestimated the whole Alicorn immortality thing. Though I wouldn’t put it past Hasbro to have some event where the Mane 5 of G5 meet the Mane 6 in some special event whether that’s a a Season finale or a sequel movie/special. Where either the Mane 6 return in a limbo situation similar to the Pillars at the end of Season 7 or Time travel gets involved. They may even string us along on answering just what in the heck happened until they involve a meet-up with the Mane 6 in that way. Though I hope they don’t, I’d really like the beginning of the series (Or I guess this supposed special coming up in Spring supposedly?) starts to answer some questions. G5 should get a chance to stand on it’s own, but I hope the writers are actually well aware there will be so many questions people have and address them in the show. A cynical part of me feels like they’re likely to string us along until at least the Season 1 finale.

Onto the characters for a bit. I think Izzy Moonbow was absolutely the most stand-out character in the whole movie. She was energetic, funny, and aside from “The pegasi are bad news” she along with Zipp and Sunny were the most averse to the way the world was. She was already the most popular due to the tennis ball memes. But now it feels like she legit stands on her own and most certainly deserves to be the most popular character of G5 thus far. Behind her in a bit of a surprise to me was Zipp, who I thought would be mainly a Rainbow Dash-expy. Though she really helps out Izzy and Sunny in Zephyr Heights. Despite having Twilight be my favorite pony from the very beginning of G4 all the way to the end, I didn’t feel as strongly about Sunny for some reason. So she’s in the middle of the pack, she could grow on me later. I just don’t know if I click with her as much as I did with Twilight. As for the last two, while I don’t hate either of them. Either one could be the lowest of the 5 for one reason or another. Pipp (Although I will say she's probably my favorite character design out of the 5) feels like she doesn’t do a whole lot in the movie and it takes until she’s forced to be an outlaw because the other choice was to get imprisoned like her mother was. So she may come off as quite pretentious, though it’s arguable Rarity was the same way early in G4. But she definitely grew later. Could be the same case for Pipp. And as for Hitch, he has shining moments in the film. But what might hurt him is the fact he was such a bad friend to Sunny up until the campfire scene. “I’m the last real friend you have. You really want to lose me too?” is not a healthy friendship. Hitch may have been Sunny’s friend the longest, but it definitely feels like Izzy connected immediately. I don’t know if this show will get into shipping any of the main characters between each other mid-show, but if they do. I hope it’s between Izzy and Sunny currently, cause Hitch and Sunny just gives bad vibes even with Hitch getting better later.

None of the songs I felt were particularly too special. Though I think the closest was Sprout’s “Danger, Danger” song that has similarities to Smells Like Teen Spirit in some parts of the song since I tend towards more rock/metal-esque music.

I touched upon it earlier, but there’s perhaps a stand-out reason for why the G5 movie outdid the 2017 MLP Movie. They have the typical “Our heroic group splits after a sad moment before coming together again for the climatic good end” in Sunny seeing that that the two crystals don’t instantly bring magic back, and when Twilight left the group after an argument that happened with Twilight trying to take a pearl. They perform the same purpose in the movie. But the crystals not working, crushing Sunny’s hope for a little while works better into the story. Where as Twilight’s part frustratingly brought the sea pony scene to an end too quickly and/or doesn’t feel right of Twilight to have done that. It felt forced in the 2017 movie, but works out in the G5 movie. Especially since a part of it is that it’s not the crystals themselves capable of bringing magic back. But it’s the journey going after the crystals that brings the ponies themselves their magic back.

Just a small note on dictator Sprout, he tries to cause a war. Though admittedly the film seems to treat him as a joke the entire time despite his seriously evil ambitions. With the only repercussions is he gets a wishy-washy answer on if he was a good sheriff from his mom. I don’t quite know how I feel about that yet, but I wonder what they’ll have in mind for Sprout given his actions. He and his mom are the only ones that feel like a true antagonist. Though they seem to be ok with things fast when the magic comes back.

But anyway on to the ending, we see that Sunny becomes an Alicorn. Which I guess with no other real Alicorns around, I guess it makes sense to alicornify her since she’s the real leader behind what united the leaders of each type of pony again. Though there is of course this weird thing where her horn and wings don’t seem like as much a part of her body compared to very obvious connected wings on Twilight when she got hers. Sunny keeps her horn and wings to the end of the movie, and has colored streaks in her hair. Though I do wonder if that;s truly permanent. If it is permanent, I suppose at least they got to have a headstart and have it established at the end of the introductory movie rather then have it shock people at the end of a shortened 3rd season. I still feel like Twilight had well earned her alicornhood considering that besides what she did in the series. She has a whole childhood and time as a teenager learning under Celestia. Which had to mean something, and I’m not sure Celestia just leaving her to live the rest of her days with her friends in ponyville was that. Sunny has no doubt been trying countless time to try to spread friendship throughout her life even after the tragedy of her father’s passing. So there’s no doubt she’s been through a lot, and may indeed be worthy of being an Alicorn at this point. Though in terms of screentime before Alicornhood it's definitely a lot less then Twilight had. And it is at least nice to see that it is possible for non-unicorns to become one. (The only case of that we sort of got was a children's book that may or may not be canon that implied Cadence was a pegasus before she ascended)

Though you have to wonder if the visual differences such as Sunny’s alicorn horn and wings, the cutie mark only on one side (Yes I know that’s how it was normally in the MLP generations before G4. But a distinct visual difference between shows is still noticeable even if the context of G4’s cutie marks on both sides of the flank was about it being easier on the puppets for Flash), and how animals can have wings or weird round shapes such as those bunnies when G4 has normal looking animals. There’s enough striking visual differences for any nitpicky G4 to say “This isn’t the same Equestria”. And if someone tries to say maybe some sort of evolution happened. That’s still trying to put a little too much real world logic on this fantasy world. And evolution tends to take millions of years to have such dramatic changes. Not 1000 years or so, there should still be normal looking animals at this point and time. And these small details are probably going to be the things most ignored but nonetheless can build a case that this isn’t the same Equestria. Even if they touch on the important questions like how magic disappeared and what happened to the Mane 6, there will be details they make different that will add to the case that this is it’s own universe if it doesn’t quite matchup with what was remembered about G4. There will be fans who will be that nitpicky to call G5 out of continuity for small details like that. That is again the trap they put themselves in when they decided to try to say it’s the same Equestria.

All-in-all though, I think that’s at least a good enough chunk about my thoughts on the movie to end off here. If there’s something I missed or something from the movie you’d like me to give a particular opinion about or elaborate on something feel free to ask me here. G5 is indeed off to a good start, just I will be along the many hoping some questions get answered sooner then later. And I’m not sure I’m confident in getting anywhere until a Season finale or a 2nd movie. And it’ll be a year before the series starts proper (Though again I guess there’s a 44 minute special coming in Spring to try to hold us over). But I could definitely see G5 finding it's own following, now there's just the inevitable clashes between some of the more vocal fans of each generation bickering at eachother. But hoping there will be enough that take the movie's lessons on divisiveness to heart and be able to enjoy both even if there may be preferences.

#mlp #my little pony #g5 #mlp g5 #netflix #my little pony the next generation #my little pony movie #generation 5

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hrwinter · 4 years

Photo

You’re not sure what you remember about home. If you try, it might be blue skies and warm summer rain that you played in for hours. It might be your mother washing the mud out of your clothes, frowning and asking if it was really necessary for you to roll that completely in the dirt. You told her you were just doing what the dog did.

You had a dog, right?

You’re not really sure.

Because the other memories you have are not blue and green and the dirt brown of your knobby childhood knees. They’re grey and orange and crispy charcoal black. The market you visited where your parents would sometimes have hushed meetings behind shaky hands, it’s rubble. The wind that used to blow the fragrance of fresh peaches and citrus, it’s ash. The home you had is gone.

You remember a voyage, long, dark, and ripe with a putrid accumulation of smells. You remember getting to see the water a few times, opal blue and ever shifting. It was beautiful. But the ship crashed or was attacked, you don’t know, and then it was back to the oranges of fire, the reds of blood, and the screams of your parents you’d never find.

You washed up on shore alone.

Although, not quite alone.

That’s when you first saw her. The crow. You’re sure of that. She’d been there, pecking at the sand near your arm, the same one still clutching the cheap large plastic debris. It had saved your life. You looked over the edge of it, coughing salt water into the surf, and you saw her.

It was weird. She’d surprised you. You’d never seen a bird so big and black, you thought, and she shuffled from foot to foot, nervous. Was she hungry? Was she scared?

You don’t get a chance to find out before a man with large hands is swatting her away. She cawed angrily, reluctant to go, but she did, maybe to a nearby tree. He shook your shoulders then and asked you who you were.

“Kara,” your voice came out in a croak, not yours.

“Kara,” he says again.

The crow cawed.

It’s years before you put the patchwork pieces of your life back together, that you find out what happened to you. That a warmongering company, LuthorCorp, helped exacerbate the tensions in your region then exploited and profited from them by selling both sides weapons. But that doesn’t become relevant for a long time. For now, you’re an immigrant, and an immigrant is not a very good thing in this new country.

It could be worse. There are other kids who are not as lucky as you. Somehow having never set foot here, you have dual citizenship. Your mother was American. So, despite the government calling your parents insurgents and traitors, they don’t try to deport you. Or keep you locked in a cage. Instead, they put you in foster care.

It’s hard. It’s toiling. It takes you a long while to learn the language. You’re shy to talk because of it.

And you’re pretty. At least, people keep telling you that you are. You’re not sure what you see when you look in the mirror. The kind, clever blue eyes of your mother. The hard line of your father’s brow when he’d reprimand you for sneaking too many cookies.

But your prettiness doesn’t feel like a good thing. The other children resent you for it. And it brings you a different kind of attention, a kind that has you cowering from your foster mom’s drunk boyfriend, a kind that has your crow swooping in and attempting to peck out his eyes. She almost manages it, but when he swings, taking hold of her, you jump into the fray, too. You would’ve killed him if your foster mother hadn’t intervened.

That’s right, your crow has followed you here, has followed you through it all. She’s in the tree outside of the window when your foster mother returns you to the group facility for being ‘cruel and violent.’

You didn’t do anything. At least, you didn’t do anything you wouldn’t do again, a hundred times over.

“We’re better off here, anyway,” you tell the crow sitting with you during lunch recess.

“Why do you talk to that thing?” a boy asks you nearby, trapping a soccer ball with his foot.

“She’s my friend.”

“Friends can’t be birds.”

Yes, they can, you think.

“She doesn’t understand you,” he feels the need to add, certain.

But she does. You know she does.

---

You’re adopted into a new home not long after that. It’s different than the others. They’re called ‘Danvers.’ Eliza and Jeremiah, your adoptive parents, they’re kind and intelligent. They encourage your natural abilities in science and math. You’re starting to get A’s for the first time in your life, and you’re less reluctant to speak in class.

You still feel like an impostor. It doesn’t seem like a reality that’s meant for you. You were meant for the bottom of the sea.

“You have a right to be here,” Eliza tells you, but that’s not how your new sister acts.

Your crow has somehow inferred the antagonism between you. One afternoon she swoops in to steal a large portion of Alex’s sandwich and drops it on your plate.

“Hey!” Alex shouts after her, but the crow merely glares at her with dark black eyes, wings ruffling on your side of the picnic table.

“You did that on purpose.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Alex looks between two of you, wary, parsing.

“How did you train it to do that, anyway?”

“…patience?” you improvise.

“You’re lying.”

The crow caws loudly, and Alex narrows her eyes.

“Whatever, I’m going inside.”

The crow watches her leave, and you soothe her ruffled feathers with a hand. The sheen of them always makes them seem oily, but they’re not at all. Her feathers are soft, and she preens a little under the touch. You gives her a nickel to play with. Maybe you’ll actually try to train her.

So, you make her puzzles. She seems somewhat competent in checkers. You read to her. Her favorite stories are fairy tales. Her favorite foods are unsalted peanuts, boiled eggs, shell and all. She likes apples too (you painstakingly removes the seeds, they’re bad for birds.) You feed her from the window. She sleeps in the tree there and follows you to school and back every single day. She watches you organize quarters for a state collection, nipping slightly at the plastic casing.

“I already gave you Iowa,” you tell her.

She clicks her beak back at you. Sometimes, she’ll steal your keys. You think she just likes things that you like, but you’re not sure. Alex says you’re projecting. Alex says you make up things that aren’t there, but honestly, Alex is a little mean.

Once on a fishing trip, the crow used bread to catch a fish, laying it before you all on the thick wood pier planks.

“That bird is smart,” Eliza comments, watching her chase away a hawk that seems a little too interested in the fish.

You’re proud. She’s fearless.

“Their brains are bigger than ours proportionally,” you reply with enthusiasm. You look to Alex. “See.”

“Her brain is bigger than yours,” Alex mumbles over her empty fishing line, and the crow dives down to nip at her.

“Hey!” Alex swats without making contact. The crow flies away again. “That crow doesn’t like me, I swear. She knows me.”

“Of course she does.”

“It’s meaner to me.”

“She’s a she, not an it,” you correct her.

“It’s not normal.”

“It’s perfectly normal for a crow,” you bicker with Alex. “They don't forget a face. They hold a grudge.”

“You sound like the Discovery Channel.”

“Well, it’s true. Did you know that they also mourn the dead? That they don’t migrate, staying in one place for most of their life?”

“So, you’re saying we’ll never get rid of it? Great.”

“She,” you correct her again testily. “And they can live to be 15 years old. So, yeah, you’re stuck.”

Alex quiets, and you’re thrilled to have won the argument.

But deep down inside, you’re willing to admit it’s a little weird, she’s a little weird. Crows are supposed to be social, and you’ve never seen her with any other crow. She only talks to you. She only follows you.

It would be crazy to think she wasn’t quite a crow, but something else, something more. Wouldn’t it? But you kind of do. You don’t admit it to anyone, but you do.

---

Graduation from high school is close, only days away. You’ve arranged everything for college, although not without a hulking amount of help from Eliza. She organized all of your scholarship forms, your applications, your dozens of essays. She kept you on track with projects and midterms and extracurriculars (you’re the captain of the Geology club, who knew!) And it’s all materialized into your acceptance at National City University. It’s only a couple of hours from Midvale, and you can’t wait for August.

Sometimes it’s crazy to think you’re going to college. A blonde, blue eyed girl who washed up on the beach one day like a sand dollar? You would’ve never put your money on her.

But here you are, walking a beach not that far from the one you arrived on, a big slate blue sky in front of you, wind whipping your hair. You think about the future; the new city, the potluck roommate, eighteen hours of classes in biomedical engineering.

“You’ll come with me to college, right?” you say to the crow perched on your shoulder, bobbing with every step you take.

The crow softly caws and nuzzles its head on your shoulder. It’s a rare form of her affection. Otherwise, her eyes are focused on the little crabs skittering in and out of the waves.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, you know,” you reach to bring the crow to your hand, her pointed claws clinging gracefully to two of your fingers. She looks back at you expectant and listening, canting her head to the side every now and again.

“We’ve never really talked about it,” you say as if it’s typical to apologize for conversations you haven’t had with your crow. “But you’ve always been there. You protected me.”

The crow flaps her wings a little. Is it pride? Joy?

“Thank you.”

You’re not sure what overtakes you then, but you do something you’ve never done before. Despite the fact that you’ve seen her roll around in ant piles, you lean forward and plant a little kiss on her feathered head.

Immediately, you know something has changed, that something is different. There’s a shimmer in the air in front of you, prismatic in color, and the crow flies away from you, landing, staggering in the sand. You chase after, but a crisp gust of wind blows sand into your eyes and you wobble, falling. When you scramble to your feet again, blinking and rubbing the grit out of your eyes, you don’t see your crow, but a girl with eyes as green as spring leaves, with hair as black as crow.

“You’re her,” you say as she sits up, looking confused, one armed draped across her middle.

“Yes,” the girl answers simply, shaping the word as if unfamiliar.

“You’re naked,” you announce.

“Yes.”

You strip your light jacket off, suddenly rushing to cover her. You rub her shoulders and she looks at you in that same, too intelligent way.

It is her.

You have no idea know what to say next. You just watched a bird transform into a human. It’s not real. You made it up. Maybe you passed out. You did eat a lot of cinnamon rolls right before this. You pinch yourself, but you don’t wake up. You’re still here on the windy beach, clutching a familiar creature in your arms.

In a panic, you fall back on the very first English you learned.

“I’m Kara,” you say. She sort of smiles as if that’s obvious. “What’s your name?”

She looks away, thinks hard. She has a strong jaw. Her skin is too white, like it’s never seen sun. Maybe not under the feathers? God, you think you’re going crazy.

“Lena.”

“Do you have parents, Lena?”

It’s a ridiculous question. She’s been with you for eleven years. But it’s a ridiculous situation.

“I—don’t remember. But I guess I do,” she says thoughtfully. Her voice has a raspy quality to it, not unlike her caw. “They probably think I’m dead.”

“What happened to you?”

She shakes her head again.

“I don’t remember,” then, “a curse, maybe. On my father. A woman came to our house that night. ‘A payment taken of your most prized possession’, she said. Something about an enemy loved.”

“A curse,” you repeat back. It makes sense. Even if nothing about this makes sense.

You shake your head, focusing on what’s important.

“Don’t worry,” you take her hand. Her palm is butter smooth. “Let’s go home.”

#supercorp #fanfic #supergirl au #crow au #i don't know #i literally don't #this was in my drafts for six months and i finally was like fuck it i'm finishing #i havent written 2nd POV in like one hundred years

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

Text

Geralt hates Novigrad. The people here are short-sighted and stubborn and don't care to learn any way than their own. Which means it's a bad place for anyone who's different - especially a Witcher. Even the Elves here hate him. The dwarves are a little better, but Geralt puts that down to Zoltan's influence rather than any learned compassion.

Today, the entire city could burn around him and Geralt would probably smile. It's the first day they've been back in civilization in weeks, which is the only reason they're in Novigrad to begin with. Oxenfurt is an extra day's travelling and both he and Jaskier are in need of a bath and a warm meal that doesn't taste like smoke. And good company, if he's lucky. Jaskier, he knows, will be gone for the night - it's easy enough for him to find a bed to warm in any city they visit - but Geralt is already dreading his visit to the brothel.

Passiflora is the only place that will take him any more, and then he's sure it's only because he and Jaskier know Marquise Serenity personally. He's been told in no uncertain terms that he's not welcome in the others. On occasion, there will be a lone girl waiting at the Golden Sturgeon, but it's always a gamble whether she's a prostitute or a pickpocket in disguise.

And if, by chance, he's welcomed inside, it's always a toss-up whether any of the girls will take him, then even less likely is that he'll get what he really wants. Geralt can't even count how many years he's been settling for sex that's only halfways satisfying - and paying for it, at that. Because those who do show an interest - falsified, or no - take one look at his cock and want to ride it or want him to fuck them with it and Geralt takes what he can get. He never asks for a man and he never asks anyone to fuck him, even though he'd be willing to pay extra for it.

But these past few weeks have been exhausting and the wear of being achingly aroused every night and not finding any satisfaction is getting old. He wants and he's not getting it from where he wants, so he'll try his luck at the brothel.

It doesn't go well.

He's had his eye on someone since he walked in - a slim, dark-haired man with bright eyes and bows on his trousers. When Geralt arrived, he was talking animatedly with another man and something about him reminds him of Jaskier. He shouldn’t approach for that exact reason, but he wants to. If he can’t have what he really wants, this is the next best thing.

He's only just approached the young man when a firm hand closes around his bicep. Geralt turns, instinctively ready to defend himself and the guard backs down.

"Only the women," he warns and Geralt sighs. They're protecting their men, he knows; he can't imagine a lot of men who fuck men are gentle when they're paying for it. In fact, he's heard stories first hand, so he can hardly blame them. And when a raven-haired woman approaches, stroking his arm and promising to take care of him, Geralt relents yet again.

She's soft under him and fucking her is better than his hand alone, but it's nothing like what he wants. It doesn't last long and Geralt makes sure she comes before he leaves, but as he heads out into the street he's feeling worse.

He resigns himself to another night of lying awake wondering who Jaskier is with this time - if he's lucky. If he's not, he won't have to wonder. Inn walls aren't thick and it's nothing for him to pick up on Jaskier's voice after years of attuning himself to it. Another reason he doesn't like towns; he's nearly always forced to listen to Jaskier getting off with whichever lucky bastard catches his eye.

It could be him, he thinks sometimes, but even Jaskier isn't that tolerant. He would probably be disgusted if he knew the things Geralt thought about him, the things he does lying awake and listening to him fuck someone else. And Geralt couldn't blame him for any of it. Shame and guilt rise in him even thinking about it now.

Guilt-ridden and miserable, Geralt makes his way back to the inn. At least he won't have to worry about Jaskier finding out about this because he'll be off somewhere else finding his own enjoyment. It's not that he would mock him for striking out, but sometimes Jaskier's protectiveness of him is overbearing when Geralt would rather just forget about something altogether. And this is definitely one of those things he'd like to pretend never happened.

The innkeeper follows him with his eyes as Geralt makes his way up to their room and he's acutely aware of the impact Jaskier's presence has on his life. No one trusts him without the bard at his side to sweet talk them and convince them that Geralt isn't a threat. Alone in a city, he feels unprotected and open and raw. Even the walk to their room feels far further than it did this afternoon.

But when he shoves the door in and stomps into the room, Jaskier is sitting there waiting for him. Alone, which is unexpected.

"Geralt?" he asks, "Is everything alright?"

Fuck. This is the last thing he wanted to happen. He was so sure Jaskier would be out enjoying himself that he never planned for the eventuality that he would just be here.

"Fine," he mumbles, dropping onto the stiff mattress. What he wants now is a hot bath and sleep, not an interrogation, but neither a bath nor sleep seems likely now. After a moment, Jaskier comes and settles behind him on the bed.

"Did they turn you away?" he asks gently.

Geralt huffs but can't bring himself to turn around as he mumbles a no. It's not a lie, not when there are times he's been barred from entering brothels altogether. Behind him, Jaskier huffs, clearly unimpressed and Geralt is expecting him to launch into one of his rants about respecting Witchers, but he doesn't. Instead, Jaskier's hands come up to hover above his shoulders.

"Can I?" he asks and Geralt grunts in lieu of response. Jaskier takes it as a yes, sliding his hands over Geralt's shoulders with a hum of disapproval. His fingertips press into a knot and Geralt forces himself to relax as Jaskier works it out.

"Was it the woman you saw then?"

"No," Geralt says a little too quickly before realizing that's not going to be a good enough answer for Jaskier. "She was fine."

"Fine isn't good, Geralt. Especially when you're paying for good. Was she too handsy?" he asks.

Geralt can feel the irritation creeping up his spine and he wants to rip out of Jaskier's hands and flee from the room. He wants to leave the inn altogether and forget and Jaskier would be okay here if he left and went to sleep in the forest tonight. It's a bit of a walk, but with Roach he could find somewhere to sleep before it gets too late.

Jaskier's hands lift from his shoulders and Geralt turns to look at him.

"Too timid?" Jaskier suggests.

Geralt looks away. Even if he could find the words to tell Jaskier what went wrong, he wouldn't. How do you tell someone you wanted to fuck a man who reminded you of them, regardless of how the situation went down. He still wanted it, still wanted Jaskier, but was willing to settle for the next best thing.

"You can tell me," Jaskier whispers and Geralt can feel his body shift closer so he's almost right against him. Geralt's shoulders slump and he can feel the fight leave him.

"Nothing really," he mumbles, "just not what I wanted." Even as he's saying the words, he curses himself for being too candid with Jaskier, but the idiot bard has a way of pulling things out of him whether he wants to admit it or not.

"Anything I can help you with?" he offers. Geralt's breath catches and he's certain it's obvious enough that Jaskier can hear it. Geralt says nothing. "Whatever it is you're after, I promise you it's not new to me."

Even in Geralt's wildest fantasies, he's never considered outright asking Jaskier for what he wants. But Jaskier's voice is so soft and genuine in his ear and right now, a small part of him wants to. It's been so long and Jaskier is offering. But he can't and he won't.

Jaskier, however, is not one to give up so easily.

The hands on Geralt’s shoulders slip forward, playing along his collarbone over the fabric of his shirt and Geralt does his best not to let it get to him, but it's hard. Jaskier's touch has always been a curse for him, softer and kinder than he deserves and yet something of a constant in his life, doing his best to test Geralt's patience and resolve. And he's treading into dangerous territory here. Geralt is already pent up and frustrated and likely to do something stupid to keep Jaskier from touching too much.

Jaskier is his only friend and Geralt won't betray that trust under any circumstances; he can't bear to lose the one person who treats him like a regular man. But Jaskier has never been one for worrying about things like sex and the consequences of who you sleep with and maybe-. No. He can’t.

"Tell me what you want darling, I'll be happy to help. Do you want me to touch you?" Geralt's pulse quickens but he says nothing. He doesn't want to encourage this and he knows Jaskier will only go so far without his explicit permission. "I could use my mouth. I'm very good with my mouth."

Geralt has no doubts about that and his blood rushes south remarkably quickly at the prospect. He's overheard Jaskier's lovers praising his mouth and he knows for a fact that Jaskier can make a man come with his tongue alone. And that's an incredibly tempting prospect.

"Or if you don't want me to touch you, I could talk you through it," he pauses and Geralt can feel Jaskier's breath against his ear, hot and damp as he leans in and whispers, "I know you're good at taking instructions." Fuck.

Jaskier's voice vibrates through his body and Geralt has to try harder than he should to keep from reacting. When he doesn't respond, Jaskier continues. His hands fall from Geralt's shoulders, settling on his hips.

"Or maybe that's not what you want," he muses, slipping his hands up Geralt's sides, "I know you like being touched, even if you pretend not to, hm? Maybe you could fuck me. Would you like that?" Geralt's breath is unsteady despite his best efforts, his traitorous cock pressing hard against his thigh.

"Gods, I bet you'd fuck me so well, wouldn't you?" Jaskier hums and brings his hands around to Geralt's back, sliding up to his shoulders. His thumb brushes against Geralt's neck and Geralt's eyes drop shut. Any given day, he thinks, if Jaskier genuinely wanted him to, he would. But this isn't like that and Geralt is stronger than his desires.

"Geralt," Jaskier chides, the soft lilt in his voice replaced with soft frustration. "You don't have to hold back like this. It's just me," he adds, softer again. "After everything we've been through, this would hardly be a hardship for me.”

“I know you,” he continues, his voice a light hum, “you get all quiet when I’m right. When you want something but you don’t think you deserve it.”

But- Geralt thinks, and Jaskier shifts behind him, pulling his mind back to the present. Geralt finds himself leaning when Jaskier pulls away, seeking the warmth of his chest. There's a light huff of a laugh and then Jaskier is behind him again, thighs pressing in on either side of Geralt's hips, hot breath in his hair. On his knees, Geralt realizes.

"What if I fuck you?" Jaskier asks, fingers slipping around the front of Geralt's neck to tip his head back. Unbidden, a soft sound escapes Geralt's throat and it doesn't escape Jaskier's attention. "Oh. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Mm, darling, I bet you'd make the sweetest sounds with my cock inside you. You'd look so pretty laid out for me- or maybe I'd have you in my lap so I can see your face."

Geralt can feel his composure slip with every word as Jaskier describes in detail all the ways he would fuck him. This isn't normal, he realizes, and maybe it is just Jaskier being himself and being very liberal about who he has sex with, but Geralt doesn't have sex with his friends. Well, he tries not to. Currently, Jaskier is making it difficult for him to say no, even if he knows he should.

And Jaskier is still mumbling against his ear all the filthy things he wants to do to him- and Geralt's thoughts come to a halt at that. The idea that Jaskier wants any of this is absurd to him and yet. Jaskier huffs softly against the side of his neck , pressing his nose behind Geralt's ear. His hands slip over his hips, down his thighs to push them apart and his hand is so close to his cock. If he moved, even just an inch, Jaskier's thumb would rub against him, but he knows if that happened, it would be the end of any discussion.

"Jaskier," he breathes. His head drops back against Jaskier's shoulder inadvertently. Already, he's barely in control of his own body and he realizes somewhere deep in the back of his mind that he wouldn't lose control so easily if he didn't want this so badly.

"Tell me," Jaskier hums, skirting the bulge of Geralt's erection with his thumb, "I'll give you anything you want. Or tell me no and I'll stop." Somehow, the prospect of Jaskier's hands leaving him is worse than whatever repercussions they might face otherwise.

Jaskier's nose presses against the back of his head and Geralt can't find the words to tell him no, wouldn't want to if he could. When Jaskier's fingers brush over his cock, Geralt groans out loud. Jaskier is pressed right against his back now, and he drops his head, nosing at Geralt's neck.

"What do you say, darling? Do you want that?" he pushes his hands down Geralt's stomach, hesitating at the hem of his trousers to give him a chance to say no. A chance to stop this. But Geralt is too far gone now to think about telling him no and Jaskier's hand is a soft relief where it slips down to palm over his clothed cock.

Geralt grits his teeth and bites his tongue as Jaskier squeezes around him; he's not used to being in a place where he's comfortable making too much noise, and most of his lovers prefer him quiet anyway. But Jaskier is different and Geralt should have known.

"You don't have to try so hard, Geralt. You don't have to hold back any longer, it's just me and I want to hear you." He presses his lips to Geralt's neck and lifts his hands to tug at his shirt.

Jaskier makes quick work of getting him out of his clothes and once Geralt is naked, and only feeling a little bit exposed, he lays down on his stomach. But Jaskier quickly eases his discomfort, climbing back up on the bed and settling himself between Geralt's legs. His hands run up the backs of his thighs and Jaskier sighs.

"I was right," he hums, "you look so good like this." His hands move up, squeezing Geralt's ass and his cock aches under him. Jaskier's fingers are so close to where he wants them, just one little move and he could be inside him.

Then all at once, he's gone and. Geralt looks up and finds him crouched over their packs, digging through one of them until he pulls a small bottle out and rises to his feet.

Geralt has seen him naked before, of course, it's inevitable when you travel with someone for as long as they have. But this is different. Jaskier is hard, first of all, which isn't something Geralt expected to have quite the effect on him that it does. His cock juts from his body, curling up like an invitation and Geralt has never wanted to touch someone so badly in his life.

Jaskier catches him watching and crosses back toward the bed. One hand drops to Geralt's ass, squeezing firmly before slipping up his back. He pushes Geralt's hair back from his face, brushing his fingers down his cheek and smiles at him.

"How could anyone not love you?" he whispers, taking in Geralt's confused expression, "you're so beautiful. So good for me, Geralt." Geralt's eyes snap up to his immediately. Oh, that's something. Jaskier just grins at him and climbs back up onto the bed behind him.

Geralt turns his face into his pillow as soft lips press against his calves. He stiffens at the intimacy of it, but Jaskier soothes him with soft touches and even softer kisses that creep slowly up the backs of his legs. When he reaches the swell of his ass, Jaskier’s fingers dig into his skin, squeezing and pushing Geralt's cheeks apart. Geralt's done this before with other men who meant significantly less to him than Jaskier does, so he's not quite sure what makes him anxious about it now. Maybe because it's been so long since or maybe because this is a huge step in their relationship that he never would have made otherwise.

But whatever it is, Jaskier is efficient at helping him relax again, leaning over and breathing soft words into his ear. Geralt knows he doesn't deserve them, that Jaskier is just trying to placate him, but when Jaskier’s cock settles against the back of his thigh, Geralt can almost believe it. Tentatively, he pushes back against him, letting Jaskier's cock slip between his thighs and he gets an appreciative groan in response. Jaskier drops his head, pressing a kiss between Geralt's shoulders.

"That's it, love."

Jaskier runs his hands down his back, settling again between his knees and Geralt feels his breath before anything else, hot against his skin. Then Jaskier's mouth is on him and Geralt sinks into the bed, pressing his hips back. He feels the huff of Jaskier's laugh, but it doesn't stop him from running his tongue over him, pressing against his hole. Geralt moans despite himself, trying hard to remember that he doesn't have to be quiet.

It proves to be difficult as Jaskier's tongue pushes into him and the sounds fall from his lips unbidden. But he's allowed, he reminds himself, no one is going to hear him but Jaskier and he's safe here with Jaskier.

His tongue pushes deeper and Geralt's thighs part seemingly of their own volition to give him better access and Jaskier appreciates it if the way he hums around Geralt's hole is any indication. It spurs him forward if nothing else and Geralt's cock jerks beneath him, neglected and aching.

When Jaskier gets his fingers involved, he goes slow at first, running one slick finger around his hole before pushing in. And Geralt groans into the pillow. One of Jaskier's fingers is the same damn size as his tongue and he tells him exactly that. Jaskier just huffs and kisses his back, pushing his finger into him before drawing back and adding a second. But Geralt is already keyed up beyond words and he doesn't have the patience for slow and steady. He pushes his hips back with a needy moan and Jaskier doesn't hold back.

He slicks both fingers and pushes into him, thrusting a couple of times before pushing deep and seeking out that spot inside him. Geralt shudders with the first pass of his fingers and Jaskier is persistent, rubbing up and thrusting against that spot until Geralt is arching off the bed, hair damp with sweat and sticking to his skin.

"Fuck Geralt," Jaskier breathes, readjusting to lean on his elbow. He bites the flesh of Geralt's ass and kisses the marks from his teeth. "You have no idea what you do to me," he huffs, his words muffled by Geralt's skin, "I can't believe no one will have you like this, you look so good, so good for me."

"You don't mean that," Geralt mumbles, but Jaskier climbs up over him, his fingers still buried as deep as they'll go and he presses his mouth to the back of Geralt's neck.

"I do. You're beautiful," he breathes, "you're a good man, Geralt. You're soft and kind and caring, even if you pretend not to be. And you deserve to know that. You deserve so much more than what you get out of life. Let me give it to you."

Geralt is torn between horrific embarrassment and a surge of arousal because if anyone's opinion actually matters to him, it's Jaskier's. Something warm blooms in his chest and he sighs as Jaskier kisses his neck.

"Let me show you how much I want you," he hums. He withdraws and thrusts in again, quickly picking up the pace until Geralt is moaning obscenely under him, canting his hips into the mattress because he can't help himself any longer. All the while, Jaskier's voice is in his ear, whispering sweet things that he wants so badly to believe.

"Beautiful," he whispers, "perfect. Mine." The last one slips out much more quietly than the rest and Geralt isn't sure he's supposed to hear it but it does something to him that he can't quite explain. And more than ever, he wants to be good for Jaskier, wants to be soft and kind and beautiful and more than that, he wants to be his.

Never once does Geralt ask for anything, but Jaskier seems to know exactly what he wants and Geralt might think he was reading his mind if he didn't know better. He doesn't let up until Geralt's panting turns to muffled warnings, his hips pressed up impatiently.

"Jask-" he mumbles and Jaskier hums against him, panting hard.

"Do you want to come like this?" he asks.

"Want your cock," Geralt huffs and Jaskier lets out a low, desperate groan against his shoulder.

"Fuck, I've waited a long time to hear you say that." Jaskier's fingers slip from his body and he grips Gerlt's hips with both hands. Breathing hard, he kisses his way down Geralt's back, sitting back to kneel between his thighs. He shuffles for a moment before pressing his cock into the cleft of his ass and Geralt thrusts his hips back in his impatience.

Jaskier's cock feels better than it has any right to and Geralt knows he shouldn't be so needy when Jaskier is trying to help, but he's waited so long for this. And he's wanted Jaskier for even longer than that. Jaskier slicks him up with two fingers before working over his cock. Geralt can hear the slick slide of skin on skin and he turns to try and see him, craning his neck, but all he can see is Jaskier's arm moving. He grumbles in disappointment, but Jaskier just pushes his cheeks apart and presses between them.

His cock is slick and hard as it presses into Geralt's body and he shuts his eyes, arching his back with a soft groan. Jaskier gives him a moment to adjust but Geralt takes him easily, lust and impatience winning out over caution and he rocks his hips back onto Jaskier before he's even fully inside.

"Oh, fuck," Jaskier gasps. He surges forward, catching himself with one hand as the other smoothes up Geralt's spine. "You really wanted this, didn't you?"

Heat prickles at the back of Geralt's neck and he’s thankful for his hair covering the only part of his face that isn't pressed into the pillow. He shouldn't want this, shouldn't want Jaskier, but-

"Why didn't you just ask me?" He asks. Geralt grumbles at him and Jaskier leans low over him. "Don't be embarrassed, love, you're incredible like this." He presses his nose to Geralt's ear, humming softly. "I've never wanted you more."

He gives a quick thrust of his hips and a whole other kind of heat licks up Geralt's spine. Just the thought that Jaskier wants him at all, in any context is enough to have him breathless, but then Jaskier pushes all the way into him and Geralt very nearly whimpers. Then he pulls out completely and Geralt leans up to look at him, worried he did something wrong.

But Jaskier has his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and the look he gives Geralt is hot and oddly possessive. He shuffles back out of the way of Geralt's legs and gently nudges his hip, gesturing for him to roll over. And Geralt isn't about to deny him anything when he looks like that, so he readjusts, propping himself up on his arms. He doesn't miss the way Jaskier's eyes roam over his body before he's shuffling close again, shoving his knees under Geralt's thighs and pressing him back against the mattress.

This time, when Jaskier sinks into him, he doesn't hesitate and Geralt's glad to be on his back where he can watch Jaskier's face as he squeezes around him. Jaskier keeps one hand on Geralt's hip as he rocks into him, using the other to map out his chest and waist, fingers slipping lightly over places Geralt didn't even realize were sensitive like that. But what's worse is his voice, constantly telling Geralt how good he is and Geralt wants so badly to believe him. The words sear through him like hot iron and he thought that with all his training and composure it would take more than a couple of words to take him down, but he's learning he was very wrong about that.

Jaskier falls into an easy rhythm, his words equally as arousing as the cock slipping in and out of him, and Geralt reaches for him, aching to touch. Jaskier wraps both arms around his waist and hauls him up into his lap, letting the fingers of one hand slip down to where his cock presses into Geralt's body. Geralt just looks at him with wide eyes and Jaskier grins back at him.

"I'm stronger than I look," he whispers. He shifts under Geralt and gives a sharp thrust of his hips, hitting that spot inside him again and Geralt drops forward against him, pressing his head into Jaskier's shoulder.

"Oh," he moans, shifting to wrap his legs around Jaskier's waist.

"Good?" Jaskier asks and Geralt huffs a muffled mmhm, reaching back to brace himself on Jaskier's knees. "Good. So good for me." He slips his hands down to Geralt's hips, holding him steady as he rocks up into him and Geralt lets himself relax into it.

Jaskier doesn't expect anything from him, wants to fuck him, wants to make him feel good and Geralt lets him for maybe the first time in his life, surrendering control entirely to someone else. Because he trusts Jaskier and because Jaskier does make him feel good, mumbling that he's doing so well and just like that, darling. And when he gets his hand down between them, clever fingers winding around his cock, Geralt almost comes undone right there. His hips buck hard into the dry heat of Jaskier's palm, shaky as he withdraws and pushes forward again with intent.

Jaskier pauses then leans forward over him, pressing their foreheads together. The angle is awkward, and a little uncomfortable, but Jaskier lays him down again, stroking him slowly as he works his hips quickly. Jaskier holds him down and fucks him hard, snapping his hips hard as Geralt mumbles into his neck, nearly incomprehensible. When Geralt comes it's with soft wine, too overwhelmed for anything more than that.

Jaskier continues, fucking him through the aftershocks, pressed up against Geralt's chest with his legs around his ankles. And when he comes, he presses his face into Geralt's shoulder and Geralt runs his fingers through his hair, still unable to speak.

After a moment, Jaskier pulls out and Geralt shifts a little unwilling to admit how much he dislikes losing the feeling of Jaskier's cock inside him. He's not entirely sure what to do with himself now because this was never supposed to happen between them. It was a fantasy - a very far-fetched one, at that - and yet, here they are, Jaskier sweaty and panting next to him and so beautiful Geralt can't help but smile despite his bewilderment.

He's trying to consider what to say - should he thank him? - when Jaskier pushes himself back into a sitting position and moves to lift Geralt's head gently into his lap. He brushes his fingertips along his cheek, runs his fingers through his hair, and Geralt finds himself worrying less. His eyes are heavy, his body still thrumming with a pleasant numbness and Jaskier's fingers are soothing.

"You can sleep," Jaskier whispers, "I've never minded if a lover falls asleep on me, just means they enjoyed themselves."

A lover. Geralt turns the words over in his head and decides he likes the way they fit. Likes the idea of being Jaskier's lover. Blinking up at him, Geralt reaches up, curling his fingers around the back of Jaskier's neck and guiding him down. It has to be an uncomfortable angle for Jaskier, but he doesn't complain or pull back and when their lips brush together, he lets out a soft little sound and shifts to adjust his position. His mouth is soft and wanting and his fingers slip around the back of Geralt's head to keep him close.

And then, seemingly in an instant, it's over and Geralt is left staring up at him, unsure all over again. But Jaskier smiles at him and brushes his thumb over Geralt's cheek.

"You really are so beautiful," he mumbles, as though to himself. "I don't deserve you." Geralt huffs and turns away from him, but Jaskier just tips his head back. "I want you to know you can ask me for anything. I wish you'd come to me earlier, you shouldn't have to suffer because of the ignorance of others."

"I'm not going to do that to you-"

Jaskier laughs, soft and gentle. "Do that to me?" he asks incredulously, "darling I've been waiting my whole life to hear you say you want me. You could come back every night and climb into bed with me and I'd still want more."

He's not sure why exactly, but Geralt blurts out, "he reminded me of you."

"What?"

"The whore. The reason I was... irritable when I came back. They wouldn't let me talk to him, but he reminded me of you."

"Oh? You went to a prostitute who reminded you of me?" Geralt mumbles but doesn't confirm nor deny. "Geralt I love you, truly, but you are a bit daft sometimes. Why on earth wouldn't you just come to me in the first place."

His heart beats much faster than it should and Geralt does everything he can to ignore the nonchalance with which Jaskier says he loves him - because the idea is absurd. "I didn't think you'd want me."

"I've wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you, all dark and moody in your corner." He flashes a smile and Geralt turns away to keep from saying too much. Jaskier ducks down and kisses his cheek. "But sleep now, we can talk about it in the morning."

Geralt forces back the urge to protest, to assure Jaskier that he's wrong about him. But he knows it wouldn't do him any good and Jaskier is persistent - maybe there is something to the things he's always saying. Geralt settles, lets the stress seep out of his body as Jaskier's hands move over his shoulders. He shuts his eyes but still manages to pull Jaskier down into a soft, slow kiss.

It lasts longer this time. Jaskier doesn't pull away despite the discomfort he must be feeling and if anything, when Geralt hesitates, when he gives him a chance to stop, Jaskier presses forward. And Geralt thinks, as Jaskier's tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, that if the next couple of days are like this, the rest of their stay in Novigrad might not be so bad.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #rex writes

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shimmershae · 3 years

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Some more random thoughts about Episode 4--

Because I couldn’t have my notebook commentary be incomplete at the end of the season just because an episode wasn’t my personal favorite.

Okay. I’m still a little surprised that Daryl took off running after that one Reaper dude in the dark. Like if that had been Carol instead of Maggie getting ambushed, my man would have not hasta la vista’d outta there ‘til heknew she was safe--capable, kickass leader or not.

Dog is so random about listening lately. How plot point convenient, lol.

Daryl throwing his crossbow at the Reaper had me legit LMAO.

Hmm. So that was Leah he unknowingly hurled his knife at, hahahaha.

Disobedient or not? Dog must be protected at all costs.

For real, though. It’s like Dog’s Carl reincarnated now. Somewhere, Lori feels vindicated about all those times she tried to explain that Carl had a stubborn will and mind of his own.

The hell good is the Walker guts and blood to the face in this sitch. I’m just not getting it.

Dog in his little vest. I’m still loving it and wondering if it has an actual purpose beyond making us go d’aww.

Does Lynn Collins resemble Megan Follows to anybody else or is it just me? Love my Anne-girl. NO comment on LC.

Well. That wasn’t exactly a reunion on par with Daryl’s reunion with Carol in the woods outside Terminus. One would think the woman Daryl supposedly loves would receive a better, more heartfelt welcome. OH.

Leah sure loves to point a shotgun at Daryl’s face, doesn’t she? Can you feel the love tonight. No, Elton. I cannot.

Dog has a weakness for the ladies. Whether they have homicidal tendencies or not.

Daryl’s all “Dog, C’mon. Let’s get TF outta here. She’s one crazy bitch.” Then her even crazier fam converges.

Eleven years in and I still love TWD’s opening theme.

Nothing says “I love you” quite like a burlap sack over the head.

So yeah. Anybody else detect the same hint of vulnerable uncertainty in Daryl’s voice when he tells Leah “I came back for you” as when he asked Carol “why’d you go?” Funny how in one instance, everybody’s (well, a certain group) is like omigosh. I think I ship them. And the other? They’re like “aww, his mommy hurt his feelings”? Anyway. Nice touch, NR. I do not, by any stretch of the imagination, believe Daryl ever loved Leah. But she gave him companionship when he was drowning in hopeless loneliness and he’d lost those closest to him so he convinced himself he cared and she was what and who he deserved.

“These people are my family. They never stopped looking for me. When they found me, I came home.” Interesting how Leah could give Daryl an ultimatum to sever ties with his family and home and yet when her own family returned? Different damn story.

Daryl’s face when he realizes how far down Leah’s priority list he is and the bullet that he dodged. Well. Almost.

Daryl lying for all he’s worth. His anything for them/us/family moment?

Apparently, love is a chloroform rag to the face for some. I mean. There are kinks and there’s this bullshit. People actually ship this toxic fuckery?

Guess waterboarding is Leah’s love language. You have to wonder how else she’s shown her “affection” in that time jump plot point romance.

WTF did Maggie do to earn these Looney Tunes’ obsession?

“Go ahead and kill me if you want.” Oh, Baby. Daryl, no.

Oh look. Daryl’s locked up in a cage again. How novel. How original. How very Season 7 of you, Angela.

“Understand? Hear me? Got it?” Daryl, honey. You’re not exactly the best at this whole covert thing, are you? Thank goodness, Frost picked up what you were throwing down.

“I’ve never lied to you.” Just before Daryl proceeds to do exactly that for much of the episode. Methinks, it’s just one whopper after another with her right there because I’m not convinced Leah knows about Carol.

Look at Leah showing more genuine emotion over her “dead brother” than her newly returned “lover.” Something ain’t quite right.

Leah’s cold, sure. Not sure if I buy LC as a mercenary though.

Listen. Daryl telling Leah he got scared and admitting it was because he didn’t want to let go practically feels like a gimme here. Who you afraid of letting go, Daryl? Hmm? Psst. Rhymes with Carol.

Girl, you wouldn’t have worked period but whatever.

“Tall, skinny guy. Never shuts up.” Ofc, that’s Negan, lol.

LOL at Pope’s line to Leah--”not everything is about you, Leah.”

Him also asking her “you find what you’re looking for?” is interesting to me and goes right along with Carol’s subconscious asking her the same question. The parallels are everywhere with these two. If they don’t get the chance to meet---

“I never said he loved me.” At least she realizes that.

Why does Daryl look like he’s wearing guy liner in that firetrap scene? Glam rock Daryl.

“We were the Chosen Ones.” New season, same song, different verse. All the diferent shades of cray-cray with this one.

Overall impression? Not a bad episode, but not necessarily enthralling either. At this point, all the different villains we’ve had on this show just feel like they’re passing along a relay baton or something and picking straight up where the last one left off.

Daryl seems to well and truly know where he belongs now, because he looked like he couldn’t be bothered to rub two fucks together where Leah was concerned. He just wanted to get the hell outta Dodge.

The Reapers are all pretty darn attractive. So at least there’s some nice eye candy to admire while we’re waiting for them to vamoose.

I just want more Carol this season. Is that too much to ask considering she’s the first billed female character and the second billed character over all?

Next episode looks to be populated with less newbs so there’s that. I am ready for a break from all the new people, lol. I just want to sit with and visit some old friends for a while. I’m certain I’m not alone.

Okay. That is all. For now, lol.

I’ll be back sometime tomorrow probably to give my impressions and commentary of Episode 5.

G’night.

#The Walking Dead #Caryl #Carol x Daryl #Season 11 #TWD spoilers #things that make me smile and cry #for reasons

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idrellegames · 3 years

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Not an ask! But just a thank you. Thank for sharing your story, thank your for giving us a beautiful world to immerse ourselves in. I feel like in the era of the internet where the culture of sex is so glorified , even all the teen tv shows I’d watch on streaming networks all had sex this, sex that every scene. I’m someone who’s extremely sex repulsed and also touch aversed, but who was also a teen a year ago and was consuming all those media that was aimed at me but I could never resonate. But I resonated with your story and I barely know you. I feel like your more of a friend than the ones I have irl. It’s was always weird being the odd one out, like “oh you’ve never kissed anyone!” “Oh you’ve never held hand with anyone” “you’ve never been f***?”. Like the media glorifies that every romance pairing needs to be accompanied by sex scenes etc. just thank you 🙏 and I can’t wait to meet your beautiful characters and see more of your world.

Hi anon,

I’m sorry it took me a little while to reply to your message. As someone who was the odd one out throughout all of high school and also all four years of my undergraduate degree, I get it. I think there’s so much pressure put on young adults to meet certain “milestones” by a certain age, and if you don’t, then you’re viewed as weird, immature, ignorant, sheltered, prudish, or naive.

When I was in high school, I often felt there was the expectation that you would learn how to drive, date and have sex for the first time by the time you graduated. I did none of those things. (Hell, I’m 30 and for multiple personal reasons, I still can’t drive). It was still relatively acceptable that I hadn’t done those things during my first two years of uni, but by the time I was 21-22, my (toxic) peer group was ready to stage an intervention to make me “catch up”. Which is astronomically atrocious when I look back on it. If your friend group wants you to do something that you do not want to do and they will not back down on it, they are bad friends.

It sucks, too, when media is marketed for your age group and you’re told again and again that “everyone in this age group will enjoy this!” and then you just... don’t. Because you don’t fit that pre-assigned box. I couldn’t stand a lot of YA books and teen TV shows when I was in high school. They were just another reminder that I was the weird one, outside the shared experience everyone else seemed to be going through.

I also often feel inundated with with sexual content in the media I read and watch. Sometimes I do enjoy it, but many times it also feels unnecessary and those scenes are just there to check a box on a producer’s list. I’ve been gravitating towards children’s shows recently because I’m fatigued with the way sex and romance are handled in mainstream media, especially in MA rated shows.

My writer brain gets it. I understand the formula, I get the short hands. If you’re strapped for time (like a lot of film/TV and game writing is as you have to convey a lot of information very quickly within a specific time limit) it’s easier/quicker to communicate to the audience that two characters are into each other by having them kiss/have sex rather than doing more elaborate scene structure to convey the same thing.

Sometimes those short hands are needed. They’re not objectively wrong (and if you enjoy that kind of material, great!). But when the vast majority of media and storytelling follows a similar formula and makes broad sweeping statements about love, relationships, and sex, it can get really tiring. Universality is the death of diversity.

And I know this is a sentiment shared by a lot of people, not just ace folks. I think there is a growing desire to see more diverse examples of relationships that don’t neatly fit the established formula. This goes for ace relationships, poly relationships, queerplatonic relationships, a whole host of things! I’d like to see more media explore those types of relationships without making a big deal about it. Just have them exist--the way that people do.

#i realize this is a garbled mess of an answer #but i hope it makes some kind of sense #hugs for you anon i hope you are doing okay <3 #answered #Anonymous

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 3 years

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We've Got Tonight - Ch 4

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

EXTRA WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS THE SOURCE OF MOST OF THE WARNINGS FOR THE STORY. Please don't kill me. THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER, I PROMISE. It's not over yet. I can't promise you won't hate me when it's over, but I will not leave you here. There's more.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

In case you missed it: Chapter 3 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

...

We’ve Got Tonight

Ch 4

Pre-dawn is too damn cold, she decides. She has to visually check that her fingers are actually doing up the buttons to her ragged denim jacket. She lost sensation in her hands a while back, and it’s the only way to make sure they’re actually doing their job. Her jacket is utterly unsuitable for the current temperature, but she doesn’t expect to need it for much longer.

Just before sunrise, Crowley told her.

The sky is already lightening on the horizon, the medium gray more obvious than she would have thought against the stark black, but, then, she’s never had much occasion to be out quite this late before. She’s usually done at the diner by six, singing at the club by ten, and in bed by two at the latest. She hopes Crowley is punctual. She can’t decide if the waiting or the cold is worse.

Except that, yes, she really can. The waiting is definitely worse.

The sound of shifting gravel pulls her out of her thoughts, and she turns to find the King of Hell himself smiling beatifically at her. She shivers, not bothering to search out the source of her discomfort, as she is rather spoiled for choice at the moment. She’s out in the freezing dark, about to hand over her life and soul to a demon because deranged cultists got it into their heads that they should use her blood to start an apocalypse (and who knew there was more than one of those outside of Sunnydale, seriously).

Shivering is probably the most rational reaction she’s had in a while.

“Hello, darling. Pleasant evening with the boys?”

He’s got more sass in one off-the cuff remark than she has in her entire history, and for a moment she can only marvel at the affected innocence in his expression. It's almost convincing. She opts to remain silent rather than take his bait. He smirks, the expression natural and only a touch derisive.

“No surprises, then? No sidekicks to save you at the last minute from the bad, bad demon?”

“I thought the torture didn’t start until after you kill me,” she sighs, hugging her arms tighter around herself, a futile attempt to ward off the chill. Maybe she’s got a little spark in her, after all. He laughs, a friendly, personable chuckle that would set anyone else at ease, reassure them of his honorable, benign intentions.

“Come on, Crowley, what's the hold up? I was here on time. Can we just get this over with already? I could have gotten one more round in with Dean if we were just going to stand around, shootin’ the breeze.”

Even watching for it, she can only just see the tick in Crowley's jaw, the slightest tension that betrays...something. She doesn't know what or why, but Crowley has more than a little unhealthy obsession with the elder Winchester brother, and she is pleased she managed to crack his veneer even for the briefest moment.

At least I don't have to worry about Dean, Andy thinks, relief creeping into the sea of dread that is her stomach. Her deal with Crowley was not only about stopping the apocalypse but also keeping Sam and Dean and even Castiel safe.

“Once you're gone, I won’t harm a hair on their precious heads, nor any other part of them,” he swore to her a mere eighteen hours earlier.

“I’m hurt you don't find my company more pleasant, love,” he murmurs, taking a couple of steps closer. He slides his hands in his coat pockets, the very picture of nonchalance. “I do try my best to be cordial, even congenial, after all. But since you’re so very uncomfortable, I suppose you won't object, then, that I took the liberty of inviting a few friends whose company you seem to prefer. What a lovely party we’ll have when they get here.”

As if he’s summoned them, a pair of lights appear in the distance, growing larger with every passing moment. Headlights, she realizes; a second later, she hears the distinctive roaring of a very particular car engine, and before she can turn back to Crowley, the Impala leaps out of the darkness, skidding across the hard-packed dirt road, coming to a halt bare inches from the demon’s impeccably shined shoes.

Andy stumbles back, choking in the cloud of dust the car kicks up, only to hit something solid. Impossibly strong fingers dig into her chin, lifting her face out and away as cold, thin metal is pressed to the side of her neck, and only now does she freeze.

“Let her go, Crowley,” Dean growls, his gun drawn and aimed even before he exits the car. “This isn't her fight, and you know it!” On the other side, Sam and Castiel climb out, Sam drawing his gun and moving to flank the demon.

“I do heartily protest, sir,” Crowley says, his tone mild and conversational. The blade digs in ever so slightly under her ear, and a thin trickle of warmth slides down her skin to soak into her collar. Dean doesn't flinch, but his eyes narrow, and he readjusts his aim.

“Not only is the lady at the epicenter of this fight, she's gone and made herself the brightest star in the show. Ask her yourself, if you don’t believe me.”

“How-” she manages through fear-numbed vocal cords. Dean should be unconscious, snoring blissfully away in his bed where she left him. She made sure to leave no sort of trail they could follow, and she checked that they were all asleep or otherwise occupied before she took off.

“I wasn’t asleep, Andy,” Dean replies, leveling his gun at Crowley. “And I’ve been tracking since I was seven. Gimme some credit.”

“I wouldn't do that, if I were you, Moose.” Crowley’s words freeze Sam in his tracks, and the blade on Andy’s neck digs in a little deeper. The flow of warmth down her neck widens just a touch. The sheer smugness in Crowley’s tone sets her teeth on edge, breaking through her stupor, and she grabs the hand with the knife, pulling at it with all her might. She, of course, doesn’t make a dent in the demonic strength, but she’s got to try something.

If you asked her later, Andy would swear to you that the searing pain that drags along her neck parallel to her jaw line right then is pure Hellfire. Deep down in the darkest recesses of her mind where all the worst truths lurk, she knows she’s feeling the bite from Crowley’s knife, but in that instant all she is aware of is the agony of the wound, of Dean’s enraged roar, and the juxtaposition of Crowley’s gentle touch pressing her own fingers to something hot and slippery under her jaw.

“Hold pressure there, sweetheart, or you’ll bleed out too soon. Wouldn’t want you to miss the finale.”

Her knees buckle, and she drops, but somehow she stays upright long enough to see Crowley’s demons approach out of the darkness. She tries to warn the boys, but time moves with a dreamlike lethargy that betrays every one of her good intentions, and, anyway, her voice doesn’t seem to be working at the moment. The roar of gunfire all around her sounds faint in comparison to the rushing in her ears, and she is powerless to stop Crowley’s plans from reaching fruition.

“You...said...you wouldn’t...”

“Well, pet, you aren’t dead yet, are you? I’ve got, what, at least another three minutes before you snuff it, by my count. Plenty of time to conclude my business with the Winchesters and their featherbrained friend before you expire.”

Though he was right behind her only a moment ago, Crowley appears abruptly next to Castiel, who at the moment is distracted by two lesser demons both wielding machetes. She realizes as she watches Cas easily fend them off that they, just like Andy, are only a distraction, only bait to tempt the bigger players to overextend themselves.

Too late, she sees the perfection of Crowley’s plan. In all the confusion, she loses track of Sam, and she wrenches her eyes away from Dean’s staggering form only to watch as the angel blade in Crowley’s hand bursts through Castiel’s chest. Then her gentle, confused friend is gone in a flash. The demons vanish, and she can’t find Sam or Dean, can’t reach them, can’t make her voice work to call out.

The quiet is wrong, so out of place after the violent cacophony. The roaring is gone, the gunfire silenced, and all that’s left is a terrible wheezing, gurgling sound that takes her too long to recognize as her own labored breathing.

“Crow...ley…”

“I’m here, darling. What do you need?”

“Lying...bastard…”

“Now, now, sweetheart, are those really what you want your last words to be?” He lifts her easily from the ground, carrying her the few yards to where Dean lies sprawled in the dusty gravel. His shirt is stained black in the retreating darkness, and Andy can only be thankful that she won’t make it to sunrise to see what exact shade of red is spreading over him. Dean’s far hand scrabbles on the ground, stopping its frantic search only when it finds his brother’s.

Sam’s still form doesn’t return his brother’s grip.

“After all, I’ve done you a favor; I didn’t have to give you the opportunity to say good-bye. I can’t promise you adjoining cells, but I’m sure your torture will coincide with his occasionally,” Crowley continues conversationally, “so, really, the two of you should be thanking me that you’ll at least get occasional visiting privileges. It pays to be on good terms with the king, after all. And, who knows? After a couple hundred years of good behavior, I might even be persuaded to-”

“Why?” It’s all she can manage as he lays her on the ground. Dean reaches for her with his free hand, and she is just able to find his fingers. Their eyes meet, but her vision is blurring as breathing gets tougher, and she can’t see what he’s mouthing to her. Even his eyes, such a luminescent green only hours ago, are fading into the remaining dark of the night.

“The Winchesters, dear, it’s always been about the Winchesters. Oh, the fanatics and their doomsday ritual were real enough, as was your blood. I just simply took advantage of the situation, as any intelligent monarch would do. Settled things with the apocalypse groupies, rid myself of some major pains in my rear, and now I get you, to boot! I do love when a plan comes together.”

Dean’s fingers tighten in hers, and she tries to grip his back, but the harder she holds on, the less she can feel him.

She’s not really feeling much of anything but cold now.

“Shut...up...already.”

“Always ungrateful in the end, even after everything I do for them,” Crowley grumbles from above her. But then he does shut up, and she finally feels something besides the cold.

Relief. ...

Chapter 5

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everyonewasabird · 3 years

Text

Brickclub 2.3.8 ‘Unpleasantness of putting up a pauper who might just be rich’

The Thenardiers really are society here in all it’s harshest aspects: the way they find ways to make the poor pay for being poor; the division between the children’s scorn for Cosette’s poverty and Cosette’s envy of their comforts; the way a rich man’s whims to have a child play are law and a poor man’s wish for the same is an absurd imposition. It’s all here in microcosm.

And once again, Valjean baffles society’s efforts at categorization.

I was struck last chapter by Cosette’s resilience and fearlessness in Valjean’s presence. This chapter, she’s cowering again, and we get a long description of the horror of her misery and fear. Once again it’s close to transforming her.

The expression in the eyes of this eight-year-old child was normally so forlorn and sometimes so tragic that it seemed, at certain moments, that she was in the process of turning into an idiot or a demon.

So far she’s staving off that transformation, as we saw in the woods, but it’s still encroaching. She needs to be out of here.

[Cut because this got long. Also, child abuse.]

I hadn’t previously caught how hard it is for Valjean to speak up on Cosette’s behalf. I’d pictured him in my memory as in control of this scene, and he’s actually only managing to bring himself to argue because of the harm about to be done to Cosette.

“Madame,” he said, smiling with an almost frightened look, “Bah! Let her play!”

Which makes perfect sense. This is society in microcosm, and it isn’t in him to outwardly rebel anymore--or even outwardly act like he deserves to be in society. Like Boulatruelle, his deference is suspicious.

Hugo doesn’t cast blame on the Thenardier girls. They’re just children, acting like children, and they’re lovely for it.

In the animal symbolism of the novel, Eponine’s play-acting sounds Significant.

“See, sister, this doll is more fun than the other one. It moves, it cries, it’s nice and warm. See, sister, let’s play with it. It will be my little girl. I’ll be a lady. I’ll come to see you and you’ll look at it. Little by little you’ll see its whiskers and you’ll get a shock. And then you’ll see its ears and then you’ll see its tail and you’ll get a shock. And you’ll say to me: ‘Oh, my God!’ And I’ll say to you: ‘Yes, Madame, that’s my little girl and she’s like that. Little girls are like that these days.’”

I never know exactly what to do with cats. They’re positive in this text, but what do they mean? I suppose they’re something that’s both harmless and not exactly tame like dogs are, capable of catching mice to fix God’s errors--a symbol of revolution--and capable, in a pinch, of transforming into lions. The people of Paris were cats in 1817 and presumably still are.

The child-that-is-secretly-a-cat also has, at least visually, some echoes of Little Red Riding Hood for me (”What big ears you have, Grandma!”) It’s a cat, not a wolf, but still. That story seems relevant to the story we’ve just come from, where our young werewolf child met a stranger in the woods and brought him home.

I just looked up whether Little Red Riding Hood would have been a cultural touchstone here, and of course it was--Perrault wrote it down in 1697.

Wikipedia also recorded this quote from Perrault about its moral:

From this story one learns that children, especially young lasses, pretty, courteous and well-bred, do very wrong to listen to strangers, And it is not an unheard thing if the Wolf is thereby provided with his dinner. I say Wolf, for all wolves are not of the same sort; there is one kind with an amenable disposition – neither noisy, nor hateful, nor angry, but tame, obliging and gentle, following the young maids in the streets, even into their homes. Alas! Who does not know that these gentle wolves are of all such creatures the most dangerous!

Little Red Riding Hood may not really be something the text has in mind right now, but that sure sounds relevant to what’s just happened. A littler girl went into the woods alone amid talk of wolves, met a stranger, and took him home. (It also applies well to Fantine, alas. But Valjean is a very different kind of gentled wolf.)

Hugo has some thoughts to share about women and I don’t like them at all. I’m skipping them, I don’t feel like fighting with Hugo right now.

Cosette “vaguely listening” and picking up “a few words here and there” as Mme Thenardier insults her and says her mother abandoned her is more heartbreaking than if she’d been listening intently. It gives a sense that either there’s nothing particularly new in these statements, or else Cosette doesn’t feel invested in them because they don’t contain the information that really matters to her, which is whether or not to expect imminent physical violence.

Or.... nope. I definitely read that wrong.

By “vaguely listening” Hugo meant “dissociating.”

Because the scene that follows is:

Meanwhile the drinkers, all three-quarters sozzled, were singing their dirty song again, jollier than ever. It was an off-colour story in very bad taste in which the Holy Virgin and the Infant Jesus both featured. Mother Thénardier had wandered off to join in the outburts of hilarity. Cosette, under the table, was watching the fire, which was reflected in her staring eyes; she had again begun to rock the sort of swaddled doll she had made, and while she rocked it, she sang in a low voice: “My mother is dead! My mother is dead! My mother is dead!”

The only versions of holy motherly love that have trickled down to her are corrupted into near unrecognizeability. Her eyes are full of flames, another hint of that demonic transformation under duress that she’s still skirting the edges of.

There are a couple of ways to read “my mother is dead.” I kind of suspect that Cosette, like last time transformation threatened, is grimly hanging on to her sense of herself and the dim bright side: her mother wasn’t a bad woman who abandoned her, the only reason she is isn’t here is because she’s dead. Cosette claimed to Valjean not to have a mother, but it’s clear she has complex feelings on the subject that she can’t articulate. These lines feel like such an act of faith, actually: It’s Cosette believing, against all evidence, that her mother’s love for her is real, that she would still come if she could.

And she follows that with an act of such courage and hope and defiance: she steals the doll and is enraptured by it for a quarter of an hour. She stays human. She isn’t beaten yet.

She must know she’s going to pay for this--but she would pay worse for giving up hope, too, or for giving in to the thing that’s trying to turn her demonic.

Fuck, she’s fighting so fucking hard. Valjean is beaten down by society’s expectations of him, but Cosette isn’t. Holy hell, I love her so much.

The retribution of society in the person of the Thenardiess rains down on her, of course. It says she sobs, which is one more way in which she isn’t Valjean in the bagne--she can still cry when she’s sad.

And Valjean is also near tears. We know he wept when he was being shackled fo the bagne the first time, and we know he hadn’t wept any time between then and the bishop’s mercy. I’m not sure we’ve seen him weep any time since.

There’s so MUCH in the fact that he’s watched all this happen. He was worse off than she was when he showed up here--beaten down, hopeless, almost like he was after leaving the bagne the first time.

We never hear directly what the bagne did to him the second time--but we can see it. And it’s a lot like what it did the first time.

And instead of being saved by the bishop, he’s being saved by Cosette. We watch him becoming a parent over the course of this chapter.

Cosette doesn’t touch the doll. Valjean puts the doll’s hand in hers.

And that thing about Cosette being irrepressible--as soon as someone is kind, she becomes a kid again, like she’s been waiting for it all along. Because, she probably has. Shoujo Cosette isn’t wrong about the way she seems to have been waiting all along for her mother to come for her.

“I’ll call her Catherine.” Oh, my heart. Unlike post-bagne Valjean, she’s so very ready to be saved.

Valjean after sitting still a long time rises up suddenly in a sentence structure that feels like his sudden decision making at the bishop’s. Once again, he looks down at sleeping people, this time on Cosette.

She left her shoe out, because she still believes the good fairy will come. And Valjean does come.

I didn’t expect this to feel like Valjean at the bishop’s, but it IS. The transformation Cosette is resisting is one he’s more or less suffered again.

She saves him the way the bishop did.

I love them.

#brickclub #lm 2.3.8

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