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lewkwoodnco · 7 months

Note

Hii I wanted to request Anthony Lockwood×fem!reader with the song "How you get the girl." With them being friends and her being there when he opened the agency. All of them are on a case, and she almost gets ghost touched, so the drive home is very intense, then Lockwood gets mad at her for being reckless, she doesn't want to argue with him so she just goes to sleep crying, the next week Lockwood avoids her, and he sees a nightmare about her dying, so he pushes her even further away. She thinks that he is in love with Lucy because he is avoiding her and spending more time with Lucy. So she leaves the agency, and Anthony doesn't stop her because he thinks he is doing the right thing for her. Lucy and George miss the reader because they're very good friends, so they persuade Lockwood to tell the reader how he feels and bring her back, but Lockwood doesn't listen because he thinks it's for the better. Meanwhile, the reader gets very depressed because she misses them. After months of missing them, she can't do it anymore and tries to drown herself, but Lucy and George find her, so she gets angry at them and leaves. Lucy and George tell everything to Lockwood, who can't do it anymore. So he goes to the reader's house to confess and get her back.

How You Get the Girl - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: wooooo I’ve taken a long break from angst and this fic scratched all my itches hheheheh and in honour of 1989 TV!!! TW brief suicidal mentions but I try not to go into much detail, and goodnight god I need to sleeeeep wc: 4.8k

The four of them were in a cemetery, tasked to tackle three confirmed Lurkers. They were grateful it wasn't more, what with only half of them having decent Sight, but she was starting to feel bored, prodding the pebbles in the soil like some makeshift game, penned inside her iron chains near the gate. Lucy was also inside a different set of chains, but hers was inside the cemetery, where all the action was, and where she could somewhat help to look for the Sources. She had been more than ready to be the one standing nearer to the gate, but she was better at scaling walls so it was only logical to have her be the one inside in case...in case something went wrong with the gate.

Still, if George's yelling was any indication, they'd just found the second source, so it wouldn't be much longer now. They'd find the last source, pack up, and leave this dimly lit place which made her stomach churn.

"Where's the last one? I don't -" Lucy's scream tore into the night sky, cutting Lockwood off. She nearly fell over her rapier as she stumbled to her feet, hands growing clammy as she squinted through the cemetery's fog. She had never heard Lucy scream, let alone one filled with so much terror. Her mouth felt like rubber as she listened for something, anything, but was deafened by her heart pounding in her ears. Nothing. It was eerily quiet, as if none of them were there. She called out to her friends. Still nothing. She tried not to think about the last time Lockwood had been this quiet on a case. Turns out, he wasn't quite as chatty when bleeding out from a gunshot wound. Something similar must have happened now. His knees were probably buckling under himself right now, exhaling his last breath, as she stayed behind her chains like a coward. She heard a forlorn whisper - her own, even though she didn't register herself speaking.

"Lockwood. Lockwood?"

He was dead. She didn't know why, or how, but in that moment she knew for a fact that he was dead, or dying, and no one could bear to tell her. Sod the chains.

She tentatively stepped out of the circle, swallowing as her nausea increased tenfold. The crunch of the gravel beneath her boots seemed too loud for a night as quiet as this. The silence emanating solidified with every step she took, until the absence began to feel like something tangible. Her thoughts were running ahead of her, taunting her, preparing her for the worst sight imaginable. George with his head smashed upon? Lucy with her throat slashed? Lockwood, impaled on his own rapier?

She felt a prickling at the back of her neck, the kind that comes when a Visitor is too close. She lashed behind herself clumsily, rapier suddenly as bulky and unfamiliar as it was years back. She’d been in far more life-threatening situations, and yet now was the time she chose to have all her skills fly out of the window.

She felt a harsh jerk at her left elbow, and for the second time that night, she had an unpleasant swooping sensation of uncertainty twist her stomach. Fire spluttered inches from her face and she flinched, bumping into Lockwood, whose fingers had slipped from the crook of her elbow to her wrist. He looked around wildly, pulling his rapier back defensively, before she heard an unpleasant screech as her ears popped. Panic seeped out of her as she readjusted to the real world, becoming increasingly aware of his grip on her pulse. His hair was messed up and the side of his face glittered with soot, but he seemed too busy struggling with something himself to speak. He looked just as disconcerted as she felt, but the longer he observed her with trepidation in his eyes, she felt that it had more to do with her than the Lurkers.

“They...found the source?” She asked breathlessly, anything to break the silence.

“...yes.” He bit out, and she was thrown off by the venom in his voice. There was something different about him, something surlier. George gave a shout from behind and Lockwood snapped out of it, letting go of her wrist and moving away. By the time her wits had sufficiently returned, he was already finishing up some paperwork and George and Lucy had just finished loading their supplies into the cab. She tried to catch Lockwood's eye as he walked towards them, but he seemed to be aggressively avoiding her gaze. The crushing feeling was back. The cab ride was no less easy.

“Were you ghost-locked?” Lucy had picked up that something was off and she had the foresight to sit up front with the driver, while George was stuck between them. Lockwood, being Lockwood, wasn't about to wait until they reached home to start on her.

“No.” Couldn’t even see the bloody thing, she wanted to add, but she felt it wouldn’t help her case.

“Drawn out by the visitor?”

“No.” She felt the hot prick of shameful tears behind her eyes as she cradled her forehead. What had gotten into her? She had been embarrassingly paralysed for no good reason, rapier slack in her hand like an amateur trainee who couldn’t tell one end from the other.

“You of all people should know to stay within the chains. You know how little you can see. This isn’t your first Lurker - “

“I heard noises, and some screaming, and then it was dead quiet. I thought something terrible had happened.”

"What screaming?" It was harder for Lucy to follow the conversation from the front, but she still tried earnestly.

Her response died at her lips as she caught George's equally confused glance. The realisation dawned on her unpleasantly. Of course no one knew what she was talking about. There was no screaming. She should have known better, she did know better: Lurkers were notorious for causing visual and auditory hallucinations. Lockwood didn't wait for an answer, and pressed on heatedly.

“Even if she had screamed, your first instinct is to abandon your only form of protection? You’re not a newbie, L/N. So why I am I having to spell this out for you?”

“Spell what out for me?” It was a little more vicious than what the rest were accustomed to seeing, especially since very little of Lockwood riled her up this much after working with him for so long. But he hadn’t referred to her by her surname for years, and it stung.

“You could have died! You nearly did die. Never, have I ever seen a disregard for personal safety so deplorable. Really, what were you thinking?”

She rests her head against the cold window, the rattling a welcome relief to her pounding head, her exhaustion finally catching up to her, her words like loose marbles on her tongue. “I…I don’t know. I wasn’t- I was just…I wasn’t thinking.”

“Clearly.”

As far as misunderstandings went, theirs never went this far. Lockwood was an open book to her, and where he was stubborn she was even-tempered enough to knock some sense into him before things escalated this far. But this was new territory. She had never seen him this angry before and certainly never towards her, and she was too weak to shoulder his anger bravely. She could see the irritation behind the tension in his shoulders as he stabbed his rapier into their rapier stand near the front door, and felt her heart fold within itself even more. He jerked towards her like there was something he wanted to stay. A million words and feelings raced across his face. She opened her mouth, willing her fatigued mind to say something to patch the rift.

“I’m sorry.” She held her breath. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Any other day, he would have sighed, maybe held off for a second or two, before pulling her into a half hug or ruffling her hair, and dragging her to the kitchen. Because where Lockwood was smooth and charismatic, she was clunky with words and sometimes she couldn’t find the right ones. But with Lockwood, she didn’t need to. He would take one look in her eyes and pluck the thought out with devastating grace. It was her and Lockwood, Lockwood and her, forever scampering to each other’s rooms across the hallway to tell the other about their latest inane thought, until George yelled at them to quit it.

But today was not any other day.

“If you pull a stunt like this again…I don’t know if I could trust you enough to stay safe on cases.”

Her voice was an ugly croak. “…what?”

“Y/N…I cannot, in good conscience, entertain or enable you in this-this suicidal-“

“Lockwood, it was an accident. You know that, right?”

“That’s besides the-“

“You can’t possibly think I did this on purpose!”

“I don’t know.”

His eyes dropped, and she felt tears stinging her eyes again. “You...don’t...know.” She echoed him distantly, turning over each syllable on her tongue carefully, voice as hollow as his. “You don’t know…what? You don’t know…me?”

Flashes of the life they built together ran through her mind. Patiently dusting the frames that cluttered the walls. Broaching the idea of starting an agency. Standing hours in line at DEPRAC to register said agency. Going to Arif’s for the first time. Weeks of singed hair and smoky air as they relentlessly shortlisted the most cost-effective suppliers for their kits. Getting over her first breakup and watching him laugh as she swore off dating forever. Cycling indoors on a rainy afternoon just for the hell of it, while George nagged at them incessantly. Buying a cake the day their paperwork was approved and it being smeared on DEPRAC’s certificate within a minute of it being cut. Getting yelled at by Barnes for the first time. Getting injured for the first time and having him excessively fuss over the cut. Arguing about their noses while waiting for their cab in the cold after a case (he insists they’re the same, and she disagrees, partly because she isn’t sure if she could handle knowing that). Framing their first (less than complimentary) news article. Him putting the kettle on in the mornings so that it’s just the right temperature by the time she comes down to the kitchen.

Somewhere along the line, she became acutely aware that the glow she felt watching him nibble at toast in bright spirits after a long case wasn’t completely normal, but then she forgot, because it didn’t matter at the time. But now it felt like it should.

He swallowed with a resolute set to his jaw that told her he wasn’t going to change his mind anytime soon. She felt a tremor run through her hand, a sudden urge to reach out and clench the lapels of his coat, to hold on to the misty silhouette of a friend who was quickly dissolving into thin air.

And then he was gone, and she was alone, and the rift deepened and gaped its visceral jaws in front of her, threatening to swallow her whole. She numbly got dressed for bed, forgetting about the slice on her forearm until she dragged it across her sheets. It smarted, but there was a comfort in the irritation and rawness.

That night, she dreamt of bicycles rolling along on hardwood floors, the shadows the library fire cast in the grooves of Lockwood's face, and rough walls she couldn't scale. She didn't know when she started to cry.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So we all slept like shit. Good to know."

George walked into an uncharacteristically silent kitchen. Lucy was glumly stirring her tea, Lockwood favoured the newspaper over breakfast that morning, and she had a plate of buttered toast in front of her that she kept forgetting about. "At least the two of you had the chains for, er, most of it."

"Please. It was just as bad inside the chains. I kept hearing my teammates die over, and over, and..." She covered Lucy's hand with one of her own, gently removing her spoon.

Breakfast was a sorry affair, and the rest of the week didn't fare much better either, and things reached a breaking point on Sunday. Lockwood shut himself up in the library to get their files and invoices straightened out. There we go, another first: first morning they didn't speak a word to each other. Lucy was busy with rapier practice and George went off to the Archives, so she decided to head out for some fresh air. She came home around lunchtime. George wasn't back yet, but she couldn't hear the jets going off in the basement. She crept upstairs, her stomach twisting at the sight in Lockwood's room.

He was seated on his bed, concerningly pale, talking to Lucy in a low voice. The scene looked so intimate she felt like an intruder just watching them. She tapped on his door, and their heads jumped apart.

"Everything okay?" She tried to keep her tone light, but Lucy's grave face and Lockwood still pointedly looking away didn't help. Lucy gave him a not-so-subtle kick and he grimaced. Her face fell.

"Sorry, I...didn't mean to intrude."

"No, no, it was nothing. We were just talking about yesterday's case. Right, Lockwood?"

"I'll just go -"

"Luce, mind helping me pack the chains?" He held out a duffel bag. The duffel bag he always gave her, not Lucy, to pack the chains. To her credit, Lucy didn't seem much happier than her either, and she snatches the bag from him in a huff. As Lucy walks away, she wonders what it must be like to be loved by Anthony Lockwood. He stands up and starts to shift around his room, fiddling with odds and ends; but curiously, he hasn't asked her to leave.

"I can't - " Her words failed her, but she gritted her teeth and forced them out anyway, the hard edge in her voice giving way to a weak whisper. "I can't stand this. You can't keep freezing me out."

"I don't know what you're talking about. What I do know is that we have a job at 135 Manilla Street and if you don't feel up for it..."

She didn't finish his sentence. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. She wasn't going to play into his emotionally manipulative hands like putty. Lucy awkwardly walked out of the room.

"...maybe you shouldn't come."

For the first time in nearly 18 hours, he finally looked at her, but nothing could have prepared her for the contempt he held.

"Don't be ridiculous." "Of course I'm coming."

"Actually, I was just discussing this with Lu-" A heavy boot chucked from the attic narrowly missed Lockwood's head. "I came to the decision, after talking with Luce, that maybe it's best you don't come tonight. I don't want a repeat of yesterday."

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way, because I'm coming. This is my job." Lockwood didn't seem to appreciate that in the same way she did. She was distantly aware of George calling out into the house, and Lockwood slammed the stack of books he was gathering onto his desk in response. Anger seemed to be the only emotion he could express after last night.

"Why can't you just listen for once? Why must you always be so...so difficult?"

"I'm not some possession for you to do with as you please! You yell at me, ignore me, scorn me, now lock me up just because you've decided you don't want to look at me?"

"Enough." There was a warning hidden in the tone of his voice as he started to close his door, but she wasn't done. Some fragmented fracture of Lockwood still cared about her, cared about his awful behaviour, and by God was she going to shake that out of him.

"What do I care? Keeping secrets behind locked doors is all you're good at anyway."

He froze just as the door was a fraction of an inch away from closing, a deadly quiet settling over the house. Even the rustling in the kitchen stopped.

“Look, I didn’t want to have to this.” Oh, he’s most definitely seeing red now. “But I am your employer, Miss L/N, and it is for me to decide which cases you do or do not go for.”

"So...this is just what we're going to do for the next...forever? I'll never go on a case again just because you have some weird problem with it? I'll just -" She let out a harsh bark of laughter, suddenly manic with panic. "I'll just leave then, shall I? Get out of your hair, for good?"

"I didn't say that."

“Don’t. Don’t. Don’t do this, Lockwood.” Her breath was coming in embarrassingly agitated now. Was the air thinning? Her head was spinning like she might pass out. She pushed against the door with ore force than she needed, meeting surprisingly little resistance. He was standing woodenly, eyes unseeing, and yet she felt that was the most honest he had been since the previous night. She looks at him, and for the first time, she wonders what he’s thinking about.

"Fine. Be like that, then." She wants to reach out, beg him to want her to stay, but instead she pulls herself away. She opens drawers and cabinets and pours clothes and misery into her worn suitcase. Lucy stands hopelessly in the doorway and George is whispering something furious to Lockwood, who just watches her stonily. A part of her feels stupid, as stupid as the night before, like she had lost some race in taking this long to realise she was hoping, praying, waiting for nothing. As she leaves, George searches her face and pats her shoulder awkwardly. When she reaches the front door, a movement in the shadows makes her jump.

"He's just being an arse. You know that. Just wait a few days. Please.”

Lucy. Sweet Lucy. Sweet, well-meaning Lucy who was better than the lot of them. She was going to miss her the most. She told her as much, but Lucy didn’t seem amused.

“You don't have to leave." She pulled Lucy into a hug, keeping her bitterness barely at bay.

"Oh, Luce. What else can I do?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She lives in a cold, cramped flat at the edge of civilisation, away from anyone's eyes. Away from Lockwood's cold, dead eyes. Some days she reads the paper, and every time she tries to force herself to read it as Lockwood would. She stays in the bed for the first week, but her savings are only so little, and eventually she starts working again. Too frail to set out as an independent agent, she signs on part-time with Fittes. She doesn't bother to get to know her teammates. Kipps is unexpectedly kind to her in ways he would rather die than acknowledge. She doesn't stick around long enough to get checked up by their medics after cases.

She returns to her dimly lit cavern and clumsily bandages her cut alone with none of his attention to detail. She drags her palm weakly across her eyes and tries to remember her friends' faces. Did Lucy's bob end at her chin, or her clavicles? How big were the lenses of George's glasses? Lockwood is a mist that colours her new life. Turns out, life is a lot more depressing without George's propensity for intellectual name-calling and Lucy's aggressively positive spirit. Sometimes she catches herself taking her tea the way Lockwood does, and she wonders where Lockwood ends and where she begins.

She goes to sleep wishing she had never met him, and wakes up with a million things to tell him. She sees the occasional silhouette wandering the street as she draws her curtains and lets her heart pretend it's him. She fumbles with her love for him, not knowing where, or how, to put it down. Day in and day out, her yearning threatens to consume her entirely.

One night, after a case at a bridge over the Thames, she runs into George and Lucy, and it's the most alive she's ever felt since she left. They want to hear about her but she brushes it off immediately: she wants to hear everything and anything about 35 Portland Row and its inhabitants.

"He's bloody awful lately. He's too quiet, and he keeps staring out of windows like he's waiting for something, even at night. George had to knock him out with cough syrup to stop him from coming tonight; he's wasting away. Of course, George occasionally forces some food down his throat and wrestles him into his bed every once in a while, but..." Lucy worries her bottom lip and she feels her stomach sink. "I don't know how much longer this can last."

"I keep telling him to reach out to you -"

"Reach out to me? Do you know where I live?"

George exchanges a look with Lucy. "Well, not exactly, but it took Lockwood all but half a day to find out. Not that he'll tell us. Coherent speech is...it's becoming a bit of a struggle for him. Either way, I have no idea what's keeping him from apologising when he's clearly so cut up about it."

After they leave, she replays the conversation in her head while waiting to be dismissed, trying to extract as much meaning as she could from their words. She thinks about the dark apartment waiting for her. An empty flat. An empty life. Before she realises, she's neck deep in the Thames, a step away from walking off the sea bed. Freedom from this pain, from these shackles which bound her to earthly woes, was deliciously close. She closes her eyes and takes the final step, water rushing in to dull her hyperactive senses.

But the peace didn't last long. Suddenly, she felt hands hauling her out of her cool sanctuary, and desperate panting coupled with water splashing. The water in her lungs hurt and she felt like a sack of potatoes. After much painful gagging and coughing, she gathered her wits. Lucy was apprehensively leaning over her, and she could hear George agitatedly pacing and muttering behind them.

"I thought you looked weird. Your eyes were too bright."

"...dead man walking. I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna rip his throat out..."

"Come home with us, Y/N. Just for tonight. Please."

She looks at Lucy, suddenly furious at her for interfering. What did she know? This wasn't some small tiff where she and Lockwood could just hug and make up. She was better off without them. She dodges Lucy's concern and outstretched hand, shakily rising to her feet.

"If it was as simple as coming home, believe me - I would have returned a long time ago."

"Y/N..."

"I don't need you looking after me! I'm fine alone. Just go home, Lucy." Shame was beginning to fester inside of her. "Just go home."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hell is beating at her windows when she wakes up. The rain comes down hard and fast in sheets, and for the first time, she feels grateful to have this roof, however old, over her head. She curls up at her window with a large cup of coffee, watching the heavens rage.

Suddenly, her head jerks towards the front door. She listens carefully for a moment, but only hears the wind howling through some hidden draft. And yet, her feet are walking her towards the door. She feels it in her bones the way she hasn't felt it since that fateful night months back. Something new is waiting for her.

She opens the door to a drenched man with his fist poised, ready to knock. It takes her a few blinks to reconcile the image of the man in front of her with the Lockwood she now only hazily remembered. They hadn't been exaggerating; he really did look awful. His skin was dull and stretched grotesquely over his bones, and his eyes look positively bruised. He was aggressively shivering in the rain, no umbrella in sight. She instinctively stepped back and he gratefully entered, rubbing his hands together for some warmth.

"Are you insane? What are you doing here?"

"I know what happened last night."

She subconsciously withdrew within herself. "George told you?"

"Lucy, actually. George and I haven't been on the best of terms lately, but, as of now, he's stopped speaking to me entirely."

"Ah." A small part of her flickered sympathetically. She remembered how much George meant to Lockwood, and vice versa, but the memory felt so unused, as if it were from a different life.

If he notices how dismal her flat is, he doesn't let on. In fact, he only seems interested in looking at her, drinking her in like a man starved. She allows it, but only for a while, and only because it's too big of a relief to have him standing here, larger than life, right in front of her. Starving, yes; sleep-deprived, yes; but very much alive.

"Come now, Y/N. Don't look at me like that."

"It's been a very long six months. I'll look at you however I want."

He sighs and shifts her chair closer to her and, as if inspired by some sudden bout of insanity, takes her hand, but doesn't seem to know exactly what to do with it.

"Lucy and George have been yelling at me to tell you the truth for ages now, but...I was too afraid. I was a coward. But after my earful from George last night...I realised you were just as scared as I was. Probably even more, all alone. And I'm trying to find it in me to be brave enough for the both of us." She listens cautiously, too burnt to fully believe.

He laces his fingers into her own, and brings it up to his face tenderly. "Remember how it used to be? Me and you, you and me. Just the two of us against the rest of the world." He fiddles with his pocket, and she hears a crinkling of brittle newspaper. It's their first picture in the papers. George, with significantly fewer wrinkles, is standing off to one side. Lockwood is trying and failing to look professional, which probably has to do with the way she's thrown her arms around his neck and is pressing a half-kiss to his cheekbone. She couldn't help it; she was just so proud of him. That's the photo to gets her to smile for the first time in months.

His own smile wobbles as he watches her, then slides off entirely, leaving behind an Anthony Lockwood that looks much older than his years.

"I don't know what I was thinking that day. I had a really bad string of nightmares that week where...where your lips would be blue and your pulse long gone by the time I reached. It was such a close shave, I can't help but think..." She wants to reach out and smooth the crease in his brow. "What if I were a second late?"

"But you weren't. Isn't that all that matters?"

A glimmer of a smile skimmed his face. "Yeah, well, Lucy told me as much."

"Smart girl."

"But I didn't listen. I tried - god, I tried - but I couldn't. I thought you would be safer without me. So when you started saying you'd leave, this awful seed was planted in my head, and I was angry, but also madly in love with you, and I didn't know how to say any of it."

A tear falls on their joined hands. "That evening really messed me up, Lockwood. It screwed with my head big time."

"I know." There was a rush in his voice that mirrored the same kind of rush that had flitted through her body for the past six months. "And I don't expect you to ever forgive me. I'll spend the rest of my life fixing the damage I've done. But...but...if somewhere down the road...you find it in your big heart to forgive me and my sins...I might just love you. No more secrets or locked doors; I'm done with them. Y/N L/N, I'm ready to love you wildly and freely."

First time she didn't absolutely hate him saying her last name.

#fanfiction #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood and co #fanfic #anthony lockwood imagine #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood x y/n #taylor swift #1989 taylor's version #1989 tv #taylor swift 1989 #how you get the girl #hygtg #requested

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lailoken · 1 year

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hello Lailoken. I've been practicing my craft for over 6 years now and I've spent so much time researching, experimenting and worshipping. I take my craft very seriously. but no matter how hard I work, I can't seem to see my gods and spirits visually. I feel them in omens and in the way magic works when they're called on, and I even interact with them in dreams. but no matter what I do, I can't see them manifested visually when awake. do you think i'm doing something wrong? 😔

I'm sorry you're struggling with these doubts, dear Anon, but know that you are not alone. I have had multiple people express similar concerns to me in the past. The thing is, what you are describing about your interactions is what actual communion with numinous wights looks like for the vast majority of seekers!

I'm not totally sure how the concept of spirits taking consistent physical shape has become at all widespread, though my guess would be that much of it comes from very literal readings of mythology and representations of spirits in fantasy media. The truth, however, is that such interactions with spirits are not the norm by any stretch of the imagination. I won't claim that this isn't the case for anyone, as I don't like to claim certainty of most things, and people can be quite unique. But to be extremely frank, if you are seeing a lot of practitioners talking about seeing their spirits as if they are clearly and physically visible, they are almost certainly lying in order to self-aggrandize or experiencing some sort of psychosis. I realize that's a fairly serious statement, but I firmly stand by it.

Can spirits be gleaned as if physically seen? Yes, I think so. There may even be some people who are more prone to seeing such things than others. But I think those sorts of experiences are extremely rare, and people who say otherwise should be treated with wariness.

In my lifetime of practice, I have had visual experiences of this sort only a handful of times, and none of them was anywhere near as cinematic or dramatic as some might claim. I have seen hazy, luminous, and humanoid shapes in the periphery of my vision when working with the Fae, which were gone as soon as I tried to look at them. I have seen shadows coalesce in the benighted woods to take on the hyperrealistic look of an eerily grinning face, only to dissipate as candlelight revealed the scene further. I have seen the foam of running water take on shockingly distinct animal shapes when working with a river spirit, which turn to rushing foam again as soon as I focus on them. Aside from one bizarrely palpable experience I had as a young child—which has never been repeated, despite my explorations— these are what physical manifestations look like for me, and even these situations are few and far between.

When my Kith interact with me, I, too, experience it through omens, feelings, and dreams, and they are not any less real or powerful for it. In fact, I would argue that dreams are the place where one has the best ability to truly interact with spirits in a tangible way; its just a matter of training yourself to recognize and interpret different types of dreams. Working on lucid dreaming can also be extremely useful.

So, to answer your last question: no, I don't think you are doing anything wrong. It sounds to me like you are cultivating a meaningful and honest relationship with your spirit kith, and I encourage you to keep at it without comparing yourself to others on the internet. After all, it's difficult to determine when someone is offering earnest wisdom or just playing dress up, but you know your own experiences.

#witchcraft #traditional withcraft #spirits #spirit work #spirit evocation #evocation #the sight #witch tips

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yanderes-galore · 1 year

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Hi ^^!! I've been a fan of your work for a little while now, would a Scott Tenorman vs Michael (tall goth) concept be okay?

Hi ^^ I'm happy you're a fan! Sure, I'll see what I got! I have a feeling Scott has potential. Aged up as usual but Scott is still the oldest.

I did what I could as Scott seems like such an active yandere while Michael is more like... will attack when provoked. Idk, sorry it's a bit short.

Yandere! Scott Tenorman vs Michael/Tall Goth

Pairing: Romantic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Mentioned sadism, Obsession, Stalking, Attempted murder, Manipulation, Jealousy, Clingy behavior, Forced relationship, Kidnapping mention, Secret picture taking, Violence, Torture mention.

I have a feeling both of them struggle with their darling.

They both have family problems.

Out of the two of them Scott would probably be the worst.

Scott's manipulative, sadistic, delusional, and obsessive.

Michael's obsessive, delusional, and apathetic towards what he does for his darling.

Their yandere types don't really conflict as they behave so different.

They'd both be clingy somewhat as they like to essentially use their darling to forget about what they have going on in life.

Scott's sadism comes mostly from what Cartman's done to him.

Scott probably would not be sadistic towards his darling.

It's mostly a revenge/rival thing.

Out of both of them I'd also say Scott's the most unstable.

Although Michael can be bad too as he doesn't care what he has to do to have his darling.

So while Scott is outwardly insane... with Michael you never know.

The two yanderes are obsessive and do stalk.

Both of them take secret photos of you to look at later.

Both of them would murder but treat it differently.

Scott likes to sadistically torture his rivals both physically and psychologically before killing them.

Michael does it like it's a chore, he takes no pleasure in it and just sees it as necessary.

Michael doesn't like Scott and honestly tries to ignore him.

Scott isn't willing to trust Michael around you and often antagonizes him.

Scott would be eerily similar to Cartman in behavior.

Although while Cartman is self-absorbed, Scott actually cares for his darling.

Michael also cares for his darling but struggles to show it.

Michael can only ignore Scott for so long before he finally starts to get on his nerves.

Michael does have a temper and may snap at Scott if he sees you around him so often.

While Michael dislikes fighting as it's a hassle he won't mind if it means he can push Scott away from you.

If they did fight they're both determined to kill at some point.

The way they try to get your attention is different.

Michael's is slower due to his lack of confidence.

Scott's faster and more overwhelming, he's determined to win you over.

Michael often complains about Scott to you.

Scott often tries to frame Michael and make you hate him.

Both yanderes could kidnap but would also treat it differently.

Michael is more casual about it.

It's as though you are both just hanging out... but the door's locked.

Scott makes it a big deal.

He does up a room for you and tells you it's where you'll stay.

He makes his intentions obvious.

Your safest yandere is Michael.

But it would be better to just pack things up and leave South Park.

The two men often have bruises and scrapes from each other.

They'll have verbal fights and physical fights over you, often glaring at each other like angry cats.

At some point... only one of them will meet up with you.

If the rivalry goes on... soon only one will win.

Then you'll really have to watch yourself as there will be no more distractions when pursuing you.

#yandere south park #yandere aged up south park #yandere tall goth michael #yandere scott tenorman

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flowerakatsuka · 14 hours

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denki!kuroba has plagued my mind for the past 24 hours so it's time to drop their design & lore. ( bonus + more lore under the cut! )

( ya'll knew i had to find a way to shoehorn kurokara into this au SOMEHOW. )

while they don't meet during the events of six idol statues of taboo, kuroha does eventually get to meet chorosuke's recently reunited brothers afterwards. strangely enough, it seems that karatsugu knows who they are. kuroha's life before the accident was much like the one kuroba lives ; having attended college for horticulture and working at their grandfather's floral shop. karatsugu and kuroha had known each other for a long time, having become friends in high school and staying quite close into adulthood. because of this, he was absolutely devastated when they suddenly disappeared a year and a half ago while on the way to visit family in yokohama. there were no reports of any crashes or deaths, no missing people found, nothing. it was as if they were spirited away, never to be heard of again. upon learning this, kuroha is rather distraught. even though his face is so familiar to them, the past he recounts to them refuses to come back to them. something they had been keeping a secret from the others at the midorito estate was that they had begun to recollect some things, but what they remembered seemed more like strange dreams than any memories they should have. memories of traveling with mononoke, fighting in gang wars, fending off youkai, a life much like what karatsugu described but not exactly the same... and in all of those memories, the six same faces, so eerily similar yet unsettling different. the most prominent of them all being the faces just like karatsugu's. they aren't sure why these strange memories are all they can recall, perhaps they're finally losing it, but with the brothers' help, kuroha might be able to figure out the true meaning behind them and even remember their life in this universe along the way.

ALSO, a quick explanation of denki!kuroba's name!

( fair warning : my understanding of japanese is very rudimentary so i may have made some mistakes in my translation or how names are written. please let me know if that's the case and i'll correct anything i've gotten wrong! )

kuroba / クロバ -> kuroha / 黒葉 ( くろは )

kuroba's name is written in katakana while kuroha's is written in kanji ( with furigana written in hiragana. )

kuroba's first name comes from クローバー ( kurōbā ) meaning clover. when the dakuten from バ ( ba ) is removed, it becomes ハ ( ha. ) the equivalent of ハ in hiragana is は, which is used in the furigana for kuroha's name. the kanji used for kuroha is 黒 ( kuro ) meaning black and 葉 ( ha ) meaning leaf.

yotsubana / 四つ花 ( ヨツバナ ) -> shinigusa / 死に草 ( しにグサ )

yotsubana comes from 四つ葉 ( yotsuba ) meaning four-leaved, notably used in the japanese for four-leaved clover / 四つ葉のクローバー ( yotsuba no kurōbā. ) the kanji for ba in youtsuba is swapped for 花 ( hana, ) which can be read has bana like in the surname tachibana. as a result, their surname can be read as " four flowers. "

the 四 ( yo ) from yotsubana, which can also be read as shi, becomes 死 ( shi, ) meaning death. the adverbializer に ( ni ) replaces つ ( tsu. ) the kanji for hana is replaced with 花 ( kusa, ) which is lifted from a synonym for clover, 詰草 ( tsumekusa. ) kusa becomes gusa as an instance of rendaku. their surname can be roughly read as " dead(ly) grass. "

#I FINALLY FINISHED THIS YAY!!!#again sorry that the japanese is very rough and if anything is incorrect!!#i may have gone a little overboard with the.... everything but whatever #this is a fun au to think about oh my god #it's also not the only drama-filled kuroba au fair warning #kara really can't catch a break when it comes to his relationship w/ kuro in most of them #getting dumped bc he went to jail... forced into an arranged marriage bc he has the hots for the royal gardener...#and now he's the one who got to deal with the turmoil of not being remembered. oh how the the turntables #i really should share more content of them in the default universe.... but also aus are too fun not to think about #since denki mystery has connections to other hesokuri aus i thought it'd be interesting to incorporate that into what kuro's got going on #one last thing : kara's hair in this au is hard as fuck to draw #i like how he looks with slicked back hair tho it looks good on him #osomatsu-san #osmt #osomatsu-san oc #osomatsu oc #denki mystery #karamatsu #mj ocs #oc : kuroba #ship : kurokara #au : denki mystery #mj draws #scheduling this bc once again it's ass o' clock when i'm writing this

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antianakin · 3 months

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I recently saw a post talking about how Filoni likes to steal/copy other ideas in his work and was wondering if you know of any examples? I can see how Kanan from Rebels could be based off of Rahm Kota from the Starkiller game, but I can’t think of any others.

I don't. This feels like it requires WAY more knowledge of Legends stuff than I am ever interested in having.

However, Lucas himself did a lot of incorporating visuals and thematic elements from other films into his own work, some as intentional homages to films he loved, and some as ways to sort-of subtly say something about his story by inviting the comparison to the other film. So I don't know that Filoni doing something similar is all that nefarious.

Lucas also took PLENTY of stuff from Legends works and incorporated it into his own when he liked it, and not always without making changes to it so it fit into the story HE was trying to tell. Coruscant as the name of the capital planet of the Republic came from Legends, Quinlan Vos as an actual character came from Legends, and Mandalorians in TCW were obviously brought in from Legends. I'm sure there are MYRIAD other examples, but these were the three that came to mind immediately.

If we aren't going to condemn Lucas for doing stuff like that, it seems somewhat unfair to condemn Filoni for doing anything similar.

I'd also point out that often if you see similarities between characters, it's because there's only so many character archetypes. People have also complained that Reva Sevander was just stealing from Jedi: Fallen Order's Trilla Suduri. I saw people complaining that Shin Hati is clearly just a variation of Mara Jade. But I do not personally find any of these characters to be all that similar at all. Just because similarities exist does not inherently mean that they're the same character under a different name, especially because two characters that might seem eerily similar to one person might feel entirely distinct to someone else. Without the characters sharing literally the exact same name and background, I'm not sure it could adequately been considered "stealing" so much as "inspired by" which isn't exactly a crime or an indication of bad writing.

There's plenty of reasons to condemn Filoni for what he chooses to put into his work already, I don't know that this is one of them, though. At least, not for me.

#star wars #george lucas #dave filoni

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the-demons-writings · 8 months

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I really liked your Empires S1 Scott x child reader. Are you thinking of doing a part 3?

Just for you Pt3

Empires S1 Scott x Dsmp Child dragon reader .

Sorry it's truly been so long! I hope you all also enjoy the new immage

[Pt1] || [Pt2] || [Pt3]

The next morning you're nothing but tired and moving slow. However you're warm and comfortable.

As you glance up at the windows and look through to see snow piled against them. Taking a slower look around the room you notice a chair and two pairs of clothes left for you along with a towel and small array of soaps and healthcare products .

With regret as the colder air hits you , you get up dragging the smaller comforter along. Slowly you walk up to the chair and take the outfits into your arms along with the care products and towel. Thinking about it you probably do need to be clean seeing as you didn't exactly clean yourself of the night or day before. Cautiously you peak your head outside of the room looking about only to be greeted by someone who isn't Scott.

Looking up at him he's tall, has plenty of fish features and almost reminds you of Sally had he not been a different fish. His clothes are nothing like Scott's, his are run down patchy and mud colored. At his hips draping down over his baggy pants are fishnets and on top of his head he's wearing something that kinda looks like a large fish, not to mention he's covered in slime.

You start to shrink away but you aren't sneaky or fast enough as he spots you and drops to your height with a smile. "Hey, Y/N right? Do you need any help?" He offers. He's surprisingly friendly compared to the tones you're used too outside of Scott this far.

However you nod though unsure if you're comfortable talking around him you simply offer you your soap in hopes he'll understand what you happen to be looking for.

He tilts his head in response wondering what you mean. "Is soap not good for you? Do you need a different bar? Hold on, I'll go ask Xornoth about dragon hygiene." He smiles , it's odd how excitable he is. Honestly it makes you nervous.

He leaves you in the hallway awkwardly clutching your things for a good few minutes before you hear him again, it's quieter and he's not directly talking to you either . Presumably he's talking to this Xornoth person he went to ask questions .

As he comes back it's with a person eerily similar to Scott if not for the violent shift in color palette. They hum offering their hand out. Instinctually you back up , frightened. The fishy boy whispers something to them that you don't quite catch. Immediately the Scott look alike drops to a knee with a sigh. They take the time to raise up a singular wing, built much like your own, only not as tattered. It's still ruined in its own ways though. The outfit he wears has cuts for both of their wings however where the other should be you can see scarring so you can presume there was another wing at some point.

There's a moment of silence between everyone before they speak. "Y/n, may I see the soap so I can assure it's good for you , Jimmy told me you seem to be having issues." Their tone isn't as friendly as Scotts however it's soft and has a light distortion to it .

You hesitantly offer out all your items including the soap and your Scott look alike, who you think is named Xornoth is quick to bring their palm to their face. "Jimmy, they're new here, they're probably looking for the bathroom so they can get clean.". They sigh heavily, glancing over at you and gesturing for you to follow them. "C'mon Y/n, I'll show you where the bathroom is"

Soon you're lead to the bathroom and left to do your business, it wasn't all that far from your room. You feel a little ashamed needing to ask for help but once you get there you wave to Xornoth honestly quite thankful that he was at least somewhat nice about it.

You took a nice warm shower and soon got dressed . As you excited the bathroom you decided you'd explore some. Immediately you were greeted with a large open area. Looking around you spotted Scott. Scott seemed to be talking to Jimmy. You made your way up silently standing there for a moment before Scott spoke.

"Hey Y/n how are you feeling? Are you ready to eat?" He asks, glancing at you smiling as he notices you're now clean and in a newer pair of .

You nodded slowly starting to follow behind, staying just at the end of his cape not wanting to be too far or too close. He lead you to the kitchen and gestures for you to sit , a smiles perched on his lips as he gestured to a plate.

Looking at it, it was clearly softer food. Though it also held more hard and filling food, thankfully before you started to eat, Scott did inform you that you didn't have to eat the whole thing , he just wanted to make sure you're okay and at least eating properly.

Soon Jimmy and Xornoth joined you both for breakfast. Xornoth poked and prodded at their food while Jimmy simply ate as much as he could. Scott was somewhere in the middle eating but not being picky about it whatsoever. As you ate you happened to get a cold chill, you quickly pulled to yourself a shaky breath.

Xornoth sighed, excused themselves and dropped their cape over you before leaving. Scott smirked at the action. It seems they can all agree that you're destined for something and that something certainly has to do with them.

"So, how long is the snow supposed to last?" You ask as you sip on some soup, the silence is somehow odd here , it's not like you hadn't experienced the silence much before when you lived with Dream but here it felt unnatural. You'd heard them all talk so much since meeting them.

Scott sighed as he went to speak but he was quickly interrupted by Jimmy "Well it'll definitely be a while, maybe a month or two, it is the begining of winter." He shrugs looking over at Scott as he sips his own cup of coffee.

You sigh looking down at your cup a little worried , what would you do in the meantime? You're already practically freezing with every step you take out of the room you've been allowed. "Is there anyway I could get something heavier to wear? I'm still freezing …"

Jimmy perked up nodding "I'll ask Xornoth what they use to isolate their clothes and I'll make you a couple new pairs!" He seemed very excited with the whole thought "though of course id only do this just for you , Scott's got thick skin from living out here all his life and Xornoth already has insulated clothes, so it really would be just for you!"

#x reader #x child reader #dragon #x dragon reader #dragon reader #minecraft #platonic #empires x child reader #empires x dragon reader

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triedpklove · 10 months

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Looking at similarities between Akira Kamewari and Roy Carmine

As I'm playing through XBlaze again trying to 100% the game as well as archive some other parts of the game, there's something I noticed about one of my favorite characters, Akira.

While there are plenty of similarities between characters in the games, this is one that I don't I've seen yet. That is, the comparisons between Akira and Roy/Arakune when looking at the bigger pictures of both characters.

On the surface, there isn't much to the comparisons. Akira is a sociable teenage boy who likes to game and read manga, whereas Roy is an adult scientist who spends his time doing research. However, I think where most of their similarities come in are when they are at their worst-- Akira while he was union infected, and Roy while he was seithr inflected.

The first thing I want to point out is their character crests (or, well... Arakune's in place of Roy's since... you know.)

While it's more obvious that Arakune's crest is a spider, it was pointed out to me about how Akira's also resembles a spider, which is what fueled this. Obviously, Arakune's whole thing is spiders-- from his namesake in Greek mythology's Arachne myth all the way to his moves and Astral Heat. However, Akira's crest looking like a spider isn't where these comparisons stop.

If you look at it, Hekatonkhieres could play into these comparisons if you reach just enough. The strings could allude to a spider motif along with his crest, even though the coloring of the strings and the fact they're strings in general is more of an allusion to the Red String of Fate mythos (especially since he became a Union for Hinata.) There's also the naming, and how his drive is also named after Greek mythology and the Greek giants Hecatonchieres. Like I said, it's a stretch, but it's still there.

There's a final comparison I want to look at, and it's their circumstances. They both share similarities, but at the same time end up diverging.

The two are both taken advantage at their lowest points, although you could argue that Terumi drew Roy into the Boundary for fun. However, you could also argue that Acht did just the same with Akira considering some of her comments briefly before turning Akira into a Union.

(Taken from her battle with Kuon in Episode 6.)

But back to my point, they both saw him at their lowest points and took advantage of that.

(From "Collisions.")

(From Episode 6.)

Both immediately after these scenes the two get what they want. Terumi causes Roy to jump into the boundary and Acht forces Akira to become a Union. Also notice they both say eerily similar things when they realize their course of action?

These two circumstances would lead into Akira becoming a Union and Roy becoming Arakune. Both done due to their weakened/worsened mental state, albeit for different motives.

It doesn't stop there-- They both have a search party set out for them to help them turn back to normal (Litchi quitting Sector Seven to look for Arakune to turn him back into Roy, Touya and gang dropping everything to find Akira to help him return to his normal self) and they both have their big fights with their loved one(s) in attempt to save them from what they've become. Although, you could say that Akira's ending is a much happier one as he gets to continue to live. (I've said my piece on what happens to Roy and my opinions on it in the past.)

That's all I really have to say on this for now, though. Just thought it was cool to point out since of the many comparisons I've seen in the past this one isn't one that's been pointed out.

#blazblue #xblaze #akira kamewari #lotte carmine #roy carmine

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 1 year

Text

Cold Comforts: Thaw

hello! would it be possible for you to write a fluffy sanders side fic with the creativitwins and janus just messing around in the Imagination? thank you! :) - tabaxi-power

I literally stalk your blog (in an affectionate way) your writing keeps me going and I reread your fics constantly. That said I’ve been especially enjoying the Roman angst but there can’t be rain without a little bit of sun. Could you write a fluff fic where Roman is working on a big project or idea and he encounters issues along the way but his famILY helps him through it in their own special ways and it all turns out fine? Totally not me projecting or anything… - anon

Read on Ao3 Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues

Pairings: darkside polycule

Word Count: 4954

"It'll always be ours, right?"

"Always."

"Slow down, Remus," Janus calls as a very determined Remus hauls him through the door of the Imagination, "you're going to tear my arm off!"

"You're a liar," Remus retorts, even though he slows down slightly, "I can't do that! Everyone says I'd need to be a car or a big piece of heavy magickery to pull your arm all the way off!"

"It's 'machinery.'"

"That's what I said."

Up ahead, they can already see another tiny figure waving excitedly. If they listen closely enough, they can hear the squeals and shrieks over the rolling hills.

"Re! Re! Come on, I wanna get started!"

"Ro!"

Janus ends up letting go of Remus's arm and watching the two sprint across the field to almost tackle each other into the grass. When he gets close enough to see they've completely ruined their clothes with grass stains and dirt, still grinning from ear to ear, he has to pry them apart before they start to roll all the way down the hills.

"Alright, you two," he says, doing his best impression of the older kids that sometimes have to look after Thomas, "what are we doing today?"

"Oh, oh! We should play the prince game again!"

Roman bounces to his feet and suddenly the ground shifts around them, grass turning to smooth marble as walls rise up out of nowhere. Before they can blink, they're standing in the grand hall of a magnificent castle, complete with tapestries hanging on the walls, two impressive thrones at one end, and a truly massive crystal chandelier hanging overhead. Little bits of light refract through the crystals, sending bits of rainbows scattered about the floor as Roman's clothes shift into a princely costume.

"Wait, but there can't be two princes!"

"Sure there can, why not?"

"But you're the prince. I don't wanna steal your idea."

"Oh." Roman deflates for a second, tapping the end of his—thankfully—wooden sword against the floor. "What other royal positions are there?"

"He could be King," Janus suggests, only for both brothers to go eerily still and stare at him, "or not! Or not, there are, um—"

"Oh, I know!" Remus quickly changes into an outfit similar to Roman's, except the colors are different. "I'll be the Duke!"

"Perfect!" Roman raises his sword. "And now we fight!"

Janus watches as the two of them clash their wooden swords together, running up and down the length of the hall, even jumping on top of the thrones at times. There seems to be some ongoing dialogue that he can't quite make out—well, he can make out Roman yelling words that are probably supposed to sound like Shakespearian English and Remus just keeps chanting fight, fight, fight, but they're having fun, so who cares?—and Remus seems to be leaning into playing the…bad guy?

"I'll have your throne," Remus jeers as he thrusts the sword forward, "and then you'll have to clean all the toilets in the castle!"

"Never!" Roman's cry echoes dramatically off the walls. "I'll never clean your toilet!"

"Yes you will!"

"No I won't!"

"Yes you will!"

"No I won't!"

Remus rears back to strike with the sword but Roman gets there first, swatting the sword out of his hand and shoving Remus to the floor. "Hah! I win!"

Janus applauds as Remus makes his death scene as dramatic as possible until Roman's giggling too hard to hold the sword up anymore. "Well, my dear prince, what now?"

"New game," Roman declares, throwing the sword away, "that one's done now."

"What about pirates?" Remus is already reaching for the discarded sword, running his fingers over the wood. "We haven't done pirates in a while."

"Okay, where?"

"On a pirate ship. Obviously."

Roman rolls his eyes in a way that would make most teachers proud and the castle around them fades until they're standing on the deck of a pirate ship. The sail unfurls behind them in a long susurrus of canvas as Remus grins from under his broad pirate hat and eye patch. Roman pokes at his leg a few times before Janus realizes he's trying to figure out how to turn it into a peg leg.

"Why don't you just try not bending it," he suggests when Remus starts holding his sword a little too enthusiastically, "then it's like it's made of wood?"

"That's a great idea!"

"Wait, wait, I wanna try too!"

And so what was probably meant to be some epic pirate adventure—and don't get him wrong, there are still mermaids and krakens and leviathans aplenty—turns into a strange mix of helping each other learn how to be pirates without bending one of their legs and talking about the increasingly bizarre ways they lost their legs in the first place.

"And so I was just about to pry the jaws of the beast off me," Remus declares, throwing his arms up, "when the teeth were all snap! And then my leg was gone!"

"Never fear," Roman says just as loudly, brandishing his sword—sorry, cutlass, "I will avenge the ruin of your leg!"

"How?"

"I will tell you when I figure that out!"

Janus laughs from his position up by the wheel, steering the ship through the swells of the open ocean. "Captains, we've got a whale up ahead!"

"A whale?"

"I wanna see!"

A great whale breaches right next to the ship, its massive body twisting through the air for long suspended seconds, before crashing back down and sending a wave to soak all of them. The brothers shriek with delight as they wring themselves out.

"New game," Remus declares.

"Last one, okay? We gotta go eat soon."

"Aww, that's no fun!" Remus pouts up at him. "Why can't we just stay in here forever?"

"Because then the rest of us would miss you. What if we want to come visit and we can't find you?"

Remus sulks for a moment before Roman nudges him. "You wanna go monster hunting?"

In hindsight, perhaps Janus should've been suspicious about how quickly that makes Remus perk up.

"How do you play that one?"

Both brothers turn to look at him and the Imagination changes once more, rock walls rising up and covering them as the air grows colder, staler, a dark cave taking shape around them. Janus looks around at the rock walls and at the two of them a few feet away, practically vibrating with energy.

Ah.

"Run, run, little morsels," he calls, letting his shadow loom menacingly on the floor, "I'm hungry!"

"Wait, what's a 'morsel?'"

"I think it means 'food.'"

"Oh."

"Run!"

It's difficult to chase them through the caves without seeing them, their squeals echoing off the walls until he can't quite tell where they're coming from. Eventually, though, they run through a bigger passage at the same time and, well, his legs are just that little bit longer.

"Gotcha!"

"No," Roman shrieks as he's tackled—gently!—to the floor, wriggling around like some wild thing, "no! Re! Avenge me!"

"I'll save you," tiny Remus declares, summoning a pillow and hitting Janus with it, "get off my brother, you slippery snake!"

"Never!"

Soon it's an all-out pillow fight that ends when both little gremlins decide to just fall on top of him holding their pillows in front, smushing him into the floor. He throws his arms up.

"I surrender! You've defeated me!"

"We won!"

"We beat the monster!"

They collapse giggling onto the floor two, half on top of each other in some strange tangle of limbs that makes sense to them. Janus picks himself up and dusts himself off as the cave fades, going back to the rolling grassy hills.

"Hey, Re?"

"Yeah?"

Roman's voice gets very soft and quiet. "Can we…do this forever?"

"Of course, Ro." Remus turns around and gives his brother a big hug. "We'll always be together. The Imagination's ours, remember? We're Creativity. No one gets to tell us what to do in here."

"It'll always be ours."

"Always."

----

As soon as the door to the Imagination shuts, Virgil lets go of Patton and Janus and reaches out to take Logan gently but firmly by the shoulder. "You've got some explaining to do, Logan."

"Wait, I have to—"

"They're not going to let anyone back in there for a while," Patton says, crossing his arms, "so we may as well go somewhere more comfortable to wait."

Logan sends one last glance at the door before allowing himself to be led to the living room. Everyone takes their places and he swallows the unexpected lump in his throat when he realizes the brothers won't be here to join them. He finds himself staring at the TV for much longer than he'd like to admit before Patton clears his throat.

"So," he says, voice low, "what is it that you want from me?"

"The truth, for a start." Janus waves a hand. "Perhaps why you chose to keep what you knew about the Split hidden for so long."

"And maybe why you let everyone believe it was me," Patton adds.

Logan frowns. "It was a logical conclusion. You are Morality, and thus you determine what is Right and Wrong—or what Thomas believes to be Right and Wrong, and so—"

"But Creativity wasn't Split into Right and Wrong," Virgil interjects, "it was Split into Bad and Not Bad. And Patton didn't—wait, did Patton get created because Creativity Split?"

"I don't know," Logan repeats, "I don't believe so."

"Oh, well, if you don't believe so—"

Irritation flares up in him and he glares at Janus. "You were also around, need I remind you, and so I don't think I should be the only one on the metaphorical chopping block for all that happened when Thomas was younger. You never told me why you left in the first place! For all we know, you could have something to do with Patton's genesis."

"Oh, and I certainly wouldn't be one to keep such a thing hidden," Janus retorts, sarcasm dripping from each word, "it's not as though I had direct contact with Creativity for an extended period of time or that the new Side that appeared was taken into my care without informing anyone else."

"Is that not what happened? You had Remus—"

"Exactly."

The sudden ice in Janus's tone is enough to make him falter. Janus takes a step forward, words hissing through his teeth.

"I found Remus out of nowhere. He was abandoned and alone on a rock in the middle of nowhere wrapped in a thin blanket. He was cold, Logan, and he was screaming for his other half. Do you know how long it took to assure him that he wasn't going to be left again? Do you have any idea how many nights I spent—we both spent—" he gestures to Virgil who nods— "just trying to keep his nightmares at bay?"

Logan glances between them and sees no reprieve from either.

"So yes, Logan," Janus continues, "I had Remus. I had a terrified and alone little Side who grew up thinking his brother hated him. Tell me, where in there does it seem like I had the ability to craft Morality?"

"He's right, Logan," Patton says softly, "I…I don't remember anything about him, Virgil or Remus until we were all much older. You…I just remember you and Roman."

Logan swallows and stares back at Janus. "I do not know what led to Patton's…creation as a Side. I don't know why it happened and that's the truth."

"J?"

"…he's not lying."

"Thank you," Logan sighs, "now if we could all just—"

"But you haven't answered my question."

"And what question was that?"

"Why didn't you tell anyone about the Split," Janus repeats, seemingly not daunted in the slightest, "and why you were happy to let everyone think it was Patton?"

"Who was I supposed to have told? You?" A humorless laugh leaves Logan's throat. "You were gone, Janus, you'd made it very clear that you didn't want to be around me anymore and the last thing I was about to do was seek you out for something like this."

"Why, because I didn't care about Creativity? He wasn't my friend too? I wasn't worth your time?"

"Because I was scared and a child! I didn't know what was going to happen! I didn't do it on purpose!"

"But you still did it! And you never told a single person!"

"If you are going to start lecturing me about keeping secrets, then—"

"Logan," Patton interrupts suddenly, "why do you think we're mad?"

"I assume because I caused the Split and didn't tell anyone about it, although I maintain there was no one to tell and I was a child who—"

"That's not why we're mad."

Logan stops. He blinks. "You're…not?"

"Oh, we're mad," Virgil says, "but not because you caused the Split when you were a kid and then didn't tell anyone 'cause you were a kid."

"Then why are you mad?"

"We're mad," Patton says in a voice that makes Logan's skin crawl, "because you've been using the fact that you know what caused the Split to hurt Roman and Remus as an adult."

Logan's mouth falls open. His gaze darts to Janus, to Virgil, back to Patton, and he still only manages to say: "what?"

"Remus was made because he wasn't wanted. Roman wasn't made, he was left, because he wasn't Remus. And you've been using those two things against them ever since."

"I haven't—"

"Don't lie," Janus interrupts, his voice hard, "you make Remus feel unwanted as a way to control him constantly. You claim he's unworthy of consideration, that his ideas are meaningless, that he's easily dismissed once you get to examine him. You don't want his ideas, and so it's easy to lump them all in as bad ideas. And if Roman isn't Remus, then he must be Good Ideas. If he's supposed to be everything Remus isn't, then he must be obedient. He must listen. He must be easy to control."

"Remus is the Creativity Logic didn't want," Patton continues, his voice slightly softer but no less pointed, "which means he's wild, unpredictable, he does things when he wants to, not when they make sense to do. With Roman…"

"Roman's your dancing monkey," Janus spits, disgust ringing in his voice, "he makes the ideas that are approved when you want them, how you want them. He's there for 0.5% of your day and then he's gone. And if he ever steps a toe out of line, you know exactly what buttons to push to make him behave again."

"Hang on," Virgil says, "we're not exactly blameless either. We're assholes to Princey too."

"But we don't have a convenient 'aim here to hurt Roman' guide we've been using for years."

"…that's true."

"Roman doesn't know what he can be except not-Remus," Patton finishes, "and if Remus is wrong…then Roman can't be wrong. That's—that's the Logic of it, right?"

Logan doesn't say a word. He's staring at the floor.

They're right.

He didn't tell anyone about the Split when they were younger because he didn't know any better, but there came a time when he did. When he realized what had happened and how profoundly it affected both Roman and Remus, and how much the memory of him talking to Creativity still impacted them.

And what did he do?

He didn't tell anyone.

He kept it a secret. Because he knew he could use it. He could ensure that things were running efficiently and Thomas would have all the ideas he wanted and none of the ones he didn't. He could make sure that Creativity would be easy to control and not impact them negatively at all.

He knew how to make Remus go away and so he did.

He knew how to keep Roman in line and so he did.

He knew how to hurt Creativity and so he did.

It doesn't matter that he was only a child when he caused the Split. It matters that he's not a child anymore and he's still causing the Split. He never stopped to think about whether what he was doing was right, because it was working. And if it was working, then something must be correct.

Guilt presses heavily onto the back of his tongue. He feels sick.

What's worse is he knows that somewhere, wherever it was, he knew it was wrong from the start. If it wasn't, why would he have been so willing to let everyone believe it was Patton's fault? If he had truly believed he was doing nothing wrong, that he was guiltless, then he would've corrected them. Or at the very least, said something when he realized how hurt the brothers truly were.

But he didn't.

And now…

As if on cue, the Mindscape shudders.

"What…what have I done?"

----

He knew.

He knew how afraid he was of being wrong. He knew how much it hurt to be dismissed. He knew how badly he wanted, just wanted and he lied.

How dare he?

How dare he stand there like he had anything to do with forgiveness, like he had any authority to act as though he was better, as though he could stand from some wronged, innocent, right place and bestow forgiveness?

When he was the one who'd done wrong, when he was the one who just hurt and hurt and hurt and it was wrong, it was wrong, it was wrong!

He'd been used. Been treated like a tool that misbehaves and breaks and is discarded. Been worked like a dog and thrown into the cold when his tricks weren't good enough. Been forced to dance exactly the right way and when he didn't…oh, when he didn't, he had open wounds all along his back for fingers to dig into.

No more.

The pain in his throat is an afterthought. Barely registers until he tries to swallow and realizes he can't swallow while he's screaming. The sound reaches his ears after miles and miles of faint ringing noises and even then he can't quite register that it's coming from him.

He screams and he screams and he screams because he's hurt and what else is he supposed to do?

He doesn't realize he's stopped either, not for a long while until he comes to realize that he's not standing up anymore. He's curled up on his side, his head pillowed in something soft. His throat is screaming still, but now only in pain. Somehow that's much louder.

"C'mon, Ro," he hears distantly, "open your eyes, Roro, please."

Remus. That's Remus.

"Roro? Roro, I know you can hear me, come on, eyes."

He opens his eyes.

Gone are the rolling hills of green grass. Gone are the remains of the tower. Gone is the bright blue sky.

In its place is nothing but scorched earth. Soot and ash fall from a grey sky, lifeless and crumbling against blackened dirt and cracked rock. His white prince costume streaks with grey, the red across his chest a gaping and infected slash. He blinks numbly as Remus's hands come into view. They're covered in ash too.

"It's gone," Remus is saying, "it's all gone. We did it. It's ours again. It's all ours."

Roman turns to look up at Remus and he swallows through his ruined throat. Remus just stares down at him as tears well in both of their eyes. A trembling hand touches another and shaking arms find their ways about shaking shoulders.

"He hurt you," Roman mumbles, voice strangled, "he hurt you."

"He hurt you too."

"I—I don't know how to not be hurt."

"I don't think I do either."

Ash continues to fall from the sky. The two curl around each other in the ruins of what was once a perfect world.

"We get to start over now," Roman mumbles, "we can—we can make it ours again."

"Don't leave me."

"Never."

"I want you, Roro, I always want you."

"Promise?"

"Always."

----

Sometime later, a lone door shimmers into the ash-filled air.

It opens slowly and the figure on the other side gasps at the destruction. His eyes land on the two Sides of Creativity, still huddled around each other in the middle of the ash.

He steps through the door but doesn't approach.

They stir as one, realizing someone else is in their domain. They stand as one, their arms slightly in front of each other, each protecting, each protected. In the ash, their costumes look the same shade of grey.

"I came to apologize," he croaks, overwhelmed at how much this place has been ruined, "I…I never meant to cause the Split. I never meant to force the two of you away into different bodies."

He adjusts his glasses.

"And…and I came to apologize for never telling you the truth. And for using what I knew to hurt you over and over again. It was petty and cruel and wrong of me to do and I—I'm sorry."

One of the brothers twitches.

"I want you both," he says, desperation leaking into his voice, "you're both—you're both wanted."

"Is it us you want," they say as one, "or just what we Create?"

"I want the singing at two in the morning even though I should be sleeping," he says as he stumbles forward, "I want the you that throws viscera at the wall because you like the way it splatters. I want the you that takes an hour to pick out what notebook you want because you're particular about what you write in. I want the you that watches horror clips until you figure out how to feed your Kraken."

He reaches the two of them and stops, hands trembling as he reaches out for them.

"I want you," he whispers as the ash falls down around them, "I don't want you because you're Creativity, I want Creativity because it's you."

For a long moment, neither brother moves. Then slowly one steps in front of the other.

"You promise," he asks, wary of getting too far away from his brother, "you won't hurt us anymore? Even if we want something you don't?"

"I promise," he says, "I promise. It's okay to want."

The one in front of him stares for another moment, before slowly, he reaches out too. "L-Logan?"

"Oh, little one," Logan breathes as Roman crashes into him, "my little one, it's okay. It's okay, now. I promise. No more. No more."

He reaches out for the other.

"Remus, come here. Please, Remus, let me hold you."

"…you want me too?"

"Yes. Yes, I want you, Remus, come here. Come here."

The last of the ash drifts down to the earth, leaving the world still and silent. A few paces away, just beyond the door, a single sprig of green emerges and reaches toward the sky.

----

Roman sits on the couch. His hands play with the hem of his sleeves. He needs to fix it.

Virgil just left. They'd sat together for a while, listening to music and keeping Roman out of his head. He'd said it was fine if he stayed longer, but Roman had sent him away.

"It's gonna be fine, Princey," he'd said—he always calls him Princey affectionately now—"you're gonna be okay. And if not, I'll kick his ass."

Janus had come by too. Helped to talk through everything and assured him that it would be okay. Even pulled him up and made him dance a little just to try moving around, see if that helped.

"You're going to be fine, my prince," he'd whispered when Roman couldn't quite bring himself to pull away, "it's going to be alright."

Even Patton had come by, not saying a word, just cuddling with him until Roman could lift his head up without being afraid.

"I've got you, sweetheart. We're all here for you, okay? Both of you."

He'd held onto Remus extra tight too.

"Just us, okay? Just us. Always."

Always.

It's been the same for a while now. Logan would ask what Roman had done to be productive that day, Roman would list them. It was simple, effective, and helped both of them realize the appearance of laziness did not always signify inaction. And it kept them both talking about what needed to get done and what they wanted to get done.

Typically, Roman was able to list at least one productive thing per day. Whether it had to do with the videos, or personal projects, or even helping someone else out with theirs. By and large, it had been easy to give at least one thing that would make Logan nod.

That isn't to say Logan's been unkind, no. He's been—he's been good. It's Roman's own fault he's still so afraid.

And to make matters worse, he knows he can talk to Logan. He could say that this isn't working for him, or that he's still scared, or that he just needs to not some days.

All things he could say.

Which brings him to now. Today had been hard. He'd struggled to make it past the grey fuzz in his head to get out of bed, only to choke down breakfast that tasted like nothing. For better or worse, he'd done everything he needed to do yesterday, or the day before, which meant he had even less motivation than normal to make his brain work.

He hadn't been able to do so much as make his bed, let alone work on the project.

He curls up tighter on the couch. Logan would be downstairs soon. Logan who wakes up and does things all day and then still has time to sit down and do this with him. Logan who would learn how unproductive he had been today and be so, so disappointed.

"Roman?"

He looks up. Logan comes down the stairs. "Hi."

"Hello. Are you hungry?"

"N-not really. Why, are you making dinner tonight? Do you want help?"

"Not at the moment, no." Roman watches as he gets himself situated, dread swirling in the pit of his stomach as he tries to remember the words from everyone else. He briefly wonders if it's too late to feign sickness. "Alright, I'm almost ready."

The moment comes when Logan sits down and pulls out a notebook.

"Now, then. What have you done today?"

Roman bites his lip and stares at the floor. He can't do it. He can't do this. He can't. He can feel his face burning and his eyes getting heavy with tears and he can't do this.

"Did you hear me?"

He takes a far-too-shaky breath and mumbles something.

"A little louder?"

"Nothing," he chokes out, "I—I didn't do anything."

The silence that follows feels like the slow rise of the executioner's blade. He bites his lip harder, trying not to sniffle. He can't stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks but he can be quiet.

"Did you get out of bed?"

"What?"

"Did you get out of bed?"

"…yeah."

"Did you eat breakfast?"

"N-not a lot."

"What about lunch?" He nods. "And we've yet to decide about dinner…alright, did you finish any more of those series that you said make you feel better?"

Roman nods again, shame morphing into confusion as Logan finishes writing something down. He keeps asking things like how much water did you drink, and did you get any more rest, things that…aren't productive. When he finishes, he runs the pen down the list, counting each one.

"That's twelve things," he says, tearing the page out and setting the notebook aside, "I'd say that's pretty productive."

He looks over and sees the tears streaming down Roman's face and his demeanor shifts, standing and coming to wrap his arms around Roman's shoulders.

"Hey," he says softly, "talk to me. What's the matter?"

"I don't—I don't—" he sniffles— "I don't understand."

"You took care of yourself," Logan says gently, "that's being productive too."

"You were gonna be mad…mad 'nd dis'ppointed that I didn't do anything."

"Oh, little one," Logan whispers, pulling him into a proper cuddle, "I'm always proud of you. It's okay."

"R-really?"

"Really." A kiss, pressed to his forehead as Logan tucks him under his chin. "It's alright, little one. You're okay."

"Oh, thank god, I thought we were gonna have to murder you."

Remus—and the others—appear out of nowhere and Logan grunts when Remus tackles them both onto the couch.

"I told you it was gonna be okay, Roro."

"I know."

"Come on," Patton says, "let's all get ready for movie night, okay? We'll just have pizza for dinner."

"Oh, hell yes," Virgil cheers, helping Logan coax Roman to the floor, "I've been craving pizza for ages."

Roman just blinks as the others get settled, Logan's arms still firmly around him as Janus turns out the lights.

"Can—can I go to sleep?"

"If you want to, little one, go ahead. I'll stay."

"You will?"

Logan smiles, ruffling his hair gently. "I'm right where I want to be."

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#sanders sides #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #deceit sanders #janus sanders #sympathetic deceit #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #fic #dragonbabbles

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alarrylarrie · 1 year

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for me, 'you were the love of my life' is directed at Louis. It is a break up song. Harry is emotional singing it at his shows. It's not about missing England. If he missed England that much he would spend more time there but he doesn't. Late night talking and cinema are about a new relationship. As for FITF, I see very little domesticity on there. It's mostly about Louis' friends and doncaster, definitely with some Harry undertones but that suggest a break up. Fine Line and Walls were break up albums. Nowadays they're hardly in the same continent. Louis literally spent Valentine's Day in LA setting up a stunt with his beard. He was in LA for The Brits. He was with his beard for The Grammys. He was in LA for Harry's birthday. Like what is it that makes you think they're together? Because they bluegreen?

Couple quick things. Here on my blog, I refer to their closet relationships by their first names. So yes, Louis was with Sofie on Valentine’s Day.

Secondly, and I mean this as gently as possible, but it sounds like your mind is good and well made up love. You’re stating a lot as fact here, some things that we clearly have opposite points of view on? And that’s fine! I’m just not sure what the opinion of a lonely old maid like me will do?

Anyway. You asked me why I think they’re still together. And no, it’s not bluegreening, though I think it would almost be funnier if ALL of that stuff just happened to be coincidence. But for me it’s more like… their original tour schedules being almost surgically precise with times around the world where they both had breaks and were in the same spots (or very close, you get the idea) their upcoming Asia leg is like that now. It’s both of them having a friend that they talk about in interviews, often this “friend” says things that sound eerily similar to the other one. It’s Our Mr. Styles. It’s their same friends and intertwined lives that I haven’t seen suggestions of them untangling. It’s no tattoo removals, but no new big pieces either. It’s song lyrics of which we clearly have different interpretations.

Mostly, my dear, I’m not here to convince anyone. If you think they broke up forever, that’s cool! But I don’t. So we’ll have to just agree to disagree, wish each other well, and go on merry ways. (This is me wishing you well, anon) Thanks for stopping by! I hope you have a good day!

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happysadyoyo · 1 year

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Hey I think you were a person I've seen dissect Serano's work pointing out the negative things said about trans mascs. I came across this post and while this quote seems positive toward trans mascs, stuff earlier in the article don't seem great but I'm worried I'm just hanging onto biases from her earlier work. Do you have thoughts?

https://at.tumblr.com/asterosian/704465315608870913/k1dj12qys9u7

Oof okay I have to admit I'm very biased against her, so reading this will be a challenge (also thanks, I think this is the kick I need to get back to reading Whipping Girl, knowing she's got another book out that may pertain to trans masculinity).

I'm gonna pull out some quotes from her article I feel pertinent to touch on, whether in agreement or not. This is gonna be long.

tl;dr She's still minimizing trans masculine issues, throwing AFAB folks under the bus, utilizing POC for her own end when she can, and is a hypocrite within the same page. And nonbinary folk don't exist.

So yeah, the coat of paint is new, but it doesn't really feel like her attitude towards nonbinary and masculine people have changed. And she tries to relabel rad fems as cultural fems. Which... no. Cultural feminism afaik has a totally different connotation now with lib fem than whatever it was in the 80's.

Some of the insights that I uncover in Sexed Up are pertinent to the aforementioned “perpetually male privileged” claims levied against trans women. In addition, they also shed light onto why bisexual women are analogously dismissed as “perpetually heterosexual privileged” in some of these same settings.

But men aren't also dismissed as heterosexually privileged if they're bi/pan/aro/ace? This is speculative, but I do thing that there are probably a lot more bisexual men out there who don't know because they've been taught to reject their attraction towards men their entire lives... not unlike how women are taught the same but women are also more encouraged to be in touch with their emotions. Men aren't.

This is a nitpick admittedly. Of course she's gonna focus on women, like how I focus on men. But idk, if I was actually writing for a general audience, I'd want to be as even-handed as possible.

I will also consider how said purity politics underlie recent debates between trans female/feminine and trans male/masculine communities.

Color me unexcited.

In Sexed Up, I discuss all these various forms of sexualization in depth and detail how they play out with regards to specific marginalized groups (e.g., people of color, people with disabilities, and LGBTQIA+ people, amongst others).

I'm highlighting this mostly because of my experience with Whipping Girl is ringing eerily similar to this article. Mainly in that Serano likes to reference work I don't have access to and just assumes she is right.

I'm thinking specifically on her assertations on Navajo gender identities and saying they are trans feminine actually (or something similar) and her source was like... another college educated white person who just so happened to be a dude. It's why I want to eventually go through my notes and read all her sources and do an annotated version of her book.

I just really don't trust her with identities outside of her own is what I'm saying. Maybe she's changed, but I don't have access to her new book atm, just this article (sorry I might read her other article she linked at the top later but not right now).

As an example, falsely smearing a marginalized individual as a “slut,” or “pervert,” or “faggot,” or “predator,” or “groomer” typically has little to do with finding them attractive and/or wanting to use them sexually, but has everything to do with invoking sexual stigma in order to defame, humiliate, or ostracize them.

I don't disagree with this bit. Though I'd throw off the word little because we can't know what's going on in someone's mind. It can be a complex mixture of it all in a gross, confusing slurry of unexpressed emotion.

This imagined “sexual corruption” is especially acute for minority women: If a billboard ad featured a white, cisgender, thin, able-bodied woman wearing a sexy outfit, many passersby wouldn’t even notice it, but if the model were Black, or transgender, or fat, or disabled, or some combination thereof, it might strike them as “sexually inappropriate.”

A really more straightforward example would've been porn stars. Actresses (esp white actresses) who have fucked black men tend to have lower prices attached to their work afterwards. I wish I remembered where I read that so I could link to it, but it's been awhile. And for me I think it makes sense logically. She's "corrupted" herself with another race or w/e. Stupid blatant racism but a very obvious example.

Even more obvious: the amount of women who get devalued for having an only fans and how their SO's are treated.

And if a person intentionally hurts or humiliates another person, we often call them a “dick.”

What does this have to do with penises being imbued with metaphysical powers in society?

While penises, and those who are attached to them, are not stigmatized themselves, they do seem to possess the ability to impart sexual stigma upon others. [Sexed Up, p. 164]

Once again, Serano cuts her own nose to spite her face. She tries to be even-handed while focusing on women, but as soon as she quotes her own work (hence the italics) we can see her laying down the blanket statement again.

Men are stigmatized for having sex. It's just not in the same way women are. And it's different depending on the specific sub-culture you're in. Sub-culture specifically because Serano, despite her claims otherwise, I will not believe is capable of looking past the US. That's my bias.

While a significant number of women commit acts of sexual violence, people tend to view these incidents as less serious and less harmful than similar acts committed by men — this is likely due to the imagined “lack of penis” required to initiate sex and to bestow sexual stigma upon the victim.

Oh good, I was worried she wouldn't talk about women committing acts of sexual violence.

For starters, gender and sexual minorities are often viewed as “sexually deviant” or “sexually deceptive” for our failure to comply with Predator/Prey’s roles and rules. As a result, people may view us as “marked by sex” — imbued with sexual stigma that others may fear they might “catch” from us, potentially being “turned queer” themselves in the process.

I don't disagree again. It's a bit thing, and I think part of that fear in some people is actually repressed sexual or romantic or gender specific identities. It's scary to be confronted with something you thought was a fact but might not be... and for a lot of those people, if they soul searched they'd find themselves happy with their identity as it is.

Anyway a good recent example of what Serano is talking about here is ROGD --- rapid onset gender dysphoria. The thing that people claim is turning all the girls trans.

It also explains why so-called “lesbian porn” made by and for straight men is not considered threatening. This genre typically portrays two women kissing and fondling one another, but the “real sex” doesn’t start until the male protagonist shows up (with his penis) to pronounce “can I join you ladies?”

What the fuck porn are you watching Serano? When I look up lesbian porn, the only dicks involved are strap ons. And this isn't like. Specialty stuff. It's fucking free on pornhub and xnxx.

I realize I'm outing where I watch porn here but whatever. One day I can afford to pay decently.

Okay then there's some talk about how for bi men they're seen as gay and bi women as straight (nb/agender people not invited), some gold star lesbianism and how penises are seen as corrupting. Glad she's pointing out the penis hatred in lesbian circles (rad fems called out? nice).

Hm then something about how bi women in relationships with other women are uniquely targeted with heterosexual privilege which just doesn't smell right to me but I can't put my finger on why.

when people start wielding terms like “privilege” (or “socialization”) in non-nuanced ways — and especially when they frame these as perpetual statuses that are impervious to change — the concern they are raising has little (if anything) to do with actual oppression or marginalization.

Really Serano? Where's the "doubt" meme because

Go read the full thing here; it's infuriating. Basically, she's saying the rise in the use of TME/TMA as rigid labels is because trans male and masculine folks are upset that they're so overlooked and are pushing back on the fact trans women actually get highlight even in issues that uniquely affect us (the amount of times I heard people complaining trans women don't need ObGyn visits so why are we trying to bring up trans people...)

Also the bs that AFAB trans people highlighting the F in their AGAB means that trans women must also highlight the M in their AGAB... like Serano if that was true and we need to coin flip this bitch all the time, well, why do your adherents hate the term transandrophobia so much?*

*this is actually a lot more nuanced and if prompted, I'll go into a deeper dive on why one group trying to emphasize their marginalized status a certain way doesn't mean the coin flip group has to mimic their behavior in any way but not right now. But if you want to hear my thoughts, I beg you, send me an ask. I'll Go Off.

And in my experience, lesbians who are suspicious of trans women are usually suspicious of bi+ women as well, and vice versa.

Name. Them. They're rad fems Serano. It won't hurt you to admit it.

Okay, she goes on a thing about cultural feminism. I'll bookmark that to read later I think. It's already 1:30. I've spent 30 minutes reading and responding after spending an hour trying to dethaw my lock to get inside after work.

Most radical feminists were careful to identify the male role rather than maleness as the problem.

This is a quote pulled from the article Serano links about cultural feminism. I hate to tell Serano this (I don't) but this... things have fucking changed since the 1980's. Radical feminists now very much blame men for the problem, not just their maleness. That's why there's so much overlap with TERFS! They're literally rad ems!!!

Serano then goes on to talk about how they call themselves radical feminists and thus TERFs and it's like... what distinction are you trying to make here? This is worthless except to make me angry!

Cultural feminists sometimes collaborate with social conservatives and the far-right on certain issues — most notably, their anti-trans, anti-pornography, and anti-sex-work positions.

I don't understand her resistance to calling them radfems. They are radical feminists. Even if in the 1980's it was something different, it's been 40 fucking years. We didn't have smartphones or accessible cellphones back in the 80's. Get with the fucking program.

Blah blah stuff we already recognize about how radfems see trans women as inherently predatory and dangerous because they got penises. Nobody I know argues against that.

Okay yes, here we are talking about trans men.

Cultural feminist views of trans male/masculine people are more complex and varied.

Yep, this is why we should have our own word, to better discuss these complexities separate from mere misogyny or transmisogyny. There's an inherent overlap with being once seen as a woman/girl and "choosing" to become more masculine, whether you're actually nonbinary or fully male.

Gender traitors, lesbians escaping the patriarchy, groomed by TRAs. Check, check, check. Irreversible Damage, oh that's an easy ---

And who is supposedly doing this “seducing”? Trans female/feminine people, of course.

Do you here the tires of my brain screeching? I'm shocked my ears aren't bleeding. They actually popped. Just. Holy shit, the presumption.

What about ROGD Serano? The thing Irreversible Damage is about? The thing that "spreads" across "girl" groups? "AFAB" groups? Where are the trans women in this Serano? Do you want my ears to pop?

Okay, okay, five minutes and I've calmed down. I'll let Serano finish.

Another “gender critical” author, Kathleen Stock, has remarked that, “The autogynephilia tail is wagging the puberty-blocking dog,” adding that, “many of the loudest (partly because male) voices policing critical discussion of the treatment of ‘trans’ kids barely disguise their autogynephilia.”

Oh, so one other TERF author blamed it on the trans women. So because of that, you ignored other sources talking about it spreading across "girl" groups. As in AFAB. As in not trans women. Okay. My jaw does not hurt from clenching right now.

In their imaginations, “transgender” is a “sexually deviant and predatory man,” and “children” are conceptualized as safe, pure, and vulnerable “girls” who are in danger of being “corrupted” by a “male-borne” sexual “contagion.” It’s Predator/Prey thinking writ large.

Yeah, I wonder why the general public only think trans women exist (general public, not the public with young trans people coming out as their sons or daughters). It doesn't have anything to do with your hyper-visibility that trans men were complaining about and you defended those trying to shut them up with TME labels despite it going against what you wrote in this very article???

Here’s another way of framing this “gender critical”/cultural feminist perspective: Trans female/feminine people are viewed as inherently “contaminating” (we “corrupt” those we come into contact with), whereas trans male/masculine people are viewed as merely “contaminated” (i.e., they’ve been “corrupted” by someone else). As a result, the latter may be “redeemable,” at least to some extent or in certain cases.

The emphasis (bold) is mine.

And here's the crux of my issue with Serano. She absolutely refuses to let go of the idea that trans women are not the most oppressed actually and there's a lot of give and take where sometimes trans women as a group might come out on top. Not that it matters in the long run because it all washes out compared to the cis world around us but she won't even entertain the idea. She has to make sure that we know that trans men and masculine people (in her view, AFAB people) aren't as oppressed as trans women/feminine people (in her view, AMAB people). And her putting masculine/male doesn't erase her total lack of a nonbinary perspective.

Cultural feminists also tend to view trans male/masculine people as relatively “safe” given that they are supposedly “innately female” and “lacking” the organ that imparts sexual stigma (and perpetrates sexual violence) upon other people.

This went with the above quote. I'm just pulling it out to show how she treats transandrophobia like its a good thing/privilege (but god forbid trans men act like trans women's visibility is a privilege because there's so many drawbacks---yeah like there is for being seen as "safe").

On the trans male/masculine spectrum, there can be a similar temptation to appease cultural feminists’ notions of “purity” and “safeness.”

She also looks down on trans women who emphasize their post op status btw. She just really does not like hyper feminine trans women (see my videos where she complains about movies with hyper femme trans women), and she does not like trans men not entirely divorcing themselves from their AGAB. How dare we I guess?

Sorry that I was born and raised a girl and I still see my younger self as a girl. I'm not you Serano. I'm not going to act like my growth as a trans person is a model for everyone else and thus invalidate all nonbinary identities.

Whether intentional or not, these sorts of appeals tend to reinforce the idea that AMAB people (such as trans women and trans femmes) are indeed “dangerous” and should be excluded.

Talking about trans men "playing up the F in AFAB" to access women spaces. Please someone send me an ask about this specifically so I have an excuse to go off tomorrow after work.

At the start of this essay, I brought up “recent debates between trans female/feminine and trans male/masculine communities.”

Okay awesome I'm ready. I'm not reading the linked article tonight, maybe I will if asked, but for now it's 2 AM.

So suffice it to say that some of the disagreements I’ve seen seem to stem from this imagined AFAB “vulnerability” and “safeness,” and imagined AMAB “contamination” and “dangerousness.”

Emphasis (bold) mine.

Imagined vulnerability.

Serano making me throw up in my mouth at 2 AM.

And as usual, it’s the supposedly “contaminated” group (in this case, trans female/feminine people) who gets accused of being “oppressive” in some way or other.

Sure am glad that she chose not to go into specifics! Give us concrete examples please!

On more than one occasion, I have seen trans male/masculine people of color point out that this notion of “inherent AFAB safeness” is not generally extended to them.

But, notably, not the vulnerability. Just want to point that out. Trans MOC are just as vulnerable if not more so by fact of being men of color. White women hold so much power over them in public spaces.

It should be clear by this point that we must purge these cultural radical feminist frameworks from our minds.

Fixed that for you. Stop trying to label them something new.

When you embrace the fact that the world sees you as “dirty” and “contaminated,” you make different art, and you gravitate toward different forms of activism.

I'm still not following links outside the article, but I don't disagree with this statement. You'll be seeing some of my own work related to this later next year.

'Being a freak] made me suspicious of appeals to “purity” and “safety” (after all, what feels “safe” to some people may in fact be “dangerous” to others).

Would it surprise you Serano I have trouble feeling safe around women?

She also stops on the different art after talking about how in your face her poetry used to be. This is something else I really want someone to send me an ask about. I'm begging you.

#julia serano

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