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euthanizememommy · 5 months

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As a neurodivergent poc, is it just me, or do some nd/autistic grievances about neurotypicals sound entitled? I don't like neurotypicals as much as the next guy but some posts I see I can't help but to *stare in neurodivergent black person.* And it's not the ones that are just venting abt nt experiences it's the ones that talk about nts communication style as if it's unnecessary and for no reason or ones like "why do they ask "can you blank" instead of "do blank" why can't they just communicate clearly." Like we wall haven't heard of men killing women for a direct 'no.' or acting like If nt person did directly give them a direct instruction their PDA wouldn't kick in. Like, most likely, you actually wouldn't like if the nt person above you just communicated clearly and directly. And reading these as a nd poc, I can't help but read these as incredibly entitled. How is a nt person going to know how nds communicate or how best to say things to have nds understand when we also have contradictions on our communication style like I exemplified above. And before some of you argue "well we have to mask and speak like them why can't they do the same" because that's not how ableism works, they literally do not have to. Their life doesn't depend on nds understanding of them.

And I think it's also the rejection and dismissal of the communication style that give me the feeling of entitlement as a POC. Things like "I can't read their minds" or "I shouldn't have to dissect what they say to understand" okay? And I shouldn't have to filter everything I do to be "palatable" to be perceived as a human being to not just white people but everyone including other nd people. But they don't call this world racist and ableist for no reason so i mask as both a neurotypical AND "palatable" BECAUSE I HAVE TO. I WAS FORCED TO LEARN THROUGH YEARS OF NEGATIVE REINFORCEMENT. Being misunderstood as a ND while black can get me killed. In a perfect world we wouldn't have to, we don't and yes you should definitely practice trying to read their minds for you're own safety and efficiency through society. If you don't think you have to, great, I love that for you.

Like there's this idea its absolutely impossible for nds to understand nts communication style while also being known for pattern recognition. And I included that I have to mask as racially palatable for nds too bc I had an autistic yt coworker almost call the cops on a black guy just sitting in our restaurant bc they felt threatened(it turned out to be another coworker). Racism is one of the social constructs I thought we we weren't suppose to understand guys! I just simply cannot buy that we have pattern recognition, but the link to nts aversion to emotional friction to soft indirect language confounds ALL of us.

I have to learn the language of my oppressor to live, to move efficiently through society and that is the same with trying to communicate with nts. So when I hear nds talking like this it not only gives me the ick of entitlement, but genuine concern for safety. I'm not always spot on but I've figured out enough, it's not impossible.

Here are just some of the ways I've come to understand nt communication while being nd

1) WHY ARE NEUROTYPICALS LIKE THAT (MASKING):

Mask for us are uncomfortable and can only be worn as long as our energy provides. Mask for them are IMMOVABLE so much so they can actually FORGET they are not their mask.

Background: nts do not have our pattern recognition that tells us someone is a dick or a threat. Think of it like how it is in the wild, when animals are around unfamiliars that seem to be in the same place in the food chain, they don't act however they want, they have to approach slowly so that they know they are safe.

That is why nts act fake and why they rely on small talk. They're collecting information until they have enough to feel a level of comfort. And I say levels bc they have designated comfort levels for work, home, friends, romantic partners, etc.

We build our lives off of our Interest, things we enjoy, people who we share with, etc. their lives are built off their mask, their REPUTATION. Social hierarchy isn't just something they use to feel better than someone, their opportunities for advancing their quality of life is directly correlated to their advancement in the social hierarchy. For most, it's literally how they feed their children. Their mask is what they use to meet the people they need to meet in order to get the job they have or even the person they marry. If this mask were to slip everything they've built would collapse. You know in those coming of age movies where they're like "I forgot who I was to fit in" this is what they are referring to they LITERALLY forget in some sense who they are bc they don't have a special interest, they can make anything an interest especially if it means they can gain an advantage i.e "my boss likes golf, I will act like I like golf=oh no Im a golfer"

2)WHY DO THEY JUST FOLLOW ORDERS, WHY DO THEY HATE WHEN I ASK WHY. (In a work context)

In order for things like governments, offices, society, to exist there are people at every. Single. Level operating. Most of the time they aren't mad you're asking why bc they think you're being insubordinate (in some cases yes) but most of the time it's bc there are so many other factors. The task in question is one of many under layers and layers of previous orders in a specific sequence, like a chain, that so many people depend on that when interrupted could negatively affect a lot of people. All of this could also be happening all at once. So they really just need you to do the task bc the explanation is so long and the execution of it doesn't require telling you, so when you stop everything demanding explanation, disrupting an operation much bigger than you, this is why we come off as selfish.

The way I alleviate for myself so I won't get fired is I either inference the why or tell myself "there is probably a good reason why they want me to do this and I'll find out soon enough" I usually do and it usually is. So yeah they really can't just explain it to you when you want them to.

3) WHY CANT THEY JUST BE DIRECT WHY DO THEY HIDE BEHIND SOFT LANGUAGE

For safety. I'm really tired of nds acting like this concept is nonsensical as if PDA and RSD wouldn't have you in a mess if you were talked to without soft language.

Okay so WHY do neurotypicals say "CAN you do this?" When they me "do this thing." Why is "no" unacceptable and why does everything have to be in a code.

They want to be PERCEIVED as nice. Remember their livelihood is dependent on how they are perceived. They don't want to straight out say "No" bc that could mean they are offered less opportunities bc they've set a standard of rejection.

I can't think of more right, please if there's always something you wanted to understand behind why and nt does something I can probably answer I just can't remember it all bc it's a lot obviously. But the best way I navigated understanding is comparing it to the wild, the food chain, and understanding as the inverse of being nuerodivergent. After doing it again and again you begin to notice the pattern. Not only did this help me for important things like work but it helped me better distinguish between nds and nts and stop wasting my time trying to be accepted by nts.

#nuerodivergent #autism spectrum disorder #ask #poc #neurotypical #questions #racism #code switching

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realhankmccoy · 8 months

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the way rightists kinda gum up the works is they turn blue people into purple people and purple people into the most lukewarm stagnant water ever

I saw it happy to Christina and dad and sis-in-law and so many….

“uh uh uh I don’t want to … Offend… any poor rightists… so let’s just stick with business as usual and make super super super super moderate positions that keep everything exactly the same as it already is, think we solved something by doing nothing and saying nothing, having parroted something that already moderately exists in the world and made it even mushier and blander and mor dull… pat ourselves on the back for feeling ‘smart’ and kick up our heels for a while before getting back to implanting Trump’s agenda of violence by up, tough-talking up and billshitting your way in capitalistic improv and game show-ification of human life, throwing out 95% of what it means to be human and only ever wanting to talk about white people.

I suppose that’s one of my main issues with all these folks so carefully coddling the destructive, poor-and-brown people-smashing politics of rightists:

stasis is boring.

tepid ‘oh I very worried about stepping out of bounds, I chose to cuck myself to the right and need to prove how good and cucked I am to Their emotions and feelings means I’ve sacrificed all freedom of thought and expression pretty much forever because if my rightist friend or son hears me talking about em over the phone or sees me writing for him, they will feel alienated and we as cucks who have always been cucks are only willing to risk alienating the left just every dumb cuck every.

the error was my part for seeing any potential in these people. They just will never be able to do better than undoing a Tupperware container from the past idea somebody else had and serve it up mushy and hope that it doesn’t offend anybody.

when you improv your way through life, no wonder you think like a lazy housewife who’s hoping to put a little spin on her food to impress the Man who cucked her that maybe in her mind liberalizes the food a tad but still keeps it conservative status quo palatable enough for the man who sets the rules and will always support hard right politics and positions and will never never never budge no matter how much she manipulates and wheedles.

because they are not men, they will never express anything.

they will be bubble boys who cannot but strive to keep the world as it is but maybe give the capitalists a little efficiency boost is probably what they achieve.

There will be no

Environment

Collective Homo Pride

Climate

Equity

Income Equality

Gender Equality

95% of human life

Original Ideas

Eroticism

Quality Art

Music

Dance

Adventure

Escapism

Dreams

Motivation

998 other ‘points of light’ so to speak in a cuck’s terms for just one moment, since they only ever relate to the strategies of the imperial kings of America who cucked them

under these purple people who cucked themselves to the rightists. They have a new special slice of Wonderbread to please now, and pleasing it will consume theirs lives and keep their precious word ‘freedom’ within the most narrow circle imaginable

like clockwork, a freedom-bleater will imprison itself to both the Dems and the Reps and the most narrow moderate vision and position and verbiage

every time

Even sometimes when there’s a rebellious scream of ‘kill ‘em all’ out of these folks as I’ve seen, it’s really little different from Trump’s kill ‘em all — they’re all talk, no action — and they’ll be back to grooming through the nuances of white people and carefully shining the white world’s hair and acting like all brown folks scarcely exist

in all of two minutes

because the only type of people these folks want to listen to is the ones with the white skin

How can you make basically a status quo pig infected by the Trump xenomorph and cucked by the words of the founding fathers have dreams or visions or anything to say that’s not in the narrowest and most unfree of circles in order to please the rightists it let into its life and submits its mind to?

you can’t, it cucked itself when It signed onto ‘gee I hope this is palatable to the rightist in my life, we’ll keep it only to things he can agree on and that won’t fundamentally alter in the slightest his sociopathics’

Stasis and static… kids fooling themselves into thinking they’re working on problems or out to better the world.

they’re not, they hate most people especially to the left especially women like America has always programmed its cucks to do

they never deal with the fact that they’re cucks but like a cuck of American empire always is, they got 1001 notions about how the world ‘should be’

and every single one of these motions came from somebody from the past who was fundamentally moderate or conservative, indeed, Xerox copy machines that they are for the slaveholders which want to focus on the question of how to better the lives of their tribe which is straighter whiter males

and the kiddies most kid gloves always reserved for the rightist in their lives. Though rightists are a more basic and clumsy creature so if they do screw up and knock each other hamfisted around, it isn’t as big of a deal because it’s like how a few playground bullies always connect and relate to each other —

when they don’t know how to play a stringed instrument or any instrument

there’s always that other meaty bully to keep ya company when ya alienated everybody else by being selfish and Trumpian

so deeply conservative

#Mommie searest #Mommie dearest

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w-ht-w · 1 year

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Philosophy Tube on effective altruism, longtermism.

EAs tend to be young - in their twenties and thirties - male, white and university educated. They're people who want to make the world better obviously, often people who are dissatisfied with politics. Most describe themselves as left wing or centre left and atheist or agnostic. It might also be fair to say that the movement attracts a certain kind of personality: somebody who enjoys intellectual challenge and rigorous debate, maybe people who have a little bit of a contrarian streak.

A challenge that's often posed to effective altruism classic as well. It goes like this! Suppose a homeless person asks you for money and you've got three pounds in your pocket, but you're a dedicated effective altruist. So you say no 'cause you don't know what they're gonna spend that money on; you don't know the consequences of that action. Instead, you put that money towards buying malaria nets for somebody 3,000 miles away. A critic might say that you've missed the point of morality. A human being asked you for help and you ignored them. You could have given them that money. You could have given them something more valuable by looking them in the eye and saying, "I'm sorry, it's all I've got on me right now, but I hope things turn around for you." You could have given them your respect even if it wouldn't have the optimum consequences. Isn't morality about human beings and the way that we treat each other? I mean, what about justice? What about generosity? What about kindness? I mean yes, you might say there's arbitrary emotional attachments, but isn't having arbitrary emotional attachments what being human is all about?! I mean, we might as well let the computers take over if you're just gonna make all your decisions like frikkin Spock! - Finally, someone agrees with me! - And what this amounts to is rejecting the idea that consequences are the main thing that matters when it comes to charity.

[MacAskill and Ord said] technology can lock in bad values long term.

Effective altruism + its proponents are pretty a-political, and therefore palatable to market-driven status quos.

in his book, "Winners Take All," the journalist Anand Girihadaras says that modern philanthropy was invented in the late 19th century when the USA was very unequal. Men like Andrew Carnegie and JD Rockefeller got very rich and faced a lot of criticism for it. So they invented a new way to donate money: the private foundation. And these days private foundations are everywhere! In exchange for their charity, these men expected not to get criticised for how they made their money. If they engaged in unsafe working practices or union busting or they didn't pay their taxes, well, that's just a temporary blip on the road to a better world. And here we can see that the effective altruist idea of earn to give is really nothing new. It's just a restatement of this old idea that the best way to help people is through the free market and business. Through giving money away, yes, but never changing the system that makes the money. And from the 19th century to the present day, this idea has remained pretty much unaltered.

I think that effective altruism is very well suited to that world, MacAskill's book in particular. There's almost no politics in here. It's very win-win, very business friendly because it's a fusion of those 19th century ideas about poverty with modern development economics and some ethical philosophy.

I'm sure MacAskill would come back and say that effective altruism is about following the evidence. If it turned out that the best way to help the poor was through socialist revolution, well, then he'd be all for it. But remember, measurability bias: the evidence only takes you part of the way. And when there are gaps, it's that world of business clout that rushes in to fill them.

If you randomly asked one of the people who themselves live in abject poverty, there is no chance that they will mention one of EA's supported effective charities as having impacted their lives more than the work of traditional global antipoverty agencies."

The real question we're bumping up against here is how do we change the world? Do we work within the system or try to dismantle it? Do we talk to bankers or try and shut them down? If a movement is trying to do good, how do we deal with the bad things that it also does? These aren't questions that I can answer for you. They're questions that we all live inside of. I would never tell you to either join or not join the effective altruist movement. My job is to tell you what the theory says and why people believe it, so that whatever you decide to do, you do it with your eyes open. (1)

Comment:

There's also a human brain reward element to imagining your altruism affects future generations that I think is also driving a lot of the pro life movement. You are, by definition, helping people who don't exist. And those people who don't exist don't have immediate needs that you are only partially meeting, and you can imagine them as grateful as you please and your dollars as effective as you want without any proof to the contrary. It seems to make the whole endeavor a lot more rewarding. (1)

1. Philosophy Tube: The Rich Have Their Own Ethics: Effective Altruism & the Crypto Crash

#effective altruism

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soupbabe · 3 years

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Heard you wanted to be spammed with requests-

So uh- Idk if you do platonic headcanons but- maybe platonic Stardust crusaders with a pillar crusader? Doesn't matter what,,, gender the bby pillar person is,,, just,,, sweet pillar babe who's tall af- and totally acts like a doofus at times---

You dont have to do this tho uvu

Stardust Crusaders + Pillarman! Reader HCs

It says Pillar*man* in title, but reader will be gender neutral, I think that's just the species (?) name! Also I like doing platonic requests so I don't mind doing this at all ! <3

Joseph Joestar

He met you around the time he met Santana

You were stuck in the same Pillar as the youngest pillarman, also playing the role of a guard dog before you were turned into stone

The main difference between you and your (uh forced adopted?) brother is that your face broke out in a huge smile and giggles filled the room when he booped your nose and told you to be happy

You were loyal to Kars, but throughout the time in Battle Tendency that decreased due to the realization that he never cared about you and did abandon you without thought

Joseph was there to comfort you through it and you helped in defeating Kars in return

After BT, you were sent to be studied at the Speedwagon Foundation and years later they were able to replicate the red stone of Aja for you

Ultimate Y/N ! Ultimate Y/N !

Sunburn no more

You became a nature deity, similar to Kars

First thing you did when the study was done was prank Joseph into thinking that the Ultimate Lifeform came back

Although it didn't work all too well, your forced down smile and stifled giggles definitely wasn't a sign of Kars, despite the mighty wings you sprouted

You lived with Suzi Q and Joseph for the majority of your new life and you adored being apart of their lives

Also they did make you babysit Holly numerous times even though you had no idea what a human baby looked like until now

Should've learned their lesson when one time you were caught making a rough sketch of what would have been a traditional pillarman tattoo on a 10 year old Holly, claiming that it's needed for her to grow up big and strong like you

Although you weren't a stand user, you had experience fighting ancient supernatural beings stronger than some stand users and you were a deity among men. Joseph didn't wait to take you with him when he found out that Dio was making a return

When Holly got sick and it was clear the crusaders had to go to Egypt, you didn't hesitate to sign up. It was a rare time that you were serious and your loyalty to your aged best friend shined through. You loved his family and you saw Holly grow up, of course you'd be there for him

Throughout SDC, you mostly just laughed at him (mostly during the fight with Mariah) and cracked jokes with him to ease tense situations

Also that bit at the end of the show where he pretended that Dio possessed his body?? He got that from you and you both laughed while Jotaro gave you both a glare

Iggy

Oh my god you barked back.

Y'all gossip with each other in dog, you're a nature deity, of course you can understand him perfectly

Added bonus of your powers is that he naturally relaxes with you

Sleepy gremlin

Jotaro Kujo

It took him a while to warm up to you

You were raised by Kars and Esidisi, dealing people who come off as cold and have occasional outbursts of anger come natural to you

He first doesn't think of you as anything when he first saw you

It wasn't until you sized him up, easily towering over the 6'5" teen, his eyes widened in astonishment a little

He has no problems with you, you're respectful to his mother and you respect his privacy for the most part

You're real bonding moment was when you made a lame, but fairfly obscure, fish pun when beating up the stand user of Dark Blue Moon

You both talked about marine life, he was genuinely interested in your experiences with ancient marine species and types of life before evolution made them what they were today

Although he doesn't like the happy go lucky types of people (they remind him of his annoying fangirls) you'll be the exception

A moment you both really became friends was in the Steely Dan fight

You shot your hand up in excitement, offering to aid in beating the hell out of the cocky bastard that mistreated Jotaro and Joseph

It was a good moment for you both to have light hearted banter and you ended the fight with a smile and a high five

Although persuading Joot to do the high five went more like: "Jotaro please" "No." "Pleassseeeeeee" "*sigh* Leave me alone after this."

I thank that you can't see stands. I can only imagine the endless lighthearted fights you and Star Platinum would have, you both giving each other proud smiles of how strong your friend has become

Noriaki Kakyoin

You gave a welcoming and cheerful aura when he woke up at the Kujo household

Out of all Crusaders, I do like to think that you would think of Kakyoin as more of a little brother

Probably because you miss Santana a bit tbh, red hair and a more reserved personality?? Easy for that to happen

Although you do make sure to keep that distinction between the two separate beings, gotta be healthy bby

You were one to always encourage him to get more out of his shell and be the friend he deserved

He would encourage you to speak about Pillarman society/culture when you both roomed together

One time you pranked him by giving him a handful cherries and giving him a tiny jumpscare when the cherries actually did turn back into your hand

Sometimes you both make fun of Polnareff together </3

Jean-Pierre Polnareff

,,,,big tall gentle giant? Oh my god he would've melted for you at first

He flirted with you first thing after the fight with Avdol, only to be immediately shut down with your laughter

It's not the first time someone hit on you, but his attempt was so cheesy and bad that it was funny

Don't worry he didn't keep on flirting with you though, it was clear that you weren't interested

That and you told him that you were over 1000 years old

You both were outgoing so it wasn't a big surprise that you two got along so well

He actually enjoys your tales of past fights and how it was like not being able to be in the sun for the longest time

That and he asked for hair care tips, your hair is very beautiful to him and to keep it as such even when you were turned to stone? Impressive

You both are dumbasses together, but you're the one to save his ass all the time

Especially during the first fight with Hol Horse, guns can't kill you and even then your skin can create a harsh shell to soften the blow

You just laughed it off, said that it tickled, and encouraged Polnareff to chase after the (now) frightened cowboy

You and Polnareff also have a lot in common too and you both are able to be for each other when it comes to Polnareff's grief over his sister and you technically being the only pillarman alive

Omg Y/N I can't believe you have yourself an emotional support himbo I'm jealous

You're also a wingman/wingwoman for him, years and years of experience (and using Joseph in his younger years as a "what not to do" reference) led you to being the perfect helper in getting whoever Polnareff wants

Muhammad Avdol

He's read about the Pillarmen, but he never thought that they were actually real

So when he met you he was flabbergasted

You and Avdol's friendship is like him unintentionally parenting a 7 foot 5 year old on one of those kid leashes

He knows that almost nothing can cause you great harm, but he still worries

Because of that his favorite form of hanging out with you involves chatting over tea or showing you foods you might not be aware of

In all honesty, it's greatly appreciated since your diet switched from vampires and humans to absorbing like 2-3 raw cows every other week. Your "palate" is not as expansive as you may think

While in India, you were able to buy some Henna and Avdol was very open to you giving him a mock Pillar tattoo

He wore it with pride and was very greatful

Sometimes when he gets homesick you make your arm into a chicken, and although it isn't the real thing, he appreciates it

You also show him ancient Pillar rituals too and it's his favorite thing to listen to

In return, you bother him to show you how to read tarot and tell him about (in your words) "occult business~"

You balance each other out and Avdol cherishes you greatly

When the mission to Egypt was over, he did name a chicken after you btw

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba part 3 #jojos bizzare adventure stardust crusaders #jjba x reader #stardust crusaders headcanons #stardust crusaders x reader #Joseph Joestar x reader #jotaro kujo x reader #jean pierre polnareff x reader #noriaki kakyoin x reader #muhammad avdol x reader #platonic x reader #platonic headcanons

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irenedubrovna · 3 years

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A post regarding Euphoria for the benefit of myself and basically no one else

So, it really bothers me when people say Euphoria is groundbreaking, progressive media. Here’s a dissection of why I don’t think it is, because this is what I feel like doing at work:

The character of Rue is objectively great. She by far receives the least overt sexualization, and is treated neutrally in terms of active sexuality. She’s treated like a normal teenage girl with mental issues and an addiction to drugs. She falls in love with a girl who she pines for and places on a pedestal. The reason I think she is written this way is because she is a Sam Levinson proxy. She written with gender ambiguity and with little regard to the experiences she’d go through as a black gay female, probably because Sam Levinson has no insight to that aspect of life. Her performance is heightened of course by Zendaya, who breathes unique life to the Sam Levinson’s artistic extension, and without her performance this show would not get even half the acclaim it gets. Attribute that to Zendaya of course, because the director has done little to deserve this acclaim.

The rest of the females, sans Lexi, are pornified to a disgusting extent, not only due to the fact that they are supposed to be underage, but also because their existence as people is treated as being absolutely secondary to their sexual appeal. They are foremost presented in terms of their relation to sex. Cassie, Maddy, Jules, and Kat cannot be removed from their sexuality without disrupting the plot or their journeys in relation to the plot. Why are the females so intrinsically linked to uber fetishized versions of female sexuality, or uber fetishized versions of blossoming female sexual identity?

Maddy is presented not only scantily clad 90 percent of the time, but also dressed in a precariously unattainable sexual fashion. At any given time she is styled to look straight out of, simultaneously, a high fashion editorial, and a “barely legal” porno. She is airheaded and profane, and promiscuous, her mannerisms dictated by the adult films she’s “studied” in order to project an image of perfect hyper sexual femininity. She’s complacent in becoming a prototypical housewife because it will earn her a comfortable place as a trophy wife. She has no aspirations beyond that. So, let’s unpack all of that. Maddy’s role in the show is mostly passive. The most active thing she does in the plot is revenge fuck a man in the pool of a party. Nearly everything else she does in the show that is plot relevant is of someone else’s volition. Even less of what she in the show is related to anything other than a man. She is abused and then pressured into framing another man for said abuse. She has no agency as a character. The only notable difference to this rule is when she takes drugs at a carnival, knocks a pot of chili over, and calls her ex’s mom a cunt. Removed from her active sexual life and carefully cultivated aesthetic, she’s a trite stereotype of an unambitious girlfriend who gets treated poorly. I see people call Maddy iconic, but if she wasn’t gorgeous and well dressed, I doubt anyone would even think twice about her, let alone create fancams and Instagram pages dedicated to her. She exists as a plot device, and as pretty set dressing to build up the shows aesthetic. Her emotions are not well explored, her motivations are sexist, and she is often there to be demeaned, objectified, or to say a bad word. The most damning part of her involvement in this show is her episode where it is stated that she, as a fourteen year old girl, lost her virginity to an adult man, and it is stated she was in control of the situation. This is a dangerous thing to say about a character, to any audience, but especially a young one. To imply that a precocious young girl was in control during her first sexual encounter with a much much older man implies things that frankly border on rape apologist ideology. This show states this unflinchingly and with no further elaboration. If there’s one thing that tells you that Euphoria is a bad show, let it be that. Also, if there’s one thing that tells you about Sam Levinson as a person, and the way he views girls and women, let it fucking be that.

Jules is a young trans girl. She also likes to have sex with men as a means to “conquer femininity”. Scratch that, she likes to have degrading sex with older men in order to “conquer femininity”. This mindset is shown to be toxic, of course, but I think the problem with this idea in general is that there’s no deeper exploration for what this mindset means. It implies that she believes women are the sum of their intrigue and degradations. This mindset I can only assume would be a cultivation of dysphoria and internalized misogyny, which this series is absolutely not prepared to address in a tactful manner. Jules is a teenager with mental illness, trauma, and is undergoing an identity crisis. There’s something powerful in her character, something worth saying, however we only get trimmings of those meaningful things, and are ultimately left with a hurtful depiction of a trans girl because all of her musings on womanhood and identity are incomplete, and they fail to reach beyond the surface of their thesis statement. She wears colorful clothing, is overtly feminine and artistic in her presentation. Everything about her screams insecurity over her own womanhood. That is the crux of her character. Now, I think we should ask ourselves, is trans person who is insecure about their identity peak representation? Is this what trans people deserve? Is it “groundbreaking “? If this show was run by someone else, I might be inclined to say that there’s nothing insidious about this, but this is the guy that made Assassination Nation, so I think we know what he thinks of young women, the way they should be portrayed (that is, for the capitulation of a man) and realize his inclusion of a trans woman in his cast is no more meaningful than the inclusion of any other woman. Women to him are made to be categorized and should, at the end of the day, be easily palatable for the capitulation of a man. The device of having Jules being interested in older men and rough sex for identity reasons is transparent. Trans women are exploited and objectified with a similar fervor to cis women, the caveat being that they are “a forbidden fruit” of sorts to straight men. Jules is sissified, her presentation fetishistic. Her role in the plot is more involved. Her relationship with Rue is sweet, though toxic on both sides. She is ultimately betrayed, blackmailed, and snowballs into something of a manic episode, all well portrayed by Hunter Schafer, but I don’t think her inclusion in the show absolves it of any of its many sins.

Let’s talk about Cassie. Cassie is the Eurocentric beauty standard exemplified. She is the blonde haired blue eyed girl next store, and her boobs are of course always on display. She is notably promiscuous, something I say right off the bat because that’s how she’s introduced, as a so called slut through the words of the devil (Nate Jacobs). She is a girl with daddy issues, which we are all familiar with at this point. Her sexual boundaries begin and end at the whim of her partner. The terms of her consent are much like the terms of consent of many young girls brainwashed by society and the rising tide of degradation porn: everything is alright as long as you provide them comfort and affirmation afterward. You can touch them roughly without asking, you can use them as a tool to affirm your masculinity. This is the way men prefer their women now: just broken enough to say yes to anything they want. It’s become a joke at this point. Men like girls with issues, but only the ones that will feed their own desires. Cassie Howard is meek. Her inclusion in the plot I suppose ties to themes of drug addiction and how it divides and destroys the people you love. It doesn’t show what it does to her beyond shaping her sexual encounters, which is no surprise. Overall I’d say Cassie is in this roster of females as the most traditional categorically, in relation to how men view women and further how they sexualize them. She has a relationship with someone who doesn’t really love her. That mostly what she does here. Gets used. Doesn’t drive the plot or conflict much. More pretty set dressing. More aesthetics. How this show consists of so many women but is driven so much by men is unsurprising, and, again, very enlightening in the grand scheme of things.

Lastly we touch on Kat. I’d like to begin with the fact that self actualization through sexual exploration, in a show run by a man, is just a cloak for a woman to gratify the audience with her sexuality. Regardless of whether or not she is plus sized, this is overt objectification. She is on this show to be sexy. Beyond that, the fact that a minor using sex work as a form of liberation is disgusting. Whether or not she is portrayed as “owning” her sexuality is negligible, and speaks to the same mindset discussed with Maddy. Minors cannot fucking consent to sex, sexual acts, or anything within the confines of such. It’s crazy that this occurs with two different characters in such a similar way. It has echoes of “Well, she looked older..” and “Well, she wanted it..” or “She’s advanced for her age”. Never, not once in the events of the series is there meaningful introspection on what doing this kind of thing does to a minor. Moreover, these acts are explicit, and made clearly for sexual gratification. None of these things are absolved by the fact that she’s plus sized. If anything, her body type is fetishized in this context. It’s also another case of a “good girl to bad girl” transformation, which are archaic and, of course, sexist. With the rise of adult websites targeting minors for explicit content, this is even more reprehensible. Once again, in terms of representation, is this really what speaks to you as progressive? Groundbreaking? A girl gains control of her own narrative by having sex with lots of men. She gains control by being sexy. She gains control by dehumanizing and objectifying herself. No she doesn’t. Media controlled by men will tell this story to you thousands of times, don’t listen because she’s bigger than a size four.

ALL OF THESE CHARACTERS ARE UNDERAGE. ALL OF THEM HAVE EXPLICIT SEX SCENES, EVEN THE SEXUAL ASSAULT IS MADE CINEMATICALLY PORNIFIED. THESE SHOTS ARE MADE TO BE OBJECTIVELY SEXY. THIS IS NOT A CASE OF SOMEONE CREATING SOMETHING FOR THE SAKE OF REALISM. IT IS ABOUT MAKING SCENES THAT SPEAK TO A MALE AUDIENCE. THAT CATER TO THE MALE GAZE. ARGUE WITH THE WALL.

I won’t go further into the plot, other characters, or the structure or the episodes for sake of brevity, but I felt compelled to air my thoughts on this to the void. I can only hope I was critical enough that Sam Levinson will one day see this and cry because another bad feminist thinks something that he made sucks

#euphoria #I don’t even think anyone will read this but #it’s just not good #sorry #anti euphoria #anti Sam Levinson

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mueritos · 3 years

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so glad people are realizing these ideas of “rationality” or “logical arguments” (whether this applies to any sort of “discourse” but here I mean on the topic of transmedicalism”) are all rooted in white supremacy and the patriarchy. And I don’t mean using logic to discuss glucose cells or bouyancy, im talking about the concept that we must approach complex human issues in the most rational way possible to remove all biases. Transmeds like Kevin Garrage and Blaire Racist like to parade themselves as The Most Logical Trans people, even though all of their content is emotionally charged reactionary content that’s mostly seen in conservative spaces, and to make it worse, the content they make spreads harmful misinformation about marginalized communities.

Patricia Hill Collins’ “The Social Construction of Black Feminist Thought” sums up this violent separation of understanding and advocating for your own community in spaces of knowledge and discussion. I highly recommend reading her paper, because while she focuses on the self-knowledge of Black woman, a LOT of what she speaks about can be applied to other marginalized groups. BIPOC in fields of academia and discourse are forced to produce thought and knowledge under a system that advocates for knowledge by and for the dominant group (White/cis/het/abled-bodied/etc), therefore, when many marginalized people enter academic spaces with the goal of studying their community, they’re forced to separate themselves from their community to “reduce bias”, reduce the radicalization of their thought so as not to provoke the established dominant group’s structure of knowledge and thought, and also reducing the radicalization of their knowledge in order to even get published/funding. Collins writes it here best: “Since researchers have widely differing values, experiences, and emotions, genuine science is thought to be unattainable unless all human characteristics except rationality are eliminated from the research process”, and here “Emotion indicates that a speaker believes in the validity of an argument. Consider Ntozake Shange’s description of one of the goals of her work: ‘Our [Western] society allows people to be absolutely neurotic and totally out of touch with their feelings and everyone else’s feelings, and yet be very respectable. This, to me, is a travesty. . . I’m trying to change the idea of seeing emotions and intellect as distant faculties’.”

Transmedicalism is rooted in the idea that there is a sort of irrationality related to being trans. That there MUST be a logical reason for the way someone’s gender is the way it is, and if it is not the way transmedicalism dictates it should be, then it is wrong. Gender in itself is inherently irrational, it is a social construct upheld by white supremacy, the patriarchy, and colonization. Nothing about gender makes sense, we have all been socialized to believe it should be this way due to Western society pushing these ideals of what a man and a woman should be. Even globally you cannot find the exact same ideals or manurisms that we typically associate with men and women in the West.

Transmedicalism serves a purpose, and that is to take something that is as confusing and weird of questioning your gender and being transgender and reduce it down to something understandable. This is why you see the common experience of younger trans people or trans people who are just starting transitioning to fall into the transmed blackhole. The truth is, personal experiences with gender, with life, with society, with the self are all credible. Feelings and emotions DO have their place in academia and in life, and the idea that they don’t just contributes to the violent idea that we do not belong in these spaces of study. We are taught that our identities must be accommodated to the dominant culture, because if we truly let trans people exist as freely as we should, it would cause the dominant group’s power to begin to crumble. It’s also important to mention that even if feelings were disregarded when it comes to letting trans expression be free, trans people have existed for CENTURIES in nearly ALL PARTS OF THE WORLD and have been documented throughout history with complex gender structures, expression, and spiritual values (Two-Spirit, los Muxes, etc). History in itself is a fact, and by disregarding the historical identity of trans folks by assuming dysphoria is a byproduct of transness when it actually is a byproduct of colonization is further colonizing trans identities.

As trans people, we simply do not owe anyone an explanation for why we exist and why we do the things we do or why we express ourselves a certain why and why we use these words to describe our experience, etc and etc. Your experience is credible. Your feelings are credible. Your transness is real, and somebody else’s transness will never take away from your own. You do not owe cis people validation, you do not need to make your transness palatable to cis people, and you are not an embarrassment to the trans community for expressing your gender in a way transmeds do not understand. You are not the reason why transphobia exists, your transness is not ugly, weird, unnatural....

Your transness is your own, and that is what makes it wonderful. To transmeds: Kill the colonizer in your brain.

#trans stuff #lgbtq #lgbt #trans #transgender #anti transmed #anti truscum #transphobia #anti colonialism #anti bigotry #if anyone cant find the pdf to patricia hill collins' paper pls dm me i can send u it!#this post is a direct response to watching Brennan Beckwith and Ashton Daniels videos #as well as d angelo d wallaces' video on blaire white

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bvccy · 3 years

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Tenderness and Ferocity | 4. The Third Night

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes x Hydra!Reader Fic Synopsis: The Winter Soldier is starting to make stupid mistakes in the field, which is Bucky's way of trying to wrest back control and sabotage his handlers. Hydra brings a new doctor to figure out what's wrong with him and fix it. As she spends time with him, she becomes fond of the Winter Soldier, and he becomes fond of her. Bucky has other ideas. Or, a fic in which the Winter Soldier is the good guy and Bucky is actually the bad guy. Warnings for this chapter: light Smut Word count: 1984 Read on AO3: [link] [Previous Chapter] [Fic Masterlist] [Next Chapter]

"This is a love that equals in its power the love of man for woman and reaches inwards as deeply. It is the love of a man or of a woman for their world. For the world of their centre where their lives burn genuinely and with a free flame." — Mervyn Peake

"See you tomorrow, Eeli!"

"Bye!"

"Night, Benji!"

"Good night!"

"Bye, Suzi!"

"Have a good night!"

She said her goodbyes to the evening staff, the duty officer, the cleaning lady, and made her way down the white corridor that led to the bus, which took all the day staff to their living quarters. She tried not to hurry too much, not to hold her purse too close, nor to smile too widely. She breathed a sigh of relief once she took her seat, her head leaning to cool against the window.

Although it was only evening, in the late winter it already looked like the dead of night, blackness stretching out forever starting fifteen feet from wherever you stood. The sparse trees looked like cardboard cut-outs under the stark nightlights, lifeless against a starless sky. There was a tranquillity in the effect: a feeling that, in a world where everything was fake, you too could be whatever you wanted.

The bus bumped along as usual, carrying its quiet cargo, but until she was off it she couldn't shake the nagging shame that was burning a hole in her purse. She surreptitiously squeezed it down, letting herself lean heavily against it while she looked out the window and tried not to think about getting shot.

The apartment complex was easily within driving distance but completely out of view of the Headquarters, even with the flat emptiness that lay between. It was built especially for the civilian workers, and named the Administrative, Medical, Economical, Research and Innovation Cadres Apartments. Or, as Hydra referred to it with great amusement, A.M.E.R.I.C.A..

Its outside inherited the bleakness that came with rushed work, cheap materials, and failed modernist concepts, but the inside had been renovated over the years into something that was at worst ergonomic, and at best managed to be cosy. It almost felt like home, and for a lot of the staff it had to be.

The ride squeaked to a halt, jolting its passengers awake. They waddled out in orderly fashion, saying their thank-yous to the driver, and their good-nights to each other as gradually they each went to their wing.

A few token trees, grown very tall over the decades, were spread around the park before the main entrance, their barren branches lit pale gold by the lamplights. The round fountain at the centre was finally unfrozen for the first time in months, its water sitting in a motionless reflection of the sable sky.

The night guardsman watched everyone amble in, nodding and smiling to whoever spared him a glance as he cradled a chipped mug of coffee in his chubby hands. She mouthed a "Hello" to him and kept on walking, her eyes going back down in what she knew was her usual 'tired' look and nobody spoke to her when they grouped up in the elevator, or when they spread out in their own directions, and then finally she was safely inside her little apartment — locked up and double-bolted.

She placed her purse very carefully on the hallway table. Put her coat up, tucked her shoes away, turned on the lights, turned on the heating, and went through the usual ritual of taking everything off and stuffing it in the laundry bin before taking a shower.

Dinner was, as usual, replaced by a cup of tea and biscuits in bed while her hair slowly dried, wrapped up in a thin old towel. She sipped her tea while scrolling through feeds of news articles, celebrity scandals, the occasional cat video, not really paying attention to anything. As soon as she could justify it to herself, she rolled out of bed and took her cup and plate to the kitchen. She brushed her teeth in a rush, brushed out her tangled hair, then finally approached the purse that was sitting innocuously in waiting.

It was stuffed full of notebooks, emergency cosmetics, obsolete post-its and little lozenge tins, so she had to dig a little until she found the one booklet where, as if by accident, a crisp white page had slipped in. There was hardly any way for someone to detect it, of course — "analog technology" is the safest way to smuggle information — but it didn't stop her from trembling all the way home.

She unfolded it, and smiled tenderly at the sight of the precisely drawn clock face. With the tip of a finger, she could just about feel the indent where the pen first went into the page, a phantom of the energy that passed through his arm for just one moment.

She put all her things away, turned off the lights, and crawled into bed with it. The lamp shining outside was enough for her to make out the page as it rested by her pillow. She had taken it without any particular idea of what to do with it, but she just knew she had to have it, had to have something from him.

The logical side knew that this was a normal emotional reaction for a woman, stuck somewhere without a palatable selection of men, however numerous. Her body recognised, before her head, that the Soldier would be quite a catch even if they weren't stuck in the middle of an industrialised nowhere, and in short order had reached the conclusions that he was: pretty nice, tempting, wasted on Hydra, stupidly beautiful, distractingly virile, before finally settling on him being utterly desirable.

Her head was still stuck at "wasted on Hydra".

But it would get there eventually. The more of him she brought out, the easier it was for her to see him as a person — and people can be admired, liked, and even wanted. For now, she would make do with this schoolyard token and allow herself to enjoy whatever she wanted in her mind.

She already couldn't remember what he felt like under her fingers, how exactly his voice sounded, even his face became blurred the longer she was away from him, but she could easily summon back the memory of what it felt like to be around him.

He was so pliant, especially that first day all strapped up and helpless. It was a heady combination — a dangerous killer rendered harmless. She liked dominance in the opposite sex, but there was just something about a big strong man being subdued like that while she had full control — made even more exciting, paradoxically, by his lack of interest in her.

She noticed him stare quite shamelessly, but blankly; that was just his programming assessing a threat, like all the other soldiers in the program... that's all it had to be. The Director's crass joke at her expense didn't make it any better, as if he wanted to remind her specifically that the Soldier didn't, and couldn't, find her nor any woman desirable.

Still, she could have done anything she wanted with him. The following days when he was free, he still obeyed her every word (mostly). But he also started speaking a little out of turn and telling tepid jokes; the progress, on a professional level, was considerable. When she had him eating out of her hand, it dawned on her how dangerously close she was to taking advantage of him — dangerous, of course, only if she got caught.

Fortunately she’d had the sense to ask for no surveillance, and had nurtured a reputation of being professional to a fault, unmoved by the raw masculinity of the Winter Soldier recruits that her other colleagues openly gushed over, and generally impervious to male charm — mainly to make it easier to turn down flirtations from the desperate men stuck there. "Don't bother with her. I already tried. You don't stand a chance."

She understood their loneliness, even sympathised with them, but she couldn't take the chance of opening herself to someone only to be used up, as it happened to so many others stuck there; especially not when none of them made her feel anything. Her Soldier though, he made her feel something...

He was more than just another big, dangerous man. In their efforts, Hydra had made him into an ideal. Unfortunately, they also misunderstood the nature of what they made. They thought they were creating a weapon — they did — but Hydra treated the masculinity inherent in her Soldier as just an excuse for brutality, deprecating what he really was and could be. Masculinity was about control and power — to be unleashed when necessary and otherwise reined in, a pack of wild dogs left unfed by their master and held back, held back, held back, to be all the more vicious when finally released.

By misusing her Soldier, they misused that which they channelled through him; the source of that ideal inherent to all men but which favoured so few; which expressed itself through tenderness, and ferocity.

Hydra unwittingly created a weakness, a crack for her to crawl into and bring out that which lay, waiting, underneath the mind. They had no patience for these abstractions, no way to deal with them, and so instead they brought him down and kept him there, ready to use when the brutality was needed.

She closed her eyes and tried to bring back the frissons she felt at the sound of his voice, rough and hanging heavy but so velvety sweet still, the shape of his body silhouetted in the shadows, his artist's-fingers resting obediently on the table, and that surprising mix of chocolate brown hair and grey eyes...

Maybe next time she could have him write something, she could analyse his handwriting; he should definitely still know how... Would he write in cursive or print? Would his letters be thin and sharp, or sensuously curved? Would they be large and take up a lot of space, or small and unassuming like he seemed to be sometimes...

She buried her nose in the pillow, feeling only her own perfume — would he like it? what would it smell like after he spent the night? — and wrapped a leg around the bulky duvet that wasn't nearly big enough to pretend...

Her fingers touched the page again as she squeezed her legs together, her other hand caressing her neck in lighter and lighter touches until she could almost imagine it being his breath, fanning over her skin from above.

She let go of the paper and turned on her back, shivering and sighing, and slipped her hand underneath, down the centre of her chest, stopping just at her lower stomach and pressed down — the way she thought he would if he caught her, if he wanted to hold her still. She bit her lip and teased her throat, content now that her imagination found what it wanted.

Maybe, he wouldn't catch her... Maybe he would break free and come to her, find her in bed, hold her against him, try to seduce her into running away with him. To make it more fun, she'd struggle. She allowed herself a half-bitten moan as she instinctively throbbed at the idea, and pressed harder, canting her hips more and more to an imaginary rhythm that he set.

The thought of his heavy shape pressing her down, his penetrating eyes above her, his uncertain smile, hopeful, desirous, and just that singular pressure... the feeling of being wanted, of being held, in the place where she most wanted him — not even between her legs, but deep, deep in her womb — was more dizzying than any sticky thing she had ever done on her own because she actually wanted him.

She let her imagination exhaust itself while in parallel her mind searched for ways he could break out, of how they could escape together — the mad dream of running away.

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes imagine #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #Bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky x you #Bucky Barnes x you #Bucky x OFC #Bucky Barnes x OFC #Winter Soldier fanfiction #Winter Soldier x reader #James Buchanan Barnes #The Winter Soldier #Winter Soldier #Tenderness and Ferocity #bv;fanfiction

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amwritingmeta · 3 years

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15x20: New Beginnings

I’d like to speak of the cause and effect of the ending.

I agree that the execution could’ve been skewered just a tiny bit and it would’ve made the overall impression more palatable, but assuming production was at the very least hampered by COVID restrictions, we know that this wasn’t actually Dabb’s final vision. It’s what we’ve got, though, and it still leaves us with a lot of tying up of narrative threads.

How?

We have a final image of Dean and Sam together and I understand why this is irksome and why it feels regressive. Here’s why I think it actually isn’t:

Dark Side of the Moon tells us that Dean and Sam are most definitely not soulmates meant to share a Heaven. Dean’s memories are focused on Sam while Sam’s memories are completely devoid of Dean. Dean also needs to find Sam (and is helped to do so by Cas). Ie. they brothers are not in a shared Heaven, the way Jimmy and Amelia and Mary and John are highlighted to be.

We also know that Heaven’s system is basically a prison for the mind of the souls of those who have died, right? You get stuck in your best memories. This is simply Heaven’s idea of benevolence, because Heaven, and the angels, have never understood how much choice and free will matter to humanity.

So. No matter how much Dean and Sam succeeded in saving the world throughout our narrative, they were still always headed for forced separation and this prison for their minds and being filed away behind one of those white doors, in essence ceasing to exist, and the point of all their trials and tribulations would have been what? Living a long and happy life, only to die and go to what Dean wouldn’t have chosen for himself with a gun to his head? Eternally brainwashed into thinking he’s content?

Can you think of anything more horrible to be waiting at the end of their road?

So the point to this ending we got is, to me, gloriously clear and it’s this:

The journeys of these men, throughout this entire narrative, made the new Heaven possible.

This new Heaven, where there’s freedom of choice and endless possibility for exploration. Where human souls are now granted an afterlife worth actually living, where everyone can reconnect with the people they’ve cared about, the people they’ve loved.

(Buddhists have six Heavens and believe life exists on multiple planes meaning when you die you simply transcend to the next plane where there’s more living to be done) (Swedish children’s author Astrid Lindgren explored the death of two brothers through sacrifice and illness in her novel The Brothers Lionheart and in the mythology of this book the first Heaven one enters just after death is called Nangijala, and once you die in Nangijala you move onto Nangilima and so on) (etc.)

What we get in the Supernatural mythos is that there’s no more prison for the mind. No more only soulmates get a shared Heaven: ie. family genuinely doesn’t end in blood.

So look at what this means for the entire structure of our narrative and our character journeys -->

The Road

If Dean and Sam hadn’t been codependent, they wouldn’t have made those bad choices that brought Cas into the narrative.

If Cas hadn’t been influenced by Dean to rebel and start making bad choices of his own, he never would’ve made Heaven fall apart by trying to stitch it together and teach angels free will and stepping into a leader role he wasn’t quite ready for, and he wouldn’t have begun on the journey that brought him right to the moment when he expressed his need of bringing back a win for Dean, and for himself.

That win, turns out, was Jack.

Cas’ faith in Jack, Cas fighting for Jack, Cas feeling responsible and stepping into the Good Father Figure in order to keep his promise to Kelly and protect Jack was what led to Cas making a bad deal with the Empty, but that bad deal also left Cas with the opportunity to save Dean’s life when death was threatening to break down that door and kill them both.

The remarkable truth that’s added to this moment is that Cas’ journey has brought him to a place in his progression where he’s no longer afraid of his feelings, he’s no longer questioning them or thinking they mean a weakness he shouldn’t let define him, because he realises that what he needs isn’t Dean to love him back for that love to be real, to be valuable and valid. His fear of alienating Dean through loving him is the lie. That’s where his happiness stems from, him recognising and finally embracing this truth.

Because the love he feels isn’t a weakness. It never was: it’s his strength. It’s always guided him, even when he didn’t realise it.

And the strength of it lets him tell Dean exactly how he sees him and that he loves him, and opening up to and being honest with himself is what allows Cas to integrate with his shadow. The Empty takes him, but Cas is at peace, because he no longer fears and avoids his unconscious, he no longer needs to engage in suppression and repression of his emotions, and so his shadow no longer holds any sway over him, which is a fact given to us by how Cas’ ending in this narrative means him being free of the Empty.

A freedom that never would have been granted, never would have been possible, without his faith in, his fighting for and his protection of Jack.

Cas’ words to Dean makes Dean begin his final steps into integration as well, meaning Cas’ declaration of love directly affects the outcome of the fight against Chuck, because Dean wants Cas back, but it’s not everything he’s focused on, since it shouldn’t be everything he’s focused on.

It can’t be, since there are bigger fish to fry, and because of Cas’ view of him, Dean is opening up to his true self, to trust, to having faith in himself, which allows for a letting go of the need for control and thinking it’s all on him and everything is his responsibility or everyone dies.

Thanks to this, we get Dean in teamwork mode with Sam and Jack, the three of them together figuring out how to manipulate Michael into bringing Chuck to them in order for Jack to de-power him.

Dean’s integration is complete, and given to us through the symbology of his inner child (Jack) sucking the power out of his shadow (Chuck) and is then underlined by the ego (Dean) telling his de-powered shadow that it’s to be forgotten. Dean’s shadow, which has fed on and also fuelled the need in Dean for repression and suppression, no longer holds any sway over him.

And Dean’s understanding and embracing of his true identity is highlighted by how he refuses to kill Chuck.

Because that’s not who Dean is: he’s not a killer. He’s internalised Cas’ view of him. Cas’ truth making way for Dean’s own truth to shine a light.

Dean is done with self-denial. And self-destruction.

Which is what 15x20 is all about: that lack of self-destruction and the finality of goodbye.

Because Dean being shown to accept the finality of the loss of Cas has such direct bearing on Dean’s ability to accept the finality of saying goodbye to his brother.

The Greatest Love Story Ever Told

All of this, all of it, is because of and thanks to Cas’ LOVE for Dean.

Thanks to the moment that allowed Cas to express it and to SEE Dean for who he truly is.

Thanks to the moment of Cas’ integration we get Dean integrating.

And it’s so beautiful that it’s the loss of Cas this time that allows for Dean to do this, because he’s always plummeted into despair without Cas. His progression has slowed to a crawl without Cas in the narrative. His entire sense of self, his entire source of faith in anything, being drained out of him.

This has been romantic and lovely and fabulous, but it’s also so unhealthy.

Dean being shown to mourn, to want Cas back, to expect Cas at the end of that phone call, only for him to move away from the need and want to have Cas back, recognising that it’s possible Cas’ return is now an improbability and choosing to look to the future, because now he’s feeling worthy of a future, this is such an important detail for the love story to move from profound bond territory...

(where Cas used the bond forged by Heaven as an excuse for why he kept hanging around Dean) (Dean was his charge, his mission, he was meant to protect him) (a view shattered by Hester in S8) (and properly dismantled by the human!Cas arc) (at least the way I see it because that’s where Cas got that love he feels brought into actual stark relay like oh fuck I’m in love with him)

...to the healthy, selfless, loving side to that bond, which isn’t about self-deception, miscommunication and fear, but about blowing all of that apart, letting feelings flow freely, opening up to the truth of them, the strength of them, and these two men being able to finally free themselves of all those past doubts by embracing their true identities.

I realise there’s frustration that we only got part-textual Destiel. I felt it too. But I never expected canon Destiel. I hoped and wished, but up until Cas’ declaration of love, I questioned whether the studio would be onboard, and it turns out they weren’t okay with making SPN an overtly queer narrative. Was Cas’ declaration of love baiting or BYG? I hope my meta reading in this post will tell you how little I feel it was.

So then. Letting go of the initial shock of it all, I’m leaning on what I did expect: the love story so strongly highlighted in the subtext that we were all left with zero doubt that we’d been seeing it there for a reason.

Subtext is part of the text. For any writer worth their salt, subtext is more important than the surface text. Text without subtext is flat and dull. The text we’ve been dealing with for fifteen years has always had layers upon layers.

These final three episodes, as I’ve already pulled on above, brings it in spades and our subtext tells us plainly:

Dean Winchester is in love with Castiel, just as much as Castiel is in love with him.

How does it tell us this plainly?

Cas is finally able to integrate because he opens up to the truth he’s carried with him for so long: his love for Dean. Unconditional. He no longer needs Dean to say it back, to validate the emotion, Cas is realising that happiness in the feeling itself, in acknowledging it and allowing it free rein. Cas moves into making peace with himself, for himself.

Now, we know Cas loves Dean because, well, declared, but why is it plain that Dean loves Cas back?

Firstly, because of the episode being entirely structured around people in love losing one half. That’s as much of an in-our-faces use of mirroring as underlining of the subtextual love story that we’ve ever gotten from Berens.

Even stronger than the mirroring, for me, is the fact that Cas’ love for Dean allows Dean to finally move into integration.

Cas’ words infuse Dean with a sense of self-worth that immediately paves way for him beginning to have all that faith in himself that Cas has always represented to him. The build from 15x18 through to 15x20 is like a gentle moving away from Cas being the external source of Dean’s faith, to Cas’ love and expressed faith revealing Dean’s internal source of faith in himself.

A source which has been suppressed and repressed out of a whole layer of different fears, which have in turn brought on the belief that a toxic masculinity armour was necessary for survival and that all feelings are weaknesses, but because of Cas’ faith in him, because of Cas’ expressed love, Dean is able to no longer need an external source of faith, because he’s now internalised and embraced the truth of what makes him who he is.

Just like Cas is shown to do, we’re given Dean recognising that the love he feels isn’t a weakness, but a strength, because Cas’ words is about Dean’s capacity for LOVE. It’s this love that takes away Chuck’s ability to tell Dean who he is.

No one can tell you who you are -- you choose who to be.

For his entire life, right up until that moment in that room with Cas, facing death (literally) all Dean can see himself as is someone who can do nothing and who knows nothing except how to give into his anger (he’s never been able to control it because he’s never recognised the source of it) and find something to kill.

This view of himself has been constantly whispered to him and reinforced by his unconscious, his Shadow-side, who’s kept Dean thinking that he doesn’t have good things last for him, ever, so he can’t have love in his life or a future to look forward to, because he doesn’t deserve it. A perpetual emotional roundabout where his Shadow-side has stayed in complete control.

One might argue this has always been the source of Dean’s anger: his inability to dare open up to his true identity that has kept the toxic masculinity armour in place, kept the performance up, kept him more often than not lying even to himself of who he is and who he wants to be, because he never felt there was a choice in the matter.

Truly allowing himself to recognise and feel all that longing for love that’s been like a tight ball in his chest always, meant giving into weakness meant getting Sammy killed or himself or both of them meant failure.

But the only way to beat back and conquer our Shadow-side is by recognising and accepting our flaws and no longer feeling unworthy because of them.

That’s what Cas’ words and his love does for Dean.

That’s right there in the subtext: Dean, even in the moments before certain death, being unable to open up to the truth of who he is and what really drives him; Dean needing his external source of faith, this man that he’s loved for a long time, to tell him that how he sees himself is wrong, to afford him a different view of himself, to bring the truth to light so that Dean can finally feel worthy it, because Dean couldn’t beat his Shadow back on his own, his dark view of himself was much too ingrained for that.

It had to be Cas. The narrative tells us it always had to be Cas. And so it is Cas who saves Dean from himself. And saves Dean’s life. And saves Dean from having to spend his afterlife in a prison of the mind.

Love wins.

And Cas only ever entered the narrative due to Dean’s need to Protect Sammy at all costs, because that has always been such a huge identity marker for Dean, his entire self-understanding and sense of self tied to whether he can keep his brother alive and out of harms way, which, as he grows up, then translates itself into Dean’s enormous capacity for selflessness and caring about others.

His core trait was never weapon, it was shield. It was protector. Stemming directly from all that love he carries around and can’t allow himself to feel because it means weakness and that means death and that means he’s failed and is worthless and around it has always gone.

And would always have gone, too. If not for Cas.

Love fucking WINS.

I mean. DAMN! It’s so gorgeous.

(this angle still holds even if Dean in any way was ever meant to actually reciprocate in that scene, because it’s made so clear to us how Cas never expects Dean to say it back) (if Dean is meant to say it back and the love story is meant to be textual that would be mind-blowing head-exploding joyful news) (but it doesn’t change the subtextual move away from unhealthy holding on to healthy letting go) (the textual would only ever strengthen the fact that we have subtextual confirmation)

But what about...?

Yeah, but what about that ending then? What about the last twenty minutes? What about all the focus on the brothers?

Was the execution of the finale perfect? No, I wouldn’t say it was, but I could see, when I watched the finale again on the 21st, that there was efforts made to make something good enough. Something geared toward tying our narrative up as best as possible with the means presented to Dabb.

I understand why people feel stuff is missing.

Because stuff is missing. Dabb told us they had to change the ending, that they were supposed to have a whole lot of people back to populate Dean’s Heaven. Found family galore. Misha said the same thing. They couldn’t (I’m not going to speculate on why, it’s just clear that they couldn’t) and so the ending had to be modified. To me that’s fairly plain in how it’s structured.

Did they have to focus so hard on the brothers?

Well... given the restrictions, I think this was the only way to end this narrative, because the story has always been centred on these two brothers and the bad choices and sacrifices they’ve made, and the blood, sweat and tears they’ve shed in order to remain together.

Their absolute inability to let the other go actually kick-started their onscreen journey.

Because this is a story about dependency, and letting go of that dependency to make way for a healthy, equal coexisting; which is what, to me, that final shot is all about.

Should Cas and Jack have been there? Sure! There will always be stuff missing from the final two eps that I’ll wonder about. Like, if Cas was never meant to be in the story (as per Misha he was but let’s say for argument’s sake) then why didn’t Dean just ask, very calmly, in 15x19 of Jack our New God: “What about Cas?” and then Jack our New God could’ve answered gently, but plainly: “He’s at peace.” Simple. Why didn’t we get an establishing of Eileen as Sam’s wife? And it would’ve helped so much to have Charlie and Stevie reestablished in the visual narrative as alive, however plain it is to me that Jack will have brought them back with everyone else who were away-ed by Chuck.

Sure, there could’ve been more.

But what I love about that final shot of the brothers is this canonical fact:

It would not have been possible without Cas.

Cas learning and growing and integrating to the point that he knows exactly how to fix the home he’s broken more than once, and how to bring free will, at long last, to Heaven, to the benefit of humanity.

And Dean’s little sideways smile (his “I want this smile”) when Cas is mentioned, when he realises that Heaven is different thanks to Cas, well, isn’t that just the darnedest thing?

*forever headcanon that Dean was expecting to see Cas again somewhere somehow he just didn’t know when and now... here Cas is*

When Cas went, it took a little time to adjust, but Dean let go of Cas and didn’t make a deal and didn’t go crazy or self-destructive, there was no nosediving into depression, because Cas’ words made those types of coping mechanisms no longer necessary.

Dean drinks and indulges at the start of 15x19 because he’s still processing, but by 15x20 Cas’ words have been fully internalised, Dean has integrated, and he’s looking to the future. Set on living, because otherwise he’d render Cas’ sacrifice meaningless.

Dean’s death has zero blaze and glory to it. He didn’t expect this day to be the day. But it is. And he accepts it. And because he does, because he’s open and honest with his brother, because he tells Sam all the words he needs Sam to carry with him, gives Sam all the faith in himself that Cas left Dean with, he’s brought to a Heaven that has been readied for him by the love of his life.

Cas is right there. And he’s been waiting. And he’s used his time well, because Heaven is now the afterlife that Dean deserves. The ultimate salvation. Love and happiness and companionship and LOVE LOVE LOVE. Forever.

If that isn’t the biggest reward for the both of them after everything they’ve been through, I don’t even know what is!

Sam arriving is a given, but I have to say I genuinely do not see Sam as living his life in pain and grief. He’s happy. He loves his kid. He’s a good father. Just like Dean was, and Bobby, and Cas. All the Good Father figures threaded through 15x20. And this narrative has been about these two brothers. It ending on them together, at peace, feels fitting.

Yeah, but shouldn’t Dean have gotten to live his life?

Sure, this is my interpretation 100%, but Dean’s death feels softly ironic and fitting because it is unexpected.

I can’t hit on this enough: there’s no blaze and glory.

Dean was ready to make the most of life, but through accepting death and accepting separation from Sam, Dean is brought into the same moment Cas was brought into, a moment of recognising what’s important, where Dean opens up fully to vulnerability and hands over his trust and faith in that Sam will be fine without him, which pushes Sam into the same integration that Cas’ words afforded Dean. Voicing trust and faith will do that for a person.

And Sam’s arc was always dependent, narratively, on the progression of Dean’s arc, so it makes a lot of narrative sense that this needed to happen for Sam to get pushed out of the nest and forced into having proper faith in himself. Because there’s no other choice.

He’s left doing what he has to and it results in a balance between that family life he’s always wanted (foreshadowed in 15x01) and staying aware of and raising his son to be aware of the reality of their world, given to us via the tattoo on Dean Jr.’s wrist. (oofta I wish he’d had a different name but since everything had to be done in the visual narrative it’s the easiest way to connect us with Dean still being present in Sam’s life so I get it)

There’s also that romantic in me that feels as though Dean is greatly rewarded for all his suffering and struggles, for all those years of living his life in fear and feeling as though he doesn’t matter by not only bringing him into a Heaven he made possible, but by reuniting him with the love of his life and this time they’re equally immortal, equally made of light, equally eternal, equally integrated and balanced and ready to accept all that love and happiness.

That just makes me fucking happy. For them both.

Bring on the New Beginnings

The fact that the narrative has opened itself up to being interpreted as somehow glorifying death or saying that happiness can only be found in death is distressing, but I hope that the threads I’ve pulled on here gives enough of a basis for me to say how I truly feel like this is simplifying why the choice was made for Dean to die.

It’s not about happiness only being found in death.

It’s not about devaluing living your life, it’s about the idea, the soft hope, even the narrative promise that death, for our characters, not for humanity as a whole, but for these specific men, who have always avoided it and made bad deals and feared separation and been brought into a crisis of identity (Dean because he doesn’t know who he is without Protect Sammy as purpose and Sam because he genuinely and continuously seem convinced that he can’t hunt without Dean to lead the way) whenever death has touched them have now reached a point where the separation is an accepted part of life.

And this acceptance is rewarded: because the separation isn’t forever.

Death is not the end. It makes way for new beginnings. For all three of TFW. Actually all four, because of course Jack is included in this endgame.

There’s a transformation that takes place, thanks to them integrating. They get to transcend what’s come before and move onto the next plane of existence together.

Together.

TFW 3.0!

Death on this show has always been about a moment of rebirth, of entering a different leg of their journeys.

I don’t find it out of place at all that the ultimate moment of death for our characters mean just that.

Not an ending, but a new beginning.

In conclusion

Could there have been more? As said, yes. Absolutely yes. But I doubt Dabb isn’t aware of that. I don’t think this is the ending he originally intended. It might have been a brothers focused ending, because I think Dean was always meant to die and go to Heaven, but Dean’s Heaven was meant to be a celebration of found family.

The subtext of this narrative is what I’ve been reading and what I’ve been hooked on for four years, and what I’ll continue to be hooked on for the rest of my life, I’m fairly sure. I wish it could be celebrated, the way it always has been, the way we’ve always known to look deeper.

I hoped Supernatural would turn out to be a vehicle for overt representation. I always hoped that, and believe that was what the writers wanted. The fact that we didn’t get overt bisexual Dean and Destiel as unquestionable canon was distressing to me too and I’ll always think of this ending as a missed opportunity and I wish the CW would learn and fucking do better already.

I understand the frustration, I understand the anger, I just wish we could all look at the richness of this ending and everything it says about the narrative, about our subtext, about our love story, about our character journeys, and lean into the treasury of it.

And omfg we got Cas as canonically queer.

We got a main character on our show that is overt representation, on a journey towards a moment where he gets to express love and hope and clarity and this in turn moving through and enabling the integration of Dean and ultimately of Sam as well.

Truth begetting truth. Happiness begetting happiness. And love saving the day.

So, my friends, I will say this: saying that all the writing is bad, or claiming that there’s no depth, nothing to pull on, that it all just plain sucked, that doesn’t quite cut it. These three final episodes, just as any episode ever of this goddamn show, contain all of those layers and layers, especially when looked at together and certainly when taken into the context of the show as a whole.

And yes, you are, of course, more than welcome to your own interpretation!

To finish I’ll quote Bruce Almighty:

Lovelovelovelovelovelovelove!!

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patricia-von-arundel · 4 years

Text

The Happiest Place in Fódlan

@lysissisyl and I decided to try writing something together - kind of. We decided to take the same prompt, and see what each of us would do with it. Almost immediately after, @frozenartscapes wrote about her AU where Silver Snow!Edelgard unexpectedly appears in modern Fódlan (where Byleth is still alive), and I realized it would work perfectly for the prompt (which was randomly generated):

Edelgard and Byleth go to a fair/amusement park and Edelgard wants to go on the roller coaster and Byleth agrees. Later, Byleth regrets their decision and ends up clinging onto Edelgard for dear life. (Or reversed. Either would be funny!)

So�� here’s my take on it! (I reversed it, for the record.) Let’s just assume that Walt Disney lived in Fódlan…

Rating: G (this is fluff on top of fluff)

A befuddling world. They called it “Fódlan,” but it might as well have been a different planet. She felt horribly unmoored, all control lost - and there were few things Edelgard despised more than losing control. Months had passed, and still the feeling lingered. More than lingered: at times, it seemed to throb like an infected tooth.

But worse still - not a throb, but a deep, constant ache - was that she had no understanding now, it seemed, of Byleth. Byleth was the same person, but also somehow, radically, painfully not. She had become another alien, part of this alien world. For her, enough time had passed that the wounds of battle - both physical and emotional - had been able to heal, and even the scars they left had faded. But for Edelgard… Physically, she had healed. But no healer could repair the turmoil within her skull.

Though Byleth claimed there were people now who could. “Therapists,” she said they were called - “like healers, but for your brain.” She had even offered to take Edelgard to one. But Edelgard had balked at the idea, quickly insisting there was no need.

Need, however, was ultimately irrelevant. The shameful truth - one which she tried to keep carefully hidden - was that in this new Fódlan, she found herself more and more terrified of leaving the confines of Byleth’s small apartment in Enbarr. Even it was filled with strange, frightening things, but at least there was a feeling there of a semblance of control. No cars barreling unexpectedly around a corner - and better still, no vans or trucks. No crash of boxes of cans being unloaded at a grocery store. No card-only payments signs, or men’s restroom versus women’s restroom, or a thousand different variants of coffee with strange, confusing names like latte and espresso.

But even the apartment could be strange and confusing. Beds and chairs seemed too soft, but tables - covered in lacquer, apparently - and other wooden things seemed much too hard, their surfaces unnaturally slick. The lights, at night, were far too bright and uniform: no dancing shadows cast by candle or fireplace. There was no fireplace at all!

The worse times, especially at the start, were when Byleth was not there. Edelgard said nothing of her fears, but she certainly had them. Then, she was left alone with a microwave, which could safely cook in some things, but not others. (As Edelgard had found out the first time she worked up the courage to try to use it, and was caught by Byleth just before putting one of those infernal cans inside - why wasn’t the point of them to also have a ready-to-use dish? It was the most obviously-practical thing about them!) She was left with a million strange buttons on a remote control that could turn on a television (which had fascinated her in concept, but not, in the end, in practice). She was left with a thermostat, which controlled the air conditioner. (Byleth insisted it was not magic, though it certainly still seemed like magic. Much appreciated magic; Enbarr had seemed hot to her as a child, but somehow was even more so now. Byleth had words for that, too: climate change.)

Edelgard had known great sorrows - most of her life had been filled with them. What she felt now, though, after all of the initial confusion, was sad. Sad in the obvious ways she would always have expected to be, after so many years of war and loss, but also, perhaps even more so, in a confusing, complicated, overwhelming kind of way. Everything about this world, and about herself in it… it all just felt wrong. She was the true alien, here. An alien in a land she had once ruled…

There was no empire now, and thus no emperor. There was only Edelgard.

A person she no longer remembered how to be.

Living with someone she no longer knew.

She who so prided herself on her ability to control her mind and body, so careful of all that she said, had caught herself frequently almost letting slip the words “my teacher” when speaking to Byleth. But Byleth was not - she never would be again. And it was ridiculous to wish it could be otherwise, ridiculous and selfish, and yet, knowing also she would likely never be as happy again a she had been at that time… it was hard.

Because she had been happy, as curious as it was to consider it. The strain of all she was forced to balance, the burden of secrets and lies: yes, all those things had been a part of her life then. But for the first time in a very long time, she had felt as if she was wresting back control of her own life - taking it from those who had destroyed so many, and so much, and claimed it had all been for her benefit. Her life would be hers again - and all of Fódlan a more peaceful, egalitarian land.

Then Byleth came.

There had been times, then, when she had not only been happy - she had been absolutely, utterly euphoric. Something about Byleth simply called to her heart, in some deep, beautiful, timeless way: whatever connected them had always been there, she had simply not yet been able to feel it. She could almost allow herself to believe Byleth, too, could feel it -

- Until it snapped.

She still had not asked Byleth about her decision, that day in the Holy Tomb. She knew it could not be avoided forever - and Byleth had already hinted at discussing it - but Edelgard was not yet ready for some truths. Again, she had to remind herself this was not unexpected: it had not been 850 years for her, as it had been for Byleth. It had not even been six months.

All of this turmoil and uncertainty and sadness swirled constantly within her, like some endless storm, but she kept it to herself, locked once more behind a mask - an invisible one, perhaps, but a mask of a sort nonetheless.

Except she had never been good at keeping her mask in place around Byleth.

“You’re sad, El.” She said it abruptly, over a shared breakfast of toasted scones and jam. Byleth was not as blunt as she had once been - nor as outwardly difficult to read - but traces of her old self still appeared. “Why?”

Normally, such moments were almost reassuring - echoes of a world Edelgard would never see again, proof that that world had existed, that she had not always been just an unmoored alien - but this one left her heart beating more quickly and her appetite abruptly vanished. Still, she spoke steadily: “I’m afraid I don’t know of what you speak. I feel no unusual sadness, my - Byleth.” Not an outright lie: this sadness was no longer unusual. It had hung over her for a very long time.

She wasn’t the only one aware of that, either: “I know. Because you’re sad all the time.”

Edelgard looked down, at her half-finished plate. “You’ve not lost the talent for looking right through people, have you?”

“Maybe not. But it’s important. Especially with you.”

“Especially with - ?” She couldn’t stop the surprise in her voice, nor the sudden, almost painful leap in her chest - even as she immediately fought it. It was because of her strange situation, not because Byleth shared the feelings Edelgard had fought for so long. The feelings she was fighting again now, when five years ago - centuries ago - she had believed she had finally bested them…

“I really want you to see a therapist when we get back, El. I’ll ask Flayn who she’d recommend. Please, El. Things are different now. They can help you.”

“Did you say… Flayn?”

“She’s a pediatric psychologist specializing in childhood trauma and PTSD. Uh - that’s post-traumatic stress disorder. Which you also almost certainly have…”

More new words, though these Edelgard rather doubted she would remember. “That is… not something that I had considered. Perhaps because I had also not considered that Flayn is now an adult…”

“She’s not so different, for all the time that’s passed. Still very kind. Still has to stop Seteth hovering. Still loves fish - I wish you’d been here to see her when the first sushi restaurant opened in Enbarr!”

“…Sushi?”

“I’ll take you for it sometime - it’s a little hard to describe.”

Edelgard nodded - most of the food of this new age was quite good. She liked pizza in particular, with the little round meats whose name she could never recall, and also veggie wraps and tacos. Her opinion on chicken nuggets was still indeterminate, but most of what Byleth had offered had been quite palatable.

Moving away from food - and Flayn - she said, “My tea- Byleth - you said… when we get back?”

Byleth grinned - still such a strange thing to see her do! “El,” she said, “we’re going on a little trip.”

“A… trip?”

“A trip. To the happiest place in Fódlan.”

The “happiest place in Fódlan” was also, happiest or not, somehow even more confusing than all the very confusing things Edelgard had had to face for the last few equally-confusing months.

She blinked. And blinked again - trying to process all that was before her now that they had finally gotten past the mob at the gates. (And past Byleth gently correcting her when she called the people in uniform “gatekeepers.” They were called ticket takers, except here, where they were cast members. Why had the name changed, Edelgard wondered, when they performed exactly the same function?)

“That’s a castle,” she finally said.

Byleth laughed. “Yes. It is a castle.”

“But I thought you said castle are no longer built? There certainly was not a castle like that here… before. I would remember a castle as curious as that one.”

“This is an exception. It’s not a real castle. Well - it is and it isn’t. It’s called Cinderella Castle. We’re having lunch there later, but we can go see it now, if you like.”

“What's a Cinderella?”

For a moment, Byleth looked pained. “Okay, that’s on me. I really should have thought to watch a whole lot of movies before booking this trip…”

Movies was a word Edelgard knew. She liked some of them, too. “Cinderella is a movie?”

“Several movies. It’s based on a fairytale - that’s, uh, a story that pops up again and again all over the world. Kind of like all the different versions of what happened with Nemesis and Seiros, only not about anything that actually happened. Does that make sense?”

Edelgard considered this, then nodded. “Is the Cinderella movie anything like Star Wars?” She had enjoyed Star Wars enough to watch it several times, though she understood very little of it. Ships simply could not fly in space, even if Byleeth said they actually could, albeit not in that manner. They also did not look anything like ships. And Byleth said lightsabers didn’t truly exist either, which was a disappointment. Still, though, Edelgard did like those movies. She disliked comedies. Comedies confused her.

“Uh… not very much, no,” Byleth said. “There’s a ton of Star Wars stuff here, though. We’ll see it later this week. If you want space, though…” Suddenly - unexpectedly - her face lit up. “You’ve never been on a rollercoaster!”

“A roller… what?”

“Hurry, before the line gets long! We’ll see the castle later. Come on!”

To Edelgard’s surprise - and embarrassment - and heart-pounding shock - Byleth grabbed her hand, hauling her off down what seemed to be a street of shops (you could shop here?), towards the castle from a movie, not the ancient past. Such casual intimacy was very common now, as Edelgard had noticed very quickly, surprised at first by handshakes, hugs, people only kissing one another, but that didn’t mean it was any less of a shock to have it from Byleth. From a woman that, in her mind, had been preparing to execute her only months before. From a woman whose hand she once had longed more than any other to hold…

They turned before the castle - and the whole world once more transformed. There was no time to process it, but no matter - she was still struggling with trying to process Byleth’s hand, the warm softness of her skin. To process any of this.

“Only a 20 minute line - I’m glad we got here early!”

“20 minute line…?”

“For Space Mountain!”

“Space…. Mountain? I don’t - “

“Of course you don’t. You will soon! Hurry!”

What could she do but as told? She wouldn’t survive an hour in this curious place without Byleth. She could barely handle the street outside Byleth’s apartment in Enbarr without Byleth… And she wanted Byleth to keep holding her hand.

Life generally was now overwhelming. “I confess,” she said - voice raised and shaky from the gait of their jog - “I feel rather foolishly like a child right now, like this.”

“That’s the point, El. And look - we’re here!”

It did not resemble a mountain. It did not resemble… anything Edelgard had ever seen. Though this was approximately the hundredth time she might have claimed the same simply in the last hour. Something about it almost reminded her of the technology - the weapons - employed by the evil beings Byleth said history now called Agarthans, rather than the more-cumbersome name by which she had known them. But Byleth would surely never take her somewhere like that? Still, it was the first thing that came to mind, looking up at this strangely-shaped, spiky, silvery… something.

The sign certainly said “Space Mountain.” Maybe the definition of “mountain” had changed? Some words had, like kid and - as she had thought earlier - ship, like the spaceships. She would ask later, when she could properly concentrate on the answer.

Byleth, meanwhile, had a very strange smile on her face. “Your first time going into space,” she said. “Just like in Star Wars.”

“Going into space?” Edelgard looked at the strange-something again, then back at Byleth. “I’m confused again, I’m afraid, my teach- Byleth.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Though the smug look on your face leads me to believe you are continuing to be deliberately obtuse. Is this going to exasperate me the entire week that we are here?”

That earned her a shrug, but no less of that very self-satisfied smirk. “You’re not allowed to be exasperated at Disney World, El. It’s against the rules.”

“Then perhaps don’t go out of your way to be exasperating?”

“We’ll see. Are you ready to go in?”

Edelgard took a third glance at the strange-something. “This might be an absurd question, but… does it truly somehow go into space?”

Her breath caught - briefly, thankfully - when Byleth’s hand squeezed around hers. But while that she could hope Byleth didn’t notice, there was no possibility the flush in her cheeks would be missed. She looked down, to concentrate on Byleths’s words rather than whatever expression might be on her face. There were things she was still not ready to see.

“Not really into space. It just uses speed and lights - or rather, lack thereof - to make it feel as if you’re in space. It’s a simulation.”

“…Simulation?”

“Using senses to make you feel like you’re seeing or feeling something you’re not.”

Another strange new word. That was the true mountain, whatever the current definition might be: the mountain of words and meanings and lost words she truly felt she might spend the rest of her life attempting to scale. She couldn’t escape it even here, in the “happiest place in Fódlan.”

“Like television?” She felt even more absurd at this question, even knowing perfectly well Byleth was - and had assured Edelgard repeatedly she always would be - happy to answer questions as long as it took for Edelgard to understand. She might deliberately exasperate at times, but was still, truly, as patient with Edelgard’s questions as she had been when they were teacher and student at the Officers Academy. And that was appreciated - no matter how ridiculous Edeglard felt, at times.

“A… little like television,” Byleth said now. “But… like you’re actually in the scene with the actors. When there are actors. There aren’t any here. Just movement and lights and sound. And usually screaming. Lots of screaming.”

“You sound curiously cheerful about the prospect.”

The strange smile was back when Edelgard forced her eyes up once more. Byleth’s hand tugged hers. “I don’t want to spoil it too much. But I think you’ll like it. Ready to go?”

“As… ready as as I’ll likely ever be. I suppose.”

They were going inside the strange-something. The mountain-that-wasn’t-a-mountain. It was cooler inside - air conditioner again - and there was a line of people that moved in fits and starts, seeming to go gradually upward. They were climbing the mountain - in a sense? But it didn’t feel like being in space. Not that Edelgard had been in space. But it was not how she imagined it would be like to be in space. Maybe it was a simulation of climbing into space? But there was no speed, none of the lights and sounds Byleth had made sound like they were unusual in some way. Unusual by the standards of a world with lightbulbs and radios. If this was a radio. Sometimes, Edelgard still was confused by how far to extend a new concept - she had confused movie and television for weeks, after learning of them for the first time together.

After some time had passed - Byleth had said the line would take 20 minutes, but Edelgard had yet to master measuring time in such a manner - there were peculiar sounds, but they did not seem like those that would come from a radio, or a spaceship. Odd, mechanical sounds, like movement - and, very faintly, those screams she had half-wondered if Byleth might be joking about. She leaned a little, in case she could catch a glimpse of anything, but all she saw was an impenetrable wall of people in t-shirts and sunglasses and the curiious hats Byleth had told her about, the ones with balls on them intended to make people look like enormous mice. (Byleth had briefly attempted to explain why. It still made no sense to Edelgard.)

The screaming got louder - but there was an echo-y, muffled quality to it. As if it were coming from inside a cave, or the other side of a closed door. And mixed with it was what sounded like cheering, and… laughter?

Byleth’s hand once more squeezed.

(Why was Byleth still holding her hand?)

“You look concerned, El.”

She managed a smile, if only a tight one. “Perhaps a bit. It’s more that I am… now very, very curious. On a day when everything I see seems more curious than the last.”

Byleth laughed. “Even by modern standards, El, no one would ever call Disney World ‘normal’.”

The smile felt a little more natural, now. “I’m relieved to hear that. Though… I do think I’ll leave rather fond of this place.”

Another hand squeeze.

(Another caught breath.)

“Let’s see how you feel after this, okay?”

The end of the line - and more of the not-gatekeepers. But there were no tickets here, so what were they called? She would have to ask Byleth.

But later - one more hand squeeze (a… slightly longer one? It felt so…), then they had to part. The not-gatekeepers were moving everyone to separate, smaller lines. She leaned again at the strange mechanical sound she had heard earlier, now much closer and clearer. Everyone ahead was still taller than she was - Byleth said she wasn’t just imagining it, people really were taller now - but she could still see: rows of cars. Or were they called cars? This morning they had ridden -

She leaned closer to Byleth. “Is that a car or a monorail?”

“Neither. It’s a cart.”

Edelgard looked again, not bothering to hide in her expression the disdain she now felt. That thing was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a “cart” of any kind. It didn’t even have wheels!

Regardless, she was about to get in one. She glanced at Byleth, who met her gaze and grinned. She looked excited.

The screams suddenly felt much more urgent.

Then she was being ushered into her seat on the “cart,” a mysterious metal bar coming down over her lap. She knew seatbelts - was this just some variant, or did it serve a different purpose?

She supposed she was about to find out.

There truly was an alarming amount of screaming, somewhere ahead of them…

“Hang on!” Byleth said.

There was a startling little jerk as the cart began to move, but it smoothed out quickly. They were going slowly - into darkness. Complete darkness.

They stopped.

Lights - a sign? But while Edelgard could tell there were letters on it, she still struggled with the strange way things were written now, and the cart was moving again before she could make out what it said.

More lights - bright ones. Almost painfully bright. And peculiar, discordant sounds. Radio? It didn’t sound like radio. Or like any other sound she had ever heard, in this world or in her own. They were going up. surrounded by the too-bright lights and strange sounds, and Edelgard felt a curious, indeterminate dread building within her gut.

She leaned forward, to be heard over the sound. “My teacher, what - “

“Hang on, El.”

“Hang…?”

“The bar, El! Grab the bar!”

There was no more warning than that. There was no time for it.

The cart went hurtling into darkness.

Edelgard shrieked and grabbed before she was thrown off. The closest thing.

Not the bar.

Byleth.

Byleth’s arms wrapped around her own, holding her there. Was she laughing…?

There was no chance to wonder. They were still being thrown around in that pitch-black darkness, up and down and around. Edelgard might have continued to scream - as so many others were doing - but the first drop had knocked the breath out of her, and she had yet to manage to get it back.

It lasted for a small infinity - and almost no time at all. Then, they were abruptly back into a world of sunlight, of voices instead of screams, and of Edelgard quickly pulling back from her hold on Byleth.

Much as some part of her desperately fought as she did so…

Byleth had wrapped her arms around Edelgard’s. Byleth had held her hand - and for far longer than was necessary.

But this was not the time to dwell on it. She stood on shaky legs when the bar raised to allow it - and found a hand, reaching to offer help stepping out of the cart.

And again, Byleth did not let go. Instead, as they walked, she swung their hands casually, and smiled, and said, “What did you think?”

Edelgard considered this, trying hard to focus, despite the curious hand-swinging. “I… do rather wish you had warned me.”

Byleth laughed. “I told you three times to hold onto something.”

She felt the flush rise in her cheeks. “That is not what I meant, as you well know. But I…” She looked to Byleth, and allowed herself a rare open smile. “I quite liked it! Could we… perhaps go again?”

Byleth smiled back - filling Edelgard with a rush of warmth both strange and very pleasant. “Sure we can. We can go right now, if you like. You can even hold onto me again, if you want to.”

Edelgard looked quickly away. “Yes. Well. The… offer is appreciated.”

Another laugh - and another squeeze of her hand. “Do you want to go now?”

“If you’re sure that you don’t mind… then yes. I would quite like to go again. But my tea- Byleth, I’m… rather confused?”

“About what?”

“Why are we… How did we get inside a shop?”

#fire emblem three houses #edelgard #edelgard von hresvelg #byleth #byleth eisner #edeleth #modern au #tales of the tiny emperor #stories with lys #fire emblem three houses fanfiction

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teamfreehoodies · 4 years

Note

I'm two days late with a fic prompt sorry lol but I could not get this idea out of my head so, if you're still up for it: what if Witcher AU where it's Yennefer who meets Renfri at Blaviken instead of Geralt <3 Love your fics

Oh my god this is so interesting?????? (Also thank you!!!! 💕)

Yennefer hasn’t been to the coast in years, and she wouldn’t be here under normal circumstances, but she was.... desperate. Rumor had it that there might be a djinn for sale in their market soon, which meant either someone had found one, or at the very least there was djinn activity in the area and someone felt justified that they could find one and for a dirty little place in the backwoods just off the coast it did seem to have something... off about it. She’d portaled to a field just outside the city, a place that should have been empty of magic entirely except for what she brought with her. And yet... something was different about this town. The air felt heavy with it, a stagnant weight hovering over the people, and as she approached the city’s gates it became more and more apparent that something was deeply wrong with this city. Where there should have been children playing games in the street there were only beggars, staring listlessly forward as they huddled against walls for warmth, a stark indicator of a bad fishing season in a town like this.

But there had been no pleas to the Brotherhood to take care of their ills, no appeal to the mages to find the fish, to feed the fishermen, to save the town. Yennefer had left court, but she still knows all the court mages and none of them had said anything of a town under famine. She kept moving, ignoring the damp dreariness that pulled at her heart. Maybe it wasn’t famine, and Blaviken simply had an unusually large amount of serfs with no fields to tend, and the heavy atmosphere was just caused by the concentrated misery of so many people packed so closely together.

She would get no answers on the street, so she ducked into the first tavern she saw, shaking off the strange heaviness of emotion from staring at the misery in the streets of this thrice-cursed backwater. The tavern at least was decent enough, a good crowd for this time of day, early as it still was. She wound her way to the bar, aiming for a beer and a chance to collect her thoughts. She might find someone in here who could tell her of the fishing spots suddenly gone bare— that might be a good indication of djinn activity actually, now that she thought about it.

The bartender slid her a cup and filled it before turning away with a grunt as he picked up the coin she left on the table. The beer was cold, but that was were the positives ended. “What the fuck,” she muttered spitting the ale back into its cup— she’d tasted piss-water more palatable than this swill.

“It’s an acquired taste but I promise, it’s not poison.” Yennefer looked down the bar, tracking down the owner of the offered opinion. Oh, but she was gorgeous, her hair an asymmetrical mess framing her rounded cheeks, lashes long enough to make the brown of her eyes look bottomless, her mouth curled with just the right amount of attitude as she smirked at Yennefer.

“I’d almost prefer it it was poison” Yennefer replied, sliding closer down the bar and dragging the piss-water with her. “At least then the taste would have an explanation.” The woman laughed, cracking more peanuts from the bar, and popping them into her open mouth. She smiled at Yennefer, leaning back in her seat as she made a short gesture at the barkeep.

“You’ve a lot of experience with poisons then?” She asked, turning to face Yennefer fully.

“Enough to never accept a drink I didn’t order myself,” Yennefer countered, smirking as the barkeep plunked two wine cups in front of them.

“Well that’s a shame then, isn’t it.” The woman said, reaching across Yennefer to drag the cup away before the barkeep could pour anything into it.

Yennefer caught her hand against the bottom rim of the cup, feeling the warmth of her rough hands (and gods she wanted those hands against her skin so suddenly she was surprised by the force of her desire.) “it’s only a shame if we let it be.” she purred, rubbing her thumb along the index finger of the woman’s hand still trapped beneath her own.

The barkeep cleared his throat, breaking them apart as he gestured impatiently with the wine bottle. “Am I pouring this or not,” he said “I’ve got other customers, y’know.”

The woman giggled, than guffawed, a hearty laugh that was more wild and free than any woman Yennefer had ever known— instantly, she was hooked. Yennefer wanted more of that laugh, wanted some of that wild freedom for herself.

“There’s better drinks at my place,” Yennefer said aching to reach back out and touch, needing the heat of the other woman’s skin to balance against the chill of her own.

“Are you seducing me?” the woman asked, smirking slyly at Yennefer from behind her fringe of hair.

“Only if you’re interested in being seduced,” Yennefer leaned in closer, not touching, just letting her proximity work for her. They were facing each other still and as Yennefer leaned in the woman did too, almost imperceptibly, until Yennefer stopped, just close enough that their conversation was a touch too intimate for public (but oh, that had never bothered Yennefer one little bit, and in fact it added to the heat in her belly, the tension between her thighs that demanded release.) “Is it working?” she whispered finally, her breath just ghosting over the other woman’s lips.

(Fuck off,” muttered the barkeep as he plunked the wine down on the counter and stalked towards his other customers. He had things to do other than staring at flirting lesbians.)

“Why don’t we go get that wine.” The woman whispered, sending shivers down Yennefer’s spine. Delicious anticipation was thrumming through her veins and it made her sloppy, so she almost missed the knife as it hurtled up to rest beneath her chin.

“I’m not really into knifeplay as a rule,” she said, one hand against the woman’s where it was trying to push a blade into her throat, the other pressed into the base of the woman’s neck, her thumb just above the dip in her clavicle.

“Yeah well, you can tell that to Stregobor when he joins you in hell then can’t you.” The woman said, nonsensically, as they both strained against the other’s grip.

“Stregobor?” Yennefer repeated, mind trying desperately to connect the pieces.

“He sent you to kill me before I could kill him, why else would a mage be in Blaviken?” The woman scoffed and Yennefer realized that the reason no one had intervened was because the entire tavern was being held hostage by men in line with this woman, a collection of dwarves and halflings with swords and crossbows, the sorriest looking army that Yennefer had ever seen. Yennefer’s grip slipped and the knife slid another centimeter closer to her throat and all of a sudden she understood what was wrong about this damn town.

“Cock.” She said, staring into the eyes of the last girl born under the Black Sun, Renfri, Princess of Creyden, sworn hunter of Stregobor the Mage and something of a local legend amongst Yennefer’s circle of influence, precisely for her vendetta against the man. They all hated Stregobor, and he’d been officially censured for his slaughter of the girls of the Black Sun prophecy, and prophecy work had been falling out of fashion ever since— not that that knowledge did her any good, a knife to her throat and a furious shrike holding it.

“I’m not here on business of Stegobor’s,” Yennefer offered, pulling on Chaos just enough to give her a fighting chance. She pushed the hand with the knife against her throat sharply upwards, a fast enough strike that it stunned Renfri, knocking the weapon from her hand though not for long as she was already reaching for a new one— but Yennefer had space, had time—had purpose, and that was all a mage really needed.

“I bet you want him dead, right?” She said, holding up her hands to ward off Renfri’s continued advances (and also to make portalling away faster if need be. Renfri paused, cocking her head at Yennefer. Emboldened she went on, “I don’t have any particular feelings about the man, but I bet even you can’t hope to succeed against him alone.” Renfri, according to legend, wasn’t the sort of shrike that waited. To find her in a tavern in Blaviken meant Stregobor must be close, and must be hiding if he hadn’t yet been killed. “Ahh, that’s it isn’t is,” she said, as Renfri slowly let her go, flipping the knife in a devastatingly hot) show of skill before she sipped it back in to the sheath on her thigh. Oh, if this worked out the way Yennefer wanted it to, they were going to have a fucking amazing time together. “You can’t get to him. What has he locked himself into a tower somewhere? Magicked up some guard dogs I imagine?” She took her seat, reaching for the bottle of wine the barkeep must have left for them, pouring equal measures into the two cups.

Renfri must have made some motion behind Yennefer’s back (it wasn’t much of a gamble to turn her back on this opponent, sure as Yennefer was of her purpose here, but enough of one that a little shiver of pleasure ran up her spine at the implied danger) because the dwarves and halflings were putting down weapons, retreating to the table they’d been occupying before they took the tavern hostage. There was some grumbling from the patronage, but violence seemed to be the language of these people, so it settled quickly, just in time for Renfri to take her seat again, reaching forward to grab the wine that Yennefer had poured for her. “He’s locked himself in his tower,” she said, taking a sip of the wine and letting her knee bump into Yennefer’s thigh beneath the bartop. “Can’t get him out to face me in a fair fight, which he knows he’d lose.” Now that Yennefer is paying attention she can feel the slight disturbance in Chaos as it bends away from Renfri, refusing to touch. Interesting. “So tomorrow me and my men are going to murder every single person in the market until he crawls down from his ivory tower and faces his destiny at the end of my sword.” She’s puffed up already, like she expects Yennefer to object to this plan. The massive planned loss of life bothers Yennefer on a surface level surely, as unnecessary as it is. There are easier ways to pull Stregobor from his hiding place-- more elegant too.

“What if I told you that I could pull him out of that tower without having to sacrifice the townspeople of Blaviken?”

“I’d ask you for what price. I know mages and witchers are alike in that they only work for coin or power.”

Yennefer smiled, taking a long draught of the wine and then slamming the empty cup back on the bartop. “I want everything, little shrike. But this?” she said, spreading her arms wide, “this I’ll do just because Stregobor deserved more than a slap on the wrist for his actions and I can think of no more fitting end than to watch you butcher him in the streets of Blaviken.”

#AND SO THEY MURDER HIM AND THEN THEY GO OFF TO LIVE THEIR BEST LIVES #Geralt walks through Blaviken like a day later and can't find anyone to take his damn Kikimora but Marilka #(freshly unemployed and looking for adventure) is like HEy Mr. Witcher Sir can I Follow You and Learn to Sword Fight #And Geralt who is secretly desperate for a friend is like no #not until you're at least old enough to marry and make your own choices #so she pouts but also he does teach her some stuff #and then he visits for a while every summer making sure to stop at Blaviken which is a welcoming place now that Stregobitch isnt haunting #the damn place anymore #and when she's old enough to travel she just followed Geralt out one summer #and he gets a friend to travel with #and Marilka gets to stab things to her murderous little hearts content #and then uhhh idk what happens after that but YES I LOVED THIS PROMPT SO FUCKING MUCH #Renfri #Yennfri #Thank you nonny!!!!#Now accepting prompt I should think #this was delightfully fun #amber writes

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chyuans · 3 years

Text

hello , hello ! first of all , i’m super excited to be here even if i’m like 10 hrs LATE ( gmt timezone things ) i’m noe , a gay they / them at the age of 19 , and this privileged lil disappointment of a jock boy is gonna be filling the position of kong_01 . despite the rumours ? yuanjun’s actually not nearly as bad as some of the people he’ll be meeting here >:) but you’ll get to know more about that below ! if you’d like to plot just light up that HEART , or add me on disc*rd which i’ll give out in im’s , where i’m infinitely faster . if i’m not gaming . no tw’s under the cut .

* backstory. > many people know of yuanjun, but few people truly know him. he's the famous kong families’ son, heir to the kong legacy, now forward position for south korea men’s national hockey team - which brought forth a ton of international fame from back home and amongst hockey lovers worldwide. while his talent is undeniable, he is long overshadowed by his families’ accomplishments, forever reminded that he’d never be the perfect son they’d hoped for, and no one ever lets him forget it.

> being the child of business tycoons who’s art business seemed to never be on the decline, tended to lend itself to an unconventional, pretty lonely childhood.

> although jun no longer wants to dabble in the stupid shit he probably did as a teen, and escape from their home in a childish fit of rage and make the lives of the various nannies that tended to him while his parents were off being great hell, he still wonders sometimes whether this profession is what he would’ve wanted if he’d just not wanted to spite his parents. he loves hockey - that fact is undeniable. he thanks the nanny who took him there once out of necessity to stop his whining, and he fell in love with it almost instantly. but he also questions whether he gravitated to it because it was something he could throw himself into wholeheartedly to fill a void.

> he's very open to different types of people, and after being scouted at 19 and having a massive shift both in culture and identity as he then begun to travel worldwide, he’s a tiny bit more wordly now than he was back then. he's much more concerned about who you are underneath than superficial appearances, which means developing relationships are few and far between, because a lot of people do approach him because of his fame/fortune. he's unjudgemental to the point where his friends worry about his naivety and how easily he trusts people, but he's absolutely not dumb, just very well versed on telling good people from the bad.

> jun may even come across as naïve, but he's very aware of that perception is nearly important as reality. he's not extroverted in a way that demands conversation, but he knows how to talk to anyone from any background even if its just to maintain pleasantries. after competing in various competitions and versing players from canada to japan, he's become much more sharp and ambitious, a guy who very rarely lets distractions take their course. perhaps it’s with this that his family loathe his choices all the more, with his appetite, he was born with the skills required to run a business - pity he never took to anything of the creative sort.

> working in a fast, stressful, highly coveted job such as pro-sports is a full time job and then some; jun doesn't spend much time not working on it. outside of his schedule, he likes bettering his stamina at the gym and eating healthy. he likes being surrounded by authentic people or nobody at all. he’s not one for trying new things and having new experiences due to time management, tending to stick to a schedule.

> he gets a lot of bad press though, which is beginning to weigh a little heavy on him. doubly now the murder has people talking. from being accused of performance-enhancing pills, various personality scandals, to being linked with ‘dating’ (see: ruining the image of) idols and chaebol’s alike. right now, he’s currently battling a lot of unwanted publicity because of a misunderstood interaction online against a wealthy sweetheart that went sour.

> while jun might be generally unsympathetic and analytical when it comes to developing relationships with people that’ll last long-term, he's a bleeding heart when it comes to kids who may have experienced the same lonely upbringing as he did, without the financial gains. right now he spends sunday’s teaching a bunch of local foster home kids how to skate, and is trying to fund a couple of sports scholarships for those who show promise under a fake name, just generally being a good ‘ole guy.

> his family do not approve of his job, ofc. in fact neither of his parents have ever attended any of his matches to this day, and are only on semi-decent terms with him because jun begrudgingly is still tied by name to the business and shows his face at events for all of 30 minutes until he physically can no longer maintain pleasantries. his celebrity image perhaps is one thing they can manipulate, and even then, jun could get into scandals galore and still be doing his job. good press, bad press, it has the kong’s family name at the forefront of peoples’ minds, which always brings forth revenue.

> pros: could be a lot worse considering his upbringing, collected, and level-headed most of the time. wicked good at sports, and keeps a cool head in a tough situation. ambitious, curious, a little reckless. eager to prove himself, rich? and very endeared to people/places he finds fascinating. which are many. knows where the good, authentic chinese cuisine is. hardworking and very interested in the idea of Progress.

> cons: the most private person alive, will not divulge any palatable information about himself or his feelings. devil's advocate always. will put himself and others at an arm’s length the second he feels (disgusted noises) e-emotions (love, namely). gets bored easily. paranoid, leads with the head more than the heart. friends > > > family. a little self-involved, never fucking sleeps - will be that neighbour you can hear padding around above your apartment at 3.05 am like it’s mid-day, aaaaand Loves Winning Above All Else

* personality & relationships.

> like many others, jun has his fair share of surface-level friends. he’s quick to be interested in people, to get to know them better, but it's difficult for him to get closer than that after a childhood of being picked up and dropped by those who looked over him - which kinda has left him with abandonment issues.

> he’s a curator of neat things that aren’t too overtly complex, and that includes friendships. so if you have something unusual about you, whether it's a talent or a way of thinking, he would be inclined to get to know you better. also, he has a lot of leverage with his job. being friends with a sports star slash million dollar trust fund baby who can get you free shit never hurts, just don’t befriend him for the perks, yanno?

> jun is very dedicated to his vision of things, and can sometimes be very obstinate in the way he a) wants them to be done b) doesn't accept other options, think steve jobs. he's very mercurial and can be nice one minute but isn't afraid to switch to hardass boss to get things done and did. > he is insanely competitive and his strive is drawn out by always wanting to be on top. truly first child material. that's the kind of guy he is, with standards that do not reflect his passive side too well, which sometimes can get him into some “personality” scandals. he is driven, motivated, always looking for ways to be winning.

> i'm sure someone is bound to hate him, he’s probably got a few accounts online dedicated to a steady stream of shit-talking, given his cutthroat status or holding many hockey cups.

> jun doesn’t think too much about his sexuality - he'd probably best be labelled as pan, but leans towards those who identify as women? because of his current placement in a workspace, and with a cultural identity, that both don’t often lend themselves to lgbtq+ rights, i doubt he’d ever make that public.

> he works amongst some of the fittest people in the world, he knows how to appreciate beautiful bodies, but he's not about to discriminate. he's tragically a committaphobe and isn't interested in anything long-term right now, although i think it'd be funny if someone tried. he's very open for flings and one-night stands and even a friends with benefits sort of set up.

* wc’s. > bring me his baby bro and sis. i command u. i have many thoughts > somebody who maybe gets in on his foster-kid situation? idk maybe they have a perception of jun being what he is in the articles they read of him, but they see him and are like <3_<3 he actually real Nice huh. i see this being romantic but it could bloom a really nice, wholesome friendship too. > enemies. not gonna lie, he doesn’t vibe with rich kids w / a stick up their ass, especially since a lot of the people he works with aren’t from exorbitant families. people who loathe him for declining to take over his families’ business? like the boy can’t even name more than 3 artists off of the top of his head? > fwb except neither of them know what “just friends” mean. > i would love if jun had a confidante. a best friend, a partner in crime, a total bromance 'cause i can never get enough of those. whatever label you ‘wanna put on it. wiping up each other’s messes. maybe a Betrayal in the works > again, gonna be a wc, but i would love a “rival” of jun's on a similar level (or bigger) that’s entirely fabricated based off of trashy articles or a misunderstood interaction online. bonus points if they’re an absolute sweetheart, well loved by most people, and generally the antithesis of jun with his multiple drug/personality rumours, which in contrast, make him seem like the bad guy.

> party buddy. this guy hasn’t touched alcohol/cigarettes/any other stimulants since he was underage and wanted to rebel. the word “relax” does not exist in his vocabulary. Help

#cheong.intro

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

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Well I recently watched Trouble in the Heights, so let's go for Nevada Ramirez & Love, even if he perhaps has 1 bare inch of it in his whole body.

(I’m still fucking wheezing oh my gOD. Nevada Ramirez is 5′9″, and that ninth inch is composed completely out of the one inch of love he can actually express like a normal human being.) Similar to the Bruce Wayne one, though, some of these were sorta referenced in past Nevada pieces (what few there comparatively are). So, just in case, I included links to those pieces because they generally go into more detail in certain areas. Hope that’s all good!

Who said “I love you” first?: Well, you said it in that way first, so technically it was you. But if we just meant the actual soul of the phrase, of someone vocally expressing to another their love and interest in their well being, even without the exact words in place? It was Nevada. And even he didn’t necessarily notice it in the moment. Granted, even a sentence like, “Hey, don’t be stupid and just go straight home, understand me?” can slip Nevada’s notice as a sign of his own affection. He’s not nearly as in tune with his emotions as he’d like to think, really.

What are their primary love languages?: It’s really hard to place what a guy like Nevada’s love language could possibly be -- mainly because it’s hard to picture a guy like Nevada and a concept like love even inhabiting the same room. Being a gang leader and, well, just being Nevada Ramirez in total, he likes to give off the air that he doesn’t really necessarily need anybody — that everyone, from his underlings to even his past lovers are more or less side dressing he allows near him. But don’t be fooled: This little shit gets by on spoiling you and the affirmations he earns from them. The great thing about gifts is that in theory you could present them without needing to say much or even say anything at all. And given ‘Vada’s . . . less than delicate manner of speaking, this can be a good thing. And don’t get it twisted, he ain’t no sentimental pussy or nothing; he just sorta likes how your face glows when he just so happens to remember things like your favorite candy, or artist you mentioned wanting a framed piece by. He don’t need you to tell him he’s the best (he already knows he is), but it doesn’t hurt to hear you cry it as you practically fling yourself at him and smooch him silly. He also appreciates acts of service. Shady as his business is, it still demands a lot of the man. He won’t always express it completely but those nights when you show up at his place with his favorite takeout, or he comes home and finds the sheets have been cleaned or that you’ve done whatever he’d meant to have completed earlier that day? He almost wants to drag you to the edge of the bed and express his thanks to you. He appreciates it more than you would think.

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?: Frequently, actually. There is hardly a moment wherein Nevada doesn’t have some part of him touching you: His hand resting on your hip or place in the back pocket of your jeans; your rump resting comfortably on his lap; his arm around you as you lean back in the VIP section of a club; or even just your legs over his own (or vice-versa) as you rest on the couch at home. Many would assume it’s just for show; that El Trujillo is simply asserting his dominance to all who might consider approaching you with sexual intent. They wouldn’t necessarily be wrong -- Nevada does intend to wordlessly yet loudly tell people that you belong to him. However, in addition to this, ‘Vada also just likes to show you off to everyone. And what better way to show the world his beautiful girl than to have her perched on his lap like a pretty bird on a branch?

What are their favorite things to do together?: To the surprise of no one, you two don’t have too, too much in common in terms of interest: Nevada, with his silver palate, enjoys eating out at restaurants with no less than four stars, and you enjoy going out to live shows, specifically on or even off-Broadway musicals. You don’t really care much for the strange food he likes, and he’s extremely particular about what sorts of show’s he’ll even bother with, but you do it for one another. But when it comes to what very few things you do enjoy in common, it ultimately gets narrowed down to two things: Cuddling on the couch and watching TV. Typically old shows or telanovelas because they’re both enjoyable and so terrible that neither of you can help but jeer at the bad acting, awful storylines, and cheesy sets and costumes. It’s a very strange bonding activity -- and certainly not one that anyone would associate with Nevada (and he wants to keep it that way). But it’s the one that you two enjoy the most after a long week, and a surefire way to help both parties relax and cheer up.

Who’s better at comforting the other?: Well, you’re one of the only one who can make him genuinely laugh if that says anything. Nevada isn’t an easy man to comfort, mostly because in his stubbornness, he’s become convinced that his power comes from his anger. So really, it should be sign enough that he even decided to go steady with you that he finds some sort of comfort in your presence (regardless of what he might tell you).

Who’s more protective?: Being a dealer of some infamy, Nevada is aware that he’s made more enemies than friends both in The Heights and out of them. As easy as it is to assume he doesn’t care too much about you, the reality is far from the truth: He cares deeply for you in his own Nevada way. When you go to one of his clubs, he’s never far away or not without you in his line of sight. There’s always a hand resting on your hip or your thigh, or he’ll, you’re always on his lap. Call it primal, but smart enough people who value their lives can take one look at ‘Vada’s hand resting on your ass and just know not to even bother with you. Slightly less smart may need to look at the man’s cold, murderous glower just for confirmation. And those with no sense of self-preservation have essentially signed their death warrant. But that’s in an environment he can control. Outside of his bars, his clubs, his restaurants where he’s a VIP? He’s a lot more quiet about it. Originally, he made sure you always had at least two Men-turned-bodyguards nearby you at all times, but you complained about how difficult it made everything from going to work to simply going shopping. “I don’t need your boys to know what types of tampons I use, Nevada!” you bristled. After much arguing, he eventually agreed to go another way about it: There’s actually more people with their eyes on you, often in disguise or paid off, but he’s made sure to put more distance on them so that you won’t feel as skeeved (or that you’ll even know they’re there for that matter). (For extra measure, if he can get you to agree to it, he’ll also have you equipped with a “Saturday Night Special” so to speak.) But be aware: The moment anyone so much as indicates even thinking about making you a target? That calm, cold demeanor rises to a simultaneously freezing yet infernal rage: You will be put on lock down or even ushered to a safe house until the threat can be dealt with. You will be escorted about the house at every moment by an armed man. And you will be kept safe until the threat has been literally disposed of.

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?: Physical, because at least then he doesn’t have to say anything. Asshole behavior aside, Nevada knows damn well that he’s the absolute worst with words and that it honestly doesn’t take much to set you off. He figures that so long as he doesn’t have to actually say anything, he stands a better chance at not ticking you off and screwing himself over.

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?: “The Wolf” by SIAMÉS. “Silvertongue” by Young the Giant. “Love Me Dead” by Ludo, if the roles were reversed . . . Nevada is just plain symbolic of something that’s bad for you but just feels so good to have. That in spite of how poisonous he actually is, he is capable of using just the right words and moves to have you addicted to him after just one drop. And in spite of everything he might insist or do, it works both ways: You’re both tragically and constantly craving the other, and it can wear you both out. But then again, that’s just what addiction is: Craving to the point of depletion. Though if you want something more optimistic, there’s also “Body Talks” by The Struts: Nevada doesn’t understand it himself but all he knows is that the very moment he laid eyes on you, he was going to do whatever it took to make you his — and, judging by your body language, you were perfectly happy to do that, so long as he worked for it. And let’s face it: El Trujillo ain’t afraid to get his hands dirty.

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?: The problem is that Nevada does have the ability to give nicknames, but he’s mostly crap at it unless there’s an ulterior motive involved. Like when he wants to keep you from being mad at him or to stop you from pouting, he’ll teasingly run a finger along your jawline and pout back a cooing “Cariño” or “Muñequita.” If he means to seduce and tease? You’re his “Good Girl.” If it’s more like he’s for once asking you to do a favor, he’ll give out a quick “Babe” or something of that nature. But if he’s just trying to apply a nickname for the sake of using one? Don’t trust him with that. Trusting him to pick a pet name based on a characteristic of yours, or in reference to an event is just not a good idea. His bluntness almost always causes him to pick the wrong thing to focus on! For example: If you have a green thumb and have taken to keeping a small windowsill garden or a corner for your plants, he’s not going to reference a goddess of greenery or even a flower or spice — he’s going to try calling you “Dirtworm” or something! (And then get frustrated when you express distaste over the name.) You’re honestly probably going to have to guide him to what sort of names you’ll tolerate and what you won’t, which shocks every and all witnesses who know anything about Nevada. A romantic interest? Telling Nevada what to do? It’s more likely than you think! Even though he’ll go along with it to pacify you, the hot-tempered man obviously can’t help but feel as thought you’re being unreasonably picky. After all, he’s more than satisfied with the nicknames you usually give him. Granted, they’re just the same nicknames he’s been going by for years now: El Trujillo, Jefe . . . He used to be called “Daddy” in the VIP sections of his haunts, but that title has since been reserved only for you. That, and ‘Vada. And “Baby Boy”, but only very, very sparingly. Which is still more than he’d let anybody else get away with.

Thank you for your patience!

#nevada ramirez #nevada ramirez x reader #trouble in the heights #Raul Esparza #regrettablewritings #character ship meme #character ship headcanons #y'all keep requesting this absolute assholes/men who just are the absolute WORST at expressing love #you guise...blease love yourselves...#like -- love yourselves better than these guys could #says the person who still writes for 'em #raúl esparza

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fourdaysofrain · 4 years

Text

Self-Made Man

Summary: A Trans!Tony Stark AU.

(Lengthy, personal author’s note below the cut, if you’re interested.)

Natasha Marie Stark was born twelve minutes before midnight on May 29th, 1970. She weighed a healthy seven pounds and two ounces when she arrived. She was the most beautiful thing that either of her parents had ever seen. And she was screaming loud enough to scare the pigeons from the trees outside.

Read on AO3

Well, hey everyone. It’s been a handful of months since I’ve been on here. I want to apologize for being gone, but that feels kind of phony. I don’t know. I missed this, though. I can tell you that much. I still checked my notifications every once in a while. It made me really glad to see people still commenting on my fics or passing my links around. Love y’all.

I guess it’s about time that I tell you that I’m trans. I have been this whole time. To answer a few quick questions, I first knew sometime in late high school, but it was always kind of in the background my whole life, I just didn’t know how to isolate the feeling. I started socially transitioning (i.e. dressing male, coming out, going by he/him) after my high school graduation, and I started HRT (Horomone replacement therapy, that means I inject myself with testosterone weekly. .33mL subcutaneously into my tummy, if you’re curious) on Oct. 12, 2018. So it’s been almost two years since, and I’ve been completely passing as a man for quite a while. Ass-crack hair, sweat, and all.

This is a pretty personal fic for me, given the nature of it. I’ve wanted to write it for a long time, and I’ve actually had words in the Google Doc since January. It took a lot of long nights to write. It helped that I was back home. I always have an easier time tapping into Trans Emotions when I’m in my home town, for better or for worse. All the memories and relationships I formed pre-transition follow me like ghosts.

I’m leaving for college in two days, conversationally.

I see a lot of trans!Peter Parker fics. I’m not dissing them, I love them to bits. But it makes me wonder why fandom is so quick to headcanon Peter as trans instead of one of the other characters. He’s petite, has a higher voice, and has softer features than the other male cast members. I feel like those attributes definitely play a role. It can be easy to see trans men as “uwu soft bois”, or as Men Lite, or as a more palatable version of “normal” (that is to say, cis) men. Those ideas are often flawed and based on transphobic foundations. The reality is, trans men (and by extension, all trans people) have the ability to be indiscernible from their cis counterparts. Everyone likes to think they can pick trans people out from a crowd, but you’d be surprised how quickly I started being read as male. Androcentrism for the win, I guess.

I won’t be entirely pessimistic. I understand that people my age project onto Peter (I am by no means exempt from that), and that there’s a greater number of young trans people than old, due to a series of depressing reasons. But I still wanted to try a different take on a trans character.

My experience as a trans man is vastly different than the one I write about here. If anything, I’m closer to fandom’s idea of trans!Peter. My parents were accepting, I had the financial and social means to transition relatively early, and I can fly under the radar easily. The most important difference is the time period.

I don’t know a lot about the trans experience of the 80s and 90s, which is what Tony would have gone through. I know of one single trans man who began his transition back then, one of the gender studies professors at my university. Even then, he’s from Canada, which I’m assuming has an entirely different culture around trans lives. There aren’t many older trans men. It’s depressing. There’s a lot of reasons for this. I don’t want to get too deep into them, because it only makes me feel sad. The final scene in this fic is extremely self-indulgent with regards to this. I wrote what I needed to hear.

That’s not to say I don’t relate at all to what I wrote. There are themes that are almost universal for the trans experience. I hope you can parse those out here.

I also wanted to talk about how I showed the change from “Natasha” to Tony. In the early stages of this fic’s development, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to openly say Tony’s deadname (the name trans people are given at birth, and often, but not 100% of the time, change as a part of their transition), but I soon realized that it would make the story much clearer with the inclusion of it. If you’re wondering, I got the name from Earth-3490, where Tony is born a woman (and marries Steve, lol). I chose to show the change between the two with the use of past tense for the first half of the fic, and switching to present for Tony’s life. Often times, it feels like that when you transition. You start living in present tense.

I also want to make it clear that transitioning isn’t as simple as shown here. From the beginning of mapping out this fic, I was stressed about “Oh, how will he be able to graduate as Tony if he doesn’t start transitioning until after he gets to college,” and “How will Howard react to him coming out?” and “How will he have a playboy persona if he isn’t able to have sex with someone without them knowing?” and a zillion other ideas. It was very freeing for me to let go of some of these obstacles and leave it up to the reader to decide. I alluded to some of the solutions that I came up with, but for the most part, I glossed over the paperwork and bureaucracy aspect to transitioning. But in real life, there are countless red tapes you have to cut for even the simplest of actions. I went to the state court to change my name and sex in March of 2019, and I still have cards in my wallet with my deadname. I had a consult with a plastic surgeon for top surgery (the colloquial name for the double mastectomy that trans men often go through to masculinize their chests. If you’re wondering, genital reconstruction surgery is normally called bottom surgery to mirror this) last December, and I still don’t have a date set. It took me a few months to start T, and I only got it so easily because I went through my unviersity, which does informed consent. Some places have to have proof of 6 months of social transitioning and a letter from a therapist. There is a lot of medical gate keeping in the trans community. I don’t know what I would have done had my parents not been accepting enough to help me through the processes. I am extremely thankful for their support.

But it’s a lot easier to write about transition happening smoothly. Money helps, which I don’t touch on a lot in this fic, but oh my God, does money help. I’m lucky enough to be able to afford my ~$20 a month T prescription (which I will be taking until the end of my days, likely), and I’m in the process of saving for top surgery. Thankfully with Tony, I can just presto most of the problems away because he’s canonically a billionaire. Eat the rich, folks.

There’s also the intersection with race that is very impactful for trans people, as it is for everyone. Both Tony and I are white, which gives us societal privileges that trans people of color don’t have access to. As well as the fact that transitioning from female to male is a much different experience than transitioning from male to female. We don’t experience trans misogyny, which is a special kind of misogyny specifically related to trans women. (Think of old sitcoms where the joke is that it’s a man dressed in women’s clothing, and that’s what makes it funny. That’s a fairly tame example of trans misogyny. It gets ugly fast.)

I’m veering dangerously off-topic, but it’s important to talk about. It’s easy for white trans people (and LGBT people as a whole, I suppose) to distance themselves from talking about white privilege or male privilege because they aren’t straight and/or cis. But it’s important to recognize that while we may face unique oppression, we also still benefit from historical white supremacist and patriarchal structures present today in society.

Sorry, not sorry for getting political. And if I haven’t said it on here, Black lives matter. Of course.

If you end up having trans-related questions, I want to be a resource for you. Seriously, I’m narcissistic and love talking about myself I don’t mind helping you understand the trans experience. I can’t promise that I know everything, but I also have my own group of trans friends who might know what I don’t, and we can learn together.

Again, love y’all. Thank you for the continued support you give me. I can’t promise that I’ll go back to my normal level of activity on here, but I might dip my feet back in the pool. <3

#irondad #iron dad #spider-man #iron man #trans #ftm #art speaks #art writes #read under the cut if you want to know my Emotions and Feelings

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bave-de-crapaud · 5 years

Text

The Darkness Within...

CHAPTER ONE

(Lips Like Compass by https://society6.com/withoneline)

Request by: @belladonnarey Thank you girl! Massive delay in writing this but the idea/request comes from the wonderful BellaDonnaRey. I hope you like. More chapters are coming.

Sirius x reader Older Sirius Sirius lives / Post Azkaban Slow burn and eventual smut

Word count: 2300+ Disclaimer: all characters are assumed 18+ Warnings: dark little things and scary crows

-------

It was late. The only light was a near full moon in the sky highlighting your silhouette against a gravestone. Regardless of the darkness you could see clearly in front of you, which was, at least, odd. The mist on your breath indicated that the temperature was low, however you didn’t feel the cold. Another unexplained nod to your true nature perhaps?

Ye gods he was taking ages with this. It is like he is deliberately trying to inconvenience you.

I hate this. You thought for the 100th time.

Yeah well, it’s all you’re good for so suck it up. Another voice played in your head.

The problem with you was that you tried very hard to distance yourself from your past. Very hard. How much distance would it take? Especially as you really didn’t know that much of your past to begin with.

As you waited in the deserted graveyard a prickling sensation you did not like swept up your neck. It wasn’t the crows - you didn’t mind them per-say you even admired their bold plumage and haunting eyes. It wasn’t their fault they embodied dark feathered nightmares in every children’s tale ever read, but their constant scuttling through leaves, foraging for worms and mice was distracting and masking other more sinister movements. You felt like you were being watched.

“For fucks sake! Hurry up Macnair!” You growled loudly to yourself. “I haven’t got all day.”

A wheezy chuckle sounded behind a large mausoleum where Macnair revealed himself in the moonlight.

“You’ve been watching me Walden!” You heavily emphasised his first name, knowing he disliked being addressed as such. “What, didn’t believe I would be alone?” He scowled at you and merely shrugged. “Can’t be too careful Y/L/N, you might have turned.”

A tight menacing laugh spilled out of your mouth. “The Dark Lord holds me in high regard, Macnair. I would have thought that’d be good enough for you.”

Macnair scowled at the reminder that you outranked him at more than half his age. He was not used to being usurped and the fact Voldemort asked of you more important, more dangerous tasks while he was left squabbling over the scraps did not sit well with him at all. He used every chance to get ahead and finally had been thrown a bone. Tonight you were summoned to meet Macnair and collect a package. He was reviling in his 15 minutes of favouritism and he seemed determined to undermine you at every step of the way.

“The Dark Lord hasn’t heard everything about your school days Y/L/N. He would have found your alternative ‘influence’ a lot less palatable that I have.”

You grimaced knowing what he was referring to. It’s true you had been different in school. Not the cold, calculating witch he saw never faltering under Voldemort’s rule. You were small, skinny and weak looking, a little strange, and prone to outbursts. He particularly disapproved of your tendency to talk about the delusion of purist mania, and how wizard kind would benefit from muggles instead of incessantly inbreeding until magic dies out. No one told you this would earn you one of the foulest punishments you had ever endured by your own house mates. You clutched at your throat momentarily.

You learnt the right way to live in this world soon after.

Macnair continued on getting more and more passionate as well as louder about how he was a better Death Eater than you. You ignored him, caught deep in your memories. He had touched a nerve. Was I really that transparent? There is no way this moron could know? The Dark Lord didn’t know. Heck, you didn’t even really know.

You started to mentally take stock of your life as Macnair prattled on.

You were a young woman. You looked normal, pretty even. You tried to behave normally however: -Things burn when you get angry -You can see in the dark and never feel the cold. -You can manipulate peoples emotions by making them feel horrible, terrified, and hopeless however you cannot make people feel happiness -Strange symbols, and pictures appear on your skin whenever you are scared -You were twelve years old when you first conjured all the animals in proximity and set them on a boy in your year for pulling your hair and that scared everyone around you to start throwing words around such as ‘dark magic,’ and ‘locked up.’ You had never done that since. -You had no idea how you had these ‘gifts’ as Voldemort called them -You didn’t know who you were except that…

You were an orphan. You were a Slytherin. You were a Death Eater.

Plagues of memories, shattered glimpses of your past flashed through your mind. How were you supposed to know who you were if you didn’t know where you came from?

No photos, no lasting family heirlooms, just jolted memories here and there of orphanages and foster homes to piece together your origins.

In a happier time, you used to believe that you would find yourself happy and content, filled with warmth from a loving family. However, as soon as you turned eleven, something dark began to grow. It was though these gifts were not yours but belonged to a living creature buried deep inside, a sleeping dragon lying dormant - perhaps forever - but the first day you held your first wand she awoke, sparked a fire in your stomach and slowly filling your heart with lead.

Meanwhile…

Sirius kicked a stray pebble with his boot it bounced along the footpath until it hit a loose cobblestone and ricocheted into a high stone fence. He was bored, Remus could tell. They had been on duty for the Order ten nights in a row, scouring the streets of London for suspicious activity, yet found nothing. Remus surmised that this was a good thing. Sirius, on the other hand, thought they weren’t looking hard enough.

“Alright Pads, let’s move…” Remus stopped mid sentence noticing Sirius had suddenly gone stock still, ear cocked to his left.

“Shhh Moony, I hear something!” Remus listened carefully. For a while he only heard and saw his and Sirius’ breaths in the crisp night air until an unmistakeable chatter was rising higher and higher as if two people were arguing.

Sirius looked at Remus, eyes gleaming with excitement. “You know the drill? Got to check it out!”

Remus nodded slowly and followed Sirius along the stone fence line, coming to an entrance bordered by two large and rather rusty wrought iron gates, grotesque gargoyles standing sentinel either-side.

As they crossed the gates they looked around at what was a very old cemetery. Sirius looked at Remus and jabbed his head to the right before scrambling between two gravestones and further into the dark. After five minutes of tip-toeing behind tombs, trees, and statues, Remus and Sirius located the sound of their quarry. They could clearly hear a conversation between two people standing on the other side of the large mausoleum blocking both parties from seeing each other.

Remus crouched low, pressing his back against the door of the mausoleum listening carefully. Did he recognise one of the voices? Sirius, not content with just listening was twisting his body around the tomb to get a better look. In his attempt he had not noticed that he had snagged a low hanging tree branch on his leather jacket, and continued moving forward. A sharp pop rang through the air as the branch broke startling the two arguing who had so far not noticed anyone approach. Sirius slammed his back, back against the mausoleum grimacing at Remus who slowly shook his head with distain. He mouthed “Sit still” at Sirius, who shrugged but did not make effort to move again, both men listening intently to the reactions of Sirius’ mistake.

———

“What was that?” You demanded? “You bought friends, Macnair?” “What? No I can handle this job on my own!”

You both frowned at each other before turning to look at a large stone tomb on your right. Something or someone was there. You had both heard it. Was it an animal? You cast a spell revealing if enemies where around you yet nothing happened. It must have been another crow, You shivered, feeling the hairs on the back of your neck stand up for the second time. There it was again, the unsettling sensation that you were being watched. The sooner you got out of this place and finished your business the better. “Hurry up Macnair” you turned back to him. “You’ve gone on long enough, probably alerted half of London to our presence. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure? Why did the Dark Lord send you to meet me here tonight?”

Macnair grumbled, looking at you with a sneer before reaching into his robes…

———-

Remus furrowed his brows. That voice sounded familiar. Macnair was a Death Eater but who was the woman he was talking to and why did Remus…..oh god! It’s Y/N. Remus started to panic. He could see Sirius shaking with anticipation out of the corner of his eye. They were about to come face to face with Y/N - this would not go down well, they were no match for her - everyone would know.

He calculated his options not noticing Sirius had started to move again. Realising Sirius was about to interrupt what he thought was merely a tame Death Eater meeting he frantically tried to get Sirius’ attention by waving his hands erratically in front of him but Sirius was focused - he had found a gap between graves and was now locked on his prey like a bloodhound.

——-

“…I was asked to give you this.” Macnair pulled out a small package from inside his robes pausing before handing it to you. “The Dark Lord was most instant that only you should open this as only you with your, history, would know what it was.”

Could this be it? The clue that broke the mysteries of your past? Explain the darkness within? You eyed the package greedily, eyes flashing purple before you swallowed and took a deep breath. The desire to know what was inside you almost overran your rational thoughts.

Why would Voldemort be taking an interest in your past? What did he know? Was it to use you as a force, a weapon only to discard you later like he did most of his followers? You couldn’t let that happen. However strong the desire to know, the desire of self preservation was stronger.

As if sensing your deliberation, Macnair started pulling back at the same time the hairs on the back or your neck stood up, so fast they almost pinched you. You heard a whoosh and felt yourself lifting into the air and thrown back at force hitting your head on the hard ground, causing you to lose your grip on your wand.

Macnair turned on the spot, ducking from another curse with surprising ability for an old man. The words “Black!” And “Werewolf” reached your crumpled heap as you pulled your self off the ground. So you were being watched, by Order members.

“Nice to see you Macnair! My you are looking fat - been sitting on your arse too much lately? Not Voldemort’s best friend yet?” Sirius Black’s laugh vivid in his jest - Geez you thought, rubbing your skull - he knew how to hit a nerve.

Macnair cried out in anger, ducked again as another curse flew towards him before lunging at Sirius, conjuring a large whip and slashing it across his back. Sirius was thrown onto his knees before Macnair had him up in the air, held at the neck by an invisible force.

Before you could get up Remus Lupin was hovering above you pointing his wand at your chest looking panicked. You locked eyes with him as you sat on the ground desperately fumbling behind you for your wand. Why wasn’t he doing anything? You frowned into his face almost daring him to hex you half listening to Macnair taunting Sirius who was now being choked by whatever was holding him up.

“Not so cocky now, are you Black?” Macnair sniggered up at him, “Well…” spluttered Sirius “I have my moments.” One hand grasping at the clasp around his neck he used the other to point his wand at Macnair. It glowed brightly and then suddenly a large fireball emerged heading straight towards Macnair’s wand hand, lighting it up in flames.

At once, Macnair’s curse was broken and Sirius fell to the ground grasping for breath. While Macnair rolled around around in agony. Remus gave you once last look before sprinting over to his friend grabbing his arm hurriedly whispering, “we have to get out of here!”

“What?” Sirius threw him a shocked face, one hand still massaging his neck.

“I’ll explain later, now move!” Before they could a large body of water dropped from above, putting out the fire on Macnair’s arm and drenching Sirius and Remus, while you walked towards them holding the back of your head.

“MY WAND!” Macnair screamed with fury. It was burnt to a crisp. Whatever fire Sirius used was not normal. Sirius was quickly regaining his breath and looking at you with intent to fight.

If you had had time you might have been impressed, but with a quick glance at Remus, you turned your wand on Sirius and cast the cruciatus curse. He fell to the floor writhing in agony. The darkness inside was moving - swirling round and tempting eruption. You braced yourself, waiting. Remus’ hex whipped through your body temporarily winding you and breaking the curse on Sirius.

You grabbed Macnair’s arm, not hearing his screams of protest. The last sight you saw was Sirius coughing on his back, and Remus crouched down next to him but looking at you with an expression akin to sorrow and understanding as you twisted into the darkness and disappeared.

-------- Tag list: @belladonnarey @sirius-lysad @riddikuluslypotter @emmamass24 @evyiione @evyiione @mylovelykelsifer @sly-vixen-up2nogood @ashkuuuu @virgilwrites-archive @songforhema @wangmangagavroche

#Sirius Black #sirius black x reader #sirius #sirius black fanfiction #sirius fanfic #sirius black imagine #HP #sirius imagine #Harry Potter universe #post azkaban #sirius lives #eventual smut #slowburn #Remus Lupin #OLDER SIRIUS #imagine #fanfic #writing #request

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malicious-fisheeves · 3 years

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Anyway here’s the dumb fandom shit manifesto but here’s the whole thing under the read more

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1WKjpOTU7D-JkiXD1gqYNJcjzGI691WXWRj4CJ3mI5UU/edit?usp=sharing

Honestly this is for myself personally, everyone has their own barometer, but I hate all of you and will hit you with my tonka truck

It’s incredibly telling that most of the people who proudly call themselves “anti antis” and “problematic” don’t see this as a serious issue. They’re more concerned with their right to jack off than having--not even compassion, just basic decency, for children / abuse survivors in fan spaces. Harassment campaigns against minors who are rightfully uncomfortable with how ‘big’ artists and other fan content creators interact with them are incredibly common, and it’s incredibly ironic to hear these same people bemoaning how their right to free speech is being taken away, or how “antis should care more about real people” -- people against pedophilia and incest shipping do care about real people of course. For example, real children who are hurt in real life when people create grooming content for real pedophiles, or abuse survivors trying to navigate their own road to recovery who are barraged with content that makes them relive their trauma (especially in the case of vocal survivors, who are often specifically harassed with content meant to trigger them). It’s also laughable that these people are always talking about how they “properly tag” their works so that it can be avoided, all the while continuing to follow creators who specifically outline their discomfort with these “anti antis” and say they don’t want to be followed by or interact with them. These people have no regard for other people’s boundaries. There’s also the hilarious (/s) instances of these people proclaiming their therapists think that them making child porn is just fine. Most often, these incidents are either blatant lies from “fandom therapists” (who quickly accumulate clout and then ~mysteriously~ disappear to side blogs once they’ve stroked enough people’s wounded egos.) While there are some forms of treatments that do involve creating art or writing about your own personal experience so you can work through the complicated emotions that come from being a victim of abuse, these are supposed to be in tightly monitored situations, not posted to widely used social media and fan works sites where that material can be used by groomers. Your 50 yr old therapist, Kelly, doesn’t know what AO3 is, and even if she did, who’s to say she’s right in the first place? Adjacent to this argument is one from legality, which already sets off a million red flags for anyone who’s discussed real-life instances of abuse where it was ‘alright’ because a predator waited until their victim was of age. Legal? Yes, maybe, but morally justifiable? No. Of course, this itself will ring their incessant whinging about how “fiction =/= morality.” Yes, of course, the things we create do not necessarily reflect our own morals on principle alone. However, writing dark subject matters requires a clarity of purpose--if you’ve ever been on the side that representation is important, because it influences how we think about certain groups of people or subject matter (like war), then you understand this principle already. There are certain ways of portraying these things that have a real impact on how a reader interprets them. Yes, violent video games don’t make people violent, but they can make war seem much more palatable, or make the enemy less human. The torture porn in many horror films in the 70s/80s wouldn’t have made men more violent towards women, but it did contribute to larger misogynistic ideas about women(this doesn’t even touch upon the sub genre of trans horror, which of course does have real effects on how trans people, mainly trans women, are viewed, and contributes to violence against them).

This argument that “fiction =/= reality” really misses the forest for the trees when it comes to these discussions, quite frankly, because it’s rarely about “you read incest porn, you are therefore going to commit incest” and moreso about the wider impacts that the masses of fan works aggregated onto websites as opposed to you, personally, being ~*problematic*~. Quite frankly, I would probably be less vocal and less ~mean~ about it if people I knew, and myself included, weren’t put on the end of harassment campaigns, made fake callouts for, or lied to by people I thought I was at least on good terms with. When fans perpetuate racist stereotypes--making black and latine characters hypersexual aggressive or borderline (or, yknow, just actual) rapists to their petite white ‘romantic’ interests, or making asian characters submissive waifs and abuse victims--it has a real effect on how people of color interact with fan works. If you want to talk about being ~pushed out of the fandom~ maybe shut up forever. One thing I did want to note upon is that it’s already quite ridiculous to claim that “fiction doesn’t effect reality”, one, for the claims above (you simply cannot claim that representation is important and then dismiss fans of color saying your slavery non con fic is racist) when it’s very obvious that these “anti anti” spaces attract predators on the reg. This is most plain on twitter, where a cursory scroll through popular “anti” dunking blogs are filled with self proclaimed pedophiles (some claiming to be “no contact” which is basically useless if you speak to victims of CSA). Because those blogs make them feel good. You’re not actually hurting anyone, what you’re doing is fine. Children can consent. Beyond that, it also gives them a network to meet other pedophiles and distribute their child porn, and a way to meet children, especially for blogs that post mainly about children’s television shows. Children want to feel mature and respected, and blogs like these give them this avenue, because to many children sex is a taboo, mature topic. They can’t talk to their parents, because they’re afraid of getting in trouble for talking about sex, and that’s what predators prey upon. It’s the perfect grooming environment. Regardless of whether or not you think that reading child porn, or rape fics, will make you, personally, a rapist, these places have created an environment where children are put in danger. This isn’t a hypothetical--multiple predators have been outed from “anti anti” discords, where they return with regularity.

TLDR fuck all yall

#its all just talking about incest/abuse/pedophilia in fandom it is. once again #mainly just for myself but also Im Right #i could say so much more but i dont care to

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