lazaefair
laz, laza, lazae
End OTW Racism
We, as fans of color and our allies, find the current state of fandom and current actions (and lack thereof) unacceptable. Fandom is our space, all of ours. We, as a fandom, have a right to a racism-free space and have a duty to our fellow fans to create that space. Unlike so much of the world, this is a space we can control and make better. It is a space we must make better. Read More →Star Wars, MCU, Mag7, The Old Guard, roughly a thousand other fandoms, social justice. Sometimes NSFW, not spoiler-free.Links: AO3 // Visual inspo blog \\ Dreamwidth // Nuclear Waste Warnings \\ Mag7 Lockscreens // MastodonBlog links: My scraps & tumblr fic // My graphics & photography \\ Selfies // Fandom racism \\ Purity culture // Joe/Nicky discourse collection \\ Cheer up tag // Bisexual catnip
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I know the website that incessantly reblogs Neil Gaiman quotes about the one thing you have that nobody else has is you and your voice and your mind etc. etc. would never be discouraged or discourage someone else from creating art 🙂
I have a question for the fanfic writers among you: How do you treat your work in progress when a very similar story is put out there? Do you go on writing - in the spirit that everything is unique in its own way - or do you abandon the piece - in the spirit of preventing 'superfluous' contributions?
Let's add a further wrench into the process by saying the recently published work by another author, so similar to your own, seems so much better written than your own (granted we are always our own worst critics). Where do you go with that?
Maybe this is a question for readers, too. Do you mind reading similar works/story lines?
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So @wickedpact posted this and said this:
And then I saw it an hour ago and wrote this in a complete haze. Hope that's okay, pal! If I still like it later I'll maybe post it on ao3.
(I made Nicky a junior doctor and tripled his shift. This isn't a value judgment of nurses, I just forgot the prompt details)
Bone app the teeth:
It's definitely not safe for him to be driving, but it wasn't safe to work a 37 hour shift either, and here Nicky is, fresh off the ward and so tired he thinks he might crack under the weight of it. Not only that, but behind the wheel, so exhausted that the only thing keeping him awake is the blind terror of hurting another person. He's just five minutes away from home though, and the thought of his warm bed keeps him going. If he can ever make it there.
The light is on above the porch when he pulls into the driveway, and it's like the very sight of it gives Nicky's body the permission it's been waiting for to give up. He can feel it, muscle by muscle, his body crumbling into sleep.
He doesn't have his key, but the spare is behind the little decorative panel as always, and the door swings open before he's even fully registered unlocking it.
From there, it's easy. Shoes kicked off at the door, bag dumped to deal with in the morning, scrubs stripped too. He stumbles into the downstairs bathroom to brush his teeth and use the toilet dressed in just his boxers and his undershirt, and resists the siren call of sitting on the edge of the bath as he brushes his teeth. If he does that, there's no chance he'll get back up again.
It's a herculean effort, but in short order Nicky drags his mostly-unconscious self out of the bathroom and up the stairs (with just one detour to check he actually locked the door behind him when he came in).
As always, the bedroom door is slightly ajar because the door handle creaks loudly enough to wake the dead. Nicky brushes past it, not even noticing, too drawn in by the sight of his bed not ten feet away.
It's not a graceful landing. Even a belly flop would have more dignity. Nicky shoves his way into the bed like a battering ram, and by the time he lands on the mattress he has the duvet up around his nose and Joe's arm wrapped tightly around him. Used to him, Joe just bundles him up against his chest and carries on sleeping.
Nicky's snoring before his head hits the pillow.
—
'Nicky.'
Nicky grumbles and grinds his nose against Joe's chest. No matter what time it is, it's too early. Especially on the heels of such a long shift. Unless the house is on fire, he's not waking up.
'Nicky, you need to wake up.'
'No—' Nicky whines, dragging it out. Joe smells like fresh linens and sleep, and he's so warm. Why would Nicky ever want to—oh no. Oh, oh no.
Nicky wakes up completely, the realisation of where he is and what he's done slipping down his spine like a block of ice, freezing him as it goes.
Joe's on his back with Nicky's head on his chest, and Nicky is so embarrassed he thinks he might actually burst into flames.
Very slowly, very carefully, all the time wishing he was dreaming, Nicky raises his head to meet Joe's eyes.
Joe's bleary, confused, beautiful eyes.
'I am so sorry,' says Nicky slowly when the silence stretches on too long. 'I-I don't. I'm sorry.'
Joe's hands are on the small of his back, which is the only thing stopping Nicky from leaping out of the bed.
'When did you get here?' asks Joe, raspy with sleep. He's always looked like a surprised puppy first thing in the morning. Nicky's chest hurts.
'I don't know,' answers Nicky, honestly. 'I don't even remember coming here.'
'Nicky,' says Joe, in that way he always did when this happened before, Nicky, exhausted on the heels of some too-long shift, doing something that's normal when you're well-rested and dangerous when you're not. Like driving. Or cooking. Or accidentally turning up at your ex-boyfriend's house, a full week after you broke up with him.
Nicky shrugs, awkward and humiliated, and sits up completely. Joe's hands are slow to slip off his back.
'I'm sorry,' he says again. Joe sits up too, slouching against the headboard and looking at Nicky like he's a puzzle to be solved. 'I was just…tired. And I wanted to go home. I wasn't thinking.'
'Your flat is ten minutes closer to the hospital than here,' Joe says, even and clear. Nicky cringes.
'Yes,' he says, slowly, feeling out where he can possibly go from here to explain why he broke into his ex-boyfriend's house sometime in the night and got into bed with him. 'That is…I…well.'
There's nothing to say. No way to explain. Nicky spreads his hands, shrugs, sighs, rubs at his eyes. All of it under the silent scrutiny of Joe's thoughtful frown and beautiful eyes.
'Why did you break up with me, Nicky?' Joe asks at last, and Nicky barely restrains a flinch.
'You know why,' Nicky says, more to the bedspread than Joe.
'I don't think I do, no.'
Joe's voice isn't angry, or accusative. As it was when Nicky ended things (and God, doesn't it burn to even think that) it's just quiet, and hurt, and sad.
'It's for the best,' says Nicky at last. He can barely hear himself, but he's not sure if it's the rushing in his ears or the weakness in his voice. 'It wouldn't be fair to you, to be with someone who can barely see you. You deserve better.'
Joe hums, and sits up slightly straighter.
'I let you say all this before,' Joe says, looking so intently at Nicky that Nicky can't bring himself to avoid his eyes anymore. 'I shouldn't have, but you surprised me, and then I didn't know how to argue without hurting us both.'
Nicky blinks at him, wide-eyed and slightly terrified.
'Why do you get to decide what I deserve?' Joe's face is more serious than Nicky's ever seen it. 'Why do you get to decide for both of us what we need? Why didn't I get a say?'
'I'm sorry,' Nicky says, again, lost for anything else he could say. 'I don't want to hurt you.'
Joe nods. His eyes are so clear. Nicky's always been weak for them, since the moment they met.
'But you did,' Joe says, baldly. 'When you dumped me out of the blue and told me it was for my own good.'
This time, Nicky does flinch.
'And then, not even a week later, I find you in bed with me like nothing happened. Did you actually want to break up with me?'
Nicky has never wanted anything less in his life than to leave Joe. It had all made so much sense though, at the time.
It's getting harder to keep meeting Joe's gaze directly. Heartsick, exhausted, lonely, Nicky shakes his head and looks away.
Joe takes his hand.
'So tell me why, and let's talk about it.'
'You're very together for just having woken,' Nicky grumbles to the duvet, stalling for time. Joe's hand is warm, and he squeezes Nicky's fingers gently.
'I woke up ten minutes before I woke you.' From the corner of his eye, Nicky can see Joe's smile. It's small, but like all of Joe's smiles, it's lovely. 'I used the time to think of what to say.'
Joe's always been braver than Nicky. It was Joe that asked him out first, and Joe who gave him a key to his house, and Joe who opened his heart and welcomed Nicky in, and it was Nicky who said no to all of it because he's a coward who would rather avoid pleasure now than face pain in the future.
'I have at least a year of this to go before I qualify,' Nicky says, picking at a thread on the bedspread with his free hand. Even in this painful conversation, this is the most at peace he's felt since he walked away from Joe. 'Weeks of night shifts, doubles and triples and all the misery that means. You deserve someone who can give you all their time and attention. Not someone shackled to their work.'
'Do you enjoy your work?' Joe's voice is mild. Nicky can't read what he's thinking, his usually expressive face is closed.
'I do,' Nicky admits. He does. It's hard, but he loves it. Loves helping people. Loves everything about it, almost. Except this. 'I love it.'
'And you can only love one thing at a time?' Joe asks, with another squeeze of Nicky's hand.
'Well, no,' Nicky says, frowning. There's a spark in Joe's eyes now, like he's laughing at a joke Nicky can't hear.
'And you get to decide what everyone else can and can't live with in a relationship, yes?'
Joe's grinning at him now. Nicky is more than a little lost.
'No, of course not-?'
'Then why have I been single for a week when dating a junior doctor was something I was fully on board with?'
Abruptly, faced with Joe's smile, and how tired he still is, and how hard the week has been with the memory of Joe's tearful expression right at the front of his mind, Nicky thinks he might cry.
'Was?' he manages, only a little wetly. Joe's smile softens, and he lifts Nicky's hand to his mouth to softly kiss Nicky's fingers.
'Am,' Joe says, warm against Nicky's skin. He pulls on his hand, very gently, until Nicky follows. With just a little bit of adjustment, Joe resituates Nicky across his chest. 'How long was your shift, habibi?'
'Thirty seven hours,' Nicky says, already bleary with sleep again. Normally he would lie, would soften the reality of training in an understaffed hospital, but he doesn't have the strength.
Joe kisses the top of his head, and wraps his arms around Nicky's shoulders.
'When you've slept a bit more we can talk properly,' he says softly into Nicky's hair. Nicky nods, slow and careful, eyes already closing. 'But if you try to leave me again over some ridiculous self-sacrificing nonsense, I won't be so nice next time.'
'I love you,' Nicky says, mostly asleep, almost entirely buried in Joe's chest. By the time his eyes close he's already forgotten he said it.
It's alright though, Joe will remind him.
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After Love by Robert Cording
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THE PRINCESS BRIDE (1987),
dir Rob Reiner
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this may shock the viewer but I actually do prefer the temporary violence the bourgeoisie will suffer in the event of a revolution over the unending and worse violence the working class suffers every day just to maintain the status quo
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This is true - but it’s also true that the dolls that children have access to and choose to play with, and sometimes the way they play with the dolls, are still influenced by society, and may impact the other children. Just ask any Asian girl who was always assigned Mulan no matter what she actually wanted, or any Black girl who was told by the white girls that she (represented by her doll) had to act out subservience and/or racist stereotypes. Or any PoC who was a kid before (non-racist) PoC dolls were even generally available. Remember the doll test in Brown v. Board of Education? Remember everyone making a huge deal out of the Barbie movie including Barbies of different skin colors, genderqueerness, and professions? If it was “just” playing with dolls, then those casting decisions wouldn’t have been considered noteworthy - but they were, and you know damn well why.
This is not to say that the purity culture assholes are approaching the issue in a reasonable or useful way. But ignoring how reality affects fiction and how fiction affirms or influences reality is not helping your case against them.
Must admit that one thing that changed the way I see fandom discourse is realizing that a lot of fandom is just… playing with dolls. We're playing with dolls. Shipping? Playing with dolls. AUs? Dolls. Darkfic? Dolls.
Lotta people very agitated about the other kids playing with dolls wrong.
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It's utterly magnetic when a character's rage is quiet and precise. When they don't scream and throw things but they just b r e a t h e and very very calmly aim their fury like an arrow shooting inexorably towards the target of their wrath. It captures my attention, I lean in close, I wait for the hit. It never disappoints.
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This GFM campaign belongs to Fadi Alshrafi, who you can find on TikTok here. His family is one of hundreds who are on the Operation Olive Branch spreadsheet. He is one of 9 family members trying to evacuate Gaza; as of 2/19, his brother was injured during bombings, his pregnant sister-in-law needs urgent prenatal care, and his father needs medication for Congestive Heart Failure (if you're in healthcare you know how dire it is to go without CHF medication; if you're not in healthcare: heart failure means heart FAILURE. If it goes untreated for too long it will become fatal).
I've checked today (2/28) and Fadi's campaign has reached about 22% of its goal, not even 1/3 of the way there. Please donate what you can, and spread this campaign to help Fadi and his family.
Actions you can take after sharing:
Call your reps and demand a ceasefire and safe passage of aid entry into Gaza (US)
Gaza Action Toolkit
Global Protest List
Millions March list (protests on 3/2 in Puerto Rico, US, Canada)
EDIT: For some reason tumblr isn't letting me hyperlink Fadi's tiktok so I'll add it here:
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People justify centering Aaron Bushnell’s death in any way they can as if one of—if not the main—reason that this genocide has gone on for too long boils down to the west seeing Arab lives as inherently lesser than that of white lives. That is literally precisely the problem. That is literally why it should be addressed. Criticizing people’s fixation with his self-immolation over the (still ongoing) death of innumerable Palestinians is not being frivolous. This is the root of the issue.
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Day 200. This post is for the burnt out activists. There is hope. Don’t let them convince you otherwise. “It starts with Gaza.” from Lets Talk Palestine, 23/Apr/2024:
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