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ro-sham-no · 1 month

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Sam fucked up.

Dean had always teased him for being a try-hard at school (with a secretly proud smile he thought Sam couldn’t see or wouldn’t notice, but oh, Sam noticed). He’d tease Sam, saying it would bite him in the ass one day, and now, at Stanford, it had finally happened.

Betrayal of all betrayals, the professor of the only prereq class he actually liked had given him extra work. It's not a big deal, not really, just reading out his stupid, gay-ass prose about his big brother in front of a crowd of people, all to get out of taking a final... Dean was across the country, so what could go wrong?

cw: wincest, referenced underage sex (barely), questionable prose lol

includes excerpts from "sweetness" - stephen dunn

“I’m telling you, man, they’re gonna expect more from you ‘cause you’re putting in all this extra effort.”

Dean was speaking in that slow, crooning voice that he always got when they were alone together in the quiet, like he was afraid to break the silence but still wanted to fill up Sam’s head with the sound of his voice so bad that he couldn’t stop himself. As if the way he was smoothing his hand up and down the breadth of Sam’s bare ribs and stomach - all palming and grabby, groping at Sam like he owned him - as if that didn’t already nail Sam’s focus and affection to the cross of their shared devotion. As if he needed to do anything at all, other than exist, to completely own Sam from the inside out.

Sam shook himself out of his trance to respond, huffing that scoff-laugh that only little brothers manage to pull off, reaching up to trap Dean’s hand against Sam’s stomach, splayed and possessive but finally stilled so Sam could actually think for a second. But before he could come up with a counter, Dean continued, sweet and slow in his ear, like syrupy molasses that’s just warm enough to drip and run down the spoon,

“I swear, if we stayed in one place for longer than it takes Dad to fuckin’ blink, they’d have you up to your ears in extra work by now.”

Sam hummed at that, all smug younger brother proving a point, “Well I guess it doesn’t matter then, huh, Dean? ‘s not like the old man’s that old, his blinks aren’t slowing down anytime soon,” said with a finality that shut Dean up, finally granting Sam some goddamn peace as they basked in the feel of each other’s bed-warmed skin.

And that was that. Still, they rehashed it a few times, here and there whenever it got brought up.

Sam flicked Dean’s hand off his shoulder because, “I need to finish my homework, Dean. There’s a quiz on it tomorrow,” providing the perfect opportunity for Dean to bring up that old argument once again. Calling him a try-hard and a teacher’s pet, distracting him enough to bully him into their bed, away from his homework, and suddenly enveloped in the warm arms of his older brother - devious bastard that he was, dammit.

Sam always got 100s on those quizzes, anyway. But that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the chase, the thrill of seeing Dean be jealous of a piece of fucking paper and a pen before Sam caved and they fell together oh-so-sweetly.

But that was then, when the metaphorical speed of Dad’s blinks still kept them flitting from place to place. Now, Sam had already been in this place for 9 months, consecutively, and he was in for at least another 3.25 years. Four years he would be here, and that’s where Sam fucked up, forgetting his “wise” older brother’s warning (because he’s not here to remind me), and it had finally happened.

Betrayal of all betrayals, the professor of the only prereq that he actually liked, Dr. Morris, had given him extra work. All because,

“This is really something special, Sam! I really think people deserve to hear it.” She saw Sam begin to protest but cut him off, continuing, “From the author’s mouth, don’t give me that. That’s you, in case you’ve conveniently forgotten. C’mon, the literary arts event is next week and they’ve been asking me to fill an inspired composition spot. I think this is the perfect work to fit right in, with the way you’ve expanded on Dunn’s poem, interpreting meaning from it and making it your own- just, Sam, I seriously want you to consider presenting it.”

“It” was an assignment to write a piece about or inspired by one of the poems Dr. Morris had covered in class recently. One of them had tugged at Sam’s recently-shredded heartstrings, and so he wrote something inspired by it - so sue him if he wrote a little prose, alright? But, Christ, it was soft and mushy and it was horrifically revealing. But he didn’t have time to redo it, so this was what he was stuck with.

Damn, she’s really trying to sell this, Sam thought with a sigh.

Once again, though, his professor cut him off, this time with a conspiratorial look on her face, “Besides, a little birdy told me that the final for this class might be optional if you participate in the event…”

Well, that’s just diabolical.

Sam pinched his nose with yet another sigh, arms clutched around his notebook, which conveniently contained the exact literary “work” Dr. Morris had been raving about for the last ten minutes. All Sam had wanted to do was to make sure that it fit what she was expecting for the homework prompt before he turned it in, and then she’d trapped him.

He really did hate taking tests for this class, too, and she knew that. UGH.

“Fine, Dr. Morris, you win! But that little birdy better be tellin’ the truth or another little birdy is so gonna write the meanest course review this school has ever seen, I swear to god,” he pointed his finger at her accusingly, eyebrows raised in faux intimidation.

She laughed along with him at his empty threat, holding up her hands in mock surrender with a gasp, “No, not an angry student review! What about my career?”

She sobered a little, “The birdy is telling the truth, Sam, I promise. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Sam nodded with a rueful smile, “I know. Thank you, Dr. Morris, I’m uh- well, I’m glad you liked it.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

It was worse. So, so much worse. God, Sam fucked up, colossally.

Somehow, his friends had gotten wind of his little performance - something about a poster with his name on it? (Damn you, Dr. Morris!) - and now Sam was about to go on stage and make a fool of himself in front of both liberal arts and now STEM majors alike. Four STEM majors, specifically, his “friends,” and he was never going to hear the end of it after this.

I’m not even out to these people, what was I thinking? They’re gonna know, now. Sure hope they’re fuckin’ cool with it.

And, beyond that, he’d only read through the piece a total of two times without crying like a fucking baby. Reduced to hiccupping sobs over the stupid poem, and over his stupid feelings laid bare on the page, and over his stupid fucking brother that he’d basically broken up with when he came here like the incestuous freak that he was, and-

Goddammit.

Sam pinched viciously at his thigh through his pocket to stop his eyes from prickling.

This is gonna be a disaster.

But the final would be worse, Sam was sure, and he didn’t want to disappoint Dr. Morris - like the total sucker that he was - so he was gonna man up and do this thing.

The person on stage before him finished up their piece and, is the crowd seriously fucking snapping? Jesus Christ, these people are pretentious. Thankfully, pretentious or not, the event wasn’t that formal. They were just outside on a small stage, with standing and sitting room in front of it. Casual. Easy.

Yeah, right.

Still, Sam steeled himself and stepped out onto the stage as prompted, calmly raising the height of the mic stand while the event coordinator introduced him to the audience, “Thank you for that wonderful reading. Now stepping on stage is Sam Winchester, with a literary reading of his work, inspired by the poem “Sweetness” by Stephen Dunn.”

Sam cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly, “Ah, thank you, for that introduction. So… this is just a piece I wrote based on that poem, which uses the term “sweetness” to describe more than just sensation - to me, it describes a feeling, an emotion, and even a person. That’s something that really struck me, and is the basis of what you’re about to hear.”

While he was speaking, he scanned the crowd and- yep, there were his friends, waving and cheesing so hard it made his own mouth twitch a little in response, amused at their amusement. Still, there was this odd feeling, almost like… nevermind.

He cleared his throat again, purposefully this time, and began, “Often, a sweetness comes and changes nothing in the world, except the way we stumble through it. Our sweetness, the one we make between us, changes the world - my world - because of the way you envelop me entirely. The sweetness between us changes the world, shrinks it down to the size of your mouth, to the size of your hands.”

Images flash in Sam’s mind: silver ring; cupid’s bow; black bracelets on twin right-wrists, like their own secret wedding bands.

“But the world is no smaller for it, even though it’s shrunk to fit the shape of your body.

It’s still ever-expansive, always with something new to explore. New gasps to wring out from the valley of your mouth. New ways to bruise and mar the landscape of your skin, changing its terrane to map out the topography of our love, our sweetness, and the way it blisters between us…

Staining, always staining.”

Golden skin that’s littered with scratches, hickies marring it in impossible places, and freckles that reach out to Sam like starlight.

“Some days you believe it stains us down to the soul level. Those are the days I spend sick with heartbreak because those are the days you won’t touch me. Those are the days you won’t touch me, when you can’t even bear to look at me, littered as I always am (and how I always want to be) with the stains of our shared, world-changing sweetness. You see the stains on those days and, instead of cherishing them the way I would bid you to, you are sickened by them.”

A memory, now,

That beloved cupid’s bow stretched out in a self-deprecating sneer, “This is wrong, Sam! God, look at what I’ve done to you, I should be fucking locked up. You don’t even want this, you can’t!”

“Even worse, you’re saddened by them, the stains that I cherish, convincing yourself that you’ve doomed me by them. On those days, you believe you’ve doomed me to an eternity of fire and brimstone, even though the only God either of us truly believes in takes on the form of the finger-shaped bruises you leave on my thighs and the teeth-sized scars I’ve left in your skin.”

The stains, god, the stains: tear tracks on freckled cheeks, red and puffy eyes so unused to crying, bloody knuckles from losing to brick walls.

Sam’s eyes prickled. One hand went from the podium to his pocket and gouged its nails into flesh, welts forming on top of already-present bruises.

He cleared his throat again, blinking harshly, “But even if that were true, that you have doomed me, my love, then please: let me be doomed. The truth is that I am doomed. I am condemned by the shade of your eyes, by the strong elegance of your wrists, and the way your head tilts when you focus that I’ve never told you about.

I am doomed by the sinuous-sinful curve of your lips and your waist, by the crinkles caused by your breathtaking smile, and by the shade of reddish-orange on your teeth when you consume me. I am stained by these things, and for that, I am doomed.”

Sam's fingernails were digging into his skin through his pocket, but he still had to pause to sniffle off to the side, hopefully out of the range of the microphone. But the movement of his head let his peripherals sweep over the crowd and, there- the feeling from before was back, or maybe it was just stronger, now, never having left.

The feeling that he was being watched, but not just by anyone. It was a feeling he’d memorized during late nights with the lights out, not seeing but nevertheless knowing that Dean was watching him, staring at him, in the dark. And that’s what it felt like, now, but that’s impossible… right?

He continued, “I am stained by our sweetness, and so are you. We are stained and left wanting, always wanting, because there is no sweetness that’s ever sufficient to leave us sated, never to be needed again. For that, there is no sweetness that’s ever sufficient, because it comes as if on a loan, ripped away at a moment’s notice. Re-possessed with an interest rate that leaves us desolate and bereft.”

His eyes were tearing up actively by then, and he knew it, but he couldn’t spare the thought to worry about it. Not while he was overwhelmed with DeanDeanDean, trying so desperately to avoid looking in that corner but- the figure ducked behind a group of people stuck close together, and wasn’t that just telling? Telling, but also heartbreaking, because,

He won’t answer a fucking phone call, but he’ll haul ass across the country in two days to come see me read some half-assed prose?

Sam regularly tracked Dean’s phone, see, so he knew where he was two days ago: middle-of-nowhere Indiana. How the hell he had heard about Sam’s current predicament? Sam couldn’t even begin to guess. But he’d learned of it, somehow, and had driven thirty-four out of the last forty-eight hours to get here and watch Sam fall apart on a sound stage, California-tanned cheeks lit up in the golden evening light and soon to be glistening with tears that he couldn’t seem to stop from forming.

There’s no way he doesn’t know this is about him. Fuck. It’s Dean, he’s here, and he’s hearing me turn whatever the fuck we had together into this flowery, perfume-tinted crap. Fuck.

He came to see me. He’s here. Fuck.

Sam searched for Dean in the crowd without a care for the rest of his audience, voice coming out strong and clear as he spoke directly to him, suddenly bold,

“But the loan lender is you, and I, the borrower, the loan holder. The interest rate is your guilt, entwined with your ever-infuriating sense of righteousness, and you rip away the loaned-out sweetness when it starts to make too much sense.

When the sweetness starts to come too easily for your self-flagellating tastes, that’s when my payments are no longer sufficient. You rip away our sweetness and make it return to its supposedly dark source, the one you conjure up for it in your mind.”

Sam blinked tears out of his eyes and they rolled down his cheeks, but just he didn’t care.

Dean stood frozen, mouth open and tears of his own making his eyes turn that same puffy shade of pink that it always did. His left hand was rubbing over his bracelet, on the same wrist as always, mirroring the one on Sam’s own wrist. Unsubtly, Sam reached over to shrug up his sleeve and reveal the black bracelet he also wore.

More glimpses of memories, Right hand reaching out to right hand, clasping awkwardly between them but it felt right, so right, to see the claim they’d put on each other stated so loudly, stark black lines so obvious across their wrists.

Dean’s golden amulet gleaming in the light, dragging across Sam’s chest as Dean stayed above him, so deep inside Sam that he swore he could taste it. He shivered at the cold touch of the metal, but all he could feel was warm.

They were holding each other’s gaze, now, and Sam’s face was twisting up as he tried desperately to choke out the next words, tried to reach out with his brain waves to shove them into Dean’s own skull, to make him understand,

“But-” he sniffled again, into the mic this time, “But as for me, in the end, I don’t care where our sweetness has been, within the depths of your mind. I don’t care what bitter road it’s had to travel, through the muck and the mire of your unfounded shame, your self-made sorrows and imaginary transgressions.”

Sam was one step away from weeping at that point, voice strangled and cracking intermittently as it rose in pitch, tears streaming all ugly down his reddened face, roughly scrubbed away by a stray hand. This was the most direct Sam had ever been with Dean, a lifetime of silent looks and unspoken words suddenly torn wide open; his ugly, accusatory feelings laid bare, but mixed in with forgiveness, and with yearning for a reunion that Sam knew was never going to happen.

It was exhilarating. It was terrifying.

Dean looked gutted, and it twisted up Sam’s own insides even more in response. He was clutching his bracelet-ed wrist tightly to his stomach, twisting the strands of it between his fingers in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was shaped with that familiar, guilt-ridden sadness, the set of his shoulders belying his age, making his 22-years-young appear suddenly ancient.

All the responsibility and burdens of a brother, a boyfriend, and a parent- a mother, wrapped up onto one person’s shoulders. Sam could only imagine how heavy it was.

“Because oh, my sweetness - and that is what you are, what you have been this whole time - when the sweetness finally returns, when you have come back to me, I don’t care how long I’ve been in its absence, or rather in your absence.”

Sam could just barely make out the tempo of the tears streaming down Dean’s face as they fell, though he wasn’t sure if he could actually see them, or if he just knew the rhythm of Dean’s anguish better than his own heartbeat.

Dean was a boy full of a sadness that was forced to stagnate, forced to fester and rot inside him, never to be allowed out. The rot was pouring down his face from where he stood in the crowd. Sam thought he’d never looked more beautiful than how he looked right now, back in Sam’s life after the longest time they’d ever spent apart.

“I don’t care what bitter road you’ve traveled to come back so far, to taste so good. It’s okay, it’s alright! Please, my love: lower your hackles, you’re on that bitter road no longer. It’s okay, and I don’t care, I’ve never cared, because in the end you come back, and for all of your travels, you never fail to taste so, so good.”

Sam fell silent and stepped back from the mic, smiling that sheepishly awkward, too-dimpled smile of acknowledgement and faux-gratitude to the crowd to signify his conclusion, never quite taking his eyes off Dean even as the crowd hesitantly-to-enthusiastically applauded his work.

Then Sam blinked, and Dean was gone.

#3k+ words #OH btw #this was also inspired by the 10 things i hate about you poetry scene... y'all know the one #just fyi #(#spn #sam winchester #wincest #stanford era #sweetness by stephen dunn #ro writing tag #)

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kinnersonne · 1 year

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My roommate is watching Trollhunters for the first time and I am rehashing ALL the feelings so it’s time for some ~Stricklake Headcanons!~

• Barbara will not hesitate to yank him along by the horns if he’s being a buttsnack

• She also likes to bring up the whole enchantment debacle as her trump card to win arguments or make him do something. Normally she can persuade him with other means, but she’ll resort to that if she has to

• Slit-pupilled eyes means he looks like a big doofus if he looks at her too long because “his eyes get all big, like a little cat’s!” (Barbara’s words)

• “I’m not cute, I’m horrifying!” “Sure, sweetie…”

• Walt is lovely. But living with Stricklander the troll would be like the worst parts of having both a) a cat that hates everyone and b) a big dog that’s Too Dang Old. Scowls and hisses for no other reason than He Can. Sleeps all day and keeps you up at night with possum noises. Refuses to let you touch him until he suddenly decides he wants physical affection, at which point he’ll clamber all 200 rocky pounds of him into your lap and growl until you pet him. Gets VERY whiny when you pay attention to somebody that’s not him, even if he’s been ignoring you all day. 50/50 chance of attacking any given guest, verbally or physically

• Pet names: Mr. Creature, Lakeluster, ‘dearest’ (B) and ‘sweetie’ (S) but only ironically, NOT Babs, only misogynist jerks at the hospital call her that

• Barbara won’t confirm this but Strickler may or may not have tracked down and pulled a hit on James Lake Sr. Barbara denies all knowledge of her ex’s sudden and violent death

• Troll society is matriarchal (yes I know there’s almost no evidence of this in the show it’s a headcanon), so anytime Barbara gets a little girlbossy or shows her Mama Bear it’s actually a major turn-on for him

• I was enamored with the idea of changelings purring, since they’re too small and impure probably to roar like real trolls do (like how cheetahs aren’t actual members of the panthera genus and they make adorable chirping noises). But I came up with something worse:

• It’s not just changelings that purr, but it is only males, and only under arousal. Originally it evolved as a defense mechanism, as a way of soothing their mates and dissuading them from maiming/devouring them in the heat of the moment

Please. Please help me.

#walter strickler #barbara lake #stricklake #trollhunters #headcanon #trollhunters headcanon #stricklake headcanon #when this man walks onscreen I PHYSICALLY pass away #send help #i also haven’t seen any Arcadia spin-offs #or even the movie that exists apparently?#so I hope I’m not clashing with anything I don’t know there #i know our terrible green man shows up again but that’s the extent of my knowledge #tales of arcadia

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druckkugelschreiber · 7 months

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I would like to read something about Artemis ❤️

Hi! Thanks for the ask!

Artemis is a The Old Guard OC (cause you know what else am I writing recently ^^) and she is an immortal on Andy's team (though the on team status is actually up for debate) and old enough to be the inspiritation for the goddess Artemis.

She, Andy, Quyhn and Lykon were a polycule for a long time until Lykon dies and Quynh is lost, due to the unfortunate circumstances around the witch trials.

Andy and Artemis have a major falling out over the whole thing because Artemis murders a lot of people in rage and desperation.

Their story picks up again in the 21st century, when Nile as a new immortal shows up and forces Artemis and Andy to interact again after 600 years of not seeing each other. Artemis helps the team and maybe she and Andy can reconnect. Who knows!

A snippet of their reunion below!

I entered my house. Ril was already asleep on his perch in my office. I spotted him easily through the open door. The windows were almost always open, except when there was a major storm rolling in.

I let out a long breath, pulled out my hair tie and began undoing the complicated braid in a style this world hadn’t seen in millenia.

“Still with the fancy braids?” an all too familiar voice said.

I nearly jumped high enough to hit my head on the ceiling. “Zeus fucking balls!” My eyes found Andromache in the dark of the living room. A couple of the braids now fell into my face, while the others were braided along my skull. “How did you get in here?”

“You think I don’t know all the tricks you taught your huntresses?” Andy said and it sounded very ominous.

I let my hands drop from my half undone braids and threw her a wary glance in the near pitchblack living room. Only moonlight fell in from the outside. “You know, you’re very badass assassin in that corner. Mind some light?”

Andy reached over and turned on the soft wall lights. “Better your grace?” she mocked.

My heart tensed. My stomach coiled. Our argument from 600 years ago replayed in my mind, like it always did when I was feeling low, but now I felt like all the walls I had build around my heart, the stitches I had put in the cracks, Andy just tore them all open again, but 4000 years had taught me a couple of things. Mainly a good pokerface. “Actually, it’s ‘my lady’ or ‘high lady’ or ‘lady Artemis’ you may pick and choose.”

“Where’s the new one?” Andy’s voice was dark and threatening.

“That’s why you’re here?” I couldn’t say I was surprised. “Actually probably helped you find me, right?”

“Artemis, I’ve known you for 4000 fucking years and you’ve never abandoned this temple.”

Again fair point. “Yeah, I’m kind of bad at staying hidden from people who saw me grow up apparently.” I fought the urge to step closer. “Why do you care so much about the new one?”

Andy’s eyes were as cold as a winter’s sky. It was always fascinating how they changed colour with her moods. How laughter put all the green back in them and anger made them ice blue. “Maybe I care about what you’ll make of her. You really think the world needs another you?”

I swallowed hard. My jaw tensed. “You really want to rehash that particular argument?”

“No, I told you what I want”, Andy stood up from the armchair and slowly walked over to me.

I took half a step back before I could stop myself. But Andy didn’t stop. She reached out to take one thin braid between her fingers, twirling it softly, the strand almost the same colour as the moonlight.

“So, are you going to tell me?” Andy said softly but somehow not any less threatening, “or do I have to test quite how good your huntresses are?”

My eyes flew over Andy’s face. I fought the fear. Mostly fear for what she’d do to my emotions rather than fear for her attacking me. Even back then, after I had lost myself in rage and blood, she had never attacked me with more than words, but those had stung deeper than any weapon as I had found out soon enough.

#ask box #andromache the scythian #schreibers ocs #the old guard

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blautitlewave · 1 year

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I’m a trans ally. Transwomen cannot get periods, and it’s annoying that we are seeing an influx of white transwomen (because POC transwomen *typically* have enough sense to not try to step over cis women with an ‘I know everything’ energy) try to claim otherwise and then try to explain to cis women how their bodies work. Doing that echoes mansplaining, and just like a cis woman is not automatically immune to internalizing misogyny, transwomen are not immune to having internalized the misogyny taught to them when they were perceived and treated as men. Lots of transwomen still have misogyny that they need to unpack. Denying it just gives ammunition to TERFs who DO have one singular valid point, and that’s that society doesn’t take cis women’s biological issues seriously, overall. But they then take the flippancy of transwomen and turn it into a reason as to why transwomen are invalid.

Cis women and transwomen are two different types of women that deserve recognition as women and each have their own unique challenges to face in life *as* women. Different biological challenges, different attacks by patriarchy and comp cishet. But trying to convince yourself that the odd feelings you have because of your hormone therapy is the exact same as someone shedding the lining of an organ and having it pass out through their orifice is not it. It simply isn’t the same.

And a similar note, “chestfeeding” is a stupid term. Men and women both have breast tissue. People have been using breast to mean a man’s chest since the old, old days. It’s breastfeeding. If a transwoman or a cis man or whomever is not a cis woman ever could manage to lactate, it would be breast feeding cuz that’s kinda how the operation works. And even if they don’t have breast tissue, the breast is synonymous with the chest area, so.. 💁 why make a new word? It reeks of 90s PC culture that did more effort to police words than actually do anything to help people who needed policy changes and real outreach and uplifted social status.

I feel like trying to use this neutral terminology is needless and pointless. A lot of these language changes are based on the false assumption that modern usage and application of certain terms has been unchanging since time immemorial. The word “breast” is the obvious example here. Words were so much more fluid and general back in the day and only in modern times have they become more refined and restricted, not the other way around.

But there is an argument going around by some cis women that the word “cis” is needless, and I disagree. Cis informs that one was born a woman and she aligns with that designation, whereas trans informs that one was born with the designation of man, but identifies as a woman. To say that “well we’re all women so why give me that label” is another rehashing of the colorblindness of the 80s and 90s, spearheaded by white feminists who didn’t want to interact with how race, ethnicity, class, nationality affects one’s experience of womanhood, preferring instead to lump everyone together as suffering the exact same under patriarchy. False. Trans women face different pressures than cis women, though they echo each other in the end: Threats of violence, harassment, abuse, murder. Medical needs not tended to. Misogyny. Self image issues. Mental illness. Underpaid for labor. Silenced by patriarchy. But the specific ways in which these issues play out in a cis woman’s life vs a transwoman’s life are different.

Trans women will never need to get a cervical cancer scare, or cysts on her ovaries, or a period, or a pregnancy scare. Neither will they be the target of infanticide since once cannot know someone is trans at birth. Everything else relating to harassment and sexual assault and murder are things cis women have endured.

Cis women will never be faced with elected politicians standing up and proclaiming that their entire existence should be eradicated from society, or that them being women is a mental illness in of itself, that being born a woman means they are an inherent danger to children, that they are abominations of God because ‘nowhere in the religious text does it ever mention them’, that being a woman is a fetish or a form of deviancy.

Yes you can make the argument that men throughout history have all but said that women are malformed men, that they’re neurotic and all that, and that they are more susceptible to the devil’s influence. But women by their categories have unique trials and struggles, and it doesn’t do anyone any good by disparaging the struggles of allies just to say yours are better or more valid. It is trans womens’ duty to support cis women by default, and it is in cis women’s best interest to support trans women.

#lgbt #misogyny #feminism

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beautifulpersonpeach · 2 years

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Repost: Ask on BTS Paving the Way

Anonymous: Hey bpp. You talked a little bit about the 'BTS paved the way' discourse on your pinned post but I'm curious to see - read? lol - more on your thoughts about it. If youve talked about it before, can you pls link? Since you might not want to discuss/rehash this at all lol. I got curious because this discourse seems neverending and i just watched a yt video essay abt it. Imo, both sides of the spectrum - army and kpop stans -seems to be missing each other's points. Like, i think a lot of kpop stans havent paid attention to what bts have contributed to kpop and theyve dismissed armys arguments entirely and i think a lot of armys havent been into kpop and kpop history to definitively say the stuff I've seen them saying. A lot of the arguments and statements are very inflammatory too and while I agree with what armys are saying, the language they use isnt going to make kpop stans listen - i mean, the ones who arent blinded by their hate for bts/army anyway lol like a lot of kpop stans think when army say bts paved the way/bts popularized kpop, they always think army mean popularized it in the west. When we have receipts of them doing spectacularly globally, especially in places like india where they seem to have exploded since dynamite. Theyve also broken a lot of records in japan, where kpop is already popular but still seem to have a lot of trouble penetrating mainstream bec theyre very insular. They also think that we mean 'first to xxx', which isnt really what we mean at all. And a lot of army seem to dismiss what older kpop groups have achieved too and just like to prop up bts while putting down other groups and dismissing what theyve achieved for the genre. I just think since a lot of armys are in kpop only for bts -same tbh - we tend to be ignorant of the genre as a whole, which isnt good bec we're always arguing x member is the best in the industry or even bts is carrying the industry on their backs, which dismisses a lot of great artists that are doing great work like solo artists like taemin. Like, I'm an army and I'm not a "stan" of any other kpop artists but the whole argument just makes me v v uncomfortable. I guess i still haven't adjusted to stan culture since i've never been a fan of any artists like i am of bts - to the point of joining the fandom and really immersing myself in it - so the intensity of it is still jarring to me. I know it happens with big western fandoms like taylor swifts too but i think i'm still old school when it comes to being a fan of a musician, you listen to the music, rave about it to friends and buy/stream the music and go about your day.

Hi Anon,

Anon, I sympathize completely and not to harp on you here, but my first instinct reading this was “who cares?” - this is generally how I feel about this topic whenever I see it, so not knocking you specifically here. And I’d just like to remind everyone there’s an active, senseless, and deadly war raging right now in Ukraine. Please donate and/or pray for Ukraine if you’re able to.

(And then there’s the leader of Stray Kids who is probably a bigger ARMY than me at this point)

This is not me dismissing the gripes of stans of 1st and 2nd generation groups (the usual suspects), this is me saying that what I’ve seen of this discourse is huge swarths of people engaging in an elaborate exercise in collectively missing the point. And yes I’m also referring to those splitting hairs over the semantics of what it means to pave a road. (Heaven help us). And you already allude to this in your ask, anon.

The phrase: 방법을 만들다 which is what a lot of Koreans have used to describe 'paving the way’, is colloquially used to mean 'chart a course’ or someone showing how something can be done.

If this were a normal conversation with normal people and not k-pop stans, it would be enough to point out that yes, BTS was not the first k-pop group to step foot outside Korea or in the US, but BTS is the one group that has gone farther than any k-pop group has before i.e. created the new path. It’s really that simple. BTS has become a household name globally without doing a single show at Coachella nor having any of the mediaplay seen for other groups that attempted to fully break into the US market. The fact that Korea’s military enlistment laws (which before BTS were enshrined as basically unchangeable) have been modified at least partly on their behalf (and for the benefit of any idol who meets the criteria) and that BTS is the first k-pop group to receive a Grammy nomination, has created a new tier, the highest one yet, of what is possible for k-pop artists.

BTS is the biggest group in the world. They rival Coldplay according to Coldplay. Before BTS, the reality is that this ambition was not even within the realm of possibility for much of k-pop. Even with BTS breaking the records and gaining the influence they have, k-pop is still considered to be niche in some circles, though there is undeniably more visibility and investment brought to the genre since BTS started snagging headlines. Some people still hope BTS will go the way of Psy and BoA who were a fad on the Western landscape for a minute then essentially faded into obscurity. But so far, that’s not what has happened, and everyone is paying attention to see what BTS is doing right, that perhaps other groups can emulate.

BTS won’t be the biggest group in the world forever, but the chances that the next biggest group is a k-pop group, is significantly higher now because of BTS.

La fin.

It’s true some ARMYs can be downright disgusting with how they throw around BTS’s accomplishments and sometimes ignore, dismiss, downplay, or just straight up shit on older groups who made the first moves into Western spheres, whenever this topic comes up.

But a part of me understands them. When BTS won the TSA award in 2017, it felt like hell to be on Twitter and I wasn’t even an ARMY at that point. I did a search through my old screenshots and found more than 15 k-pop fandoms spent weeks shitting non-stop on BTS and ARMYs about how useless it was to win at the BBMAs. It was a non-stop barrage of racism, xenophobia, misogyny, all the -isms you can think of related to POC musicians. Though of course BTS was not the first group to go to the US, all of a sudden, k-pop stans were convinced BTS had 'sold out’, abandoned their heritage and were pandering to 'white colonizers’ (sound familiar?). I started calling myself an ARMY the next year (2018) and as I’ve said already, I was reporting things almost constantly. It was hell.

You’re right this discourse seems never-ending because it is never-ending. Remember you’re dealing with k-pop stans who will argue with you that water isn’t wet if it means something positive for their group and some ARMYs are just as bad. Whenever I see people arguing about what paved the way I just mute that whole conversation. I sympathize with you feeling uncomfortable about this topic. I’d like to suggest doing what I currently do which is to not waste a single moment of a single day worrying about something that’s already obvious and settled. This particular discourse is the perfect example of a time sink imo, because really, who cares?

Originally posted: March 18th, 2022 1:35pm

#bts army #fandom #paving the way #bts paved the way #repost #kpop #kpop fandom

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shihalyfie · 3 years

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@sage-striaton replied to your post:

Idk how people can say Frontier has characters that lack depth. Imo it’s a very psychological season. The whole adventure thing is aimed to making them grown in their behaviours and feelings, it’s a big metaphor of their development

I’m sorry for hijacking your response to my post to segue this into another rant of mine, but I want to emphasize that one of my goals with this blog (if I can be said to have any) is that I really, really, really want people to re-examine whether they actually believe in the rhetoric that’s been dominating this fanbase for two decades, or whether there’s more to it. This is especially in regards to the fact that we’re talking a series deliberately written in such a way that it’ll change meaning and nuance as you get older, so it can “grow up” with you in a sense, and yet it seems like -- especially in regards to Adventure through Frontier, due to their position as the oldest series that the majority of the fanbase was elementary or preteen age during -- people are still regurgitating the same rehashed twenty-year-old ideas like they’re undeniable law. It’s one thing if they’re saying it because the series didn’t sit well with them the first time and they don’t want to watch it again, but we’re reaching a recurring problem where it’s sort of “brainwashing” even people who don’t actually believe it but feel compelled to go along with it, or wouldn’t feel that way if it weren’t for peer pressure. Obviously, there are dissenting opinions, and ones that are even very loud about that, but that pressure remains.

The mainstream opinion in the fanbase is that Adventure is untouchable and impervious to any criticism, 02 is its inferior sequel with half-baked characters, Tamers is an auteur work that’s the “deepest” of the original tetralogy due to being dark, and Frontier is devoid of much substance at all. Even those who don’t really believe in this will still be pressured to go alongside it, those who like 02 or Frontier will be pressured to consider it a “guilty pleasure”, and it’s only very recently when certain events revealed that the idea of 02 actually having quite its own fervent and passionate fanbase that likes it on its own merits became properly recognized. (I have actually noticed a huge uptick in 02 fans, especially casual ones, being more shameless in talking about liking it in the last two years; you’re still going to get the obnoxious person “reminding” you how bad it apparently is if you bring it up, but it’s not nearly as prevalent as it used to be.) I’m not talking about whether something is a “good” or “bad” series -- that concept doesn’t really exist to me as much as whether it’s “to one’s tastes” or not, and I think one of the joys of this franchise is that it has things that cater to people with vastly different preferences -- as much as a lot of potential for analysis and intimate thought about these very fascinating series. Even if 02 and Frontier were as shallow or half-baked as they were accused of, I wouldn’t think it’d be shameful to like them for one’s own reasons anyway, but what frustrates me is that I just don’t think that’s true in the first place!!

Not helping is that there’s still a refusal among the fanbase to admit that there were substantial differences in American English dubbing (especially in regards to Adventure and 02), which I don’t mean as a bad thing in the sense that some people prefer to stick only with that dub and consider that version what they want to work with, but in the sense that the treatment of them as “the same thing” has been horribly detrimental when two people, one coming from that dub and one coming from the Japanese version (or a dub more closely based on it), will end up often having an argument doomed to go nowhere because they were never talking about the same thing to begin with. Recently, a friend admitted to me that although they’d switched to the Japanese version a long time ago, they still couldn’t get the image of Daisuke and Takeru having an inherently hostile relationship (they don’t) out of their head due to the influence of that dub, and although they consciously knew better -- at least enough to admit this to me -- it wasn’t helped by the fact that the fanbase itself continues to reinforce this image because of how normalized it is to treat the dub version and the Japanese version as “virtually the same” and for Western fanbase discourse to assume you should be projecting those takes into the Japanese version. If you’re hanging out in English-speaking circles but are working from the Japanese version or a dub directly based off of it, you do actually have to filter out a lot of takes you’re hearing because they won’t actually apply to the version you’re watching, but not a lot of people realize this.

All four of Adventure through Frontier share tons of key staff, especially Seki, known for her focus on wanting the kids in the audience to be able to empathize with and relate to the characters on screen. All four share some of the best character work I’ve seen not only in this franchise, but also in kids’ media in general, and I also stress that a lot of this has a ton of nuance that isn’t always apparent unless you read between the lines. I do understand that a lot of this probably went over our heads as kids, and I won’t say that the choice to execute it this way should be impervious to criticism, but nevertheless, I think it’s important to call attention to the fact it is there, and much of it becomes recognizable once you see it that way; for instance, so much of "it's contradictory character writing!" comes from the fact that the series tries to represent humans in their inconsistent, messy ways, and while it'll feel "messy" from a writing trope perspective, when you think about it as "since this person has this mentality, does it make sense to approach this with this mindset?", suddenly it becomes very consistent. The supposedly “shallow” 02 and Frontier characters will act in ways that match existing psychological profiles meant for actual humans to terrifying degrees, in ways that you might actually recognize even better once you’ve hit adulthood and start intimately understanding things like depression or anxiety in ways you might not have before. Shockingly, “having heart, important themes, and kindness towards the human condition” are completely valid reasons to uplift a creative work in ways distinct from technical writing or cerebrality or how many tropes they subvert or whatever.

On the flip side, people praise Adventure and Tamers for being the naturally “superior” works with better writing, but when it comes to talking about why the writing is supposedly better, a good chunk of the reasons stated don’t actually explain anything substantial, or go back to actually being passive-aggressive dunks on the other series in some form -- it’s because 02 and Frontier’s character writing sucks that badly, or because Adventure had the “best plot” (which may be true if by “best” you mean “easiest to understand”, but that doesn’t mean much to someone who might not be very happy about how its story progression is just a boss rush), or because Tamers is the “deepest” when by “deep” they actually mean “cerebral, dark, and unsubtle about it” without any further meaning (as if Adventure and 02 were idealistic series that never went into anything nuanced and not, say, the fact they went very viciously deep into societal issues between parents and children, psychological horror, and intimate takes on the human condition). I’m personally saying this as someone who does think Adventure and Tamers have a lot to praise in terms of their approaches to realism and the unique aspects each bring to the table, and I feel that people like this are doing them more of a disservice by not bothering to uplift them for any reason that isn’t actually just inherently condescending. I mean, even taking this outside of the original tetralogy for a bit, when I was plugging Appmon earlier, there’s a reason I focused more on its theme and character writing and the use of “dark” writing to convey its sheer range, rather than trying to boil it down to a shallow “it looks cheery but gets really messed up later!”, which is unfortunately an argument I’ve been seeing about it lately.

In the end, when I write my meta, I write it "making a case" for my point of view, and I welcome others to disagree, but if you disagree, I really hope it'll be because you personally disagree, and not because the entire fanbase has been saying otherwise for twenty years and I sound like a radical. I’m not saying that everyone’s consensus takes are completely unfounded, but frankly speaking, this fanbase has some really bad takes, and in the past few years I’ve found it freeing to not only “say what you feel without worrying what others think”, but actually go out of my way to outright try and purge all the preconceived notions and pick only the ones I agree with because I actually agree with them. I encourage you to do it too! And if you do, you might find things about something you like that you didn’t realize before.

#digimon #shiha's ask box #sage-striaton #digimon adventure #digimon adventure 02 #digimon tamers #digimon frontier #shihameta

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seijorhi · 4 years

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hello, i love your writing and was hoping if u could write a yandere kuroo x reader where he corners her in a corner and kenma is there and is getting off from it 😳 thank u !

Asdfghjkl this was supposed to be posted on Sunday I’m sorry, bby!! I hope it’s worth the wait! 💕 also, loved this request so thanks for sending it in 😊

Kuroo Tetsuro x Female Reader, Kenma Kozume x Female Reader

TW dub con, coercion (kinda?), stalking, humiliation

Helping Hand

There’s a certain peace you find in the looming stacks of the library after the sun sets. It’s quieter then, less people milling about. You don’t have to fight for space or books, and considering you have midterms soon and essays coming out of your ears, that makes it the perfect study environment.

It’s only a little after eight, the library’s still open for another two and a half hours, but on the fourth floor it’s almost a ghost town - just how you like it. There’s a professor tucked away in the back corner, piles of books built up around him, an older librarian with her trolley, slowly re-shelving books, and two other guys around your age sitting huddled at a table a few down from yours - the textbooks and highlights spread across their desk having been long since abandoned in favour of literally anything else.

Honestly, you’d wonder why they’d bother coming to the library at all if it wasn’t an almost daily occurrence. Most days you were there, so were they - usually together, although it wasn’t uncommon to see just one of them camped out between the stacks as you made your way to your desk. The duo, one tall and lean with a shock of messy dark hair that always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and the other smaller, more reserved, with bleached hair and dark roots in serious need of a touch up, seemed to prefer this time to study too - not that they ever seemed to actually do all that much studying.

Usually the blonde ends up absorbed in his switch while the other casually thumbs through whichever book is closest.

So long as they were quiet and didn’t disturb you, who were you to judge?

You don’t really remember when they’d started to appear, only that they’d quickly become a fixture in your refuge - distantly familiar presences like strangers travelling on the same bus to work each day. They smile (well, the dark haired one does) and nod whenever you happen to look up from your notes and catch their eye, and while you’ve only spoken a handful of words to the both of them, they always seemed nice.

Nicer than the clearly overworked professor muttering away in the corner at any rate, which makes them the logical choice to approach when you find your bladder uncomfortably full halfway through your self imposed study session. Realistically, you know at this time of the night nobody else is likely to make their way up to the fourth floor, much less have any interest in your shitty, old laptop or the five whole dollars in your wallet - yet you find you making your way over to the twosome’s table anyway, a faint blush dusting across your cheeks.

“… don’t want to,” you overhear the blonde mutter, his attention wholly focused upon the game in his hands. “Things are fine, why change that?”

His friend sighs, “Because you can deny it all you want, but I know you better than that. I know I’m not the only one who wants more. You can’t just sit back and…” he trails off suddenly, hazel eyes flickering over to you in surprise.

Confused by his friend’s sudden silence, the blonde lowers his game and glances up - only to still at the sight of you.

You swallow down your nerves, plastering what you hope is a friendly enough smile across your face, “Hi, uh… sorry to interrupt you guys, but would you mind watching my stuff for a few minutes while I go to the bathroom? I won’t be long or anything, I just don’t like leaving my stuff out in the open,” you say with a sheepish laugh, well aware that you’re rambling like an idiot.

It’s the dark haired one who answers, a wide grin breaking across his face as he nods, “Yeah, no worries. We’d be glad to.”

You smile back, ignoring the faint fluttering in your stomach (he does look kind of cute grinning like that), thanking him again before rushing away in the direction of the bathroom.

It doesn’t take long for your thoughts to drift away from the duo back to the essay you’re mid-way through drafting. You have a sinking feeling that the argument you’re trying to use in the fourth paragraph is essentially a just rehash of the point you made in the first. By the time you unlock the stall door and make your way over to the sink to wash your hands, you’re starting to debate the merits of scrapping the whole thing and starting fresh with new ideas.

You still technically have time, it’s not due until the end of the month, but you just kind of want it done so you don’t have to think about it anymore. Then again, that’s kind of your feelings towards the semester as a whole.

Who are you kidding? University’s kicking your ass this year.

The ancient hand dryer’s almost deafening as it clicks on - it masks the sound door swinging open and the footsteps that echo out from the tile floors.

It’s only when your eyes flicker up to mirror that you see that you’re no longer alone-

Standing right behind you is the guy from before; the tall, dark haired one.

- and jerk in surprise, stumbling backwards with a choked yelp.

It doesn’t hit you right away - no, that’s relief that has you drawing a hand over your chest and letting out a shaking laugh. “You scared the hell out of me!” you say, bracing yourself over the sink to try and calm your breathing.

No, it doesn’t hit you quickly. Realisation is slow - creeping through your veins like ice as your eyes flicker back up the mirror.

He hasn’t moved.

He’s smiling, grinning really, but there’s something… something off about it. It doesn’t quite meet his eyes… Why isn’t he saying anything?

W-why isn’t he moving away?

Your heart, still hammering from his shock of his sudden appearance, squeezes uncomfortably and your eyes slowly widen.

“Wh-”

A rough, calloused palm slaps across your mouth, smothering whatever words you’d been about to speak. “Ah, ah. Gotta keep it down, sweetheart.”

He winks at you in the mirror, taking a tiny step towards you and you squeak, breathing in sharp, shallow pants through your nose as a warm, muscled chest presses against your back. “You’re a nervous little thing, aren’tcha?” he chuckles. “Relax a little - promise I don’t bite.”

With one hand wrapped around your lips the other creeping across your waist, his words don’t exactly bring you a lot of comfort.

It makes no difference either way - you’re paralysed, shaking and trembling, but utterly unable to move as he noses at the column of your throat, his warm breath tickling your skin.

You could scream, but there’s no guarantee anybody would hear you. You could try and fight him off, but he’s taller than you, and you’re willing to bet stronger as well.

Will he hurt you if you try and resist?

Is he gonna hurt you anyway?

You’ve heard the stories before about men who follow women into empty bathrooms and the awful things they do, but you never...

Those things don’t happen in places like this. The library is supposed to be safe, he- he’s been-

Your stomach drops.

Weeks.

He’s been visiting the library with his friend, sitting across from you for weeks.

His eyes bore into your reflection in the mirror like he can hear every terrified thought that passes through your head, and with excruciating slowness you’re forced to watch as his lips brush a kiss against your cheek, lingering and sweet - a mockery of tenderness.

A scared little whimper is all you can manage, and even that is swallowed up by the sound of the bathroom door squeaking open once more.

Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening.

A faint burst of hope flickers to life.

You might not be a fighter, but this might be the only chance you have. You shriek again, the sound woefully muffled, and writhe against your captor’s tightening grip as slow footsteps round the corner.

Please, you think as tears stream silently down your face. Please help me.

What little hope you have is quickly - brutally - extinguished as your would be saviour steps into view.

Your legs shake and you’re almost positive that if it wasn’t for the strong arms wrapped around you, you would have crumpled to the floor.

It’s his friend, the blonde, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, watching the scene before him - you struggling against an iron grip, gagged and terrified - like it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

Your captor chuckles, relaxing his grip as his hand drifts upwards to palm at your breast and you want to die. “Glad you finally decided to grace us with your presence.”

“Shut up, Kuroo,” the blonde groans as he makes his way over, but he barely glances at his friend before his catlike eyes come to rest on you.

Your cheeks are burning, a potent mix of shame, nausea and dread churning in your stomach as you’re crudely felt up, but under the blonde’s attention you freeze.

While his face is a blank mask of apathetic disinterest, those golden irises are piercing in their intensity as they study you.

The glint in his eyes is as unmistakable as it is stark; anticipation - like a house cat watching a golden canary flit restlessly in its cage.

The hiccuping sob comes unbidden, choking at your throat as you wail against the palm at your lips. You’ve never wanted to disappear so badly in your entire life, to slap yourself awake and realise that it’s nothing but a stress induced nightmare because this can’t be happening.

Why you?

What could you possibly have done to deserve this?

“Relax,” Kuroo repeats, leaning down over you again, “we’re not gonna hurt you. Just wanna have some fun, that’s all.” You think he’s going to try and kiss you again, but instead his tongue darts out and he licks at the silvery tear tracks, groaning softly.

You shoot the quiet blonde a desperate, pleading look. He hasn’t lifted a finger to stop what’s happening, hasn’t done anything other than stare at you, but even as his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile you hold out on the shadow of a prayer that maybe, just maybe-

Kuroo follows your wide, panicked gaze and almost snorts. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there, baby. Kenma’s not gonna help you. He wants this just as badly as I do.” His thumb slides across your cheek, brushing away more tears, “C’mon, on your knees.”

He doesn’t give you a choice - the hand on your shoulder forces your shaking knees to buckle and you fall down to the bathroom floor.

The tiles are cold against your bare legs, but the shivers that wrack through you have little to do with the temperature. It’s far too late to regret the short skirt you’d thrown on that morning.

Kuroo hums appreciatively, lifting his palm to tap it a few times against your cheek like you’re an adorable little puppy who’s just learned its first trick, “It’s a good look for you, baby, but I think it’d be even better without this-” his fingers tug at the collar of your top and his grin widens, “- in the way.”

Yet he makes no move to take it off for you. One look into his eyes, the glittering amusement darkened with lewd desire and you know that he won’t.

He wants you to do it, to play along in their fun - to be an active participant in your own humiliation.

And really, what other choice do you have?

It’s impossible to ignore the bulge straining against his jeans as your trembling fingers grip the hem of your top and reluctantly yank it upwards. There’s a sharp inhale - Kuroo you think - and a whistle as it comes off, baring your lacy bra and the soft skin underneath to their hungry gazes.

Only for a moment.

Staring resolutely at the floor you’re quick to try and cover what little modesty you have left, bringing your arms up to wrap around your chest-

Except a hand catches at your wrist and tugs it back, and when you glance up you find it’s Kenma’s.

“… Don’t,” he murmurs. “I want to see you.”

You let your arms drop, hands clenching into shaking fists in your lap, fingernails biting into your palm.

The sound of a zipper being pulled undone is almost deafening in the quiet bathroom. Fresh tears sting at your eyes, but you can’t bear to look at either of them as Kuroo reaches inside his pants and frees his cock.

The hand that cups your cheek is surprisingly gentle as he coaxes your face back towards him and the achingly hard member in his grip. “See Kenma, I told you - change ain’t always a bad thing.”

His dark eyes flicker back to you and he grins, “Open up, sweetheart.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kuroo #yandere kuroo x reader #yandere kenma #yandere kenma x reader #yandere #yandere kuroo tetsuro #yandere kuroo tetsuro x reader #female reader #yandere kenma kozume #yandere kenma kozume x reader #kenma x reader #kuroo x reader #tw dub con #tw implied stalking #tw humiliation #kuroo x reader x kenma

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 3 years

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(pt 1) i really enjoy all your atla analyses & you've done a great job breaking down the usual arguments re how eip shows that kataang shouldn't have happened. i'm curious about your take on one specific argument that i just saw today, in an analysis of the show by a zker that was otherwise quite good and respectful (i know you've already talked about eip a lot, so no problem if you don't feel like rehashing). the premise: aang didn't just pressure katara in eip, he threatened her.

(pt 2) they point to when katara joins aang & asks if he’s alright: “aang: no, i’m not! i hate this play! katara: i know it’s upsetting, but it sounds like you’re overreacting. aang: overreacting? if i hadn’t blocked my chakra, i’d probably be in the avatar state right now!” the suggestion is he’s threatening her when he says ‘i’d probably be in the avatar state right now’ to describe his anger. i think this take exaggerates and oversimplifies it, but interested in your thoughts on it.

Hello my friend!! It is true I am Old inside and don’t like rehashing dhdlksjslks BUT your comments on my posts are always incredibly kind and insightful so I am more than willing to do a bit of rehashing for you 🥰 Besides! I’ve seen this general take before a few times and it’s always irked me for the exact reason you point out - it simultaneously exaggerates and oversimplifies the situation (and honestly that’s an impressive duality since it’s seemingly contradictory, so hats off to them lmaooo) - and now is as good a time as any to address it. So, for starters, let’s go ahead and get the excerpt they love to focus on so much:

Cut to Aang standing alone on a balcony. Katara enters and walks up to him.

Katara: Are you all right?

Aang: [Angered.] No, I’m not! I hate this play! [Yanks his hat off and throws it on the ground.]

Katara: I know it’s upsetting, but it sounds like you’re overreacting.

Aang: Overreacting? If I hadn’t blocked my chakra, I’d probably be in the Avatar State right now!

Here’s the thing about so-called analyses of this excerpt: in a manner extremely convenient to the poster, they never seek to contextualize this moment. (I mean, to do so would deplatform their entire “argument” - perhaps that’s why they avoid performing a full analysis?) So let’s avoid that pitfall from the start.

Firstly, below are some links to related posts; I’m going to do my best to summarize the most relevant parts, but for anyone who desires greater detail, I gotchu 😤

This post explains why EIP (the play, lol) is imperialist propaganda and is intended to belittle the entire Gaang.

This post explains how Aang never acted “entitled” to Katara’s affections, particularly in regard to EIP.

This post breaks down the infamous EIP kiss like Snopes Fact Checker, covering common misconceptions, important perspectives to consider, etc.

Alright. With that out the way, it’s time for some context.

Aang and Katara have this conversation on the balcony after watching 95% of “The Boy in the Iceberg,” a play chock-full of Fire Nation propaganda that demeans the entire Gaang in order to prop up the Fire Nation as superior (hence why the play ends with Ozai’s victory). Here is my general breakdown of Aang and Katara’s treatment in particular from a previous post:

- katara, an indigenous woman, is highly sexualized and portrayed as overly dramatic and tearful, because the fire nation objectifies women not of their own people and views them as less intelligent and less emotionally stable

- aang, the avatar, the sole survivor of the fire nation’s genocide of the air nomads who is incredibly in-touch with his spirituality and femininity, is portrayed as an overly-airy and immature woman. the fire nation portrays him with a female actor to demean him (like, that’s classic imperialistic propagandist tactics) and furthermore writing his character as a childish airhead reinforces the fire nation sentiment that the air nomads were weak, foolish people who did not deserve to exist in their world

In other words, these kids have just watched almost an entire play that preys upon their insecurities and depicts them using racist and sexist stereotypes about their respective nations. It is completely understandable that tensions might run a little high and that their interactions would not be as balanced as usual (Katara and Aang have a great track record of communicating well with each other, as it happens!).

So we have to keep that in mind when examining the aforementioned excerpt. But there are other factors to consider, too! Namely: they are kids. Children. Teens. Aang is 12, Katara is 14.

If we want to be scientific, a person’s brain doesn’t finish developing until they are 25, lmao, and the preteen/teen years are when the prefrontal cortex that controls “rationality,” “judgement,” “forethought,” etc. is still developing. This doesn’t mean Aang and Katara are irrational and make poor decisions 24/7 (obviously not), but it does mean that in an intense, highly emotional situation, like after watching a play that intentionally demeans them and depicts them as inferior, they are more likely to overreact, more likely to be emotional, and more likely to make mistakes. Like, I’m serious, lol. “Teens process information with the amygdala.” That’s part of the brain that helps control emotions! It’s why teens sometimes struggle to articulate what we’re thinking, especially in situations that require instinct/impulse and quick decisions, because we’re really feeling whenever we make those choices. Acting more on emotion. Our brains simply haven’t finished developing the decision-making parts, lmao.

In sum: Aang and Katara are both kids, not adults, and should be interpreted as such. This doesn’t negate their intelligence, because they are both incredibly smart and Aang is arguably the wisest of the Gaang, but they are human. Young humans. They have emotions, and we should not be so cruel as to assume they’d never act on them.

So taking that all together, we can now acknowledge the high stress Aang and Katara are under, understand why they might be upset (*cough* imperialist propaganda is hurtful *cough*), and examine how their youth might play into their emotional reactions. And funny thing - all analyses that come to the conclusion of Aang “threatening” Katara here do not usually bother with this context. I can’t imagine why!

And you know what, let’s add one more piece of context: Sokka states that Aang left the theater “like, ten minutes ago,” which is what cues Katara to go look for him on the balcony. The reason I mention this line is because to me, it suggests Aang knew he was more worked up than usual! He chose to separate himself from his friends so he could process his frustration! He did not take his anger at the play out on them; instead, he purposefully took time and space to be alone.

With that in mind, I don’t understand at all how Aang’s Avatar state quote could be interpreted as a threat? Canonly, Aang is someone who was aware enough of his frustration to separate himself from the others - yet the logical next step is him threatening Katara as a result? He knew his intense emotions were because of the play (which he says himself), so the logical conclusion is that he then pinned the fault on Katara? What?? Sorry, that interpretation has no textual basis, lmao. But I digress!

Aang tells Katara, “If I hadn’t blocked my chakra, I’d probably be in the Avatar State right now!” As you said, this is the line people point to in an attempt to justify their (baseless) conclusion that Aang is “threatening” Katara. So let’s bring in the two key pieces of context: imperialist propaganda and age. Given that Aang is 12, and given that Aang has just watched almost a full play that demeans him and everything his people stood for (and let’s not forget it also mocks his and Katara’s love for each other)…

His reaction is understandable. An exaggeration and needlessly dramatic, but understandable. He feels vulnerable and insecure and Aang is human. He is human and flawed and he overreacts here and I love that A:TLA shows how even our heroes, even people who are truly good at heart and in soul, can get overly upset (especially given the aforementioned circumstances!). Would Aang actually be in the Avatar state at that moment, had it been possible? Of course not! He’s young and he’s hurt and as such he says something dramatic to convey his anxieties and frustrations. The line is not meant to be taken literally, and seeing people do so despite all the factors that should be taken into consideration when analyzing it… Cue a long, tired sigh from me and so many other A:TLA fans.

And to be honest? I cannot fathom how people watch this episode and come to the conclusion that Aang is “threatening” Katara. To me, this episode - besides being a recap episode - is one that humanizes our cast even further. Aang snaps at Katara, kisses her when he shouldn’t (which the story appropriately treats as wrong). Katara pushes down her true feelings and retreats into herself, afraid to start a relationship with the boy she loves because she’s already lost him once before and can’t bear to do so again. Zuko further confronts the hurt he’s enacted upon others, especially upon Iroh. Toph practices being vulnerable and accepting vulnerability from others by conversing with Zuko. Sokka witnesses how others have erased his contributions and labelled him as nothing more than the token nonbender in the group. Even Suki learns that she is not the only person who holds a place in Sokka’s heart and that she can never replace what he has lost.

To watch this episode where our heroes must come to terms with how the Fire Nation deems them inherently inferior, with how they have more fights to overcome in the future with the Fire Nation than a single war, and to come to the conclusion that… that what, Aang is abusive? A monster? Irredeemable? That he would threaten his best friend, someone he loves in every way?

Wow. That says more than enough about the viewer, doesn’t it?

#getting back into the swing of things babey ✌️#aang #katara #kataang #kataangtag #the ember island players #atla #avatar the last airbender #amy answers #dramaticowl #amy analyzes #also i am speaking in GENERAL TERMS here lmaooo this is not a direct response to any one post 😂😂

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itsamejin · 4 years

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goodbye || yoongi angst

Part 2

Summary: Yoongi watched silently as you exited the car and out of his life, but he can’t help but feel a sense of panic at the thought of you leaving him for good.

Warning: cursing, fighting (verbal)

Genre: angst

Premise: Yoongi drives off without you after a heated argument and now you’re gone.

Commission Request: @queenoftheuniverseandmyroom

Word Count: 3,434 words

—

Yoongi doesn’t quite remember when this heated conversation started or how it really ended either. He just recalls how furious you were leaving the restaurant you two had reserved weeks before for your anniversary and how he was left to clean up the mess. Wine was spilled onto the white table sheets and he had to pay the waiter extra for leaving in such a hurry.

Now here he was, driving silently with you sulking in the passenger seat. Even as he sat in the car, hands on the steering wheel, he couldn’t help but feel like you were the one driving with how closely you kept your eyes on the road. You glared at the view in front of you, paying him no attention. His throat itched to say something, anything to break this uncomfortable silence.

“Are you gonna stop being mad at me now?” he asks, annoyed with the little puffs of breathing you would make just to spite him. “Did you get it all out of your system yet?”

You had shouted in the restaurant, loud enough for the other patrons to hear and tense up at the sound of your voice. When the waiter had come to calm you down, you had stomped out of the restaurant.

He was sure the conversation started on the topic of you possibly adopting a new pet, but it somehow morphed into a whole debate about his bad habit of staying cooped up in his studio until the break of dawn. You wanted him to spend more time with you and he wanted you to be more understanding. It was the same old argument you two had, rehashed into a different day.

“Well you’re still being an asshole,” you start, rolling your eyes, “so I don’t want to fucking talk to you until you apologize.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. It always seemed to be his fault in situations like this and you always had to pout like a child to make him feel bad. He was getting sick of this- of trying to constantly figure out what you wanted from him. It’s like you two would try to communicate like all those other stable couples, but the wrong words would spill from your mouths each time.

“We didn’t even get to eat,” he mutters under his breath, slightly hoping that you would hear him just to piss you off even more. If you wanted to be grumpy the whole way through then he too could play that game.

“You’re such a dick you know that?” you sigh, shaking your head at his words.

“How could I not when that was all you were screaming about,” Yoongi replies as he rolls his eyes. He yielded at a stop sign, making sure to still abide by the law even though he was fuming with frustration. “You made a fucking scene and embarrassed the hell out of us.”

You scoffed. From what you remember, he was the one trying to escalate the argument when you calmly tried to convince him of getting a dog. It was a rescue- a St. Bernard that would make a mess from time to time, but you were fine with taking care of it by yourself. He had said no so quickly and a little too disdained that you switched the conversation to something more light-hearted. You asked him a day when he wouldn’t be too busy to go on a date and somehow that had pissed him off even more. To you, it felt like he hated the sight of you lately.

“I ask you for something simple. ‘Hey Yoongi, we haven’t seen each other in a while. Maybe we should go out more?’ But, no! You say the same fucking thing about focusing on your music like you haven’t been doing that for almost a decade. You’d think after three years of dating I’d be more of a priority by now...”

Yoongi grits his teeth. That’s not what he said back there and that’s clearly not what he meant either. He was frustrated that you changed the topic when clearly you two weren’t done discussing about the dog yet. He didn’t want to suddenly walk home one day and find some mutt lying on the apartment floor without his permission. You guilt-tripping him to go on a date with you so quickly after you demanded for a dog didn’t sit well with him either.

“It’s my job, you can’t ask me to just forget about my job just so we can go on dates with each other,” he sighs, attempting to calm his nerves by squeezing the steering wheel a bit tighter. “You know how sensitive I am about my work.”

You scoff in response.

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes. “I’ll always be the second choice. I know that by now Yoongi.”

Yoongi bit his lip and shook his head.

“You’re putting words in my mouth,” he says, exasperated. “I would never pin you and my work against each other-”

“And if you had to?” you ask menacingly. “If I fucking asked you right now if you would choose me over your music, what would you say?”

Yoongi sighs deeply. This was not the direction he wanted this conversation to go in and this was not the direction he was supposed to be taking the car either. He glares at the GPS as it reroutes, avoiding eye contact with you simultaneously.

“You know how fucking self-centered that question is,” he replies, venom laced in his voice. It felt like this conversation always comes back every few months, your words grating in the back of his mind until the next outburst would pop up. “I’m not gonna fucking answer. You know I’d actually really appreciate it if you would just get to the point and stop being a bitch.”

You scoff at him. There he goes again. When he was left speechless, he’d resort to calling you names and giving excuses. It didn't matter to you what the outcome would be, but you wanted to see this argument until the end.

“Yoongi, what is the point really?” you snide, crossing your arms over your chest as if forming a shield around you. “Is it how I said I wanted a dog because I was getting lonely at the apartment?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“You can get the fucking dog, I don’t care about the fucking dog [Y/N]-”

“Or is it how you ignored my calls when I had the flu so you can go drinking with your friends?”

“[Y/N] I literally apologized for that months ago, why the fuck-”

“Oh my god and how dare I ask for time with my boyfriend when I haven’t seen him properly in months, especially on our anniversary day!”

“You’re really pissing me off-”

“Or,” you raise your voice slightly, shifting in your seat as Yoongi slowed the pace of the car. “Was it when you accidentally called me while you were talking to Hoseok?”

Bingo.

Yoongi screeched the car to a stop. Your shared apartment was still miles away but he had stopped at a suburban block of townhouses to face you. His hands were shaking and he glared into the side of your head, beckoning for you to return his gaze. You refused, keeping the seat belt tightly against your chest as you stared at the night sky ahead of you.

“I said that when I was drunk,” he said slowly, intimidating you just a tad bit. “I thought we already went over this.”

You pursed your lips and shook your head, tears threatening to spill over your already puffy eyes.

“You can’t keep fucking saying ‘I apologized’ or ‘we went over this’ and expect me not to still feel hurt,” you say through trembling lips. “It doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Yoongi adjusted himself on the driver’s seat so that he was facing you.

“Is that why you’ve been mad at me?” he asked seriously. “It’s not because of the dog?”

You sighed out of frustration, throwing your hands in the air.

“It was never about me wanting a fucking dog, Yoongi!” you scream.

—

“Hoseok, can I tell you something?” you hear through a call from Yoongi that seemed more like a butt-dial the more you listened to his drunken voice. You kept trying to get a response from him, but it seemed like he was talking to someone else.

“Dude, you're fucking wasted,” you could hear the sound of his group-mate’s chuckle on the other side.

“No, like seriously,” Yoongi whined. “It’s about [Y/N].”

“Girl troubles?”

“Nah, she’s just being dumb lately,” you heard him mutter. A tiny part of you had felt hurt, but then again you two had argued a bit before he drank. You would complain about him similarly to your own friends, so you couldn’t really judge him for talking shit about you.

“What did you do this time?”

“It’s not me this time, bro,” he said through his laughter.

“Really? Then what the hell did she do?”

“That’s the thing,” Yoongi said, slurring his speech to the point that you could barely understand him. “She hasn’t done anything and I still fucking find her annoying.”

Now that one hurt. It was no secret that Yoongi and you were going through a rough patch in your relationship, but to hear him talk about it in so much detail with his friend made you nauseated. It was an extremely uncalled-for insult and you weren’t sure if the tears that streamed down your face fully conveyed the ache in your chest.

“Relax, bro,” Hoseok says reassuringly. “Don’t say anything you’re gonna end up regretting later.”

“No, but seriously,” Yoongi protested. “Her voice is so fucking irritating lately and, like, I’m not even sure if I really like her anymore, you know?”

You could feel your heart crumble at the spot. No matter how bad an argument got, statements like that always went too far. How was Yoongi able to spit it out so easily?

“Okay man, we need you to sober up,” Hoseok sighed. “You sound dumb as hell right now.”

“Hoseok, I want to break up with her so fucking bad,” Yoongi sighed through the phone. “But like it’s been so long I feel like I should just wait it out and see if she wants to end things first.”

You could hear something drop from the other line.

“And now you’re on the fucking floor,” you hear Hoseok mutter. “Dude I think you butt-dialed someone. Oh shit-”

You took the phone away from your ear, not wanting to hear Hoseok apologize for stuff your stupid boyfriend said. You hung up the phone and wiped away your tears. Yoongi didn’t love you and you didn’t know what hurt more- the fact that he could say it while intoxicated or that he didn’t have the guts to tell you sober.

—

“Whatever I said that night wasn't me,” he said, trying to get you to face him. “You know that. I said it when I was mad at you and mad at myself and I will never say it again. I swear.”

You refused to even take a glimpse at him, grabbing your purse from the car floor and clutching it to your torso.

“I love you [Y/N],” he pleads. “I said that shit because I needed to get it out of my system. Please, at least... just look at me.”

You shake your head as you wipe away a tear from your eye.

“I don’t want to look at you,” you whisper solemnly. “All I fucking asked for was some time together and you think I’m ruining your career.”

He closes his eyes out of frustration. By now he thought you’d know the consequences of dating an idol.

“Because our relationship will ruin my career [Y/N], what aren’t you getting?” he replies. “The more dates I go out with you, the more people that watch us- the more people that criticize what we have.”

“Would that be so bad?” you say, finally staring up at him, but avoiding eye-contact. His heart clenched at the sight of you in pain. “Would it hurt you so much that we’re seen together?”

He shook his head.

“You’re twisting my words, I never said that,” he sighs.

“If you want to say you’re ashamed of me then-”

“That’s not what I’m fucking saying!” Yoongi screams, grabbing onto your shoulders to face him fully. “This isn’t just about us. I’ll be affecting the lives of so many people in my company, but I choose to still be with you despite the consequences because I love you-”

You detach yourself from his reach as your cries get louder. It hurt to hear him speak.

“This isn’t love anymore Yoongi,” you whimper, your purse falling onto the floor as you tried to breathe through the sobs. “You said it yourself, you’re annoyed with my fucking voice.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he says softly, stroking your cheek as you looked down at your lap. “You know I love you. I tell you all the time.”

You pushed his hand away from your face and looked up at him in anger.

“Do you, Yoongi? When was the last time you showed that to me?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. Why do you keep asking these questions.

“I’m making enough money to support us. I buy you gifts all the time,” he replies. Yoongi feels that he must’ve said something wrong as you verbally cringed at his words. “I’m literally paying for the fucking apartment we live in right now. If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t be doing all this for you to live a comfortable life!”

You scoff at his words. Clearly he thinks money solved all the issues in your relationship and that you should feel thankful for him being so “considerate”. You were sick with his reasoning, not really convinced that he even knew what you two were fighting about.

“Well how about this: I can’t fucking get a pet without asking for your permission; I can’t go out with you unless I wear something that conceals my identity; I can’t even fucking tell my friends or family that I’m in a relationship!” you scream as your sobs get louder and louder. “And I can’t even get you to spend some time with me without begging for your attention.”

His own tears had started to fall, staining the velvet seats of his car. You had looked so furious at the restaurant, but before him you were so very vulnerable. He can’t help but feel like he had broken you somehow. He realized then that he went too far- that maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut and let you air out your grievances.

“I’ll do better, I promise I will,” he says softly in an attempt to comfort you, patting your hair gently. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

You bring your hands to your eyes, crying into them as Yoongi tried to console you. It wasn’t working and you weren’t even sure if anything he could say would cheer you up at this point.

“I don’t even know you anymore, Yoongi,” you say between sobs.

“Yes you do,” he replies, albeit a bit aggressively. “Stop saying shit like that. You know me better than I know myself.”

You shake your head as you clicked out of the confines of the seat belt which suffocated you, but not as much as his touch was.

“We should have never gotten together,” you say harshly. “If dating you was just gonna end in me hating myself I would have much rather not known you existed.”

He blinked back from the harshness of your words. Where was this coming from?

“You don’t mean that,” he says softly. “I know you don’t mean that.”

You pursed your lips. He was making it so hard for you to leave and like always, he found a way to get you back into his arms with little difficulty. You always listened to him, always at his beck and call. It was tiring being in a relationship with you being the one at his mercy.

“I can’t do this anymore, Yoongi,” you say, pushing him away as you reach your hand out to open the door to the passenger car. “I can’t spend the rest of my life feeling like I’m not good enough to be with you.”

He holds onto your wrist before you do so.

“Just calm down,” he croaks. “Please.”

You shrug his arm off.

“I don’t want to,” you sob. “Just let me end this. Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to leave first so that you wouldn't have to feel like the shitty one in the end?”

An uncomfortable silence formed between you as your words echoed in his ear. No matter how many times he apologizes, it seems like you weren’t willing to forgive him.

“If you leave, I’m not coming to get you,” he seethes. “If you leave, that’s you telling me you’re giving up on us.”

The first time that night, you looked directly into his chocolate eyes and with a new sense of determination, you opened the door.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you say, exiting the car finally and walking away from his sight.

He didn’t even notice how you had hesitated, how you secretly wished for him to beg for you to stay- that he would finally learn his lesson and apologize the right way. Without excuses and without pinning the blame on you.

Instead, Yoongi opted to punch his steering wheel and let out a groan as the pain in his fist formed. Were relationships supposed to be this hard? Was he supposed to fight for you every time you tried to walk out of his life? He didn't know anymore. If you wanted to come back then you would, it shouldn’t always be up to him.

—

Yoongi made it home safely, parking in front of your shared apartment, looking from his car window to see if the lights were on.

They weren’t.

Yoongi heaved out a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead. You weren't home yet and it was the dead of the night. ‘You know what, whatever,’ he thought to himself, ‘it’s none of my business anymore.’

He had assumed you got a taxi ride back home, but obviously he was proven wrong when he walked into the dark apartment, cool from the lack of heating. He went through each room and you weren’t anywhere in sight. He sighed. Was this really it? Did your relationship just end because he wouldn't let you get that stupid dog?

He could hear you crying out to him that it wasn’t about the dog- that it was him who ruined the relationship. Yoongi ignored that voice in his head, in fear of guilt taking over his body.

Yoongi tried to quell his solemn thoughts with a few cans of beer on the lonely living room couch, but nothing really numbed the pain enough for him to stop visualizing your tear stained face. It was the way you looked at him so sadly, so full of disappointment. He used to be able to tell why you were sad, pinpoint the exact reasons, but now he wasn’t sure anymore. He opened the fridge, greeted by the anniversary cake you had baked for him just the night before. He cringed at the sight of it as it made him feel even more regretful with how the night’s events unfolded.

Yoongi didn’t take the cake out and closed the fridge door. He didn’t know why it took a well made cake for him to realize that it was fucking stupid to let you walk out by yourself all alone. He moved to grab his cellphone to hopefully apologize and end the argument, but alas no answer. He tried several times again and nothing. He grabbed the car keys from the kitchen counter and raced downstairs to his parked car. As he was about to start the engine, Yoongi saw from the corner of his eye that your phone was on the passenger seat.

It was fully drained of battery and the purse you were clutching so tightly just earlier was on the car floor. Immediately, panic had overcome his body and he banged his head on the steering wheel for how careless he had acted. You were missing and in a part of town that neither of you were familiar with. He groaned out of frustration, no longer angry at you but with himself.

“Why the fuck did I let her go?”

—

A/N: Finally getting around to finishing my commissions. Sorry for the delay @queenoftheuniverseandmyroom , but hopefully you like this first part! Thank you so much for your patience and for requesting something that I was really interested writing about. You are a *star*. I hate writing about arguments because they make me sad but I love the angst that comes with the aftermath LOL. Who do you side with more? Was Y/N too stubborn or was Yoongi too insensitive? Let me know!

PS. Currently working on it’s you part 2. I’m really busy with personal life stuff so please be patient with me. I love y'all <3

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twilights-800-cats · 3 years

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Well, I’ve got my hands on A Light in the Mist and I’m making my way through it... My thoughts so far:

Instead of the prologue being set in the present and awkwardly going back to explain how and why Ashfur had blocked StarClan, it should have just... been that. It feels like a waste of pages to have both the prologue and chapter one essentially rehash one another, and I think there might’ve been a more elegant solution somewhere.

Speaking of solutions - there is one, now! And it seems... kinda weak? I’m not really a fan of the whole idea of the Dark Forest and it’s connection to emotion already (tldr, it feels like a way to take autonomy away from villains) but having hope be the solution to the barrier problem? It’s just feels way too easy, especially with how much these problems and solutions could’ve been hinted at earlier in the narrative.

Once again, the split nature of the narrative makes some of these chapters feel like I’m being jerked around too much. One chapter goes through the motions to set up something big... only to cliffhang into another chapter with a different character doing something completely different.

This also makes it seem like most of these chapters are these characters going over the same arguments again and again, even using some of the same talking points between them OR repeating things that they said two chapters ago. I’m genuinely tired of the five Clan leaders having the same argument again and again.

Graystripe choosing to go into the Dark Forest paints that old man with every death flag imaginable. If he lives I will be shocked. There is absolutely no subtlety about it, lmao.

Lightleap... does something? Oh, wow. I didn’t see it coming, really, especially after an entire arc and a half of absolutely nothing from this character. That fact also makes her Clanmates touting her skill and expertise very, very funny. This still does not change my mind about Shadowsight not needing siblings - Lightleap could functionally be replaced by any cat and serve the same purpose, with the same generic dialogue applied to her.

Firestar showing up again - let alone possessing and killing someone - was not something I foresaw. Good job killing Darkstripe like you should have ten years ago, buddy. Miss you.

The Dark Forest cats getting more characterization is interesting! We see little snippets of insight into their pasts and that’s cool!! I wanna know what’s up with Silverhawk and Emberdawn! I wanna know why Maggottail failed to be leader of ShadowClan!

The narrative still exonerates Bramblestar of his abusive nature, but in the same breath it condemns the shit out of Ashfur which I’m alright with. If there’s any more Squirrelflight blamers in the fandom after tBC I’ll be surprised.

Anyway, I’m only 10 chapters in. I’ve seen one spoiler that has me very curious, but otherwise I’ve avoided them for the most part. This book has a lot to do to make up for how weak the past two books were, so we shall see if they stick the landing...

#a light in the mist spoilers

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soldierswar · 3 years

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Kobik - Chapter VIII

BuckyxReader

Fluff/Angst

Chapter plot: The aftermath of the explosion brings up questions of what comes next with you and Bucky's future with Kobik will be.

Masterlist

“Are you sure you guys gonna be okay?”

It had been a few hours since you had gotten back home. Even though you protested Kobik using her powers so that she could conserve energy, she conjured up a small bed in your office for her to sleep in and was now thank goodness dead asleep.

After dealing with some organization called ‘SWORD’ that Bucky and Sam were reporting to on a video call, Bucky managed to convince them that he could handle the rest when it came to the aftermath of this ordeal. At least when it came to keeping Kobik until further notice. But he wasn’t stupid enough to think that they weren’t most likely keeping close eyes on you guys.

“You know you can stay the night here, Sam,” you insisted.

Bucky held a smirk on his face.

“He would, but Sam’s got a date in Louisiana in…18 hours?” Bucky dramatically checked his watch and winked at Sam.

“Okay, Cap,” you nodded impressed going in to give him a big hug goodbye.

“By the way,” he said after hugging you.

“I haven’t had a chance to say congratulations.”

Bucky smiled and wrapped an arm around you tightly.

“But the world is in trouble if this kid is anything like either one of you,” he shuddered pointing a finger at the both of you.

Bucky punched him on the arm.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Hopefully not too soon,” Sam quipped.

“And say goodbye to the little fireball for me when she wakes up. I’m going to miss her.”

A sudden wave of sadness hit you because of his words.

Missing her. Something that you dreaded thinking about. In the few days that you had gotten to know her, you came to love her. You wanted to protect her at all costs from anyone. But now, it seemed like one of her biggest threats was herself. How were you supposed to protect her from…her?

The only solution that you could think of is keeping her away from anything or anyone who could threaten her. Anything that could make her feel sad, angry, or unsafe. To shield her from the world. If she was in a warm, loving environment like Bucky said, she would be fine. She could live a normal life. She could live a life where maybe she’d feel content enough to grow, or stay the innocent little 4-year-old if she pleased. Maybe that environment could be with you…

Being stuck in your thoughts about this made you not even realize that Bucky had walked Sam outside, probably to talk in private about what came next.

What would come next?

“You need sleep,” Bucky sighed when he walked back into the apartment.

But you didn’t want to sleep. You wanted answers. And he knew that by the look in your eyes.

“Y/N, we can talk about this tomorrow.”

His eyes looked tired, but you at least needed his attention for a few more minutes.

“No, I want to know now,” you stated.

“Please, let’s just—”

“You don’t have to give me an hour-long discourse about it, but I just want to know what’s going to happen to her in the next few days. Is she going to be interrogated like a criminal? Put in a cell to be experimented on?”

He hesitated for a moment but sighed lightly placing a hand on your back walking you over to the couch.

“We’re not sure yet,” he said.

“But there’s no way that anything like that is going to happen. Do you really think that I would allow it?”

You shrugged. What if he just wouldn’t have a choice in the matter?

“Right now all we have to focus on is the fact that SWORD will be questioning Kobik at one of the New York branches tomorrow. I’ll be taking her. But I won’t leave her side.”

“I’m coming too,” you stated.

“Y/N they’ll never let you in. I barely have clearance to go in there myself.”

You gritted your teeth and flared your nostrils in protest, but couldn’t find a way to defy his logic.

“What do they even do anyway? Are they like a new SHIELD or something?”

Bucky paused to think about it, and then shook his head.

“They’re…They specialize more in for the lack of a better term ‘extraterrestrial anomalies’.”

“Okay, but she’s not an alien,” you argued.

He shot you that ‘you know damn well what I mean’ look.

“Anyway,” he continued.

“When they first approached me not long after I found out about her, I didn’t trust them at all. But after hearing them talk about their history good and bad, and maybe making both legal and illegal research on them I trust them…cautiously.”

You snorted. Classic Bucky. But you couldn’t lie, it was one of the big reasons why you loved and trusted him so much.

“I’ll make sure that she’s okay. And then I’ll bring her straight home.”

Home.

“Is this where she is now?” you asked hopefully.

“Home?”

He hesitated. And not in a good way.

“I don’t know,” he answered solemnly.

“Bucky, we love her. And I think she loves us. We could be good for her…She might be a good big sister…”

One side of his face curled into a soft but solemn smile. One that shifted into adoration the longer he looked at you.

He scooted closer to you and carefully placed his hand on your belly and rested his head on your shoulder.

“Our kid would be lucky to have her in their life,” he stated.

“But…”

“But?” you questioned.

He exhaled.

“You know that’s risky…Not just for the kid, but she is a risk to herself.”

You frowned.

“Y/N she needs help. We both know it. She needs the kind of help that we can’t give her by acting like she’s a normal child. She needs room to grow into her powers and figure out how not to end up in incidents like…Like tonight.”

Again, you wanted to protest. You wanted to find a good counterargument. But a wave of exhaustion swept over you, and you just couldn’t.

“Come on,” Bucky whispered and picked you up taking you to bed like a child. This you didn’t protest to. Being in his arms after having the day that you had was so comfortable. Even if one of his arms was made of vibranium. You didn’t even make it to bed before falling asleep.

…

Before Bucky and Kobik walked through the door you had a stack of grilled cheese sandwiches set up on the counter. It was one of Kobik’s favorite things to eat for lunch.

“Y/N!” she exclaimed running over to you to give you the biggest hug.

You hadn’t seen her since the previous night when she was exhausted and in distress. And although they had left at almost noon, you were still heavily asleep by the time they left.

“Guess what I made?”

She looked up at the counter and beamed.

“Can I have one?”

You gave her a sarcastic frown and stuck your nose in the air like a snooty queen.

“No. They’re only for me. You can just watch me eat them.”

She giggled. It felt so good to hear her laugh like that again. And you were glad that she didn’t seem completely traumatized from having to rehash all of the events from last night. Or rather even just the past week.

You grabbed a plate and handed one to her and told her to sit on the couch and watch tv. She happily complied which left time for you and Bucky to talk about what was going on.

Bucky walked up to you and kissed you on your forehead.

“Glad to see you up.”

“Glad to see the both of you back.”

The sound of the Sponge-Bob theme song blasted in the living room. She really loved that show.

“I see you haven’t given her up yet,” you remarked crossing your arms.

He looked at you guiltily. So you placed a hand on his arm to let him know that it was okay.

Over the next ten minutes, Bucky explained to you how they had taken over the problem with whoever was trying to kidnap Kobik. Unfortunately, the situation was too big and too dire for them to have clearance to disclose what it was and why they wanted and needed Kobik. But it was safe to say that for now, she was safe.

“What about the parking lot?” you asked.

“I mean she fixed the apartment back to how it was, she could—”

Bucky shook his head.

“That would raise way too many questions. Ones we don’t want the world to have even more questions about. We just have to leave it be. Trust me…Kobik wasn’t thrilled about those orders from SWORD.”

You smiled.

“But…umm…”

You knew that you weren’t going to like what was going to come next.

He leads you to your room and sat you down on the bed.

“She really isn’t staying with us is she,” you sighed.

You took in a deep breath and tried not to cry. So this was really happening.

“There’s um…There’s a couple. They’re scientists that specialize and are top in their field in cosmic energy. And they’re really interested in her case.”

“As for what?” you questioned.

“A little lab rat? To live the same kind of life that she did in a lab like the one in Europe to study her?”

“She was happy there, Y/N. And they never treated her like a lab rat.”

“And she can be happy here, James,” you argued.

“Despite your argument about whether her old home wasn’t good enough, this is going to be different,” he reassured.

“How so?”

He took your hand in his.

“They’re a couple. They’ve wanted a child for a long time but it just never happened for them. When they heard about Kobik and saw her they were thrilled at the prospect of being able to keep her with them. They can help her the way that we can’t. But they can also give her the stability that we could.”

A pang of jealousy hit you. You wanted to be that for her. You wanted to be everything that they could be. But you weren’t. And you hated facing that.

“So you spoke to them?” you choked.

“How do you know that they can be trusted?”

Bucky used his hand to wipe away the stray tear that fell down your cheek.

“I met them.”

He smiled that specific smile that always reassured you that things were going to be okay.

“They’re lovely, Y/N. I think you’d really like them. In fact, Kobik is going to meet them tomorrow. And they want you to come.”

Good because you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“The best part is that they only live an hour away. She can come to see us whenever she wants.”

You lit up and nearly burst into tears.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“See? She can still be a big sister…But like a sister permanently away at boarding school.”

You rolled your eyes. But you were so relieved that she wasn’t going to be far.

“She’s going to be okay. We’re all going to be okay.”

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” Kobik asked walking into the room.

Your heart felt warm again at the sight of her innocent features. No longer in terrible distress, but just like an innocent little girl again. And you realized that maybe she might have felt that way because she had hope. Hope that she wouldn’t be the cause of another disaster like the parking lot, or even worse.

“Hey Kobi,” you chimed.

“New nickname?” Bucky asked.

You shrugged.

Kobik jumped up on the bed and sat against you laying her head on your shoulder.

“Kobik, do you know where we’re going tomorrow?”

She turned to you looking a little sad. But nodded.

“Am I leaving you already?” she pouted.

Bucky shook his head.

“They want to get things ready for you first,” he stated.

“Tomorrow we’re just going to meet them. You can see how you like them. And I think you will.”

“They’re going to help me with my powers, right?”

There was a hopeful look in her eyes. This told you everything that you needed to know. She really did need help. And she wanted it.

You put your arm around her and gave her a comforting squeeze.

“Yeah, kiddo,” you said.

“But you know what? We’re going to be right here for you. And you can visit us any time you’d like.”

She smiled and leaned in to snuggle.

“She’s lucky to have you,” she sighed.

You frowned.

She?

“Who?”

“Her,” she said matter matter-of-factly and then pointed at your flat belly.

You paused and turned to Bucky who carried the same confused expression as you.

“Uh…Wait did she say?” he asked.

“How do you know that?” you questioned.

She shrugged.

“I felt her.”

You thought about when Kobik touched you and relived or rather felt your memories, including your emotions. But you didn’t think that she could feel your baby. Or if she even knew about it…Her…

“Well, Kobi,” you said softly, and still in complete shock.

“She’s gonna need a big sister. One that can come visit her every once in a while. You think you’re up for the job?”

She nodded happily.

“I can’t believe in 6 months I’ll be a big sister.”

Bucky’s eyes widened.

“I’m sorry…What?” he choked.

He narrowed his eyes at you.

“Six months? That means—”

You gave him a guilty look. How could you not have noticed for all of this time?

You and Bucky just stared at each other some more before Kobik poked you.

“Are you guys gonna be okay?” she asked.

“And can I have another grilled cheese on the counter?”

You would laugh if this wasn’t one of the most surreal and yet happiest moments in your life. But you still were at a loss for words.

Bucky intervened before you could answer.

“How about you both get food, and I’ll call your doctor since apparently, you have an aversion to it.”

You narrowed your eyes stuck your tongue at him and followed Kobik.

“Deal.”

Tagged: @buckylove123 @teenagedreams-bucky @typicalnerd98 @veroxloki @white-wolf-buckaroo @acciosiriusblack @pastel-boy-sungjae @flightsandfantasy @noiralei @unstablesleepygal

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oreoambitions · 4 years

Text

Part 9 of 12

Parts 1-3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 5.5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Ao3 “It’s me,” Alex murmurs. Her voice is all but a whisper and still it sounds too loud in the empty stairwell of Kara’s apartment building. Alex feels like an intruder, like a stranger, like she’s suddenly stepped into an unfamiliar place of worship, and the quiet isn’t helping any. Her footsteps feel heavy on the stairs, her very breath clumsy and inconsiderate as she climbs.

Maybe this time won’t be like the other times. Maybe this time…

She lingers at Kara’s door with her hand raised to knock, and she listens. Knocking, of course, is a waste of time. If Kara is here, she’s already aware of Alex’s presence. And if she isn’t here, well, knocking on the door certainly isn’t going to summon her back. Alex knocks anyway, winces as the sound of it seems to thunder in the silence, strains her ears for anything, anything at all.

“She’s not here,” Sam says from the stairwell. She tosses Alex the car keys as she makes her way down the hall. “I parked us a couple of blocks down. You ready to go in?”

Alex shuffles a little and looks away. “Give her a minute. Maybe she’s got headphones on.”

“Alex. She’s not here.”

Alex knows this already, knew it before Sam dropped her off at the curb, knows it even as Sam gently takes Kara’s wedding bouquet so that Alex has both hands free to fumble with the keys. She knows it even without Sam’s x-ray vision or the super hearing, but it was nice to indulge in a little wishful thinking for a moment. A moment or two longer would have been nicer. She pushes the door open, and she pushes the thought aside.

Kara’s apartment is almost exactly as it was the night before she left for the cabin in the woods. A little dustier perhaps, and a little tidier. Alex has had increasingly less to do on her weekly visits, and so the throw pillows on the couch are meticulously straight and the handles on the coffee cups are all pointed the same way. Anything to prolong her time in this place where she can imagine that Kara has just stepped out. She’ll be ducking through the window any minute now, brushing something off the sleeves of her super suit, flashing Alex that cheeseball grin before she superspeeds into a pair of pajamas for movie night. Alex can almost see it all play out as she steps into the empty apartment. Almost.

Sam settles the wedding bouquet into a vase with steady hands and a studious expression, the perfect counterpoint to Alex’s trembling fingers and anxious wandering eyes.

“In the bedroom, you think?” she says. “That room gets the least light…”

“Sure,” Alex replies. She doesn’t rehash the argument they’ve already had about the flowers, though the tension of it lingers thick in the air. Sam feels that having the bouquet preserved was a gift, something Kara will be grateful for in time. Alex fears it’ll be the thing that sends Kara running again as soon as she returns, and she knows the fear isn’t rational, but then, neither was Kara the last time they saw her.

“Don’t forget about the succulent in the bathroom window,” Sam calls as she makes her way down the hall.

“Right,” Alex mutters. She nudges open the fridge door. Nothing has expired yet, but she and Sam have brought fresh groceries anyway. All of Kara’s favorite foods to rotate in, and they’ll take the old with them to be sure it isn’t wasted. And if Kara comes home - when Kara comes home - it’ll be one less thing for her to worry about. That’s all Alex can do about any of this now.

“How was Lena this morning?” she asks when Sam wanders back into the living room.

Sam makes a noncommittal sound. “She’s been better. Been worse. Can you hand me that tumbler?”

“I heard about the perjury trial.”

Sam hesitates at the sink just long enough that Alex doesn’t quite believe her when she says, “Clark will handle it.”

There’s a long silence between them then. Sam waters the plants and Alex considers echoing her reminder about the bathroom succulent but the words die in her throat as she wipes imaginary grime out of Kara’s spotless fridge. Rotate in a new carton of milk, a carton of eggs. Sam brushes dust off the door frames.

“Maybe she’s on Argo,” Alex suggests for the hundredth time.

“She’s not,” Sam says.

“Well what if she-”

“She’s not.”

She isn’t. Alex knows this, has been caught up on the details around Kara’s hastily suggested engagement to Ren-Ar, understands the implications of her decision to marry Lena anyway. It may be a long while before Kara can show her face on Argo without causing a scandal big enough that Clark and Sam would have heard about it even from Earth. Alex tries not to wonder whether Argo will still cooperate when it comes to protecting Lena from the law.

“We should check the Fortress again,” she says.

“Clark was there this morning. No sign of her. Kelex is still saying she hasn’t been around since before the wedding.”

“She could have asked him to-”

“Alex.”

Alex bites back the words I’m sorry because Sam will only tell her not to be. “It’s been six weeks,” she says instead.

“I know."There’s another stretch of silence. Alex thinks she’s beginning to hate silence: the silence growing between the two of them, the silence in Kara’s apartment, the long silence over the coms line she keeps open for Kara all the goddamn time. Simon and Garfunkel were onto something when they said ‘silence like a cancer grows.’ She stands in the kitchen under the unbearable weight of it wishing there were something left for her to do here, and there’s nothing. There’s just Sam emptying the tumblr into the last of Kara’s houseplants, brushing a spiderweb from the windowsill as she goes.

"Lena still thinks she’ll show up to the gala next weekend,” Sam says. She doesn’t look up as she says it.

“Kara?” Alex doesn’t know why she asks. It’s not as if they could be talking about anyone else, but something about the way Sam refuses to look at her draws the question out of her anyway.

Sam shrugs. “It’s Lena’s first big public appearance since their marriage was, uhm, exposed.”

“Fabricated.”

Sam shoots her a look then, brief and meaningful. “Exposed. Lena thinks Kara will make an appearance just to keep the press from noting her absence.”

“The press has already noted her absence from the entire planet.”

“Well, that was before there was a perjury trial on the horizon.”

Alex lets out a long breath. It’s absurd to suggest that Kara might be more concerned about the press seeing her with Lena than she is about the world seeing her in National City, but the more Alex thinks about it, the more she follows Lena’s line of thought. Sam has been here to wear the cape in Kara’s absence, and she’s done a passable job for someone brand new to the whole beacon-of-hope gig. But she can’t protect Lena from the press; only Kara can do that.

“You’ll text me,” Alex says. “Right? If Kara shows, you’ll tell me right away.”

Sam licks her lips, her eyes on the floor. “Actually, I was hoping you’d be there.”

“You want the DEO to run security?”

Sam laughs at that, and she looks Alex in the eye at last. “I didn’t say the DEO,” she says, and her tone is warm and still full of laughter in a way that makes Alex’s stomach flutter. She wants to look away, fearful somehow that Sam will see the nerves in her, will see her desire and affection and it will be too much. But Sam’s gaze holds her in place.

“I’m not exactly National City high society,” Alex says, tugging on the lapel of her leather jacket for emphasis. “And I’d make a terrible undercover bodyguard.”

“You do clean up nice though,” Sam comments, and Alex flushes. She flushes even worse when Sam adds, “You’d clean up even better if you’d let me do your hair.”

Alex does look away then. “Nobody touches the hair,” she mumbles.

Sam is suddenly close. Too close for someone who was just watering a plant clear on the other side of the apartment not half a second ago, and Alex wonders absently whether there was a super power involved in their sudden proximity. She looks up just in time for Sam to brush a daring hand across her cheek and through her hair and fuck. If there’s an Earth where she never stops doing that, Alex would like to go there.

“Nobody, huh?” Sam says.

Alex swallows, but no clever quip passes her lips.

“That’s a shame,” Sam continues, twisting a lock of Alex’s hair between her fingers. “Because I was hoping you’d be my date for the evening. Got a dress picked out for you and everything.”

Alex stumbles right over the word 'date’ and lands on, “You want me to wear a dress?”

Sam half shrugs, and then she locks eyes with Alex so intensely that it almost feels like a challenge. “Do you want me to wear a suit?”

Alex’s internal monologue is replaced by a distant warm buzzing as her gaze drops to Sam’s mouth. “Yes?”

“Good. Then that’s settled.”

And just like that the moment passes. Sam scoops up the bag of groceries rotated out of Kara’s fridge and pantry and starts towards the door. Alex stares after her for a long moment and then has to hurry to catch up before it’s awkward. Sam did say 'date,’ right? As in the two of them, together, possibly with romantic intentions, possibly-

“Alex,” Sam says without looking back. “The keys.”

Still on the kitchen counter. Fuck. In her defense, there are other things on her mind.

#I promise the next update is all Kara and Lena but there was no getting through this time jump without acknowledging it in some way #so here's a little #agentreign #to get the story moving #supercorp #supercorp fic #kara danvers #kara zor el #lena kar el #lena luthor #supergirl #fake marriage au

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whattheheehaw · 3 years

Note

Hi! I’m sorry you’re getting shitty anons about this and you’re probably sick of it so I apologise for asking this but I’m genuinely curious what made you start actively disliking zutara? Like, considering how much excellent and insightful content/meta you yourself used to make/write? I get that interests change over time and you’re totally valid!! the anons sending you hate over it are really dumb, but if you’d be ok with sharing, I’d be really interested in hearing why you’ve done almost a complete 180 on the ship? Was is just burnout/end of a hyper-obsession? Or was it some of us in the rest of the fandom that turned you off? Or was it even something about the ship/characters themselves that you changed your mind about? xx

In short, it was a combination of burnout, dissatisfaction with fandom, and disappointment in myself that caused my disinterest for Zvtara.

I got asks similar to this one a couple of times before, but I never gave a comprehensive answer, mainly because I didn't know how to articulate my reasons why I don't like it anymore. But now that I've been out of ZK fandom for a month and have had some time to reflect, I think I can give a much more thorough response. Beware, this is long and I heavily critique the Zvtara fandom, so if you're a ZK shipper, keep reading at your own risk.

My first minor annoyance with Zvtara is that the fandom has a tendency to idolize certain fics and creators. And while there’s certainly nothing inherently wrong about that, I feel like the Zvtara fandom does it to such an extent that it influences the type of content that content creators make in order to get recognition. And to illustrate my point, I’m going to talk about one of the most famous Zvtara fics of all time: Once Around The Sun by eleventy7.

Don’t get me wrong, I love OATS. I think it’s a great fanfic and I think the author devoted a lot of time and effort to make it such an excellent fic. The plot, the development of the characters and their relationships to one other, and the messages about family and love were all brilliantly written. I mean, there is a reason why it’s regarded as the “Zvtara Bible”. This one fanfic had such a profound impact upon the ZK fandom, and I think the biggest impact that came from it is the dramatic influx of post-war Zvtara AU fanfiction.

Because so many people kept reading OATS and recommending it to others, I think there was an overall interest in ZK fics that take place in a post-war setting. And I think that all of the high praise towards OATS made more fic writers start to write post-war fanfics because of this demand for post-war AU.* I normally wouldn't complain about it because more content is more content, but in my opinion, 99% of ZK post-war fics are the same fic but in different fonts.

Like, there's at least 3 of these elements in every ZK post-war fanfic:

Ambassador Katara

An assassination attempt (usually on Zuko's life)

A healing scene between Zuko and Katara (usually Katara heals Zuko)

Aang and/or Mai is pushed to the side or vilified to some extent in order to make ZK happen

A private journey between Zuko and Katara to facilitate #6

S L O W B U R N (that's not really slowburn and more like "I love you and I very much want to be vocal about my feelings but #7 is in this fic" but the love story takes up like 30 chapters so I guess it's a slowburn?)

Zuko's advisers don't want him to get married to Katara because ✨racism✨

Ursa is found

Azula is in the fic because a) she's going to get a healing arc ft. Zuko and Katara and thereby helps them get together or b) she's the villain and thereby helps them get together

ZK wedding happens in the FN

After reading multiple post-war fics back to back, I could tell that the format was pretty much the same across the board, which isn't very interesting for me to read. My only other fic options in the Zvtara tag on AO3 are canon divergence fics which almost always take place during The Crossroads of Destiny or after The Southern Raiders. And to some extent, those stories are pretty much the same too. There's nothing really new or creative going on in the ZK fandom fic-wise, and because of that, my interest in ZK fandom started to dwindle.

My second issue with Zvtara is that it's a very old ship from a very old show. Because there's been 10+ years since the end of A:TLA, every nuanced point about shipping and the show itself have been talked to death.** There's just nothing new to say. It's the same arguments being rehashed over and over again in the tag because there's no other interpretation one can come up with.

For example, there's so many people who talk about why Zvtara as depicted in The Southern Raiders is not toxic and that's great and all, but I (and most likely many others) have read those same points about five times already. And for some reason, each time this happens, people act like someone just discovered the lost city of Atlantis when they bring up their new-but-not-new argument in defense of Zvtara. Honestly, I'm ashamed to say that I'm not exempt from being part of the group of people that reiterate old arguments. I've done it with one of my posts about The Southern Raiders and I've done it again with my Zutara/Omashu parallels post.

There's no new content to really dissect and analyze (especially considering Zuko and Katara are rarely in the same panel in any of the post-war comics), and because of this, people are just restating points that someone else made several years ago.*** And even if someone did have a different interpretation of an episode, their ideas would most likely be shut down because for the past several years, the same interpretation has been recycled through the fandom repeatedly and people are resistant to new perspectives.

This brings me to the third thing that I dislike about Zvtara: the insistence that there can only be one way to interpret The Southern Raiders. For the longest time, I've read take after take that said if Katara decided to kill Yon Rha, it would be ok because that's her grief to deal with and if she thinks that's the best way to mete out justice, then good for her. And again, I'm ashamed to say that I perpetuated that idea in a few of my own posts. I have always thought that "Katara killing Yon Rha is ok" is just a bad take in general, but I didn't want to vocalize that opinion when so many people—so many of the nice mutuals that I made—all shared that same opinion. Taking down a popular opinion of your own ship is completely different from taking down a popular opinion of a ship that you dislike. The Zvtara fandom is the first fandom that I was actually active in and I wanted to fit in so badly with everyone else that I just parroted whatever other people said, even if I didn't agree with those sentiments.

This leads me to my final reason why I don't want to be a part of ZK fandom anymore. I think I established myself as a "meta" person pretty early on and because of that, I constantly felt pressured to come up with new takes on the ship. And when people started flooding my ask box with stuff like "Can you write a meta about your thoughts on the idea that 'Zuko only took Katara on that field trip in TSR because he wanted her to forgive him'?" and "What are your thoughts about antis saying Zuko and Katara are toxic because of TSR?", I realized that I don't need to come up with new takes. People just want me to paraphrase something that 10 other people said about the same exact topic, because if I said what I actually thought about the subject (i.e. there is some truth in what antis say about TSR and it's not as much of a "Zvtara episode" that most people make it out to be), I'd probably get ZK shippers in the replies telling me that I'm wrong because x, y, and z or "you shouldn't tag this as Zvtara".

And that was pretty much how my love for ZK turned into disinterest. I was and still am disappointed that I didn't stick to my personal opinions. For as much as I talk about herd mentality on Twitter, I certainly don't practice what I preach. In all honesty, the only reason why I held on so long to ZK fandom was because I had so many nice mutuals there and we all shared this collective distaste for antis. I think I started to become more anti-Zvkka and anti-Kataang than pro-Zvtara, which isn't what I wanted to do when I made this Tumblr blog.

The thing that made me joke about becoming anti-Zvtara was the fact that some ZK shippers just like to send shitty anons to people whom they've reblogged countless different metas from. Sending shitty anons to people in the first place is wrong, but sending them to people who tagged their posts correctly and did nothing wrong is just disgusting.

*I'm not a fic writer and can't speak for fic writers, but it definitely feels like a lot of ZK fic authors are pushing themselves to write the next OATS, and by doing so, they are proliferating the tag with post-war fics that have very similar aspects to OATS.

**I think that as more people point out the same nuanced points about Zvtara, it diminishes the actual significance of those points. Like, it's hard to explain but the more people talk about the subtleties of the ship, the more those parts become glaringly obvious and I become numb to their actual impact on the characters and the show.

***At this point, if someone wanted to make a new argument about Zvtara, I think they would have to look very closely at every little detail in every single one of their scenes together to find a crumb of new meta material. And speaking from experience, it's not very fun trying to make a mountain out of a molehill. Whenever I post a "meta" like that, I feel like I'm reaching to make a point that doesn't exist.

#anti zutara #anonymous #ask and ye shall receive

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

To Look On Tempests and Not Be Shaken

Summary: In the wake of a blazing row and an empty apartment, Aaron finds Spencer's well-thumbed copy of Shakespeare's sonnets and recalls the morning after their wedding, when Spencer sat on his lap and read Sonnet 116 to him. Suddenly, everything makes sense.

Tags: angst with a happy ending, fighting and making up, married hotchreid, relationship dynamics, introspection, fluff, shakespeare/literature

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

(Set in S11, AU in which Haley/Aaron divorced in S1 and Aaron/Spencer married in S4.)

It wasn’t really either of their faults: work was relentless at the moment and they hadn’t had any real time for one another in weeks. That’s not really a consolation to either Spencer or Aaron, however, when they’re in the middle of a blazing row that has them both drowning in flames of anger and passion, unable to see one another for the smoke filling their apartment.

“Aaron, this is the fourth case in a row that you’ve stayed at the office past 4 in the morning to wrap up the paperwork,” Spencer shouts, frustration rising in his chest as he tugs at his hair, already feeling far too overwhelmed. Aaron is looking as unbothered and stoic as he always does during their fights, and even though Spencer is fully aware of the emotion that will be stirring under his carefully constructed mask, it doesn’t make it any less exasperating.

“You know as well as I do that this sort of work load is completely unavoidable,” Aaron says lowly, anger finally audible in his voice. It’s not as satisfying as Spencer had hoped. “We can’t keep rehashing this same old argument. I’m the Unit Chief of a team in one of the most prestigious FBI departments. I have a responsibility.”

“You have a responsibility to me and Jack as well,” Spencer cries, fury bubbling over as he thinks of Jack and just how much he deserves. “We deserve your time just as much as fucking serial killers do.”

Aaron visibly flinches as Spencer swears, an occurrence rare enough to indicate serious emotion. “This is exactly the argument I used to have with Haley, Spencer,” he says harshly. “I refuse to have it with you, too. If you can’t handle it then maybe you should leave, just like she did, hm?”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe that means there’s an element of truth in it then, Aaron?” Spencer asks, voice breaking slightly as the scale tips away from uncontained ire towards hopeless misery. He turns away from his husband, trying in vain to conceal his crumpled face and damp eyes. “And you know I would never do that to you; don’t you dare throw your unresolved issues back in my face.”

“I can’t deal with this right now,” Aaron says, voice and face hardened; Spencer can almost see the walls he’s building up again, the stubborn refusal to concede any point. “You’re not being rational. I’m going to bed.”

His stomach twists with the desperation of the situation as he says quietly to Aaron’s turned, retreating back, “What happened to never going to bed angry?” He doesn’t turn back around.

⭐️

Aaron waits in bed for Spencer to join him, fully intending to feign sleep the moment he enters the bedroom but nevertheless longing to know he’s safely tucked next to him in bed. When he hears the quiet click of the front door and checks the time to see he’s been waiting for almost 25 minutes, though, a panicked feeling fills his chest. He throws the covers back and treads out to the living room, only to be met with a decidedly empty room. If he was a more spiritual man he’d say he could still feel the angry aura of their previous argument lingering over the furniture. Really what he feels is the inevitable, empty vacuum a home without Spencer in it is bound to house.

He sits down on the sofa, just on the wrong side of too cold in his threadbare t-shirt and underwear, and buries his head in his hands. The problem is that he knows Spencer’s right. He and Jack both deserve better than this kind of life, of course they do. Jack deserves a father, Spencer deserves a husband. Admitting such a fact, however, requires humility, vulnerability, failure almost. It means telling his boss that he needs reinforcements, that he can’t continue with the 80+ hour weeks, that he’s not as strong as he used to be.

That sort of thing takes a courage that feels so far out of reach, though, and he’s left defending a place he doesn’t want to be in against people he loves more than anything in the world.

Forcing himself out of his miserable carousel of thoughts and regrets, he pulls his head from his hands and catches sight of a note on the coffee table, his name scrawled across it in Spencer’s handwriting. Immediately, his heart sinks: it’s unlikely a love letter. It’s far more likely it’s a note of good riddance, an announcement of abandonment.

Turning it over in his shaking hands, he reads:

I’ve gone to stay with Derek and Penelope for the night. I will pick up Jack from Jessica’s in the morning, on my way home. I love you. Spencer

He immediately feels guilt at ever having thought that Spencer would be cruel enough to leave him in the same way he’s been left himself one too many times. His husband has an incredible amount of love filling his heart, and he’s simply incapable of such cruelty. It’s been a fear of his for many years, that Spencer would grow unhappy but be too kind to leave, prioritising Aaron above himself. He knows it’s Haley’s fault for embedding such fear and doubt in his heart all those years ago, but he can’t help but berate himself for ever doubting Spencer.

It’s not like they’re about to break up. When he considers the situation logically, he knows that. He loves Spencer, Spencer loves him, and ultimately, he’s going to relent. He’s going to draw on whatever shreds of courage remain in his tattered and beaten soul and do whatever it takes to make his family happy, to give them what they deserve. He just has no idea how to cross the gaping chasm that stands in the way of reaching that eventuality.

He goes to place the note back down on the coffee table, but his eyes land on the book it had originally rested on: Spencer’s well-loved copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets. He picks it up, sort of absent-mindedly, thumbing the pages the love of his life has read countless times, holding on to the book as an emotional connection to Spencer. It’s travelled their entire relationship with them; he remembers it laying on his spare bedside table back when Spencer visited his apartment in the dead of night, terrified of anyone finding them out. He’d read the poems over and over again, long into the night. Aaron can’t help but smile at the memory of Spencer’s unique quirks.

Eventually, his absent fiddling lands him on a page Spencer’s visited time and time again. A worn leather bookmark Aaron recognises as one of Diana’s gifts marks the page titled Sonnet 116. Tired and lovelorn, he begins reading.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd. Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare

((Modern Translation, if you’d prefer:

I will not admit that interferences are possible in the union of two people In love. Love that changes when circumstances do is not love, Nor if it bends when someone tries to destroy it: Oh no! It is an eternally fixed point, Which may watch storms but is never shaken by them; it is the guiding star for ever lost ship: Its distance may be measured but its quality cannot be. Love does not fall victim to Time, though features of youth Are eventually entrapped by him; Love doesn’t change as hours and weeks race past, But endures until death. If this is wrong, and I’m proved incorrect, Then I never wrote, and no man ever loved.))

The words come rushing back to him as soon as he reads them: it had been a contender for Spencer’s chosen poem at their wedding. He’d eventually gone with I loved you first by Christina Rosetti, the perfect compliment to his own choice of I love you by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, but on their first morning as a married couple, laid in their warm and comfortable bed, Spencer had pulled out this very book and straddled Aaron’s thighs, reading it to him with an earnest expression. He remembers the air being punched out of his chest as he’d looked up at a bright-eyed 27-year-old Spencer who had been through so much already but still held all the grace and innocence he did on his first day at the BAU.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until a tear runs down his nose and splashes on the page. What really tips him over the edge is reading Spencer’s small, chicken-scratch annotations around the poem, noting different points in their relationship, events between the two of them that prove the words of an Englishman born 400 years earlier.

It’s so easy for him to doubt how much Spencer loves him - insecurities and the trauma of his separation from Haley consume him far too often - but he’s holding the tangible, physical proof. This is undeniable, this is the evidence his doubtful, damaged heart yearns for, and the furious, raging, endlessly tumultuous waters inside him settle for the first time in weeks.

⭐️

The second Aaron’s alarm goes off at 6am, he gets started on the plan he’d formed as soon as the words of Shakespeare’s sonnet had sunk in. The email he’d composed the night before is the first thing his laptop screen displays when he powers it on, and he presses send on the uncompromising, demanding letter he’d addressed to Cruz. Finally feeling good about the entire situation, he turns the coffee maker on and gets dressed; Spencer’s an early riser but he’s determined to get to Derek and Penelope’s before he leaves.

The relief is freeing, and he feels light for the first time in a long time. He hadn’t quite realised just how much it had all been weighing on him until he’d finally found the courage to cut it free.

Armed with two coffees and Shakespeare’s sonnets, he heads downstairs to the taxi he’d ordered the night before. The city races past in front of the slow and steady sunrise, dawn marking a new chapter in Aaron’s life that he’s determined to make worth it. Slowly the thick of the city fades into the suburbs, and the taxi slows down as they wind through the maze of identical looking streets until they arrive at Derek and Penelope’s home.

He pays the taxi driver as quickly as possible and sighs in relief at the sight of Spencer’s car still on the drive as he climbs out of the vehicle, carefully balancing his two coffees, still warm in their thermal mugs. Fully aware that Derek and Penelope are absolutely going to chew him out the minute they lay eyes on him, he hesitantly rings the doorbell.

“Man, what the hell?” Derek exclaims, clearly exasperated as he swings the door open, revealing a sorry looking Aaron Hotchner standing sheepishly on his doorstep.

“I know,” Aaron replies immediately, trying to portray as much regret and understanding with his body language as is possible when holding two coffees with your husband’s most prized possession perched precariously under your arm. “I know, I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I need to see Spencer.”

Derek looks thoroughly put out just being in Aaron’s presence, but after a moment or two of hesitation he relents, opening the door wider to let him through. “Alright,” he sighs. “I’ll ask if he’s okay to see you.”

He parks Aaron in the living room and then leaves to go and find Spencer. Only seconds later, he hears the hurried click of kitten heels on the wooden floor and internally cringes; if facing Derek was bad, facing Penelope will be infinitely more painful.

“Aaron Hotchner,” Penelope shouts before she’s even fully entered the living room, “I have never, and I mean never been more disappointed in you. I don’t think you fully appreciate how lucky you are. You may be my boss but that does not mean I will not chew you out when you screw up this bad. Anyone who makes my Spencer cry is in my bad books for at least two weeks. You are in the dog house, you understand me? The dog house.”

She’s thankfully cut off from continuing her rant by Spencer’s shy, hesitant appearance at the doorway. Penelope immediately rushes over and gives him a hug, whispering something in his ear that Aaron doesn’t catch but makes Spencer giggle. She reaches up to ruffle his hair before patting his cheek fondly and casting a furious glare in Aaron’s direction as she vacates the living room.

“Hi,” Aaron says softly, breaking the silence left in the wake of Storm Penelope. “I bought you a coffee.”

“What are you doing here, Aaron?” Spencer asks, clearly a little confused but still accepting the drink.

“I know you said that you’d come home this morning but I had to come and get you,” he replies, standing up from his seat on the couch and taking a few steps forward. “Look… your note last night, it was on top of this book. And in my absent-minded cloud of misery I was looking through it and came across Sonnet 116.”

A flicker of recognition lights up Spencer’s eyes as his face softens a little at the sight of his beloved book.

“Do you remember? Climbing into my lap on our one day wedding anniversary and reading it to me? Back then I was partly distracted by the gorgeous man in my arms but last night… Spencer, the words hit home in a way I haven’t felt before. Not to mention your annotations; I felt like I was reading a journal of our love story, which I know was probably your intention all along.” He shakes his head, trying to get back on track. “I’ve been an idiot, a rotten fool, and I’m so sorry. I emailed Cruz this morning.

“You did?” Spencer looks up, surprise filling his features for a second before a small, hopeful smile takes over. “What did you say?”

“That I couldn’t continue with the workload and I needed reinforcements. That I would work the same hours for two more weeks to allow them to find an adequate solution, but after that I’ll be reducing my hours to align almost directly with yours,” he says, tentatively gauging Spencer’s reaction.

It’s made pretty easy for him when Spencer’s hesitantly hopeful smile blossoms into a wide grin, relaxing his posture as relief overtakes his body and he throws himself into Aaron’s arms. Aaron buries his face into his husband’s curls and lets himself breathe easy, feeling infinitely better with Spencer wrapped up in his arms again, just where he belongs.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Aaron whispers as he pulls Spencer impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry, too,” Spencer sighs, nestling his face further into Aaron’s neck. “We both said things we shouldn’t have. But, you’re here now, and that’s what counts.”

“I love you, you know that?” Aaron murmurs, pulling away slightly so he can look Spencer in the eyes, trying to convey his sincerity as well as possible.

“I know,” he smiles. “I love you, too.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Aaron says, patting Spencer’s side gently. “Let’s get out of here before Penelope comes to stab me with her high heels.”

Spencer giggles at that. “I don’t know, maybe, I’d like to see that,” he teases, digging his finger into Aaron’s ribs for good measure.

“Oh, stop it you,” Aaron smiles fondly before kissing the top of Spencer’s head, feeling happier in this moment than he’d ever thought possible again last night. Peace is finally restored in Aaron Hotchner’s heart, all thanks to one rather ancient English playwright and an academic for a husband. “Let’s go and get Jack,” he says, longing to have his whole family back together, to restore the equilibrium of a tumultuous few weeks.

Spencer leans down to kiss his shoulder as they walk out of the Morgan-Garcia household, and it’s enough to keep him warm the whole way home.

@strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez

#hotchreid #my writing #hotchreid fic #hotchreid writing #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #aaron hotchner/spencer reid #aaron hotchner x spencer reid

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commander-diomika · 3 years

Text

Fandom: Rusty Quill Gaming Pairing: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde Rating: Gen Word Count: ~2000 Additional Tags: Slow Burn, 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Rating Will Change to Explicit in Later Parts, Opposites Attract, just two people trying to figure out how to keep the peace with each other and very occasionally succeeding

Summary: Part 2 is here, set several months after Part 1 in a Damascus safehouse. (here's Part One)

"There was another Sending from Curie’s people.” From a side-table awash with documents, Zolf fetched a piece of paper. “New workin’ theory on London, some kind of disease, rather than mind control."

Wilde frowned. “Oh, that’s much worse. Mind control magic at least implies some kind of central power system, a culprit to be fought. If it’s an illness… it might just be chaotic, undirected spread.” Wilde's eyes were shrewd. This was the Wilde that Zolf actually liked working with.

“The message doesn’t sound certain. Just a theory.” Zolf pointed out. He settled back. The couch was a threadbare number but it was comfortable enough, and this wasn’t the first evening they’d spent sitting here discussing plans and directions.

The two of them couldn’t have gotten the hell out of Cairo at a better time. Two weeks after Zolf and Wilde made their quiet exit from the Meritocrats, Aphophis disappeared, taking with him the last few loyal agents. In the ensuing chaos, Wilde pulled some strings and… appropriated significant funding for the next phase. Enough to rent a modest base of operation in Damascus, where they had been for the past few months.

Zolf wasn’t quite sure how Wilde made it all happen so smoothly. At the time he’d just thought Wilde got lucky. Though having worked together for just a few months, he was tempted to say Wilde got lucky a lot… Or perhaps he was just very good at making it seem that way.

“Ho, Wilde,” Zolf called from the kitchen, as he heard Wilde enter the townhouse.

His companion entered the adjoining sitting room, dressed almost-sensibly for the heat in a cream linen suit, a satchel slung over his shoulder.

“What you got there?” Zolf called. He had been chopping vegetables for the evening meal but seeing that Wilde looked flush with success, Zolf put the knife down and wiped off his hands as he went to join him.

His step faltered as he realised that Wilde, once again, was not alone. With him was the man Zolf couldn’t help but think of as “the interloper”.

Alfred Douglas stood just a few inches shorter than Wilde, similarly dark haired and dashing, as he followed Wilde into the sitting room and greeted Zolf with a winning smile. “Hello, Mr Smith.” Wilde had once said that he chose his friends for their good looks, and to look at Alfred, Zolf would begrudgingly agree.

Zolf had met this newcomer just a few days ago. Returning from a fruitless trip to Turkey, he was shocked to find another person at the safehouse; an old friend, Wilde said. When pressed for details, Wilde had first deflected, demurred, and then dug his heels in. It had gotten ugly.

Not wanting to repeat the fight, Zolf just nodded tightly. “Douglas.”

“Oh please, I’ve been telling you, you can call me Bosie.” Zolf, basically immune to affected charm, ignored him and repeated his question to Wilde. “What’s in the bag, Wilde?”

“Books!” Wilde replied, pointedly ignoring the pair’s less-than-warm interaction.

One by one he produced several tomes from the leather satchel with a flourish, revealing each as if waiting for applause before placing them on the low wooden table. A History of Dwarven Achievements; Svalbard, a Japanese travel guide, and one more sizeable volume. Zolf couldn’t immediately understand the title, but he could see that it was written in Dwarvish. That last one gave a small puff of dust as Wilde gently ran his fingers through the pages before adding it to the pile.

“Bosie was such a help, weren’t you dear, I would never have found that last little merchant alone. I swear we went down so many side alleys it was like a maze!” Wilde’s voice was honeyed and light again. It made Zolf feel itchy and irritable. In the months they’d been in Damascus, he’d almost gotten Wilde to just act like a normal bloody person when it was just the two of them, instead of some conversational artiste looking to make a spectacle of every interaction. Two days in the interloper’s company and he was back to the same smarmy, dunkable cad Zolf had met in London.

“The Svalbard one wasn’t exactly easy to get our hands on, either. It’s not like anyone is doing transfers from The London Library anymore.” Wilde reported as he speedily shed jacket, hat and shoes, then plopped down on the settee. Still looking overly pleased with himself, he patted the seat next to him, inviting Bosie to sit. He did so.

“How did you go with your leads?” Wilde asked, still slightly breathless from the performance he made of unveiling the books.

Zolf’s lips pursed, and he considered not answering. Even though Wilde was probably telling him everything in the long hours they spent sequestered in Wilde’s room, it still felt wrong to discuss business with Douglas here. Since he’d arrived on the scene he’d been nothing but disarming smiles and quiet interest but…

Maybe I’m just bein’ paranoid, Zolf said to himself. It was immediately followed with another thought, unbidden and unwelcome. More like bein’ jealous.

That couldn’t possibly be the case, so Zolf opened his mouth and started speaking. “I went askin’ after our initial contact with the Hephaestus lot. You know, the one that sent me on that bloody wild goose chase?” Zolf’s recent trip to Ankara had been based on that lead. He’d been looking for Garten, with no success.

“Turns out she’s not keen on explaining to me why her lead was a blumin’ fake, and the rest of ‘em have closed up ranks.” Finding something to do that didn’t involve looking at either of them, Zolf picked up Wilde’s hat off the table and hung it on the hook by the door. “Also, it looks like the whole Cult is gettin’ ready to move, if I’m honest. A lot less folks workin’ and a lot more packin’ up than I saw last I wer’ there.” He picked up Wilde’s shoes and put them by the door.

“Yes, actually, I noticed something similar at the Artemisian temples the other day,” Douglas said thoughtfully.

Zolf glared at him. Who did he think he was?

As far as Zolf was concerned, the man’s only saving grace was that his sudden reappearance in Wilde’s life made him happy. Pleasant or positive things had been in short supply, and Zolf wasn’t a monster. But Douglas had been tottering about on thin ice since the moment he arrived, and his comments were only salting the surface.

Wilde’s eyes tracked between the two of them, and with a melodramatic sigh he said, “Perhaps you ought to head off, my dear.” He threw Zolf a glance that said there, are you happy now?

“Yeh, I’ve got some things to discuss with Wilde. In private.” Zolf added, eyebrows brewing up a thunderstorm.

Bosie tilted his head, an expression of mock-hurt on his face. It was an expression Wilde made often and Zolf did his best not to explode. These two were as bad as each other and getting worse.

Wilde made an apologetic shooing motion with his hands, and Douglas did as he was bid. He gathered his hat with a reproachful look at Zolf, and gave Wilde a peck on the cheek before leaving. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Oscar.”

Wilde walked Douglas out and returned to the settee, sitting with an exasperated sigh.

It had been getting better between them, heroes with their backs against the wall that they were. It had been. For all that Wilde was insufferable when he got on his airs about “need-to-know information” and couldn’t cook and was constantly preening as though any of that even mattered… But for all the myriad of ways he got up Zolf’s nose, he was also talented. Adept at making and keeping contacts. Able to talk his way into places Zolf couldn’t even get a foot into. An incredible mind for language, information, and planning. He was useful to have around, and for that Zolf was trying his best to extend a bit of graciousness.

And for all Wilde was frustrating company, at least he was someone. Wilde had been dead right, back in Cairo. It was nice to not be alone.

A mulish expression settled on Wilde’s face. It was obvious he was getting ready to jump straight back into the argument about Douglas, but Zolf wasn’t in the mood to rehash the same angry words.

you need to trust me, Zolf

you ain’t supposed to hide things from me anymore

we’re supposed to be partners

it’s none of your business

I thought you were more careful than this

With all the tact of a glaive to the face, Zolf changed the subject.

“There was another Sending from Curie’s people.” From a side-table awash with documents, Zolf fetched a piece of paper. “New workin’ theory on London, some kind of disease, rather than mind control. But it is affectin’ paladins, so it’s not any kind of disease we’ve dealt with before.”

Wilde frowned. “Oh, that’s much worse. Mind control magic at least implies some kind of central power system, a culprit to be fought. If it’s an illness… it might just be chaotic, undirected spread.” As though a spell had been lifted, as soon as Douglas left the room, Wilde turned into a different person, sharp and incisive.

Zolf nodded in grim approval of Wilde’s assessment, moving to sit down next to him.

“She also reckons we start treatin’ it like something communicable. Isolatin’ when we’ve not been able to keep an eye on each other, so on.”

“Well, that’s not very practical for us, now is it. We don’t have the kind of operation Curie does, with the people and resources to run proper quarantine.” Wilde said, eyes shrewd. This was the Wilde that Zolf actually liked working with. “We split up all the time.”

“Still, a theory from one of the sharpest minds left on the planet. Worth giving credence to. Maybe we need to look at bringing a few more people on board.” Wilde paused, thoughtful. “How would you feel about working with James Barnes?”

Zolf cocked his head, unable to place the name for a moment. “Commander James Barnes?”

“The very same.”

Zolf’s jaw worked as he started several different sentences then abandoned them. “I mean, he’s in the Navy, ain’t he? Last I checked, that’s still under Meritocratic order.”

“Perhaps he won’t be with them for much longer.” Wilde said mysteriously. Zolf nearly called him on it. Fighting about the sudden inclusion of Douglas in their affairs, Zolf had pushed Wilde hard on his habit of half-truths and leading statements. He hadn’t gotten anywhere with it. He was starting to think Wilde might be just an incorrigible equivocator, and there was nothing to be done about it.

So Zolf simply grunted.

“So that’s a solid maybe on Barnes,” Wilde grinned. “Besides, we’ll be fine for the moment. I won’t go running off and recruiting anyone new, because now we’ve got Bosie.”

Zolf took a slow breath at this topic change. He gentled the first angry words that came to mind, and spoke. “Wilde… I know you trust him. I know you two have a long history. But in light of this-” Zolf tapped the transcribed Sending. “-I don’t know how I feel about you bringing him in on… everything.” It lay on the table next to the satchel.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Wilde said smoothly, grabbing the bag and reaching inside. “I managed to pick up one more thing.”

From the satchel he produced a much smaller item, a banged-up paperback with a bright cover.

“Ohhh it’s the second Hearts of Fire!” Zolf exclaimed. He knew a misdirect when he saw one but couldn’t contain himself. “Those are so hard to get!” He took the book-shaped olive branch from Wilde quickly, already opening to page one.

“I knew I shouldn’t have given it to you until you’d at least had a look at the Svalbard books,” Wilde teased.

Zolf considered Wilde over the top of the book for a long moment. Wilde wasn’t off the hook. Neither of them were. They would have to come back to this jagged mess of a conversation at some point, but for now, Zolf chose peace. Of a sort.

“Look, the quicker I’m done with it, the quicker you can have it. Don’t pretend like you haven’t read my Campbells. I’m not the one dog-earin’ the pages. I thought you were sposed to be a man of culture.”

“Oh, stop hounding me about it, Zolf,” Wilde said, picking up Dwarven Achievements and relaxing gratefully back into the couch. Zolf was already so engrossed he didn’t even groan.

#hank writes #rusty quill gaming #zoscar #zolfwilde #rqg #rqg fic #but seriously how WOULD you feel if your legacy was just ''oscar wilde's lover''#literal RIP alfred douglas #anyway hit that reblog button plz

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