#I was blindly accepting certain things that you said about me. Judgement that you had for me. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

messymindofmine · 8 months

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I've debated whether or not to say this but it's something that's been weighing on me a lot lately. I feel like something we need to address in this fandom is the harsh judgement and lack of grace towards our wonderful characters when we see them mess up.

I know that this season really knocked us all for a loop with Carlos's big reveal. I definitely didn't love the entire "secret marriage" storyline but the way some people reacted to it baffles me. I totally understand being angry. There is no denying that the storyline was full of plotholes and didn't mesh well with what we'd seen on the show in prior seasons. That said, I have to disagree with the people saying that it ruined Carlos's character or that it didn't make sense for him. Here's the thing, Carlos has never been perfect. He's been shown as being flawed and making mistakes since the beginning. It's just that up until this season, his mistakes have often been blamed onto others (usually TK) or ignored entirely. Since the beginning, Carlos was held on an unrealistic pedestal. Even criticisms of him being a cop were met with hostility. Then this season gave us Carlos messing up in a way that could not be blamed on anyone but him and it sent many people into a tailspin. As a result, they either still tried to pin the blame onto someone else (chiefly Iris) or they acted like Carlos's character was irrevocably ruined and started to act like they'd never liked or defended him, maybe to give themselves a feeling of superiority or not to come off as hypocrites. At any rate, I understand feeling upset that a character you love has messed up in such a big way but that doesn't mean that the character is ruined. I hate that Rafa felt like he had to get people to fall in love with Carlos again because I certainly never stopped and I know plenty of others (I would even go as far as to say most of us) didn't. It doesn't surprise me that people reacted that way though. What happened with Carlos is exactly what we see happen in real life with celebrities that have been put onto a pedestal by their fans. As soon as that celebrity messes up in a human way their fans can't excuse or ignore, many of those same fans will turn against them completely and even act like they never liked the celebrity anyway because they can't handle the thought of their fave being human. Such is the danger of idealizing humans. Not every flaw needs to be defended, sometimes these flaws need to just be accepted as part of being human and given grace. And that's what makes our characters so relatable to us. They are human. That's also why the anger towards Carlos this season was so jarring. Because it is something that has never really happened before and some people have gone from one extreme to the other. Well, Carlos is a human and he has never been perfect. I am sorry to the people who were disappointed by him this season but I fail to see any reason why so many insist on acting like he's completely ruined or refuse to show any understanding or grace as to why he did these things in the first place. A character without flaws would never be a fully realized character and it would be a disservice to the fandom. I'm not saying that a lot of the criticism wrt Carlos's storylines this season aren't valid or that people aren't allowed to be upset about the way certain things were done this season. I certainly have my criticisms but Carlos is a rich, complex character and that's what makes him so realistic and lovable. Valid criticism of a character's actions is one thing but to tear a character apart and then act like you never blindly defended them is another entirely. It's just gross and hypocritical. Most of all, the people who relate to Carlos in this fandom should not have to feel threatened or that their feelings and experiences don't matter.

Iris is another character that has been torn apart by fans this season. The people who still refuse to admit that Carlos isn't perfect have decided to pin the blame for the marriage onto her even though it has been made very clear that Carlos was the one who initiated the idea. But the negativity towards her didn't start this season. It's been there since her first appearance in 1x09. Even back then when we knew nothing about her beyond her being Michelle's sister and that she had schizophrenia, people chose to hate on her rather than show compassion and understanding. Back then, I saw Iris being referred to as "selfish" and "ungrateful" for refusing treatment. She was made fun of for the behavior we saw in 1x09 and 1x10 without people taking into consideration what she would have been dealing with. This season though it was taken to another level. People were even acting like Iris forced Carlos to stay married even though Carlos himself admits that he never even visited her when she returned. Obviously, Iris didn't even know TK existed and because she needed the insurance she got from the marriage so Carlos would have needed to be the one to initiate a divorce or annulment. Beyond that, we had some scenes of her behaving in a way that is out of the ordinary to neurotypical people but the reason for that was made very clear yet people still chose to use it against her. The way people acted like she was somehow standing between Tarlos is ridiculous especially since we literally had her saying onscreen that she wanted Tarlos to have a real marriage unlike what her and Carlos had. There are people in this fandom who can relate to Iris and they don't deserve to feel like they are less than or that they are not safe because some people can't handle the idea of a character not being perfect and so pin the blame on the easiest target.

TK has been a punching bag for many in this fandom since the beginning. From the moment he walked out of that dinner in 1x02, even though we all knew why he did that, people lashed out at him and it hasn't stopped since. Until this season, even the tiniest of conflicts between Tarlos have been blamed on TK. People have gone so far as to say that he's a terrible partner because he brought a lizard home. The breakup was entirely blamed on him and I remember seeing fics that killed him off during the Push era. People straight up accused him of cheating with Cooper in 3x13. They did the same thing when he dared to smile and joke with a bartender in 2x04. Nothing TK does for Carlos is ever enough and his actions (or non-actions for that matter) are constantly twisted to make it seem like he doesn't love Carlos as much as Carlos loves him. Even his proposal hasn't been safe from this. People keep saying that it wasn't good enough because he didn't buy an expensive ring and take Carlos to a fancy dinner. And this constant criticism and judgement never goes away. People keep bringing up past actions or even things he's never even done for the purpose of tearing him down. I've even seen people say he sucked because he didn't support Carlos in 2x08 even though when everything with Carlos was happening, he was literally being kidnapped and held at gunpoint. I have actually seen people say that if they were Carlos they would've killed TK by now. I've also seen people say that TK's biggest problem is that he doesn't appreciate how lucky he is. I have seen so much ableist and offensive language used that I can't even begin to talk about it here. It's not always just anger either. I've seen people just mocking him for certain behaviors that are completely consistent for someone who deals with addiction and mental illness. There are people in this fandom who relate to TK and the microaggressions towards them (and TK) don't get called out enough IMHO. And it's worth adding that a lot of the language that has been used towards TK has also been used towards Iris. I know people who actually had to step back or leave the fandom entirely after the Cooper episode. People who can relate to TK and tried to explain why he was acting like that and what Cooper's place in his life was were attacked. And it doesn't always just pertain to the show itself either. Even now during the hiatus, if someone talks about the impact Carlos has had on TK's life or what great care he takes of TK, they are accused of not caring about Carlos or favoring TK. But if the talk about how much TK has done for Carlos, they are accused also accused of favoring TK. It seems like not only is TK not allowed to be a vulnerable, complex character with lots of wonderful attributes, people in the fandom aren't allowed to love him either. Things from past episodes and seasons are constantly brought up as "proof" of how much TK sucks. Even Ronen has talked about how he feels people often misunderstand TK or ignore his struggles. In fact, he did it just this season in a post-4x04 interview. People kept saying they wanted TK to prove his love to Carlos by rescuing him (because I guess everything else wasn't enough) and when it did happen, they complain that it wasn't good enough. When TK was the one who needed support for the first time this season during the Huntington's arc, people mocked him for being over-dramatic. Then they said that TK had better have really great vows because he needed to match what Carlos said to prove his love. Then when we saw his vows, they now say that the vows weren't good enough and that TK wasn't emotional enough even though we can see him sniffling and hear his voice crack. Basically, even when TK does the things people insist he needs to do, it's still never going to be good enough. And when any comment about the way he is treated by certain people is brought up, it's often dismissed, downplayed or ignored and the people who actually relate to TK continue to feel unsafe and ignored when they try to speak out.

If there is one character that is literally never safe from the wrath of the fandom, it's Owen. Literally everything that Owen says, does, doesn't say or doesn't do is used as a reason for people to say he is the worst father or the worst captain. It's like people watch him from a completely different lens than they do all the other characters and somehow this lens doesn't show them any of the positive things about him. Much like Carlos, Iris and TK, so much of Owen's actions can be explained by his trauma and his experiences. This is a man who deals with the worst kind of survivor's guilt and has experienced unimaginable loss since he was a child. He has a son who struggles greatly with his mental health and addiction yet in that son's own words he has never given up on him. He is the one that brought all the characters we love together in the first place and so much of the happiness they have now is partly due to him. Yet somehow people ignore all this in favor of ripping into him every chance they get. He can't even talk about sex in front of his adult son who very clearly has no problem with it without people calling him a terrible father.

To be clear, I am absolutely not saying that the issues mentioned above represent the entire fandom. I can honestly say that being a part of the LS fandom is more pleasant than any other fandom I have ever been in. But like all fandoms, and indeed like real life, there are issues that I think should be addressed even if the ones causing them are in the minority. Because the problem is that it doesn't matter how small the minority is when they're the loudest of the bunch. And sometimes it really does seem like the loud minority drowns out the majority who are just trying to have civil discussions and enjoy being a part of a fandom and that should never happen because fandom should be a place we can all feel safe.

#911 on fox #911 lone star #tk strand #carlos reyes #tarlos #owen strand #iris blake #rafael silva #ronen rubinstein

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hysterialevi · 3 years

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Hjarta | Chapter 11

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

A WHILE LATER

BJORNHEIMR, THE LONGHOUSE

Pain. That was all he could see.

As Sigurd walked side-by-side with Ulfar through the longhouse’s doors, he heard nothing but the agonized groans of fallen warriors, and the devastated cries of survivors who were now mourning their loved ones.

The horrid stench of smoke and death clung stubbornly onto the wooden walls, and with so many fresh corpses now littering the village, they had what looked like a battlefield sitting on their very doorstep.

It was a nightmare come to life. Even though Sigurd was no stranger to the morbidity of war -- he had grown up in the midst of one, after all -- it was still enough to make his stomach churn, and his heart ache.

How could this have happened? And during such a joyous event as well? Today was meant to be a day for their clans to celebrate; to enjoy themselves. But instead, they were now taking shelter in the longhouse, and being forced to isolate themselves from the mayhem that lurked outside.

It looked like Muspelheim itself had razed Bjornheimr’s streets, and frankly, Sigurd didn’t know how they were going to recover from this.

“Poor woman...” Ulfar said, gazing in Ingrida’s direction. At the moment, the seeress was holding Eirik’s body in her arms and gently stroking his forehead, comforting him as if he had contracted a simple ailment. Not a single word was being uttered from her lips, and yet, the lifelessness of her expression was enough to say everything.

“No parent should have to lose their child,” Ulfar remarked, his voice heavy with sorrow. “I can’t imagine what that woman is going through right now.”

The prince followed his line of sight. “What happened to Eirik? How did he die?”

“I have no idea. He approached me and Eivor at the temple just before the assault was launched... with three arrows in his back. He wanted me to tell Ingrida something, but... he slipped away before he could get the words out.”

The older man’s brow crinkled with anger. “Those bastards. Kjotve’s men didn’t even have the honor of giving Eirik a warrior’s death. They shot him down like a dog.”

Sigurd sighed in frustration, crossing his arms in a stern manner. “...How did this even happen? You and I spent so much time planning the defenses of this village. We cleared the forest of Kjotve’s camps. How is it that his people overwhelmed us so easily?”

Ulfar’s eyes narrowed with skepticism. “I have the same question. It’s possible that Kjotve’s been planning this for a while, but... still. I’d be lying if I said the efficiency of this attack wasn’t suspicious.”

Bringing their conversation to a halt, a nearby series of footsteps suddenly made its way into the building, drawing both the men’s attention to the doorway.

In the distance, Sigurd saw Eivor dragging himself into the longhouse with his father’s axe in hand, still as bleak as before. His head sank with a profound sense of melancholy, and his feet lingered behind him in a manner that made it seem as if chains holding him down.

At first, the prince expected Eivor to say something to Ulfar upon entry, but instead, he simply drifted past the two of them without a single word, and headed out into the training yard adjacent to the longhouse.

“...Do you think he’ll be alright?” Sigurd asked, watching as the man slipped away.

Ulfar shrugged. “I cannot say. Eivor has always been strong, but even the strongest of men have their weaknesses. Kjotve has caused him much pain ever since he was a child. It will take him time to recover from this battle.”

The prince’s voice softened at the thought of a recent memory. “...Eivor told me about his parents a while ago, you know. About how Kjotve killed them.”

“Then you understand the gravity of what happened today. Kjotve trying to kill Eivor in the same way he murdered Varin -- it’s an insult deserving of an axe to the chest. I’ll be surprised if the boy lets this go.”

Sigurd paused for a moment, allowing the realization to settle in. “...Eivor nearly gave up Valhalla in exchange for my survival. He was willing to die without a fight... just to ensure that I lived.”

Ulfar nodded, recalling his conversation with Eivor all those years ago. “Yes. Because in the end, you were more important to him than anything Valhalla could’ve offered. He spent the past thirteen years dreaming of the day he’d finally get revenge, and he sacrificed it for you. I hope you understand that, Sigurd.”

“Of course. I owe him my life.”

“Indeed.”

Sigurd decided to follow Eivor and began making his way out of the longhouse, hoping to catch the young man before he disappeared.

“Wait here,” he told Ulfar. “I’ll go speak with him. I want to see how he’s doing.”

“Hold a moment.” The raider said, stopping Sigurd in his tracks.

“Yes? What is it?”

The older man fell silent for a second, pondering how to broach the subject.

“Before you go, Sigurd, there’s something else you should be aware of.” Ulfar lowered his voice, ensuring that no one else could hear him. “...I know about your relationship with Eivor.”

Sigurd’s heart skipped a beat, and the color drained from his face. “You-- what?”

“Eivor confided in me during the wedding,” Ulfar explained. “He had quite a lot on his mind, and was willing to tell me about your affair. Have no fear, though. I won’t expose your secret. He entrusted me with this matter, and I have no intentions of betraying that trust. However, there is something I need to make clear.”

The prince listened intently, worried about where this was going. “...Alright, then. Speak your mind.”

The raider crossed his arms. “It pains me to separate Eivor from someone who makes him happy, but for the sake of this alliance, I must insist that you keep things at a platonic level if you wish to console him. I realize it’s not always that easy, but our clans need each other to win this war. If your marriage with Randvi falls apart, so does our bond.”

Sigurd took his words to heart, regardless of how reluctant he may have been to accept reality.

“I understand, Ulfar. You have nothing to fear. I wouldn’t jeopardize this marriage.”

Ulfar didn’t look entirely convinced. “I hope so. You have my trust for now, Sigurd, but just remember -- I don’t give it blindly.” He turned away from the prince, dismissing him with a wave of the hand. “Anyway, go and see Eivor. I imagine he’s somewhere in the training yard. If the two of you wish to join me later, I’ll be speaking with the jarl and your father in the war room. We have much to discuss.”

“I will.”

“Look after that boy, Sigurd,” Ulfar said, striding to the front of the longhouse. “He cares about you more than you realize.”

~~~~~~~~~~

THE TRAINING YARD

Stepping back out into the open, Sigurd welcomed himself into the deserted training yard as he scanned the area for Eivor, admittedly reluctant to wander through the aftermath of the recent battle. The thick scent of smoke and ash immediately smacked him across the face once he was outside, and even now, he could still feel the heat of the raging fires consuming their entire village.

He imagined Eivor’s state of mind must’ve been dire, if he was willing to take solace in an environment like this. Bjornheimr was hardly recognizable after the chaos Kjotve wreaked, and yet, the young man found it preferable to staying within the confines of the longhouse.

Sigurd supposed it was understandable, considering his exchange with the enemy. Kjotve could’ve cut Eivor down in the midst of a proper holmgang, but instead, he decided to do something worse. He took away his honor.

He degraded the Wolf-Kissed with the same impossible dilemma he once thrust upon Varin, and now, the nightmare would only haunt Eivor again. The gods would know of his swift surrender and declare it as an action of cowardice, and he would likely receive judgement from his fellow clan members.

In Sigurd’s eyes though, the man was a hero. He sacrificed one of the greatest honors known to Midgard in exchange for his family’s safety, and he did so with barely any hesitation. He displayed more courage than Sigurd had ever seen from anyone else in his life, and yet, he would have to reclaim his honor simply because he was willing to put down his axe.

It was a series of events laden with unfairness in Sigurd’s opinion, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to change it nonetheless.

Roaming closer to the training yard, Sigurd’s head perked up in interest when the sound of metal scraping against wood suddenly reached his ears, drawing his focus to a nearby tree. There, he saw Eivor himself fervently slashing his axe against the trunk, letting out occasional shouts of anger.

His movements were erratic and driven by rage, and at certain points, the prince even feared he might chop down the whole tree. Eivor seemed to be trapped in a tempest of fury that Sigurd had never witnessed in the past, and frankly, he was concerned about the man’s well-being.

“Eivor?” He called out. The younger man swung his axe one more time before coming to a halt, giving Sigurd no more than a brief glance.

“...What?” He replied sharply, speaking through rapid breaths.

The prince approached his friend, careful not to provoke him any further.

“I don’t mean to disturb you,” he said gently, “but... I was worried. You disappeared from the longhouse so quick. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Eivor turned around, revealing the glower that had been branded into his face.

“How do you think I’m doing?” He snapped, lodging the weapon’s blade into the wood. “The gods granted me the chance to kill Kjotve after thirteen years... and I wasted it! He was right there. He was right in front of me. I could’ve done something -- anything! Even if it killed me, it would’ve been better than surrendering!”

He stormed away from the tree and began pacing around the yard, attempting to recompose himself.

“By Odin, I’m such an idiot. I’ve spent my entire life preparing for this moment. Waiting for it. I’ve endured countless days of training, planning -- everything you can think of. I’ve placed offer after offer at the feet of the gods, just begging them for the chance to bury my axe in Kjotve’s chest. And what do I do when they finally give it to me?” Eivor kicked a rock resting by his feet. “I walk away.”

Sigurd gazed at the man in sympathy, wishing he could comfort him somehow.

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss yourself, Eivor. You may have let Kjotve slip from your grasp for now, but remember why you did it. You did it to save your family. You did it to save me. I... I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t shown up. I owe you my life.”

Eivor plopped himself on the ground and sat against the longhouse’s walls, staring upwards at the smoke-riddled sky.

“Perhaps I should be proud of myself, then,” he said, “but I’m not. If anything, I just feel like a fool. I feel like... like I’ve failed my father. Like I’ve wasted everything he did for me.”

Sigurd took a seat next to the Wolf-Kissed, allowing his feet to rest for the moment. “You’re too hard on yourself, drengr. Your father would understand. He was once in the same position as you, after all. Not only that, but he also made the same choice. He would be proud of your sacrifice.”

Contrary to what the older man expected, Eivor only seemed to grow more bitter.

“I guess. But-- why are you even here? I thought you’d be in the longhouse, looking after the villagers with Randvi. What are you doing out here talking to me?”

“Randvi has her own duties to take care of, and so do I. But I wanted to see you first. Just because I’m married now doesn’t mean I don’t care about you anymore, Eivor.”

The man shook his head. “Well, you shouldn’t. You can’t afford to care about me, Sigurd. You have a wife now. A future queen. She’s the one you need to be focused on. Not me.”

Sigurd was admittedly taken aback by the coldness in his tone, but brushed it off nonetheless. He knew Eivor was hurting at the moment, and it felt wrong for him to hold that against him.

“Eivor...” he said softly, “listen to me. Kjotve may have escaped from our grasp today, but we are not letting him go. Ulfar is devising a plan in the war room as we speak. We will find him again. You will get your chance.”

The young man sighed out of exhaustion, causing his shoulders to slouch. “...I hope so. I’ve fought too hard for this war to end now. I can’t let Kjotve get away. Not when I’m so close. I just pray that the gods will deem me worthy of a second chance.”

Sigurd gave him a reassuring nod. “They will. This fight isn’t over yet, Eivor. In fact, it’s hardly begun. We haven’t seen the last of Kjotve. I know it.”

Eivor dragged a hand down his face and drifted off into silence, staring at the clouds of smoke forming in the distance. By now, they had completely blotted out the sapphire embrace of the sky above, and darkened the land beneath with a looming shadow.

Particles of ash fluttered through the air like autumn leaves twirling in the wind, and in the distance, Eivor saw nothing but a shroud of fire obscuring the horizon beyond.

As for the man himself, he seemed to have calmed down somewhat compared to when Sigurd first arrived. A glimmer of hope had returned to the blankness of his empty gaze, but a grim veil of despair still clung onto his expression. He had lost every shred of the motivation that once fueled him, and even now, the pain of losing a loved one to an arranged marriage continued to pester him.

“...Kjotve ruined my life that night, you know.” Eivor said, devoid of any emotion. “He took away my family, my home -- everything that I loved. The only life I ever knew was stolen from me in an instant, and the whole world shifted into something that I no longer recognized.” The young man peered at his companion, still leaning against the wall. “...He must die, Sigurd. Not just for me, but for everyone he’s hurt.”

The prince rested an elbow on his knee. “Kjotve’s judgement will come. The gods know of his cruelty just as we do. The Nornir will cut his thread soon enough.”

“Then let’s pray that I live long enough to witness that day.”

Taking a second to gather himself, Eivor broke free from the cage barring his mind for just a moment and looked Sigurd in the eye, returning to the same man the prince knew so well.

“...Anyway. Thank you for coming to check on me, Sigurd.” He whispered. “I appreciate it. I apologize if I was somewhat... harsh earlier. I’m just so lost right now.”

Sigurd wasn’t bothered. “I understand. We all have a breaking point. Even you. What’s important is that you don’t let it hold you down forever.”

“I know,” he acknowledged. “But sometimes, the temptation to give up is almost irresistible. The idea of being able to forget about all this, and live my life without fear or conflict -- it’s something that grows more alluring by the day. But I know I can’t let myself fall prey to these thoughts. I need to stay focused. I need to keep fighting. Even if it leads me into the Valkyries’ arms.”

Sigurd leaned closer to Eivor and placed a hand over his, mindlessly stroking it as if it were second nature.

“Well, wherever this path takes us, just remember that I’m here for you. You’ve saved my life multiple times already. It’s the least I can do.”

Suddenly realizing what he was doing, the prince came to an abrupt pause and instantly retreated his hand, silently cursing himself for not putting a leash on his affections. He backed away from Eivor and averted his eyes, stumbling over his next words.

“...F-Forgive me. I didn’t mean to--”

“--It’s alright.” Eivor interrupted. “You don’t have to explain.”

A deep sigh escaped Sigurd’s lips. “I just don’t understand why it’s so difficult to ignore the way I feel. I’m a married man now. Shouldn’t that be enough to hinder my fondness for you? Why does this always happen?”

The younger man offered some advice. “The best thing you can do right now, Sigurd, is to avoid me entirely. We both know how challenging it is to conceal our true thoughts. Perhaps we shouldn��t give them the chance to cross our minds at all.”

“But I can’t just pretend like you don’t exist. I still want you in my life, Eivor. I still want to be near you. We may not have the option of being together like before, but you’re not somebody I want to forget.”

Eivor’s face dimmed with sorrow. “Well, you may have to. For the sake of this alliance. Things are precarious enough as it is. We can’t risk anyone else finding out about our previous encounters.”

Sigurd disagreed. “You’re important to me. Nothing’s going to change that, no matter how much I may have to restrain myself. I just wish things were easier.”

The older man decided to put this conversation to an early end and rose from the ground, not wanting to let his emotions fester any longer.

“Anyway... I should get going. I imagine Ulfar’s still speaking with the jarl, and I’d like to join him. Do you want to come with me?”

Eivor refused the offer. “I’d rather be alone right now. I’ve had enough of discussing war and politics for one day.”

“Of course, I understand. You must be exhausted. Take this time to get some rest. I’ll tell you the outcome of our discussions later.” Sigurd took a few steps away from the Wolf-Kissed, leaving him alone on the ground. “Well then, I guess I’ll see you around, Eivor. Please, stay safe. Now that we know Kjotve is merely a stone’s throw away from Bjornheimr, I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

The young man remained seated on the grass. “The same goes for you, Sigurd. Be careful out there. You’re the last person I want to lose.”

“Oh, believe me,” Sigurd replied, “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #eivor wolfkissed #eivor wolfsmal #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

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warriorsredux · 4 years

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"#at some point i do want to make a musings post about bluestar #shes incredible missed potential" you tagged on a previous post. Do it now. I like your brain. (sits back and waits for Dullard's monologue)

Well, I can hammer this out before I go to bed!

So my thoughts on Bluestar were initially inspired by Grey’s own opinions - primarily, that she could have been written from a villainous perspective judging by how she acts in her Super Edition, and thus made a lot more interesting. Bluestar being an unintentional villain sure would be cool, but over time I started thinking about her being more grey (HA) than that.

The thing is that, like I’ve said before, Bluestar has a lot of contrast to her that actually feels interesting. A regal, tall, pure blue molly that is even referred to as a queen in her initial appearance, she has the aura of flawlessness... but then you look closer and see the faults. She has a long scar on her back (which can easily be hidden from view if you’re facing her correctly) and a greying muzzle, showing a bit of wear and tear on her body. Her personality is just the same, and a much more significant thing from a writing perspective - she speaks calmly and inspires awe and respect from everyone, even outsiders to the Clan. She is said to be wise and reasonable (”said” being the key word, which we’ll get to in a second), she is regarded as ambitious in a way meant to serve her Clan, which is presented as a good thing, and she has a commanding presence.

And yet, what do we see of her in action? She makes terrible decisions that even Firepaw can see are bad ideas. She misjudges the characters of some people so thoroughly that she nearly loses her life and dooms her Clan. The Clan that she is said to love and live to serve - but when she hits a snag that forces her to acknowledge her faulty judgement, she instead throws herself into self-centered ennui and refuses to do anything to help out those she has sworn to protect and lead. In her Super Edition, everything we’ve been told about Bluestar is negated by her selfish, petty, impulsive thoughts and actions. She is shown to mope to the point of excess, she sends away her children and gets one of them killed because of her own desire to lead the Clan (which, as Grey has said, would have gotten her punished and sent to the Dark Forest if she had been anyone else), she snaps at her sister and gets angry that she’s mates with someone Bluefur doesn’t like - someone who, by the way, she has no actual proof of being anything but kind of a jerk, and yet she is certain that he’s evil and will drown the forest in blood, so she has to beat him at all costs, including the life of an innocent.

Everything about Bluestar outside of the actual canon paints her as good and lawful and kind and wise. Everything about Bluestar within the writing of the story blasts that paint off and shows the murky, ugly color that she truly has. She contrasts down to how she is said to be vs. how she actually acts. Her regal appearance and her scar on her back. Her inspiration of courage and love from her Clanmates and her pettiness and stupidity she showcases in her regular life. All of it clashes against each other in a nearly beautiful way.

Now, I don’t believe one bit that this was on purpose, because it never gets acknowledged by the writers or the series. That’s what frustrates me! She’d be fascinating if all of this was deconstructed and examined from every angle. A powerful and respectable authority figure showing uncertainty behind closed doors is commonplace. What Bluestar could have been is a leader who is set in her mind that she is the Right One Sent By StarClan, that she is Correct and Certain and everything she will decide and think is for the good of the Clan, and thus she has no faults, unlike that horrible Thistleclaw that could have doomed the Clan if he had become leader! Thank goodness he didn’t, because here comes Bluestar to save the day and show everyone that she’s the typical reasonable authority figure that everyone can go to, that is wise and heroic.

And then she gets slapped in the face with reality, over and over, as her faults expose themselves and her poor decisions lead to cats getting killed, including herself. She can’t comprehend the scar on her back, the grey on her face, the effects of the murderous deputy she blindly trusted despite his very obvious actions against her, because those would mean she can be wrong. And that’s just unacceptable.

So she slowly loses her will. She becomes bitter and resentful at the world around her for making her incorrect outside of her control. She doubts her abilities and choices subconsciously and forces others to make decisions for her, so if someone’s wrong it won’t be her again. She curses StarClan for letting these things happen to her (nevermind that it was her fault). She takes out her anger on the apprentices by refusing to name them, or giving them cruel names just for trying to prove themselves. She becomes worse than Thistleclaw would have ever been, and she has to live with that.

Does she still rescue Fireheart and drown in the river, thus redeeming herself at the last minute? Maybe. I personally like the idea of her dying in an ordinary, pitiful manner, and the Clan having to make peace with her in their own ways - or maybe some of them choose not to! Maybe half the Clan accepts that she was not right in her mind when she died, and the other half hates her for all the things she let happen to them. Fireheart seeing her again at his leadership ceremony, letting her know he doesn’t hate her and is glad she made it to StarClan, and perhaps her giving the life of forgiveness... maybe that would be interesting.

I’unno. I’m just spitballing here.

#Anonymous #bluestar #i speak #textwall #holy SHIT what a textwall #well #you got your monologue #hope you liked it

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crossdressingdeath · 4 years

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I find it really strange how LXC has more haters than JC. Overall I do think he’s pretty well liked, but I have seen way more criticism for him than for JC, which is weird. Because I feel like you can find legitimate explanations for a lot of LXC’s choices, whereas the same can’t be said for JC. Let’s look at LXC’s supposed crimes. Trusting JGY? Well, I don’t think we can complain about that, and then at the same time 1/10

breath turn around and support LWJ for always standing up for WWX because...look, I get that it's not exactly the same thing. And it's REALLY not the same thing because it ultimately turned out that JGY couldn't be trusted, but the thing is, LXC genuinely didn't know that at the time! This guy was a very close friend of his! He believed in him! JGY had saved his life in the past! And just like LWJ always supports his loved ones without a second thought, LXC is doing the same thing. Because, 2/10

in this eyes, JGY hasn't really given him any reason not to trust him. The guy is a very good manipulator, and when you are that close to someone, you WANT to believe the best in them. LXC is not an idiot, he is the victim of someone else's manipulations, and it's not like pretty much everyone in the cultivation world suspected anything either. The only one who was actively trying to take down JGY was NHS, who KNEW that the man had murdered his brother. I have no doubt that if LXC had 3/10

been aware of it, he would never have supported him. Not only that - as soon as there is any doubt about JGY's intentions, the man takes an objective stance! He agrees to listen to the evidence! He isn't just blindly denying what's in front of him, regardless of what that would mean for his own feelings; but of course he isn't going to blindly denounce JGY with no proof because this is his closest friend. And while he obviously trusts his brother, he also knows that LWJ's priority is 4/10

WWX, who LXC really doesn't have any reason to trust at that point? We know WWX, LWJ knows WWX, but LXC and him really haven't had that many interactions, on top of his current reputation in the cultivation world. The fact that LXC is so willing to help and hide WWX, despite knowing the dangers it might cause for his sect, and all because he trusts his brother is...a very big thing. It's more than JC would EVER do for WWX. I've also seen criticism for LWJ's punishment, which I honestly 5/10

don't understand because a) the Lan clan also has elders which probably had a big say in the punishment too, and b) LWJ DID commit a crime! It wasn't just him protecting WWX, it was him injuring dozens of members of the Lan sect! Sure, we know why he did it, but just how would it look to the rest of the sect if LXC had just excused that behaviour? Or to the rest of the world? What would it do to his brother's place in the sect if he hadn't been punished for it? I really don't think LWJ 6/10

could have gotten out of that without some form of punishment, and if LXC even had the sole say over it after all (which I highly doubt he would have with no repercussions) that was probably the best alternative to banishment, or perhaps even worse. I've seen criticism (and this is so, so strange) over him blindly accepting the story about his mother, which is so stupid because...LWJ also accepted it, LXC has no way of finding out anything about his mother, and WE as readers know nothing 7/10

about his mother! For all we know, she COULD have been in the wrong, or his parents could have had a completely different relationship from how other people perceive it; we just don't know enough to make a judgement. And then finally, I see people criticizing his behaviour towards WWX. Okay, I kind of do find this annoying too - I was frustrated when he essentially blamed WWX for LWJ's actions, because honestly, LWJ is a grown man who can make his own decisions, but...I also kind of 8/10

understand this. Because this is his BROTHER, and of course he's going to be protective or resentful when he's hurt, it's just a natural reaction to have. It's only natural, and people can't be objective all the time. And also, I think a lot of his annoyance came from him thinking that WWX knew about his brother's feelings, and was essentially mocking them by pretending to flirt with him, and honestly, from an outsiders perspective it would kind of look like that. Despite his own feelings, 9/10

He still supports LWJ in all his decisions though. It’s just so weird that there is so much criticism for LXX, when you can understand his supposed mistakes a lot more than someone like JC. But then, JC pretty much gets no criticism from the fandom. I’ve actually seen people who can’t stand LXC, but then support JC at the same time, and that is so, so weird. 10/10

The thing is, LXC has just as much reason to trust JGY as LWJ does to trust WWX. We as readers know that WWX is in the right, but LWJ, in-universe, doesn’t. He himself admits that he believes and wants to help WWX because he loves him, not because he’s certain he’s in the right. There’s actually a lot less evidence against JGY than there is against WWX for a lot of the story! Evidence that LXC as an in-universe character with his level of knowledge would have access to, I mean. LXC himself points this out; LWJ believes JGY has done these terrible things because WWX said so, not because they have physical proof; at this point in the story it very much is WWX’s word against JGY’s, so doesn’t LXC have the right to give JGY the benefit of the doubt and trust him the way LWJ trusts WWX? And even saying that, the moment he has reason to distrust JGY he revokes his access to the Cloud Recesses and is clearly upset at the idea that he could have misjudged the situation so badly. And remember, JGY’s reputation was impeccable before WWX accused him (origins aside); LXC had no reason to doubt him, but he still did, because WWX said he should and LWJ trusted WWX’s judgement. Can you imagine any other character in this novel immediately searching for evidence and acting as soon as that evidence was uncovered even when that evidence proved their long-held beliefs wrong?

And re the punishment, it was punishment for attacking the elders, not necessarily for helping WWX; thirty-three lashes for thirty-three elders badly injured. LXC couldn’t have just... let LWJ get away with attacking the elders of their clan, that would’ve been a political disaster within their sect even keeping the whole thing a secret from other sects. And honestly? Between helping the cultivation world’s enemy number one and gravely injuring the clan’s elders, it wouldn’t surprise me if LWJ could’ve been executed. Any other sect leader probably would’ve executed him for aiding WWX, but LXC couldn’t do that to his brother. Instead he sent the elders who most respected LWJ to apprehend him and bring him back before anyone else realized what he was doing. Was the whipping severe? Definitely. But considering what other punishments were on the table, I’d argue LXC was downright merciful. LWJ clearly thinks it was justified, or at least understandable, and while that doesn’t necessarily mean it was okay (I mean, WWX insists JC repeatedly trying to kill him is totally fine), I do think that should be considered. LWJ knew he would be punished when he went back; a big part of the novel is accountability for one’s actions, and I’d argue this is a part of that theme.

LXC believing the story about his mother is like... what else is he supposed to do? As you say, LWJ also seems to believe it. They have no reason to doubt it! The certainty suggests that no one (not the sect’s elders, not their uncle, not even their mother) ever brought up the possibility of it being false! When all evidence suggests that something is true and you can’t find anything to disprove it, insisting it’s false anyway will only hurt you! Of course he believes the only story anyone has ever told him when not even the woman it’s about suggested it was a lie! Leave him alone!

And the whole thing with WWX is fairly explicitly him thinking WWX knew LWJ was in love with him and chose to toy with his feelings just for fun. And also making his brother miserable for 13 years, which granted wasn’t really WWX’s fault, but we can’t fault a brother for seizing upon the most obvious target to blame for his baby brother’s suffering. From the outside it really does look like WWX was just toying with LWJ, after all; we know better because we’re in WWX’s head and know that he doesn’t know LWJ’s in love with him, and WWX corrects his behaviour as soon as he realizes, but until WWX tells them he doesn’t remember LWJ’s confession LXC has no reason to believe he’s not being pointlessly cruel. And thinking someone is deliberately using your brother’s feelings to hurt him probably makes it considerably easier to believe that person is to blame for all your brother’s suffering. I do think LXC will get past his resentment of WWX given time! His hatred of WWX is an immediate reaction to the suffering of someone he loves. You know, like JC’s desire to murder all the Wens for the fall of Lotus Pier, except considerably less genocidal and considerably more likely to be gotten over.

As for why people make excuses for JC but talk shit about LXC... I don’t know. How fandoms pick their favourite characters has always been something of a mystery to me.

#mdzs #cql #grapehate #lan xichen #lxc deserves better #anon #asks

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wolfslaw · 5 years

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@wieldbrave asked : bougainvillaea, cadmium yellow, silk ⇢ colourful headcanons | accepting.

bougainvillaea: would your muse consider themselves as blunt, or do they beat around the bush instead?

Shi-Long is absolutely blunt and knows he is. In his line of work, beating around the bush and umming and aah-ing over words only gets people killed and lets true perpetrators get away, but he is even blunter than one might typically expect. His first introduction in the game exposes this with:

Lang: You should've contacted the police from the very beginning.

Edgeworth: I'm sorry that this happened because of a lapse in judgement. However, I humbly request that you please help me out of here posthaste.

Lang: ......Sorry, no can do.

Edgeworth: What!?

Lang: We're hunting the kidnapper now, and I haven't got any hands to spare. As I said, my pack moves as one. You're the one who wanted to go it alone, so good luck to you... Mr. Prosecutor. Oh, and once we do catch the kidnapper, rest assured we'll come find you... eventually.

At this point, Edgeworth is trapped in a locked room with no way out and while Shi-Long doesn’t know the exact specifics of Edgeworth’s situation, he knows that Edgeworth was knocked unconscious and his police escort lost sight of him, but at this point Edgeworth is not a priority. In Shi-Long’s eyes, it’s Edgeworth’s fault he got into that particular mess ( “Lang Zi says: "The pack that runs together, stays together." You catch my drift? You caused quite a ruckus by running blindly into a situation and then getting caught.” ) and it’s not his job to come fix that. At this point, his priority is solving the kidnapping of Lance Amano and any extraneous factor, like rescuing Edgeworth, is going to have to wait until after the case is solved. It is important to note, however, that Shi-Long is aware Edgeworth is a prosecutor and does treat him with additional scorn for this ( “This isn't your neatly trimmed Courtroom of Eden, you know. You're out in the wilderness now, Mr. Prosecutor, and way out of your league. No hard feelings, but why don't you go on back to your courtroom now, pretty boy?” ). His manner of speaking, at least to Edgeworth, is always going to be filtered through his hatred of courts and prosecutors and so will always appear extremely blunt for it, but even when he’s not speaking directly to Edgeworth, there’s a certain decisiveness to the way he speaks that shows he’s not one to unnecessarily mince words or beat about the bush.

Lang: I'll take it from here. Yeah, that guy's really dead. Hey! You waiting for an invitation? Hurry up and detain the suspect, now.

Edgeworth: (Suspect? Who...?)

Lang: Officer Meekins, is it? You're coming with us.

[...]

Lang: Hey, you! Your squad's not even supposed to be in this area, right? What were you doing neglecting your duties and loafing around here?

Meekins: I-I...!

Lang: Don't you dare give me some lame excuse like, "I found myself taking a walk."

Meekins: But sir... I really did take a walk, sir!

Lang: You're a disgrace. How dare you take your pack obligations so lightly?

Shi-Long does not believe in wasting time on anything. Considering his family was disgraced 12 years beforehand and has lost all honour in Zheng Fa, this urgency and belief in not wasting time is directly rooted in his family: the more time he spends successfully policing and solving cases quicker, the more he restores honour to his family name. He’s the agent with the highest successful arrest rate in Interpol, true, but he’s not going to rest on his laurels and bandy about playing nice with indirect words and unnecessary niceties; he’s going to hunt down the truth as fast as he is able and seize it by the throat. The only time he’ll ever be long-winded is if he’s reciting a quote from Lang Zi, but they will always be appropriate to the matter at hand and will never be any longer than necessary. He won’t be blunt with his subordinates or anyone he deems ‘pack’ outside of work, but when working, Shi-Long will be blunt -- respectful, true, but blunt.

cadmium yellow: what subjects or topics does your muse avoid, because they bring up harmful / painful memories?

He will not talk about the fall of the House of Lang with anybody he’s not incredibly close to. In-game, Edgeworth asks Shih-na why Shi-Long hates prosecutors so much and while she does tell him briefly, enough to give the player a hint of his backstory, Edgeworth would never have heard it from Shi-Long himself. He is not embarrassed of his family -- he is incredibly family-orientated and incredibly proud to be a son of the Lang family -- but remembering their fall from grace, remembering the SS-5 Incident that not only had his father demoted and replaced as the President’s personal bodyguard, but also removed all esteem from the Lang name across Zheng Fa and ultimately drove his father to an early grave, and revealing all that pain to someone else who doesn’t have his trust, who isn’t considered one of his closest friends, bites at Shi-Long like nothing else. Outside of the people who eventually learn about SS-5 in canon and help to solve it, only Emily (@mindlaw) currently knows about SS-5 and what it means to Shi-Long.

Following the end of Investigations, Shih-na’s betrayal is also something he doesn’t like to discuss with anyone. While she was his responsibility and he stands firmly by his choice to bring her in alive to repent and face true justice, even in the face of him getting shot for it, the idea of people gossiping idly about it without knowing the full gravity of the situation and the knowledge he had a mole in his ranks for years, right under his nose, without noticing is incredibly painful to him. He depended on Shih-na, leant on her as his right hand -- he’s close to his subordinates enough to consider them family ( “Lang Zi says: all men are brothers, and friends become family. Hmph. So you see, my people are my family, and their families are my family too.” ), but Shih-na was his closest friend. She knew him inside and out, knew about the weight of SS-5 on him personally where his subordinates only knew ‘SS-5 involved Shifu’s family’; he told her about his personal struggles, leant on her when he had doubts about ever being good enough to restore his family name, about whether he could do it as the last member of the Lang family, and she betrayed him. She took his trust and spat it back at his feet, and he hates that he couldn’t see it before Turnabout Ablaze.

silk: does your muse care about appearances much? do they spend a lot of time on their own appearance, or do they just go with the flow each day?

Absolutely not. Shi-Long believes it is the heart of the person that counts, not the outward appearance -- a fact that makes Shih-na’s betrayal, where he thought he knew her at least partly as he knew him, even worse. He won’t spend copious amounts of time getting ready in the mornings: his clothes are laid out the night before, close enough he can be dressed in a matter of minutes, and his hair naturally falls in the ‘wolf ears’ people believe are styled. A stranger might believe he is arrogant about his appearance, given the ridiculous fur ruff on his jacket and his overt style of dress, but he couldn’t care less about his outward appearance -- he falls within Interpol dress code, is at least smart, able to give chase easily if a suspect flees, and is certainly comfortable in his clothing. He knows who he is inside and that is the most important thing to him.

The only aspect of himself he will be prideful about are the seven scars on his chest in the shape of the constellation Orion. While they do not map out the full constellation, he is proud of them as marks of survival and would gladly show them off to anyone who so much as asked about his scars (mostly anyone, at least; prosecutors who ask would get only a curt admission he has some). If he was to sustain an injury on his chest that would scar and disrupt the pattern, he would be furious beyond words.

#狼 this wolf will refuse to ease up on his bite! / answered.#狼 we’ve all got a blemish or two on our hearts. / headcanon.#long post /#[ and today on zack writes headcanons like a thesis ]#[ shi long vc outward appearances don't matter but mess with my orion scars and son i will kick your entire ass ]

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shestillhasherquill · 6 years

Text

Men, Women and All the Angels (3/?)

Summary: Emma Swan was an Angel, fallen from her grace and living a life of puffy vests, flannels and monsters. Killian Jones was a member of the British Men of Letters, but is just a disgraced expat, with an endless supply of rum and shotguns. What happens when the angel and the hunter have to face the threat posed by the Men of Letters? An SPN!AU

Go check out @drowned-dreamer‘s amazing artwork for the fic and give it some love!!

A BIG SHOUT OUT to the @cssns crew, authors and artists! All of the fics have been posted or have started posting. Thank you, @kmomof4 for organising this event. Can’t wait for next year. Go read the others’ fic, give them all the love!!!

Ch.1 Ch. 2

ao3/ff.net

Killian was quick to leave after Gold had departed; there was only one person he could go to for some advice. And perhaps he also felt like seeing Emma Swan again. He took a quick shower, changed and was out the door in 45-minutes, Gold's card burning a hole in his wallet.

His grip tightened involuntarily as he thought about his days with the Men of Letters. He used to follow them blindly, believed in the cause without question. He trusted them implicitly, but Liam had not. He had been much older than Killian had been when he was initiated into the Men of Letters, and he had always had his doubts about the organisation. But he performed his duties, without question, keeping his opinions to himself, and sometimes he shared them with Killian. His displeasure started grow around the time of his death, something about a classified mission gone wrong and the cover up that followed. Liam never told Killian what it was, protecting the integrity of the mission despite his personal feelings about it. A couple of weeks after that, Liam was dead and Killian was left with more questions than ever.

It had taken him years to let go of his need for revenge and look forward in life. Most of which happened after he had met Emma Swan and her son. They had changed him in ways they weren’t even aware of. He would give anything to be a part of that - a family, no matter how big or small. They weren’t the only people he had in his life; every one of the hunters whom he had encountered have come to mean something to him. But Emma had grown to be his confidante, his best friend before they even shared a bed. He trusted her, and her judgement.

Of course, that would mean opening the can of worms that was his past. He was certain there was nothing quite as dramatic as his exit from the Men of Letters.

-/-

Emma had received a text from Killian, informing her that he was coming over. That he “needed to talk about something”, which made her quite apprehensive. She hoped that he did not want to discuss anything to do with them. She had agreed to the date with the hope that he was willing to take things slow. But something told her it was something else; Killian was not one to come over to her house on a whim.

She had been helping Henry with his homework, although it was not clear to her why the school insisted that algebra was essential for 8th graders. Emma herself was fluent in many languages, most of them forgotten or had never been discovered; but algebra stumped her. She never had to learn this. It was simply something human made up to complicate their lives.

“Hey, I just got a 911 text from David,” Mary Margaret said, rushing into the room, her cell phone clutched in her hand and her eyes frantic.

Emma shot up from her seat, her hands resting on Henry’s shoulders, both of them looking alarmed. “What happened?” Emma asked, fear gripping her chest.

“Don’t worry,” Mary Margaret assured her. “He’s fine, just minor injuries I think. August broke his arm and David needs backup, so I kinda gotta leave now.”

“I could go, if you want,” Emma offered, knowing that while Mary Margaret was great at DIYing one-of-a-kind weaponry, she wasn’t the best hunter. She had admitted to this herself.

“Normally, I would agree. But you haven’t been home in a week, and you just got in this morning. Spend some time with your son!” Mary Margaret smiled, rushing to her room to pack.

Emma nodded to herself, pressing a kiss to the top of Henry’s head. She did miss her kid, and she did deserve a break.

“Is she going to be okay?” Henry asked, chewing the bottom part of his pencil.

Emma batted the pencil from his mouth absentmindedly, while nodding to his question. “Yeah, kid. She’s got David there, remember?”

“I hope August feels better soon,” he sighed, getting back to his homework. “D’you think we could go visit him at his home? I could sign his cast.”

Emma raised one eyebrow, surprised at Henry’s request. He had not been shy to display his displeasure about August, and avoided him as much as he could. For him to volunteer to go and see the guy was very suspicious. She got her answer pretty quickly, though.

“I heard Killian moved in with August,” Henry added innocently, not taking his eyes off of his work.

Emma resisted the urge to chuckle at her little matchmaker. “Oh, really?” she drawled, resting her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed at Henry.

He simply shrugged, shooting her a clueless smile. “Mary Margaret told me. I’m just the messenger, mom.”

“It is curious that he moved one town over from us,” Mary Margaret called from inside her room. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Get to packing, lady!” she called out. “And for the record, I don’t care where Killian is living.”

“Oh really?” Henry sassed, earning a playful slap to the back of his head.

“Get back to work, little man,” she instructed, leaving him to hang out with Mary Margaret for a second.

“Hey.” She dropped on the bed, watching as Mary Margaret grabbed bits and pieces of paper, and small books, cramming them into her bag.

“He moved in last month. Yes, he told me. He told me not to tell you, but I couldn’t help it. Also, you really should date him. You know you want it, and you know he does. I mean, you’ve already slept together, so you know he’s good in that department.”

“Mary Margaret!” Emma whisper-yelled, slack-jawed at her friend’s gall.

“What? It is true, isn’t it?” She paused her packing, turning her full attention on Emma. “Honestly, everyone knows you guys will end up together. He’s always there for you, and he adores Henry. What’s stopping you?”

Emma knew what was stopping her; her big, bad secret. She was an angel, and even without her wings, and with her Grace magically suppressed, she can’t change who she was. Heaven had given up on her, but despite everything, she could not give up on Heaven. She could not give up being an angel. What if she needed her powers one day? What if Heaven was once more ready to accept her, and accept Henry? She couldn’t lose that chance.

She plastered a smile on her face, nodding to Mary Margaret. “I’ll think about it.” After a beat, she remembered the real reason she had come in. She grabbed the key from around her neck, handing it over to Mary Margaret.

“The key to the vault. You’ll need guns, remember? Keep it with you, I won’t be going on hunts for a while.” It was not safe for them to keep all their guns and weaponry at home with a teenager in the house. Even Mary Margaret worked out of a workshop a couple of miles from the house that was secured both with manual locks and spells, keeping trespassers out. But some of their gear for hunts were stored in the large vault in the garage. They had had it spelled hidden, and Henry had no clue of its existence. While he might know about things that go bump in the night, none of them were comfortable handing a gun to him yet.

Mary Margaret grabbed it, thanking Emma for reminding her. Soon enough, the brunette was all packed and out of the house. Emma and Henry waved at her from their front porch before Henry rushed off inside. Emma lingered, looking around carefully.

She felt the prickle at the back of her neck, apprehension settling like a rock in her gut. Someone was watching them.

-/-

Killian cursed loudly when he heard a loud pop, his car swerving slightly. Blasted tyre, he thought, frustrated. He managed to park it on the side of the road, climbing out and slamming the door closed, grumbling unintelligibly the whole while. His evening only got worse, as he discovered that he did not have a spare. He pulled his phone out, trying to figure out the nearest gas station or autoshop. And with the rate his luck was going, he should not have been surprised to find that he had no signal in the area. He grabbed the map and torch from the glove compartment, starting his trek to the gas station.

They say bad luck usually comes in three’s and he was hoping that this would be the last of it. He had enough to deal with, with the British Men of Letters back in his life. He had a blinding headache and could do without any more drama. It took him over thirty-minutes to walk to the gas station, but thankfully he found what he needed. While he waited for the trucker who had offered him a ride back to his car to fill up his tank, he wandered around the convenience store, picking up some food for the road. By the look of things, it would be well past the Swan’s dinner time when he reached and he was not about to starve himself.

He spotted a keychain at the counter, reaching for it without thinking. A smile pulled at his lips, his thumb tracing the swan engraved into the metal. He grabbed it on impulse, adding it to his purchase. He might be going to Emma with a moral dilemma, but that did not mean he shouldn’t woo her as well.

He heard the trucker call for him, rushing out the store, his spare tyre and purchases in hand. Maybe if he had lingered for a while longer, he would realised that he had signal by the shrill ringing oh his phone.

Perhaps, if he had heard the call, if he had answered it he could have prevented everything that happened next.

-/-

Emma and Henry had just sat down for dinner. It was mac ‘n’ cheese night, the only thing Emma knew how to make that Henry liked. He usually preferred Mary Margaret’s food, the traitor. In retrospect, Emma couldn’t remember what they had been talking about. Just that one minute, Henry was laughing so hard he started snorting adorably, and the next there was loud banging on their door. Emma jumped to her feet, pulling Henry from his chair and pushing him to the bedroom, whispered for him to hide.

“Open up in there!” a loud, male voice boomed. Emma did not recognise the voice, and she was on full alert, her angel blade materialising in her hand.

She could open the door, but that would put her on the defensive. Eventually, whoever it was would either leave or they would break down the door. If she had a functioning heart, Emma was certain it would be beating frantically.

She heard the guy shout a couple more times, and then heard his footsteps retreat. She let out a soft breath, but she had let her guard down too soon as a large cannon burst through the door, blowing her to the side. If she were human, she would have died on impact alone. But thankfully she wasn’t. Unfortunately, she was not able to get to her feet before the man came through the door, whistling to himself. He looked around and seemed genuinely surprised when he found her not only conscious but with enough strength to pounce on him, stabbing him right through his chest, his eyes wide in shock, blood guzzling at his mouth as Emma pushed him aside, leaving him gasping for his last breath. This was against everything she was - she had never killed someone who was human before, but no one willing to shoot a cannon into her house would do that if they intended to have a pleasant conversation.

She needed to get Henry and get out of here before more of the dead guy’s friends wanted to join the party.

She stumbled over the rubble and broken pieces of the front door, rushing to Henry as fast as her feet would carry her. He was hiding under the bed in her room, his hands over his ears and his eyes shut tight. Emma touched his shoulder, startling him.

“It’s just me, kid. C’mon. We need to leave. Now.”

Henry nodded, to frightened to say a word. Emma grabbed his hand once he had rolled out, pulling him to his feet. Both of the ran out the back side of the house, Emma cursing herself for giving the key to the vault to Mary Margaret. She did not grab her keys or any weapons apart from her angel blade, most of the entryway blocked by debris, and she was not going to go back to her house now. She hoped she could get to her car before any more thugs arrived.

Emma and Henry ran to the front of the house, sighing in unison when they noticed the car still intact. It was only after they had gotten closer did she realise that they had slashed her tyres.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered, feeling frazzled. In all these years of being in hiding, she had never been this close to an attack. She was not prepared, and she had no idea who the man who attacked them was. Or who he was affiliated to.

“What are we gonna do, mom?” Henry cried, his fear apparent in his voice.

“We’re going to figure it out, kid. But whatever happens, I need you to follow my lead, alright?” He nodded, swallowing thickly.

Emma started running with Henry in tow. They needed to get to their neighbour’s house, just a couple of miles south. She could hot wire their car, and put as much distance as she could between them and the house. Thankfully, she had her phone on her. She dialled Killian’s number first, to warn him about coming to their house. But the calls kept going to voicemail.

Who would have thought that her perfect day of relaxation with her son would turn into this?

“Mom! Stop!” Henry called out, panting hard. Emma stopped, turning to face him. “Where are we going? We can’t outrun anyone on foot!” he exclaimed, frustrated tears springing to his eyes. “What’s going on? I’m scared.”

Emma’s shoulders sagged, and she dragged her son into her arms, pressing a kiss to his head. “We’re going to be fine, I promise. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Aww, isn’t this sweet?”

Both Emma and Henry turned to the person who spoke, Emma’s breath catching in her throat. The man stood in front of them was fairly normal looking, nothing special or unusual about him. But his eyes had a dead look to them, and he had a large weapon in his hands. Emma had never seen something like it before.

“Who the hell are you?” Emma demanded, standing guard in front of Henry. The boy gripped his mother’s jacket tight in his hand; she could feel the fear radiating off of him.

“The name’s Issac Heller, British Men of Letters,” he said, tipping a proverbial hat at her. “I’m only here for the boy. You stay out of my way, and I wouldn’t have to harm you.”

“Like hell I will,” she grinded out. “You will have to go through me to get to my son.”

“Well, if I have to.” He grinned, holding up his modified weapon, as Emma readied herself for a fight.

-/-

Killian could barely see in front of him in the dark, the headlights only helping him so much. Which was why he almost choked himself on the seatbelt, slamming on the breaks, when he saw someone stumble into his car’s path. He skidded to the side, his car stopping with a harsh screech. He quickly unbuckled, jumping out of the car to assist the person he almost hit.

His heart dropped to his gut when he saw who it was - Emma Swan, heavily injured and stumbling over to him. He rushed forward, catching her just as she started to fall.

“Emma!” He fell to his knees, cradling her.

She winced, grabbing her thigh and hissing whens he reached for her. His eyes bugged when he noticed a gunshot wound.

“What the bloody hell happened to you?” he demanded.

“They- they got Henry,” she bit out. He could hear the tears in her voice. “They took him.”

#cs ff #cssns #spn!au #angel!emma #hunter!killian

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thesydneyfeminists · 6 years

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Joss Whedon and Vee: It’s Complicated

By: Vee H.

Here’s the thing, I have a confusing relationship with Joss Whedon. If we were “Facebook official” (does anyone still call it that, or have I just revealed my true spiritual age of 105?) our relationship status would be “it’s complicated”. It didn’t used to be like that; as a teenager, I probably would have said my favourite tv show was Buffy The Vampire Slayer, with its spin-off, Angel, in second place. I fell in love with a premise that Whedon certainly did not create (one girl in all the world, blah blah) nor was he the best at executing it. Whether it was the characters he’d created, the actors playing them, the witty scripts and storylines – or a mix of all of these things, I was hooked. I staunchly defended the show, and by proxy, Whedon himself, from any harsh criticisms, and overlooked anything that now, as a 32-year-old, stands out as (and I hate using this word) problematic. I followed him from Buffy; to Angel, Dr Horrible’s Singalong Blog, Dollhouse (look, I skipped Firefly for some reason, I’ve tried dipping a toe in but space cowboys aren’t for me, it seems), and that’s not to mention the movies he had a hand in (not an exhaustive list) – The Cabin in the Woods, The Avengers and The Avengers Age of Ultron. I was loyal, if Whedon’s name was attached, most likely, I was all in. There was something comforting and familiar about his humour, the way he told his stories – all of them laughably simple but layered to make them more complex. Like Shrek and onions.

So maybe you’re wondering where I took a left turn, jumped off the Joss Whedon Fan Train, as it were. Admittedly, it was a slow process, it wasn’t just a running leap off into the unknown post-Whedon world. A few years after Angel ended, some things circulated in the Buffy and Angel fandoms, rumours of how he treated his favourites, and those who had fallen out of favour with him. One of those people being Charisma Carpenter. In 2009 at a convention, a fan asked her how she felt about Cordelia’s last story line in Angel and how the show changed after her departure. While she didn’t explicitly come out and say the exact reason, she hinted that Whedon had been mad at her for making certain life decisions that would directly impact the vision he had for his show. Rumours have long since abounded that, in short, he punished her for falling pregnant. Obviously, no one but Carpenter and Whedon know the true story and at the time of hearing it, I took it with a grain of salt, but that seedling sat in the back of my mind and began to grow. After all, it explained a lot about the fourth season of Angel, and why the character of Cordelia made a complete 360. It was here that my relationship with Whedon started to sour, I began to question how someone who was so outspoken and publicly proud to be a feminist, could treat a woman that he had worked with for nearly a decade like that.

With that knowledge in mind, it was hard not to view some of the dialogue and plot points in his media a little differently, this is only one small example, but looking back, there is way too much slut shaming going on in Buffy to the point where Faith (my favourite character in the whole series, don’t @ me, I’ll defend her until I die) is seen as a lesser person than everyone else, because other female characters (Willow, Cordelia and Buffy herself) have branded her as a “cleavagey slutbomb”. Sure, ok, she goes and kills a bunch of people but they focus on her being slut much more than a psychopath – and I feel the need to point out that we only actually saw her sleep with one person (Xander) by the time the slut shaming actually started, and not that we should count, but Faith only slept with three people (Xander, Robin, and Riley in Buffy’s body) in the whole course of the show. And she killed four humans. Which means in Joss Whedon’s world, if you’re a woman, having sex is a worse crime than murder. Not exactly a feminist message.

Cut to just last year, when Whedon’s ex-wife, Kai Cole, came out with a heartbreakingly honest account of just what went down in their marriage. Details of his infidelity, gaslighting and emotional manipulation came spilling out of her, and sure, you could argue she was an embittered ex-wife, wanting to hit him where it would hurt the most, but it’s interesting to note that Whedon himself has never actually outright denied or refuted these claims. And ok, infidelity does not strip you of the right to call yourself a feminist, but as written by Clementine Ford “it's about how he absolved himself in a letter sent to Cole after his infidelity had finally been exposed, blaming the women he cheated with, calling them "beautiful, needy, aggressive young women" who "surrounded" him.” It’s about how he used his feminist badge as a shield, claiming he was raised feminist so he just liked women better, or how he claimed in a letter to Cole, and I quote, “in many ways I was the HEIGHT of normal, in this culture. We’re taught to be providers and companions and at the same time, to conquer and acquire — specifically sexually — and I was pulling off both!”

With all of these things in mind, I started to see Whedon’s feminism as what it likely is; performative, a way to excuse his behaviour, a safeguard to hide behind as if to say, “oh no, I am not like other men at all, although I may act as other men do and fully accept my privilege as a cis-het white male, I’m different. Because I’m a feminist so when I do these terrible things to women, it’s ok, because I love, respect and support women.” Maybe he truly believes he’s a feminist, publicly, he flies the flag very well, and there’s no denying he’s profited from this label, heralded as a great feminist hero, an ally to women everywhere. It’s only when you start to scratch the surface, peel back the layers of the Shrek-onion, do you start to see him for what he (in my mind) really is. A dudebro playing at being the nice guy, someone who says all the right things but whose actions don’t quite match up, in fact, they crumble under any real scrutiny (for further proof of this, go read the leak of the Wonder Woman script, allegedly by Whedon. If you can make it through the whole thing, I’ll buy you a coffee – hell if you can make it through the first 10 pages).

Where does that leave Joss and I then? I admit that I’m conflicted, in a culture that has moved more and more towards “cancelling” people I’m the proverbial fence sitter. I acknowledge that there are people, media, etc that are problematic (the dreaded word) and I think everyone has the right to decide whether or not to consume said media. And for myself, personally, I endlessly flip between the two schools of thought. I won’t watch anything new with Johnny Depp, nor anything from Woody Allen, for example, but I have gone back (since Amber Heard spoke of her abuse at his hands) and watched some of Depp’s older movies. Some people have told me that they disagree, that even watching his older stuff is wrong, that I should ban all forms of Depp media from my life otherwise I am giving him my tacit approval, and that’s their choice and their right, but I suppose I’m still working out where I want to draw the line. I (maybe naively and incorrectly) believe that I can view a piece of media and know its flaws, or the flaws of the person behind it, but still somewhat enjoy it for what it is, or the story it’s telling.

Maybe that’s where I am with Whedon, somewhere in between, neither in the black or the white, somewhere in the shades of grey, because that’s how life is sometimes. I don’t think he’s a fully bad person, nor do I think he’s a fully good person. I think he’s human, and humans are inherently flawed. And maybe that feels like a cop out, but it’s all I have to offer right now. My view of him will never be as it once was, and thus my viewing of the media he has created and produced will likely reflect that. Re-watching Buffy and Angel has become a different experience; I’m no longer blindly swept up in the twists and turns, the witty repartee between characters, but instead viewing through a different lens, one where I question what message he's really trying to send, what his true intentions are. Instead of laughing at every single joke, they never quite land right with me anymore, my childish naivety gone, replaced with the simmering anger of a woman who wonders why sexist jokes and judgements are supposed to be funny, why the rape of a female character is an excusable plot device to teach men a lesson. It’s exhausting to second guess someone I don’t even know, but this is the brave new world that a combination of his behaviour and my own feminist journey has left me in. These days, I wouldn’t ever say “I love Joss Whedon”, like I would’ve back in my teenage years, more likely you’ll find me saying “I loved Buffy but God it’s weird to watch as an adult”.

Like I said, it’s complicated.

Sources:

http://oranges8hands.tumblr.com/post/117924895453/charisma-carpenter-transcript-on-being-fired

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_igTbXKPck

https://www.thewrap.com/joss-whedon-feminist-hypocrite-infidelity-affairs-ex-wife-kai-cole-says/

https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/clementine-ford-why-joss-whedons-treatment-of-exwife-kai-cole-matters-20170821-gy16lx.html

https://indiegroundfilms.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/wonder-woman-aug7-07-joss-whedon.pdf

Image sources:

Yahoo.com

tenplay.com.au

#buffy the vampire slayer #buffy #angel #angel show #joss whedon #feminist #joss whedon's feminism #feminist review #whedon shows #sexism #feminism #problematic shows

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adamcoled · 6 years

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the two kinds of magic | aleister black

warlock!aleister black x reader

Summary: Aleister holds more power within the supernatural world than most, so why is it that a human makes him feel so weak?

Word Count: 4,337

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, basically all things you would associate with vampires and evil.

A/N: Wow oh wow I was so excited to get this written, I didn’t revise it and half of it was written at 3 a.m. so pls tell me of any errors! This is going to be my first real series and I already have so many plans for it; I’m stepping out of my comfort zone because I don’t know a whole lot on mythology and whatnot but I’m ready to start this journey with you wonderful readers <3

Part 2

Regret was not a common emotion for Aleister. He didn’t regret things because he was too careful, too certain of every decision he’d ever made. When there was something plaguing him, he thought long and hard about it, tried to picture future consequences. He knew if he ever did something that he came to regret, he would conjure up some spell through a sigil or potion to reverse his mistake, and from there it’d only be a sort of drug to him, an ever-present desire to change some aspect of his life. Aleister hated the world he was born into, the world of witchcraft that his father tried so desperately to force upon him – it was in his blood, after all – and so he made the most admirable of attempts to stay away from using his black magic. It was such a dangerous world, full of an endless list of supernatural beings thought only to be found in fictional realms, and he hated that he had to occupy it, had to live this life of non-normalcy. He couldn’t even leave his house without wondering what sort of batshit crazy demon was lurking, searching for an unsuspecting soul to possess, or whether the next full moon would bring a ravenous werewolf into his town. Aleister didn’t want to hold this amount of power that hundreds of greedy monsters were foaming at the mouth for. So, he stayed away from it in any way that he could, using his magic only when absolutely necessary for his survival.

And then you came along.

You came along in all your beauty, pounding on his door so fast and so harshly that he flung it open roughly, ready to tell whoever was behind it to go the hell away. He lived in the middle of the woods for a reason – very expected, huh? But then his eyes fell upon you, standing there in fear, body shaking and heaving as you struggled to catch your breath.

“Please,” you whimpered, the word coming out as more of a breathy whisper, “please, just let me in. Someone’s after me.”

He pulled you inside gently, trying not to add even more fear into your system, looking you over meticulously in case this was all a ruse and he had invited some sort of evil creature into his home. While his judgement certainly was not perfect, he could just sense that you weren’t anything looking to cause trouble. You were too beautiful, with a face that still held uncorrupted innocence, your hair framing your face perfectly, lips slightly parted while you still struggled to catch your breath. Then again, Aleister knew better than anyone that looks can be deceiving and sometimes the most beautiful ones were the most dangerous…

“Thank you,” you said finally, smiling at him with what little energy you had left. Your smile faded, however, when Aleister didn’t acknowledge it, stepping mere centimeters away from you as he turned your head with the hand that now rested on your chin. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting to find, but for some reason having his hand on your skin sent tendrils of flame throughout his outstretched arm.

“What did you mean ‘someone’s after you,’” Aleister asked suddenly, incapable of restraining the thought any longer. You were probably just another human that had gotten tangled up in an evil creature, unaware that everything they read about in books and see in films is very, very real, he thought. Poor them; that was the one thing about humanity that Aleister was glad not to face – the utter ignorance they held. And now here you were, in his house, probably bringing along a bloodthirsty supernatural being, unsuspecting of the fact that the very man before you was just the same.

At this, your breathing grew heavy again, suddenly remembering the man who had somehow appeared in front of you though you were completely alone on the sidewalk. He was surely still out there, looking for you, calling out your name in a sickly-sweet manner, hoping to lure you out of hiding. A chill shot up your spine, and when you felt the man in front of you place his hand on your shoulder softly, you swore you felt that chill stop right in its tracks. “I…I don’t know,” you admitted timidly, still unsure of what exactly happened. One second, you were listening to Run For Cover by The Killers, and the next you were quite literally running for cover from a man who had bared abnormally sharp teeth to you after a rambling about how absolutely starving he was. But, maybe you had made that whole thing up – your mind was a jumbled mess after how fast and how far you had run to escape. “This man…he came out of nowhere! He was making no sense, but when I saw how sharp his teeth were, I ran. And I guess I just…ended up here.”

Aleister knew right away what he was dealing with. His hand dropped from your shoulder, and he cursed beneath his breath. “I thought I told those bloodsuckers to stay out of my territory,” he growled, eager to storm out of his house and find this damn vampire, to remind him that this was his area. He was far more powerful than them; all they had was sharp teeth and an overpowering thirst – Aleister had magic that could serve practically any of his desires. But he restrained himself, unwilling to leave you alone considering the trickery vampires often had up their sleeves.

“What?”

His head tore away from the window he was staring out of so intensely, hoping maybe their little friend would make an appearance. When his eyes landed upon you, your eyebrows were furrowed and you were no longer sitting on the chair in his living room. You’d obviously heard him, and now he had to make up some excuse because to tell you the truth would be to involve you in this twisted world.

“Nothing,” he shook his head slightly, “I think I might know who it is is all. He comes around here sometimes, always looking for someone to mug. He’s a very elusive man.”

“Bullshit,” you spat, making quick stride toward the man you didn’t even know but blindly trusted, “I heard what you said. ‘Bloodsuckers,’ ‘your territory. Tell me what you know, because quite frankly, I know that that psycho had teeth that were way too fucking sharp for a normal human!” Though, your aggression fled your body right as you finished your sentence, because you finally really, truly looked at him for the first time. The first thing your eyes darted to was the tiny crescent moon inked into the skin by his eye, then to the lip ring that clung to his lips in the most delicious manner, and then to the way his stare was practically burning right through you. When a slight chuckle slipped out of his mouth, you felt all her irritation boil back up.

“Tell you what I know, huh?” he tittered again. “We haven’t even formally introduced ourselves, yet you’re demanding for answers.” “I like that,” he wanted to add, but he decided against it. Maybe you’d just think of him as as of much of a threat as the man you’d been running from.

“I’m Y/N. Sorry I don’t think to introduce myself when I’m recovering from a high-speed chase with death,” you said pointedly, though accepted his hand easily when he offered it out to you.

“Aleister.” It was all he said yet the raw nature of his voice enticed you. When he released your hand, you had to stop herself from frowning. His touch was comforting.

“Thank you for letting me seek refuge from a ‘bloodsucker’ in your house, Aleister,” you spoke with an ever-present playful tinge in your voice and Aleister loved how each of your words was coated in mischief. “Now, could you please explain to me what is going on?”

“Can’t you just thank me and be done with it?”

“No.”

Aleister stifled the smile that was about to break out across his face due to your stubbornness. Something about you was just so…mesmerizing to him. He had to stop and think for a second if perhaps you were a succubus, but Aleister was pretty damn sure he was wide awake. “Alright,” he conceded, thinking of how to wiggle his way through an explanation that didn’t reveal the supernatural world. That didn’t reveal him. “Let’s just say this world has a lot of things that most people don’t know about. Things that aren’t what they seem.”

From the look on your face, Aleister knew you weren’t buying it. But then you nodded slowly, accepting his half-truth of an explanation.

“There’s something you aren’t telling me,” you pointed a finger at him in suspicion, eyes fluttering over to the seemingly endless number of bookshelves lining the walls of his house. “But I won’t pry it out of you just yet. Eventually, though.”

Eventually, Aleister repeated in his head. Eventually implied he would see you again. While he certainly wouldn’t mind that, he dreaded having to drag you into this hellish world he lived in. Though it seemed as if his hellish world had already dragged you into it without his doing. “You’re sure of that?” he asks impishly, watching as a genuine smile finally erupted across your face.

“Positive.”

“Alright,” he nods, “eventually, then.”

For a moment, the room is silent save for the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock tucked in the corner of the room. Aleister knew what he wanted to say, what he needed to say, but he wasn’t sure how to say it in a way that would convince you he was only looking out for your safety. After the experience you had had tonight, he’s sure you must be on edge and suspicious even of him, considering he was a strange man who had a house in the middle of a haunting forest.

“You should probably stay here for the night,” he explained, taking note of the fact that your face didn’t contort in confusion, a good sign at least. “I’m fairly certain I know who was after you, and I know he’s not one to let up once he has his sights set on someone.” In fact, Aleister knew exactly who it was. Eric Young was one of the best trackers Aleister knew of, and for that reason he knew he had to protect you until he could speak a few words with Eric. It’s not like he’s known you for longer than fifteen minutes, but he knew he didn’t want to see you hurt. And he sure as hell didn’t want to see Eric Young getting his blood fix on someone like you.

“You aren’t going to try to kill me, too, are you?” you joked, soon realizing that maybe it was a little inappropriate given you didn’t really know if Aleister, may actually be just as evil as the man from before. He didn’t seem evil.

He shook his head nonetheless, motioning for you to follow him as he guided you to the room you assumed you’d be staying in. “Don’t let your fear of possibly sleeping in the house of a killer prevent you from getting a good night’s sleep,” he commented, and while he’d meant for it to be a joke about him, you couldn’t help but think about the other man and his sharp teeth and bizarre words. “I promise you’ll be here, alive, in the morning.”

“You can’t break a promise,” you reminded, tossing your shoes somewhere into the black abyss that was the room.

“I don’t intend to.”

With that, Aleister said a quiet goodnight and told you that you could even lock the bedroom door if you were worried. You told him you weren’t, but when he left the room, you found yourself padding over to it and turning the knob counter-clockwise. An audible breath left your chest, relieved that there was at least some protection from whatever may decide to make you their target during the night. And somehow, after stowing away in the blankets, you managed to fall asleep, dreams consuming your brain and replacing any trace of the night’s previous events.

Twenty minutes after leaving you in his usually unoccupied guest room, he finds himself walking towards the door to ensure you’ve succumbed to sleep and will not witness the upcoming encounter. However, when he turns the knob carefully, he finds that it won’t budge; you’d told him you didn’t feel the need to lock the door, but he isn’t surprised when he realizes you had done so anyway. In fact, he’s glad you did. It proved to him that you were careful and smart, that you weren’t a soul awaiting death due to blind trust. Aleister really needed to make sure sleep had overtaken your body, in case you decided to leave the room and found that he was no longer to be found in the house. For a moment, he thinks to use magic – it can’t hurt, it’s just to check on you for a split second and then leave – but he stops himself, convinced you must be sleeping.

With that out of the way, he wanders out of his house, pulling the front door shut loudly because he knows Eric is out there still, impatiently waiting for his moment to strike. Unsurprisingly, Eric lands in front of Aleister, appearing out of nowhere, a little disappointed that it was not the beautiful girl he sought after earlier, though never turning down an interaction with Aleister. Eric tried to get ahold of his magic at any chance he could with no success thus far.

“I know she’s in there,” Eric taunted, a wicked smile cast upon his face as he sniffs the air, eyes shutting in bliss. He can smell you, you’re so close and as a relentless tracker, Eric wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into your neck.

“You are to leave her alone,” Aleister warned lowly, eyes narrowing when Eric laughs manically. He was such a mysterious character that he even made Aleister wary sometimes.

“Well, well, well,” Eric whistled, “things just got real fuckin’ interesting. That your girl, Aleister?” When Eric sees the anger that begins to overtake Aleister’s features, he figures he’s finally hit the jackpot. Finally found a way to get exactly what he wants. “Because I sure as hell would love to sink some teeth into her, drain her real good. Haven’t had a good fix in a loooong time.”

“Enough!” Aleister boomed, seething at the thought of your pretty face going pale as the life was literally sucked out of you. “Stay away from her and find someone else to make your human blood bank.”

“Oh, I’ll stay away all right. If you give me what I want. It’s a fair trade, I’d say.”

Of course there was some sort of deal with Eric Young. While he knows giving this merciless man any sort of magic or power is an awful idea, an idea with the potential for absolute havoc, the only other option is essentially offering your body up for Eric’s next meal. Somehow, the latter seemed ten times worse. God, you’d really lured him in – a siren, perhaps? No, just an innocent human who had enraptured Aleister from the second he’d opened his front door to find you standing there in terror.

“Or, I could take pretty little Y/N the minute she leaves your house and – “

“What do you want, an amulet, sigil? Bray can give you whatever you want, you know,” Aleister reasoned, trying to avoid granting Eric such power in any possible way. Though he knew in the end, Eric would be the one walking off victorious.

A sudden howl echoed throughout the woods, and the pair instinctively looked up to confirm that it was a full moon. Sure enough, the moon was whole and pulling all the lurking werewolves out of hiding. Aleister only knew of one pack, Roman, Seth, and Dean, who he was on decent terms with and could rely on if things truly hit the fan. They knew not to hunt around this area, and so an agreement of sorts was formed. In the end, however, Aleister knew you couldn’t put one-hundred percent of your trust into anyone in this world. It was how his father was killed, and he swore he wouldn’t make the same mistake.

“Guess the Shield brothers are at it again,” Eric smirked, trying to lighten the atmosphere and hopefully loosen up Aleister. “All I want is a spell that I can manipulate myself, kind of like a backup plan if I ever need it; you understand, right, Black?”

What Eric was asking for was far beyond Aleister; he could do it, sure, but it would take weeks and giving such power to Eric without knowing what his plans were was deadly. If only he had just asked for enhanced strength or something simple like that, Aleister could have concocted it on the spot.

“I understand that you’re asking for a potential weapon. I know you, Young. And if you think for a second that – “

“Ah, ah, ah,” Eric waggled his finger in Aleister’s face, “think about the girl laying fast asleep in your house right now. You want her safe, right?”

Aleister was trapped, cornered. He had no choice but to give Eric what he wanted, the magic he had been inching towards for so long. Truthfully, Eric never thought he’d crack Aleister, yet all it took was some random girl and he was putty in his hands. Eric had a plan, yes, of course he did, but it’d take months to enact once he had the spell in his grabby hands. Until then, he’d hide away, letting Aleister believe he was gone for good.

“I give you this and you give up tracking her completely,” Aleister finalized, folding his arms across his chest. He wanted this over. He wanted to crawl into his bed and think about how you had managed to affect him like this.

“You give me this and I forget I ever even saw her.”

And so the deal was done. Eric would soon have a spell that he could use for nearly anything, and Aleister had Eric’s word that he wouldn’t harm you. That was enough for Aleister. When he hit his mattress, he began to wonder if perhaps humans were more powerful than any other supernatural creature. After all, he’d never been this entranced by anyone else but you, a mere human. It made no damn sense.

The night comes and goes, and once you woke up, your memory of the night before had nearly faded to black. You had forgotten all that happened, until you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and blinked away the remainder of it, realizing you were in a room that was not your own. Then it hit you that you were indeed alive, just as Aleister had promised, despite the craziness of just hours ago. Now that the adrenaline had completely worn off, you couldn’t believe you had spent the night in a stranger’s house – a rather beautiful stranger with a crescent moon tattoo that you wanted to reach out and trace lightly – but a stranger nonetheless.

Finding your shoes that had been thrown haphazardly into different corners of the room, you slipped them on and inhaled a shaky breath as you clicked the lock open. If Aleister was awake, you’d give a quick “thank you” before leaving, and if he was asleep, you’d maybe find some random paper and a pen to scribble out a lazy note on. To be honest, his house had an odd vibe to it, and it wasn’t just the strange decorations littering his rooms nor the ancient-looking books. Something just felt off, and although you weren’t necessarily afraid of Aleister, you didn’t want to spend much more time in the horror movie-esque house. It was literally in the middle of the woods, for God’s sake.

Sure enough, Aleister was wide awake and fixing up breakfast in his kitchen, tattooed back facing you from your place in the living room. If he happened to have made breakfast for the both of you, you figured it’d be rude not to stay for just a little longer.

“Morning,” you greeted, instantly feeling weak once he turned around to face you. Something about how he looked now was different from last night, when the house was void of natural light from the sun. His fingers danced around in circles on the counter, raising an eyebrow at the small gasp you emitted.

“Good morning.”

Maybe you’d expected him to say something else, so when he went silent after that, you weren’t sure what to do or say. Was that a sign that you were supposed to say your goodbyes and go back to your daily life? “Um, thanks for, you know, letting me waltz into your house,” your words were punctuated with a halfhearted smile, “and for letting me live to see another day.” He didn’t speak, scrapping a set of pancakes onto two plates before placing it onto the wood table in his makeshift dining room.

“It’s no problem. Try not to get yourself into any more trouble,” he recommended, taking his seat, “I made some for you, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, sure, thanks,” you grinned, admittedly starving from last night. “Really, thanks, Aleister.”

He looked up from his plate for a second, nodding at you, but things were quiet after that. The only sound was that damn grandfather clock and the occasional scraping of fork-on-plate. Silence like this would usually have you clamoring to escape, yet this one was comfortable and serene; you didn’t feel the need to fill it with some pointless small-talk. When both of your plates were empty, you weren’t sure how to end this encounter.

“I guess I should probably go now. Work and all that – kinda forgot I still live a fairly normal life,” you began, taking slow steps towards the front door.

“Normal life” Aleister repeated the words in his head, envied you for them, wished he could say the same. He thought maybe if he was normal, too, you two could be friends. But he knew better than to get attached to you, you in all your naivety, because when word got around that a supernatural being had a human around, things always got bad. Humans were great leverage, a great way to pry whatever you wanted out of someone in exchange for said human’s safety. Put simply, relationships in any form with humans were dangerous, lethal. It made the human a walking target for whatever sick plan someone had, and it made the supernatural weak. They would do whatever it took to keep them safe. Aleister had already seen that affect through the deal he made with Eric. And if he was willing to give Eric such a strong bit of magic after knowing you for such a short time, he could only imagine what he’d be willing to do if he really knew you. He’d probably end anything in his path.

“Take care of yourself,” Aleister advised, meeting you by the door, “I don’t think that man will be giving you any more trouble.”

You wanted to ask how he knew, considering just last night he had said the opposite, but you decided against it. “Eventually,” you remembered. Eventually you would piece together Aleister and the things he knew. For now, he would remain an enigma.

“I hope not. I’ll see you soon, Aleister.”

“Maybe,” he mused.

Right before you stepped out the door, your eyes fluttered to the bookshelves once more. There was one rather thick book sticking out, and you could just barely make out the fancy script on the front. “Witchcraft, Magic, & Alchemy.” Aleister noticed your distraction and turned his head slightly, eyes widening when he realized you were staring straight at one of his books. Before he could say anything, you tossed out a hasty goodbye and began the trek to your house. There was still that gnawing feeling that someone was watching you, and the crunching of leaves around you did nothing to qualm your unease. Once you made it out of the woods, you felt safe amongst the crowd of people and released a bated breath. For now, you were safe. For now.

A few weeks pass by, dragging on like all the rest of them, and Aleister doesn’t see you again. He thinks about you from time to time, that beautiful human that unfortunately crossed paths with a thirsty vampire and wound up at a warlock’s doorstep. And he can’t help but feel disappointed that he hasn’t seen your face or heard your voice since that morning you left his house. He tries to will himself to be grateful, that if he never sees you again you won’t be put in any danger and can continue living the normal life you deserve. His selfish disappointment outweighs his gratitude, and he wonders what would have become of you two had you crossed paths once more. Your voice rings out in his head, the same word over and over. “Eventually.” It seemed like eventually was never going to come, though he couldn’t be surprised. Aleister was almost sure you’d seen one of his books and probably thought of him as a complete freak now – and maybe he was.

And then you came along again, knocking on his door with much less force than last time. When he swings it open and finds you standing there, he almost can’t believe it’s real – had Eric perhaps gotten a spell from Bray to trick Aleister into something, using an imitation of you to lure him in?

Your face was unreadable, but the two words you spoke told Aleister that everything was about to change.

“Fucking vampires.”

#aleister black imagine #aleister black x reader #aleister black fic #wwe imagine #WWE Fanfic #wwe fic #wwe fanfiction #wrestling imagine

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twelvesignsrp · 7 years

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congratulations nicola/lola, capricorn is now coraline “cora” lansbury with the faceclaim aisha dee

APPLICATION

Character Sign: Capricorn

Character name: Coraline “Cora” Lansbury Birthday: 24/12/1997 Sexuality: Pansexual Gender: Cisgendered Female Moon Sign: Scorpio Faceclaim: Aisha Dee please if that’s okay c:

Power

Super Strength — For as long as she can recall, there has been one giant taboo making its rounds through Cora’s mind whenever she was in need of a reminder: giving up was never an option, failure unacceptable. But instead of cracking under the pressure applied on her fragile frame by both her family and herself, she never troubled herself with the prospect of not succeeding for she knew, deep within her, that she would always be stronger than her opponents or the obstacles she was to face. Some might call it exaggerated confidence, its roots untraceable even for her, but her belief in herself has so far secured her a spotless track record. And even if she was to not come in first place, she had always persisted, her endurance admirable enough for her performance to still be considered a victory of a different kind.

What do they study?

With possibilities seemingly endless, Cora struggled to make a final decision for quite a while but eventually wound up opting for International Relations. She has always exhibited a keen interest in politics and the law, in the order of the world and how its staying in tact was to be ensured, even long before she had reached the appropriate age for such worries. While Law and Politics were available separate options, she found her concern for worldwide affairs to be best covered in the major she has eventually chosen.

Biography:

A wide-eyed doll of unconventional porcelain, dark locks sizzling like flames under the force of gushes of wind. Faster. Stronger. Better. It had always been on her to bring glory to the name, never mind the difficulties she had to face others failed to fathom.

A rabbit-hearted girl could outsmart the lazy lion in a heartbeat, for endurance is true strength.

An only child, the Lansburys only hope after so many desperate attempts resulted in nothing but pain and heartbreak, Cora didn’t need to be told that she carried the weight of being destined for greatness on her slim shoulders — yet she would, several times over. Medically, she was considered a miracle (of natural conception, no less), a word that would echo through her mind in the voices of various relatives until she had grown infatuated with its meaning. A Christmas miracle of a child, a wunderkind — an aspiration well suited for a child like her, the girl who always seemed to stand out from the crowds no matter how hard she tried to blend in. Her brows too bushy, her curls too unruly, her smile too wild and forceful; a natural-born outsider among the upper-class crowd, their dullness threatening to swallow her individuality alive if she wanted to stick with them and have a shot at their successes. But a girl as clever as her was not meant to struggle for long, nor to betray herself in favour of conformity.

Instead, a warrior was born amidst a sea of rosé tulle, flashing her fangs at afternoon playdates and digging her claws into the keys to victory: education and training, practising until there was nothing left to learn, nothing left to devour by a soul as eager as hers. Her future shone brightly, kneeling at her feet in an act of devotion, but popularity was a whole other story, a different battle to win. They knew her as an overachiever now, the girl who could potentially help you with your homework but was often too stubborn to do so. Before that, they had known her as the odd one out, a misfit trying too hard to squeeze herself into their pristine puzzle of poshness, and they had never failed to find the right names to let her know she just wasn’t quite right for them. Hardened by the times, she strode on, Coraline the lone wolf, blissful in her own company and that of her family, a loving bunch luckily providing her with a handful of cousins in a similar age group that never allowed her to experience true loneliness. At the very least, she would never be naive enough to trust blindly. A girl with her insight into the human psyche and the different types of people it produced — deep enough to be able to sort them within seconds she would like to think — knows all too well whom to avoid to not get hurt again.

By sixth form, her last struggle had been overcome. Cora had found her kind, a decent sized group of a somewhat snobby but lovable bunch usually knee-deep in first world upper-class problems they at times could have easily averted. No matter how often they implored her not to judge them, not doing so silently often turned out to be impossible but she never saw the harm in loving judgement — even less so since she never once turned them down when it came to trying to find a solution to their woes. And thus the loner became the rock, the fixer, the shoulder to cry on who would catch your head from way up in the clouds and screw it back onto your neck with the support of a logical solution to a seemingly unsolvable issue. Sugarcoating was all but her strong suit but, alas, what use was there in denying the truth if it was your only saving grace; if there was only one way that would bring you salvation and it just so happened to be hers? Can she, in the light of that, really be blamed for not wanting to venture from the tested road she has chosen for herself when all the others look like dark, twisted alleyways leading to doom?

Hardly.

As far as she is concerned, she is on the right track and she has brought proof as well. But go ahead, try and tell her otherwise.

Five interesting facts about your character:

i. Even though starting ballet was originally her parents’ idea for her, she grew to love it almost instantly, the feeling of having complete control over her body filling her with a strange sense of inner peace strong enough to keep her coming back to occasional classes even now. Her studies don’t grant her enough time for regular courses anymore and at times she’s resort to yoga for relaxation but nothing quite compares to the feeling (or pain) of pointe shoes being tied again every to every other week.

ii. Cora, CC, Lin, Lina, Coco, Coral, Corali — she has a great variety of nicknames and willing accepts being called by either of them, though it all depends on your relationship to her whether you are allowed to use a certain name. All of them are availabe to family members and Cora is available to absolutely everyone she knows, simply because she feels Coraline sounds a bit too highbrow to fit her at times, but if you’re not a blood relative, you’ll have to earn the right to use a certain batch.

iii. Another (nerdy) passion of hers are languages and literature. Her library at home was excessive, mostly dominated by classics even though the first book series she fell in love with was, unsurprisingly, Harry Potter (Hermione being the first character she ever identified with), but not at all limited to those or merely English literature in general. She more or less fluently speaks English, German, Spanish, French and Italian at this point and is looking to branch out into the Asian and African continent if she should find the time to acquire more.

iv. People tend to assume she is joking but her instrument of choice and the only one she can play exceptionally well is the ukulele. Sometimes, when is trying to clear her mind, one can find her strumming away on it, lost in thought or composing her own original songs — though she would stop singing immediately the second she realises she has company as her singing voice is one of the few things she isn’t confident in.

v. As a child, she had a pet rabbit called Cookie whom she would carry around with her wherever she was allowed to bring him. Her trust in him was so strong that he ended up being the only creature she would tell her secrets to and thus his demise hit her even harder than most kids. Still, she owns a locket her mother gave her when she wouldn’t stop grieving with a photo of the rabbit as well as a small strand of its fur. She doesn’t wear it anymore but keeps it in her jewellery box and likes to hold onto it for comfort when she is devastatingly sad.

Character Quote

“The water sustains me without even trying; the water can’t drown me, I’m done with my dying.” — The Water by Johnny Flynn

If your character had a patronus what would it be? and why?

Regardless of the fact that she had one as a child, Cora has long since assumed that her patronus would have to be a rabbit. Like her, they are all too often underestimated and deemed weak and cowardly yet they tend to have the upper hand even in very perilous situations, are resilient and clever.

WRITING SAMPLE

The world’s mysteries at the reach of her fingertips; an ambitious dream but hardly out of line for someone as dedicated. She had grasped it all but love, love alone should proof to be her Achilles’ heel. A good generously dished out by her parents, her family, the selected few who had her trust but none of it had been acquired through war, battled for, pursued with utmost urgency. Someone as composed, controlled and seemingly emotionally cold as her had to be too focused to be distracted by sinful, weakening impulses, right?

Alas, her time would come and she would succumb like a moth to the flame, drowning in its waves, forceful as a tsunami. Succumb gladly, until the fairytale turned bad.

Michael had been a good match for her, they had all said so, constant affirmation honey on a greedy winner’s tongue. As per usual, she was on top of the world, one part of the school’s dream couple. The ugly duckling had once and for all become a swan of radiant, unstoppable beauty, making memories she was hoping to cherish forever despite being a realist by birth. Deep down, Cora had known that this would be a fleeting love, like most puppy loves: intense, all-consuming but as quickly to burn out as it had first been sparked. All these nights, wrapped up in each other or out in the countryside with his old Mercedes, silently watching the stars with Cigarettes After Sex on the car stereo — all of them turned into regrets when she could no longer fight her suspicions, with one swift swipe of her thumb. Why did Michael have to be just about the only person on this planet who still didn’t use a passcode for his phone?

She had come out to visit him in his dorm as she did every other weekend ever since he had left for university, being a year her senior, and was waiting for him to return to the bathroom when she just had to give in and choose the worst possible pastime option. Teeth dug into her bottom lip, an inner voice scolding her for becoming one of those distrusting girls who went through their boyfriend’s phones, the kind she deemed ridiculous just a year before but distance had made her see their point all too clearly. Cora squeezed her eyes shut as her fingertip brushed against the green icon leading her straight to Michael’s messages. A pause, a breath, a beat and she pressed down anyway, fluttering lids giving room to widened pupils as her whole world came crashing down. Figuratively, of course, though at the time it felt literal, the weight of it crushing her heart into a billion shards, provisorily patched up by nothing but pure, unadulturated rage.

Her fist curled up around the mobile phone, teeth gritted as she forced herself to take a deep, albeit shaky breath. ‘Be rational,’ Cora’s mind warned her with the warmth of the big sister the universe hadn’t allowed her to have. ‘Give him a chance to explain. Don’t just assume things that fit your paranoia.’ Only that she didn’t have to assume. It was perfectly fucking clear. The phone’s screen cracked under the force of her grip without her even paying attention to it just before the door swung open again, marking the return of a cheerful now ex-boyfriend to be. “Who’s Louise?” was all she could recall herself saying to him, her tone verging on a screeching scream. “Who the fuck is Louise?” Stuttered explanations fell on deaf ears, her vision blurred by anger as she scrambled to her feet, the phone dropping onto the bed and her empty fist now hitting the boy’s chest, once, twice — but not thrice for a soft push had sent him flying into the wall behind him, leaving the two of them dumbstruck with fear.

Panic pushed its way through the raging curtain, prompting Cora to rely on her instincts and flee, her pace steadily sped up until she ran to safety, to her escape, to her car. Instantly, she locked the doors from the inside, fumbling to stick her keys into the ignition but dropping them in shock, her breathing unsteady, eyes glued to the inside of her right palm. Blood dripped from small but undeniable cuts in her skin, some of them pricked by small glass shards driven deeply into the soft surface for which she had only one explanation — one explanation that was, under no circumstances, possible whatsoever. Then again…

Could this really have been her doing? All of this? Hell, she was half Michael’s size and weight. Even the mere thought of her being capable of pushing him into a wall without using excruciating force or of cracking a phone’s screen onehandedly went against all logic. Yet…

It took her ten minutes to finally lean down and pick up her keys. Ten minutes filled with heavy breathing, shivering and tears. Ten minutes and a fuzzy mind fumbling for a reasonable explanation as though its life depended on it. At last, she turned them in the ignition, foot pressing down on the clutch pedal. Perhaps it was her wrath. Perhaps it had become an odd driving force that enabled her to access supernatural powers, like those distressed mothers trying to rescue their kids by lifting cars and the likes. Granted, not the best example but it made some sense, right? Right. Another deep breath as she backed out of the parking lot. That had to be it.

Nothing unsual. All was well. Just your average, enraged girl who had been cheated on. She may have always been a bit of the odd one out but that odd? No fucking way.

ANYTHING ELSE?

thank you loads for taking the time to read my messy incoherent crap!! i haven’t written a bio in months and i’m afraid it shows, unfortunately — & my favourite colour is royal blue c:

#capricorn #accepted

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odetobeapepper · 7 years

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An inconsequential list of nothingness

I haven’t blogged in forever, but I have this ongoing conversation in my head about things I dislike, and potentially, a few things I’m not entirely opposed to. I’m not sure it’s worth reading, but you’ve committed to the first three lines, and you can’t get that time back, so you may as well continue. I can’t guarantee that I haven’t mentioned any or all of these things before. I have a short memory, and a tendency towards laziness, so I’m not going to peruse previous articles for duplication errors. If you choose to do so, it’s on your head, but you’d only be setting yourself up for disappointment. Right now, I’m going to kick back, relax, and let words form (hopefully grammatically correct) sentences:

I’m really opposed to the term “sheeple”. If you don’t know what it means, I’ll save you some googling effort. It refers to people who blindly accept what the mainstream media, politicians, etc. tell them. They can’t think for themselves. It’s a term used by people of a spiritual bent who consider they’ve woken up and escaped from the matrix. I’d prefer if it was a term that referred to people with naturally super-curly hair. That would be adorable. But instead, it’s used by people who considered themselves to be enlightened yet are judgemental of those who have taken a different path in life. And there I go being all judgy about people who judge others. Dang it.

I really enjoy the blackened case of an overly toasted marshmallow. I care nothing for the inside, but give me the sweet charred remains of a marshmallow with third degree burns. Mmmm.... burnt marshmallow...

I feel strangely protective towards Justin Bieber. I don’t really like anything he stands for, his blank expression, his fashion sense, or his poor posture. I do kind of admire how he actually manages to keep his pants up when he wears them below his buttocks. However, I get a bit protective when people criticise him, and I have to start defending him. I really don’t know that much about him, so my counterarguments are pretty hollow and pointless. But I do adore Halsey’s version of his song “Love Yourself”. Do yourself a favour, and watch it here.

I really love it when people said, “I do do” something or other. Few things bring me greater joy than hearing “do” repeated. It’s bloody music for the soul.

I don’t like thinking about things forming a crust. I’m fairly certain that there are no circumstances where crust formation is something I’d support. I’m not even a particular fan of crust on bread. I’ll eat the top and two sides, but I can’t stand it when the bottom crust touches my tongue. It genuinely repulses much. Not as much as the thought of running an emery board across my teeth, but it comes a close second.

I once saw someone drink the liquid from a can of salmon. I kid you not. It really happened. I close my eyes and it’s still the only thing I see.

I’m so glad I haven’t seen Mariah Carey performing in years. I don’t care if she can hit the high notes. It’s like a lot of Kim Kardashian’s outfits. Just because you can, it doesn’t mean you should.

I harbour secret fantasies that one day I’ll switch on my kitchen tap and Tang will pour out. I’m not even sure whether it would be a good or a bad thing. I just know I’d like to live long enough to see it.

I recently binge-watched all billion seasons of the Gilmore Girls. I don’t know why I bothered, because quite frankly, I didn’t really like Lorelei or Rory. I thought Lorelei was quite self-centred, mean to her mother, and overly dependent upon her daughter’s approval. Rory was a baby talker. Enough said.

I’ve never been able to bring myself to watch Grey’s Anatomy because it freaks me out that Meredith’s skin looks slightly too large for the underlying bone structure of her face. Like maybe she’s been sky diving a few too many times...

I recently bought a rice salad which would have been delicious if it hadn’t contained hidden sultana bombs waiting to explode in my mouth. Who does that? Why would you want to ruin a perfectly good salad with frigging sultanas that sat there ogling me with their swollen little dried fruit faces? Even though I was careful to avoid them, I had to look at them as I removed them. I watched their fat squidginess, knowing that I was only one distracted mouthful away from a face full of brown death. It reminded me of that episode of Lost in Space where Judy was in danger of standing on half-buried beach balls. Although they were fairly widely spaced, I was VERY tense.

On a related note, why did television producers always assume we’d be wearing skivvies during the age of space exploration? We’ve got Voyager out there right now, checking out what’s happening around Jupiter and Saturn, but it’s never one made me feel like I’m missing out on something by not wearing a stretchy turtleneck.

On a tangential, but still related, other note, the Opportunity Rover which landed on Mars was expected to last 90 Mars days, but it’s still going strong more than four and a half thousand days later. (Did you see what I did there? I wrote it as a series of words, so it would look even longer.) What a plucky little explorer! I feel kind of bad for its twin, Spirit Rover, which got stuck in loose soil on the other side of Mars. Communication with it was lost on 22 March, 2010. I think it probably just shut down because it believed it was a monumental disappointment. So here’s to Spirit Rover. I didn’t even know you name until a couple of minutes ago, but I wish to thank you for your efforts. I can’t really call you “plucky” because you’re a quitter, but I’d like to award you a participation medal for turning up.

Finally, a shout out to Vegemite. I’ve been scraping out the sides of my Vegemite jar for about a week and a half and I’m still finding sufficient traces under the lip to make my toast vaguely Vegemite. On behalf of this great nation, and its toast eaters, I salute you.

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blogcompetnetall · 6 years

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Nature Are young men in America scared?

Nature Are young men in America scared? Nature Are young men in America scared? http://www.nature-business.com/nature-are-young-men-in-america-scared/

Nature

Media playback is unsupported on your device

Media captionTrump: “Somebody could accuse you of something and you’re automatically guilty.”President Donald Trump said on Tuesday that it was a “difficult” and “scary” time for young men in the US and mocked a woman who says she assaulted by his Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh.Mr Trump was expressing support for Mr Kavanaugh as the FBI investigates claims of sexual misconduct by several women, including Christine Blasey Ford, against the judge.The remarks come a year after the #MeToo movement toppled prominent Hollywood figures and thousands of women shared their experiences of sexual harassment.Donald Trump Jnr has also said he is more worried about his sons than his daughters.Is the president right? Do young men feel under threat, and have any changed their behaviour and views in the past 12 months?Self-reflectionDrake King, an 18-year-old student from Tennessee, told the BBC that he did not feel scared as a young man in college.”I feel comfortable with this social change – it helps me realise what I’ve been doing wrong as a man. Self-reflection is something that most people need,” he says.

Image copyright Drake King

Image caption

Tennessee student Drake King and his girlfriend Maddison McBride

Explaining how he felt he had acted disrespectfully towards women in the past, he believes the guidelines on what is and isn’t OK are now clearer: “It helps to have someone tell me what I am doing wrong.”The feeling that #MeToo was a learning experience for young men is echoed by 21-year-old Ohio student Parker Smith.”Genuinely listening to these perspectives has led me to reflect on my own. #MeToo has helped make me more cognisant of how I handle myself. “#MeToo has led me to do a better job of listening, which has, in turn, prompted me to be more self-reflective and aware of how women perceive my own actions and those of other men.”Court of public opinionBut many advocates of change also express reservations.”When the #MeToo movement started a year ago, I thought it could only be a net gain. But too many mess-ups have happened. I think it’s wrong that it has moved away from a legal court and into a court of public opinion,” says Drake King.”In my own circle of friends, those who are single feel extremely apprehensive about dating – especially if a bad date may have the potential of being interpreted as assault.” Media playback is unsupported on your device

Media captionHow US teens talk about sexual assaultAnxiety about false accusation is at the forefront of some young adults’ minds.One 2010 study found that 2-10% of rape accusations in the past 20 years were proven to be fake. That does not include unsubstantiated accusations where an investigation was unable to prove a sexual assault occurred, so an accurate figure for the total remains unknown.”I was pretty sure sexual assault was more common than society was willing to admit, but I also am fairly certain that false accusations are more common than most of the #MeToo activists would like to think,” suggests Aiden, a 23-year-old student in Arizona.He admits he is more cautious now, including keeping both hands visible in group photos with women.”If society has the duty to protect women from the extreme minority of men who are offenders (and it does have that duty), shouldn’t society also protect men from the extreme minority of false-accusers?” he adds.”I’m hearing, ‘if you don’t believe her claim, you are re-victimising her’. Since scepticism of a claim is heterodoxy, people will accept a claim either blindly or just to avoid being ostracised.”Fear that public opinion is supplanting legal judgement also worries some young men.

Image copyright Adam Peterson

Image caption

Adam Peterson says he does not find President Trump’s comments that young men are scared to be unreasonable

“Frankly, my behaviour hasn’t changed at all since the #MeToo movement,” says Adam Peterson, a 29-year old father of one in Utah.Although he is pleased that survivors of sexual assault have a more powerful platform to speak from, he believes the movement is “overblown”.”I don’t know anyone, myself included, that hasn’t faced unwanted sexual advances. No-one thinks that’s right but it’s also a far cry from rape. Treating these two very different things as equivalent is a disservice to people that have been through rape,” he added.”Guilty until proven innocent is a scary precedent for anyone not just young men, and publicly saying so is a good thing.”InterventionOne 24-year-old recent graduate shared his experience of calling out male colleagues after two women at a previous workplace told him the men had been behaving inappropriately.”The guys had been flirting and it was going overboard – asking the women to go to a club and a hotel afterwards, with the express interest of having sex,” explained Callian Stokes.”Overall the men were very sexist, telling women that moving a chair was a man’s job. We ended up having a meeting to address the issue along with some other interns who were getting too comfortable touching female staff.”

Image copyright Parker Smith

Image caption

“Me Too has helped me to become a better man by leading me to try to see things from a female perspective,” says Ohio student Parker Smith

“I think it’s a scary time for men that sexually harass and beyond, because they are afraid of getting caught or outed. Don’t be a creep and learn to leave people alone if you don’t already know that social skill,” Callian added. Another student said he has called out classmates and teachers at school for saying “boys will be boys” and that girls who dressed provocatively “deserved to be assaulted”.”I was appalled and spoke out against the popular belief that accusers of important figures were lying,” he explained, adding, “to counter the culture I am in, women should be given an equal voice to hold us more accountable”.Ohio student Parker Smith agreed, suggesting that some fear amongst men is a positive step.”If men’s actions have become more cautious out of fear of being accused of harassment or assault, I say ‘good, great!’ They should.”

Read More | BBC News

Nature Are young men in America scared?, in 2018-10-04 01:41:35

#Nature of Business in the Current Market

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algarithmblognumber · 6 years

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Nature Are young men in America scared?

Nature Are young men in America scared? Nature Are young men in America scared? http://www.nature-business.com/nature-are-young-men-in-america-scared/

Nature

Media playback is unsupported on your device

Image copyright Drake King

Image caption

Tennessee student Drake King and his girlfriend Maddison McBride

Image copyright Adam Peterson

Image caption

Adam Peterson says he does not find President Trump’s comments that young men are scared to be unreasonable

Image copyright Parker Smith

Image caption

“Me Too has helped me to become a better man by leading me to try to see things from a female perspective,” says Ohio student Parker Smith

Read More | BBC News

Nature Are young men in America scared?, in 2018-10-04 01:41:35

#Nature of Business in the Current Market

0 notes

internetbasic9 · 6 years

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Nature Are young men in America scared?

Nature Are young men in America scared? Nature Are young men in America scared? https://ift.tt/2P4gyFo

Nature

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Tennessee student Drake King and his girlfriend Maddison McBride

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Adam Peterson says he does not find President Trump’s comments that young men are scared to be unreasonable

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“Me Too has helped me to become a better man by leading me to try to see things from a female perspective,” says Ohio student Parker Smith

Read More | BBC News

Nature Are young men in America scared?, in 2018-10-04 01:41:35

#Nature of Business in the Current Market

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computacionalblog · 6 years

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Nature Are young men in America scared?

Nature Are young men in America scared? Nature Are young men in America scared? http://www.nature-business.com/nature-are-young-men-in-america-scared/

Nature

Media playback is unsupported on your device

Image copyright Drake King

Image caption

Tennessee student Drake King and his girlfriend Maddison McBride

Image copyright Adam Peterson

Image caption

Adam Peterson says he does not find President Trump’s comments that young men are scared to be unreasonable

Image copyright Parker Smith

Image caption

“Me Too has helped me to become a better man by leading me to try to see things from a female perspective,” says Ohio student Parker Smith

Read More | BBC News

Nature Are young men in America scared?, in 2018-10-04 01:41:35

#Nature of Business in the Current Market

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magicwebsitesnet · 6 years

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Nature Are young men in America scared?

Nature Are young men in America scared? Nature Are young men in America scared? http://www.nature-business.com/nature-are-young-men-in-america-scared/

Nature

Media playback is unsupported on your device

Image copyright Drake King

Image caption

Tennessee student Drake King and his girlfriend Maddison McBride

Image copyright Adam Peterson

Image caption

Adam Peterson says he does not find President Trump’s comments that young men are scared to be unreasonable

Image copyright Parker Smith

Image caption

“Me Too has helped me to become a better man by leading me to try to see things from a female perspective,” says Ohio student Parker Smith

Read More | BBC News

Nature Are young men in America scared?, in 2018-10-04 01:41:35

#Nature of Business in the Current Market

0 notes