#where white people judge a person's race based on how light of dark they are compared to Ariana Grande's period of faking being latine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

doraambrose · 2 months

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One thing I wanted to mention with my previous post regarding jason Todd's canonical race is the evidence of eye color. And I know that this is a fictional world full of magic and aliens and resurrection from the dead like daily, but I 100% used this topic as an excuse to do a bunch of research on eye color as a huge science (mainly genetics) nerd. Don't judge.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, I'll link my previous post here:

While it's not impossible for people of races other than caucasian to have blue eyes, it's very uncommon.

Disclaimer: most of the stuff I say is theorized based on our understanding of human evolutionary patterns and genetics, but not everything is officially proven. The conclusions that I draw from the facts I listed are my own theories and interpretations of results, but I could not find a whole lot of information to support or dispute them

Basically, everything I have found to be factual is this:

Eye color is related to the main pigment in the eye: dark brown melanin.

Blue eyes are the result of a genetic mutation that is believed to have been an ancestral founder effect, originating in Europe around the Baltic Sea (theorized, study linked below)

Blue eyes, in simplest terms(because eye color, like skin color, is not controlled by just one gene and can't be determined by a simple momohybrid/dihybrid cross) is a recessive phenotype and brown eyes are considered a dominant phenotype.

Regionally, blue eye frequency is lowest in African and Asian countries, and other areas closer to the equator ( that was my own interpretation of results)

It is theorized that the "original humans" or oldest known evidence of human life were black and seemed to originate in the African region

It is also theorized that caucasians originated due to a genetic mutation that allowed immigrants to populate latitudes where too little ultraviolet B light for vitamin D production penetrates the atmosphere.

It is universally assumed by scientists studying human evolution that the need to make more vitamin D at northern latitudes drove genetic mutations that reduce the production of the pigment melanin

So, what conclusions can be drawn from this?

Well, one thing is that a possible explanation for the lack of blue eyes in people of color is simply that they don't have a lot of ( and for some, if any) caucasian ancestry. That means it wouldn't be possible to "obtain" the blue eye gene genotypes. And since blue eyes are recessive, the only ways a person could have the blue eye phenotype is if both their parents were carriers, one had the phenotype and the other was a carrier, or both had the phenotype. And I know unusual things happen where dark-skinned people have blue eyes, but it's more common for POC to have blue eyes if they have enough caucasian ancestry to inherit the recessive blue eye genotypes.

So what does this have to do with Jason Todd?

Well, him and both of his biological parents had blue eyes. That + their pale features (and Sheila's blonde hair) mean that they're all most likely white or more caucasian than any other race.

Even Willis. Even if certain other features provide some evidence of asian or indigenous ancestry, his last name + his blue eyes show that he's most likely more caucasian than any other race.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk and thank you for letting me geek out about the wonders of eye color genetics and how it relates to human evolution.

If you're also into that stuff, here are the studies I referenced:

#jason todd #batfam #red hood #batman #dc comics #bruce wayne #dc universe #dcu #dick grayson #nightwing #eyes #eye color #latino jason todd #genetics

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alatismeni-theitsa · 3 years

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Wait, I'm confused. Would it be so bad to have one of the gods or goddesses be black or a little dark skinned? Aren't there black people in Greece? I'm not saying the whole pantheon needs to be black or is historically black, but still. I do get where you come from tho with how people think they can rewrite the myths to their liking as though it doesn't belong to a culture.

Short answer for this question, "please follow the ancient texts and depictions of the culture as the natives of the culture have done for millennia, because ancient deities from another culture aren't your coloring book".

Long answer:

Dark-skinned in the Mediterranean sense, it's fine, because that's also in the ancient depictions and it reflects the appearance of the local people. But I sense you are seeing this matter as "white supremacy" of some sort and that's why you are focusing on the Black "race". In reality, the iconography excludes even the most light-skinned Russian.

"Aren't there black people in Greece?" Yes there are (even though veery few compared to the country's population. Greece is among the least diverse countries on the planet). But also consider: Aren't Black people in China? Aren't Black people in Mexico? Aren't Black people in Mongolia? Aren't East Asian people in Congo? Aren't White (e.g. Slavic) people in the Arabian Peninsula? Do you think each country should change the depictions of their gods to suit the minorities in the country each century? Countries worldwide never did that. They keep the ancient depictions of their deities and the deities reflect the appearance of the local people.

Greek people also do that and have done so for millennia. The sudden decision for "diversity" after 2.000 years later came not from the Greeks who preserved the culture, but from the US Americans who started the trend so the Greek pantheon can reflect their own society. This shows a type of ownership by the US over the Greek pantheon.

Since these people have grown too familiar with Greek antiquity (a superficial image of it, mostly) they have adopted an imperialist stance towards our deities. If the Americans (people on the other side of the Atlantic) judge our pantheon as "too White" then that's the global standard, all of a sudden.

This doesn't happen with mythologies the US people (I would also put Northwest Europeans) are not interested in. For example, would you go to a Mongolian person and ask "sorry but why can't we make your gods Black? Why can't we make them look Cherokee? Why can't we make them look Korean?"

Well, technically you can (and gods can transform), but I hope you can understand why you as one person and as an outsider changing Mongolian deities wouldn't be the politest thing to do. Such changes aren't for a few people outside a culture to decide. This isn't for a few people inside the culture to decide. The shift must come from the culture itself in a way that reflects the opinions of the majority.

((Aka not your 1-2 young Greek mutuals on Tumblr and TikTok, but even my yaya on the mountain and my theia on the shore should be ok with it. Also, most Greeks as of now feel very uncomfortable with the appearance changes in our gods. If you go on the streets and ask Greeks about the matter, the majority will say "wtf my dude? Why would you even do that?" And yes, that includes dark-skinned people.))

For many people on the Western side of the internet to extend the same courtesy of the Mongolians - in our hypothetical scenario - to Greeks is very difficult. The reason is they don't see the Greek pantheon as our heritage. The Americans think they have broken free of the colonization mindset of the antiquity stealing Europeans but they are wrong. They still see the Greek pantheon as something theirs, with the younger often perceiving it as characters from a very cool fandom. (No, the Greek gods aren't just "cool deities I learned about in school" for Americans and that's it. There's millions of Greeks who still consider them extremely important for our tradition, and part of our national identity).

In some cases, US Americans feel they are the continuation of the "western civilization" so the gods belong to them now and can change them as they see fit (or "appropriate"). Meanwhile, they don't know how the average Greek even looks/-ed like. Or whatever they know is mostly based on 40's racist propaganda - that's why they often tell Greeks they don't "look Greek". (see my tag #greek speaks) I don't need to spell out how absurd the whole thing is.

Take a look at my F.A.Q. in the section "What’s this “don’t change the depiction of the gods” all about?" There the mindset of the most privileged nations for the Greek pantheon is best described and it covers different scenarios and also Greek history. It's long but a serious disentanglement must be done because this is deep-rooted imperialist thought that must be undone.

There are also the tags #race bending or/and #racebending for more.

#answered #racebending

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alexaplaysgames · 3 years

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Title: Thrice as Pretty as you Think

Pairing: Felix Escellun x GN!Reader

Description: You make sure Felix knows how pretty he is.

Genre: Fluffiest fluff :)

Notes: Because I’m dying waiting for the next Felix update. Based off of this Q & A response which broke my heart.

You slowly blink your eyes open, inhaling the scent of fresh cotton that laces the sheets beneath you. You stretch, slow and lazy, with the hurriedness of a person still intoxicated by the last of the sleep in their veins.

Dust motes dance through the streaks of light that part the thick curtains, little white speckles illuminated by beams of gold. A peaceful, soothing lull washes over you, fed by the steady silence and the warmth of the body next to yours.

Felix’s dark hair splays against the pillows, his chest gently rising and falling as he breathes, steadily and constant in a strangely soothing manner. Little specks of light reflect off his eyelashes, illuminating the faint freckles around his nose.

He looks so incredibly soft, in this tender moment; it’s as if for once he has allowed himself to drop the tireless charade, the feigned indifference he often sports. He doesn’t look so angry with the world, or with himself.

You shift a bit closer, as close as you can allow yourself, letting the sheets slide over your back and hips as you move to rest on your elbows. You must look incredibly infatuated, borderline obsessed, you decide, staring at your lover while he sleeps in such a peculiar manner. You simply cannot help it. Pity the person presented with such raw beauty and not allowed to gaze upon it devotedly.

You stare. You admire. You trace the curve of Felix’s jaw, his lips, with your eyes, not daring to touch. You do so for long enough that your elbows begin to ache against the mattress, thus you move to relieve the strain, slowly-

Not slowly enough. Too careless. The bed frame creaks and sways as you shift your weight. Your heart does a flip in your chest, your mouth going dry as your morning brain registers the consequences of you actions.

Felix’s eyes flutter open, the grey of his irises meeting yours. You watch confusion crest across his features at the sight of you almost kneeling over him, then something decidedly fond taking its place.

His voice is still thick with sleep. “What-“

Your mind flips through a few possible responses before you settle on honest. Your hand cups his chin, a fleeting and momentary touch, before you smile in a way that you hope comes off as warm and unabashedly kind.

“I just wanted to look at you. You’re pretty.”

Felix looks much more awake after that comment. He flushes a deep red, eyes wide, before he turns and buries his face in the pillows with a noise not unlike a squeak.

You laugh under your breath at his reaction, now freely moving closer to drape an arm over his waist. “You are so pretty, Felix.”

It takes a moment for his breathing to steady, his heart racing almost as if he were terrified. When it does, he rolls onto his back, the sheets rustling under him. His gaze shifts across your face, as if trying to decide whether you’re telling the truth.

Apparently, he finds in your features whatever he was searching for. Felix leans up on his elbows and softly presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he falls back against the mattress again.

You grin. “Pret-ty.” You tap his nose as you enunciate each syllable, as if by doing so you can assure they stick in his mind.

Felix rolls his eyes and groans, the action betrayed by the flush that once more coats his cheeks, before he hides his face against your chest.

———

“Will you not even entertain the idea?”

“Entertain the idea? The idea of what, precisely? Of debasing myself to cater to people who have nothing better to do than showcase their wealth?”

You half shrug at that. It’s not as if he’s wrong, exactly. But it also isn’t as if he has a choice.

Felix turns back towards the mirror and sighs. “Isn’t it at least a bit amusing to talk to them?” you ask. “I know you love deep conversation.”

He snorts. “I fear the nobility are lacking when it comes to ‘deep conversation’. They’re more concerned with the depths of their pockets.”

Now it’s your turn to sigh. Felix can be tirelessly argumentative sometimes. Your eyes find your own reflection in the vanity mirror, standing, and Felix, who sits on the stool in front of you. You look fetching, if you do say so yourself, as does he. The both of you dolled up in clothes that Escell has deemed worthy of his presence.

Or, at least, not deserving of his embarrassment.

You eye the wide array of jewelry that lines the vanity’s black marble, rivers of necklaces dotted by gemstones, broaches, and hairpins. Your attention snags upon a pair of earrings, and you lean forward at the waist to pick them up.

“What are you doing?”

You don’t reply, and Felix watches as you hold the earrings against his ears, matching them to the colour of his eyes.

Aventurine, you would have to guess, if asked to name the stones that sit amidst the gold. How do you know that? Well, it’s definitely not because you went through a phase in the eighth grade. Certainly not.

You thumb his earlobes. “Can I take these out?”

He nods. You can feel his breath against your face as you unfasten the studs in his ears. You bite your lip in concentration as you replace them, and you can almost feel the weight of his gaze along your mouth.

“There,” you hum once you have finished your task. Felix turns and examines his reflection. You prop your chin on his shoulder and brush his hair behind his ears.

“You’ll be the prettiest noble in the room.”

Felix nearly chokes, his expression immediately turning flustered. He laughs a bit self-consciously under his breath, before he turns to look up at you.

“Only because you’re not nobility, my dear.”

Smooth, you think. At least, I’m not yet.

———

“You did not have to accompany me if you’re merely here to be captious of my choices in literature.”

You snort, attempting to stifle your laughter through pressed lips. “I’m sorry.”

Yeah, even you have to admit that you sound anything but.

Felix glares at you, stormy eyes narrowing to slits as he snatches the book from the shopkeeper. “You undoubtedly are not.”

“I am.”

He sighs. “Fine,” you acquiesce, “I apologize if I find it just a tad bit amusing that you read smut.”

“It is not smut!” he exclaims, then lowers his voice at the stares of the market dwellers that pass you by. “It’s artistry.”

Right.

You both make your way through the maze that is the crowd of people littering the streets of Porrima. The air is thick with the scent of spices, the voices of sellers ringing clear through the air.

You glance down at the cobblestone streets and, as soon as you do, hear a sharp smack from your right, the thud of a heavy book hitting the ground.

“Nice book, pretty boy!”

You look over your shoulder just in time to see the person who just shoulder-checked Felix disappear around a stoned corner.

Felix glares after them, his jaw clenched. With his lip curled and his eyes flashing green, he looks angry in a way you’ve rarely, if ever, seen him before. Then he sighs and his shoulders fall. He bends to pick up the fallen book, dusting it off with his jacket sleeve. He mumbles under his breath in Velan, words that you assume aren’t especially kind.

“Hey,” you say, placing a hand on his shoulder, your eyes searching his face. “Look at me.”

He does, though his features look rather lifeless. “I am fine,” he insists. “It’s not as if being mocked for my appearance is a novelty. I’ve heard it all before.”

He goes to step away from you but you stop him, grabbing his sleeve.

“You are pretty, Felix.”

His lips part as if he wants to protest, or question, but you continue on.

“You’re beautiful. I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

He’s just staring at you now, unblinking. Is he alright? No matter, you’re sure he understands the depths of your affections, despite the brevity of your declaration.

Then he places a hand on your cheek and kisses you, chaste but affectionate, in the middle of the street. Where people can judge, where his father will inevitably receive word of your “relations”. For Felix, it’s the equivalent of writing “I love you” with the strength of a thousand suns.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, grazing his forehead against yours before he pulls away.

You think that if that is what you get for calling him pretty, you might just take to doing it more often.

Tags: @demon-paradise @themohawkhelmet @cactus-hoodie @aomiyeon @piningmaybeanartist @another-confused-gay @uselessbeanies @nomnomcupcakesworld @druwuuwu @kirakiratears @margitartist

Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed.

#Felix Escellun #Felix x MC #Last Legacy #Fictif #Fictif Last Legacy #Felix Iskandar Escellun #Fluff #Fanfiction #Fictif Felix #Felix x Barista

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zc-ethicalissues · 2 years

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Racial Profiling; an Ethical Issue!

Welcome back to Ethics 101! 😁

Today’s blog will feature racial profiling and state how is this an issue within the field of criminal justice. Have you ever been searched simply because you were of a specific race? Have you ever been stereotyped or became a suspect simply because your looked, dressed, or spoke in a certain manner? Well, if yes, you have been a victim of racial profiling; an action that has become second nature to many criminal justice practitioners.

Racial Profiling refers to the act of judging various individuals based on “stereotypical assumptions because of one’s race, colour, ethnicity or otherwise”(Ontario Human Rights Commission, n.d.). In Jamaica, citizens are typically judged as criminals or not based on the colour of their skin among other factors which is somewhat unbelievable since most Jamaicans are of African descent. Naturally light-skinned Jamaicans are usually given a preference, while Rastafarians, dark-skinned Jamaicans, individuals who have “bleached” to obtain a lighter complexion, and other groups of people are judged. Racial profiling is also dominant globally, for example, in America since recent times where blacks are being targeted frequently and being stripped of their innocence. One such case is the popular case of George Floyd, an African-American who was killed after a white officer handcuffed and pinned him to the ground with his knee on his neck even though he was unarmed and innocent (New York Time, 2021). The officer did not tell Mr. Floyd a reason for the stop which forces one to believe that it was an act of racial profiling rather than reasonable suspicion. Are you seeing the ethical issue here?

Is this Justifiable?

It may be easier to judge someone based on their race, colour or ethnicity especially if they are a part of a group that possess negative characteristics; additionally, it is easier to create a cluster based on probability and assume that all members of that group are the same. However, this does not make racial profiling justifiable or ethical! Racial profiling is never acceptable because the system should demonstrate justice and fairness rather than bias and racism. Every individual should be “innocent until proven guilty” despite their race, ethnicity or being a part of a specific group!

Negative Effects of Racial Profiling in Jamaica’s Criminal Justice System

There is a possibility for the wrong individuals to suffer or become subjected to harsh treatments.

Citizens tend to become alienated or feel like outcasts- detached and isolated from society.

Creates distrust for and hate towards law enforcement officials.

Social divide/ community division

Creates fear among innocent citizens and young children

What can/should be done?

Criminal Justice practitioners should be properly educated on racial issues so that they will no longer be a part of the problem. These practitioners must be able to focus on criminal profiling rather than racial profiling and refrain from using their personal opinions to judge citizens. Criminal profiling has been proven to be quite effective since it relies on actual criminal behaviour and information regarding the suspect of the crime. Law enforcement officials should use their discretion but at the same time, they should let one’s actions speak rather than allowing their race, ethnicity, looks or company/group to decide their fate.

Educate Yourself, and Make the Right Choice! Stay Tuned for More- Zorian Clarke

References

New York Times. (2021, November 1). How George Floyd Died, and What Happened Next. https://www.nytimes.com/article/george-floyd.html

Ontario Human Rights Commission. (n.d.).The effects of racial profiling. https://www.ohrc.on.ca/en/paying-price-human-cost-racial-profiling/effects-racial-profiling

Ontario Human Rights Commission. (n.d.). What is racial profiling? (fact sheet). https://www.ohrc.on.ca/en/what-racial-profiling-fact-sheet

#law #criminaljustice #crimjus #ethics #morality #unethical #police #lawenforcement #NCU #student #profiling #racialprofiling #criminalprofiling

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dc41896 · 3 years

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Warm Welcome

This is based off the adorable instastory of him holding the puppy☺️ (Please don’t judge my overly soft, emotional self lol). Like other people, I thought about what it would be like if he was holding a baby instead, so this popped in my head and I hope you guys like it! Also sorry if it’s a bit short.

Pairing: Chris EvansxBlack Reader

⚠️: None all fluff💕!

The setting sun outside casts an orange hue throughout the quiet house while you sit at the long, wooden dinner table anxiously bouncing your knee. You tried to focus on the words of the magazine in front of you as you sipped tea from the Christmas themed mug, but can only think about how your husband would walk through the door at any minute.

After being away filming for what felt like the longest three months you’ve ever experienced, Chris was finally coming home and you couldn’t be happier. Not only so you could hold him and snuggle into his side like you loved to do, but also for him to finally meet your son.

As luck would have it, a winter storm cancelled all outgoing flights from his location in Canada, and with his strict schedule it made it nearly impossible for him to come home. You’d never seen him so hurt when he FaceTimed you from the private lounge of the airport with red, puffy eyes saying he wouldn’t be able to be there when you gave birth. Of course Chris offered countless times during your recovery to catch a red eye so he could see you both, but you couldn’t let him tire himself out traveling back and forth in the span of hours.

So until he could be home for good, you settled on video calls when he was free, updating him on Elijah, Dodger, and yourself. No call ever seemed to last long enough though.

Padding against the floor, the light jingle of metal brings your attention to an excited looking Dodger lying his head in your lap nuzzling your arm with his nose for pets.

“Hey Dodge. You excited about daddy coming home too?,” you speak just above a whisper, hand smoothing down the brown hairs on top of his head as he peers up at you. “Honestly I’m a little nervous. I know I shouldn’t be and I’m probably just overthinking, but what if your dad and little brother don’t get along?”

Licking your palm, his paw reaches up to rest on your knee making you giggle as you bend down hugging the relaxed looking pup. “Yea you’re right bubs, everything’s gonna be fine and I need to calm down.”

The knocking of keys against the front door cause Dodger to race to the foyer leaving your heart pounding in your chest as you stand up to follow the blur of brown and white fur. Just hearing his voice as he played with his best friend; laughing as the hyper dog nearly knocked him over almost brought tears to your eyes the closer you stepped towards the noise.

Stupid hormones making you even more emotional than usual.

You weren’t even able to entirely round the corner before you felt strong arms lifting your body and holding you close as his lips molded perfectly with yours in a kiss so long overdue, neither of you wanted to stop so you didn’t have to go without the feeling anymore.

“Hi,” he whispers, bright smile spread on his face with lips still dangerously close to yours.

“Hi,” you giggle pecking his a few more times after as if trying to savor the feeling.

You knew he wouldn’t change during his time away, but that didn’t stop your hands from finding his cheeks as you took in his familiar features. Thumb lightly brushing over the new cut trailing from his eyebrow to the outer corner of his eye, he softly chuckles turning to kiss the inside of your wrist. “I’m fine. Just a little accident on set.”

“I know. I’m still not over you trying to hide it from me though.”

“I didn’t want you to worry, I’m sorry.” Batting those long eyelashes as his bottom lip pokes out, your smile interrupts your joking glare as you kiss his lips once more.

“You and your son with those eyelashes and that pout.”

“How is he?,” he asks, eyes lighting up as he places you back on the ground.

“Good, but you can come see for yourself.” Taking his hand, you guide him to the living room where the sleeping baby sat in his motion swing being gently rocked. You could practically feel Chris’ excitement radiating off him as he gently squeezed your hand following close behind.

“I-I don’t want to wake him or make him upset,” he stammers as you cut off the machine and unbuckle him.

“It’s okay, it’s about time for him to get up anyway so I can change him.” Passing Elijah on to your husband, you see him slightly tense as he craddles the now wiggling baby in his arms.

“He’s okay right? Or does he not like lying like this?”

“He’s fine, he’s just waking up,” you smile grazing a finger over Elijah’s chubby cheek to get him to calm down. “Who is that Eli? Is that daddy? Say hi daddy, me and mommy missed you!”

“I missed you guys too,” he sniffles playing with Eli’s hand as the curious baby looks up at him with Hazel eyes. He told himself not to cry, but finally seeing his child in person and getting to admire everything about him from the dark curls growing in at the top of his head to his cute button nose and tiny feet currently covered with white socks, the tears seemed to come naturally as he lifted him to lie on his shoulder. “God, he looks just like you Y/N.”

“Yea that’s what everyone says,” you smile, sniffling yourself as you wipe his tears. “He has your smile though, and freckles like you.”

“And he’s grown so much already!”

“I know! It kinda makes me emotional, but I know he can’t stay a baby forever.”

“I just wish it wasn’t going so fast. Or that I didn’t miss everything.”

“You didn’t though. Yea you missed some things in the beginning, but you’re here now,” you respond hugging his waist. “Plus it’s not your fault. Being away is just one of the crappy things that comes with the job.”

“...You’re not mad at me are you? For not being there?”

“No, of course not. Although we didn’t see it coming, we both knew that was something that could happen. Again, you not being there was work related, which I understand. It’d be different if you were off drinking with friends and missed it, then I’d be pissed,” you answer making him chuckle.

Lifting his tiny head the best he could, a short noise comes from Eli’s mouth before he smiles staring up at his father.

“See? Eli understands too,” you laugh kissing Chris’ cheek.

“Thank you bud,” he laughs kissing the top of his head. “Now, fill me in on what you and mommy have been up to.”

He carefully sits down on the couch continuing his “conversation” with his son making single noises as if trying to speak himself. Quickly opening your phone, you start to record their adorable talk as you sit down beside them smiling to yourself.

“Wow you guys did all that? I hate I missed it,” he responds gently rubbing his back. “I’ll tell you what though, daddy’s gonna take a bit of a break from work so he doesn’t miss anything else you guys do. How does that sound?”

Giggling with his fingers in his mouth, both you and Chris laugh as he leaves multiple small kisses on his temple.

“I think he’s fine with that,” Chris answers winking as you end the video.

Taglist: @fumbling-fanfics @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @maxcullen @literaturefeen @damnitaa @curlyhairclub @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy @scoop93535 @secretmysteriousperson

If anybody wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged but don’t see your name, only want to be tagged for certain people I write for, or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

#chris evans #chrisxblackreader #chrisxwoc #chrisxreader

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hisui-cotton · 3 years

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So two things to prelude this post, one is that today on twitter #boycottGenshin trended at the start of the day, and #DoBetterMihoyo taking over by the end of the day and I'm on the side of do better because I think Genshin is early enough in developments that they (Mihoyo) need to learn these lessons earlier (before they get to countries that will be affected by however they are portrayed) and make this great game incredibly better. The second is there is no reason that the development team of Mihoyo should be using indigenous people to baseline their monster species even for simple dances. Make your own "wild" dance, don't perpetuate a savagery being associated with indigenous cultures.

I made first a Twitter thread over here that generally summarized my feelings on the matter at the time they were occurring.

Oh one other thing I guess before I start, T1J does a great video on Tokenism vs Diversity, and why the difference is important to understand the similarites between the two. It's based around understanding where the mindset of these social terms come from and why it's more important to understand how to better be diverse in a genuine sentiment rather than simply by quota inclusive characters. Simply looking up Tokenism in youtube is a great way to hear black voices talking about it as well, not everyone has the same exact feelings on how it's overall done in media or how they feel about it, and how not all Tokenism is based around the black community but minorities in general including LGBTQA+.

SO. The problem isn't the inclusion of the characters, or even that thier personalities reflect thier diversity. It's the development choice in how thier wordings of the characters, just on surface levels, can be a dangerous mindset to get behind.

The first thing that should be said is there is no problem in making it important to include other characters of color, and there's nothing wrong with them being bold. It's that when next to the other playable characters, Kaeya and Xinyan are not just wildly eccentric, but are portrayed as such even more so than others characters on specifically a surface level of appearance. This is all "murky" because I believe there may be great intentions behind Mihoyo including them at all, it just needs to be kept in mind there's a pattern and token feeling to how they're doing it, thus making the details of the characters stories feel disingenuous.

Kaeya is specifically called "exotic" multiple times. Both by Paimon, who is a space child, and the very description of his appearance is "Kaeya is a tall young man of lean build with dark skin, noted to give him an “exotic” and foreign look" its specified that his skin color is what makes him exotic. It may be to "hint" that he literally isn't from Mondstat (although Dainsleaf is questionable then) but it's really off putting that his skin color, rather than something like his diamond iris, is what's emphasized here. There's nothing wrong with him being black, there's nothing wrong with him standing out but to single his skin color as being other, strange, and the thing about him that is unique, isn't kind even when meant to be. They're trying to emphasis that he's handsome partially because his skin is darker. It comes off kind of like a fetish. Its being said it was a translation error but the fact that it was translated as such an error is important. It was seen as being okay to translate as such in localization. Part of the inherent need to not make it about race but still emphasis that race is important is there in that word choice or someone just didn't think it sounded wrong. It has been that way from the game's release afterall.

The inclusion of diversity in Mondstat could be better on its surface level as well. It's a town that has scholars coming to study there, though at the moment aside from Albedo the only other scholar I can think of is Sayid. He's an NPC from Sumeru, a yet to be seen country but seems based around Egypt, Arabia, and India. In fact there are several other NPCs from Sumeru, and unfortunately they're all very white. It's somewhat easy to say "they're just place holders for later" but how long is that? Will it be long before the implementation of Sumeru, or will it not be till its release? Will they even become people of color later, I mean you're just making a guess and hoping when you say "they're place holders". This is where ranging skin tone, and learning how many darker skin tones there are is important. It allows you to really diversify your world and feel inclusive at the very least.

Xinyan's story is difficult to get around. In some ways whether people realize it or not her story has an edge of progressive desires. What Mihoyo doesn't realize is they can't emphasis a fighter of prejudice, and have her appearance be one of those reasons she is ostracized, and then say that it's based purely by her clothing appearance. Saying it's because of her clothes is one thing, saying it's her performances literally burning down the stage is one thing, but for people of that skin color it sounds like excuses being made to judge her other than skin tone, when that's what they may want to judge her by. That doesn't mean every character is secretly judging her by skin color, and it doesn't mean there are purposely racial undertones but everything setup around her, allows for it to be there.

For some people it's a welcomed character story actually, a young asian-black girl from the country pioneering an innovation to music with the knowledge of her home and style of a foreign country. It's just sad that she is the only asian-black character in Liyue and can't connect with the others because of prejudice, the same way it's sad to see Kaeya is the the only black man in Mondstat and is still seen as highly different in the city he's lived in since a young age. I said it earlier too but a few more shades of darker skin tones really would have gone a long way for these characters inclusions. Xinyan is a wonderful character with a heart big enough to want to fight prejudice and be accepted by her own people. I'm sure that she's not the only one though.

I don't think there is actually any difference between the model and art skin tones either. They both at default have Xinyan with a dusty dark skin tone exactly like Kaeya. The model's skin can become lighter during the day, and darker during night since there are actual light sources. The fact that she and Kaeya are the only two dark skinned characters and there are only two countries so far though, says something about a quota of making sure there's black people within the game. That in of itself makes all that character story, for either character, come off as fake care about their stories

I can't even summarize my thoughts to end this, and there's a lot of people who feel differently than I do, I'm just laying out what could be done better and make the natural and interesting characters not feel disingenuous in thier implementation to the game.

That all the thoughts I have right now but if I have more I'll definitely continue this post through an edit-and-reblog post.

#genshin #genshin impact #do better mihoyo

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hysterialevi · 3 years

Text

Vargr - An AC: Valhalla Fanfic

Fanfic summary: Sigurd finds Eivor after a vicious wolf attack and brings him to safety.

Point of view: third-person

Fanfic idea by @molstkiwi (thank you for the suggestion!)

This story is also on AO3

SOMEWHERE IN NORWAY

NIGHTTIME

He could hear them.

He could still hear their screams.

Even though the gods had carried him far away from the mayhem wrought by Kjtove’s hand, Sigurd could still hear the hurricane of distant shrieks that clung onto the air, and traveled endlessly into the night’s abyss.

There was a line of fire sitting just above the horizon, and even though his vision had been impaired by a disorienting blur, Sigurd could see the longhouse crumbling into ash as the flames of Múspellsheimr itself ravaged the very bones of its structure.

As for Eivor -- the boy was nowhere to be seen.

He was thrown off their horse when Kjtove’s men shot it down, and much to the boy’s dismay, Sigurd had landed on a crown of rocks just above the frozen lake that he himself had been trapped on.

There was no one else to rescue them at the moment, and it didn’t seem like anyone was coming anytime soon.

“...E-Eivor...?” Sigurd murmured weakly, writhing in the snow. “...Are you there...?”

He planted a firm hand against the rock, trying to push himself up. His head was still throbbing from the bash he endured earlier, and despite his attempts to ignore it, an intense pain now battered his skull, racking his brain like the strike of a club.

“...Eivor...” Sigurd repeated, his voice scraping against his throat. “...Where... where are you...?”

Rolling onto his back, the boy turned around to face the vast blanket of darkness hovering above him as a string of turquoise lights rippled through the void, painting the land below in a shimmering haze.

He could see a lone raven circling in the air like a messenger sent from the Allfather himself, and in the midst of all the different sounds that clouded his ears, Sigurd heard the creature let out a single caw, crying out to him as if it were beckoning the boy to follow.

He didn’t know what was going on, or if Eivor was even still alive, but for some reason, Sigurd felt a newfound panic gripping his chest, causing his body to stir once more.

“...Eivor...!” He said as loudly as he could, “...say something...!”

Contrary to what he expected, someone actually responded this time.

“Sigurd...!” A familiar voice cried out, followed by the distant growling of a wolf. “Help me!”

A sharp scream suddenly pierced through the shadows, shattering the stillness of the night.

Sigurd jerked his head up in alarm, realizing what was going on.

“Eivor!” He exclaimed, forcing himself up from the rock. “Hold on!”

Practically throwing himself over the edge, Sigurd instantly climbed off the small cliff he had landed on and hurriedly made his way down to the bed of ice, desperately trying to reach his younger brother.

The boy had gone silent ever since he let out that scream, and considering how there was now a pool of blood spreading out from underneath him, Sigurd assumed he had already been mauled -- if not killed.

“Stay back!” He shouted as he descended onto the ice, trying to lure the wolf’s attention away from Eivor. “Leave him alone!”

Flicking his eyes across lake, Sigurd spotted an axe lying on the ground and immediately darted for it, doing his best not to strain the ice beneath his feet.

He wrapped his hand around the hilt and hauled the weighty weapon up from the ground, slamming it in the wolf’s direction as the blade went slicing through its fur.

“Get away from him!” Sigurd yelled, raising his arm as he prepared to deliver another blow.

Just before he could cut the wolf down however, a storm of ravens suddenly soared through the air and targeted the beast with a relentless hostility, forcing the wild creature to retreat into the woods.

He didn’t know where on earth these ravens had come from, or why they decided to help, but they seemed to share his protective nature and scared the wolf away from the fallen child, giving Sigurd the chance he needed to save him.

“It’s okay, Eivor...” he whispered softly, sliding the axe into his belt. “Just hold on. I’m going to get you somewhere safe. You’re going to be alright. Just please, hold on...!”

Slipping his arms underneath the boy, Sigurd lifted Eivor into his embrace and quickly rushed him away from the brutal scene, not wanting to run into any more of Kjotve’s men.

He had no idea where his father was, or if he had survived the raid, but just based on the muffled shouts he heard echoing in the distance, Sigurd knew Kjtove’s clan had begun to spread out into the wilds -- possibly to search for survivors -- and were rapidly nearing his location.

“Shit...!” He cursed under his breath, bringing Eivor into the woods.

Weaving his way through the cluster of trees, Sigurd trudged through the thick snow as his boots sunk into its depths and slowed with its persistent clutch, wearing him out more and more with every move.

The orange glow of nearby torches could be seen painting the white bark of the woods around him, and in the beams of its light, Sigurd saw the menacing shadows of Kjtove’s men slithering along the uneven surface of the trees, dancing like ripples in a lake.

At first, they didn’t appear to notice the boy, but after an unfortunate step on a fallen twig, they suddenly heard an abrupt snap, causing them to jolt their heads in his direction.

“Over there!” One of them alerted, pointing into the forest. “There’s someone in the woods!”

Picking up his pace, Sigurd instantly broke into a sprint upon hearing the man’s cries and charged through the seemingly endless labyrinth of trees, swiveling around the plethora of arrows that came flying towards him.

The light of their torches was growing brighter with each passing second, and once Sigurd reached the edge of the forest’s hold, he found himself running out into the open, leaving him completely vulnerable to their attacks.

“Get the horses, you fools!” A man ordered. “Don’t let him escape!”

Tightening his grip on Eivor, Sigurd mustered as much strength as his body would allow him and bolted across the frozen fields, fleeing for his life at a pace that he didn’t know he was capable of.

Meanwhile, Kjtove’s men fervently galloped towards the boy from behind and trampled their way through the barren meadows, causing the earth to tremble underneath the strength of their mounts.

A hurricane of snow billowed in the raiders’ wake, and as they chased Sigurd into the uncharted corners of Norway’s wilderness, a flock of ravens began gathering above them, gliding along with the wispy movement of the Northern Lights.

“Don’t give up now!” They shouted. “We’ve almost got him!”

Whipping their reigns with a firm tug, Kjotve’s men urged their horses to go faster as puffs of mist rose from the animals’ flared nostrils, spreading into the ice-cold wind that was currently searing into their flesh.

In the meantime, Sigurd continued with his journey and frantically searched the area for any means of escape, only to spot a bridge sitting quietly in the distance. It spanned across a wide river that divided two large rock formations, and had nothing more than a few strings of rope to hold it in place.

It was narrow, rickety, and weathered with age. If Sigurd could get across, it’d be the perfect opportunity for him to trap Kjotve’s men on the other side.

He decided to go for it.

Ignoring the intense ache that now gripped onto his legs, Sigurd clenched his jaw in pain and rushed towards the bridge, practically levitating off the ground with how fast his feet were moving. Kjotve’s men were no more than a few meters behind him now, and if he didn’t get to the bridge in time, they’d soon cut him down like they did with the rest of Eivor’s clan.

Racing towards the edge of the cliff, Sigurd didn’t even spare a second thought before sprinting across the bridge’s loosened planks of wood, causing the structure to wobble under his weight.

By now, some of Kjotve’s men had dismounted their horses due to the small width of the bridge’s path, but based on the fact that they were unsheathing their weapons instead of chasing after him, Sigurd realized that they were planning to cut him down first.

“...No, no, no, no...!” He muttered to himself, making haste for the opposite side.

But it was too late.

Just as Sigurd began to step off the bridge, he suddenly felt the wood beneath his feet collapsing into the emptiness below, urging him to throw Eivor onto the solid ground ahead of him.

Meanwhile, Sigurd’s heart froze in fear as he plummeted towards the raging river, causing him to let out a panicked shout. There was a multitude of jagged rocks sitting in the water, and as he watched Eivor’s unconscious body vanish into the distance, he could’ve sworn he saw the gates of Valhalla themselves, waiting to welcome him.

Right before he could fall to his demise however, Sigurd suddenly felt something wrapping itself around his arm, holding him in place. He was suspended in the air like a fish on a hook, and upon gazing upwards into the illuminated sky, Sigurd saw the stark silhouette of a man holding onto his wrist.

A breathy chuckle escaped his savior’s lips, leading the boy to instantly recognize his voice.

“I got you, you crazy boy...!” Styrbjorn called out. “Come here.”

Letting out a strained grunt, the battle-worn king steadily pulled his son up from death’s embrace and hauled him onto the ground next to Eivor, sighing in relief once he was safe.

It looked like the rest of Styrbjorn’s clan had already regrouped with their leader, and judging by the small crowds of people scattered around the region, Sigurd assumed that most of them had survived.

“Father...!” The boy exclaimed, panting out of fatigue. “I... Kjtove’s men... they... they almost...”

Styrbjorn placed a comforting hand on Sigurd’s shoulder, looking him in the eye. “Breathe, boy. You’re safe now. You have nothing to fear.”

His son gestured to Eivor. “But... Eivor...”

Following Sigurd’s gaze, Styrbjorn’s eyes widened in concern when he finally noticed the wounds embedded into the child’s neck, leading him to cradle Eivor in his hold.

“Blood of Tyr...!” He whispered in shock. “What happened to him?”

Sigurd crawled next to his father. “A wolf attacked him after we fled the village. I tried to help him, but I... I was too late. It already bit his throat. He could die, father! We... we need to--”

Styrbjorn held up a reassuring hand, observing Eivor’s injuries. “--Worry not, my son. We will help him. He’s not beyond saving just yet.”

“...And his parents? What about them?”

The king’s expression sagged with grief. “...They’re both dead, Sigurd. Kjotve slaughtered them in cold blood just before you arrived. I’m afraid Eivor is the only one left.”

Sigurd stared at the man in disbelief. “...What? It’s just him? There’s no one else?”

Styrbjorn shook his head. “Not that we know of. But let us not dwell on that. There will be plenty of time for mourning later. Right now, we need to focus on getting Eivor to safety and mending these wounds.” The man stood up from the ground, carrying Eivor in his arms. “Thank you for saving him, Sigurd. You did well today.”

The boy remained seated on the ground, still worn out from the chase. “I haven’t saved him yet. Just, please... make sure he’ll be okay. He’s... he’s like a brother to me.”

Styrbjorn nodded in understanding. “I know, son. We’ll bring him to Svala. She will take good care of him. You have my word. Now, come along. We should get out of this treacherous place whilst we have the chance. Kjotve’s men still lurk in the shadows.”

He turned to the rest of his clan, raising his voice so they could hear him. “Everyone! It’s time to move out! Stick close, and keep your eyes sharp.”

Standing up from the snow, Sigurd mirrored his father’s actions and followed the trail laid out before them, gladly removing himself from the threat of Kjotve’s clan. Every fiber in his body wanted nothing more than to collapse into the comfort of a warm bed, but for the time being, he was just relieved that he had been able to get Eivor away from that wolf.

Part of him feared that the boy had died already when he first saw him. He was just... lying there. Like a discarded doll. Lifeless, defenseless, robbed of everyone he loved most in life. The gods had been cruel with Eivor’s fate today, and Sigurd was not eager to tell him all that transpired once he awoke.

For now though, he simply kept his mind on the task at hand. If Eivor was going to survive, he’d need Sigurd to be at his best. And he did not intend to let him down.

“Sigurd!” A man called out, drawing the boy out of his thoughts.

“Gunnar,” Sigurd replied to the blacksmith. “You made it.”

“Indeed. One of Kjotve’s rats nearly planted his blade into my heart, but by the grace of the gods, I live to fight for another day. Though, I’m more concerned about you. How do you fare, little drengr? You seem distressed.”

Sigurd brought his gaze back to Eivor, watching in worry as Styrbjorn carried his limp body away.

“I fear for Eivor’s life, Gunnar. He may not be dead yet, but what if he dies before we get him to Svala? He doesn’t have much time left.”

The blacksmith patted Sigurd’s back, attempting to calm the boy’s nerves.

“Do not underestimate Eivor, Sigurd. He is young, yes, but he has the blood of warriors running through his veins. He is stronger than he looks. You know this.”

Sigurd didn’t share Gunnar’s confidence. “But he’s just a child. A boy. Braver men have fallen to the kiss of a wolf in the past. What makes you so certain that he’ll survive?”

“Because the Nornir gave you the chance to save him,” the blacksmith answered. “You had half of Kjotve’s clan chasing you through these woods, and yet, against all odds, you made it out alive. Why else would the Nornir spare you like that, if not to save Eivor’s life? That boy has always had the gods’ favor. They will not let him die without a fight, and neither will you.”

Sigurd took Gunnar’s words to heart. “Well, that’s one thing you’re right about.”

The blacksmith smiled warmly. “Do not fear, my prince. Eivor will pull through. You’ll see. It will take more than an oath-breaking leech like Kjotve to bring him down.”

Gunnar picked up his pace, walking ahead of the boy. “Come, now. We shouldn’t linger. Eivor’s life teeters on the brink of death, and whether or not he is pulled back from the edge depends on us. Especially on you.”

Sigurd shrugged. “How much can I do? I’m no healer.”

The other man chuckled. “You mean, aside from rescuing him from a wolf and escaping the clutches of Kjotve’s raiders? You may not be a healer like Svala is, Sigurd, but you have your own ways of saving people. And that’s why you’ll make a good king someday. I can tell.”

Gunnar beckoned the boy. “But enough about that. This night has been long, and we have many dead to send off to the corpse hall. Your father is going to be a busy man in the days to come, and he will need you at his side. ...As will Eivor.”

#assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #eivor wolfkissed #eivor wolfsmal #eivor varinsson #gunnar #styrbjorn #ac valhalla fanfic

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pbscore · 3 years

Note

(Asking bc you're afrolatino, I'm not asking any nonblack people)

(I'm also gonna preface this by saying that I do think it's very important to acknowledge white-passing privilege and colorism, and that I am in no way trying to deny those or claim some kind of reverse-bigotry exists based on them)

I've been seeing a lot of people on twitter saying that mixed people / "people with a nonblack parent" shouldn't call themselves black and should just identify as mixed / biracial (other thing). Similarly, after that one african studies professor was revealed to be a race faker a-la rachel dolezal I saw a lot of people saying if people like mariah carey didn't call themselves black this wouldn't happen. Do you have any thoughts on any of this?

Yes, I have one thought and it’s pretty simple: that discourse is counterproductive as hell and WRONG.

Mixed race people who have a black parent or (immediate) grandparent, are black lol there is no debating that and I can guarantee that most of that ‘discourse’ came from (predominantly) white kids on TikTok and Twitter who literally just heard the terms ‘white passing’ and ‘light skinned’ and started ‘calling out’ black creators online for being ‘too light’ or some other vague bullshit that they clearly know nothing about 😂

In my opinion anon, I wouldn’t give any of that ‘discourse’ attention because it’s full of misinformation, internalized antiblackness, and nonblack ‘allies’ trying to police the diversity of how black people should/should not look or act based on a shallow understanding of what black culture even is.

I’ll use myself as an example: I grew up knowing I was light enough to have certain ‘conditional’ privileges in spaces that were predominantly white in that I was often seen as ‘a good one’ by white folks against my darker skinned black peers. This is an awful thing that sets far too many black folks apart and contributes to colorism in the worst ways. However, being lightskinned didnt mean I didn’t have obvious, non-European physical features like my hair, nose, skin, and lips. I was still ‘dark enough’ in spaces where I was clearly the only black person in a sea of nonblack people and experienced blatant racism.

I also lived (and still do) in rural areas which made it almost impossible to ever avoid any kind of racism, so if we were basing ‘blackness’ off of those particular experiences...then plenty of lightskinned/white passing mixed folks have experienced it, trust me. Unfortunately, many of them can fall into line with internalizing hatred for their blackness but that’s a conversation for another time.

If I were to show my family tree, which I’m still discovering more of to this day, you could clearly see that all of my grandparents from Puerto Rico are Afro Latino. They have dark skin and tightly coiled hair. Our entire culture is literally a mix of African, Taíno (indigenous), and Spanish (colonizer) traditions, food, music, etc.

So it bugs me out when anyone, black or nonblack, tries to assert themselves as some kind of ‘judge’ over who is really black based solely on conditional acceptance from the white majority and not on like, that person’s actual heritage and cultural background.

I know plenty of black kids, who are not mixed race, who felt deeply ostracized within the black community because they may have grown up similar to me: in predominantly white spaces and/or they’re neurodivergent, so they don’t ‘get’ a lot of typical black cultural norms or their way of speaking sounds ‘too proper’ and they can’t ‘code switch’ (in other words, they sound ‘white’).

Also...MARIAH CARREY IS LITERALLY BLACK BECAUSE OF HER FATHER...WHO IS BLACK 😂 She has the right to claim that just like any mixed race person with a black parent, can. Race faking is something that self-serving white saviors do to infiltrate black spaces in order to gain a level of respect and trust among black people and then become some sort of ‘figure head’ in our movements. It’s not the fault of mixed race black people, whether they’re lightskinned/white passing or not, that shit like that happens. It’s literally just a white person, who’s getting too big for their britches and has a massive ego. That’s why that happens 😂 WTF sense does it make to blame other black people...for other nonblack people’s choice to race fake??

Even here on tumblr, it’s happened a few times (mostly among ace/aro exclusionists but again, that’s a convo for another time lol).

#asks #anon #long post #racism #antiblackness #colorism #this is just my opinion and i’m open to having a conversation with other black folks about it #but all i ask is that we be respectful when talking about this topic

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dudeandduchess · 4 years

Text

Rating/Genre: NSFW, Modern AU Characters: Rengoku Shinjurō x F!Reader, Mentions of Sanemi x F!Reader Chapters: 2/10 Summary: Shinjurō and (Y/n) are in a D/s arrangement, but he wants more so he tries to lay the world at her feet in the hopes that she would say yes to being his. Unfortunately, (Y/n) shoots him down every time, since she’s not swayed by his money or influence.But Shinjurō is more determined than ever to keep her, so he will stop at nothing to keep her for himself. Warnings: Smut, Daddy Kink, Spanking, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, D/s Themes, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Unsolicited (but not unwanted) Dick Pic

NOTE: Thank you so much for all the feedback, bbys! I honestly didn’t expect this to get the attention that it’s gotten so far. LIke, omg. I’m so happy. And just... thank you! 💜✨

***

(Y/n) raced through the dark streets, revving up her car’s engine as she overtook two cars on the highway. Normally, she would be much more careful because she didn’t want to get caught for speeding, but she wanted to get back to her house and change as soon as humanly possible.

If it meant seeing Shinjurō sooner, then she would risk it and break a few speeding laws. After all, it wasn’t something that her PR team couldn’t sweep under the rug.

She shifted gears the moment she passed the two other cars, going up to the sixth gear to increase her speed— effectively leaving her non-competitors behind in the dust. And in no time at all, they were nothing but a speck in her rearview mirror.

Had her lover seen that little stunt, however, she was sure that the self-satisfied smirk on her face wouldn’t even dare to show itself. He would most likely punish her for being so reckless, even though she was more than capable of handling herself; though, she didn’t really mind his punishments.

From its magnetic holder on the dashboard, her phone lit up with a notification which read:

My cock’s so hard, baby.

She almost swerved right into a barrier when she read it, because it had her feeling all sorts of horny— enough to make her mind focus on nothing but Shinjurō’s dick for a brief second.

And, to make matters worse— or better— her phone pinged once more with a preview of an image that made her mouth go dry. Immediately, her index finger swiped the message open and typed in her passcode.

“Fuck me,” (Y/n) muttered under her breath, while her gaze flickered between the picture of Shinjurō’s cock on her phone, to the road ahead of her.

The head was already leaking precum, while his hand gripped the base of his erection to show her that he was already getting started without her. The vein that ran along his length was so pronounced as well— making her lick her lips subconsciously. She wanted nothing more than to have that inside her— either in her mouth or her pussy, or even her ass; she didn’t really mind as long as Shinjurō fucked her.

At that thought, she shook her head and focused on the road instead of her own lust. It was difficult, since her eyes always strayed over to the picture on her phone— but she locked the device to help her focus on her main task of getting home in one piece.

After a few more minutes, and haphazard drifting around sharp corners, (Y/n) finally made it to her sizeable home in the middle of Azabu.

To say that she was impatient as she waited for a housekeeper to open the gates for her was an understatement. Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel incessantly, while her eyes stayed on the dormant phone on her dashboard.

Her hands itched to reach out and reply to her lover, but she didn’t want to frustrate herself even more. Because to feed in to his teasing was to fuel her own desires, and she didn’t need herself feeling so overly horny while making the half hour drive to their home.

(Y/n) hit the horn twice once more, before sighing huffily and turning off the lights as well as the engine. She got her purse from the passenger seat, then threw her phone in it, before exiting the car and locking it behind her.

She looked up at the tall gate in front of her, then at the ode to modern Japanese architecture that was her house— before sighing once more. If she were to be honest, she preferred the warmer aura that hers and Shinjurō’s home radiated, as opposed to the cold and foreboding atmosphere that the house in front of her exuded.

If she could live in Saitama permanently with the Rengoku Group’s Chairman himself— without being judged for it— then she would have done so in a heartbeat.

But that was nothing but a pipe dream. She wasn’t deluded enough to think that he wouldn’t eventually get tired of her.

Her heels clacked against the pavement, as she walked up to the smaller side gate and pressed the doorbell incessantly. After waiting for almost a minute, she was close to bursting with irritation that she wanted to yell and throw a tantrum, but she held herself back as one of her housekeepers answered.

“Oh my, (Y/n)-sama,” The older woman gasped out; her words colored with fear as she saw the dark look on her mistress’ features. “The young miss is here. Hurry.”

No matter how hard she tried to keep herself from doing so, she still found herself glaring at the older woman. Normally, she was nice and extremely considerate of her housekeepers and other employees, but one thing she hated was being kept waiting.

“Just let me in,” The (L/n) heiress growled out, before adding, “Please.”

The moment that she heard the lock on the gate unlatch itself, she marched through and closed it behind her— unmindful of the barrage of people headed towards her with panic clearly displayed on their features.

She wanted to be mad, as they weren’t alert enough to have heard her blaring her horn in such a quiet area but— at the same time— she wasn’t so stuck up in her ass that she didn’t think that they had nothing else to do other than wait around for her. Partly, it was her fault for not telling anyone that she was already on her way back.

But it wasn’t the time for that discussion at that moment. So, she pressed her car keys into hands the first person to reach her, before saying, “Please take the car inside and put it in the garage. And also, please get the white Civic ready.”

***

After changing into less flashy clothes— which consisted of a plain sundress and sandals— she immediately set off towards Saitama, with just one short text to Shinjurō:

I’ll be home soon, daddy.😘

And she was. In her haste to see him, she cut her travel time by ten minutes. However, she didn’t even bother to stow the car in the garage— as it was seemingly plain for the purpose of not arousing suspicion.

Instead, she left it out in the driveway; out in plain view next to Shinjurō’s grey 2019 Mazda 6. She was confident enough to park it out there, even though their home didn’t have an actual gate, but merely had high concrete fences to ward people off their property.

Almost the entirety of Japan knew that she drove a Porsche Panamera— and had owned much flashier cars before that— which stood to reason that no one would think that she would drive a seemingly-plain 2018 Honda Civic.

It wasn’t part of her plan to get it at first, but when Shinjurō had pointed out how her car was going to be easily recognizable, she immediately made an investment— by using one of her housekeepers to purchase the car under their name.

The plan wasn’t entirely foolproof, as it could still be traced back to her if the media tried hard enough, but it was the best solution that they could come up with— so that (Y/n) wouldn’t have to rely on a driver or anyone else to drop her off.

(Y/n)’s fingers fiddled with the key fob in her right hand— more in restless anticipation than anything else— before locking the car behind her.

She then fished for the keys to the front door inside her bag and quickly entered the house. No time was wasted after that, as she locked the door behind her and immediately stripped herself of her clothing.

“I’m home!” Her voice rang out in the seemingly empty home, as she placed her purse on the table right by the front door.

Shamelessly, (Y/n) flung her dress to the floor, before unhooking her bra clasp and throwing the lacy material at her feet as well. She would have to pick those up in the morning— but she couldn’t care less about those now.

All the while, her feet brought her closer and closer to hers and Shinjurō’s bedroom on the second floor, and she could feel her anticipation building up inside her. Because, after almost two weeks without seeing each other, she was going to finally be with him again.

With only her panties on— the very ones that her lover claimed were his favorite— the young woman entered their bedroom.

Shinjurō’s cock was still so hard even though almost an hour had passed since he’d sent the dick pic, since he merely kept stroking it to keep it ready for his baby.

Slowly, a smirk lifted the corners of his lips, and he crooked his right hand’s index finger at her. “Come here, baby.”

Nothing and no one could have kept (Y/n) from following her lover’s orders, even if they tried.

She practically skipped over to where he was on the bed, before moving to straddle his hips. “Hi, Daddy.”

Slowly, the older man’s hands made their way into her hair— tangling in the soft strands before tugging gently. He then pulled her down for a chaste kiss. “Did you miss me?”

“I did, Daddy. So much.” (Y/n) nodded, and leaned down once more to taste his lips a second time.

“Were you a good little slut for me? Did you touch yourself while I was gone?”

“I didn’t. I promise. I was a good little slut for you.” She purred, before nipping at her lover’s lips. Her heart was racing so uncontrollably in her chest with just a kiss from him, and that was one of the things that she loved the most about being with him— simply being near him sent her heart out of control, in a way that Sanemi never could.

“Really now?” Shinjurō chuckled, as a self-satisfied grin made its way onto his lips. “Turn around and show Daddy that tight cunt.”

Instantaneously, (Y/n) got off of her lover’s hips, before getting down on all fours near the end of the bed. And she almost mewled when she felt Shinjurō’s warm hands squeeze the globes of her ass, before taking her panties by the sides and pulling them down to her knees.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking wet already. Such a filthy fucking slut.” The older man growled, before bringing a hand down and landing a spank on one of her ass cheeks.

The action made (Y/n) gasp in surprise, before devolving into quiet whimpers when her lover began landing hit after hit on each of her cheeks. Every sufficient slap had her gripping the sheets tighter, as her toes curled in pleasure.

She’d mentally counted up to ten, when she felt his warm breath fanning across her slit. “I’ve missed this pretty little cunt.”

And with that, Shinjurō licked a stripe up her folds, teasing her entrance with the tip of his tongue before moving down to take her clit into his mouth. He gently nipped at the tiny nub, playing it perfectly with his teeth, while his tongue flicked it back and forth.

(Y/n)’s moans were so sinful and loud, as the room was soundproofed specifically because Shinjurō loved to hear the noises she made while being pleasured.

“Please, Daddy! I’m so close,” She pleaded desperately, as Shinjurō didn’t let up on his assault on her pussy. Her thighs quivered uncontrollably, while her hands pulled at the sheets beneath her, so he decided to have mercy on her and let her cum.

After all, he loved his baby too much to let her suffer any longer.

His fingers joined in the foray; with his index and middle finger sliding inside her tight cunt and making scissoring motions to prepare her for his cock. However, it was when he curled them and began pumping his hand that she let out the loudest moan he’d heard from her.

Apparently, being subjected to almost two weeks without any sexual relief had taken its toll on her.

“That’s it, baby. Tell Daddy how much you want it, and then I’ll give you my cock,” Shinjurō muttered gruffly, as he kept pumping his fingers in and out of her. “You want that, don’t you? To take Daddy’s dick like the cockslut that you are.”

“Yes, Daddy! I want you to feel your cock inside me. Please fill me up with your cum. Please!” (Y/n) cried, almost desperate as her last plea came out like a sob from her lips.

And in turn, Shinjurō relented and pulled his fingers out of her— lifting them up to his lips and sucking them clean— before gripping his cock with one hand, while the other held her left hip. Then slowly, he pushed the head of his dick inside her; which earned a relieved moan from his younger lover.

“Thank you, Daddy,” She murmured through blissed out sighs. “Thank you. Fuck-”

The last exclamation had been gasped out, as he pushed his cock all the way in and hit the entrance of her womb in that one move. And slowly, he pulled his dick back out— letting the head drag along her tight walls— before thrusting back in, and slowly establishing a rough and borderline punishing pace.

Every thrust had her ass jiggling so beautifully, that Shinjurō couldn’t resist not landing a few more smacks to the already-red cheeks.

(Y/n) was close to delirious with pleasure, as her lover worked her expertly. Both hands were once again on either side of her hips, as he practically slammed himself inside her. Her arms shook with the strain of being fucked so roughly until, eventually, they gave in.

It left her with her cheek pressed against the mattress, but she couldn’t care less if her makeup got ruined. She would rather have had it ruined through sex than through anything else, really.

And when she thought things couldn’t get any better, Shinjurō leaned down over her and pressed his lips against her shoulder. He then trailed kisses up to the crook of her neck, which highly contradicted the brutal pace that he was fucking her in, before biting down on her sensitive skin.

It wasn’t a hard bite, but it was enough to have her eyes rolling to the back of her head— as her neck was one of the most sensitive areas on her body.

“Fuck, baby. I’m going to fill you up with so much cum that you get pregnant,” The older man muttered gruffly against her skin, then trailed his lips up to her ear before biting down on the shell of it. “You want that don’t you? To get pregnant with my child, so that we can stop fucking hiding.”

The last bit shook (Y/n) out of her sex-induced reverie, but she could only gasp as her lover readjusted the angle of his hips so that he was brushing against all of the right spots inside her with every drag of his cock along her walls.

She couldn’t deny that she wanted that— badly— but she also knew that it wasn’t the wisest choice for both of them. Being together publicly would cause so much controversy; and that would spell disaster for both of their careers.

Still, she didn’t have the heart to tell him no— at least, not while she was getting fucked within an inch of her life.

Once more, a hazy cloud of lust fogged up her brain, and she found herself moaning so wantonly as Shinjurō kept fucking her. Every thrust brought her closer to her own orgasm, until the tight coil in her abdomen felt like it had snapped.

Her pussy clamped down on his cock, while her walls pulsed around him while her orgasm coursed through her— as if trying to milk all the cum out of him. Still, through that, Shinjurō kept moving his hips as he tasted his own release on the tip of his tongue.

The hands on either side of (Y/n) balled themselves up into fists, while the man above her pushed his hips flush against her ass— if only to press the head of his cock right against her womb as he painted her walls with his cum.

Completely breathless and nowhere near sated, Shinjurō leaned down once more and pressed his lips to the back of (Y/n)’s neck. “I’ve missed you, baby.”

Masterlist

#rengoku shinjuro #rengoku shinjuro x reader #shinjuro rengoku #kny shinjuro #kny x reader #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #jen writes

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writing-hound · 4 years

Photo

Tiniest glint of Hope:

Reading: Daddy!Protective!Pansexual!Hamish Duke X Little!Trans!Reader (FTM)

Warnings: Hard/Soft Core Fluff | Profanity | Soft Violence | Slurs (Fag, Queer, Etc.) |

Summary: Hamish and Y/N Have never met before in their life. Maybe in class, but that doesn't really count considering he is your professor. You liked Professor Duke in a way that isn't appropriate for school. But who's to judge you? As the weeks went by, A few male students have been picking on you; they were hearing rumors that you were a girl and now wanting to be a guy. What happens when they get too physical?

Word Count: 2443 words

Abbreviations: Y/N = Your Name | Y/E/C = Your Eye Color | E/C Eye Color | Y/L/N = Your Last Name

A/N: If you want more content, comment below! I love to hear from you guys!! I might make another part to this, so watch out for it in the near future!!

I have been in this class for a while now. This was Ethics, one of the classes I just got signed up for because I had some free room in my schedule. And boy was it the best decision of my life. The only problem was that there were a couple of boys in the class who liked to harass me. One time they even tried lifting up my shirt to see if I had tits. Which I don't, since my parents saved up for me to have top surgery.

Best day of my life.

Now, I sit in Ethics, listening to Professor Duke talk about things I don't really understand, but I jot down the notes anyways. When The professor turned around to write something on the white-board, something was thrown at me. It hit me on the left side of my head and I gave a very low, very quiet growl out of reaction.

What was their problem? I thought as I picked up the waded piece of paper and read it.

Dear Loser, You will never be a guy. Signed, real guys.

I rolled my eyes and crumpled it up again, glaring at the small group of boys that are a few tables away. That made them all laugh.

"Ms.- er, Mr. Y/L/N? Something you want to share with the class?" Professor Duke asked, his face showing mild curiosity and concern. I shook my head. "No," I said in a quiet voice. I never liked being called on, especially in class.

Professor Duke gave a shrug, and resumed his lecture. I sulked in my seat until the bell rang for class to be over. As soon as it did, I was up and out of my seat and heading for the door. When I reached the hallway, I looked around to see if anyone was there.

Coast being clear, I leaned against the wall for physical and emotional support. I wanted to cry. It was too much. The paper was still clutched in my shaking hand as I thought about it. And the more I thought about it, the more angrier and pissed off I got.

Suddenly, hands were on me. Boisterous laughter carried through the halls as I was dragged into the boys bathroom and shoved up against one of the walls. Whoever it was had ahold of my shirt and my glasses were knocked off, making the figures fuzzy.

But I can only imagine who it could be, based on drowning in cheap cologne and testosterone. I tried to scream, but a hand was over my mouth.

"Scream and you'll get hurt," One said gruffly.

"Hey, boys, shall we see if this 'man' has tits?" The one holding me asked the others. I began to cry as I tried to kick at my captor. I bit the boys' hand, and he gave a yelp as he drew it back out of reaction. This gave me enough time to give out a scream before the boy popped me in the face with his palm. When he did that, I felt my nose bleed, it running down my 'Doctor Who' shirt. By this time I was hyperventilating, my lungs refusing to bring in air.

I needed my inhaler.

"What did I fucking tell you, you fag?" the boy hissed in my ear. "Fucking queers thinking they can do whatever they want, and whoever they want-" The boy raised his fist this time, intending on hitting me, but was stopped as the bathroom door opened. I didn't see anything except a blurry figure, but the voice sounded so familiar.

"What's going on in here, boys?" Professor Duke asked. "I really hope you're not picking on Y/N."

The boy holding me dropped me real fast. "No, we were just showing this fa- I mean, we were talking to Y/N ," He said. I took a deep breath as they backed away and past the Professor.

As they left the bathroom, Professor Duke rushed over to me where I was heavily leaning on the wall trying to bring air into my lungs. I fumbled for my backpack, trying to get my inhaler out, but my hands were shaking too hard for me to grab ahold of anything. My shallow breaths quickened as I tried to breath, fear taking hold of me and making my breathing worse.

I'm gonna die.

Professor Duke's hands found mine as he looked at me. "Hey, it's okay," He said quietly, taking my bag and sifting through it to find my inhaler. Once he found it he helped me use it, taking two deep breaths.

"T-thank you, Professor D-Duke," I stuttered out, my heart beginning to stop racing in panic. The professor gave a shrug. "It was nothing," He said, giving a sweet smile. "Did you need me to walk you to. . . somewhere?" He asked.

"No, i-it's fine-" I cut myself off as I heard the bathroom door open. I jumped at the sudden noise, flinching. Professor Duke noticed and faced the person who was there, standing in front of me protectively.

"Oh, hey Hamish," The person said. He was tall, had dark, short hair, and had that goofy aura around him. Other than that, he was a blur without my glasses. This person obviously knew him well enough to be on a first name basis.

What if he's gay? The thought came fully formed in my head, and I pondered it.

"Hey, Randall," Professor Duke said, which I almost missed. "What are you doing in the bathroom?" Randall asked. "Isn't it a bit too, unsavvy for your taste?" He joked.

Obviously Randall hadn't seen me yet, considering how small I am compared to Professor Duke. "Um, I was helping out Y/N. Some guys took her- I mean, them in here to do... I don't know what," He replied, stepping out of the way so this Randall person could see me. Randall's eyes widened as they saw me.

"Dude, you gotta wash your face," Randall said, stating the obvious.

"Thanks, Sherlock," I mumbled sarcastically. "Anyone seen my glasses? They were knocked off and I can't really see without them," I asked the two. Both guys started to look. Professor Duke found them outside of the bathroom on the ground. "Here," he said gently, holding them up for me to take the gold blurry shape I knew was my glasses. My glasses looked like those ones my grandparents wore, and when I saw them in gold, I had to take them. I didn't care how I looked, I loved them that much.

Finally being able to see, I looked at both my Professor and his friend Randall. Randall was kind of cute, in that goofy, puppy sort of way.

I turned around and began to clean myself up. I first did my nose, which didn't take long, and then I started to wipe the blood off of my shirt.

"You guys don't have to be here," I said, not looking at them, but through the mirror. "Thank you for coming to my aide, Profe-" I was cut off by Professor Duke. "Please, call me Hamish," he said.

"Okay, Hamish, thanks for coming to my aide, but you don't have to be here puppy guarding me." I finished, not looking up and focusing on my shirt.

Hamish and Randall both gave a laugh. Once it had died down, Randall said, "Let Ham take you home, it will be much safer for you,"

Hamish gave Randall a look of 'why did you do that?' and looked back at me. I could have sworn there was a glitter off hope in his eyes.

I gave it some thought. I want him to walk me home, but at the same time it would be a big waste of time for him...

"Ah, what the hell," I finally said. "You can walk me home, I guess," I almost didn't catch the smirk that Randall gave Hamish, and in return, Hamish's glare. I gave it no thought as I grabbed my bag, tossing my inhaler into it, and walked out of the bathroom with both boys in tow behind me.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

On the walk to my housing, things were quiet.

"If you don't want to walk me home, I get it, you can leave," I said, anxious thoughts making me think I am a waste of time. Hamish stopped, causing me to stop as well. I looked over at him.

"Hey, I want to do this. If I didn't, trust me, you'll know," Hamish said. We continued walking in silence, until this time, he broke it.

"Do you always get bullied like that?" Hamish asked.

"Yeah, most times though it's notes, rude comments, or drawings. It was never like that, though." I responded. "That was a first," I joked uneasily.

"What kind of notes? Like the one today you were reading in class?" He asked, this time there was a hint of a growl. Weird.

"Yeah, I still have it for some reason-" I pulled out the wade of paper and handed it to Hamish, our hands brushing for a moment. He read it and as he did, his hands curled into fists. "Fucking idiots," he seemed to growl.

I saw his eyes flash a light blue, then back to his regular blue-grey. I think I'm smoking too much weed, I thought as I quickly looked away. "How long has this been going on?" Hamish asked, crumpling the paper in his fists.

"For a few weeks now. It was whenever those morons heard that I had gotten top surgery-" I cut myself off. "I don't think you really want to hear about it," I mumbled, looking away and picking up my pace.

Hamish easily caught up to me, his long legs eating up the distance fairly easy. "No, I asked. What's 'top surgery'?" He asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, uh, top surgery is when a, um, girl like myself doesn't want breasts anymore-" I gave a sigh. "I'm bad at explaining things," I said. "It's like... reconstructing your chest to accommodate for what you want," I said, looking down at my shoes.

"I think I got it," Hamish said. "You don't want to be a girl anymore, right?" He asked. I gave him a nod. "Yeah. It never really felt right," I said, giving a smile. "I don't really care what people call me really, if they knew me as a girl before, and they slip up and call me 'her' or 'she', I wouldn't care. It's just how people disrespect me, like those boys, that bothers me," I said.

Hamish looked at me with soft eyes. "I promise that it will never happen again," I scoffed. "What will you do? Walk me everywhere?" I asked, jokingly. "I don't think that would be wise, considering that you are a teacher and all, kids will start talking,"

"Let them talk then," Hamish said, strolling to a stop. I stopped in front of him. "Why do you care so much about me anyways?"

Hamish seemed torn in telling me something. He finally gave a sigh, opening his mouth. "Well," He started slowly. "What if-" He cut himself off and rethought what he was gonna say. "What if I liked you?"

"Are we speaking hypothetically? Or reality?" I asked. "Cause I highly doubt reality," I scoffed. Hamish didn't laugh. "Oh, you're actually serious-" I sat down on a nearby picnic table, looking at the guy in front of me. "What makes you like me? Hypothetically speaking, of course," I added.

"Well," Hamish said, sitting beside me on the picnic table. "I like your quirkiness," he said. "I also like that you are a lover and put people before yourself," I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah?" I asked, looking at the blond boy sitting beside me.

Hamish gave a nod. "Yeah," he said, looking back at me. "You don't mind that I am trans?" I asked him, our faces inches away from each other.

"No," He whispered just as he closed the gap and kissed me. I was stunned for a minute, thinking that this might be just a dream and I'll wake up. Hamish seemed to notice my hesitance and began to pull away. I quickly pulled him closer and kissed him back. Hamish smiled and we moved our lips in sync with each other. After a moment, we pulled apart.

"Where did that come from?" I asked, not looking at Hamish. He didn't say anything as we both sat there, not knowing what to say, and if we did, not knowing how to say it.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?" Hamish asked. "Like, go out to dinner or get a drink?"

I looked at him with a smile. "Sure, why the fuck not, right?" I said, laughing. We both got up and continued to walk to my place. Halfway there, somehow, we ended up holding hands. As we reached the door, Hamish and I stopped. He faced me as I stood there, not wanting to go inside alone.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye," Hamish murmured softly. I shifted my weight from my right foot to my left awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess so," I said, looking down at my shoes once more.

I felt fingers lift my chin up so I could look Hamish in the eyes. "I also guess this is goodnight," He whispered. I only gave a nod, unable to trust my voice. Hamish bent down and placed his lips on mine softly. My breath hitched as he bit my bottom lip.

I stood there, with my Ethics professor, kissing him goodnight. What a wild thing to think about, I thought as I kissed him back. Pulling away, I looked into his blue-grey eyes as he looked into my Y/E/C eyes.

"I'll, uh, see you tomorrow, Hamish," I said, backing up and running into the wall with my back. I dug through my pocket and got out my keys. I swiftly got them in and unlocked the door while Hamish stood there watching with an amused look. I walked inside, but turned around and gave him a smile.

"Good night, Y/N," Hamish said in response as I looked at him. He turned and walked away, so I closed my door. I hit my back against it, sliding down the grain of the wood as I thought about today's events. Did I really kiss Hamish? I asked myself, touching my lips with the tips of my fingers.

I gave a squeal in delight as I sat there.

I kissed Hamish Duke.

It finally dawned on me that he might actually feel the same way as I feel about him.

#hamish duke #hamish #the order #theorder #the order netflix #love #transman #needmorehamish

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whatcouldgowrong-ohthat · 4 years

Text

There is an explanation (Bucky X Reader)

This is one of the projects I picked for Sea’s 2k milestone challenge. I just had to, guys. XD And while the other one I picked is probably going to be leaning more towards angst, this one is meant to be fluff. We all need the fluff and kindness - there’s no denying it.

Also - the end is inspiration from Sebastian Stan’s instagram story, sooo I hope you guys like it.

Prompt: “Okay, look, I know this looks weird, but I have a perfectly good explanation for this.” “Alright, what is it?” “Uhhhhh”

@geosaurusrrex - one down, one to go XD

I can explain!

How often had he heard some variation of those words?

The first time he remembers oh so vividly. They had visited Wakanda. Shuri was adamant about meeting the woman that had Bucky eager to use updated tech instead of something as “ridiculous” as a flip phone. He remembered hearing the explosion. T’Challa and him had raced to Shuri’s lab, more concerned that the worst had happened and that Shuri’s craziness had finally caught up with her brilliance.

Instead - what were they greeted with?

Shuri had been working on something new and asked for Y/N’s help. The project had exploded, sending a white powder into the air. Once it had settled, bits and pieces of themselves, and the objects in the room, were left invisible to the naked eye. Y/N looked at him, innocently batting her eyes as she told him, “ I can explain! Shuri - she -”

“You are not putting all the blame on me,” the princess argued. Shuri pulled away from T’Challa’s scolding, deciding that her honor was on the line and she would be damned if Y/N made it sound like it was entirely her fault. “You are the one who came up with the idea of adding liquid nitrogen to the mix.”

Bucky rubbed his temples as he listened to the two women fall into an argument, though not a very serious one judging by their smiles. He knew it would be chaos to introduce them to each other, but...Should he have expected this? Judging by the look from T’Challa, he should have considered just about anything possible.

Knowing that, perhaps he should have been mad. They could have injured themselves! But no, he couldn’t stay mad at her. Nothing had made Bucky smile more than seeing a beaming Y/N whose excitement couldn’t be contained. He knew in that moment that she was the only thing that mattered.

And that was just the first time.

-----

It only looks bad. I swear.

One of the other memorable moments was when she had come back from a mission. She had been gone for longer than they had expected and Bucky hated every moment. However, the day she was supposed to come back, Sam had kept him as far away from the base as possible.

It had scared him. Had he done something wrong? Did you come to your senses and realize you deserved better than him?

What had happened on that damn mission?

Only when nightfall fell was he allowed back ini the compound. He immediately went to your room and found it empty. No one would tell him where you were. Except Friday.

“I’m afraid Miss Y/L/N has been in the med bay all day.”

Bucky couldn’t have moved faster. Everything was a blur to him as he ran down to the med bay. There, he found her being tended to by the Avenger’s physician. She was sitting on the table, busted lip and black eye marring your beautiful face. Her left arm was in a cast and sling, the right leg being prepped for a similar situation.

He stood in the doorway, chest heaving as he watched with utter fear in his eyes. She hadn’t noticed him at first. Instead, she was talking to the doctor. But it didn’t take long for her to shift her gaze to him. Eyes growing wide, mouth gaping like a fish - it was clear Y/N was attempting to put together some sort of explanation.

“Were you planning on keeping me out of here?” he asked, voice rough as he came to her side. He didn’t pay any attention to the doctor. Instead, his hand came to rest on her uninjured arm. Bucky traced gently, as if worried that he could somehow break her as easily as the mission had.

“No, I just...” She faltered, glancing down at his hand and intertwining it with her own. She traced the back with her thumb and looked up at him, offering a reassuring smile. “It only looks bad, Bucky. I swear.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned forward. His scruffy beard gently pressed against her forehead before he pressed a small kiss to the top of her head. His voice was barely above a whisper as he told her, “I swear you’ll be the death of me, Y/N.”

But he didn’t mind. He should, he knew that. But he couldn’t bring himself to argue with her about her safety. All he could think about was how her hand so perfectly fit in his.

------

I really wish I knew how this happened.

Bucky was amazed at the trouble Y/N could get herself into. It was remarkable really. The only person he had met who managed to find themselves in so much chaos was Steve back in the 40′s.

Maybe that was why he just couldn’t bring himself to be mad at her?

However, this little predicament was something else entirely.

Peter had said he wanted help on a new suit and knew that Y/N was obsessed with technology. Who better to see about making a new model than her? So after locking themselves for a couple hours, Bucky paid it no mind. They were brainstorming and he knew how Y/N was when she got a new idea in her head.

But twenty hours, twelve minutes and four...five...six seconds?!

Bucky was a bit concerned.

That’s how he found himself outside of the old Stark lab. It was now for Peter and Y/N’s use, but no one wanted to change the name. “Friday? Are they still in there?”

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N and Mr. Parker are...hard at work.” The amusement was clear in the AI’s voice and Bucky found himself wondering what it was that made her sound such a way. What were those two up to?

A clatter of metal against metal earned his attention. He looked up at the door and it seemed Friday already knew his request. The doors opened with a hiss and Bucky stepped inside. Immediately, he was greeted by a spectacle.

Peter was currently clinging to the ceiling, mask forgotten on the nearby table. He didn’t seem entirely too eager to return to the floor, instead staring at the sight in the middle of the room.

And Bucky could understand why.

In front of him was Y/N with half an Ironman and half a Spiderman suit on. The legs poking out of her back had her lifted off the air. One leg was from the iron suit, the other the spider. The same for the arms. It was a combination if clunky and sleek that made an odd sort of appearance. And while the chest was that of the nano spidersuit, the actual head was the Ironmask. It was open, revealing her very confused face.

Bucky raised an eyebrow as Y/N’s cheeks turned a dark red, matching the two suits. “Y/N,” he started, interrupted by the gears of the machines.

Her voice came out rushed, as if trying to argue with the thoughts Bucky had yet to think. “Please, don’t be upset! I’m stuck and I really wish I knew how this happened, but...”

Peter grinned apologetically, ears tinted pink. “After hour seventeen everything’s become a bit of a blur. We don’t know how we got here.”

Bucky sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he walked over to Y/N. The spider legs seemed to anticipate her thoughts, taking a couple steps back as she raised her hands. “I’m sorry, Buck, please don’t be mad. I really am sorry! I just don’t know how to get out of this thing and -”

Bucky gently pushed her hands down, pressing her against the wall. The machine’s gears whined a sort of argument neither could understand as he took her face in his hands. He gently traced her cheeks and shook his head. This remarkable, stubborn, amazing, baffling, mind-blowing woman...always left him on his toes.

“Bucky?”

He pulled her towards him, kissing her gently and keeping her as close to him as possible. Though he surprised her, she eagerly kissed him back, metal arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“Uh...guys?”

Bucky groaned against her mouth. Whether it was from irritation or pleasure Y/N couldn’t tell, but he pulled back and pressed his forehead against hers. “What, spiderboy?” he asked, his rough voice earning a giggle from Y/N.

“It’s sweet and all,” Peter’s voice squeaked. He was still scared of Bucky. “But could we focus on getting Y/N out of the Frankenstein suit?”

Bucky laughed, taking a step back and crossing his arms. Y/N pouted at the new distance, but quickly looked away when she noticed the way he took in her appearance. “Alright, let’s see what we can do to get you out of that thing.”

-----

However, Bucky’s favorite recollection was that one Christmas. Everyone had parted ways after giving gifts, leaving just the two of them. She was curled in his arms, the Grinch playing in the background, but he couldn’t bring himself to pay attention. Instead, he was playing with the tendrils of her hair, cheek pressed against the top of her head. She was so warm, a perfect fit as she curled into his side.

But Y/N always had a way of getting excited around Christmas.

“Oh!” She jumped up, running to the massive tree that had been decorated by the team. It was mismatched with all colored and white lights because Y/N insisted that people had preferences. Hanging from the branches were multiple ornaments of all shapes, sizes, and designs. But she wasn’t paying attention to those. Instead, she reached inside the middle of the tree, digging around the branches and causing the ornaments to rattle against one another. She seemed to grab what she was going for because she turned around.

In her hands was a small box and as she shifted from one foot to the other, Bucky noticed she was extremely nervous. “Y/N, you okay?” he asked, offering a small smile as she walked towards him. When she was close enough, he gently pulled her onto his lap.

She straddled him, her eyes focused intently on the little box in her hands. “Okay, look, I know this looks weird, but I have a perfectly good explanation for this.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, glancing from her down to the box. He took it, shaking it and hearing the small clink of...jewelry? “Alright,” he chuckled. “What is it?”

“Uhhhh...” Y/N blushed, scratching the back of her neck. “Just open it, okay? I’ll explain after.”

Bucky furrowed his brow, but did as she asked. His calloused hands gently opened the package, revealing a small brown box. He glanced up at her, raising an eyebrow. She was hiding behind her hands, peeking between her fingers. The anticipation was killing her. Deciding not to keep her waiting, he looked down at the box and plucked the lid off, wondering what the big deal was.

Until he saw what was inside.

“How...How did you?” Bucky looked from the contents to her, his eyes brimming with tears. Sitting inside the box was something he believed he lost a long time ago.

His army tags.

“Okay, so you know how I went on that mission and came back all beat up? I...” She huffed and leaned back. “It was Zemo. Okay, don’t give me that look! I insisted on going and this was why. He was...he was obsessed with you, Buck. And I thought that maybe -”

Bucky pulled her into a rough kiss, free hand setting the present aside. This woman was full of so many surprises. He never knew what to expect, but this? This was the biggest surprise she could have ever pulled. Tangling his hands in her hair, he tugged and pulled her impossibly closer. Y/N moaned as he delved his tongue into her mouth, not sure what she had expected, but this definitely not being it.

Not that she was complaining.

“B-Buck,” she murmured against his lips, slowly pulling away for some much needed air. “Are you okay?”

He leaned back, watching her intently. This crazy, beautiful woman somehow managed to get into the craziest situations. She was ridiculous and an absolute wonder that left him completely breathless. There was no explanation for his feelings for her. She would send him to a grave with the consistent level of worry and heart attacks she gave him.

There was absolutely no explanation. Well...except for -

“I love you, Y/N.”

“Wait, what?” Her voice cracked, surprise evident.

Bucky’s heart beat so loud in his chest, he could hear it in his ears, feel it in his legs. Shifting in his seat, he couldn’t hold back his smile as he traced her cheeks with his thumbs. “You are...insane, immature,” he started, kissing her cheek. “Drink too much coffee, and sleep too little.”

“Hey!”

He kissed her chin then her nose. “You argue about anything if I give you the chance and you are obsessed with the little details about Christmas.” He kissed her forehead, her eyelids. “You are passionate and driven, dedicated about just about everything. And I find you absolutely incredible.”

Y/N blushed and Bucky shifted nervously. The confidence he had was slowly shifting into nervousness and unease. “So...I...I love you.”

Y/N leaned forward, kissing him lightly. “I love you too, Bucky.”

He grinned from ear to ear, the nervousness he once felt being replaced by a completely different feeling. Something he hadn’t felt since he was a boy.

Giddiness.

Y/N reached for the tags, slipping them around Bucky’s neck. She leaned forward, fingers curled around the chain as she kissed him once again. “So does this mean I’m off the hook for all the accidents?”

He laughed, the tags falling from her grip and landing on his chest. “Absolutely not!”

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trixcuomo · 3 years

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Love Games

Up next on Desperate Alts’ Lives... Horde B celebrity Trixany Cuomo has finally pulled the lever to A-status, and now it’s like she’s fallen down into a black rabbit hole of gossip and dangerous glam, chasing her dreams. Is this it? Has Trix finally gone too far? One of her friends must be able to save her, but which are the right friends? Haris Pilton? Sig Nicious? Her Night Elf buddy Sharpen? Hopeless causes tend to want dark angels...

Jet black. Haris Pilton thought her once rival in all things, business, modeling, performing, climbing the Silvermoon City social ladder—Trixany Cuomo, soon to be Mrs. Sig Nicious—that Trixany would go with red for her own gossip closet. A cheery, and also dangerous color. But when they were done looking through Haris’s swatches months ago, under their new starlette truce of course, Trixany wanted her gossip closet in complete, knockout black.

Today, Trixany’s hand was on the lever, she just hadn’t pulled it yet this morning. First, she needed to gather all her targets. Haris’ pink knob was honestly so… odd. But Trixany chose a literal disco stick that reminded her of one of her favorite performers of all time. The part at the top was a classic disco ball with large tiles of glossy silver. The effect was going to take over the whole room whenever she was ready to ‘pull the lever!’ The first time she’d done it at Haris’ place was so fun, it was addicting. Yes, so wonderfully addicting.

Trixany crossed legs in her matching leather catsuit. The worker Gnomes with jumpsuits also piped in silver along the smart curves of their bodies? Still asleep. Trixany liked to get up before even they did.

She sat alone inside of the shell at the center of the room. Well, it was raised up for now, or else she wouldn’t be able to see or hear anything. The noise-cancelling, black ASMR shell-that-was-totally-not-like-any-other-famous-villain’s-personal-sanctuary-globe-thing-for-legal-reasons had its uses, just not right now. STNLAOFVPSGTLR or Stan’s Laff Vapors Get’er was a fascinating piece of technology engineered for relaxing starlettes exclusively. So it was perfect for a certain Horde B celebrity. Gotta love quirky Gnomish technology. The laugh vapors weren’t working so at the moment. They were also supposed to help her forget her stressors. Running low… White steam raised from the top of the shell and escaped through the gear-like teeth around the edges, wafting to the ceiling.

Gnomish technology to make you think, ten times, twenty times faster. Consider your options and get maybe twelve moves ahead of your opponent before they’re even out of bed, or grabbed their champagne brunch around 2 pm server… It was like farming for rares, from home, fast, and on felweed! But it was your frenemies you were felling.

Anyway…

The black control screens all around flickered with silent pictures of Trixany wannabes with their rip-off looks or performances, rival divas secretly being watched while they slept—and before you judge, Trixany felt justified; some of them were up in their own gossip closet war rooms, scheming against her even at this hour—and if you’re a true Team Trixany fan, then you also know about the runway fashion show footage Trixany had been streaming all week. All were designs from the newly launched, joint Haris-Trix fashion line. Haris had backed it financially, Trixany had endorsed it, done the leg work promoting and wearing some of the showstoppers. They had been raking in the gold over it until recently. Both their fandoms, for once, were united on the fashion line. Well, not all of the screens were filled with saucy models on catwalks. Trixany was also observing how each new outfit was being received in the market as it was launched, while simultaneously keeping an eye—with her special lace-lensed fashion goggles—for any rip-offs. New clothing that ripped off her rip-offs, if Trixany was every forced to be very honest about how she and Haris got all the designs—but that intel would only get forced out, by Goblin lawyers tougher than her own, in some inter-factional Azeroth court of law. Technically, they weren’t stealing other people’s ideas unless they got caught…

“I can’t stand this…”

Trixanys thoughts were moving more rapidly than she could speak them or even keep track of on her own. Inside the white-hot shell, little electronic flickerings along a web of wires and lights carried them away instantly, recorded them. The rest of the room was dark, so dark… But inside, Trixany was alone with her thoughts. Just merely thinking that she might sue someone for stealing her brand was stored in a databank the moment it occurred to her. A list of commands that would be sent to the ends of Azeroth to the Goblin lawyers, Horde or Alliance pop icons. (Don’t let them tell you Thrall doesn’t consider himself a Horde A celebrity… his gossip closet was rumored to be done over in the hides of his slain enemies, where no one could see of course.) And of course there were a clutch of thugs ready to ‘handle’ anyone normal out there without real connections. Quick, dirty, cheap.

That was the last bit of advice Trixany grudgingly took from Haris Pilton before she mastered the art of ‘gossip watching’ for herself. Before the student became the master. Now, on Screen Five, Trixany observed Haris in her bubblegum pink dressing robes having tea with her breakfast. Actually Haris had been doing that, and elegantly, for a while. A stray thought wondered if Haris had somehow found out about Trixany’s global network of hidden scrying orbs and had set up video loop clips at certain parts of the day when she didn’t want to be observed. And they were supposed to be the best of business partners…

A new, bright white bead of light raced around inside the shell and disappeared behind Trixany’s black chair. Screen Ninety-Eight suddenly flickered on and pulled up a list. White text against a lovely, rich dark screen. The words ‘Check up on Haris, the brat…’ already printing on a new line.

On mornings like this one, Trixany felt more Gnomish tech than woman. Sunlight… what a nice memory. Though they said something odd with the Scourge was going on outside these days. Maybe that was the real reason profits from their fashion line were slowing down? Who knew?

Trixany was a Blood Knight, had the skills of any paladin, she should have a lot of work to do with the Knights of the Blood Nexus, shouldn’t she? Shouldn’t Lady Liadrin call on her then? And beyond that, when was the last time she’d gone for a stroll—well, without Silvermoon paparazzi around her and Sig. And Sig? Sig Nicious, her fiancée… he kept postponing their wedding.

“You’re my butterfly, but it’s taking you ages to come out of your cocoon, do you understand? You’re not ontop of this celebrity stuff, Trix. I love you, but you’re just not there yet. You and Haris Pilton are friends now, why don’t you ask her for more advice? We need this to be a marriage of equals.”

Then Trixany’s own voice, it felt more like it haunted her above the constant jealous, scheming thoughts, it resurfaced. “No. I can’t do this…”

Trixany inhaled deeply of the white vapors, shut her eyes, shut off her deeper consciousness. Just a few more hours of this and she would finally be caught up with everyone else. Maybe ahead.

Caught up… Didn’t she used to like running, catching up with friends on long sunny walks? That time Sharpen took her to Highmountain, hiking so far her calves felt they would burn from sun and walking, she swore to him that they would, but he was too far ahead to hear her. Hear her catching up, catching her breath… that adorable fool.

A Night Elf man was suddenly there in her mind. Sharpen had carefully braided hair, long braids that fell over his broad shoulders. First in green, then in bright blue—he was wearing a “CYANS HAVE MORE FUN” t-shirt in one of her memories—and at last, his hair washed to a rich pink in her mind. Trixany knew all the shades Sharpen was trying these days, she’d kept track of them all, knew the brand, the shade, how many were left in stock…

Screen Fifty-Two flickered on, white lines over a dark surface, suddenly filling with numbers and a silent white web of locations united by lines on a map as a simple display of Alliance lands started to slide by. Trixany had wanted to know what her Night Elf friend’s new hair color would be, just a whim—but the gossip closet was already running the numbers, making a mathematical projection. Based on the number of colors left in the shops Sharpen frequented, the price point he usually aimed for, the favorite colors he was usually wearing.

“Forecast… 90 percent…Black.”

“Black? Really? Sharpen’s such an upbeat guy.”

Trixany hated knowing that. It depressed her. So her friend, who never had much money, who was just curious enough to try new things, not that he’d do it for a living and consult someone like she would… Sharpen was going to run into a wall soon with all the other options he’d tried, because cyan was his preferred shade of all the blues, and he’d already gone with the closest shade of pink-red her liked on his spectrum, and going back to green was too close to his natural color… The machine was printing all this detail as part of its proof… So he would feel bold—think himself just as bold as when he chose pink--and settle on black to surprise his friends. Black like her gossip closet. Black like… some big, empty hole. Trixany could no longer think it through. So she already knew what he was going to do? No surprises, no spontaneity? No reason to talk to him. She no longer had to see him to know what he was doing. It wasn’t required. He was a blip on a screen. And when was the last time she’d spoken to Sharpen, the real Sharpen?

What had he told her? Something silly about animals. Her eye twitched, she curled a fist as she remembered it. “Spiders aren’t supposed to be caught in their own webs, Trix. All these morsels you’ve ever wanted… they’re right there around you. Fixed in your web, you can have them all. But you’re still not happy. Shouldn’t you know why not? Can’t you tell? The old you would have just handled it, she doesn’t—or didn’t take anyone’s crap, whether from some monster down in a dungeon or… the well-dressed blonde bombshell kind.”

“Wait, do you mean Haris Pilton or Siggy?”

Sharpen shook his head at her, “Who are you, anymore?”

And what had she said in response to that? Sig was away from the dinner table at the moment, taking a call on his comm. “I don’t eat bugs, Sharpen.”

“No, but you do like to slay things. You like to find targets and take them out. Fix things for yourself and people, for the world, hell—for the Horde, however you think that still helps thew world. You have a sense of justice, or you did. You like to sit down after a battle, smile at how you’ve helped. But now you just look miserable. You even look unwell—”

“MAYBE BECAUSE I DON’T EAT BUGS LIKE SOME STUPID NIGHT ELF!”

Sharpen and Trixany hadn’t spoken to each other since. It was a bad, tragic gaffe to make at a busy, high-tone Dalaran restaurant. It was like… it built up and built up from… she didn’t know where. And then, like a volcano, the stupid, stupid senseless things she said just exploded out of her. Violent in its own way. It blew a hole clear through a friendship.

Trixany rubbed at the bridge of her nose. That time she and Sig took Sharpen out to dinner in Dalaran… Because Trixany had missed him. Because Trixany had hopped on a motorcycle and blown out of her own engagement party in Silvermoon City, at Sig’s place. Sig’s fancy place with all his perfect friends, all that flawless life. The pressure should have been off, she’d made it. She wasn’t a B-woman. She was A-grade. Like meat. No, an alpha, on top. She was a singer, and he was a singer too. Both of them were good people, actually decent. And he liked her, genuinely. It really felt like the lead singer of the Elite Tauren Chieftans loved her, truly, so why was she so distressed? Why did it feel like she couldn’t get a breath at times…

Trixany inhaled again, breathed deeply a few more times though it felt like she was panicking. “Why! Why is this happening to me?”

This was all she ever wanted, just like Sharpen had said. But it felt like things were hooked into her instead. Bleeding her dry. Trixany always assumed she would feel… filled up.

Filled up with things.

Things.

About forty models of all races, Orc, Goblin, Forsaken, Draenei, Gnomes, women and men of all races strutted in time across her control screens. Surely, they all had different music at their particular fashion shows. But fashion models all seemed to have the same unnerved strut. Now she saw it. They were all terrified of falling, of looking stupid. But they were charging through it while ignoring themselves. Completely disregarding their own fears, that they were hungry or tired, tired of all of it. Or, even if they loved what they did, it didn’t show in their faces nor their movements.

Maybe later. When it was all off, they could be themselves and just smile. Nobody smiled that they liked it while on stage in front of everyone, selling what was on their bodies. First rule of modeling. Since she got her start… in Goblin Gentleman’s Magazine of all places, that was always the rule. She would know. It’s not about you. It’s about what’s on you. Not what’s in you.

Never in.

“What if I’m just a pig inside?” Trixany frowned. “Scrying orb, play Gaga—”

The intercom interrupted what she was saying. A metallic sort of gnome’s voice said, “Visitor for Miss Cuomo.” Trixany hadn’t the heart to change her name over to Mrs. Nicious yet, when things honestly weren’t going well in that area of her life. He kept calling her his ‘butterfly’ yet she was still being treated like some slimy bug stuck in its pod… cocoon thing.

“What level?”

“Popularity level three—”

“Oh, well then I don’t have the time.”

“Security level 50. Guest is Coco Cuomo.”

Her step-sister. Well what did Coco want? She rarely visited. “Let her in. And I still want you to play Gaga. Play Swine.”

youtube

As soon as the door slid open and the short green Goblin calling herself Coco Cuomo looked up and heard her new theme music, she frowned.

“Yeah, I know who’s a swine alright.” The little lime-colored Goblin girl smirked at her Blood Elf sister. Trixany stuck out her tongue.

“Um, can you at least turn down Gaga squealing out that ‘I’m so disgusting’ down a smidge? I came with some important business, you know.”

“Well, I should have assumed it would be about that. More Kaja-Cola crap? I thought I made it clear I was done with them--”

“Yeah right, when they were the ones who fired you? And who are yous, hangin’ out in hea like Darth Vader himself? Mrs. Hot-shot Sig Nicious herself, I see.”

“It’s not technically named for him so I can’t get sued—”

“Enough of this nonsense!” Coco threw her hands up. “This is exactly why I’m hea, you’re totally obsessed! When is your wedding even? Unless you’re really that low ya gonna invite the whole family and not me.”

Trixany snapped her sass-mouth shut, for now. “Sig and I are doing our best to make this… adjustment. I’m not used to being so famous.”

Coco just stared at her Blood Elf step-sister for a while.

“Swiiiiiiiine! Swiiiiiiiiiiiine!” The music started to rev up as if something was about to explode in that black gossip chamber Trixany had sealed herself in, like an enchanted tomb.

“Paint her face and, paint his face and, be a swine for… just the weekend!”

Coco erupted with new emotion, “People are dyin’ out thea, Trixany! And you’re in here plotting some… starlette’s destruction? I been trying and callin and sendin’ messenger pigeons up here for a week almost, so finally I had to come myself. I thought somethin’ real bad happened to you, all I wanted was to get you to hand over the damn Kaja-Cola Fiesta Lime contract for a damn good cause, I don’t care if you fell out with the Kaja-Cola Girls. I need your surplus stash a’ cans!”

Trixany just blinked at her. Three screens over Coco’s head started running a program, but kept coming up with repeating blank lines.

“Trixany, you really haven’t heard? You’ve truly been ignorin’ all the sufferin! We’re trying to FEED thirsty people on the front lines against the Scourge!”

“Oh. Well… I had heard whispers of that trending.”

“Trending? You’re supposed to be a PALADIN! Scourge slayer by birth or something. But you’re out here ruinin’ lives of the uppercrust like there ain’t a bottom to the pie—what’s happened to my sista! What is WRONG with you?”

“…You can’t feed thirsty people?”

“But I can bust up a thirsty trick!” Coco brandished an arclight spanner at Trixany.

“What did you just call me?? And how did you come in here armed?”

Now Coco was screaming it, “I don’t have a sista anymore. I can’t take it, I can’t stand it! You’re goin ta the Shadowlands to help with the fight, if I gotta killa ya and send you there myself! Then, Coco charged Trixany’s villainess globe, making her wild Kezani warcry.

“Yer just a pig inside a Blood Elf body! Time for you to squeal out!!”

#desperate-alts-lives

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theplatinthehat · 4 years

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*nails my piece of paper to Philip Pullman’s front door*

So, I made a joke earlier today about writing up my grievances with the world-building of the His Dark Materials trilogy. I genuinely didn’t think anyone would be interested enough to ask me about this. But someone did, so I’ve abandoned the actual jobs I needed to do today and went away to cobble together this post to summarise My Thoughts (and no-one was more surprised than I to find that there were more than two).

Let me say that these are my thoughts and opinions on this particular canon of work. I don’t judge anyone who likes them (hell, I love the idea of daemons and I certainly think there are some interesting concepts explored in the series) and you are more than welcome to disagree with me on any (or all) of the points that I outline below. And you’re certainly allowed to acknowledge that there are issues with a text and still find enjoyment from them. I’m not looking to Cancel anyone – I just have questions and I’m prepared to shout them into the void.

If anyone does reblog this, I ask that you don’t tag it with #hisdarkmaterials or #hdm, because that’s unfair on the people who are using those tags to curate a positive fandom experience.

Caveat to all of this – I haven’t read the books, but I have watched the current BBC/HBO series in great depth. I’m also writing a fanfic called The Shadow Mandate set in the world of His Dark Materials and that has required me to do extensive research and engage with multiple sources about the world. It’s as a direct result of this research that much of these questions and critiques have arisen. I am planning to read the books soon though (mainly so I can roast them more thoroughly)

Don’t send this to Philip Pullman (or Philman, as I will probably refer to him from here on out). 1 – he isn’t going to care what I say (he’ll just say it’s a metaphor and to not read too much into it or something equally as infuriating) and 2 – I don’t care what he says.

Now all that boring stuff is done, let’s get to it. I’m putting this all under the cut so the poor folk who want nothing to do with this can ignore at their leisure.

This will possibly get a bit tongue in cheek in places – just a warning

One Church to Rule Them All, One Faith to Bind Them

So, one of my main questions about the world of His Dark Materials is the Magisterium and the Holy Church. And that question is “How?”

Overlooking the fact that this was probably a conscious decision by Philman to Make A Point, I still have questions behind this behemoth of an institution. Based on my research, I’m of the understanding that Lyra’s world parted from our own when John Calvin became the Pope, and transferred the seat of Papal power to Geneva. After Calvin’s death, the Magisterium was formed and they consolidated power from there.

In my mind, this just doesn’t work. Because it makes it sound like Calvin was the only person standing between the Catholic Church and the Protestant Reformation. Whilst he had a big role in the Reformation, he just wasn’t the only person working for reforms (I mean – Luther? Hello? He had 95 problems, and Indulgences were all of them). You could probably argue with me on this, as he was a significant figurehead of the Reformation, but there were so many people working for change in Europe at the time that I would have thought that someone else would have taken that place (you can read more here).

The lack of denominations also doesn’t really sit with me because if there’s one thing I know about Christians, it’s that we love to argue over teeny-tiny details and build whole new ways of worshipping around them. The fact that the Magisterium doesn’t just tear itself apart is, to be honest, quite surprising. And, you know, the Eastern Orthodox tradition was already a thing at the time… (here’s a brief overview of the East-West Schism of 1054)

I’d also like to point out that Papal power was dominant in Western civilization. That leaves a lot of the world for the Magisterium to then suddenly gain power of. Or did Philman conveniently forget that Judaism (although the Jewish people had suffered significant persecution in Europe by this time), Islam, Hinduism and Buddhism (and many others) were all already very well-established religions in other parts of the world that I doubt would have taken too kindly to the Magisterium’s political advances. This idea of a religion having such a heavy-handed control over the whole world just seems a bit too far-fetched for me to believe.

However, I have to acknowledge that I say this as a white, Western Christian – perhaps people genuinely feel that is the case.

I do know that the witches are mentioned at having their own religion, but I can’t really find any information about it, so I can’t really compare them. It could well be that other religions and faith practices are mentioned in the books themselves, but I’m struggling to find them (do the shamans count? I’m not sure). Perhaps this is just me, but one religion consuming the whole world (or, at least, the vast majority of it) doesn’t strike me as particularly plausible.

Beast from the East

This is probably my most serious critique of the series, and one that’s actually been the most nightmarish for me to deal with in my own expanded world-building of Lyra’s world for The Shadow Mandate. This is an issue that has been discussed at length Marek Oziewicz in the paper ‘Representations of Eastern Europe in Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials, Jonathan Stroud’s The Bartimaeus Trilogy, and J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter Series’ – which I highly recommend you read!

(And it dunks on Ms R*wling too – what a treat!).

I’ll do a little summary for those of you who haven’t got the time to read a whole paper:

The His Dark Materials trilogy is told from a very British point of view (understandable, the author is a white British man)

Britain is a positive and exciting place, where all the characters are individuals with the capacity for good or evil

The general geographical sense of the world-building is that the further East you go (in Europe) that the less ties the people have to the Holy Church and the more barbaric they are – see the Tartars and their ‘Breathless One’ practices

The Eastern European races are frequently described with qualities such as “cruelty, pitilessness, barbarism, fierceness, physical and emotional instability” (Oziewicz, p. 8)

A lot of nationalist stereotypes surround the peoples of these races/countries

I mean, the treatment of the Tartars (which is a living, breathing ethnolinguistic group) as a whole is pretty disturbing. They’re described to be like a ‘warmongering race of xenophobic genocidal humans who want to conquer the whole of the Earth’ (Quote) - compare that to the complexity of the characters from the West. Oziewicz notes that the Tartars are somewhat akin to the Imperial Guard of Star Wars, as their helmets have ‘no eyes – or at least you couldn’t see any eyes behind the snow slits’ (Northern Lights, p. 289). As far as I can tell, they’re pretty much just tarred with one brush – made particularly plain by the fact that all Tartars seem to have identical wolf/husky daemons – unless that was a requirement when the Magisterium put the job posting on Indeed.

So, a whole nation of people has been reduced to a single archetype – one that plays on existing prejudices in British culture. That just feels like extremely lazy world-building to me – I don’t know a single country or ethnic population that could accurately be described as one archetype.

I also feel that a lot of other countries in the world are written off with sweeping generalisations – or just kinda lumped together? So, a lot of my research has involved me looking at the canonical list of Globetrotter Maps, and a whole bunch of countries tend to get lumped together – particularly, I’ve noticed, the South American countries. It does this really intriguing and complex world a major disservice. As I said, this is something that I’ve had to grapple with for my own work – and I hope that I’ve done enough work so as to begin to dissemble what Philman started.

A new and exciting way to get around the ‘G’ slur

For those of you who are unaware (although, you’re on Tumblr – how could you possibly not be aware?) the G-slur is considered to be a pejorative description of the Romani ethnic group, associated with idleness and itinerancy. It comes from the mistaken European belief that the Romani people came from Egypt (they aren’t). You can read more about that here and here.

Philman decided to name his ethnic group known for travelling and trading as they go ‘Gyptians’. I won’t insult your intelligence by explaining any further.

Should I let this slide with the explanation that the term is so pervasive in Britain that it’s actually a legal term? Perhaps, but I’m not going to.

Kill Bill God

My only issue with this is that if Philman wants to kill God, he should kill… God. Not some angel with a superiority complex. But seeing how badly some people took it, I can understand why he didn’t. I still think he’s a coward.

Sex, Dust and Dragons

I have a whole other bone to pick with Philman about his obsession with sex in children’s literature, but that’s not what you’re here to talk about. No, you came to hear about His Dark Materials.

It’s established in the world that Dust doesn’t settle on children because they don’t have experience – they are too innocent. Based on the research I’ve done, and the language used in both the film and the mini-series is this maturation from childhood to adulthood is though protosexual experiences e.g. kissing. And this is what Mary Malone’s role as ‘the serpent’ is – she’s the one that make Lyra think about her sexuality for the first time:

As Mary said that, Lyra felt something strange happen to her body. She found a stirring at the roots of her hair: she found herself breathing faster. She had never been on a roller-coaster, or anything like one, but if she had, she would have recognised the sensations in her breast: they were exciting and frightening at the same time, and she had not the slightest idea why. The sensation continued, and deepened, and changed, as more parts of her body found themselves affected too. She felt as if she had been handed the key to a great house she hadn't known was there, a house that was somehow inside her, and as she turned the key, deep in the darkness of the building she felt other doors opening too, and lights coming on. She sat trembling, hugging her knees, hardly daring to breathe, as Mary went on...

Marzipan, The Amber Spyglass

(That’s such a long quote)

It’s then made explicitly clear that it’s the intimacy of Lyra and Will’s relationship, and the touching of one another’s daemons, that causes Pan and Kirjava to settle in their true forms.

Andrew Lloyd Webber was right – love really does change everything.

Here’s where things get a little bit petty.

So, if Dust begins to settle on children once they’ve had their first ‘sexual awakening’ – what about those people who don’t ever experience that? Because, believe it or not, asexual people have existed for a very long time. If they don’t experience this, then would their daemons settle? What are the implications of this? Are asexual people remaining in the ‘childlike innocence of the Garden of Eden’? (Quote)

Asexual fans of His Dark Materials, I pass this question to you – do you lack a soul because you’ve never experienced sexual desire? Is sex truly instrumental on the road to maturation? I’d love to hear your thoughts, and what you’d do if your daemon never settled. Would you let them shift into a dragon? I know I would if I were in that position.

This issue, to me, is massively indicative of the prevalent attitudes towards the asexual community. There is a tendency for media products to portray a-spec people as immature because they don’t experience sexual attraction – which is just not true. The ace community has said many times that they feel that this attitude infantilizes their orientation, and it’s a view that needs to be challenged. Check out this source for more information on the microagressions faced by this community – section six is particularly relevant. Asexuals are mature – despite this lack of ‘experience’ that Philman seems to think all people need to have in order to become free-thinkers. This just isn’t true. I don’t understand why society seems to believe this theory, but with its prevalence in media it’s not too difficult to see why this view pervades.

Anyway, the only reason I’m so petty about this particular aspect is that I’m so bored of reading stories where sex and romance are the most important thing. I think heresy is a much more interesting sin than sex, so that’s what The Shadow Mandate will be about once I’ve finished it.

I also have some more minor world-building issues both in HDM and the later Book of the Dust trilogy including, but not limited to:

Why is it New Denmark? The Dutch were quite famous for reaching America – New Amsterdam being the original name for New York. Admittedly I’m only cross about this because I got mixed up in my own world-building.

There’s even more ‘othering’ of non-British races – particularly the Skraelings who are analogous to the Inuit people (but possibly a term for all Native-American peoples) who carry out ‘barbaric’ practices such as trepanning

Witches can’t forgive men that turn them down. Well I don’t have much of a problem with this as such, but it just makes me think of that quote about fairies from Peter Pan – “Fairies have to be one thing or the other, because being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time.”

The treatment of Pantalaimon by Lyra in subsequent adventures

Malcolm Polstead needs to leave Lyra tf alone

I appreciate that this is a very long and whingy list about things that I don’t like, so congrats on making it this far! I’d love to give you something – perhaps your time back – but alas, my powers only extend so far. I appreciate that the His Dark Materials books are well-loved and that most people would probably disagree with what I’ve said – I just have lots of questions and Philman doesn’t have as many answers as I would like. But then again, should I really read this much into the work of a writer who seems willing and capable to ignore the personality of their protagonist for a whole book? I don’t know. But I do know, that axolotl daemons would require a lot of work.

(I have beef with Philman – thank you for humouring me)

Leave your hatemail in my inbox <3

#rant post #his dark materials rant #is this what i'm going to be known for?#maybe so #philip pullman do not interact #philman #hdm rant

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lo-lynx · 4 years

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Dangerous women in His Dark Materials

CW: Sexism, racism

Spoiler warning: spoilers for all of the His Dark Materials book series. Extremely tiny spoiler for The Secret Commonwealth.

In the opening pages of Northern Lights, we meet our heroine Lyra Silvertongue as she sneaks through the collage where she has grown up, to get access to a forbidden room. Her daemon Pan chides her to behave herself, which she, of course, does not listen to; as the lovely hosts of the podcast Girls Gone Canon are fond of saying when anyone says “Lyra, no”, her immediate response is “LYRA YES” (look, I tried to find a specific episode where they say this so I could reference that, but even though I love their podcast I didn’t want to relisten to hours of the podcast just to find that). In many ways, Lyra is perhaps the very definition of the word “willful”. Another early example that the reader gets of her willfulness is in the second chapter of Northern Lights when Lyra’s relationship to the scholars of Jordan Collage is described: “(…) they were men who had been around her all her life, taught her, chastised her, given her little presents, chased her away from the fruit trees in the Garden (…)” (Pullman 2011a, 19). That last part about chasing her away from the fruit trees in the Garden is particularly interesting since it clearly connects Lyra to Eve and the Garden of Even. Later in the story, we find out that Lyra is prophesised to play a sort of Eve 2.0 role, something the Magisterium dreads (Pullman 2011c, 68). I’ve previously written about the power relations in His Dark Materials and their connection to gender and sexuality here. In this essay I want to continue on a similar track, by analysing femininity and female sexuality specifically, and the Magisterium’s view on them.

But before we get into all of that, I want to return to our dear Lyra. When the reader is first introduced to her, she’s disobeying rules, and this is, of course, a theme that continues through the series. Throughout the books, she is constantly doing things she’s not supposed to do, no matter what the adults or institutions around her say. She is at different times described as “half-wild, half-civilised”, “fierce and stubborn”, and having “some nerve” (Pullman 2011a, 19 & 120; Pullman 2011b, 202). Now, this portrayal of a half-wild young girl sounds very similar to the idea of the “willful girl” that Sara Ahmed describes (2017). Ahmed writes that wilful girls show up in all sort of fiction, and one specific example that she gives is the Grimm story called The Willful Child. Ahmed quotes the story in her text, and since I think it is very illustrative of the point both she and I try to make I will do so as well:

Once upon a time there was a child who was willful, and would not do as her mother wished. For this reason God had no pleasure in her, and let her become ill, and no doctor could do her any good, and in a short time she lay on her death-bed. When she had been lowered into her grave, and the earth was spread over her, all at once her arm came out again, and stretched upwards, and when they had put it in and spread fresh earth over, it was all to no purpose, for the arm always came out again. Then the mother herself was obligated to go to the grave, and strike the arm with a rod, and when she had done that, it was drawn in, and then at last the child had rest beneath the ground. (Grimm & Grimm 1884, 125. Quoted in Ahmed 2017, 66)

As Ahmed points out, it is only when the willful child gives up her own will that she can become at peace. Furthermore, Ahmed writes:

Note that the rod, as that which embodies the will of the parent, of the sovereign, is not deemed willful. The rod becomes the means to eliminate willfulness from the child. One form of will judges the other wills as willful wills. One form of will assumes the right to eliminate the others. (Ahmed 2017, 67)

Now, if this doesn’t describe Lyra’s story, I don’t know what does. Ahmed also notes that willfulness is generally a trait which is assigned to girls, while boys are described as “strong-willed” instead, a more positive trait (ibid, 68). This is because girls are generally not supposed to have wills of their own. However, it’s not just girls who are not supposed to have wills of their own, of course. Ahmed also notes that a similar framing was used to describe enslaved and colonised people, who were often positioned as children, and was supposed to obey their master (ibid, 80). Continuing with the theme of the strong arm who breaks expectations, Ahmed references the famous speech Ain’t I a Woman by Sojourner Truth (ibid, 87). For those who don’t know, Sojourner Truth was a former enslaved black woman and abolitionist who in 1851 held a speech at a women’s convention in Ohio (there exist several performances of this speech that you can find online, I would especially recommend this one by Kerry Washington and this one by Alfre Woodard). There she criticised those who said that women should not have rights because they were the so-called weaker sex. It is said that during her speech, she bared her right arm to show her muscles and pointed out that as a formerly enslaved person she was hardly weak. I’ll return to this speech later, but here I’ll just reiterate the point that Ahmed makes: “The arms of the slave belonged to the master, as did the slaves, as the ones who were not supposed to have a will of their own.” (ibid, 87). This, I think, is a point that becomes clear throughout the His Dark Materials. The powerful claim the right to override the will of the marginalised, be it women, people of colour, or other groups. In previous essays, I have written about how this becomes clear with the illusions to eugenics, etc in the series, so I will leave that here for now. But it is important to remember how race and class interact with gender, and I think that if Lyra didn’t have white privilege and class privilege, she would have a much harder time getting away with being so willful.

Now, Ahmed notes in her text, that all of these stories in literature about willful girls really go back to the “first” willful woman, Eve (Ahmed 2017, 70). These other stories:

(…) becomes a thread in the weave of the stories of willful: returning us to Genesis, to the story of the beginning, to Eve’s willful wantonness as behind the fall from Grace. The wilfulness of women relates here not only to disobedience but to desire: the strength of her desire becoming a weakness of her will. (ibid)

Here we see another twist of the willful woman; the woman whose desires overpower her self-control. Having returned to Eve, which I previously noted is deeply connected to Lyra since she’s considered an Eve 2.0 of sorts, it feels necessary to look at how the Magisterium of Lyra’s world sees Eve. The Church in Lyra’s world (in a parallel to our own) teaches that when Adam and Eve ate of the fruit of knowledge in the garden of Eden, their daemons settled, and they start experiencing shame over their bodies (Pullman 2011a, 370). That is of course also the moment sin comes into the world, and the first humans are cast out of the Garden. I’ve previously written about how this has led to the Church wanting to control sexuality and sin (both in our world and Lyra’s world). If possible, they would eradicate sin from the world altogether. As Mrs. Coulter puts it in The Amber Spyglass: “If they could, they’d go back to the garden of Eden and kill Eve before she was tempted.” (Pullman 2011c, 205). The church here puts the blame for humanity’s sinfulness on the first woman, and much like in our world, I would argue that this has been transferred upon women as a whole. As for instance, Yolanda Betata Martín has written, in the middle ages, the church would generally describe female sexuality as particularly sinful, if not outright demonic (for instance by linking it to witchcraft). She writes:

First, the sexuality is perceived as an activity linked exclusively to reproduction and no to sexual pleasure. Second, female sexuality is projected symbolically as a phenomenon endowed with negative connotations and even destructive defined in terms of greed, insatiability and animality. Both beliefs are based more immediate ideological patristic discourse, i.e., in a Discourse of biblical inspiration that projects an image of women deeply misogynist based on the biblical figure of Eve and her role in the Edenic fall. (…) The Discourse gives patristic principles of rationality, morality and intellectuality to men so that women are defined, following the principle of otherness, as irrational, immoral and visceral. This view of feminine nature, supported ideologically on the supposed natural inferiority of women under the Edenic fall, is radicalized throughout the Middle Ages and especially from the thirteenth century. (ibid, 48)

Women are, therefore, simultaneously seen as potentially dangerous and inferior. Sounds familiar? This, I would argue, is not just how Lyra, but perhaps, even more, her mother Mrs. Coulter, is seen by the Magisterium in His Dark Materials.

Now, I’ve pointed out how Lyra most of the time outright goes against the wishes of the adults around her (with some notable exceptions of course, she is Lyra Silvertongue after all, and can be really sneaky). Mrs. Coulter, on the other hand, usually plays into the perception people have of her. In a world where she can only hold a limited amount of official power (she can’t become a priest in the church, and rise in the ranks in that way, for instance), she has been forced to rely on other means (Pullman 2011a, 372). In this patriarchal world it is quite clear that women are generally devalued, I mean, just look at the disdainful way Lyra describes female scholars at the beginning of Northern Lights (ibid, 71). Lyra is however transfixed by Mrs. Coulter’s charms, and to the reader who already knows how she kidnaps children, it is clear that these charms are dangerous too. But to Lyra, and quite a few other people in the story, they are not obviously sinister. Later, in The Amber Spyglass, Mrs. Coulter uses these same charms to trick Metatron (Pullman 2011c, 405). She seduces him, while simultaneously portraying herself as a weak woman. As a reader, you definitely realise by this point, that the Magisterium is right in fearing both Lyra and Mrs. Coulter. To quote Sojourner Truth (see, I said we’d return to her!):

Then that little man in black there, he says women can't have as much rights as men, 'cause Christ wasn't a woman! Where did your Christ come from? Where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman! Man had nothing to do with Him.

If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back, and get it right side up again! And now they is asking to do it, the men better let them. (Truth 1851. Quoted in Women’s Rights National History Park n.d.)

Yes, these women will turn the world right-side-up again. They’ll create a world (more) free from religious control, and with more equality.

I want to note, that when Lyra sees the female scholar Dame Hannah Relf again, at the end of The Amber Spyglass, she thinks that Dame Hannah is much more clever, interesting, and kind than she thought before (Pullman 2011c, 515). Perhaps Lyra has just grown up, perhaps she has learned to value women more, I’m not sure. However, Lyra definitely has changed. Later in the same chapter, she is described as defiant but lost by Dame Hannah. I don’t quite have the space to go into Lyra’s changing character later in her life, mainly in The Secret Commonwealth, here but perhaps that’ll be a separate essay one day. However, I think it’s quite clear that Lyra has lost some of her wilfulness and daring (not all of it though). And, if she is to save the world again, then she must regain that. Perhaps that is part of Pullman’s message to his readers; be critical of authorities, be brave, be willful.

As we’ve seen throughout this essay, the patriarchal society in Lyra’s world is fearful of willful girls and women. This fear goes all the way back to their hatred and fear of Eve, and their resentment of her being responsible for humanity’s expulsion from the garden of Eden. As Sojourner Truth puts it, they’ve seen that women are strong enough to turn the world upside down. Therefore women, and their sexuality, must be controlled. It must be demonised, and women must be seen as inferior as to not get too much power. In a way, the Church’s fear is proven correct by the story; the women of the story are able to change the world again. This time to turn it right-side-up.

References

Ahmed, Sara. 2017. Living a Feminist Life. Durham: Durham University Press.

Beteta Martín, Yolanda. 2013. “THE SERVANTS OF THE DEVIL. THE DEMONIZATION OF FEMALE SEXUALITY IN THE MEDIEVAL PATRISTIC DISCOURSE.” Journal of Research in Gender Studies Volume, 3:2, 2013, 48–66.

Pullman, Philip. 2011a. Northern Lights. London: Scholastic.

Pullman, Philip. 2011b. The Subtle Knife. London: Scholastic.

Pullman, Philip. 2011c. The Amber Spyglass. London: Scholastic

Women’s Rights National History Park. n.d. “Sojourner Truth: Ain't I A Woman?” National Park Service. Accessed March 22, 2020. https://www.nps.gov/articles/sojourner-truth.htm

#hdm #hdm spoilers #His Dark Materials #his dark materials spoilers #feminism #cw: sexism #cw: racism

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authoraesthetic · 4 years

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Please, I can’t breathe.

Those words fill my eyes with hot, burning, shameful tears. I’m not an emotional person but George Floyd’s story, and all the stories that are so maddeningly similar, make my head pound with grief and anger and shame.

Passivity here is not an option. Turning your head away so you don’t see knees on necks, guns in faces, blind racism, is the same as allowing it to happen. Being on the side of this happening.

It’s time we KNOW their names. George Floyd, Michael Brown, Sean Reed, Steven Demarco Taylor, Ariane McCree, Terrance Franklin, Miles Hall, Yassin Mohamed, Finan H. Berhe, Trayvon Martin, and more. Unfortunately, you can find dozens of examples and names in many places, including here.

These men are human beings. Sons. Brothers. Husbands. Fathers. Family members. Friends. Loves. SOULS. And we need to hear them, see them, know them, fight for them, and create a world where just BEING isn’t a crime that may come with a death sentence.

May we hunger for justice.

Christians, remember Jesus would not take the sidelines here. These are his sons and daughters who are being judged, discriminated against, hurt, and murdered. This is HIS family. Whose side are you on?

I don’t want to hope on a pedestal because this isn’t my time to be seen and it’s not my voice that should be heard. But I can’t stay silent either. I am white but I HAVE to be an ally.

I have a mouth so I can speak out against injustice.

I have eyes so I can see my own privilege and the oppression of my fellow humans.

I have ears so I can listen to their words, their experiences, and their knowledge.

I have feet so I can do something and take action.

I have a heart so I have empathy and feel the heartache and grief that this causes them and the Lord.

And I have hands so I can point to the voices of those who know more than me.

Follow authors such as Angie Thomas, Nic Stone, Jason Reynolds, Ibram X. Kendi, and Clint Smith who use their life experiences, families, friends, and knowledge to spread awareness and share stories that are so important. Follow Zellie Imani, an activist who started the Black Liberation Collective, a group of black students organizing initiatives to shed light on problems that are often kept in darkness, setting demands from the college level to the highest level of government.

And if you’re white and ignore this, think all lives matter, then you need to use what God gave you and OPEN YOUR DAMN EYES to the violence and oppression that is filling this country.

Bernice King said, “All Lives Matter is ideal. Black Lives Matter is an organization & activism committed to ensuring that Black lives become a part of the ALL. #GeorgeFloyd’s last breath screams to us today that Black lives are not indiscriminately among the ALL. Do #BlackLivesMatter to you?”

Rachel Elizabeth Cargle wrote this in 2018 and it’s frustrating that it still applies so deeply and personally.

Dear white people,

I’m tired of hearing you say: “I’m shocked” “I can’t believe this” “I had no idea” “This can’t be real”

That is in all actuality wildly offensive that our pain is so far off of your radar that the mention of it shocks you. It’s actually hurtful to know that the news that’s been keeping me up at night hasn’t even been a topic of conversation in your world.

Instead, when I keep you informed on the blatant abuse, racism, and trauma happening to women of color and their families I need to hear:

“I’ve found an organization that helps in these types of instances and I’ve donated money,” “I’ve brought this topic up to my coworkers and family so we can talk through what’s happening,” “I’ve researched more on this and I have learned more about the history of this particular race issue we have in our country.”

Your shock isn’t enough. Your wow isn’t solidarity. Your actions are the only thing I can accept at this point. And if that is too much for me to ask of you, dear friend, feel free to let yourself out of this community because complacency is not welcome here.

With all seriousness, Rachel Elizabeth Cargle

TOOLS/ORGANIZATIONS/ACTIVISTS/BOOKS/AUTHORS/WEBSITES TO READ MORE/GIVE BACK/DONATE/VOLUNTEER/RESEARCH

Black Lives Matter – donate here

A global organization whose mission is to eradicate white supremacy and build local power to intervene in violence inflicted on Black communities by the state and vigilantes.

BAJI

An organization that “educates and engages African American and black immigrant communities to organize and advocate for racial, social, and economic justice.”

UndocuBlack Network

“A multigenerational network of currently and formerly undocumented Black people that fosters community, facilitates access resources, and contributes to transforming the realities of our people, so we are thriving and living our fullest lives.”

Black Women’s Blueprint

An anti-police brutality organization that “envisions a world where women and girls of African descent are fully EMPOWERED and where gender, race, and other disparities are ERASED.”

NAACP

An organization whose mission “is to secure the political, educational, social, and economic equality of rights in order to eliminate race-based discrimination and ensure the health and well-being of all persons.

So You Want to Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo – A simple book for anyone trying to understand identity, representation, and racism in modern-day America.

Stamped by Jason Reynolds and Ibram X. Kendi – A timely, crucial, and empowering exploration of racism–and antiracism–in America

Black Is the Body by Emily Bernard – A collection of essays about the black experience and a testament to the necessity of Black storytellers.

Ain’t I A Woman: Black Women and Feminism by Bell Hooks – For the reader who wants to learn more about black feminism, this is one of the most important and comprehensive works on how sexism and misogyny specifically affects women of color.

Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? by Beverly Daniel Tatum – Through research and case studies psychologist Beverly Daniel Tatum confronts the subtle ways in which racism dictates the ways both white and non-white people navigate the world.

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas – A YA novel about 16-year old Starr Carter who witnesses the fatal shooting of her childhood best friend Khalil at the hands of a police officer. Khalil was unarmed.

Dear Martin by Nic Stone – a YA novel about race relations in America. “Justyce McAllister is top of his class and set for the Ivy League—but none of that matters to the police officer who just put him in handcuffs.”

Long Way Down by Jason Reynolds – “An ode to Put the Damn Guns Down, this is New York Times bestseller Jason Reynolds’s fiercely stunning novel that takes place in sixty potent seconds—the time it takes a kid to decide whether or not he’s going to murder the guy who killed his brother”

Malcolm Little: The Boy Who Grew Up to Become Malcolm X by Ilyasah Shabazz – A picture book about Malcolm X

More picture books with POC protagonists.

This is STILL happening. Please, I can't breathe. Those words fill my eyes with hot, burning, shameful tears. I'm not an emotional person but George Floyd's story, and all the stories that are so maddeningly similar, make my head pound with grief and anger and shame.

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