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freddiekluger · 3 years

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Why Cap Being Internally Closeted Is Not Only Possible, But Valid Representation

i wrote this to a lot of mitski and onsind, so you can’t blame me for any feelings that bleed through

now i don’t know if it actually exists, but i’ve heard of there being a lot of discourse surrounding the captains story arc regarding his sexuality- i believe the general gist is that having a queer character that remains closeted to themselves is either unrealistic or ‘bad’ representation, and as someone who really treasures the captain and relates to his story so far a lot, i thought i might break this down a bit.

i’ve divded up every complaint i’ve heard about this into four main questions which i’ll be covering below the ‘keep reading’, because this is gonna be pretty comprehensive. full disclaimer i reference my experiences as an ex-evangelical non binary butch lesbian a couple times, and i spent a year studying repression and the psychological impacts of high demand sexual ethics for my graduating sociology paper, so this is coming with some background to it i swear

the big questions:

can you EVEN be gay and not know it????

but isn't this just ANOTHER coming out arc, and aren't we supposed to be moving beyond those?

but if cap can't have a relationship with a man because he's a ghost, what's the point?

since cap's dead, isn't this technically bury your gays, and isn't that bad?

1. "but is it really possible to not know? Isn't that bad representation?"

short answer: no and no.

before i get into the validity of the captain's ignorance about his own orientation as 21st century rep, let's break down how the hell the captain can be so clearly attracted to men and still not even consider the possibility that he might be gay, as brought to you by someone who literally experienced this shit.

the captain's particular situation is both a direct result of the lack of information around human sexuality he would have had (aka clear messaging that it's actually possible for him to be attracted to men. i don't mean acceptable or allowed, i mean physically capable of happening- the idea that orientations other than heterosexual exist and are available to him, a man), and a subconscious survival mechanism. the environment in which he lives is outright hostile to gay people, while the military man identity he has constructed for himself doesn't allow for any form of deviation from societal norms, let alone one so base level and major. as a result of this killer combo of information and environment, instincts take over and the mind does it's best to repress the ‘deviant’ feelings until a. one of these two things changes, or b. the act of repression becomes so destructive and/or exhuasting that it becomes impossible to maintain. the key to maintaining a long-term state of repression of desire is diverting that energy elsewhere, and a high-demand group such as the military is the perfect place for the captain to do this (this technqiue is frequented by religions and extremist ideologies worldwide, but that’s not really what we’re here to focus on).

while the brain is actively repressing ‘deviant’ feelings (aka gay shit), this doesn't mean you don't experience the feelings at all. when performed as a subconscious act of survival, the aim of repression is to minimise/transform the feelings into a state where they can no longer cause immediate danger, and something as big as sexual/romantic orientation is going to keep popping up, but as long as the individual in question never understands what they’re feeling, they’ll be able to continue relatively undisturbed. you know how in heist movies, the leader of the group will only tell each team member part of the plan so they can’t screw things up for everyone else if they get caught? it’s kind of like that.

this is how the captain appears to have operated in life AND in death, and it’s a relatively common experience for lgbtq people who’ve grown up in similar circumstances (aka with a lack of information and in an unfriendly-to-hostile environment), and accounts for how some people can even go on to get married and have children before realising that they’re gay and/or trans.

personally, while i can now identify what were strong homo crushes all the way back to childhood, at the time i genuinely had no idea. there was the underlying sense that i probably shouldn't tell people how attached i was to these girls because i would seem weird, and that my feelings were stronger than the ones other people used to describe friendships, but like-like them in the way that other girls like-liked boys? no way! actually scratch that, it wasn't even a no way, because i had no idea that i even could. i even had my own havers, at least in terms of the emotional hold and devotion she got from me, except she treated me way less well than cap’s beau. snatches of the existence of lgbt people made it through the cone of silence, i definitely heard the words gay and lesbian, but my levels of informations mirrored those that the captain would have had: virtually none, beyond the idea that these words exist, some people are them, and that's not something that we support or think is okay, so let's just not speak about it. despite only attending religious schools for the first couple years of primary, until i got my own technology and social media accounts to explore lgbtq content on my own- option a out of the two catalysts for change- the possibility of me being gay was not at all on my radar. don’t even get me started on how long it took me to explore butchness and my overall gender, two things which now feel glaringly obvious.

when shit starts to break down, you can also make the conscious choice to repress which can delay the eventual smashing down of the mental closet door for a time (essentially when the closet door starts to open, you just say ‘no thanks’ and shut it again by pointedly Not Thinking About It). in the abscence of identifying yourself by your attractions, it becomes quite common to identify with a lack- in my case, this meant becoming proud of how sensible and not boy crazy i was, and in the captain’s case, this means becoming proud of how sensible and not sensuous/wild (aka woman crazy) he was, identifying with his LACK of desire for women and partying (which, even in the 40s, involved the expectation of opposite sex romances and hook ups). i’m not saying that’s the only reason he’s a rule follower, but i think the contrast between About Last Night and Perfect Day pretty much support this. (the captain getting on his high horse about general party antics that he inherently felt excluded from because of underlying awareness of his difference & his tendency to project his regimented expectations of himself onto others, vs. joining in the reception party, awareness of how the environment supports difference in the form of clare and sam, and relaxing his own rules by dancing with men- the captain doesn’t mind a party when feels like he has a place there.)

so the captain was operating in a high demand, highly regulated environment (primarily the military, but also early 20th century England itself), with regimented roles, rules, and expectations. working on the assumption that he wouldn't have had out/disclosing lgbt friends, he would have had little to no exposure to lgbt identities, and what information he did receive would have been hushed and negatively geared. while my world started to open up when i started high school was allowed to have my own phone + instagram account, resulting in me realising something wasn't quite 'right' within a few years (making me a relatively early realiser compared to those who don't come out to themselves until adulthood), in life the captain never had that experience. he didn't receive the information he needed, his environment didn't grow less hostile. with the near-exception of havers related heartbreak, his well disciplined and lifelong method of repression never became destructive/exhaustive enough to permanently override the danger signals in his mind and allow him to put his feelings into words. neither of the most common catalysts for change happened for him, so he continued as usual, even after his death.

BUT, and here’s where we come to why this is actually great representation, arrival of mike and Alison represents the opening up of new world. for the first time, the captain is actively made aware of the fact that his environment is no longer hostile, and better than that, it’s affirming. he’s also getting access to positively geared information about lgbtq people and identities, so option a of the two catalysts for change is absolutely present, and resoundingly positive.

the captain’s arc is also relatively unique as it acknowledges the oppressive nature of his environment, but actually focuses on the internal consequences, and the way that systems like those that the captain lived in succeed because they turn us into our own oppressors. for whatever reason, we repress ourseslves, and often can’t help it, and i find that the significance of the journey to overcome that is often overlooked in more mainstream queer media. perhaps it’s just not very cinematic, or it remains too confronting for cishet audiences, but ghosts manages to touch on it with a lovely amount of humour and hope. Jamie Babbit’s But I’m A Cheerleader is another favourite piece of queer media for the same reasons.

not only does it show this, but as the captain continues to get gayer and lean into some of his less conventional traits (like an interest in fashion and the wedding planning), it shows lgbt people who have been or are going through this that there CAN be a positive outcome. it takes a lot to unlearn all the things that have painted you as wrong, especially when a massive institution is desperate to continue doing so, but you can do it, you can be happy, and it's never too late. (i've been meaning to say that last point for ages for ages, but a mutual beat me to it here)

2. not just another coming out arc

i absolutely support the demand for queer stories that don’t center around coming out (it’s like shrodinger’s queer: if you’re not coming out on screen, do you really even exist?), but i don’t align with the criticisms that the captain should already be out. for the reasons mentioned above, the captain’s particular story is fairly different to the ‘young white teenager who mostly knows gay is fine, it’s just everyone else that’s got the problem, but have a unremarkably straight sounding soundtrack, a trauma porn romance, and a cishet saviour’ that we keep seeing. the captain’s ongoing journey with his sexuality emphasises the overaching theme of the show: recovering from trauma and humanity’s endless capacity for growth, and i think that’s worth showing over and over again until it stops being true.

additionally, while the captain’s journey regarding his gayness is a big part of his character and story, ghosts makes it clear that it’s not the ONLY part, and being gay is far from his ONLY characteristic or dramatic/comedic engine. the fact that i’m even having to congratulate ghosts for doing that really shows how much film and television is struggling huh.

while all queer media is, and should be, subject to criticism, i think if it helps even one person then it absolutely deserves to exist, and i can say i’ve found the captain’s journey to be the lgbt story i’ve found that’s closest to my own, which says a lot considering he’s a dead world war 2 soldier who hangs out with other ghosts including a slutty Tory, a georgian noblewoman, and a literal caveman.

3. if captain gay, why he no have boyfriend????

another complaint that’s been circulating is that since the captain doesn’t, and likely won’t, have a boyfriend, that makes him Bad Representation because it follows the sad single gay trope. i kind of get the logic from this one, and a lot of it is up to personal interpretation, but part of me really enjoys the fact that the captain’s journey towards accepting himself is separated from having a relationship.

coming out is often paired with having romantic/sexual relationships (either as the reason or reward for doing so). my own struggle with repression didn't end the second that came out, and i still struggle with letting myself develop & acknowledge romantic feelings as a result of actively shutting them (and most other feelings in general) down for years, and statistics show that lgbtq youth in particular tend not to live out their 'teen years' until their twenties. by not giving cap a relationship straight away, ghosts separates the act of claiming identity and sexual orientation from finding a partner (two things which are, more often than not, separate), and also provides some very nice validation to folks who have yet to have the relationship they want, especially when lots of mainstream queer media is now jumping on the cishet media bandwagon of acting as if every person loses their virginity and has a life defining relationship at sixteen. it’s essentially a continuation of the earlier theme of “it’s never too late”, and who’s to say the captain won’t get a gay bear ghost boyfriend to go haunt nazis with??? people die all the time, it could happen.

(also, i think him and julian will have definitely shagged at least once. it was a low moment for both of them and they refuse to speak of it.)

lots of asexual/ace spectrum fans have come out to say how much they’ve loved being able to headcanon cap as ace, and while that’s not a headcanon i personally have, i think it’s brilliant that ace fans feel seen by his character- we’re all in this soup together babey (and sorry for cursing everyone still reading this with that cap/julian headcanon. i’m just a vessel)

4. “okay, but cap’s a GHOST- doesn’t that make this Bury Your Gays?”

this is a bit of a complex one, but i’m going to say no as a result of the following break down.

Bury Your Gays (BYG), aka the trope where lgbtq characters are consistently killed off (and often with a heavy dose of trauma, while cishet characters survive) is probably one of my least favourite lgbt media tropes. BYG has two main points:

1. the lgbt character is killed, thus removing them from story entirely- hence the use of the phrase ‘killed OFF’ (killed off of the show/film)

2. the character’s death reinforces the perception that lgbtq people’s lives must end in tragedy, instead of being long and fulfilling, or are inherently less valuable. bonus points if the character is killed in a hate crime or confesses same-gender love right before they die (that one implies that queer love genuinely has no future!)

not every death of an lgbtq character is bury your gays, and i personally feel that the captain is an example of an lgbt death that isn’t.

first of all, while the captain is dead, so are the vast majority of characters in ghosts. the premise of the show means that death is not the end of the line for its characters- for most of them, it’s the only reason we get to see them on screen at all. as such, the captain being dead doesn’t remove him from the story, so point one is irrelevant.

at the time of posting, we don’t know how or why the captain died, but we've had nothing to suggest his death was in any way related to his latent sexuality, so his mysterious death doesn’t actively play into the supposedly inherent tragedy of queer lives, nor the supposedly lesser value. that’s as of right now- since we don’t know the circumstances of his death it’s a little tough to analyse properly. while the captain’s life absolutely features missed opportunities and it’s fair share of tragedy, hope and growth (which seems to be the theme of this post) abounds in equal measure. the captain may not be alive, but we DO get to see him growing and having a relatively happy existence, that for the most part seems to be getting even better as he learns to open up and be himself unapologetically- that doesn’t feel like BYG to me.

while writng this, it’s just occured to me that death really is a second chance for most of the ghosts, especially with the introduction of alison. from mary learning to read, to thomas finding modern music, they’ve all been given the chance explore things they never could have while they were alive, and hopefully grow enough to one day be sucked off move on.

in conclusion,

i love the captain very much and i hope his arc lives up to the standards it’s set so far. i don’t know where to put this in this post, but i’d alo like to say i LOVE how in Perfect Day, the captain wasn’t used as an educational experienced for fanny at all. i am very tired of people expecting me to be the walking talking homophobe educator and rehabilitator, so the fact that it’s alison and the other ghosts that call fanny out while the captain just gets to have fun with the wedding organisation made me very happy.

here’s a few other cap posts that i’ve done:

the captain’s arc if adam and the film crew stayed

a possible cap coming out

the captain backstory headcanon

if you’ve read this far,

thank you!

also check out @alex-ghosts-corner , this post inspired me very much to write this

#i subluxed all my fingers and wrists doing this but worth it #bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts headcanon #bbc ghosts analysis #the captain #caphavers #the captain x havers #ben willbond #lgbt representation #lgbt rep #queer media #lgbt media

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ssson-of-sparda · 3 years

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WHAT FORTUNE GAVE - Prologue (Vergil x Nero's Mother)

Summary: Turmoil has engulfed the small Island of Fortuna, shaken now more than ever by a never-ending civil war opposing the religious Order of the Sword to a group of rebels named the Guard of Sparda. As he tries to unveil his father's secret past and achieve some hidden dark purpose, Vergil crosses path with Elissa, a young lady whose thirst for vengeance and blood is as red as the dress she's wearing. He doesn't want to care and he especially doesn't want to get involved but you don't choose your fate in Fortuna. That's the story Nero is about to discover.

Tags: Romance / Angst / Fluff / Explicit Sexual Content / Explicit Language / Canon-Typical Violence / Blood and Gore / Religion / The Order of The Sword / Civil War / Rebellion / Demons / Action and Adventure / Sparda's past

Author’s note: This is one hell of an ambitious project I put myself into, but I hope you will follow me in this journey which is basically another fan fiction about Vergil and Nero's mother. Probably not the best (I've read some prreeety good ones) but one that should be (hopefully) different from what was previously posted.I worked a lot on this story, made a lot of research and used many artistic references that I catalogued at the end of each chapter for the curious ones among you. Since English is not my mother tongue, feel free to let me know if there's any grammar mistake or if some sentences don't make any sense. Anyway, enjoy your reading.

In twenty-five years, Aifric’s Alehouse hadn’t changed even just a tiny bit. Same hefty old furniture. Same mucky walls and filthy floor covered in layers of dry alcohol that stick your shoes to the wooden slats each time you take a step. Same lamentable drunkards in search of more alcohol to drown their sorrows in, their arms around women that would pretend to adore them for a night in exchange for a bit of money. And, now that Vergil dared breathe a little, same foul stench of humidity, staleness and sweat, typical of this kind of underground bars from the no-go areas of the Castle Town of Fortuna. And the music … Don’t let him think about the music. Never thought he would come back here one day. His firm gloved hand grabbed the backrest of a wobbly stool that scratched the old wooden floor with an unpleasant creak as he pulled it to sit on it, revealing his presence to the brown-skinned man sipping his beer in silence next to him, his defeated pockmarked face hidden under a thick dirty white cloak that hadn’t been washed in probably years and that had lost almost all its glorious golden embroideries. Vergil eyed at him for a second, the same way the Moor had eyed at him when, more than two decades ago, he had sit on this very same stool, his then young frame hidden under a cloak similar to his and yet less odorous, a young wanderer looking for stories and answers. Strange how things seems to move in circle. “You’re too late. You know that?” The man’s voice was thickly and hoarse, due to the long years of alcohol abuse and contempt towards the world, towards that silver-haired ghost back from a distant past but especially towards himself. “Twenty-five fucking years too late to be more precise.” He got no answer to that reproach, not a word, just a nod and a pregnant silence that made him scoff. But his laugh, once so hearty and alive, held today nothing but melancholy and despise. “But at least she was right. You did come back.” Vergil peeped at the man again from the corner of his icy blue eyes, longer this time, but still with that eternal impassibility he was known for, hiding his slight surprise and his judgemental thoughts he knew deep down he shouldn’t have. But the barfly next to him was nothing like the man he had met years ago. This man was just the broken shadow of the one everyone in Fortuna once called Adel the Honourable¹ , Captain of the Guard of Sparda. “What the fuck are you doing here … Vergil?” He spat on his name, literally, not caring about what the solemn Son of Sparda would think of him, would do to him. He spat to show him his disgust, his hatred, even though he knew that a bit of saliva wasn’t enough to show the extent of his feelings. “Where is she?” Vergil asked with a calm voice that made Adel grimace (that voice was as nasally and annoying as he remembered) and finally glare at him, allowing Vergil to see how the years and the pain had marked and scared his once-handsome face. “You got some nerve to ask that now.” “ I need to see her.”Adel firmly hit the counter with his empty glass before turning around to stare at Vergil, giving him a long disdainful look he thought he could only give himself. “Sure, I’ll bring you to her. But you might want to give me that damn sword of yours so that I shove it deep in your stone-cold heart first.” Vergil smirked. This was way too reminiscent of old foolish squabbles he once found very amusing … though quite pathetic and most of the time one-sided. “Why don’t you use that crossbow² of yours instead?” The taunt wasn’t meant to defy him if one could read through Vergil’s phlegmatic voice. But the Moor³ interpreted it that way and yet refused to react to it, knowing how vain it would be. “I don’t have it anymore.” Adel opened his cloak to reveal a leather sling with no weapon attached to it. “I don’t have anything anymore. And we know full well that it wouldn’t have done shit to you.” “Trust me, Adel. I know what it’s like to lose everything.” Was it an attempt at sounding

sympathetic? Probably. After all, Vergil still felt somewhat confused by the occasional waves of humanity surging up from inside of him. “Do you?” He laughed with bitterness, not believing him for one second. “Bullshit! And you know why? Cause you never had anything!” If Vergil took this as a personal attack he didn’t let his body show it, but he nevertheless let out one simple sentence, a boast he knew would displease the brown-skinned man, a display of his pride and superiority he always thought he had over that mere human. “I had her.” Quite expectedly, Adel jumped from his stool and before falling back against the bar, tried to grab Vergil by his blue collar. But it looked too pathetic and clumsy to be considered menacing or dangerous. “Fucking stop talking about her!” He pointed his finger at him in defiance while tears formed in his dull black eyes that had long lost their charming spark. “She fucking loved you! She loved you so damn much and you never cared, not a damn second. So don’t come to me with all your ceremony and shit, pretending you care now?” He sobbed loudly and wiped his eyes with his fists, a gesture that only made Vergil frown. How low had that man sunk! And how wrong he was. “Nero needs to know.” The silver-haired man finally said, not very willing to continue this conversation due to a growing lack of patience. “He needs to know about his mother.”There was a new brief silence that could only be filled with glasses clinking, noisy hubbub and prostitutes giggles. Both men gauged each other, wondering who should talk first and what to say after the name of the boy the woman they both loved had given birth to was brought into the discussion. “So you finally know.” The Moor finally said as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “How does it feel?” Vergil didn’t want to talk about his feelings, especially not with a man he hadn’t seen in years and that would be too eager to judge him. His feelings were his to ponder and only his. “My feelings are none of your concern.” The brevity of Vergil’s sentences was annoying to Adel who had almost forgotten how it was to have a conversation with the stoic Son of Sparda. And when some people would call it introversion he would call it self-importance, despicable self-importance. “Do you ever think of her?” New intended silence. But yes, there were times when Vergil did think of her because that’s what happens when someone as special as her shares even just a tiny bit of his life. He thought of her when he was at his best and when he was at his lowest. And he had been thinking of her even more lately, each time he would look at Nero or think of him, each time he would remember his journey in Fortuna. She was a part of his past he would never be able to cast away. But again, none of Adel’s business. “Look, you don’t need to talk to me about her. Just tell Nero. I bet you know how to find him.”Glad to finally leave, Vergil stood up and dusted his long dark coat he felt had been soiled by such a dirty place. But right after he turned around to walk away, his old acquaintance spoke again with disarming heartfelt honesty. “It feels like hell to me.” Vergil stopped and slightly looked back at him from the corner of his eyes, at his defeated look staring deep in his empty glass again. “Like fucking hell actually. Seeing that kid of yours growing up to be just like her but at the same time just like you right under my nose. That smug smirk he got from you on the lips he inherited from her. Everything about that child makes me want to vomit or plug my eyes out because that makes me realise all I lost, all I could have had if you had never stepped a foot in Fortuna. You took her away from me, away from everyone, and when you finally got out from my life, you dared leave behind you a living reminder of your victory over me to torture me for the rest of my miserable days.” Vergil stood still, withstanding the man’s rancour without batting an eyelash. “The fact you considered her love a victory maybe is the reason why you

never had her.” Vergil replied and before pushing the double-leaf door of the bar, waited for an instant as if he was expecting something to come in, but Adel was stubborn and not keen on accepting defeat. “You took her away from your son!” He shouted and smiled when Vergil froze again on his way out. “ If that’s true, go tell him that then.”

***

Nico was pissed. Nero could tell it by the way she was furiously trying to fix the neon blue sign of their van. But what could he do about it? It wasn’t his fault if a starving empusa had decided to snack on the E while Nico was parked waiting for her friend to come back from his demon ass kicking routine. “D vil May Cry” Nero read out loud with a pout. “I don’t know, Nico. Works for me.” And yet, he had a feeling being angry because of a damn light was just a pretext to let out some pent up frustration due to god knew what. “Really? Is that how you gonna treat your family heritage now?” The black-haired woman harrumphed, threatening to hit her friend with a monkey wrench. “Is that how you gonna treat my precious Minotaurus after all he did for ya? After he followed you right into that hellish ficus?” “Qliphoth.” He corrected with a smile. “Yeah whatever.” Nero had a brief laugh but eventually shrugged, not seeing the problem as he read the neon sign on the van again. “The E doesn’t light up anymore. So what? We still know it’s Devil May Cry.” “When your deadbeat dad tore your arm out from its socket, didn’t I give ya a new one?” Nero grumbled, not finding the comparison funny or admissible. “That’s not the same! You can’t compare my arm to a damn neon letter. I needed my arm!” “And Devil May Cry needs its E! So stop complainin’ and pass me the stillson.” She ordered as she kept on adjusting the colourful wires hidden in the dented bodywork of the van. Nero sighed but handed her the tool anyway. “I thought you were tired of being my pet mechanic.” “ I am but like I said, I can’t let you treat my baby like that.” And then, he dared say it. “Seriously. I thought you would be busy reading those new files you found in your father’s old stuff? You didn’t say anything about what they were.” And, as Nico dropped the wrench on the hood, he immediately knew he maybe shouldn’t have asked that. “Cause they were not interesting. Just pieces of diaries he wrote when he was young, explainin’ how he started working for the Order and why he didn’t want me or my mother in his life anymore.” Nero frowned, not believing Nico for an instant. Her sentence didn’t make any sense to him cause he was sure any child who had grown up without a parent would be even just a tiny bit interested in knowing who they were or what they did. He knew he was. God! What he would give to know even a just of small piece of information about his mother, about who she was, how she looked like. But unfortunately for him, the only person who had all the answers to his questions was never prompt to give them, acting more like a vault than a chatterbox. “And that doesn’t interest you? Raaah come on, Nico!” He clicked his tongue. “I’m interested in his work. Nothing else. I couldn’t care less about his adventure with that other chick which is FYI apparently one of the reason why that asshole left my mother and me.” “ You father left your mother for someone else?” Nico glared at Nero, catching a judgment in his voice that never was there. “ Well I least I know why my father left my mother… No, actually, I know my mum, period.” Nero hadn’t heard that kind of words in years but the burn was as painful as he remembered. How many times he had heard the kids in Fortuna disrespecting him, disrespecting his mother, claiming she was a prostitute⁴ from the ill repute places of Fortuna. How many horrors he had to listen to. And how many punches he had received, and given, because of them. “Damn! I’m sorry, Nero. I didn’t mean.” Nico declared, horrified by her unusual behaviour and by the sudden sadness Nero tried to conceal in his blue eyes. “Forget it. I’m used to it.” He gestured her to let go and went rummaging in the toolbox for no particular reason but to occupy his mind with something else. But Nico wasn’t willing to end their conversation like that, the feeling of guilt eating at her. “I’m sure your mother was someone fantastic, Nero.” She had a soft comforting smile.

“I mean, she had to be, you know … to stand your father.” Nero chuckled but there was still that hint of misery, that very particular misery he only felt when thinking of his mother. A mix of bitterness, void and love. “Maybe she never really had to stand him. Maybe she was … a prostitute like everybody said.” Nico frowned; refusing to believe Nero would go for such bullshit. Didn’t he know how close-minded and rumour-hungry the people in Fortuna were? “Nah, I don’t think so.” She declared as she funnily wrinkled her nose. “No money in the world would be enough to accept to spend a night with your dad. Your mother had to veeeery nice and patient and ooooh so in love with him.” Nero spared a glance at Nico, deeply moved by her attempt at comforting him and hoping she was right. “Damn, I beg that poor woman was a saint, ‘cause Vergil might look yummy to most people’s standards but he ain’t fun.” Her lips pinched together, she had a sort of deep serious frown that wrinkled her entire forehead, a somewhat amusing grimace Nero was sure was meant to emulate his father characteristic impenetrability. She kinda nailed it but … “ Did you just say my father looks yummy?” Nero asked, quite disgusted. A crush on Lady, that he could get, but on his father … It made him shiver and want to throw up. “Huh, to most people standards!” She repeating, clapping her hands between each syllables. “I’m not most people.” Nero’s eyes widened when he heard familiar slow and steady footsteps coming from behind the door of the garage. “I mean, do you really think I could feel even just a tiny bit attracted to ‘Power! I need more power!’?” She imitated with a cavernous voice and Nero tried not to laugh. But it wasn’t Nico’s new impersonation of Vergil that was making him want to do so. It was actually his father standing on top of the stairs, stoic and still like a marble statue staring impassibly at Nico making a fool of him. Maybe he should warn her of his presence. Yes, maybe he should. He timidly pointed at his father standing right behind her; still unsure he wanted this scene to stop. But he couldn’t wait to see Nico’s face when she would notice Vergil. And oh god, how priceless it was. Nico was an intrepid, loud and lovely person but when her dark eyes took a small glance of Vergil, she froze and cleared her throat, definitely uncomfortable and … yeah a tiny bit scared. “But it has its charm. You’ve got some charm. That’s undeniable.” She rectified, looking at Vergil who eventually nodded, a faint smile on his face that meant more ‘yeah right’ than ‘how funny’ in Vergil language. He didn’t find this funny at all. “Good evening to you too, Nicoletta. Nero.” He nodded once again, casting his aura of solemnity all over the garage. “Nico. Just Nico … nevermind.” Nico mumbled in a whisper that Vergil heard but chose to ignore. Nicknames were not his thing… They had never been his thing.He went down the stairs, his hand resting on the hilt of his precious Yamato as always and looked at the van with a new frown. “You two are busy working on some repairs, perhaps.” He asked in an effort to be as familial as possible, something that wasn’t his forte at all. It made the two friends exchange a curious glance. “ Yes … I mean, no, we were done.” Nero replied, wondering what his father was doing here. After all, unexpected visits were not in Vergil’s habits. “ No, we were not. Gotta fix that E, remember?” Nico tapped at the letter with insistence. “ That again?” The young man sighed. “Is Dante here?” That could explain Vergil’s presence in Fortuna. But as 90% of the time – or more – the Son of Sparda evicted an answer, changing the subject – or ignoring it – with a destabilizing yet infuriating indifference. “ Miss Goldstein is right, a E is important.” He spoke, his icy blue eyes looking towards a distant past, towards memories he held in his heart he was rediscovering more and more with each day spent with his family, with his son. “ Thank you! See, I told you!” Nico

shouted, proud to be right. “ What are you doing here?” Nero finally questioned, impatient to finally know the truth behind his father’s presence. “I was in Fortuna visiting an old acquaintance.” Vergil weighed his words with smoothness as he paced in the garage looking at his surroundings without no real interest in them. “ You … got acquaintances?” The slight frown of disbelief on Nero’s face made him suddenly look so much like his father but Vergil didn’t notice, too busy staring at the extinguished E that looked so dull surrounded by such neon blue lights when it should have shone as brightly as them if not more. “Hopefully, he should visit you soon.” “ Wait! What? Why?” Nero always saw his father as an impenetrable mystery, even when he was just V, but right now he couldn’t tolerate him being so evasive. “To give you the answers you want.” And he couldn’t not tolerate him being a stolid piece of shit either. “About my mother?” Or a mute one. But with Vergil, silence often meant a lot. “Hey! You can’t just leave me like that!” Nero caught his father’s right arm with a violent strength, a vision that stirred a new one, an old one, one Vergil regretted. “Plus, why would you send a stranger in my house to talk to me about my mother? Why don’t you do it yourself?” God! If she knew what he had done to their son. What would she say? What would she do? “Silence. I thought so. You don’t even have the courage to tell me her name so why should I expect more from you.” In his lifetime, only a few persons had been able to defeat Vergil, one of them being his son. So, after looking down at his boots for a second, he walked away, not keen on riling up Nero even more, not today.“Elissa.⁵” The name, left unpronounced for so many years, burnt Vergil's tongue when each blazing letter, probably angry to have been reduced to dormant embers for so long, managed to escape the barrier of his tight lips. But Vergil welcomed this fiery pain without blinking and even dared say it again, embracing the ignition once more with a soft melancholic smile. He was part demon. Fire couldn't hurt him. So why being afraid of it? “Your mother’s name was Elissa.” Plus there was no danger in saying her name, just liberation. It was a beautiful name, after all. And for a second, he felt like his young self again. “Now fix it, would you?” That E meant a lot to Vergil.

REFERENCES: ¹ Adel The Honourable: Adel is a Persian name derived from the Arabic عَدَلَ meaning "to act justly". I added the title "the Honourable" to reinforce the idea his character was made to be fair, honest and just. Adel also belongs to the House of Montefeltro, a name you will discover later. ² crossbow: I intended to give Adel a simple bow as it is the weapon of righteousness (ndlr: Robin Hood) but then I chose to give him a crossbow because I thought the addition of the word "cross" was giving a religious connotation that suited his character. The fact that he lost the weapon is of course meaningful. ³ The Moor: reference to Shakespeare's Othello. ⁴ claiming she was a prostitute: This idea of Nero's mother being a prostitute was directly taken from Devil May Cry: Deadly Fortune. In the novel, we learn that Nero was often bullied by the other kids claiming his mother was a whore. ⁵ Elissa: Elissa is the other name that was given to Dido, first queen of Carthage and lover of the demi-god Aeneas, in Virgil's Aeneid. Her name is composed of the Punic reflex of "El-" meaning "god", and "‐issa" that means "fire", hence why her name burns Vergil's lips when he says it. Her name carrying the word "fire" also echoes the red colour of her dress and her hair as well as her affiliation to the House of Minos you will read about later. In a nutshell, this girl is on fire! ;-)

#devil may cry #devil may cry fanfiction #vergil #nero's mother #vergil x nero's mother #vergil fanfiction

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a-room-of-my-own · 3 years

Note

Hi, as a French person, what do you think about this article? nytimes (.) com/2021/06/02/opinion/france-cnews-americanization(.)html

Well, CNEWS is indeed inspired by American TV, but if French people have been calling it the French Fox News, it's far, far away from being as right-wing as Fox. It's just... a right-wing channel, in a country where there were none before.

The journalist doesn't contextualize anything, so to an American reader, it seems like our political landscape is the same as yours. Well, to give you an idea, the American democrat party is, for us, right-wing for example. Also, hate speech laws + the CSA (authority in charge of regulating the media) would make it impossible for a channel like Fox to be as incendiary as it is. Zemmour has been condemned several times for things that in America would have been considered supremely bigoted but not reprehensible like "immigrants are invading the country", "crime is rising because of immigration" etc ... He's a racist, misogynistic piece of garbage, but I've heard much, much worse on Fox News.

Also, if they do like to talk at length about what we call "faits divers" in France, especially in Praud's show L'Heure des Pros (The Pro Hour, a pun on Praud's name) the cases the journalist quotes as examples aren't as benign as he presents them, which is dishonest.

And as with the Fox network, CNews often sets the country’s agenda. Many of the news items obsessively covered by the channel have evolved into full-blown national debates. Among them are the bullying of a teenager on social media after she called Islam a “religion of hate” on Instagram;

Mila, a 16 year old out lesbian, was receiving homophobic insults from Muslim men on Instagram, and as she is an atheist she lashed out in a story and said basically 'i hate religions and your religion is shit'. It was 18 months ago, and since then, according to her lawyer, she received 100,000 death threats. She's on a 24/7 police protection and has to be homeschooled because her school couldn't guarantee her safety. She then was placed in a military boarding school, but since she's still expressing herself on social media they also said that if she didn't stop they wouldn't be able to keep her. So now she's homeschooled. It's not a "benign" cyber-bullying case, especially since a few months ago a high school teacher ended up decapitated in the street for suspicion of islamophobia.

a push from the Green Party mayor of Lyon to serve meat-free meals at school cafeterias;

The mayor of Lyon imposed meat free meals in school cafeterias during the pandemic, officially to make it simpler to distribute meals with the covid hygiene / distancing rules. Some people in Lyon disagreed, saying it was ideological, imposed without a vote and also, that the school cafeteria was often the only place where children coming from poor families could eat meat altogether. And that as many people were unemployed or partially unemployed, it wasn't fair. And as food is a serious business in this country, it blew up.

support from the country’s oldest student union for meetings reserved for women and nonwhite people;

The UNEF, who's been steadily losing members after taking a racialist turn, had been organizing meetings reserved to "nonwhite" people which is, well, discrimination, since it's a union representing all students, and not a charity defending the rights of a specific group of people. Basically it was excluding some of its own members from meetings, while saying no important decision was taken during them.

and the acceptance by the president’s party, En Marche, of a candidate who wears the Islamic veil onto its list for the regional elections later this month. (The party eventually withdrew the nomination under pressure.)

Mostly because it was revealed said candidate was close to the Muslim brotherhood, who had created an association spreading their ideology, regularly quoting raging misogynists like Tariq and Hani Ramadan. When LREM found out (or more accurately, when it was made public) they her go.

#politics #he could have defended his idea while contextualizing it #the fact he didn't is uh...telling

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sebastianshaw · 4 years

Conversation

Meme from "Broad City" quotes

“You said if you were ever going to do same sex experimentation, it was going to be with me.”

"Who would you rather go down on you? Michael Bublé or Janet Jackson?”

“Can Janet Jackson go down on me while Michael Bublé narrates it in song?”

“What’s an Arch de Triumph?”

“It’s when two dudes go down on us, is how I picture it, and they’re butt to butt and then you and I do Oprah hands.”

“I really don’t feel like going into work today.”

"Great, I’ll see you in 30 days then. . . biiiiitch.”

“Maybe your dad should have pulled out.”

“I need someone for the amazing race because my mom just pulled out.”

“I also have business with the bank. I’d like to cash these nickels, and I’ll have them in quarters, please. Thank you so much.”

“I’m a sexual X-Man. I’m Wolverine. I’m Vulvarine!”

"Oh my Lady God, thank you!"

“The vagina is nature’s pocket. It’s natural and responsible.”

“I would take you on my shoulders – like I’d strap you up and be like, ‘Let’s go through helllll.’”

“I’m not sexually aroused, I’m fiscally aroused.”

“That’s literally a one stop pussy shop. I love it!”

“I finally figured out my eyebrows, They’re sisters, not twins.”

“Four R’s, my friend-- Reduce, Reuse, Recycle, Rihanna.”

“Statistically we’re headed toward an age where everybody’s going to be, like, caramel and queer.”

“I’m an adult and I’m responsible. Let’s go get some candy.”

“I finally masturbated above the covers without my eyes being closed.”

“I just want to get home and watch my shows.”

"You just pulled a bag of pot out of your vagina."

"Do you ever get hair from your head stuck in your buttcrack in the shower?"

"I'm still not over Amy Winehouse."

"I can't really imagine what it's like for people with blue eyes."

"This isn't a sugar daddy thing. This is just an old established guy paying for his younger friend who he also has sex with kind of thing."

"You're like 12, right?"

"I love me some dumplings. It's like a squirrel clutch with a meatball in it."

"I was so worried I baked a whole cake and then I ate a whole cake."

"In da clerb, we all fam."

"I know you from your ass better than I know your face."

"I respect you respecting me."

"You know what's cool about this party? We're the sexiest girls here."

"I'll pick up your poop. You're worth it."

"This is what living on the edge looks like."

"You got beauty. You got brains. You're a fucking genius. Do you wanna kiss?"

"You look sexy and vivacious and artsy and, like, young-wife material but, like, taut and teasy still. It's a perfect combo."

“Witches aren’t monsters, they’re just women! They’re fucking women who cum and giggle and play in the night. And that’s why everybody wants to set them on fire ‘cause they’re so fucking jealous."

"YAS KWEEN!"

“I AM NOT A MOM!”

"You never know if you never try and if you never try you never know."

“I’m only 27, what am I? A child bride?”

"You have been busting my balls all day over a sahaaaandwich shahooppe?!"

"I don’t watch anything but solo porn because regular porn is like, “Shut up, little girl! Wash my feet!” And she’s like "uhhh don’t tell my dad ok? Because I’m just barely legal. I love shaved pubes and tanned, crispy bellies and taints.” It’s like ugh!"

"I don’t have any money. I’m a wittle baby."

“Buckle up, buttercup”

"Money is a mind control technique that used to quantify the progress of the patriarchy!"

"Nose, vagina, butthole. If God didn’t want us to put our fingers up then then why did She make them perfectly finger sized ?"

"I’ll see you when u wake up, and if you don’t wake up I’ll still see you cause I’m gonna kill myself and meet you in heaven or whatever.”

"If you train your eyes, you can see their religion”

“I know it’s like “pwease Mr. Cwusty old white man, can I pwease keep my ovaries?” Alright bitch you better vote, text me when you do”

“I mean we had been together how long, and I still never saw nipples?”

“OOPS I guess I don’t know my own strength”

“Pillows are nature’s packing peanuts!”

“The student has become the teacher!”

"This is some high class shit."

"It's 2014. Anal is on the menu."

"Where ISN'T the bathroom?"

"I was cyberbullied within an INCH of my life last night"

“I saw your tweets and I wanted to check you out but I also wanted to respect your space”

"I am going to respect your dick later."

“You’re my lil cupcake”

“I once ate a corn on the cob. Including the cob”

"Ugh, who YELLS?"

"GET OFF THE BALLS AND GO!"

"Wanna get, like, a bunch of hot dogs?"

"Did you draw that painting?"

“You have to swipe yaas, you can’t swipe naas.”

“I fucked you in the ASS the first night we did ANYTHING. I think that’s pretty fuckin mature."

"Well aren't you a hot diggity dog and a scalawag to boot?"

"In the club, we are all family. Are you racist?"

“Welcome to Florida, America’s droopy dick”

"This is the men's room. Uh DOIIII!"

“You’re so full of shit I need a plunger."

“Thank you SO much for calling me a star”

"I'm an adult. I should be buying my own pot."

"Coat racks AREN'T for babies!"

"My biggest weakness is that I lose my purse a lot. But my biggest strength is that I always get it back."

"I like to call it jazz becomes it comes out of my horn, and you never know where it's gunna go."

"White people do that dog thing. Black people don't make out with dogs."

"Next thing you know you're pregnant with his sperm and he's sanding down your headboard shirtless."

"We are garbage people living on garbage island!"

"I didn't know you had a veneer and I'm in that mouth on a regular basis."

"I'm not putting weed up inside of me because I'm an adult and I'm responsible."

"I really think you should put your weed in your front hole."

“We’re technically homeless right now.”

"Your ass looks incredible."

"Your ass looks incredible. Your head and body too. But we all know who’s the star of the show here.”

“Who am I? Honey, I have a cyst on my uterus and I need to get fucked until it pops.”

“You want me to FaceTime from the bathroom?”

“Dude, I would follow you into hell, brother!”

“Well, you are funny.”

"Animated movies are where it's at. They're like visual crack."

"All Hollywood media is porn, and all porn is kiddie porn. We live in a rape culture. We just do."

"Who would leave weed in a wall? A weed genius. And she'd leave it there indefinitely in case of emergency."

"Isn't it nuts that pickles were cucumbers? They're the trans people of the vegetable community."

"We are an incredible team and I love you."

"Smart and sexy. She is unreal, this girl."

"I've been overeating this week."

"How DARE you LIE to your WIFE?!"

"Do I or do I not have herpes?"

"Follow your third eye--your clit."

"It's my birthday, I'M KING OF THE WORLD!"

"I mean, the female form---God's hottest creation."

"You have to respect the sanctity of the RSVP."

"Okay, something seems very locked up inside of you."

"You have a way of tainting everything I love."

"I'm gonna be like a successful artist any day now."

"Yeah, I don't wanna rise and grind anymore. I wanna rise and then like lay back down."

"It's like we knew it would happen but we didn't do anything about it."

"ADRENALINE!"

"To be honest, I'm really happy with the way I look."

"WANNA FOOK?"

"Never have I ever read a newspaper."

"This is what living on the edge looks like."

#roleplay meme #roleplay memes #roleplay starters #rp memes #rp meme #rp starters #broad city #my memes #my meme #my starters #okay to reblog #out of shirt #will answer in morning #god I loved this show

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alatismeni-theitsa · 3 years

Text

anti LO anon opinions

(1) Hot take: Anyone can make a comic where the characters are different colors and have a lineless style. I feel like because of how popular it got, if you even try to do something with monocolor schemes, LO fans will think you're copying.It's a lot easier to make characters one color and a completely valid way of making art/comics. No one owns a lineless art or monocolors tho.I'd love to see comics that use colors like LO does but in a way that makes more sense.

(2) R.. Rachel knows Demeters a fertility goddess- right??? She knows that there's like a billion fertility goddesses in greek mythology right?!

(3) LO Ouranos' design is just confirming once again Smythe can only think of these gods in a Abrahamic fashion instead of their actual ancient context and society. That's why the Maidens are seen as regressive prudes, why there's such an emphasis on "purity", why men hold more power/status, why Minthe, who is the evil lustful woman compared to the good virginal Persephone, is designed literally like a devil/succubus, why sex outside of marriage/several partners is seen as bad, the list goes on.

(4) So why does Ouranos have 6 eyes in the recent chapter? Does it signify he will have 6 sons (plus 6 daughters, but unlikely the daughters are included) who will eventually overthrow him?

I noticed that both Gaia and Persephone both have hair that sometimes look like leaves, so I guess both Hades and Ouranos have a thing for women who will never "Leaf" them (I'm a language major, sorry for my weird puns)

PS, a friend of mine joked that "if Ouranos has 6 eyeballs, does this mean he also have 6 male reproductive organs? 😏" (And also Aphrodite was born from the Sea foam of Ouranos bits and pieces so...)

(5) Read the latest LO chapter, and they sure did my favorite goddess Demeter dirty by making her an overdramatic laughing stock and a quacky (whacky) mother to boot.

I think it's very disrespectful to turn a mythological wonderful loving mother who has a very healthy mother-daughter relationship with her children (Persephone) and a very dedicated and responsible Godess who is in charge of the four seasons be reduced to a laughingstock and a boss whose employees throw a party/sleaze around when she's not at work.

(6) Obviously Demeter and co. are being drawn this way in preparation for everyone to deal with Henson Co. adapting it. they only deal with childish designs like that (barring the gross puppets they like to do too. prepare LO to be full of fart and barf jokes) and it'll be much easier for them to design if the comic does the same (this is sarcasm btw. It's more likely RS has just gotten lazy and know they could spit on paper and the fandom will eat it up. why put effort into your work, right?)

(7) The only unique design LO ever does is random splotches of color, white lines for scars, pointy ears, and extra eyes, and that's at the absolute most. You could say Punderworld also suffers some same faces (especially the women) but you can also tell who is who by their outfits, props, and variations in features.

(8) This is a minor complaint but LO Hecate's design is so ugly 😭she looks like an edgy moodboard take on Edna Mode. She's supposed to be this badass witch yet looks just as boringly business as everyone else. Also wasn't she not involved with Hades until after Persephone is married? Wasn't she Persephone's companion first in myth? Why is she Hades' best friend instead and only interacted with Persephone for a study abroad semester?

(9) God, the pilot line in LO is so stupid. Are they telling us fertility goddesses are the only source of power to try and be like HAHA SEE PERSEPHONE DOESNT NEED HADES! HE NEEDS HER! Because 1) that means it’s setting up HADES to take over olympus/overthrow Zeus which is so!!! Ugh!!! Why are you messing with literal religion now?! Hades is a shit king in the underworld but she seems to want him as the head one too?! But also 2) shouldnt DEMETER be the most powerful and desired godess then? Seeing as she’s literally the fertility godess?? Why did Smythe literally skip over her to make Persephone more special?

Metis was included despite no fertility traits but the literal goddess who controls nature and the earth ISNT? How does that work?! Demeter literally made Persephone all by herself in comic but shes not in this special lineup? Not to mention it once again is making the women props for men and their games! Cant we just read a stupid romance without it being a shallow political game too?

Persephone is being used as a literal political chip and whoever “gets” her is now, essentially, holding the nuclear codes and can overthrow whoever they want. we know it’ll be Hades, so he’s not only getting a super fertile wife to give him babies, he’s also getting a wife who never questions him, who does whatever he wants, and is now his tool to literally rule everything if he wants, which who knows, he might do so poor Hera is free of her loveless marriage because he’s just SO caring like that. Also, Apollo never wanted to overthrow Zeus?! Athena, Hera, and Poseidon did!

Does she know this is a romance comic and the jumping between stupid romance and earth-ending drama does not mesh well? God I’m mad. This is so stupid. The damn Disney movie showed more respect than this.

#anti LO #answered

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deadly-symphony · 3 years

Text

Losing my religion

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Y/N) Warnings: Self-Doubts, Alcohol, & just fluff

Writers note: Hey (: It’s my first Fanfic, so please don’t be so harsh on me. What i also need to mention: English is not my native language. So, excuse any mistakes :3

_____________________ ( <3 ) ___________________________

You wake up with a headache so bad it made you wish you would not even exist at this exact moment. But here you are, in bed ,still dressed in your party-outfit from last night. It takes a moment for you to realize why you got so ridiculously drunk. Your eyes are filling with tears and anger starts to build up in your stomach. Is it anger ? Or just disappointment ? You swallow all your feelings, shoving yourself out of the bed and heading in the bathroom. Slipping your dress careless from your body where it hits the floor. Turning on the shower you take a quick look into the mirror, seeing the mess you are. A little sigh escapes your lips and you enter the shower. The hot water feels good and you start to relax a bit. Your mind wanders back to last nights party and in a wave of panic you turn the little radio on which is hanging in the corner of the shower. Some pop music starts playing and you trying to concentrate on it . Trying to ignore the memories from last night. But the next song brings them all back. The slow movements of the luffer against your skin makse you shiver while you humm the lyrics you know all too well

Oh life, is bigger

It's bigger than you

And you are not me

The lengths that I will go to

The distance in your eyes

There are you standing , tears in your eyes, under the shower, lip quivering. Your mind now fully back at the party. Where you stood most of your time in the corner, drink in hand and watching him. After the 2 weeks you spend on a mission with him your feelings just grew bigger and bigger. Your love for him was overhelming and it scared the hell out of you. You watched him. Watched the girl talking to him, laughing. God, how you loved his laugh. How his eyes wrinkeld and his nose scrunched up. How he stroke a lose strain of hair behind his ear again ....as his eyes suddenly landed on you. The girl putting a hand on his upper arm, trying to keep the conversation going. You sipped on your drink, trying to avoid his gaze. You sipped again on your drink, realising the glass is now empty. You walked to the bar, ordering another drink. A stonger one this time. You wouldn't survive this party any other way, with him and this girl enjoing each other a bit too much for your taste.

Every whisper, of every waking hour

I'm choosing my confessions

Trying to keep an eye on you

Like a hurt, lost and blinded fool

That was when a hand landed on your hips. A little squeez made you shiver as you turned around and took a step back. There it was, that perfect smile you adored so much. Bucky Barnes.

"Also running empty, huh?", you gestured to the two empty glasses he held in his human hand. "Yeah, i mean... Doesn't have any effect on me anyway.", he answered. Noticing the slight annoyance in your tone. You shrugged:" As long as it's keeping your new friend entertained. What’s the matter? " You gave him a bitter smile leaving him standing there, waiting for his new drinks.”Doll...?”, he questioned. But you just breathed a “Have fun with you girl”, knowing exactly he had heard you with his super hearing. He looked after you, wanted to say more... but couldn't when a guy stopped you in your tracks and started talking to you. He swallowed hard at your reaction and your sudden change of behaviour towards him.

What you didn't know, Bucky was watching you too the whole evening, since you entered the party in your totally forbidden dress, that hugged your curves so perfectly and showed what a dream of a women you were. And of course he noticed the eyes of almost every man in the room landing on you, starring. Especially this one guy who was now talking to you. And you seemed to enjoy his sweet talking. Of course, you deserved attention. Since he first saw you, when Nat brought you into the Team, he was lost in you. He always enjoyed your company. Never got tired of your presence. Only wanting more. Lately the two of you were sent on more and more missions together. Tony thought of you two as a very good team, without any problems, just quick and trouble-free missions with detailed reports. Steve and Nat on the other hand knew exactly what was going on. Steve noticed Buckys smile everytime he saw you. He heard his heartbeat change when you talked to him and how he looked at you with hidden adoration. So did Nat. She noticed how you always fixed your hair, before entering a room you knew bucky was in. How you walked with that extra swing in your hips when he was around. And how you always tried to act "normal" and "decent" when he watched you. Your best friends knew all along that the two of you had it bad for each other. But Bucky and you... You never thought he would like you in this way. So did he, thinking you could never like a broken man like him. When you were just so beautiful and smart.

Consider this, the hint of the century

Consider this the slip

That brought me to my knees, failed

So, sipping on your drink, you talked to that guy. Steeling a glance at Bucky, who was now hugging this girl you hated without even knowing her. They were swinging to the music , drinks in their hands and she was pressing more and more into his body. Oh god, his perfect body. Your mind wandered and wandered , while the guy, who's name was already deleted from your brain. kept talking to you. You nodded and hummed as a response now and then. But you weren't even listening. You just wanted to have fun. Just wanted to enjoy yourself for a while without the perfect Super-Soldier on your mind. You tried desperately to like the stranger in front of you. Maybe he wasn't so boring. But what was his name again? As you nodded again, without even listening to what he was saying and just blankly staring at him you suddenly feel a pair of hands on your hips and a pair of lips is meeting yours. Shit!... He asked if he could kiss you... and you idiot just agreed. Bucky watched all of it. Every laugh escaping your lips, every sweet smile, every sip from your drink, every shy lookt torwards the guy in front of you. If only he had knew all of it was fake and all you had in mind at this exact time was only him. Just Bucky. Just your lovely James Buchanan Barnes. He watched as he kissed you. He shoved the girl in his arms away from him, excusing himself. He coulnd't handle the sight of you. You and another men. He left the party, wanting to retreat to his room as fast as he could. Your eyes instead were squeezed shut. You were shocked. You didn't even wanted this. The alcohol got the best of you and anyway , your mind was just a mess because of all your locked up feelings. As he broke the kiss, smiling at you, you didn't even dare to look in Buckys direction. You just wiggled yourself free from the guys grip and excused yourself. You swallowed the rest of your half-full glass all by one and escaped from the party as fast and unnoticed as possible.

You stumbled to the elevators, holding yourself steady on the blank wall next to you, hissing, when the elevator door just closed right in front of your nose. Hastily you pushed the button. Trying to keep standing on your own two feet while your legs just felt like jelly.

The Door opened with a Bing and you fell into the elevator with a squeel, just losing your balance while walking in, where to strong arms catched you. Wide eyed you looked up, staring directly in a pair of ocean blue eyes. "You... you okay , Doll?", he asked , voice a bit scratchy. Looking away from him, trying to hold yourself up, you answer after a little pause:" I'm fine. Thanks ...." He let go of you,noticing your cold tone, even though everything he wanted was to hold you even closer. You just stood there, pressing the button to your floor, then staring at your feet. He took a quick look at you. Admiring you. Wishing you were his. He stole another glance. Watching you and how your dress just hugged your body and your boobs and your butt were looking so damn good. You were the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. The Bing of the elevator snapped him out of his dreaming state. You stumbled out of the elevator, almost losing balance again, Bucky reaching for your arm to safe you from another fall to the hard ground.. He held you for a moment before speaking." Let me get you to your room at least, ok? We don't have to talk... don't worry.", hinting at the silence back there in the elevator. You just nodded. Avoiding to look at him. "Ok then. Let's go , Doll.", he said barely audible. His hand still holding you, keeping you from falling, he walked you to your room. You opened the door, walking in. You turned around, when you still felt his hand holding your arm. You looked up at him. "Thank you, Buck.", you said in a shaky tone. His brows furrowed. "Doll?" "Hmm?" It took him a moment, you could see in his face that he wanted to say something. Then he said softly, stroking your arm:" I'm glad your safe back in your room. Good night, Dollface." He let his hand slip down your arm, holding your hand for a Moment, before he left. You closed the door, leaning against it with your back and standing there for a moment. His soft voice still in your ear. His worried eyes still burning up your skin. Then you pushed yourself away from the door,taking wobbly steps forward before falling into your bed.

That's me in the corner

That's me in the spot-light

Losing my religion

Trying to keep up with you

And I don't know if I can do it

Oh no I've said too much

I haven't said enough

------------------------------------------------------------

A litte sob escapes your lips as you start rincing your hair out. You trying your best not to cry again but you fail. You lean against the cold shower-tiles and break completely down. Your going to feel better after a good cry, you told yourself. But you're not so sure of it when you're honest to yourself. You rub your face, trying to focus again. You turn the water off and walk out of the shower. Putting a towel on your head and your fluffy bathrob on your body. Deciding to get dressed and then get some breakfast you leave the bathroom when you hear a knock on your door.

I thought that I heard you laughing

I thought that I heard you sing

I think I thought I saw you try

Without a care of what you are just wearing you open the door, seing Bucky in front of you. He looks at you, gaze wandering down your body, his cheeks turn a bit pink & he turns a bit away. "Oh, sorry ... i didn't meant to bother you, Doll." "N.... no. No, you do not bother me at all.", you say, voice all raspy and shore from all the crying and the alcohol. You notice the cup of coffee in his hand and you smile softly:" That for me ?" Even though you're smiling at him, he's noticing your tired look and your blood stained, puffy eyes. "Mhm, for you. Good morning, Doll.", he gives you a shy smile, handing you the hot cup. Shifting from one foot to antoher:" You ... mh... you okay? I mean... last night, you got really drunk &... i was worried to be honest when you fell into the elevator." Taking a sip of the fresh brewed coffee, your eyes meet his. And there is it again... The worry in this eyes. His furrowed brows and he's standing there like a lost puppy. "Uhm... i'm good. Thank you, Buck. I mean... for the coffee... and... yeah, taking care of the waste that i was last night. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to bother anyone. It was just.... it was not my day, you know?", you say, eyes watering again, but you try to hide it. But he notices. He always does. He even notices the slight change in your voice. From raspy to broken and hurt. "Hey ....", he takes your hand, looking at you with a soft smile. "You know, you can always talk to me, mh?" "Mhm...." , you humm in response. He squeezes your hand.

" Not so convincing ...", he grumbles. Your eyes meet the floor again as a silent tear rolls down your cheek. You just can't hide it anymore. He's so sweet... You were so angry last night, so mean to him, because he danced with a girl. You're not in the position to be mean at him... He's just so nice to you. He never did anything wrong, he's always the first to help. And well, he don't even know you like him, so, what do you think? He can do whatever he wants ...and with who he wants. You blink a few times, but you don't even get the chance to look at him. He just shoves himself into your room, hugs you as thight as possible, just holding you and stroking your back. "Don't cry, Dollface. You're too pretty to be this sad!" , he smiles into your hair. Your hands wrap around his waist, trying to not spill any of your coffee on him or the floor. You just hold onto him as his strong arms are holding you. After a few moments he pulls a bit away. Taking the cup out of your hands, placing it on the small shelf next to your door. He looks at you, still holding you close to him and you blush. Face red as a tomato ,realising you just wearing your wardrobe and nothing else. He cups your face with one hand, forcing you to look at him. He gives you a shy smile as his thumb strokes your cheeck, wiping away a single tear. You feel your heart race. Afraid it might explode out of your chest in the next few seconds. He can feel it too. He hears how fast your heart beats and how his is doing exactly the same. "Doll...", he speaks, bringing you closer to him. You feel his strong muscles ripple against you. "I'm going to kiss you now.", he states. Your eyes, wide as cherry pies, your lips parted but you can't say anything as he brings his face closer and then his lips meet yours. His soft lipes moving against yours and you just melt into his touch, kissing him back within a second. He smiles into the kiss, teasing your lips with his tongue and you let him in. Your tongue dancing with his and you feel butterflies exploding in your stomach. He breaks the kiss, watching you all flustered, cheeks red and lips swollen and glossy. He helds you close, kissing your nose. "You're prefect. I hope you know that.", he whispers. You smile shy at him and hug him tight. "What is that all about ?", you ask in a low hum. He chuckles:" Dummie... isn't that obvious?", squeezing your hips. You smile:" I'm not a dummie... dummie.", you shoot back , eyes meeting his sparkling blues. "Well... You wanna go on a dummiedate with me? Just you and me... two dummies.", he grins and his cheeks are now the same color as yours. You can just nod and throw your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another kiss. You start walking backwards, still kissing him and he follows. The back of your legs meeting the bed and you just pull him with you, falling into the bed, Bucky on top of you. You giggle into the kiss and he chuckles, stroking your cheek and looking at you. "I love you.... you know? I do for quite a while....", he finally confesses. You just stare up from underneath him, tears rolling down from your eyes. "I .... Oh Bucky .... If i knew your confession would come after i drank too much, i would've gotten drunk much, much earlier ", you sob and laugh at the same time. He chuckles and presses his lips to yours again. "So, that was a yes for the date, right ?" "Totally", you stroke his hair behind his ear, smiling at him: "Dummiedate."

You don't even know how much time passed and how and when and why. But you and Bucky just cuddled the whole day in your bed and he was even sweeter than you could ever imagine.

That's me in the corner

That's me in the spot-light

Losing my religion

________________ ( <3 ) _________________

Thank you for reading (: I hope you liked it and i'd love to get some feedback on that. Maybe i start to write more stuff.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #fanfic #bucky imagine #winter soldie #sebastian stan #buckyxreader #buckyxyou #fanfiction #writing #imagine

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

Note

I both really want to read a conversion camp fic and really fucking DONT lol but I trust you to do it well and not absolutely destroy us so... I am asking for you to write the conversion camp fic please.

Oh, my plan is to absolutely destroy you all with this one.

This is modern bc it wasn’t gonna be but then I wrote a part and it kinda had to be lol

TW: religion, homophobia, transphobia (nd Steve), conversion camp, anxiety, depression, physical abuse, the word r*pe is thrown around, suicidal ideations, basically, it’s a DOOZY

Seriously, this shit gets DARK. I have A LOT of untapped emotions.

But it has a happy ending, don’t worry

Steve’s hands were shaking as they dug through his bag.

They had already pulled out the eyeshadow palette he had tried to sneak in, needed something to make himself feel okay in this inevitable Hell.

“Did you receive our guidelines?” They had found the lipstick he had shoved in one of his shoes. “We specifically outlined prohibited items.” He took a shaky breath. “Your perversion is much deeper than anticipated, Mr. Harrington.” He just nodded.

He was shuffled about, led to a cold blank room.

His first meeting with a conversion specialist.

“What is your infatuation with women’s things?” The man’s voice made Steve feel like there was cold water dripping down his back.

“I just like pretty things.”

“Why do you deny your manhood?”

“I don’t.”

“You say that, but you do. Every time you pretend you’re a woman-”

“I don’t pretend I’m a woman. I just like makeup and stuff.” He gave Steve a disgusted look.

“By denying your true self, you have turned your back on God. You have allowed the devil to infiltrate your soul, to convince you that these perversions are okay.” He looked down at the paper in his lap, the forms Steve had been forced to sit and fill out with his parents. “You were not close with your father, were you?”

“Um, no. Not really.”

“So you pushed away your male role model?”

“He pushed me away, more like.” The man pursed his lips.

“A father does not push away his son unless there is something evil within him. A father can always tell when there is something wrong, something disgusting in his offspring.” He stood up, towering over Steve.

“You are disgusting, Steven Harrington. You are perverse and foul. You turn your back on your Creator. But you are not without a savior. You can be saved. Denounce the devil that tempts you to this life. Follow your savior, and He will lead you to safety.” He held out his hand. Steve took a breath, and shook it.

Steve’s first day was a fucking nightmare.

He was led to his room, a small room with two bunked beds and no doors. He was told he’d have three roommates, and if they were caught touching one another, the punishment would be painful.

And then it was group therapy.

He sat in a circle with ten of the other boys from the program. They were forced to discuss every attraction they had ever felt to anyone besides women. They were forced to discuss sexual encounters they had had with men, and call themselves disgusting.

And as it was Steve’s turn, and he talked about wearing panties, and fingering himself, and sucking Tommy’s dick, and he felt disgusting.

At dinner he met one of his roommates, and his heart sank.

“Where’d they scrape you up?” The guy was fucking gorgeous.

“Indiana.”

“And you just a homo? Or...?” The guy’s voice trailed off as he looked Steve up and down. “You one a’ them crossdressers, too?” Steve flushed deeply.

“How, how did you know?”

“Because you look like they got to you already. Means they got something on you. Make you feel real bad about yourself.”

“How, how long have you been here?”

“Long enough. Seen plenty a’ boys come and go. Some cured, some just a lost cause.” He was so nonchalant about the whole thing.

“Why, why so long?” He grinned at Steve, sharp and beautiful.

“Because I’m immune, Pretty Boy.” Steve’s breath hitched. The guy licked over his teeth. “Can’t beat the gay outta me if they tried. And they fuckin’ have.”

“But why, why don’t you want to change? I mean, they’re, they’re right.” His blue eyes went cold.

“They got you deep. Damn, you might be the quickest turn around I’ve ever seen.”

“I just, I don’t want to be wrong anymore.” He leaned closer to Steve.

“You have never been wrong.” Steve felt like he was gonna cry.

A firm hand clapped down on Steve’s shoulder.

“William, I hope you’re treating our new guest nicely.” William’s face fell immediately.

“Yes, Father.” Steve looked up to see a priest holding onto him. His hair was greying and neat. His eyes were cold and dead.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to take Steven with me.” Steve followed him, eyes downcast, all the way to his office. “Steven, my name is Father Andrew. I’m here to help you.” Steve didn’t like his smile. “We’re going to meet everyday at 8:30 pm for your therapy.”

He pulled out a folder from the bottom drawer of his desk. He placed a photograph in front of Steve with a flourish.

It was porn.

It was fucking gay porn.

He stood in front of Steve, leaning against the desk, off to the side of the image.

“Tell me what you see here.” One of the men had dark hair. He was being taken from behind by the other man, his blond hair and bright eyes stirred something in Steve.

“Two men. Having sex.”

He didn’t see Father Andrew’s hand, just heard the crack of it against his cheek.

His eyes watered, his cheek burned.

“What do you see?”

“Two perverts.”

“What are they doing?”

“Defiling one another.”

“Good, Steven. You’re learning.”

He placed another photograph down. This time, the man being fucked had a full face of makeup, tears making the dark eyeliner run as he was on his back, hands cuffed to the bed. The man fucking him was smirking at the camera, tongue between his teeth.

“How does this make you feel?”

“Disgusted.”

“Why?”

“That they, they would touch each other like that.”

“Do you have fantasies like this? Of being tied up by another man? Raped by another man?”

And the answer, the answer was technically yes. He had plenty of fantasies of being tied up, taken rough, taken dirty.

But rape. That’s a strong fucking word.

“No, Father.” Another crack. Another slap.

“Lying is a sin, Steven.”

“I, I don’t want to be, to be raped.” Another slap.

“Lying is a sin, Steven.”

“Yes, yes Father. I have had fantasies.”

“These are not fantasies, these are perversions planted in your mind by demons, by the devil trying to pull you away from Christ our Lord. Do not let these demons lead you astray.”

He pulled out another picture.

Steve’s heart fucking stopped.

It was a picture of himself. A nude he had taken for Tommy.

He was wearing pretty lingerie, pouting to the camera. He remembers taking it, remembers putting on his makeup, posing over and over until he took one he liked. They must’ve gone through his phone, through his texts.

“Why do you dress like a woman?”

“Be-because I’m disgusting.” And the thing is, Steve had been told plenty of times that day that he’s disgusting, and he had begun to believe it.

“Good, Steven. You are disgusting. Do you believe you’re a woman?”

“No, Father.”

“Then why have you been experimenting with women’s things?”

“I believed I wasn’t a man.”

“And are you a man?”

“Yes, Father.”

“God made you a man.”

“Yes, Father.” Steve still didn’t like his smile.

He switched the image.

And it was another one of his nudes. This time he was in a skirt, kneeling with his back to the mirror, one hand spreading his cheeks, showing off the silver plug in his ass.

He even remembers the text he had sent with it.

Tommy had been studying for a test, so Steve sent that picture and said but im lonely :( and Tommy had replied I’ll be there in twenty.

“Why do you have an obsession with your anus?” Steve could feel the blood drain from his face.

“I, uh, it feels good.” Another slap.

“How does spitting in the face of your Heavenly Father feel good, Steven? Sodomy does not feel good.” Another slap. Steve’s face felt like it was on fire.

“I’m sorry, Father. I am vile, and disgusting.” Steve was sobbing, felt so fucking pathetic, trying to look anywhere but the printed image of himself.

“I think that’s enough for tonight. I expect you here tomorrow after dinner.”

Steve fucking ran back to his room.

The other boys were asleep. He climbed into the top bunk, curling into himself.

He felt disgusting, he felt foul and wrong and bad.

He tried to stifle his sobs into his pillow, the scratchy case muffling his panic attack.

“Hey, Stevie.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be quiet.” There was a sigh, breath fanning over his face.

And then the boy from earlier was swinging himself into bed with him, curling against him.

“They said-”

“I know exactly what times they patrol. I’ll leave your bed before then.” He sighed. “First night’s always the hardest. You just gotta get through. Tell them what they wanna hear, but remember that they’re fucking wrong. You are valid, and real. Being gay is not disgusting.”

Steve curled into him, letting himself be comforted.

“Thank you. Thank you, William.”

“Oh, Christ. Call me Billy.”

“Thank you, Billy.”

As time passed, it was easy to retreat into himself.

He met with Father Andrew every night, got slapped and hit when his answers weren’t condemning enough.

But each night, Billy would crawl into bed with him, would hold him when he broke down.

The kiss was inevitable.

It happened after Steve had an extreme day, the beating he received when he had admitted to being nonbinary, that he had asked his friends at home to use other pronouns.

And Billy had said you’re perfect the way you are, Sweet Thing.

And Steve kissed him.

And Steve wanted to die.

“Forgive me, Father. For I have sinned.” Steve took a shaking breath.

He was kneeling in the small confessional.

They had Mass every three days, and confession each Friday.

“It has been one week since my last confession.” He took a deep breath. He needed to get this of his chest, needed to get the punishment he deserved. “Father, I, the feelings have not gone away. There is, there’s a boy, and I, I love him. And I try not to. I try not to look at him, to remember the devil is leading me astray. But Father, I think about him. I think about him often.”

“This is an extremely grievous sin, my son.”

“I know, Father. Please help me. I want to, I want to be pure. To be free of this sin, this temptation.”

“I offer, as penance for your sins, to pray a rosary for each time you have had an evil thought about your fellow man this week. As you ponder the Mysteries of the rosary, consider how God created you, how Jesus died for you, and you wipe your feet on their love.”

“Yes, Father.”

“And our meeting will be arduous tonight, Steven.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Now please, recite the Act of Contrition.”

Steve’s hands shook as he recited the prayer, finishing his confession with Father Andrew.

“Now, Steven. You discussed having impure thoughts today.”

Steve’s knees ached from praying the rosary so many times earlier today. He hadn’t eaten, had gone straight to the Chapel after his confession.

He wanted to pray, to cleanse himself.

And he didn’t want to risk seeing Billy.

“Yes, Father.”

“And you mentioned that you love another boy.”

“The devil is trying to make me think it’s love.” Father Andrew smiled his empty smile down at Steve.

“That’s right Steven. Because love cannot exist between two men. Love is a beautiful thing created and given to us by The Lord God.” Father Andrew leaned over Steve, made him shrink back in his seat. “Which is why you are unlovable as you are. You are foul and vile. You may be loved if you change.”

He grabbed Steve’s hair, holding his head still as he slapped his face.

And Steve let him.

He was foul, he was vile.

He deserved the pain.

Two months.

That’s how long it took Steve to “graduate”.

He left the facility in clean khakis, a nice sweater his mother had sent him to wear home.

Billy had left a week and a half prior.

He was deemed a lost cause.

Steve’s mother was there to pick him up, hugged him tight and told him how happy she was that he was fixed.

He was quiet as they drove, watching the shadows the summer sun cast on the side of the plain flat road.

“Your father will be pleased. You’ve made such wonderful progress. Free of all those delusions.”

They passed Tommy’s house.

He felt sick.

The first thing Steve did when he got home was destroy all his make up.

He took everything feminine from it’s hiding spot in the back of his closet.

He scraped out the eye shadow, smeared the lipstick all over his dresses.

He cut up his lingerie, shoved everything into a black garbage back, driving into town to toss it in the dumpster behind the gas station.

He wanted it away, he wanted it gone. He wanted to be pure.

His hands shook as he zipped up the suitcase.

He didn’t have much in there, was planning on taking enough to get him through a little while, then maybe buying some things, some pretty things.

His parents were asleep downstairs, he was planning on being long gone by the time they woke up.

He put on his backpack, taking his wallet and tiptoeing down the stairs, his shoes in his hand.

He had a plan, would drive to the bus station, leave his car there.

Someone will find it, and at that point, he’ll be long gone.

He bought a bus ticket to Chicago, paid in cash and gave a fake name.

He was fucking out of here.

They were fucking out of here.

“As I live, and fucking breathe.”

Steve startled as a hand came down on their shoulder.

They startled again when they turned around, came face to face with a ghost from the past.

“B-Billy?” Billy’s hair was longer than it had been at the camp. His smile was lazier, his eyes brighter. Steve’s gut gave an excited little flutter as he looked them up and down.

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous, Pretty Boy.” Steve flushed, adjusting their dress. It was new.

It had been three years since the camp. One year of Steve living in pain, until they packed their shit, and moved to the Golden Coast. They left in the middle of the fucking night, ran away like a scared child, never looking back.

And here was the love of their goddamn life, in some hole in the wall coffee shop in San Fransisco.

“It’s uh, it’s not Pretty Boy, anymore.” Billy’s grin got even wider.

“Thank fuck.” He swung himself into the seat across from Steve’s, upsetting some of the papers they were working on.

“What happened to you, Billy?” Billy’s smiled slipped, just a little.

“My dad was tired a’ paying for that joint if I wasn’t getting better. So he said if I wasn’t fixed in like, a month, he would stop paying, and I would be kicked out. Stayed true to his word. Haven’t seen the bastard since.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Getting kicked outta that place is the best fuckin’ thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I graduated. Went through the whole thing. Took me a year to realize how fucked up it was.”

“Jesus. They got you deep.” Steve shrugged.

“I’m okay now.”

“Yeah? What’re you doin’?”

“Goin’ to school. Gonna be a counselor. Hopefully work in an elementary school, or something.” Billy’s eyes were bright.

“That’s amazing. Gonna tell all the little queer kids that they’re valid and all that?”

“That’s the goal.” Billy grinned. “What are you doing now? You with anyone?”

“I own a bar, actually. Kind of a dive, but it’s a good time.” He looked at Steve through his lashes. “You should come by, sometime. Be good to see you.”

“I’d like to see you too.”

“And to answer your question, I’m not with anyone. Not right now.” He smirked. “But I could be.” He leaned over the table, drawing one finger down Steve’s hand. “I like seeing you happy. Feel like I only ever saw you cryin’ in that joint.”

“Well, spent a lot of time crying there.”

“For good reason.” Billy took their hand. “It’s really good to see you.”

“Y’know I told Father Andrew I was in love with you. Got beat black and fuckin’ blue for it.” Billy’s face was grave.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Wanted to be fixed. Took me a year to realize I didn’t need that.”

“You stop lovin’ me in that year?”

“Not even in the two after that.” Billy took a shaking breath.

“You know, I uh, I love you too. Always did. It broke my fucking heart to leave you in that place. Was gonna wake you up that night, get you to run away with me. But they took me out, uh, forcibly.”

“Bet you put up a real good fight.”

“Broke Father Ryan’s nose.” Steve let out a burst of laughter, clapping one hand over their mouth.

“I was wondering about that. He had a splint for like, a month.”

“Yeah, well, bastard kept tryin’ to exorcise me. Headbutted him right in the face.”

“Good for you, Bill. Sometimes I wish I could light the whole place on fire.”

“Me too.” Billy took their hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “I gotta head, but I wanna see you. Soon. Later today, if you can.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m just doing some homework, but I could stop by the bar tonight? I don’t have shit to do tomorrow.”

“Lemme pick you up. We can go to dinner before I take you to the bar.” They smiled softly at him.

“I’d like that.”

#oof #this was a lot to write #i got halfway through and realized how much damn Truama the Church has given me #big yikes #I've been really fucking scarred by TWO religions #how fun #yikes writes #tw homophobia #tw religion #tw conversion #tw gay conversion #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble

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piratemadi · 3 years

Note

please make your critical post of supernatural those are literally the only posts about supernatural i care about, especially since i side eye the heck out of the many people who give supernatural a pass because they ship two boring white dudes (dean and castiel) PLEASE

omg ok nobody make fun of me for posting an earnest criticism of this show i enjoy critical analysis and being a hater

i think most of why this show sucks has already been covered pretty thoroughly but these r the main things abt it that piss ME off.

the racism runs so SO deep. supernatural is supposed to be an exploration of americana thru horror (and i’ll give them that. like the idea of deconstructing america and all its fallacies thru horror is genius and in competent hands it would be absolutely incredible. but anyway) but it only really scrapes the surface of what is inherently horrific about americana! something like that is supposed to be an INTERROGATION of monstrosity and how america (and western society more broadly) creates monsters out of human beings and how white christian morals are established as the ONLY acceptable morals and how anyone who falls outside of those norms (non christian, non white, lgbt, people with substance use disorders, prisoners, the poor, indigenous people/cultures etc) are monsterized, so to speak, because of an oppressive and unloving colonial society. like u cannot have a horror narrative abt monsters attacking family values and white suburban life without invoking some very old and racist conventions! but instead of subverting that supernatural just reinforces it! it consistently fails to make any kind of real statement because the most demonized parts of society are the people who are also treated the WORST in canon! native american beliefs are stolen and turned into stupid bogeymen without the show ever featuring a native character or seriously grappling with the inherent violence of america as a colonial state, black men are consistently portrayed as angry and evil while black women are treated like shit (dean’s happy ending at the end of s5 is with a white woman he fucked one time instead of with the black woman who he was in love with??), impoverished people are mostly ignored and when they’re not theyre monsters (theres one episode centered around a poor rural family that commits murder and cannibalism. no supernatural stuff or monsters. just poor people. thats the scare).

theres this consistent fixation on preserving american suburbia, on saving “normal” (read: white middle class) people and it sets up this dynamic of like. the “real world” is the white middle class and then there’s hunters including our mains who defend that “real world” against monsters and demons, which is just Everything Else. and the writers PRETEND to struggle w the question of monsters and what makes one but they just toss it around without ever actually committing to answering that question with compassion or narrative coherency. they have multiple episodes about characters who were raised human, who want to be human, but have to be killed because of an inherent evil nature. there’s a plot in the early seasons about how one of the main characters has demonic powers, and instead of saying that doesnt make him inherently bad and he’s allowed to fully access all parts of himself without being fundamentally evil, they consistently frame intrinsically neutral traits as inherently evil specifically because they go against a christian ideal of morality! and eventually he learns to suppress these powers and that’s that!

and then it establishes christianity as the guiding principle of america, not in a way of like “american culture and history is deeply steeped in white supremacist protestantism that has led to incredibly fucked up views on god and love and morality and thats what we have to deal with as people who live here”, but in a way of like “the christian god is real and he’s a white guy who fucking hates you.” which like. Ok. they bastardize and trivialize any religions that arent christian while building the entire series on christianity. Ok. like i guess its possible to write stories about white christianity without implying that every other religion is full of shit but supernatural did not do that on any level

its also just. really poorly written. i genuinely loved the first season i thought it was really well paced and that the characters were introduced really well like the first season is a GOOD horror story in terms of family as horror and the inherent terror of americana. but the pacing and the character development started tripping up in s2. by s3 they started raising the stakes Exponentially which honestly is such a kiss of death for good fiction like every season mounting a bigger badder antagonist than the last one is the surest way to kill a story bc it means the earlier entries in that story become basically meaningless in the face of the new bad guy. u dont need to raise the stakes to write a good story! a well written story abt the horror and drama of a close knit and unhealthy family caught up in something they don’t really understand isn’t Less emotionally resonant than, like, having to stop the world from ending, because at the end of the day its Fiction and none of it matters beyond what u can make the audience really Feel. im not gonna feel sorrow if 7 billion fake little people die. i didnt cry when the death star blew up whatever planet it blew up. what DOES make me feel sorrow is a few truly well written characters whose relationships are complicated and tragic and whose motivations i can understand and whose inner lives i can imagine. raising the stakes destroys a good story and thats exactly what happened to supernatural (not that the racism and misogyny and american protestant moralizing wasn’t killing it already)

also, the misogyny makes the female characters basically impossible to watch. like not a single person on that show is a good actor (except sterling k brown love u king u were the best actor that show ever saw) but they didnt even give any of the women anything to work with. its literally so cringey to watch any woman onscreen except maybe like. bela talbot and she was treated like utter shit.

god. you know that expression dont fall in love with potential? i dont do that w people i do it w fiction. i came off black sails and the untamed and frankenstein and i watched the first couple seasons of supernatural with my friend and it was like...there was so much room for it to SAY something about monsters and how society creates them thru violence and how deeply horrific american protestantism is. like theres so many questions and concepts that it brought up that it never actually SAID something about. shithole of wasted potential. and yeah dean and castiel is stupid there i said it

#again i KNOWW everybody knows it sucks and doesnt care #im a hater!#asks

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yekistraight · 3 years

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Hey, could you explain what being a feminist means? I’ve heard all these terms before, and there’s this huge stigma around it. So do you think there’s a way you could clarify at least what your beliefs are, and what you believe it to be? I’m simply trying to study stuff and see what it’s become or is. Thank you.

Sorry I wrote so much i just wanted to make it comprehensive:

General definition of feminist is someone who believes in the socio-economic equality of the sexes. In the beginning this was a straightforward ideology to follow. Women needed to be equal to men. It’s only fair, there’s no reason not to be. But sharing power is not something the ruling majority particularly enjoys so there’s been some bumps in the road. Decades and decades of bumps.

The feminists of the past started this push a long time ago with one message: “we want to be taken seriously, we are humans too and we need rights that benefit us and protect us from you[men]” and they were right. Sex based crimes against women were happening at an alarming rate. So much so that it had become part of some cultures and traditions, meaning it would be defended and men would be protected while women basically died, physically and socially. Women lived in fear and helplessness, being sold a dream of subservience promoted by religion and ego in exchange for protection from men. What about the women that still, despite the odds, wanted to choose a different path? Well, they were brave enough to step out of line and others followed. They exist throughout history, inspiring other women will their bravery and confidence, proving that it was possible to have the power and authority that men had. Now imagine giving every woman that access to power? They’d have everything right? Well feminism didn’t start like that (it was racially exclusive actually) but fortunately the ideologies spread out through cities, across oceans and into continents where women wanted, no, NEEDED such power; the power to change their destinies that had been set upon them by another mere human being.

So feminism is like a sisterhood, where we’re only related by a common goal to protect each other while trying to defeat our common enemy. Here’s where the simplistic ideology begins to mutate based on strategy and cultural progression.

Feminism is a sisterhood, but not a monolith. There’s been different waves (eras) of feminism where each sisterhood used different tactics to achieve their goals for equality. Its like making a new checklist after the old one gets checked off. However there’s been one item that still needs a lot of work before ticking off and that’s dismantling gender roles. Gender roles are the root cause of every.single.thing. Toxic masculinity, performative femininity. Gender roles were created to control humans and keep them in their place. For a feminist to push her way into male dominated spaces, she must first acknowledge that gender roles have been constructed to work against her and break through it. So take note, everything is the way it is because of gender roles.

In this era, the sisterhood has been split into two major groups, two warring tribes if you will: libfems and radfems.

Liberal Feminists accept everyone. They use the tactic of assimilation, where they water down feminist ideologies to make it inclusive for everyone. They follow the lead of oppressed minorities who reclaimed slurs and instead reclaim methods tused to oppress women that past waves of feminists fought to dismantle. Remember what I said about gender roles? These women are bringing it back and think they’re reclaiming it. How do you reclaim something that hasn’t been dismantled yet?The only power they’re concerned with is the feeling of superiority that comes from thinking bowing down to the patriarchy is their idea. Their feminism tackles issues like rape, victim blaming and misogyny, things that affect them personally, while taking on the burden of other marginalised groups as their own, pushing their own goals to the backseat while feeling a self-righteous high. Basically, they’re activists who have lost the plot but would keep pushing blindly than admit it. The second group was born from libfems that wanted more than a feel good pat on the back from the patriarchy for not being too interfering.

Radical feminists are still following the original objective of their predecessors. They still have their eyes open to sex-based oppression and are aware there’s still a lot of work to be done. They don’t put the opposite sex’s needs above their own or let other group’s ideologies influence theirs and because of this, other groups as well as libfems have dubbed them as enemies to progress. Ironic isn’t it? The group that still fights for sexual equality has been silenced by none other than their own. Of course hatred for this group of feminists didn’t come out of nowhere. Radfems and their female-only values are presumed to hurt trans women, as trans women are biologically male and don’t have the same sex based experiences as biological women. Trans activists took these as transphobic fighting words and ostracised radfems, silencing them and their ideologies, claiming that everything they fought for was an attack against the trans community. Conservative americans also share some radfem values, basically the one on keeping the movement focused on female only issues, and because the right is notoriously bigoted (ironic because conservatives are the ones who uphold the gender roles feminists fight against so a conservative feminist is paradoxical) this is enough to tell people that radfems can’t be trusted. That they’re all racist, transphobic white supremacists. Because all groups that share similar ideologies are bad. The public, not wanting to be on the Unpopular Opinion side of history, shifted away and further pushed radfems into the background while libfems and their blind acceptance values were hailed as the patron saints of feminism.

So what feminism was and what it is now are vastly different. It started as a movement in different countries with different goals, then it graduated and took on more serious topics. It was like a game where every level gets tougher to prepare you for that last boss, the one who holds all the power you need to physically change your reality.

Today in the year 2021, young girls are being told that it’s feminist to enjoy selling their bodies for money. That it’s the same as working in a mine (a common comparative statement). That it’s feminist to look as womanly as the gender roles men created dictate. That it’s feminist to watch porn and be happy your romantic partner watches it to; this means you’re sexually liberated. Grown women go to Tiktok full of minors in the style of pimps to show off stacks of money they’ve made from pleasing men. They say “i did it because i wanted to and so should you”. Minors are all over twitter trying to lure men with financial dominatrix tags. They can’t wait till they become legal to start selling their nude bodies to men. They were told it would make them feel powerful. People who are skeptical are shamed into silence, because the popular crowd is always in control and no one wants to be the odd one out.

Now compare that to women who spend time researching horrifying news of sexual violence still happening today. Women still having to sell themselves to survive in 2021 is a clear indicator that we’re still not taken seriously. Sex buying, pimping and displaying women as commodities is the reason little girls are being stolen off the streets and shipped off to a disgusting dreg who think he’s owed sexual satisfaction.

Radfems want to end child sex trafficking, sex slavery, wedding night virginity checks, honour killings, femicide, sewing up little girls vaginas to avoid them exploring their sexuality before their wedding night and bring attention to way more hardcore shit being run by top dogs who are cooperating with the old powers that influence the governments.

Whose side do you think the media will be on? Whose side is worth not risking ruffling feathers?

Feminism has become many things now. You can choose the one that reminds you of the cruelty of man or the one that creates a comfortable fantasy of false empowerment while women’s violence continues. Both get stigmatised anyway.

If it wasn’t obvious already, I’m a radical feminist.

I’m an autistic radfem living in a backwards country where the lgbt community can’t thrive so there’s no pride parades, no trans movement, nothing that can be publicised anyway. I can’t create a fantasy where everything works because nothing works. Women are dying around me everyday for being female, my best friend is trapped with an abusive father who hates her for being a female firstborn (something babies get killed for), I’m not worthy of basic respect without a husband, a poor woman from a muslim state gets death threats from her fellow muslims for wearing a backless top while a rich married one gets praised and women can’t apply for anything important without a man’s permission.

Now why on earth would i want to pamper the gender that made and uphold those laws? The battle here is still greatly a battle of the sexes. Despite this stale level of progress, our movement, like many others have allies. Male allies are great, allies are great, we need them to push buttons yes but also remember they can never fully understand what we feel. All they can do is try their best to help and in return we give them acknowledgement and support; so no we’re not supposed to be misandrists or transphobes. We just hate anyone who uplifts what we and our ancestors have been fighting to destroy.

That’s all

#radfems do interact #radical feminism #feminism #terf

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alonely-dreamer · 4 years

Text

The Valuable Sun | Chapter 22 (The End)

Summary: Witches never die.

Pairing: Eric x OC

Warnings: 18+

A/N: Please, note that I am French so there might be some mistakes here and there.

Words: 6228

Masterlist

Adapting to being a vampire wasn’t so hard for Brooklynne. Perhaps because she wasn’t really a vampire, but rather a vampire-fairy hybrid who, aside from being immortal, was as human as she used to be.

She didn’t fear the sun, she ate human food and didn’t have to rely on blood to survive. The hardest part of her transition was that everything was heightened. Her sight, her hearing, her strength… She was faster than lightning, and, since apparently it was a hereditary talent, she could fly, like her maker. A talent she’d have to learn to control, and a talent which Pam was jealously unequipped with.

To the rest of the world, Brooke was just another mortal, weird like her sister, maybe gifted with telepathy for those who believed in those sorts of things. But to her family, to her loved ones, she was the strongest creature on Earth, and, therefore, the weakest.

Eric’s worry was loud and made him even more unpleasant than before. With other people, that is. He took extra care of Brooklynne, who felt like a little girl again, who wasn’t allowed to leave her house because she’d get too distracted to even remember her own name.

Fortunately for her, Eric could not control her days, which she spent with her sister at Merlotte’s. It had been a week now, since she had become a vampire, and the only abnormal behavior she showed was an extreme appetite. She could not stop eating, and she almost emptied Sam’s kitchen, not that he would ever complain about it.

“Look at you,” Arlene said as she walked behind the bar to grab a bottle of alcohol. “You wouldn’t be expecting a happy event, would you?”

Brooklynne almost choked on her chicken wing and Arlene laughed as the hybrid coughed and wiped the mess she had made.

“What? No!”

“I’m just kidding ya. I know you can’t get pregnant. Not while you’re with that vampire of yours…”

Brooklynne watched the waitress walk away and disappear in the hallway, leaving a wave of disapproval behind her.

“Fuck you too,” she mumbled under her breath.

“What was that?” Sookie asked, approaching her with a plate she put down on the bar.

“Nothing.”

“What did Arlene want?”

“To make sure I knew how much she hates my kind.”

“To be fair, you’re the first and only one of your kind.”

“Wanna join me?”

“No, thanks,” she swiftly dismissed the mere idea, “hey, isn’t Eric supposed to be here already?”

“Yeah. I guess there was an emergency at Fangtasia. He’s not answering my texts.”

“Well, that’s weird.”

“Not really,” she shrugged. “It’s Halloween. He says there’s always some shit happening on Halloween.”

“When did you start using those words?” Sookie sighed. “You weren’t always so vulgar.”

Her sister laughed. “Sorry. I’m just repeating what he said.”

“Anyway, I have to take out the trash before I leave, want me to drive you?”

“Sure, why not? I’ll join you outside.”

Brooklynne finished her plate, then her drink in one go, before leaving some cash on the bar. She walked across the restaurant and exited through the back door. There, she found her sister and Holly talking about Marnie. Brooke rolled her eyes.

“What’s going on?”

“Hey, Brooklynne.”

“What’s up Holly?”

“Oh, nothing, honey. We were just talking about… well… we just have a bad feeling, is all.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Sookie waved it off.

“Yeah. We’re just spooked because it’s Halloween and all.”

Screeching tires drew their attention towards Tara’s car who had just parked in a panic. Brooklynne didn’t know if it was the previous spooky talk, or just Tara’s look as she ran towards them, but she was starting to have a bad feeling as well.

“Tara?” Sookie called. “Tara what is it? What happened?”

“She’s back!”

“Who’s back, honey?”

“Marnie.”

“Marnie’s dead,” Brooklynne rolled her eyes. “I should know, I killed her myself.”

“She killed Jesus,” Tara started crying. “I think she’s inside Lafayette.”

Sookie turned slowly towards her little sister, who oddly appeared to stand taller than her for once.

“Don’t look at me, I’m no witch. I wouldn’t know the first thing about getting that bitch out of Lafayette.”

“No, Brooke… Eric’s not answering his phone.”

If Brooklynne ever doubted her heart was still beating, she sure had the answer now, as it felt like it skipped a beat as she realized what her sister was saying.

“No,” she scoffed in disbelief. “He’d kill Lafayette on the spot.”

“I’m gonna try to call Bill,” the waitress said as she took out her phone.

Brooklynne shook her head, maybe to try and throw the mere idea of Eric being in any kind of danger away, as she took out her own cellphone.

“Bill’s not answering,” Sookie said, now even more panicked than before.

“Eric either…”

“Well, do we know where they could be?” Holly asked.

Sookie took a deep breath as she remembered what Bill had told her earlier: ‘I’ll be waiting for you at home. My men will let you in.’

“Yes. We do.”

***

Vampires were supposed to heal fast. So fast that they could barely feel pain. Which is why this headache was doubly irritating for Brooklynne. Between the busy minds of her sister, Holly and Tara, whom she was riding with, her own head felt like it was about to explode. Filled with worry and incomprehension, she kept asking herself if she should just get out of the car and run to Bill’s house on her own. She’d already be there.

“You can’t. If Tara and Holly find out you’re a vampire, it won’t be a secret anymore.”

“Who cares at this point? Eric could die any second now!”

“Pam might already be there.”

“If he wanted either of us there, he’d had already called us. Which means he’s in real danger, Marnie is not kidding around, she’s aiming to kill!”

“Don’t remind me. I’m driving you to her!”

“She won’t have a chance to hurt me. She’ll be dead before…”

“You can’t kill her like last time, Brooke. She’s inside Lafayette. We need to trust Holly, she knows how this works.”

“No, she doesn’t, are you listening to her? She’s got a bag full of salt and a mouth full of ‘maybes’. What if she has no clue how to deal with this?”

“Either way, we’re not killing Lafayette.”

“If killing Lafayette is the only way to save Eric, I will do it myself.”

“Are you hearing yourself? You’re talking about killing Lafayette! Our friend! Tara’s cousin!”

“Sorry, Sook. But it’s not a hard choice. Not even a little bit.”

Brooklynne did her best to shut her sister’s disapproving thoughts out of her head, she knew it all already. Of course, she wouldn’t be happy about killing Lafayette. Of course, she’d rather Holly’s plan worked. But if it didn’t, if she had to choose between watching Marnie/Lafayette kill Eric or kill her/him herself, she wouldn’t lose sleep over it. She stopped for a second, a very brief second, and wondered if she’d had thought the same as a human/fairy. If she had been in that situation a month ago, what would she have done? She knew what she would have done. She’d have been too weak to fight off Marnie. She’d have been too weak to save Eric.

She wasn’t going to be weak tonight.

“Any of you got a mirror?” Holly asked as she did the inventory of her Wiccan first aid-kit.

“You ever done this before?” Sookie asked as she handed her a small mirror she found in her purse.

“Goddess, no,” the waitress replied as she shoved the mirror into her bag, next to the salt and the sage. “Usually, I just light a candle and ask the spirits to make sure my boys don’t end up in jail or knock somebody up.”

Sookie could hear her sister scoff and roll her eyes next to Holly, a “what did I say?” echoing inside of her head.

“But so far, that’s worked out okay.”

“Maybe you’re just a good mother,” Brooke mumbled.

“Oh, thanks honey.”

Brooklynne frowned as the mother of two gave her a nervous smile, her lack of faith in her Wiccan religion completely oblivious to her.

“Sook, you can’t let them hurt him,” Tara begged. “If Bill and Eric find out Marnie’s inside Lafayette…”

“I have a feeling they already know…”

Tara stepped on the accelerator. They were only a couple of minutes away. Brooklynne kept trying to reach her maker through their bond, but the silence she was met with only helped widening the pit in her stomach.

Tara stopped the car at the gates of Bill’s property and the four women jumped out of the vehicle, Holly, her bag of magic tricks on her shoulder.

Brooklynne, though she had been patient until then, didn’t even think twice about disappearing on them as soon as she smelled wood and straw.

“Eric!”

She found them tied up together to a pyre, half naked, silver chains around their bare chest.

“What are you doing here? You need to go, now!”

“Are you crazy? I’m not leaving without you!”

“Brooklynne!” Sookie called as she caught up to her sister, Holly and Tara behind her.

“Are you kidding me? You didn’t think to tell us you were a vampire?” Tara started to yell.

“She can’t be, she was at the bar all day long!” Holly said, confused, and a little bit scared.

They didn’t get the time to argue about it any more, however, as Marnie appeared before them.

“As your friend Lafayette would say, what goes around comes around, bitches.”

“I’m gonna kill you, you crazy bitch.”

“You already have,” Marnie replied with surprising calm. “Thank you for coming.”

Marnie/Lafayette raised a hand and waved it once to the left. Brooklynne felt her feet get off the floor and was sent flying across the garden where she collided with a tree.

Eric and Sookie called her name, in useless worry. She was back up on her feet in a matter of seconds.

“Lafayette!”

Tara received a deathly stare from the dead witch inside her cousin, and she gulped.

“… and Marnie. Please, don’t do this.”

“After all they’ve done to you, you protect them?”

“Killing Bill and Eric isn’t gonna make any of that go away.”

“Revenge will never bring you peace,” Eric told her.

“There can’t be peace until there is justice for me, for Antonia, for all the women you tortured and burned for centuries!”

Taking advantage of the moment, Holly started drawing a circle of salt around the pyre as Marnie had her back turned to her.

“All to repress a magic that’s older and more powerful than your very existence.”

“Marnie, what will this serve?” Bill, who saw Holly and understood the plan, asked, to help distract her. “There are millions of us, more being made every night. You cannot win.”

“I’m already dead, vampire. Thanks to you and your friends, I have nothing left to lose.”

Marnie lowered her head and raised her hands in the air as she casted three more words “incendia of sanctimonia”.

“No!” Brooke and Sookie screamed as they tried to make their way to the now burning pyre. But the fire Marnie had just started only grew bigger as they reached it. Brooklynne dragged her sister away from it as Tara joined them.

“Stop it,” she yelled. “It’s still Lafayette!”

“I don’t care,” Brooke growled as she raised a hand, a blinding light coming out of it, hitting Lafayette/Marnie in the chest, pushing them far away. It didn’t stop the fire, to her biggest disappointment.

Holly finished the circle of salt, joining them back to her starting point, as Marnie sat up, now, neither looking like Lafayette or herself, but with a painted face of some sort of creature.

“Give me your hands, now!”

Hesitantly, Tara joined the three women in a circle, taking the hand of the two sisters in her own. Immediately, they started chanting.

“Spirits who watch over us, friends, family, ancestors, guardians of the gate, with this rite we evoke thee through the veil of Samhain, we call thee forth.”

Again and again, they chanted, keeping Marnie out of the circle, however, doing nothing to stop the fire that was burning the two vampires next to them.

As the dead witch growled and the immortals screamed out of pain, spirits appeared in the cemetery near them, walking the earth once more, to join them in their battle. Sookie kept an eye open on Bill, while Brooklynne focused on Eric, doing her best not to break the circle and jump in the fire herself to get him out of there.

“Marnie.”

The summoned spirits stood in the forest, behind Marnie, calling her, only one, however, getting her attention: Antonia.

“Marnie.”

Lafayette’s face changed back to normal as the painted face of the creature disappeared, Marnie, making her way to the ghost of her former partner.

“My sister.”

“You came back to me…” she said, and the witch smiled. “I knew you would.”

Antonia’s eyes moved from Lafayette/Marnie to the burning pyre, and from where she stood blew out the fire as easily as she would have blown off the candles on a birthday cake.

“Antonia, no!”

Brooklynne didn’t wait one more second as she made her way to her maker, ripped off the silver chains tying the vampires to the still hot death trap. Eric’s knees were too weak and she caught him as he fell. However, no one was there to catch the King, who fell off the pyre and onto the hard ground. Sookie was quickly by his side.

“Are you okay?”

“Crispy.”

“Why the hell didn’t you call me? Or Pam?”

“So you could have burned with me? Not a great plan.”

“Not asking for help isn’t a plan at all!”

Off the pyre and back on the ground, Eric enjoyed the feeling of his burning bare feet on the cold grass. Brooke helped him kneel down.

“What the hell am I supposed to do without you? Don’t you dare die on me now that I’m immortal!”

“I’d rather die knowing that you’re safe, than die after watching you get killed.”

“And I’d rather die than spend immortality without you, so don’t you ever do that again!”

“Alright. I’ll try not to get burned alive by the crazy ghost of a witch again. That I can promise you.”

“Shut up and drink,” she rolled her eyes as she kneeled beside him and offered him her wrist.

The witches were still talking on the other side of the circle, and whatever Antonia was saying, Marnie didn’t want to hear it.

“All creatures have their purpose, even vampires.”

“How can you say that? They murdered us!”

“Their cruelty served its purpose: to bring you and I together. And now I am here to take you home.”

“I’m not finished yet.”

“Oh, yes you are.”

That voice. Brooklynne knew that voice. She turned her head, but whoever it was, she was hidden behind the pyre. However, Sookie could see her perfectly.

“Gran?”

“Holy Goddess.”

“Holy shit.”

Eric released Brooke’s hand so that she could get up and see for herself, Adele, her grandmother, make her way to Lafayette, put her hand in his mouth and reach down his throat. She took out a black fog which she threw away behind her. Once it reached the ground, it turned into Marnie.

“I don’t wanna go. I am not ready. Please!” she begged as she stood up.

“I was trapped between world for 400 years… lost and driven mad by my rage. I do not want that for you.”

“And what about what I want?! Nobody cares what I want! All my life, I’ve been afraid. And who wouldn’t be? With dead people murmuring in my ears, making me deliver your messages… making me into a freak! A creepy, pathetic, terrified mess muttering to herself in the corner.”

“But that is not who you are anymore.”

“No. That’s right. I’m not afraid anymore. I’ve got real power now. And you want to take that away from me?” she cried. “You want them to win?”

“Oh, Marnie,” Antonia said as she took Marnie’s face between her hands, “Marnie, can’t you see? Life is pain. But soon, all you have suffered and feared will be meaningless. You will be at peace. But them…”

“… they’ll be stuck here. Forever.”

“And there is no victory in that.”

A tear or two fell down Marnie’s cheeks as she screamed. “Oh, this fucking sucks.”

“Come on.”

Antonia took Marnie’s hand and led her down to the forest where the other spirits were waiting for her. Adele followed them.

“Gran!”

Sookie and Brooklynne called after her, hoping to make her stay.

“Please don’t go,” Sookie cried.

“I have to, dear.”

“I’m so lost without you. I don’t know what to do.”

“Yes, you do. Look at your sister. She’s got it all figured out,” she said as she smiled, proudly, at Brooklynne.

“Oh, Gran… I’m so sorry.”

“For what, dear?”

Brooklynne sniffed and shrugged, hoping her grandmother was proud of her, of who she had become.

“Answer’s where it always is. In your heart. Being alone, it ain’t nothing to be afraid of, my girls. We’re all alone, at the end.”

She smiled at them one last time before joining the spirits back to the cemetery and her granddaughters watch her leave them with tears in their eyes.

Brooke felt a hand slide on her waist, and she took it, as Eric pulled her towards him.

“No offense to your grandmother, but neither one of us will be alone at the end.”

Brooke chuckled as she wiped the tears off her face with the back of her hand.

“This is the worst night ever.”

“Well,” he said as he turned her around and wiped one last tear with his thumb, “the night is still young.”

***

Eric had no idea how right he was. Well, maybe he did, a little. He knew what was coming. For him, for Bill. For Brooklynne. They were coming for their heads.

He hadn’t said a word, but Brooklynne knew too. She wasn’t used to being able to read his mind, and it mostly just happened, she couldn’t control it. He was thinking about it, so hard, as he was drinking her blood, in Bill’s living room. She could hear her sister break up with Bill in the other room, and she just wished she could tune them out. Hearing Bill cry made her feel sick.

“Are you sure they’re coming after you too? It wasn’t your fault.”

“They don’t care. I was caught on camera.”

“They destroyed all of that footage.”

“There are witnesses.”

“Glamour them.”

“It’s too late.”

“Then we should leave. Now.”

“And go where? They won’t stop until…”

“Brooklynne.”

The vampire-fairy hybrid turned to see her sister enter the room. Her eyes were red. And wet.

“I’m going home.”

“Okay. I’m staying here, with Eric.”

“You should go with her. There’s no reason for you to be here when…”

Brooklynne shot him a look that told him all he needed to know. She wasn’t going anywhere. She’d save him. Or die trying.

“Have a good night, Sook.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” her sister nodded as she waved, before she walked away.

“The AVL doesn’t know I’m a vampire. They can’t kill me. It’s against their own rules.”

“If you get in their way, if you show them what you can do…”

“Eric,” she stopped him, taking a step forward and placing a hand above his, “either we’re leaving town, or we’re staying. But we stay together.”

Eric sighed, defeated.

“Like you said, neither of us will be alone at the end.”

***

Bill was back to being a cold bastard when he joined them in his living room. He sat in an armchair next to them, and they all kept a dreadful quiet as they enjoyed the last hour of their life.

Bill had nothing else to lose. He had just lost the only thing he wanted, the only thing he needed. Without Sookie, he had no reason to live. He wouldn’t fight the Authority, if they came knocking on his door with a true death warrant. Eric thought about his human life. His immortal life. Godric. Pam. Brooklynne. He thought about the life he had and the one he would never get. The life he dreamt of having with Brooklynne, and the one he could never give her. But Brooklynne wasn’t done fighting. She had barely started. She’d use all of her powers to kill them all, if need be. She felt strong enough. She never even took the time to ask herself if she could.

When the cars arrived, disturbing the silent night as they drove on the gravel driveway, they all felt like time had stopped. Like it was all decided, and they would either leave the house alive, or not at all.

Brooklynne suddenly felt like she had forgotten so many things. Her siblings. She should have said goodbye to them. But instead, she let Sookie go without even telling her she might never see her again. She was almost certain Eric was thinking the same way about Pam. But he knew if he had let her know about any of this, she’d had come, and he couldn’t do that to her. She deserved better.

At least, Bill had said his goodbye.

“This is it,” the King of Louisiana said as he straightened his suit.

“It’s been a crazy thousand years.”

Brooklynne scoffed dryly.

“I thought immortality would last longer.”

They followed Bill as he took the direction of the front door. He opened with a polite smile, a smile Brooklynne had dubbed “Bill’s political smile”.

Nan Flanagan was standing on the porch with a handful of heavily armed men and she looked pissed. She looked furious.

“Ms. Flanagan, we’ve been expecting you.”

Eric and Brooklynne appeared behind their king. It somehow seemed to make her angrier.

“Hi, Nan. And gay stormtroopers.”

Eric’s ability to make stupid jokes in moments such as this one was one of the reasons Brooklynne loved him so much.

“Perfect. Two birds, one stone,” she said as she entered the house, taking the direction of Bill’s office, followed by her guards.

Though Eric stayed silent, Brooklynne could feel his relief. Whatever Nan’s orders were, Brooklynne didn’t seem to be included in them.

The couple stepped in the crowded office, joining Bill’s side.

“The Marnie situation has been resolved, if that makes any difference,” Bill said.

“Ding, dong, the witch is dead,” Nan replied with a tone so sharp it would have given the true death to any vampire who got too close. “Yippee.”

“His Majesty showed great leadership in extremely perilous circumstances. You should be kissing his ring.”

“Why bother when your tongue’s already so far up his ass?”

Eric contemplated his options as his desire to kill the bitch grew stronger. Brooklynne was glad he controlled himself.

Nan gestured her guards to close the door and they stood before it, blocking the only exit. Brooklynne looked up at Eric who seemed to be as nervous as she was. This meant nothing good.

“I wish for one fucking night you could experience the litany of bullshit I’ve had to deal with. Then you’d have some idea of how little I give a fuck about your small-town witch infestation, or your whole backwoods kingdom, for that matter.”

“For someone who cares so little, you seem awfully pissed off.”

“Do I, Bill? Maybe that’s because I quit my fucking job!”

“You quit the AVL?” Eric asked, as baffled as Bill was.

“And the Authority.”

“No one quits the Authority,” Bill chuckled nervously.

“Quit, fired, same difference!”

“We assumed we were the ones to be terminated.”

“Oh, there’s been an order issued on your heads.”

Hearing those words, Brooklynne instinctively seized Eric’s hand.

“My last duty was supposed to be delivering the True Death to both of you. Of course, I realized I’d be next.”

She sighed, trying to control her anger. Failing.

“I have been alive for eight hundred and sixteen years. I refuse to be retired like a fat first wife!”

“Let me make sure I got this straight,” Eric said. “You’re mutinying against the American Vampire League and the Authority?”

“And you expect us to join you?”

“We won’t be alone,” she assured them. “There are factions inside the regime who have never been completely on board with the current agenda. Sheriff Northman knows what I’m talking about.”

Brooklynne frowned. So did Bill.

“What’s in it for us?” the Viking asked, undisturbed by the accusation.

Nan laughed. “Aside from surviving the night? How about your little fairy toy over there? And her sister.”

Their silence and cold stares didn’t faze her.

“Oh, come on. The mind reading, the microwave fingers? You didn’t think I knew what you were? There are at least a couple thousand vampires who would do almost anything to get a taste of your blood.”

“They’re welcome to try,” Brooklynne smirked.

In the next second, she had seized Bill’s paper knife and cut the throat of all of Nan’s human guards. Eric had wanted to do it, but she insisted, as it was her sister she was protecting.

“You’re a vampire?” Nan gasped, looking at her like she was an alien. Which… she was.

“Don’t. threaten. my sister.”

Bill armed himself with the fancy stake that was on display behind his seat, and stabbed Nan who exploded on the spot. There were pieces of her everywhere, the vampires were covered with her blood. Brooklynne took what looked like a tooth from her hair and threw it towards the pile of blood at her feet. She grimaced, then sighed.

“Can we leave now?”

***

Leaving a voicemail to his progeny, Bill didn’t help Eric clean up the mess he had made of Nan Flanagan. Brooklynne stared at the fake window as her maker made sure to get rid of any evidence that would work against them in case of a trial. Though, if they ever got caught, they would not get the luxury of a trial. Their fate was already sealed, killing Nan was just going to buy them a little bit more time. Or so they thought.

As soon as they stepped out of the house, they fell into a silver trap. They were surrounded by a dozen heavily armed men who threw silver nets at Bill and Eric. They both cried out of pain and Brooklynne’s first instinct was to help her maker, but she was quickly pinned against the wall with unhuman strength.

The soldier took off his helmet and stared at her, right in the eyes, as he said: “go back inside, sit down and forget this ever happened”.

Her eyes grew big as she realized he was trying to glamour her. She could see in the corner of her eye that they were taking them away, towards the trunk of their black vehicle. There were too many soldiers there, all wearing protection gear and weapons that could kill a vampire in a second. She did her best to put the loud voice inside her head to rest. It killed her to ignore it, it almost destroyed her to not try anything to help Eric, but she knew if she tried anything, if she showed them she couldn’t be compelled, if she showed them what she really was, they’d either kill her or take her too, and she would never be able to help anyone again.

So, she did as he asked. She went back inside Bill’s house, sat on the first armchair she could find, and watched as they drove away.

She got up as soon as she was certain they wouldn’t be able to see her follow them. She stayed far enough away, running fast, faster than she ever thought she could run. She even tried to fly, but to no avail. She followed them out of Bon-Temps and into an empty road. It was the middle of the night, so there was no one else there, but vampires.

She tried to think of a plan, of a way to get them out that wouldn’t get her and them killed. But there was no way she could free them without alerting the Authority soldiers.

But, suddenly, the black van in which all of the soldiers had gotten into took another road. It confused Brooklynne for a second, until she realized they were probably going back to their base, which meant Bill and Eric were going somewhere else. Somewhere like New-Orleans, to the Vampire Authority Headquarters.

She ran even faster now, so she could catch up to the single car, in which Eric was trapped. She positioned herself in the middle of the road, in front of the vehicle, but far enough away so that they could see her before driving into her. She rose a hand and the brightest light came out of it, blinding the driver. He immediately, out of instinct, turned the wheel, causing the car to roll over three times before it stopped in the field on her right.

She rushed towards the trunk which was already half opened. One kick was enough to open it wide.

“Brooklynne,” Eric breathed out as he crawled out, “what are you doing?”

“Saving your life? You’re welcome. Come on.”

They helped Bill out but didn’t get the time to do anything else as a vampire, whom Brooke recognized to be the driver, showed up behind them, holding a gun, no doubt loaded with silver bullets.

“Who wants to die first?”

Eric pushed Brooke behind him, screaming at her mentally to run the second she can, to not think twice about it. As soon as he turned into a pool of blood, she had to make a run for it.

But he wasn’t the one who exploded into a disgusting pile of bloody body parts.

A woman stood where the vampire used to be a second before, his spine in her hand.

“You, Hayes,” she said, looking down at the pile of blood, “you die first.”

“Nora,” Eric breathed out.

Their savior threw the spine on the ground and shook her bloody hand, trying to get the remaining pieces of Hayes off of her skin.

“I had arranged for our car to be conveniently ambushed when we hit 310,” Nora said, she had a British accent. Our attackers were going to take out my driver there. Unfortunately, wonder woman over here came 12 miles too soon.”

“Um… sorry?”

“Don’t be. It was badass.”

“Eric, you know this woman?” Bill asked.

“Yes. She’s my sister.”

Brooklynne thought she had misheard. Eric never mentioned a sister. She felt confused and… betrayed?

“Your sister? You have a sister who works for the Authority?” Bill says, both surprised and suspicious.

“I’m a Chancellor,” she replied proudly.

“I don’t understand,” Brooke said. “If you knew they were coming for Eric, why didn’t you warn him?”

“There was no time. The Guardian wanted Nan followed to make sure she carried out his orders. I saw an opportunity to save Eric, so I took it.”

“So nobody in the Authority knows about your relationship?” Bill asked.

“And they never will. We were only connected through out maker, Godric. And Godric is gone,” she said with obvious sorrow.

“As a Chancellor of the Authority, you’re taking a huge risk,” Bill continued, still not trusting her fully. “Why would you choose to…”

“Because I’d do anything for Eric.”

“And I’d do anything for you,” the Viking said as he took a step forward.

He went to hug his sister, whom he apparently hadn’t seen in decades. She smiled as she hugged him back. Brooklynne thought it would have been nice to know he had someone he cared about so much other than Pam. Though she could understand why keeping their relationship a secret was for the best, perhaps he could have trusted her enough to share that secret with her.

“And,” Nora continued, “because you did what you did protecting us from the necromancers. That we would reward you for it with the True Death speaks volume about how out of step the Authority’s current agenda is.”

So, Nan knew. Nan knew of Nora and of her relationship with Eric. Which meant Eric did keep in touch at least a little bit. Brooke tried to keep her anger to a minimum.

“I’m not alone in this belief.”

“Factions within the Authority?” Bill asked, making the connection with the information Nan had given him earlier that night.

“Mm-mmh,” she nodded. “So, who’s wonder woman?”

Nora looked at the fairy with interest, but Brooke didn’t answer, uncertain of how much she should say. She turned to Eric for guidance.

“Nora, this is Brooklynne, my progeny.”

“A pleasure, I’m sure…” Nora mumbled thoughtfully. “What is she? She smells amazing.”

“She’s…” Eric pondered. “… complicated.”

“Right…” she said, suspicious. “And I suppose that light is part of the… complications.”

“What light?”

“The light that came out of your progeny, causing Hayes to drive us into this field.”

Eric looked at Brooklynne with regret. She exposed herself to save him, putting herself in danger.

“Like I said. It’s complicated.”

“Well,” she sighed, resigned to stay in the dark, “’complicated’ is an improvement from that whore you keep around.”

“Nora!” Eric hissed, threateningly.

Brooklynne frowned. Perhaps her contempt for Pam was what kept the two apart for so long. She couldn’t help but wonder if Eric trusted any of them. She thought she knew him, but she just realized she had many, many things to figure out about him still. The fact he kept her true identity from Nora meant he didn’t trust her entirely either, or perhaps, it was just the Authority that made him nervous. But finding out about Nora’s existence that night rose many questions that she didn’t have time to ask at the moment.

“Help me turn the car around,” Nora asked Bill. “Let’s see if it can drive us somewhere safe for the day.”

Eric gestured Brooklynne to follow him and they made their way to the road in silence. She tried hard not to explore his thoughts.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister?”

“We don’t tell anyone we’re related. It’s for everyone’s safety.”

“Okay. Why didn’t you tell her who I was? She thinks I’m a vampire.”

“She saw your speed and strength, she already knew you were a vampire.”

“But you don’t trust her enough to tell her the truth.”

“She works for the Authority. If she ever gets caught for being ‘against the current agenda’ she’ll get tortured and asked about everything that she knows. I told you, you can’t trust anyone.”

“So what? I’m just supposed to pretend to be a vampire now? To sleep all day? Pretend I don’t eat human food?”

“Only around Nora, which you won’t be for long.”

She sighed. “Right. So… what do we do now?”

“We do nothing. Nora will get Bill and I out of here. We’ll have new identities, we’ll be safer once we get out of the country.”

“What? What do you mean? I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

Brooklynne gasped as she took a step back. It felt like a slap in the face.

“The Authority has no knowledge of your existence, there is no warrant out for you arrest, you can go back to Bon-Temps, be with your sister.”

“No! No way.”

“Brooklynne.”

He put his hands on both her shoulders as he looked down at her.

“It’s not safe to come with me. They will hunt me down until they catch me.”

“So?”

“So, you’ll be safer in Bon-Temps. Stay with Pam. I’ll be in touch, I’ll call, I’ll…”

“Eric, I am not going back to Bon-Temps without you. I’m not going anywhere without you. You promised! We promised.”

“The life that’s waiting for me is not worth living.”

“No life is worth living without you, how many times do I have to say it?!”

“Brook-“

“No! I have no life without you, Eric. You are my life. You gave me immortality and you better be sure I’m going to spend it with you. You will not abandon me here!”

“Brooklynne,” he sighed as he brought her to his chest.

He placed a kiss on the top of her head as he hugged her.

“This isn’t what I wanted for you.”

“I know. But it’s better than nothing.”

He backed away and placed his hands on both sides of her face.

“I love you,” he said as dark red tears appeared in his eyes.

She gave him a sad smile. “I love you too. More than anything.”

He leaned over to kiss her. His lips capturing hers like it was the first and last time they would do so. He held her tightly to him, as to stop her from slipping away.

He released her reluctantly, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs, and returning her sad smile.

“Forgive me.”

She frowned. But she didn’t get the time to express her confusion as he swiftly twisted her head, breaking it in a horrible sound that will haunt him forever.

The end… ?

**********

Tags: @thepoet1975 @nerdysandwichqueen @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @raegan-hale @colie87 @heavenly1927 @abbey7103 @with-love-maddie

#true blood #eric x oc #eric northman #bill x sookie #sookie stackhouse #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #oc #reader #eric x reader #pam #sookie x oc #sookie x reader #jason stackhouse #bad ending #i'm sorry please don't hate me no idk when I'll update or even if I ever will

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

Text

February Contest Submission #5: Welcome

words: ca. 3,100 setting: mAU lemon: no cw: no warnings apply

“A snake made the world?”

Anna inhaled, then exhaled through her nose. Kristoff scratched idly at his stubble while they waited for their coffees to be made, standing around the uni café.

“It’s a mythos, Kris,” she said after a moment. “Just like Christian God, or Allah, or- I dunno. Whatever specific being any other major religion thought made the world.”

“But a snake.”

“Rainbow Serpent, actually. And it’s really interesting, if you bothered to listen.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off when their names were called and two coffees placed on the counter. Anna took the chance, moving forward and grabbing her own cup and a few extra sugar packets. By the time Kris had caught up to her, she’d already dumped two into her drink, gently stirring it with a paddle-pop stick.

“I did listen,” he said, clearly intent on continuing the conversation. “And doesn’t the story go that the land and shit already existed but the big snake made mountains and valleys and stuff?”

Taking a sip of her drink, more to waste time than anything, Anna had to concede that he wasn’t wrong, per-se. He was just missing all the nuances of the topic, though!

“Look, I just thought it was cool, is all,” she said once she’d finished the mouthful of, frankly, fairly mediocre coffee. Nice and sweet, though. “Like, out of the seven-hundred-ish tribes– uh. Mobs. Most of them have an origin story that’s so similar. Across the whole country! But the languages they use are completely different – did you know the name of the language is traditionally based on their word for ‘no’? I just… thought it was cool.”

“It is cool, Anna,” Kristoff said, shooting her a small smile. “And I know learning about all this stuff means a lot to you.”

Swallowing again, though more from the dryness that had suddenly appeared in her mouth, Anna nodded. “Well, Mum isn’t around to teach me this stuff anymore. But I don’t wanna miss out and regret it forever.” Suddenly, she perked up. “Hey, did I tell you? I’m going to a thing today!”

“A thing?”

Nodding – so emphatically that she spilled her coffee, the brown liquid sloshing over the side of the cup and landing with a splat on the floor – she grinned up at her friend. “Yeah! It’s this traditional Indigenous show-thing? I can’t really remember what it’s about, but it wasn’t too expensive and they’re doing everything – a Welcome to Country, and stories and bush tucker, and I think they said a corroboree at the end?”

“That sounds really cool, Anna,” Kris said, just as his watch beeped at him. “You’ll have to tell me all about it. Uh. After class.”

Sighing, but this time with a smile, Anna waved him off – spilling her drink again in the process. “See you later, dude,” she said. She probably had to start getting ready, anyway.

Throwing the remnants of her coffee in the bin, Anna made her way back home. A forty-minute bus ride home, only to take a quick shower (how fortunate the drought of her youth had trained her in the art of 3-minute washes…) before heading back out again. It was cooling off, but she knew the evening wouldn’t get cold by any stretch of the word. It smelled like it was going to rain, and she heard the kookaburras again as if to confirm the thought.

Kookaburra laughing means it’s gonna rain, she thought to herself.

It was another forty-minute ride on the bus, and Anna felt herself becoming giddier and giddier with excitement. It’s one thing to learn about this sort of stuff in class. Now, she gets to experience some of it.

Even the first few splatters of rain on the window of the bus can’t dampen her mood.

By the time she arrived, the small drizzle had turned into a full-fledged shower. It wasn’t a storm – it felt a little early in the season (or late in the year) for that – and it would probably pass soon. She was glad she wore closed-in shoes, though, because it turned the earth into a sticky, muddy substance that stuck to everything.

There was only one other girl her age, and though Anna didn’t want to seem too invested, she was also cognisant enough to recognise that she’d rather interact with her than with any of the other people. A glance at the assembled crowed, standing under a large tent as protection from the rain, only confirmed her suspicions: there was at least one tour group, mostly made up of retirees; a school group, probably from the city’s Boys Grammar school, judging by the pretentiousness (and the uniforms). And the girl.

Not that she needed to worry about it. It was very much a group thing in that they weren’t asked to find partners or actually even talk to each other – not at first. First it was a respectful silence – and for Anna, a respectful reverence – as an Elder stood before them to give an official Welcome to Country. He described the land, before White colonisers; the shape of it, the boundaries between Turrbal Country and Jagera Country; the Meeanjin people, who weren’t able to claim Native Title for the land that still was theirs. Even the private school boys were silent, weren’t even fidgeting. Anna had to blink a little harder than usual, and she didn’t stop until he’d finished his piece.

No one clapped, but then, they weren’t supposed to.

A sudden flash of anger overtook her, and she had to face the ground just so she wouldn’t ruin this moment for everyone else. Why had her mum kept this from her? Why did she have to go searching, find out herself? How could they have grown up, let her grow up, not knowing a thing about her heritage??

“Hey, you okay?”

Jerking her head up, Anna found herself having to blink once more to force the angered tears away. The girl she’d noticed earlier was standing in front of her; everyone else had moved on, walking over the red land and towards a building.

“Y-yeah,” she responded. “I’m just…”

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” The girl looked over her shoulder at the crowd. “C'mon, I don’t think you want to miss this next part.” With a quick, but sincere, smile, the girl turned around and began the return to the group. Anna followed, a few steps behind.

“I don’t?”

The girl shook her head. “I’m Elsa, by the way.”

“Anna. Nice to meet you.”

Elsa just smiled at her, slowing down enough to let Anna fall into step beside her.

Elsa was right: she did not want to miss this.

Once they regrouped, everyone was led into a darkened room. There was a star projector in the centre, a surprisingly real-looking, but definitely fake, fire built around it. They’d lit incense, or something, and when the door behind Anna closed and she was asked to sit on the floor, she found it really easy to imagine being here, back in the long ago.

It wasn’t the Elder who spoke this time. Another man, several years younger, came to sit in front of everyone. He had no shirt on, but his chest was painted in various pigments of ochre and white, only just distinguishable in the dim light of the fake fire and stars (and, Anna realised when she turned around, the fire exit sign). Elsa was sat behind her; she lifted her eyebrows once, still smiling, and Anna hurriedly turned back to the speaker in front her her.

And boy, did he speak. He told the story of the Rainbow Serpent, who carved the mountains and the valleys, and who tickled the frogs until they laughed, and the water that had been kept in their fat bellies burst and filled the tracks that had been made. He spoke about the animals that followed the Rainbow Serpent, who obeyed her and were rewarded by becoming human; those who did not would be made stone again.

But he spoke of other stories, too, ones she hadn’t heard before. He spoke about the Three Brothers, who were found mixing with women of another skin-group – a serious offence – and found their lives forfeit, as there were strict rules around marriage and mingling. Another person came up after that, a young woman, who told the story of Mundiba and they Honey, which was a cautionary tale against greediness and selfishness, as he had been asked to collect honey but had kept it for himself. A spirit had grown suspicious, and upon witnessing Mundiba taking the honey, had sung to the trees to trap Mundiba, where he had perished.

The last tale that was told, just as the retirees were losing focus and the boys began squirming, was the tale of the two wise men and seven sisters. Another origin story, Anna thought, and enjoyed it all the same because it spoke of people who weren’t people. This story, the audience was told, was from Wong-Gu-Tha country.

In the beginning, it says, the Creator sent two spirit men, Woddee Gooth-tha-rra, to shape Yulbrada, the Earth. They came from the far end of the Milky Way, and were tasked with making the hills and valleys. They made the cliffs and the oceans, the plains and the mountains. And when their work was almost complete, the Creator sent seven sisters, who were stars of the Milky Way, to make the land beautiful with flowers and trees, springs and billabongs, and all the birds and animals and all the creepy things.

Anna had to stifle a little smile when the woman said that. Not that she had to – the woman was smiling, clearly enjoying telling the story, perhaps more than Anna was enjoying hearing about it.

The sisters were making the Honey Ants when they became thirsty, and asked the youngest to find some water for them all to drink. She dutifully took her dish and went off, in the direction her sisters had sent her, to find water.

The Woddee Gooth-tha-rra were in the bushes, spying on the women, and followed the youngest went she went for water. They did not hide, and she fell in love with the two spirit men, and they her. The six sisters left became worried because the youngest had been gone so long.

They had all been warned by the Creator that, should such a thing happen, they wouldn’t be able to return to the Milky Way. The youngest sister remained on Yulbrada with the two men, and became mortal. They became the parents of the earth, and made the laws and the people of the desert.

The woman fell silent as she finished her story, and Anna was left thinking. It was a creation myth so similar to Eden, but different. People came from the Heavens, but it wasn’t a punishment to remain on earth. They weren’t cast out for the knowledge they gained, but instead had to embrace it. It was love that made the people, not the wrath of any god.

It was a comforting thought.

After the stories, they were treated to a didgeridoo player, as well as a demonstration of spear-throwing, weaponry, and warfare stuff. They returned outside, the storm having passed and the remaining clouds providing just enough cover from the would-be blistering sun Anna was less invested, but the school boys definitely perked up. Actually, regardless of her open interest, she still found herself perking up. The storytelling, while interesting, had little action and more atmosphere. This had action.

She found herself sitting next to Elsa again, a question burning the tip of her tongue. When there was a short break while some of the boys asked questions about the weapons, there was a window to actually ask.

“How did you know I’d like that?"

Elsa hadn’t been paying attention, naturally, and looked a little surprised when she turned to Anna. A smile graced her face; she looked comfortable.

"Everyone does. Even the kids, even if they thought it was a little boring.”

“Well, you were definitely right,” Anna said, an easy smile lifting to her own face. “Have you been here before?”

Before Elsa could answer, their attention was called for the next activity. A small wave of disappointment urged through Anna – she wanted to talk! – before she chastised herself. She had come here to learn all this stuff, even in this vaguely touristy way. She did not come here to make friends.

But… perhaps that would just be a happy bonus as everyone was led to a fire-pit and she realised that the next activity was lunch. An activity in which everyone was able to – nay, encouraged to – talk to everyone else.

Anna wasn’t going to talk to the school kids, and she held little interest in talking to the retirees. She didn’t even have to seek out Elsa; the other woman had left a spot next to her open, and was already looking at Anna and smiling.

They didn’t speak until after the food had been distributed: damper and dukkah – and a plate of different dips and chutneys on the side; skewers of kangaroo, crocodile, and emu; as well as more typical roasted meat. Potatoes and gravy, and all flavours she’d never tried before.

“This looks amazing,” Anna said to herself, eyes as round as the plates in which the food had been served. There was a light laugh from next to her, and she turned to find Elsa smiling.

“It tastes even better," she said. "And I know because I have been here before. Only once or twice, but it was enough to get me to come back.”

Anna thought back to how much this had cost her – well worth it, but it wasn’t cheap either – and then to the woman next to her. “It’s been amazing so far,” she agreed.

“And it gets better and better. This is probably the best one I’ve been to.” She said it without taking her eyes from Anna, who felt her cheeks burning. Was this woman flirting with her?

And then Elsa bit her bottom lip, still smiling, and nodded towards the food. “Go on, try it. I bet it’ll be the best you’ve ever had.”

Okay, yep, definitely flirting. Probably as red as a beet, and a shade that couldn’t just be blamed on the sun, Anna ducked her head and focussed on the damper. It came apart easily in her hands, and she dipped it in some of the… chutney?

“So, is this your first time here? What made you want to try it out?”

Elsa asked the questions just as Anna lifted the bread to her mouth. She’d definitely taken too large a bite, and probably looked silly. A possum in the headlights, with bulging cheeks and wide eyes. With some difficulty, she swallowed.

“Y-yeah,” she said, reaching for her cordial. “My um. My mum passed away recently and when I was going through her stuff I found some pictures and documents about where I- where she came from. Wanted to… reconnect, I guess?”

Elsa nodded along as Anna spoke. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, and she actually sounded like she meant it. “How are you finding it?”

It was impossible to tell if Elsa were talking about the death, or the discovery, so Anna chose to focus on the latter. “Well, I was really excited at first. I wanted to learn the language and talk to the Elders – I’m already doing Indigenous Studies at uni, so the chance to learn about it all from a personal perspective was really nice.”

“But…?”

“But Mum was Nunukul, so there’s no more language. I know they have the Quandamooka centre over at Straddie – uh, Minjerribah – but I don’t know if that’s the same. Jandai is not my people, or my language.”

Elsa nodded, taking another bite of her food. She was already half-finished, while Anna had been so focused on talking she’d barely started.

“I know what you mean,” Elsa said when she swallowed. She spoke slower than Anna, more thoughtfully; it gave Anna a chance to catch up with her food, at least. “My father is Tjungundji, so all I really have for that is some stupid word lists by old white people, sealed away in Canberra and gatekept by those same old white people.”

A bitterness seeped into her voice; a tempered fury that Anna was]s only just learning exists in her, too. A righteous anger over how much had been taken, not just from her, but from her people, and all other peoples who had been here before.

But she needed to look for the positives. She didn’t know much about Elsa’s mob, but she had been researching her own. She was lucky enough that not everything was taken or destroyed.

“It’s amazing what we’ve been able to recoup,” she said softly, thoughtfully. “I don’t think my grandma, or even my mum, really, could have imagined that their culture could be separated. It’s why they didn’t pass it down. But it is; it’s here and alive. Even though no one speaks Nunukul anymore, and it wasn’t really written down, we have the songs and stories of those people, even in English. I know the snake is my totem, even though I’m terrified of snakes. And I just think it’s amazing how much we’ve been able to put back together even after it all shattered. Things like this, today, are amazing, honest attempts at reconciliation.”

Elsa snorted gently, a smile on her face. “’Reconciliation’, eh? That’s the buzzword of the century.” Anna laughed and nodded.

“I like to think it’ll keep getting better. Two years ago I’d have never even thought to do this – Indigenous history was just a boring subject in school. But next week I’m getting a snake tattoo, which is terrifying, and it’s been designed by an Indigenous artist and it’s something on me that they can’t take away.” She sighed. “We need to stop taking so much away.”

They fell into silence for a moment, finishing up the meals on their plate. It was a thoughtful silence, comfortable, before Elsa broke it.

“So, you’re terrified of snakes and tattoos. Why are you getting both? Why not choose another design?”

She asked the question so sincerely, honestly. That was all that was really needed, Anna realised. A genuine desire for understanding that, as wonderful as she believed Australian culture to be, she often found sorely lacking. The “she’ll be right” attitude that blinded people to problems. To truths and solutions.

“Because,” Anna said, smiling. Elsa looked right back at her, the expression mirrored on her face, and regardless of the flirting earlier, Anna thought that, at the very least, she had made a friend. “A snake made the world.”

#elsanna #submission #february 2021 contest #prompt: ancient worlds

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 4 years

Text

In a Parallel Universe

Could it be... fluff? The happy, uplifting tone of this can entirely be credited to Mustafa as a muse. I truly believe the man should be held up as an example of how to be a good human and how to be masculine without it becoming toxic. (The way he is treated by WWE, much like that other paragon of positive masculinity Sami Zayn, is something I can angrily rant about another time.)

Pairing: Mustafa Ali x reader (platonic)

Word count: 2,659

Content advisory: Racism/ racist language

“Did you ever have a thing for me?”

Your eyes widen in shock as you look back at Mustafa, your best friend, wondering if you’ve heard him correctly. He’s looking at you with those big, ingenuous eyes, as if he’s just asked you if you’ve decided what you want for dinner. In all the time you’ve known each other you’ve never once brought up the subject of romantic interest or physical attraction and yet here he is, just throwing it out there.

You��re watching your daughters collaborate on a colouring project that might as well be “Guernica” for how seriously they’re taking it.

The bell-like laughter of his wife and mother-in-law is drifting in from the back patio where they’re taking some much-needed time alone together.

You’re waiting on your husband Jake, who’s already sent four apologetic texts about how the Saturday he’s been called into work keeps dragging on, promising that he’ll be there as soon as he can, but that he doesn’t expect you to hold up the barbeque just for him. (Even though he knows you will.)

You laugh a little and squint at him, as if what he’s asked is somehow ridiculous. But it’s not ridiculous. Two heterosexual people who’ve been close friends for so long… it would almost be weird if there hadn’t been any sexual tension. Nevertheless, you think of just rolling your eyes and blowing the subject off. It would be easy enough to do. But his unwavering earnestness has always demanded respect and honesty and it’s possible that he knows the answer already. You certainly do.

“I guess,” you begin, aware that your voice is wavering a little, “early on. I had a bit of a crush.”

Is that the truth? In as much as feeling can be summed up in so few words, yes. It wasn’t like you’d been pining and crying yourself to sleep at night, but sure, you’d felt it. You’d approached him to ask if you could train with him after the two of you had worked a few of the same local shows where the wrestlers outnumbered the audience members. Yes, you’d been beyond impressed with his skills but you’d also noticed how very, very cute he was.

“I mean, everyone did,” you assure him. “All the girls liked you.”

Not all the girls had your confidence or your desire to really break in to the wrestling world, though. So you’d been the one to steel yourself and walk up to him at the gym one night and ask if he’d help you. It was a calculated risk, you figured: he could refuse, he could give it a shot and get bored or irritated and walk away, he could help you become a better wrestler even if he wasn’t interested in more, he could feel your skills were hopeless but also decide you were attractive enough to pursue, or he could want to be both a training partner and something more. Five possible outcomes, three of which worked in your favour. You’d always been clever with numbers and the numbers clearly gave you a better than even chance of a positive result.

He laughs shyly and looks down at the idea that “all the girls” had found him attractive. It’s not that he’s ever been insecure about his looks and charm, exactly, but he’s never been the sort of arrogant prick who’s assumed everyone must be in love or lust with him. And that’s always been part of his charm; confident enough not to seem needy but humble enough to appreciate the attention.

Of course, you’ve always been a little surprised that he doesn’t have more of an ego. The luscious mane of black hair, the smile that could power a small city, the toned body that never crossed into that lumpy, bulgy look that too many of your counterparts developed, and most of all those huge, soulful eyes… The man was infuriatingly flawless and even now it’s not like you are immune to the occasional whisper of desire.

“Shit. I never did anything to hurt you, did I?”

And then there was the personality. Mustafa had always been too great of a guy to be real. He’d been your rock. Whenever things ground you down, he was the one who could build you up again. When you got angry and depressed at the state of the world, he’d commiserate but he’d also be able to give you hope, if only because a world that produced someone as awesome as he was couldn’t be all bad.

You could honestly say that without him, you’d never have fought your way out of the indies and into the big leagues. That wasn’t just because training with him made you a stronger, better wrestler. It was because the two of you had been able to lean on each other when things were rough. And damn, things had been rough at times.

When the two of you had graduated from bar shows for disinterred old men drinking watered-down beer and playing slot machines, you’d been beyond excited. The shows you got invited to took place in gymnasiums and legion halls and church basements with actual audiences who had come specifically to watch the wrestling. You knew it wasn’t the big time; you were excited, not stupid. But it was progress and a lot of people you knew hadn’t even made it that far. You’d grounded yourselves by talking about your meager pay and by calculating how much you’d earned per bruise at each show.

One of the larger, or at least more successful promotions that had booked you had provided an eye-opening experience. The promoter was a corpulent man with a mouth full of lumps that barely counted as teeth and breath to match. He’d called both two of you aside a few hours before your first show to tell you the gimmick that he had in mind for the two of you. It had come as a bit of a surprise because although you were friends, you’d never teamed up in the ring. You’d reveled in being the foul-mouthed heel, while he had, of course, been a natural baby face. (And if you were honest, so few people knew who you were that your characters hadn’t ever mattered.)

“I wanna do a thing with the two of you,” the promoter began, sweat already dampening his forehead and staining the armpits of his cheap shirt. “You two are gonna be like a pair of terrorists. You can fight all the American guys- and girls- and get them over with the crowd. Get the audience riled up.”

The two of you had stared back at him in horror, jaws slack.

“I’m thinking something like ‘Osama and Elle Qaeda’ for your names.” His brow furrowed as he processed another idea. “Can you come up with some shit to yell in Arabic?”

You remembered thinking that it must be some kind of joke. Al Qaeda and Osama bin Laden were products of the Arabian Peninsula. Mustafa’s parents were Pakistani and Indian. Yours were Kurds from southern Turkey. Not one of your parents even spoke Arabic. But more to the point, the two of you were American. You were both born and bred in Chicago. Neither of you had any hint of an accent. Why couldn’t you just be normal?

The promoter looked at you impatiently. Mustafa recovered his voice enough to stammer through an explanation of your ethnicity, only to be greeted with a look of supreme indifference and boredom.

“Look,” he said sharply, “it doesn’t matter. You have the look. Around here you’re all sand ni-“

Remembering that night still hurts. The pain has dulled over time because at the moment he’d said it, it felt like you’d been shot in the chest. For a few moments you’d been afraid that you were actually going to vomit. Growing up in a racially mixed area, your features and your family name had been ambiguous enough that people thought that people usually guessed that you were Greek or Italian before they got to Turkish or even broadly Middle Eastern. You’d been proud to declare that you were descended from the little-known but courageous and resilient Kurds. But out here in the wider world, you were an Arab and therefore a terrorist. The Indian subcontinent, birthplace of so many cultures, arts, religions and philosophies, crossroads of empires, might as well have never existed. Mustafa was an Arab and therefore a terrorist.

Seeing what he perceived as hesitation, the promoter scowled at both of you. “Give it a shot,” he counseled. “It’s the only way people are gonna take you seriously.”

You and Mustafa smile at each other, as if you’ve both been recalling the painful judgments you’d faced together, as if you’re amazed you survived let alone flourished. You’d pulled each other through.

“I’d always kind of wondered if you’d ever liked me,” he says shyly.

Yes, you think, you had. You were a tall, muscular girl. It had made sense that you work with a male training partner. So he’d been happy to work with you and you were thrilled to be able to learn from him. You felt yourself improving every time you practiced together. But your mind had often drifted to how it would feel to have his arms wrapped around you in other circumstances. More than once you’d been tempted to close the scant distance between your lips just to see how he’d react.

“I liked you,” he adds, eyes snapping up to see your reaction.

You do your best to mask your shock. “You did?”

“Sure. C’mon, look at you.”

Your mouth feels a little dry. The sounds from the patio have faded and even the children have fallen silent.

“Maybe not right away because I thought you were kind of scary, to be honest,” he chuckles. “But after we’d been hanging around, I don’t know, about a year or so, I really liked you.”

You can’t help but laugh at the idea that you were scary. Maybe you’d thought you could be scary to some of the smaller, less experienced women you’d fought. But to someone on your level both skill-wise and vertically? No.

“I’m serious. I wasn’t desperate or anything but I remember thinking a lot about what might have happened if I’d made a move.”

You wonder about the math in your head. You hadn’t entertained those thoughts about him for all that long. Sure he was hot, but as you’d risen through the ranks together, he’d quickly come to seem like a brother. The idea of the two of you being a couple had started to seem weird. You’d thought about it less the longer you spent together, so it was strange for you to think that as you’d gotten over your initial crush, he’d begun thinking of you in that way.

Your shared reverie is interrupted as his little girl climbs into his lap, sour-faced and frustrated that she’s running out of brown crayons. The work of art that your girls are creating relies heavily on earth tones for the ground, for the tree trunks and bushes, and, you note happily, for the different faces of the people occupying the epic landscape they’ve made. There are all sorts of shades of people and there just aren’t enough brown crayons to build the different tones.

Your daughter purses her lips in a look of stubborn determination you’ve come to know all too well. She’s grabbed red crayons, orange crayons, yellow crayons, green crayons, whatever she can get her hands on to colour in her people. She’s as upset as her friend that there aren’t enough browns but she would never let on. As ridiculous as it seems, you’re actually a little intimidated by just how headstrong she is. Now that she’s learned the alphabet, she seems like she’s about ready to move out and start kicking ass.

She casts a quick glance in your direction and you have to hold back a gasp at her fierce, beautiful eyes. Looking at her face, you’re gob smacked by the idea that something that gorgeous came out of you. It’s like looking at the sun. It’s even stranger to think that she could be the product of the wild, all-encompassing lust that you and your husband had- still have- for each other. How could something that seemed so deliciously sinful produce something so perfect?

You glance back at Mustafa, whose attention is now completely absorbed in his daughter’s lecture on the need for more brown crayons. She’s articulate far beyond her years and you hope beyond hope that years of school won’t convince her to hide her intelligence the way girls of your generation did.

It’s possible that there was a time when your desire for Mustafa and his for you overlapped, that there was an opening when the two of you could have touched lips and fallen into each other as if nothing else in the world existed. The two of you would probably have been a power couple in the industry. Your dazzling combination of skills would have been irresistible. With the way your families have come to love the both of you, it’s likely they would have moved beyond the cultural differences that absolutely do exist, no matter what some ignorant arsehole might have told you when he insisted you were both Arab terrorists.

And it is most definitely possible that the two of you would be sitting in a living room just like this, embracing as you observed your children colouring or playing video games, or chasing each other around with rubber swords, or, worst of all, trying to emulate what they saw their parents doing on television. And perhaps as you watched, you’d look at each other and touch lips with all the tenderness in your souls and you would be filled to the point of bursting with happiness.

But then there would be no…

There would be no Jake, the man who made you realize what true, unadulterated love really was. You would never have had someone make you laugh the way that he can, make you laugh so much that your ribs ache for hours. There would never have been the man who taught you how to curse in Irish or how to snowboard. And you would not have your daughter, so filled with her father’s sarcasm and stubbornness.

For that matter, you would never have had Mustafa’s wife as your friend. When Jake had been hit by a car while riding his bike to work, you would not have had her comforting arms and her voice to pull you through the agonizing days when doctors cautioned you not to be too hopeful about his prognosis. You would never have had that feeling of someone strong enough to hold you up yet tender enough to nurture you through the pain.

A few hours later, the gang of you are gathered around the picnic-style table in the back yard. Mustafa, his wife, her parents, you, Jake, his brother who’s been run ragged by his job more than any of you, and, of course, your children. You’re all laughing so hard that it’s a legitimate danger that the neighbours will call the police with a noise complaint. You make a clever joke and Jake, impressed by your wit as he always is, presses a light kiss against your neck. You feel the familiar thrill move through you, suddenly thinking that it’s time to wind things down and head home. Just for a second, your eyes connect with Mustafa’s and there is this perfect, still moment when you can see that there could be an alternate universe where the two of you would be together, something that might have been better or worse or neither. But then the moment is passed, and you’re once again back in this universe with the lives that you love.

#wrestling fanfic #wrestling imagine #mustafa ali #mustafa ali imagine #wwe imagine #mustafa ali x reader #wayward wrestle writing

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sparksinthenight · 3 years

Text

Advice for Little Me

This is advice that I have for my twelve-year-old self. If I’d known all this at twelve my life would be a whole lot better.

1) Capitalists are horrible, manipulative, lying, selfish, apathetic, overwhelmingly dangerous, incredibly bad for society, wrong, and deeply disturbed.

2) Anyone who ever says or insinuates that they earned the wealth they have are the worst types of people.

3) Anyone who goes around measuring the value of a human being by how fancy their job is incredibly shallow, materialistic, lacking in understanding, and not worth your time.

4) No. No people did not "earn" anything through hard work. They got it through privilege, privilege, privilege, and privilege. The fact that they could afford a decent quality highschool education is already a huge privilege. And no, being poor when they were in college absolutely does not count as not having privilege. They got to go to college. That’s a privilege so many don’t get.

5) You know who's actually working hard? The people in the sweatshops, the mines, the agricultural plantations, the warehouses, etc. The people getting paid poverty wages as they work themselves to death. Have some fucking respect for them you’re not above them just because you were born in a rich family.

6) All humans have equal value.

7) And the value of a human being is inherent.

8) If you have a house and fancy furniture and a flatscreen TV and a car and a closet full of clothes and enough money to go to restaurants and golfing and shit and then you turn around and say you're oppressed I fucking hate you so goddamn much.

9) The voices of the poor people are fucking ALWAYS silenced in this world, all over the world.

10) There's men in suits somewhere defending capitalism and our centrist dads are defending them while most of the world are wage slaves.

11) The poor are always ignored, pushed to the side, and silenced.

12) Hi. Hello person reading this. Check out the Red Deal. It's fucking awesome. Please read it. It will save your soul and change your life.

13) Also my Wattpad account is here please check it out https://www.wattpad.com/user/Balladoad it won't save your soul and change your life but I write communist stories.

14) Your value is inherent. Child. Darling. Your value is inherent. You are alive. That is enough. You don't need a fancy job or a big income or a fancy degree or something. You're a human being trying to do the best you personally can with the resources and knowledge you have and in the situation you're in. Your value is inherent. Baby.

15) Check out the Red Deal.

16) Nobody is liberated. None of us are liberated. Especially under capitalism none of us are liberated. We are all equal. We are all capable of being free. Of having an equal amount of power. Of making decisions equally and democratically where everyone has a seat at the round table. Seperation is a myth. Wow that sounds like a fucking hippie thing to say but I mean it in the most practical, tangible way. We are all equal and we should be treated equally and under capitalism we are not. Not even close. We can all be together, all be comrades, all help and support each other, all protect and provide for each other, all listen to and understand each other, and all create a world where finally, finally people are free.

17) True freedom does not and should not feel forced. Corporate capitalists tell us that freedom is the ability to be successful in the capitalist framework. That is not what true freedom is. True freedom comes from within. It does not feel forced. It feels good and right and beautiful and true. It's not forced upon you it's something that sparks to life inside your own soul.

18) Sucess as a human being is about the kindness and compassion you show other people. Which is actually rather inversely proportional to how much money you make from what I've seen. At every step of your life seek out people who need help and help them.

19) Children should all be treated with equal respect, reverance, affection, and love.

20) Your value is inherent. Human value is inherent. Valuing human life does mean valuing the continuation of human life but not just that. It means valuing the quality of human life too. It means valuing human happiness.

21) Take every opportunity you have to learn. Not learn trivial "knowledge" about string theory or CRISPR or valence orbitals. Real, important knowledge about how to be kind to other people. How to be respectful towards other people. How to uplift the downtrodden. How to be in solidarity with the oppressed. How to live in harmony with other people. How to tear down the walls that divide us. How to live in harmony with nature. How to have respect and reverence for nature. How to protect and defend the Land and Water. How to be brave to put the needs of others before your own. How to think for yourself and be your own person. How to live your life in accordance to the truth and intangible mystic forces behind everything that guide us all. Wow that sounded hippie.

22) People are exploited and oppressed. So many people are exploited and oppressed. They deserve better than this.

23) You shouldn’t go after power. Seeking power is the way to corruption. You should seek to destroy the unequal distribution of power itself so that all people can have equal power.

24) Absolutely power corrupts absolutely. Power corrupts whenever it’s not equally shared.

25) Money is power. It always has been, it always will be. It’s what determines if people are able to eat or not. It’s what makes us spend most of our time at our jobs working for our bosses and doing what they want us to do.

26) Learn history. Please.

27) Read books about the Holocaust. About slavery. About all the types of slavery that have happened in various societies not just the Transatlantic Slave Trade though definitely you should learn about that too. About the Irish Potato Famine, the Armenian Genocide. About colonialism. About settler-colonialism. About feudalism. About monarchy. About the Industrial Revolution. About segregation. About the genocide of Indigenous peoples. About workhouses. About the Witch Trials. About the French Revolution. About the Spanish resistance against fascism. About residential schools. About the 60s Scoop. About the Stolen Generations. About resistance against the Roman Empire. About so much more. Just read them. Make sure they’re not written through the lenses of oppressors and/or rich people though.

28) Recognize that while history affects the present day history IS NOT the present day and present struggles are unique and different though not altogether separated from history. The present day is the present day. It’s struggles are unique and the way that the struggle for universal equality and liberation manifests in the present day is unique.

30) Don’t trust Christian priests.

31) Actually be cautious of any rich, privileged person trying to teach you religion.

32) Just because someone’s older doesn’t mean that they’re right or they know more than you. Knowledge of the truth and wisdom comes from kindness, compassion, humility, and suffering. It does not come from age. A rich man born to a rich family who thinks he’s better than poor people and does not have humility and respect towards them is not someone who knows things, no matter how old he is.

33) Men are generally less trustable than women because they’ve been taught to believe they’re always right and as such do not question themselves and think deeply and critically about their opinions as much as women do.

34) This does not apply to men who are poor or mentally ill since society never teaches them that.

35) Despite this being an unpopular opinion, pain and struggle are actually really good teachers. If you’re suffering, you deserve better. You deserve to not be suffering. But still, use it as an opportunity to learn.

37) Gender roles are the biggest scam ever created.

38) But the even bigger scam is capitalism.

39) You do not need material wealth. It is inherently addictive and bad for yourself, everyone else, and the Land and Water.

40) It’s just stuff. It doesn’t matter.

41) If you’re in a situation where people are treating you like you’re better than other people just get the fuck out of that situation as fast as you can. And never fucking look back no matter what ANYONE says.

42) Have respect and reverence for nature. Learn from it as much as you can. But from like, nature directly. Not from people talking about nature. Unless they’re Indigenous. And pristine, untouched nature is better than nature that’s been tampered with.

43) The world runs on bonds of love more than bonds between atoms.

44) Work hard not for money or to increase the power you have but rather to humbly and reverently improve the lives of the oppressed.

45) But recognize that you can’t do everything and do what you can and don’t beat yourself up over the things you can’t do.

#advice #eat the rich #capitalism #advice for living #advice for myself #I wish someone had told me this #rebellion

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