#Notion is nice for sorting but it's literally the worst to write in

[marsolines]

Hmmmmmm

[the-churroguy]

Omg! It’s here! The first chapter?!?!

So one thing I’m going to say. If you aren’t aware of who the Night Lords in 40k are: the worst. They are literally the worst. They should not be admired or looked up. They are assholes. In the worst way imaginable. Why am I writing shitty fanfic about them? Don’t ask question! Anyway, I do NOT ship the main male and female leads. They are NOT a wholesome couple. They aren’t even an item, I realize that won’t stop some of you, but please be warned that these two monsters are NOT NICE TO EACH OTHER.

Kerreck fiddled with the edge of his blood-stained lightning claws as he glanced through the red tinted goggles of his helmet. His eyes flicked left a hair's breadth as he took in the sight in front of him. Just barely visible above the egress zone of this accursed world were three more battle barges.

The first and most pronounced was ‘The Nexum Arcana’, an ancient warship hailing from the sons of Magnus; captained by Azariah, a skilled sorcerer, seconded by none save Ahriman himself. Across from it was ‘The Miasmic’, which was heralded by a war-band of plague marines being led by a powerful terminator captain simply named Locust. He supposedly took the name from one of his ‘grandfathers’ own never-born after slaying it in battle. Lastly, and most dreadful in Kerrek’s opinion, was ‘The Warmaster’s Requiem’ a battle barge belonging to Black Legion. It had been renamed by its captain, Talos Infernus, a Master of Possessions. The ship was renamed to pay tribute to their former primarch, the Luprechal.

Kerreck and his brothers’ war party were not here willingly, at least most of them were not. Their captain had lost sight of their fathers last wish, the Night Haunter’s dying command, and had chosen the path of ‘apotheosis’. This was no doubt spurred on by talks with either the Rubric or the Black Legionnaire, perhaps even both. He grumbled as he stared out of the viewport, still gently gliding his gauntleted hand over his lightning claws, “Hmmmph, demon-hood. As if it is to be some sort of honor.” If he had his helmet removed, he would have spit at the notion of ascension. He understood the ruinous powers of the dark gods, and the ‘gifts’ they could provide; but all, save perhaps Khorne, would trick their subordinates and cripple them or curse them for nothing more than entertainment. No, Kerrick wanted NOTHING to do with them.

“Perhaps…” a young female called up to him, followed by the sound of a whetstone grinding against metal, “The good captain and his guard are simply seeking to honor your father in this way?” There was a scratchy chuckle from her throat as soft pink eyes stared up at the Night Lord. “What better way to sow terror, fear and bloodshed across the materium than by becoming the monster of your own story?”

The female was in rudimentary armor, scraped together from plates of former guard members and scrap they had lying around in the dark belly of the barge. It was dingy, barely offering protection, but it was light, and quiet, allowing her to slip in and out of the shadows with ease. It stood in stark contrast with Kerreck’s own warplate. His armor was ancient, fierce and covered in a leathery, blood-soaked cowl of his favorite prey he had hunted. The Night Lord turned his head to face her; sneering beneath his face plate. This girl, barely on board their ship for a quarter of a century, had nerves of adamantine to address him so casually, even more so to assume his thoughts. But she wasn’t wrong, a monster is the only thing Kerreck could call his captain, Envrol Skavak. He had served the Night Haunter faithfully throughout the heresy, and had carried out their fathers will for three different crusades, but now… greed and power had poisoned his soul. His vision had become jaded by thoughts and spirits of the warp as he steered not only himself, but his entire company down this forsaken path.

“Have you completed your tasks, Sahar?” Kerreck inspected the ax blade in her hands. It was nearly as large as she was, and undoubtedly heavier, but she was able to maneuver the weapon with relative ease as she twirled it in her hands, the black of the handle nearly blending in perfectly with the ebony color of her matted hair.

A cruel smile curled around her lips as she offered Kerreck his weapon, bowing her head to hide her eyes, “Of course, lord. This one was tempted to test its edge against some of the slaves below deck. But she stopped at the thought of using her master's arms without his permission.”

“So there is still some wisdom in that malicious head of yours after all.” Kerreck scoffed and took the device. “That is good. I’d hate to kill you, girl. You’re the only human aboard this vessel who can truly appreciate a blade's purpose. I’d hate to have to train up another one of you.”

The girl giggled slightly, “This one shall do her best not to inconvenience her lord.” She straightened herself back out and brushed her hair out of her face, “Besides, she prefers the quiet blades, engines give away positions.” She rested her hand against the pommel of one of her machetes. “Have we been summoned yet?”

Kerreck tisked as he turned his faceplate to stare at her. His eyes peered into her soul as he reprimanded her, “Know your place, Sahar. You are my ward because I ALLOW it. But you are NOT part of this war band, you are NOT a Night Lord.”

Sahar’s expression dropped slightly. She knew she would never be an astartes, no matter how hard she trained herself, bruised herself, bled herself. She would never be at their rank. She bowed her head low, “Forgive this one's forwardness.”

Kerreck paused as perhaps a small tinge of regret lifted to the forefront of his mind, but he quickly shoved it back down. No time for sentimental weakness. “You are correct, however; the captain HAS called me up. You will accompany me, and we will see what fresh hell he has planned for the company. No doubt the makings of another crusade.”

Sahar leaned to the side as she looked up to Kerreck with curious eyes, as if she had forgotten that she had just been scolded by a Night Lord, “Perhaps the four of them wish to marshal favor with the war master?”

“Abaddon is beyond any of us.” Kerreck grumbled, “And the fact that you know his name is very… disturbing…”

Sahar giggled to herself as she followed alongside Kerreck, “This Lord talks in his sleep. Dreams of malice leak bits of information. She does her best to maintain knowledge for the sake of her lord.”

“Keep it to yourself, for both of our sakes.” Kerreck looked down to her, “Many of my brothers would relish the chance at us. And while you would never be able to stop them, you can certainly do your best to remain unnoticeable to them.” Kerreck turned to make his way towards the bridge.

—————————————————————

Sahar had never seen so many astartes assembled in one place; and there were so many different colors. The ones in gold trim seemed to strike her the most. She had never known metals could be so brightly polished. And they were shining. It almost hurt her eyes to stare at them for more than a few seconds. Hues of purple and blue danced around them. The warp ebbed into the cracks in the war plate and danced across the surfaces of their heraldry.

She caught her master's left hand shift slightly. Glancing up she saw his helmet slightly tilted towards her, a subtle sign that let her know she was staring. She took a half step back and pulled the dingy blue hood of her makeshift shawl over her head, wanting to remain as unseen as possible. She smiled a bit as she stepped back though. Other slaves aboard this ship were terrified of their masters, and rightfully so. The eighth legion was the most bloodthirsty of the corpse gods creations, perhaps even more so than the World Eaters. The twelfth legion shed the most blood physically, but they did so with ‘honor’ and ‘pride’, all to appease some god that would only cast them aside. Just as the corpse god had done to his sons. It was a pointless cycle to her. She and her master did not kill for honor, they did not do so to bask in the gifts of some heathen deity. They killed… simply because they could, and they were GOOD at it.

The girl snapped back to reality as she listened to the meeting. The captains were all arguing over the war plan. Another thing Saharr and her master hated about these joint efforts with the cousin legions. Planning and logistics and rituals and… Sahar had to hold back a groan as she stared out of the viewport. She was getting anxious, ‘and if SHE is anxious…’ she looked up to her lord; ‘HE was bordering on insanity.’

———————————————————————

Kerreck was certain that if his teeth had not been filed down and reinforced from his geneseed, they would have been ground to dust by now. His eyes darted between Locust and Azariah:

The terminator stepped forward, “Speak carefully sorcerer. My armor may not bear the shine of yours. But the powers of the grandfather, as well as the endurance of my own strength will see that I am alive LONG after you and your brothers are reduced to dust…” he looked Azariah up and down, “… again…” Venom dripped off of that last jab as Locust reminded the Thousand Sons captain of their legions greatest failure and subsequent curse.

The sorcerer responded quickly as his staff tapped the ground as roaring blue fire erupted from his hand, “Mind your tongue, you walking pile of refuse.” Azariah hissed, “Your foul bodies may be immortal, but a snap of my fingers will see that entire ship ripped apart in the darkest realms of the warp as demons feast upon your putrid souls.”

The terminator’s autocannon began to cycle on his right arm. But ultimately, it was Talos who had the final words, “Brothers, please.” He reached out and touched both of their chests, “We already have so few allies. We can scarce afford to lose what little we have in the materium. Besides, you forget we are ALL guests to our host, Skavak.”

A Night Lord captain, draped in leathery capes and skull-embossed armor plating, slowly crept from the shadows as he stared at each of them. “He is correct, you two. You stand in MY ship, surrounded by MY honor guard.”

Locust huffed, “Some guard, you merely keep a handful of Talons aboard this bridge.”

“Those are the ones you are ALLOWED to see. Do not forget my filthy friend, the Raven kin are not the ONLY ones who can hide in shadows. Now then, this debate.”

Talos bowed lightly, “Yes, noble lord. We are ready for the next step. Perhaps an explanation?”

Skavak nodded and looked at the plague marine. “I will not deny the power you hold, ancient one. But your grandfather's gifts will not serve me or my company as we haunt the galaxy.” He motioned towards the Miasmic. “However, they WILL serve as an invaluable shield against whatever Imperial reinforcements arrive at the mention of this planet's downfall. My gift to you is that. Whoever you wish to capture and claim during the fight for your purposes will go unchallenged by the rest of us.”

Locust went to protest, but he could see it in Talos’ stance that there would be no further negotiations of his cause beyond this, “Very well. But heed my warning, Envrol. The Great Changer is not as… merciful… to failure as Nergul.”

“Do you believe any amongst the eighth legion are prospects for mercy?” Skavak raised an eyebrow.

“I have said what all I will say.” Locust turned to leave, a noxious cloud following behind him like an opaque cloak.

The rancidness of his armor made Sahar gag as she had to bite her tongue and hold her breath just to keep herself from vomiting across the decks. Once he had departed, she turned her hidden gaze back to the Black Legionnaire.

“And for the three of us?” Azariah asked, “What shall be our goals here?”

“Tzeentch and Khorne…” Talos smiled, stealing a quick glance to Sahar as if he could almost read her thoughts. “The two brothers have always been in an ebb and flow for the champion of the great game. The blood god detests all things arcane, while the Great Changer is disgusted by Khorne’s… straightforward… tactics.”

Envrol growled, “And yet, you claim they will both accept me as their champion? This doesn’t make sense to my mind.”

“You are a CAPTAIN of the Night Lords.” Talos raised his voice, but not in derision or condescension, but rather as a sort of praise, “A true son of Kurze, the Night Haunter. Your armies wade through torrents of blood and death. The War god hates spellcasting, but apotheosis is something he is no stranger to. And your deeds here will cement your claim. As for the Keeper of Knowledge…” Talon turned to face Azariah.

The rubric nodded and took a half step forward, “Tzeentch is above all else, curious. He craves knowledge, and the idea of a merging demon prince between him and his brother may anger him, but his curiosity will win over. It can be done.”

Sahar caught something just there, as the sorcerer spoke. A slight pause, a fraction of a second in looking back to the Night Lord Captain. He was lying. A scheme was brewing between the two arcane masters. Skavak might very well achieve apotheosis, but he would no longer be the one pulling the strings.

“Very well.” Envrol nodded, “Nine days. We will lay waste to this world for nine days. Eight monuments are to be erected as we take the hive sectors to venerate the blood god, around each monument we will inscribe the whispers of Tzeentch. The blood will appease the one, while the knowledge claimed by this world slakes the other.” Envrol looked to Kerreck, “Prepare your brothers. When shadow falls across the planet. You will strike.”

———————————————————————

[euphoricfilter]

hi long post anon… again😭

yes “rule” is more so used as “unspoken boundary”

and its a lil concerning anon didn’t pick that up when the explanation is right under that specific quote they picked😭

like have fun but don’t get caught up in thinking that just because you write something that is fiction that your muse is gonna wanna see it

not only is this just to be safe/respectful morally but even legally in terms of copywrite

thats why mainstream authors don’t want people to send them fanfic because the author may accidentally add from the fic subconsciously. Or coincidentally they added it because it was an idea that you two happened to think of at the same time before you ever sent the fic or the author opened your letter/email.

this leaves people to then be able to claim the author stole content whether intentional or not.

but also in terms of morals, it just says that you respect how an author views their relationship with THEIR work by not making your interpretations aware to the author. many authors work hard to establish their worlds/characters and may feel put off if they feel someone has mischaracterized their work or morphed it into something they don’t recognize within the canon of their universe. not to say that the fic isn’t good but essentially you dont come into someone else’s home and tell them how to decorate.

and in terms of real life people, it keeps your muse from seeing how you characterize them which may not be a reflection of their own self-actualization. and again it can mess with how people see themselves. or almost feel like they’re being harassed to reveal something about themselves because fics with certain characterizations are being thrown in their face. like “i know something about you, you should just say it already.”

its not to say that a nonbinary or autistic headcannon isn’t valid but sending it to someone may feel like projection to that very real person.

like jungkook may not take offense to being called nonbinary or trans but if thats not his actual lived experience, then sending him fics or making him aware that you’ve “headcannoned” him as such would be crossing a line.

its like saying “oh im going to disregard how and what you’ve being willing to share about yourself publicly until you possibly give in and out yourself.”

we saw this with the actor who plays the bisexual boyfriend in Heartstoppers. people -mainly other queer people- couldn’t separate the actor from his role and kept poking him to come out until he actually did. just because the internet was right about him being queer, doesn’t mean they were morally right for pressuring him.

its like receiving a “love” letter from an unreliable narrator in which they detail how you smiled at them once which meant you were “obviously” flirting; when in reality, you -the person who knows your own feelings- only smiled cuz you were just being nice. doesn’t mean you aren’t a lover; it just means that your love hasn’t been extent towards them.

if Jungkook is nonbinary, he’s is for himself; not to reaffirm some preconceived notion Army have. he exists outside our collective thought and doesn’t need fic to convince him of his identity or lack there of.

basically this rule is a “curtesy” that we should extend to ALL people. so unless they ask, don’t show your fanfic to your muse, friends.

ugh i keep ending up long winded😭🤦🏽‍♀️

but this has been fun discourse and hopefully it enlightens someone cuz that what social change is supposed to do💜

thank you for explaining a little deeper, my lovely.

literally i’d go missing and you’d never hear from me again if bts were to read anything i’ve written, it’s not made for them 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ my worst nightmare is them perceiving me LMAO

and i think i can speak on behalf of most writers that what we write, either it be bts as gay or anything of the sort, is no way for us as writers to push the boys to come out or feel as though they should identify a certain way. as i’ve reiterated like a million times within the last couple of hours, it’s all a story, not there to project onto anyone in real life. i don’t sit in my bedroom and scheme up ways to force an agenda onto bts, i’m just trying to have a good time and little fun and if i’m doing something wrong then at least i’m aware now and can improve as a person

i’m not saying, as a straight fact any of the members are gay, or that they specifically go by they/them pronouns. if he does identify as anything above then that’s super cool too and he doesn’t owe me or anyone else anything, and that’s fine!! but me writing a non binary jungkook is in no way me saying that is how he should be or is in real life. idk why that point hasn’t come across for some people yet 🏃‍♀️

anyways, thank you again for taking the time to explain!! you definitely deserve a yummy snack after all this, and you’re super cool and very smart!! so thank you for taking the time out of your day to talk about such a kinda weird but very interesting topic with me 🫂

[autisticlenaluthor]

Literally anything with Alex and Kara making Lena feel included please <3

i may have deviated from the prompt just a bit bc it's mostly Alex but they're both trying :,)

---

Lena’s never been good at making friends.

She isn’t sure if she’s good at being one– nobody’s stuck around long enough for her to know for sure; though, she concludes from that that she isn’t.

She gathers at a young age that it’s because she’s too much.

She’s too excitable, too talkative, too quiet, too smart, too slow, too formal, too Lena. And people don’t like those who are like her. Those who can’t just be the thing they’re supposed to and correct the things that are wrong.

Lena doesn’t like it either.

She hates the way she interacts with the world– the way she talks for longer than is appropriate or always gets the joke just a minute too late (if she even gets it at all). She hates that she arrives at every event thirty minutes early just in case then sits in her car, hiding on her phone, until it’s an appropriate time to leave. Or that the speech disorder she developed as a child never seemed to go away, even after years of correctional therapy. She hates that for whatever reason, she can’t wear jeans or any type of wool (even just the thought of wearing them together makes her want to gag). She hates it all.

But more than anything, Lena hates the way that no matter how hard she tries– she can never find a way to fix it.

And so when Kara invites her to a game night, Lena has no reason at all to believe the invitation is serious. She’s known Kara for all of three months and two weeks– not that she’s been counting because that would be weird, and while they’re acquaintances, she’d never really considered them to be friends.

She says yes without even a moment's hesitation though. It goes against everything Lena’s ever known– friendship and casual interaction but the thought of actually having a real friend is too exciting to turn down (really, it’s Kara that excites her, but same difference, right?)

The rest of the day, Lena spends cursing herself for being so impulsive and acting without reason.

Because what does she know about this sort of thing? The closest thing she ever had to a game night growing up was when she’d stay up late as a kid and sit by the staircase as she listened to her father argue with other businessmen in the living room.

God, it’s pathetic to think about. Lena clings to the notion– the discomfort and self-loathing and that constant voice in her head that tells her she should’ve never been invited. She shouldn’t be allowed to go because she’ll mess things up with her and Kara just like she’s messed up every potential friendship in the past.

Each day, Lena writes out a cancellation text, and each day she deletes it. Her anxiety gets the best of her, telling her she sounds too cold or too unfriendly and that if she sends it, Kara will never invite her to anything ever again.

The cycle continues until Friday, when Lena realizes game night is tonight and it’s too late to back out. She figures the only thing she can do is to do what she always does– prepare for every single worst case scenario possible in order to prevent a disaster.

For the first time since she became CEO, Lena leaves work early.

She buys two bottles of wine– one red and one white just in case, then spends almost an hour digging through her closet to find something to wear. Kara described the event as being pretty relaxed but Lena knows that could mean any number of things. Black pants and a nice sweater might work but she doesn’t want to risk showing up in work clothes when the rest of the group might be wearing sweats.

Lena tries on and tosses to the floor nearly every item of clothing she has. After what feels like hours, she lands on a gray sweatshirt with red patches that spell MIT across the chest. She pairs it with her only pair of jeans (ones she bought years ago back in grad school that are now tight around the waist and cut awkwardly into her stomach) and tells herself she’s found the right balance.

Sure, the jeans make her want to crawl out of her own skin and die, but she doesn’t have anything else. Not unless she wants to show up in a designer suit which she knows will not go over well.

Once she’s dressed, Lena sits on the edge of her bed until it’s an acceptable time to leave.

She thinks about cleaning up her mess of a bedroom or picking up one of the various books she’s in the middle of reading, but the impending deadline of having to leave feels too dooming. So dooming that it freezes her for forty-five minutes until it’s 5:30– which, in her anxiety-ridden state, Lena finds an acceptable time to leave.

She arrives at Kara’s at six because she was told she doesn’t need to be there until 6:30.

Instead of hiding in her car for the next half hour, Lena decides to get up and walk around. She circles the block where Kara’s loft is to get a feel for the area, pulling her sleeves around her fists and sucking in her stomach so she won’t have to feel the waistband of her pants chafing against her skin.

She pretends to check and recheck her phone whenever she sees someone come her way, forcing as much nonchalance as possible so nobody walking past will look and see just how nervous she truly is.

The plan goes well at first (as well as it can, considering Lena is fully allowing her paranoia to dictate her every move) until she sees a tall redhead who, from the back, looks just like Alex. Lena’s body clenches and quickly she holds up her phone and reopens the article she’d been reading; Most Common American Board Games and How to Play Them.

Her heart is pounding and knees shaking– she can feel herself growing warm, god, it feels like she’s going to throw up. The woman turns around, Alex, turns around, and smiles at her, waving awkwardly as she jogs over.

“Hey,” she says, slipping her hands into her back pockets. “What are you doing here so early? Game night doesn’t start for a while.”

“I uh–”

Alex peers over at Lena’s phone and laughs at the screen. It isn’t malicious and Lena knows it, but still, her heart sinks. She swallows and turns her phone off before quickly stuffing it into the pocket of her hoodie. Part of her wants to make up an excuse about how she was just trying to refresh her memory or something equally as believable, but she can’t bring herself to say a word.

She knows when she starts to feel this way the stutter comes back and she can’t risk messing up in front of Kara and her friends. She can’t be the girl who doesn’t speak properly– who trips over her words whenever things get hard. The one whose presence reminds the people around her that they really aren’t as embarrassing as they think they are (they’ll never be as embarrassing as Lena).

So perhaps the silence is for the best, Lena figures, shuffling on her heels as she looks down at the pavement.

“Maggie was just getting donuts,” Alex says when the quiet starts to get awkward. She tugs at her own jacket, smiling uncomfortably. “There’s a great place down the street, Kara talks about it all the time.”

Lena hums and nods.

“Were you gonna pick something up too or just stand here until it’s time to go in?”

Lena’s mouth goes dry and her cheeks fill with heat.

“That was a joke,” Alex reassures her, though, it doesn’t make her feel any better. “I’m also crazy about getting places on time. It used to drive Kara insane when we were kids because she had the worst time management skills. She still does. Sometimes I lie to her and say we have to get somewhere an hour before we actually need to. It’s the only way to get anything done.”

Lena chuckles and offers another nod. She finds herself thinking about a frantic Kara, running to her door with her coat hanging off one shoulder and briefcase in hand. She has to keep herself from smiling at the thought– keep from daydreaming for too much longer.

Thankfully, before things can get worse, Maggie finds them and asks why they’re crowding outside. Alex spares Lena the embarrassment of saying she found her alone outside and instead just says they’d been chatting.

“Oh okay,” Maggie says and slips her hand into Alex’s.

Lena has to keep from staring at the sight. Not because she’s judging but because she knows there’s nothing she wouldn’t give to one day feel that comfortable with someone. To let their hand touch hers and not worry they’re going to use it against her.

“Let’s head inside,” Maggie adds, snapping Lena out of her head. “Kara’s probably waiting.”

---

Kara greets the trio at the door and quickly invites them all inside. She accepts both bottles of wine from Lena, thanking her and telling her she didn’t need to bring anything.

“I- I just wasn’t sure,” Lena says as Kara sets them down in the kitchen.

She pulls her sleeves back over her fingers and awkwardly rubs her hands together.

“I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”

Kara just smiles and turns around. “It’s fine, either way, I’m really glad you came,” she admits as they head toward the living room. She links their arms together, incidentally pulling Lena close. The gesture causes her heart to skip a beat.

“James and Winn will be here soon. J’onn had to cancel; he had a… work thing.”

“Who are t- they?” Lena asks. She clears her throat and smiles nervously, hoping Kara didn’t pick up on her blip.

“Just some more friends,” Kara responds. “I’m sure you’ll love them.”

Lena nods.

“Oh, and we’ll be partners either way,” Kara adds. She does a little bounce of excitement, smiling back at her friend. “If that’s okay with you. I just thought it could be fun, you know. Since you know everything about anything, you can dominate trivia and I’ll use my stellar acting skills for charades.”

Lena can’t help the downright giggle that escapes at Kara’s words. She feels their sides brush against one another and again, her chest clenches. It fills her with thoughts of the moment outside with Alex and Maggie, she can feel herself beginning to get stupidly wishful all over again.

“I would love to be your partner,” she says eventually, cringing once she’s done because really, Lena? Could you have possibly sounded any gayer?

Lena sighs. She can get it together, she has to. It’s just a few hours of normalcy, nothing she can’t handle.

You’re a Luthor, she reminds herself. You know how to push through.

---

As the evening picks up, Kara and Lena remain side by side on the floor while Alex and Maggie take the sofa behind them. James and Winn occupy the armchairs on the other side– plates and beverages from the entire group overflowing from the table to the floor.

There are various boxes of pizza still open in the kitchen and stacks of trivia cards are splayed out in front of them. Lena’s answered a few questions so far– each time it’s something even remotely math or science-related, Kara gives it to her then shakes out her hands with delight when she inevitably answers it correctly.

Every so often she and Alex will squabble about which team is superior. Admittedly, Lena finds it hilarious, especially when Maggie says that she should see them when they play together if they seem competitive now.

The rest of the group, on the other hand, is much tamer.

Alex and Maggie are a pair, as are James and Winn. Winn seems to get all the musical theater or pop culture-related questions while James handles the sports category. They all work well together. It makes Lena wonder if they really need another addition to their group, if this will end up being their first and last gathering together.

“Ooh, Lena!” Kara calls out, catching her focus again. “It’s our turn. Can I ask this one?”

Lena nods and Kara picks up a card. She bites her lip and a crinkle appears between her eyes as she reads.

“In which country did the Easter Rising take place in 1916?”

Smiling, Lena folds her hands together. She knows this one– knows far more about it than Kara could’ve ever imagined because she spent three years in high school deep-diving into Irish history before attempting to form an Irish History Club (which ended up just being her sitting in her favorite history teacher’s room during lunch each Monday and recounting fun facts to him. Turned out there wasn’t a huge fanbase for that niche at the preparatory boarding school Lillian had sent her to.)

“Ireland,” Lena says quickly, holding her hands against her stomach to keep from stimming. “I- in Irish it’s actually called the Éiri Amach n- na Cásca.”

She blushes bright red and looks down at the ground to avoid Kara’s lingering gaze. She knows stopping would be the rational thing to do– she’s stuttering already and when she’s this excited, trying to fix her speech while she’s still going only makes things worse. But the naive, foolish part of her thinks that maybe she can get through it. She can say it all quickly and in one piece and put all that nervous energy aside to keep from messing up.

“It happened during Eas- s- ster Week. The Irish Rep- p- republicans launched a rising a- against British rule in Ireland t- to try and form an independent Irish Rep- public. I- it’s considered one of the most si-significant uprisings in I- Irish history.”

As soon as she’s done, Lena quickly looks away. She starts to fiddle with her fingers as her heart rate picks up its pace. She’s never stuttered in front of Kara before– she can only imagine what the rest of the group must be thinking.

“Are you into history?” Alex asks after a moment, smiling as she sips her drink.

Lena nods and forces a small, stiff smile in return.

“Not to brag, but I was the only one in my APUSH class to get a five on the exam,” Alex says. She folds one leg over the other and leans back in her chair like some sort of cartoon supervillain.

“Yeah, because there were eight other people in your class,” Maggie says, whacking her girlfriend in the leg. “If you’re gonna get cocky, get cocky about something impressive.”

Lena laughs and for just a second, looks back at Kara. She’s still got the crinkle but her expression has changed. Lena can’t tell to what.

“I um– I’ll be right back,” she says without thinking.

“What– what just happened?” Kara stammers, looking to Alex once Lena’s gone. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Alex frowns. “I think I might’ve scared her away.”

---

Lena’s heart nearly stops when she walks out of the bathroom five minutes later to see Alex standing in the hall.

“What the fuck, Alex?” She whispers, the words slipping right out.

“Sorry,” Alex mumbles with a half-smile. “I just wanted to ask if you were alright. You seem nervous and I don’t know, I feel bad for cornering you earlier.”

Lena pauses, nodding as she wraps her arms around herself. Perhaps if she were stronger she would’ve snapped and pushed her away. She would’ve said nothing was going on and that Alex needed to stop poking her nose into other people’s business.

But Lena isn’t strong. And when she’s in a new place surrounded by people she doesn’t know (people who she desperately just wants to impress) whatever bit of solidity she has withers away and dissolves right before her eyes.

“I’m fine,” Lena says after a moment. She forces a smile and grips the fabric of her hoodie. “I’m just…”

“I’m not used to s- social activities,” she adds and looks away, finding a paint-chipped spot on the wall to stare at. Already, her voice is thick with emotion. She hates herself for falling apart so quickly. “Or having friends.”

Alex nods and takes a moment to think before responding. “I know we can come on a little strong. If it made you uncomfortable…”

Lena shakes her head.

“No, I- I messed things up. Not you.”

“How?”

Pursing her lips and swallowing the lump in her throat, Lena lifts her head and meets Alex’s eyes. She knows they both know what it is. Somehow the act of acknowledging her stutter feels even more humiliating than the way she’d fumbled before.

“Oh,” Alex says eventually. “Really? The stutter?”

Lena nods.

“I just… I r- really like Kara,” she admits, smiling sadly. There are tears in her eyes and it hurts to speak. She’s dangerously close to crying and the thought of crying in front of Alex only makes her feel worse. “I wanted to be her friend and I- I thought…”

Lena shrugs and looks down at the ground. Slowly, she sucks in a breath.

“I don’t know, I just wanted to do well for her.”

“Lena, you didn’t do anything wrong. I mean it,” Alex adds when Lena shakes her head. “Kara has spent the past week talking non-stop about how all she wants is to be able to impress you. She thinks you’re like, the smartest person there is– she was so excited to have you over and see you outside of work.”

“Really?” Lena asks, unable to tell if Alex is telling the truth.

“Really,” Alex repeats. “I can guarantee, Kara doesn’t care if you stutter or not. She’s just glad that you’re here.”

“I’m glad she invited me,” Lena says, her voice hardly above a whisper. “I mean… I’ve been freaking out ever since she did but… still.”

Alex nods. “Then go back out there and sit with her. She’s probably dying to interrupt us anyways.”

Lena laughs and nervously wipes her eyes. “You won’t tell her about this?”

“Of course not.” Alex crosses her heart for dramatic effect. “Now stop pining and go get your girl.”

[blueluneacy]

Your Thoughts on Pages

This is the second place fic! It ended up not having sex, but rather just sweet moments and rohan being... weird. Once I finish everything on my list, I might do a follow up to this!

Also on AO3!

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: pining, inappropriate use of stands, rohan majorly overstepping his boundaries, slight angst

“Kishibe, I really don’t understand why I needed to come all the way out here for this…” You sighed, putting your binder to the side as you allowed yourself to sit down for the tea that Rohan had insisted on. Rohan was a nice enough person, but after the time you had worked with him, you could tell that he was a fairly independent kind of writer. Other writers you edited for liked to be in contact with you, or asked for your opinion on this or that, but not Rohan. That’s not to say you didn’t have a good relationship with him, just a bizarre one. The two of you had a nice long chat when you first became his editor, and it became very clear that you were not to mess with any of his vision. No one ever dared to try and give Rohan ideas on what he should do, or try to tell him that what he was writing was not what was wanted for the magazine. You simply collected the pages once a week in a neat envelope, and you would scan it all in. It was a nice, neat and cordial relationship. You never had to get on Rohan’s case about deadlines or the content of his work, to the point where the two of you rarely communicated. It wasn’t like you disliked the man, it’s just that you had a bunch of other artists to hound about this or that, that Rohan ended up as a nonissue. He was ol’ reliable, someone you didn’t have to deal with, the dependable artist. Even if the world was falling apart, Rohan Kishibe got his pages in on time. You supposed that him calling you then should’ve made you worry, but you were too focused on the meetings you had to cancel in order to see him. 

“Oh, come on now, it’s been a long while. I figured I better be kind to my guest. And er… Butter you up before I hand over bad news.” Rohan told you, the last part of his sentence making you freeze up. Oh god, was he quitting? Were his hands broken? Was it, dear god, carpal tunnel? A million scenarios ran through your hand as Rohan sat down across from you, but absolutely none of them were what was actually going on.

“Bad news? Alright, lay it out on me. No sugar coating, the more I know, the better I can fix it. I mean, that’s literally what I’m here for, right?” You tried your best not to be nervous, already mentally writing out all the emails needed to clear out your day for this. If Rohan had bad news, then it was bad for everyone. Dark Pink Boy was easily the reason why most people bought the magazine in the first place, and you weren’t sure how everyone would take a hit if Rohan had to take an extended leave. But, he just sighed, leaning in a little, looking you right in the eye.

“I’ve run out of inspiration. Nothing is working, it seems like there’s nowhere for me to go.” He sighed, and for a moment, you actually… Relaxed. Well, alright. Rohan was going through a rut, that’s all. Perfectly natural for someone working as hard as he was. And, probably more easily fixable than carpal tunnel. Probably.

“I… I see. Well, how do you feel? Have you tried going on walks or something, or just… Well, I don’t know. Maybe reading other people’s work?” You suggested, shrugging a bit. Alright, this you could actually work this. You worked with probably over a hundred artists at this point to help them through writer’s block, and you succeeded most of the time. Why would Rohan be any different? Well, you did forget one detail.

“Other people’s work?” You actually heard him scoff at the very notion. “Of course I wouldn’t do that. My characterization is based on my observations and knowledge of real people, in order to write highly realistic characterization. My writing just wouldn’t be the same if I stooped to actually reading other people’s work. It’s a cycle of tweaking that would lead to me creating garbage.” Ah, that’s why Rohan was so difficult to work with. He was a diva when it came to his work, and it was also why you never had bothered to comment on his work in the first place. You had heard that the previous editor had tried to make Rohan tone down some of the themes in Dark Pink Boy, and it ended up in a fierce battle that left the old editor actually retiring. You didn’t want the hassle, and the readers liked the work as it was. You could hassle to make something family friendly with a smaller mangaka, you weren’t about to offend what was for all intents and purposes, the company’s bread and butter. So you bit your tongue and nodded, trying to think of some sort of solution.

“I see, I see… Well, there are plenty of fans who I’m sure would die to even talk to you, let alone help. Why not set up a meeting with a few and have some questionnaires ready? Or are you concerned they might give false answers because of who you are?” You tried, but Rohan just sighed and nodded.

“You already picked up on my concern. I know that any fan I would go to would ultimately be starstruck. I’ve tried with a few already, but it just never worked out. They were… They just weren’t the type of people my fans would enjoy. But, luckily, I do have a solution to all this. That’s where you come in.” Rohan told you, scooting just a bit closer as you let out a sigh of relief. Oh thank god, you wouldn’t have to write all those emails after all. He just needed your help with something? Thank god, you could easily do a few tasks for him. Beats trying to psychologically get this man through some sort of writer’s rut.

“Really? What is it? Just let me know, and I promise to do the best that I can.” You gave a smile, nodding a bit. Rohan could see the tension in your shoulders relax a bit, causing him to smile a little. Rohan always enjoyed your company, but he knew the relationship the two of you shared as much as he did. It was best if an editor didn’t get in the way. You knew that, and he appreciated that. It was almost embarrassing to him that he had to turn to you like this, but he quickly shed any shame he had for it. I mean, you weren’t really going to help in any way that others hadn’t helped before. If anything, this was more allowed because you were meant to be his resource. It wasn’t like you could complain.

“Well, I know you don’t idolize me. If anything, you seem frantic to get away from me.” Rohan said, a bit teasing. You jumped in to try and defend yourself, only for Rohan to continue. “Don’t worry, I know you’re busy. But, it’s perfect. You’ll be a perfect base to jump off of. Genuine, no need to impress me, and doesn’t care about influencing the end of the story.” He told you. You just sighed and pulled out your phone, already typing out the emails to clear out the rest of your day. You knew Rohan was meticulous, so this was already going to take a while. Might as well give yourself the time now. 

“Alright, ask away then. I just need to clear out my schedule so I don’t have to abandon ship on you. I think the rest of the day should be doable…” You replied, not noticing how Rohan had stood up, an eerie grin crossing his face.

“Oh, that should be more than enough. But I don’t think I’m going to be asking any questions…” You turned to look back at the man, only to find his hand hit your face, your body tumbling onto the floor. You tried to pull yourself up, only to find that you couldn’t move. You gasped, your form starting to tremble as your eyes darted to your cheek, noticing paper fluttering in what used to be the skin of your cheek.

“Kishibe, what is going on-” You spoke out, only for Rohan to climb on top of you, straddling your body. You gulped, already expecting the worst, only for his to take the paper into your hands and start to read. 

“Hmm, interesting. Those are the names of your parents, and… Oh, I see, I see!” Rohan reached over to grab a pen and notepad, jotting down a few notes. 

“W-What are you… What’s happening, why can’t I move? You’re scaring me, Kishibe..” You whimpered out, trying to find some sort of handle on your fear, leaving Rohan only to sigh.

“Of course you wouldn’t understand this. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. I just need some information, and the easiest way to get it is to read it right from you.” Rohan’s voice was cold and methodical, as if he were just telling you the ingredients of a cereal box. You tried to get a reign on your emotions, watching as Rohan read the papers from your face, writing down the information that he liked onto his notepad, before turning the page. He was interesting to watch like this. You imagined that this was probably the way that he was when he was working, his eyes intense and focused. It was a nice look for him, really. You supposed that you never really had the time to appreciate it, but Rohan really was quite pretty. 

“You shouldn’t be thinking those things when it gets written down right before me.” Rohan pointed out, leaving you to sputter as your face turned red. If he was just bluffing, your face gave you away anyways.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! S-Stop being weird!” You tried to bite back, but Rohan just smiled a bit, leaning in a bit to read aloud from the pages.

“‘Rohan’s eyes seem so focused right now, I never noticed how pretty they were. Do you think he uses his own face as a base reference, the lighting right now is actually pretty incredible. If we weren’t like this, I might actually-” 

“Alright, that’s enough of that, I think you’ve read enough now!” You replied, starting to get a bit antsy. Was he just going to read everything you thought of him, because if so… Uh oh. Big uh oh.

Sure, you had gotten over it by now, but there was a major problem. Namely, how you felt about Rohan on a personal level. When you were only a junior editor, you had developed a minor crush on the man, falling head over heels at the first glance you had of him. Sure, you were probably over it now, but at the time, it was bad. You never really pursued it, after all, you were supposed to be working together, but this… This was about to get really embarrassing. 

But your frantic nature regarding your own life story seemed to only egg Rohan on more, determined to read as many pages as he could. So, he flipped through, apparently skimming for his own name, before he finally landed on something. You could tell it was something juicy, reading before his smile seemed to fall and his eyes widened. 

“I… I see. I didn’t know.” Rohan told you, leaning back for a moment and thinking. You averted your eyes, trying to come up with something to say in response. When you finally collected your thoughts and opened your mouth to say something though, Rohan just smiled, grabbing his pencil and instead moving to the page. “Well, we can always make adjustments here, just to see what would happen. Think of it as… Playing out a scenario.” Rohan replied, but as the pencil started to come closer to your face, you couldn’t help but snap.

“Rohan, you can’t just manipulate my emotions, it isn’t right!” You yelled, leaving Rohan to lean back, staring at you for a moment before crossing his arms, looking away as if pouting like a child.

“I thought you wanted to help me with my writing.” Oh, so he was pulling that card? You had had just about enough of whatever strange things were going on with Rohan for a lifetime, with him not even letting you process what was happening before jumping onto the next thing, working quickly and efficiently in a way that made your head spin. “You know… That was the first time you called me by my first time. I used to insist you did, but I eventually gave up. The first time was you yelling at me. Figures.” Rohan let out a bitter laugh, and you started to piece a few things together as he placed down his pencil, shaking his head a bit.

“W-Wait, Kishi-... Rohan. Just, pause for a minute. I think maybe we should… I don’t know, talk? About whatever the hell is going on right here and now?” You told him, only for Rohan to roll his eyes.

“If I tried to explain the concept of a stand to you, it would probably go over your head, and I’m not sure that it would even matter in the scheme of things, considering the-” Rohan started to go off, but you just stopped him, sighing a bit.

“Not about that. About… You. I can’t tell what’s going on in your head, and that hardly seems fair, since you know everything going on in mine. Tell me what’s going on. What’s really going on.” You tried to keep your voice cool and calm, looking over Rohan and even trying to smile just a bit. Rohan sighed, and looked at the ground, his nails digging into his palms.

“It’s stupid. I shouldn’t be thinking these things, feeling any of these things, I don’t know why they’re here and I can’t get rid of them. I shouldn’t have made you come all this way, I…” He drifted off, leaving you unsure of if he didn’t know what else to say or didn’t have the will to say it. Either way, it looked like it was up to you to save this situation. You took a deep breath, looking at Rohan intensely in hopes that it would make you look at least a little more serious.

“Rohan, make it so that I can move again, please.” Your voice was probably a little more demanding than you meant it to be, the please added more to make it seem like you were ordering him to do anything. Rohan froze up for a moment, before reaching in as closing the pages on your face. In an instant, it was like your entire body loosened up, and you looked at Rohan, just examining those eyes you found so beautiful. Rohan seemed so sheepish for his normal personality, starting to scoot off of you to give you a bit of space.

“I should let you go, I’m sure there’s some way I can get through all this. Maybe I’ll even try that reading idea of yours, if all else fails-” Oh, Rohan. You weren’t sure if he was trying to act more pathetic than he was feeling, or this was the truth, but you fell for it all the same. You sat up the best you could with him on top of you wrapping your arms around Rohan and pressing your lips against his. Was this impulsive and stupid? Oh, absolutely. But did Rohan’s lips feel warm against yours, melding together with you in a way that just felt right, like it was meant to always happen? Yes. Yes, of course. 

And Rohan’s eyes widened, his nails digging into his palms as if to make sure this wasn’t a dream, that you weren’t some figment here to haunt him. But no, you were real, you were soft, and with that confirmation, Rohan let himself melt into the kiss, moving to wrap his arms around you, to just hold you for a moment. This may be his only chance, so he might as well take advantage of it. When you finally pulled away, Rohan almost felt bad, knowing that this moment might never come again, that this moment might have been out of pity instead of true affection, that everything would now officially be at an end. And yet, wheels started to turn in Rohan’s head as he turned away, his eyes widening. 

“Oh… Now, that would be a perfect arc!” Rohan shot up from your lap, already pacing a bit and snatching up his notepad, making his way to the stairs while talking to himself. “If I take the positioning from the last chapter, we’re in the prime position to introduce a new character, so some sort of design correlating with the current theming shouldn’t be hard, if I take…” He started to go on, and you knew that in a moment or three, it was going to be impossible to pull him out of his haze. You couldn’t help but laugh. Well, at least you seemed to have solved the problem you had come here in the first place to solve.

“Well, I take it you have ideas for your next chapter. That’s good. I suppose then…” You looked around at the now cooled tea that Rohan had offered you, the awkwardness you had just induced into your relationship, and got the vibe that maybe it was time to leave. But as you gathered up your things, Rohan’s head up snapped to you, his train of thought broken.

“Hey, stay. I… I want to talk to you after I finish writing down a few things in my office. About… Us.” You noticed a light dusting of blush over his face, making your own face flush. Oh god, it was like your old crush was flaring up all over again. Lord have mercy. You looked at the ground, just nodding a bit and sitting back down.

“A-Alright. Come back quickly, okay? I… I’m glad that I could at least help you a little bit. I know I’m sort of useless as your editor, but still…” You laughed a bit to try and lighten the mood, but Rohan just shook his head.

“Oh, (Y/n). You always seem to help me. Even just seeing your face is all the help I need sometimes. I’ll be back soon. Feel free to grab what you want from the kitchen.” With that, Roha ran up the stairs to work on who knows what, leaving you alone to your thoughts, sitting in Rohan’s living room.

Leaving you to think about a kiss you probably never should’ve given, and the joy that it was most likely about to lead to.

[davidmann95]

Taylor’s turn for interviews, what did you think of his?

Not as much to say on this as Morrison's, especially since he's keeping mum on all but the barest of details, but I continue to think - especially since writing unvarnished Superman tends to reign in Taylor's worst instincts - that this should be a pretty fun run that'll set up a nice baseline and degree of momentum for Jon going forward. A couple minor thoughts:

* Touting Jon as the '21st Century Superman' does feel a little weightier when we're about to be seeing Clark hanging out with JFK.

* The two both going in a more golden age direction (hopefully Taylor won't stumble too bad there) feels coordinated, and another sign that this is DC trying to put over ideas from the New 52 more palatably. Speaking of which, Taylor discussing spinning Jon as trying to figure out how to help fix the world as a sort of spiritual counterpart to his own work with Injustice is actually pretty inspired.

* The preview's unlettered but the picture Ram V showed in his tweet talking up the book showed the first issue's title is Truth, Justice, and a Better World, which is probably my favorite attempt to date at updating the tagline.

* Realized writing this, I think, why I'm so onboard with the notion of Jon-as-Superman: between the Golden < Silver < Bronze < Byrne < post-Infinite Crisis < New 52 < back again progression Superman has basically already been a bunch of radically different dudes loosely related by iconography, shared beats, and context. This is just literalizing that changeover to extend it further.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Lonely Stranger

Word Count: 1,340 (+ lyrics- in bold italics)  Character: Ryan Brenner  A/N: This was a real damn treat for me to write, as well as an agonizing experience. I’ll explain a little more. Title of this drabble and lyrics used belong to Eric Clapton, not Ryan Brenner or I... and if you haven’t heard the song, please listen before, during or after you read this.  

(ARTIST APPRECIATION SUBMISSION)

Happy Sunday everyone! I am so pumped to share this next submission for the fanart appreciation event, for many reasons. First of all, the art itself is literally breathtaking. The incredible attention to the smallest of details in this not only show how badass this artist is, but perfectly mirror Ryan’s attention to the little things. The moment that I got this submission from @something-tofightfor to write for the piece that  @gollyderek did that was inspired by Neon Lights, I just about exploded with excitement. First of all, Neon Lights is my favorite piece of fanfiction on this or any plane of existence. If you haven’t read it you absolutely have to. Secondly, Laura’s artwork for it was and still is my happy place because it so perfectly depicts the magic of the moment that reader first sees Ryan. In fact, it makes lots of people’s days better, Laura. When she submitted this request, Rachael told me that this artwork makes her happy even on bad days. 

So the chance to write about not only a beautiful work of art, but one inspired by a beautiful work of fiction was sort of fricking amazing! I decided (with @something-tofightfor​ ‘s blessing, of course- Thanks for trusting me, Rachael!) to write this from Ryan’s POV. 

Anyway! I could continue to gush about how talented both of these ladies are and how much both of their works mean to me, but let’s get on with it. Laura, from Rachael (and I) to you: THANK YOU FOR GIFTING US ALL WITH THIS BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF ART. YOU ARE TALENTED. YOU ARE APPRECIATED. YOU ARE A FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH. Keep fuckin shit up in the best way. 

(Can you hear him singing? I can. Good Lord, I can.) 

Lonely Stranger

Once his fingers began to work at the strings, the guitar in Ryan’s lap stopped being separate from him. Hunched over the body and curved around the neck, he let the faces in the small crowd that had gathered disappear and gave all of his focus to the song he was playing. While he enjoyed playing for people, even taking requests to ensure that he played things that they actually knew and wanted to hear, what he enjoyed the most about music was the way that it didn’t begin and end with just his voice or his guitar. It required more than that. Soul and memory. Joy and mistakes. Got plenty’a both. 

Making music was about feeling all of these things and using them to say something through song, regardless of whether or not it was one he’d written. It was his chance to talk to people he might otherwise not get the opportunity to. Just as they slipped beneath the notes he played and the lyrics he sang, he felt himself become invisible to them. His dusty boots, stained jeans, roughly inked digits and all of the preconceived notions that they carried became muted details that mattered less and less with every pluck and pass of his fingers and thumbs, every line he belted out. Ryan became invisible enough to connect with these strangers, just enough to make them smile and keep him believing that people were better on the whole than the worst of their parts. 

They didn’t mind that they’d never see him again, and the older he got and the more he traveled, he realized that he didn't either. Ryan had a few people in his life that he knew would always be a part of it- Georgie and a couple of the friends that they played with together, Virginia, even if every day it got closer to too long since he’d seen her. Cowboy, even though he was gone. Ryan’s closed eyelids wrinkled as he connected that loss to the story he was telling with his song. 

I must be invisible No one knows me. I have crawled down dead-end streets On my hands and knees.

The people who knew him weren’t the ones standing in front of him as he sat perched on a milk crate suspended over the Strip. Those people were scattered elsewhere, acting as anchors for him to return to when needed, as he was to them- people who understood him, accepted him beyond what they could see and without trying to change him. Those people were few and far between, both figuratively and in miles, and Ryan had recently decided that that was for the best. He hadn’t left his home looking for someplace to settle into a new one, he’d done it to live on his own terms. It had been years since he’d met someone who had seen him beneath what they guessed about him, those guesses more often than not being wrong, so he’d stopped hoping for it. 

'cause I'm a lonely stranger here, Well beyond my day. And I don't know what's goin' on, So I'll be on my way.

It was easier to just make these little connections through music, to focus on the details of the city he was in. The skyline, the way clouds gathered and the colors that they cast over the landscape, cobbled streets and gravel roads, highways and bright lights and everything that made each place he visited different from the one before. That’s why he’d chosen the life he had, regardless of what people thought, and it was easier to enjoy those things than it was to try to find another person who saw them the way that he did, saw his lifestyle as a series of intentional choices and not one of circumstantial consequence. 

The desert heat hadn’t left with the sunlight, and though sweat ran in beads between his shoulder blades and left salty trails from his forehead and temples that dried on his skin before reaching his beard, he hardly noticed. He opened his eyes briefly as he played between lyrics, a few more people stepping up to join the audience, their featureless faces reflecting the colors of the neon lights that brought the city to life. Just people on vacation, checking “watch a street performer” off of their Vegas to-do list. Crinkled dollar bills and a small cache of coins littered the lining of the guitar case at his feet, and he was grateful for every cent of it because it allowed him to continue to live the life he wanted, even if it meant becoming a small detail in the scrapbooks of other people’s lives. 

He blinked as a drop of sweat rolled into his eye, and shook his head to clear it without missing a beat. Opening both eyes again, Ryan expected to be met with the same cluster of strangers that he’d just seen, but where before when his eyes had been able to skim across the crowd with ease, this time they found a sticking point- a young woman standing off to the side in a simple black dress, a soft pink glow illuminating her from behind. What? Ryan’s brow wrinkled, and he gave another small shake of his head as though trying to clear a mirage from his mind. 

But you were still there, your eyes wide and your mouth slightly open, body entirely still. But she’s… listening. Ryan closed his eyes, tight, and sunk himself back into the song. Doesn’t matter.   

Some will say that I'm no good; Maybe I agree. Take a look then walk away. That's alright with me.

But you hadn’t heeded the warning in the song. You’d stuck around as most of the crowd dispersed, continuing on to the destinations that his presence on the bridge had delayed them from. Why? He looked down as you tossed a bill into the case, the green paper landing on the small pile of other bills but standing out starkly due to the number in the corner being much higher than any that it sat atop. Oh. That’s… 

“That’s too much, you don’t have to-” he said aloud, assuming that you’d meant to slip something smaller into the case. Bringing his eyes up to yours, they locked onto something there that surprised him. Lips suddenly dry, his tongue darted out to wet them. “Please, that’s not-” 

But you wouldn’t let it go, insisting that he take the tip and the praise that came along with it. You didn’t run off, having checked a box and eager to check another, but stepped aside as he briefly thanked those that did have somewhere else to be. You stayed through another song- one he’d written- watching and listening with the same look on your face, closer now, the curve of your cheek and the tip of your nose highlighted by the yellow orange glow of a different set of lights. She’s… he thanked the couple in front of him, giving them a genuine smile and telling them to have a nice evening, but he was still stuck on your eyes. She’s stunning but I...it... When you’d overheard him answer someone else’s question of what his name was, you hadn’t waited for him to introduce himself to you before using it yourself, and when you did he could feel the way that his own eyes lightened, smiling from the unexpected way you’d maintained the connection that others so easily dropped the second the last note faded. 

Close enough now to see even more than he’d been able to before, Ryan realized what had made you different, even if he couldn’t fathom how he knew it. She’s been lonely, too. Knows it's not all bad, bein’ alone. It wasn’t sadness in your eyes that gave that away, it was clarity. Damn. But instead of looking for a way to cut it off, Ryan held onto the connection that the two of you shared, offering to play a song of your choosing. 

To him, your choice had only confirmed what he didn’t know how he knew about you. The odd comfort and jarring change of being seen, even if just for the length of a few songs adding to the list of things he’d add to the guitar, to his voice: Soul and memory. Joy and mistakes. 

And this… no matter what category tonight falls into.  

.

.

.

And now I am going to go cry about how much I love Ryan Brenner and this perfectly frozen moment in time that @gollyderek​ captured from @something-tofightfor​ ‘s beautiful words. SWOON and SIGH. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it even if it made me nervous AF and choosing a song for Ryan to be singing was more difficult than it should have been. Thank you a million times to all of you fabulous artists! If you are an artist in the Ben Barnes fandom, or you want to surprise an artist with a quick drabble based on their art, send me a message and link me to the posted artwork. Let’s show these talented folks how much we appreciate them and the things that they create! 

[thorne93]

Inside the Criminal Mind (Part 20)

Prompt: You’re married to Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU, and are a distinguished doctor yourself on the team. You’re sent down to Miami, Florida for teaching and as a side request from the FBI, to investigate a string of missing persons. When you think you’ve figured out who the unsub is, your life becomes more complicated than you ever could’ve imagined.

Word Count: 2430

Warnings: (throughout the fic –>) death, blood, gore, killings, language, disturbing mental notions, mentions of rapes/murder/etc (You know, Dexter and Criminal Minds related business)

Notes: Thank you so much to @arrow-guy​​​​​​, @carryonmyswansong​​​​​​, and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​ - without each of you, I couldn’t have finished, written, or properly navigated this story. Each of you helped me fish out details that were incredibly important to me. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong​​​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​… Aesthetic by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​

This is a crossover of Criminal Minds x Dexter. First time writing Dexter.

Also, the timeline is after Season 1 of Dexter, but during season 14-ish of Criminal minds into Season 15. Enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you got up the next morning, you felt like a truck had hit you. You slept maybe thirty minutes, if that. The anxiety settled on you heavily. Your marriage, career, and freedom were on the line. 

The worst part was you knew if you lost one of them, you’d lose them all. Everything that had transpired between you two lately seemed so insignificant at that thought. Yes, you were the one doing the killing, being the accomplice, but suddenly, the problem with JJ felt miniscule. When Spence was kidnapped and you weren’t sure you’d ever see him again, you still wondered how he felt about her, how you two had a future together.

Yet, now… now you were terrified you’d pushed him into her arms. Between keeping your distance physically and emotionally, and literally admitting to being a serial killer, you weren’t sure there was much hope for your marriage. 

How did it all go so wrong, so fast? Six months ago, you two were the picture of a happy, perfect marriage. 

Now you’d spend the next two weeks looking over your shoulder, wondering when and if your husband would show up with the handcuffs -- and not for pleasure this time. 

You only had to teach ten classes - two a day each day this week. Then next week, you would be giving out finals. This was your late afternoon Monday class, and you were just getting started. 

“Alright everyone. Hope you had a great weekend,” you said with a cheery smile, thinking about how you had a horrendous weekend. “Today, we’re going to be talking about resolving the case. You’ve found the killer, now you’re at trial. We’re going to talk about everything that could go right, or wrong, and how a forensic psychologist might be able to help with this.”

Just then, the door towards the back of the room opened and you saw a very familiar face. It was Rossi. 

Your gut dropped. Oh no, did Spence tell the team to just go ahead and come arrest you? 

But his face said otherwise. There was no disappointment or grimness, or hesitation. No, actually, he had a shiteating grin on his face. 

“Well, look who it is everyone. This is my very esteemed boss, David Rossi,” you announced as he made his way to the front of the lecture hall. “Are you here to ream me on my teaching?” you teased.

“Even better, I plan to sit in on it and correct you when need be,” he stated cheerfully before slightly turning to your students who laughed. 

“It’s always a pleasure.” 

He smiled at you before pulling a spare chair up to sit somewhat behind you in the corner as you taught and went through your powerpoint. You were only on your second slide when he interjected. You’d just asked the class, “What does it mean if a defendant wants to plead NGRI.”

A boy who usually spoke up in your class, raising his hand. “It means not guilty by reason of insanity.”

“Right, and what happens when they plead that?” 

“They get cut slack and the jury sees them as insane. Then instead of going to prison, they go to a mental institute for a shorter amount of time,” the student explained. 

“Actually,” Rossi started before standing up, “that’s not usually the case. An NGRI is only successful 1% of the time, and when it is, the defendant has to usually stay in a facility for a lot longer than the prison sentence would’ve been and they have to prove themselves capable to a doctor.” 

At this point he was pacing and you couldn’t help but grin fondly as you gave him the floor.

“This actually reminds me of a case I word back in the late 80’s,” he continued. With that, he took off down memory lane. It was one epic story after another. Some included you, some were decades before you, but all of them had the kids on the edge of their seats, soaking up every one of his words. After each anecdote, the kids had questions. 

Before you knew it, class was over. Rossi sort of touched on the points you wanted to, but mainly it turned into a lot of his exciting tales of being in the field. Which was ultimately fine. You’d just post the lecture notes online for the kids tonight. 

When the kids left the lecture hall, you gathered your things and turned to Rossi as you exited the room. 

“So what brings you down, other than crashing my lecture?”

“That was it. Hadn’t seen or heard from you in a while, thought I would come visit the ole sunshine state,” he informed. “How’s it going down here? I hope I didn’t step all over your class.”

You shrugged. “Oh, it’s fine. You talking about the glory days is a lot better than me droning on about court cases.” You laughed slightly. 

“So you sad to leave it? I know your classes are almost up.” 

“No, not really. Teaching is fun, but I miss field work. Actually catching criminals, instead of teaching how to catch them.”

“I think your husband might say the opposite.”

At the mention of Spence your heart hammered and went icy. 

“Spence would probably say that because he doesn’t like the fact that we do have to do our jobs.” 

“This is true.”

“Hey, you wanna grab dinner? You flew all the way down.”

“I’d love to, kid,” he agreed, taking you up on your offer. 

“Awesome. I know a great seafood joint nearby. I know you might prefer italian but maybe a change of pace would be nice.”

“Just point the way,” he said, gesturing forward. You smiled and led him to your car where you two piled in and drove about five minutes away to a nice restaurant. You got in, ordered your drinks, and settled in. 

“So you ready to be back in the field?” he asked with a grin.

“Yeah, I think I am. Every time Spence calls and mentions a case I’m profiling immediately,” you stated with a slight laugh, trying to hide how you felt like you were dying inside. Your stomach was a war of anxiety, dread, depression, and a tiny flicker of hope.

“Yeah, he tells us,” he remarked. “So your time as a professor down here is ending. What’d you think? Would you want to keep it up back up at Quantico?”

“You offering me a job?” you teased.

He shrugged, raising his eyebrows. “The academy is always looking for teachers. But I’m curious. I know Reid loves teaching, didn’t know if that extended to you now.”

“Well, if it was back in DC and it didn’t take me too far away from the BAU and Spence, yeah I’d probably be up for it.” 

“See? You were nervous for nothing.”

You chuckled. “Hey, I’d never done this before!” 

“Talking to a crowd of people is a lot easier, and safer, than talking to one unsub.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” you said as soon as the drinks hit the table. 

“Are you going to miss all this sunshine?”

You peered around the restaurant, as if you were actually gauging it. That’s when the question hit you -- if, by some miracle, Spence didn’t turn you in, you would be leaving behind Dexter. Your truest friend. You’d miss him dearly. He was unusual, yes, for an FBI agent, but he was also… very real. You could joke, be yourself, not be judged around him. He wouldn’t take what you said too seriously or get offended. He found your dark humor delightful. You hoped that he found a friend in you too. 

Yes, despite everything, you’d miss Dexter, the one person who truly knew every part about you. 

“I’ll miss some things about the state. Yeah,” you admitted with a fond smile. 

“Well you can always visit,” he reminded as he raised his glass.

The two of you talked, caught up like old friends. Shop talk was little, and you discussed life with Spence, kids, the marriage. You pretended he didn’t know you were a serial killer and you weren’t on edge, wondering if you were going to prison any second. Rossi didn’t know about JJ, or if he did, he didn’t say one word and you didn’t feel like airing your dirty laundry. So you left the topic alone. 

Other than that, it was a great dinner with a friend. He said he and Krystal were on their way to a little resort for a few days. She was sightseeing in Miami while Rossi visited you. As soon as he was done with the restaurant, he was going to meet her at the resort.

Unfortunately for you, your distraction was gone now, and you were back to being consumed with anxiety. Seeing Dexter didn’t help either, or at least, you didn’t think it would. 

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

The next day, around 4:30 pm, you got a text from Dexter asking if you’d want to grab dinner. You agreed.

The two of you met at a little outdoor restaurant. It was a beautiful night. Very warm, but a cozy kind of warm, not a strangling type. The ocean breeze was doing an excellent job at calming your nerves. 

You were daydreaming, wondering when or if you’d ever see or feel anything this beautiful again when Dexter took a seat right in front of you.

“Hey,” he greeted, a slight smile on his face.

“Hi,” you softly said. Not one little part of you was mad at him. Maybe some part of you should’ve been, but how could you be? You were the authority in this relationship. You could’ve locked Dex up a long time ago, not looked back, and been a local and FBI hero. But no, your personal vendetta and vices got in the way and you gave into a darkness inside you that you never knew you had. Not until you met Dexter and knew what a good vigilante looked like. 

“How’s...uh, how’s everything going?” 

“As good as can be expected,” you truthfully stated, frowning a bit. “Listen I’m so sorry I--”

He held up his hand. “Nope. No. You don’t have to apologize. I knew that there was a risk in teaching you. I knew that one day your coworkers might figure it out. I was sort of hoping they’d only take you down though,” he stated with a grin that made you laugh. “But seriously… I knew the risks. I could’ve said no. Like I said, if this is how I go out, then your husband is a worthy opponent.”

A sorrowful smile touched your face for the briefest of seconds. 

“So you’re not mad?”

“Mad? Y/N, I’m the killer. I know the dangers I face every time I take someone out. That was happening long before you were in the picture.” 

“Yeah but having an FBI agent for a partner must not be ideal.” 

“On the contrary, there might be hope. Do you really think he is going to turn you in? Turn us in?” 

You heaved a large sigh. That’s all you’d thought about since the words came out of your mouth and you were still no closer to an answer.

“I honestly don’t know. The fact that it’s been a few days and we haven’t been arrested is a good sign. But, Spencer is practical too, he may be waiting until I get home to sort out details of the marriage, the home, and everything else before asking me to give myself up.” 

He nodded. “I don’t know him as well as you, so I can’t say anything on that. But we should take it as some form of hope that there aren’t feds at our door.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” 

He eyed you up and down, seeing as you were clearly miserable. 

“Hey, well, worst case, he does… Don’t spend your last days of freedom sulking. Spend them doing what you want. Go take a tour, go see a museum, go… do whatever it is you do to relax. Speaking of, do you ever relax?”

A half smile perked up on your face. “Yes, Morgan, I do relax.”

“Oh, ‘Morgan’, did I hit a nerve, Agent?” 

You shook your head and laughed, sticking your tongue out. 

“Hey, Dexter…” you started, your eyes down at your fingers that were playing with each other. “I want you to know that you’re a really good friend. If it wasn’t for you when Spence got kidnapped… I would’ve been a mess. I would’ve gone off on JJ. Hell, I’d be a lot of things.” You took a deep breath. “But not just that. Spence, he knows me inside and out. He even knows about my… secret now, but you… Well you saw all of me and didn’t judge me. I mean, you know I’m an agent and you didn’t give me a lecture.”

“That’d be a bit of a double standard, don’t you think?” 

You shrugged. “Maybe, but you could’ve, and you didn’t. I appreciate that. Even when we weren’t… teaching, I liked just hanging out with you. It was nice to have a friend that wasn’t so by the book. I mean, the BAU is great, and we’re a family, but I can’t be my morbid self with them. They just don’t share my ideals and if I said half the shit I did to them that I did to you, they would be so offended that I’d be sent off for a psych eval faster than you could say ‘unsub.’” 

He slightly grinned. “Yeah, I liked our time too. It was nice to be myself too. Harry… he did his best but I could tell he didn’t accept me, not all the way. With Deb… shit, with Deb, she barely knows me. Rita sees a little bit more. She can tell when I’m upset, or agitated but… yeah it’s nice to have a real friendship. I’m going to miss this.” 

“Yeah… me too.” 

“Thanks… for looking behind the mask and not being afraid.”

“Thanks for letting me look behind the mask,” you countered, raising your beer, clinking it with his.

The rest of the evening was spent just talking. Not about kills or teaching. Not about prison. Just about your accomplishments, why they meant so much to you, what you’d seen, what you loved about Spencer. 

But something had clicked with you. Dexter said something and it resonated deep inside you. So you set the plan in motion when you got home that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[myinnerroomie]

              Today I want to write for pleasure instead of business. I want my mind to be productive, but I am sick of work.  I am sick of all the grad school papers and the stress of getting everything in on time, the stress of applying for this test, and studying for that test. The stress of pretending I care about the Air Force. And for what?  I feel as if I am not doing something to better myself, then I am failing.  In all aspects of life. And for what? What am I trying to accomplish?  What do I want out of life?  The answer is everything.  More than I’m getting.  So I fill the void with military and homework and physical activities.  All of which are healthy right?  What’s the problem?  I can do more.  I am so capable.  I see that. I know that I’m not meant for this.   However, I signed up for it, right?  I’ll finish what I signed up for and move on and appreciate what I learned.  In the meantime, I feel it necessary to point out that I may be jobless in 2 months, maybe not.  The stress of never knowing what is going to happen is real.  And I’m sick of it.  However, it pays the bills (quite nicely), I’m staying in a condo by the beach (where I’m sitting on the balcony typing), and it’s frankly beautiful weather and I’ll go for a run later. It’s really my fault that I haven’t found a job yet.  I should never have relied on reserve like this anyway.  I have no fear that I’ll figure something out when the time comes.  Actually, life is way better than it really has ever been.  

I’m so free (aside from the military which ironically is the thing that saved me). Oooh.  Let’s get into my early adulthood.  That should be fun.  So, embarrassingly enough, until this past year, I have always had a boyfriend.  We can get into my childhood later, but it probably stemmed from somewhere back then.  I have never thought much of myself.  Figured I’d go to community college like everybody else, then I went to a university like everybody else.  Majored in a stupid (fun) degree.  No real regrets about that though.  My self-worth was based on if people liked me, if I felt I looked good.  I do regret a lot of the actions of that sad, desperate girl.  Nobody understood, and I was good at faking it.  I did things that I have never admitted to anybody.  I literally could have been diagnosed with the same disorders as the other kids in the behavioral hospital where I worked.  Only mine weren’t for attention and I was deeply ashamed, so nobody knew.  I educated myself on the consequences of what would happen if I continued on that path, and slowly but surely, I got better.  And sadly, I can’t even celebrate that with anyone.  Shame, guilt, fear, worthlessness, pain – what I used to always feel.  Pride and confusion with all this freedom I have is what I feel now.

I used to think emotions were embarrassing.  I knew I hurt all the time, but I was never taught how to deal with it, so I would isolate myself and feel stupid.  Actually, that’s what I was taught.  Everybody has issues, and I’m not special. Get over it.  Why did it hurt so much?  Why can’t I get over it?  Why am I so miserable?  Why am I even alive?  Everybody dies anyway.  Oh, I know how I can deal with this: weed.  Ahh, there so much better.  Now all I’m thinking about is how I can’t remember what I’m thinking about. Yeah, I should probably go to class now.  Wonder if they’ll know I’m stoned. (turns out that they did).  But I was really enjoying class then. Very intrigued with Maslow’s hierarchy of need.  Hmm self-actualization.  Will I ever know my purpose and get to the point in life where I can fulfill that need??? Nah bro I’m starving…  You think everybody is staring at me eating these chips? -- Anyway, this is only the middle of the story.  I’m not even going to go back to my first boyfriend.  Let’s skip to the second one that cheated on me after 2 years.  Looking back now, he’s gross and bigoted. He was mean to me.  He lied to me.  He cheated.  Everything was an ordeal.  I just constantly lowered myself and made myself small for him.  He, of course, never reciprocated.  I wasn’t worth it.  Because I never showed any self-worth.  One good decision I made was to further my education and move to Hattiesburg for school which he actually made fun of me for doing. Anyway, I remember one time he had just come from the boat or whatever he was doing for work and invited his friend to our apartment.  I went to sit on his lap and he pushed me off and laughed.  I just went to my room and cried while he spent the night with his friend. That’s not me.  I hate I did that.  I hate that’s their memory of me.  Oh well.  I know they still talk shit about me back home.  That’s fine and that’s their problem.

Another reoccurring theme with boyfriends is my lack of any other friends and/or support. This takes me to my second boyfriend. I had been single for less than a year, and I met him.  It was so much nicer at first.  I felt like he cared about me.  He was so sweet.  Finally, everything was reciprocated to me, and I was happy.  I was happy to make him happy.  Again, with my screwed up priorities, man.  But I had grown up a little.  I just had this baseless fear that I would be alone forever.  But, I’m not necessarily the victim.  I did have this notion that I should be taken care of. I never expected to pay.  I expected some sort of money and to pay to go out and about.  That didn’t happen with this guy.  This honestly helped me become independent.  However, over time, he became more and more controlling. He threw me down and hit me in a NOLA hotel and the police were called.  He tore up my purse and a jacket. I remember feeling so much stress because he said he was going to leave me there, and I didn’t know how to get home.  Nor did I want to tell anybody why I was in that predicament anyway.  I thought it was all my fault and apologized and he stayed. How lucky am I? To stay with a guy that hits me and breaks my belongings (He also broke my tent.  If I ever went anywhere, he would be calling and obsessed. I couldn’t enjoy anything because I knew there would always be repercussions for having fun.   I literally broke out in hives at my friend’s house in Jackson one time because I told him no I wouldn’t come back to his place that night and it gave me so much grief.  He said he was going to break up with me if I did not drive back.  But I sure enough stayed my ass up there though. It was still embarrassing.  He threw a boot at me once because I was mad and didn’t want to sleep in the same room as him.  When I told him that hurt and showed him the bruise, he blamed me for acting that way. A few times, I tried to leave to go home, and he would grab me and not let me go.  I would be like if you don’t get your hands off me, I have every right to defend myself.  So I would straight up try to fist fight him to let go of me. He would laugh. Sounds healthy right?  Oh yeah, one time I did not do what he wanted and he threatened to get rid of my cat and locked all the doors to the house so I could not get to MY fucking cat.  So I waited until he got home and he just acted like he didn’t care at all about the strife he caused.  I think I may have even stayed that night at his house.  I hated him but I didn’t know what else to do.              

In the middle of all of this, I joined the military.  So yeah he came to visit me in Texas for graduation then said this was his vacation and that he was going to do what he wanted.  I’m like dude no.  I’ve been locked up for weeks.  It’s my vacation.  Another argument, more crying.  You’re a bitch if you stand up for yourself.  Okay months go on, we break up in tech school.  But I know he has my cat.  I also know he has a place to live.  Again, my fault.  I’m using him cause I don’t really know what else to do.  So I live at his house.  Then move to out of town.  He threatens to leave me again and tells me I’m shitty for moving away.  I move back to his place.  Back and forth, but he just stays and does whatever the fuck he wants with no consideration for me.  Eventually, I just started to dislike him.  I can take care of myself.  I got another place with a room mate.  His presence annoyed me.  I thought he was ugly.  I think that was mutual, and I was like dude:  Let’s end it. It’s miserable.  He agreed.  Easiest break-up ever.  Now did I do dumb things, and normal post-breakup things? Absolutely. Did I still text him a couple times afterwards? Yeahhh.  Also,  I made out with a 20 year old army kid at a bar. And I also slept with a married man.  That was a whole thing.  But most of last year, I have just grown.

I have nobody grabbing my arm now.  If I want to pack up and go hiking somewhere across the country, I’ll buy a plane ticket and go. If I want to hang out with friends, its fun again.  I do not rely on anybody for my self-worth.  2020 was extremely rough for me. I lost my house and all my belongings.  My car flooded in a hurricane (and of course I only had liability insurance).  It has all worked out anyway.  I didn’t even need any of that stuff.  Honestly, I never had the worst life.  That wasn’t the goal of this. You know, to complain.  It’s just that everything has gotten better. Losing everything helps put your life into perspective.  I’m so much more appreciative now.  I look at what I have accomplished and where I came from.  I used to think that everybody was more important than me, and that I needed them to like me and see me as worthy to be around.  Well, that has changed completely.  I don’t have to like you and you don’t have to like me.  That doesn’t make me less of a valuable person.  Everybody is not better than me and I have just as much a chance of being successful as everybody else.  I’m not a “bitch”.  Maybe some folks find me “annoying”, but you’re crazy if you think I will ever make myself small to fit inside anybody’s box that doesn’t like me.  I don’t “deserve it” to be living a miserable life. Life is hard.  Life is beautiful. It’s all about learning, and that’s what I have done. I win.  I’m free.  I can do anything.  While I do regret some of my past, all this has given me the drive to me who I am today and who I will be tomorrow.  Still gotta figure that one out.

[geraltcirilla]

Joe is allowed to have whatever opinion he wants of Gendrya. Period. And you can dislike it, but you cannot attack him for it. Even if you aren’t directly tagging him. Grow the fuck up and be mature about this or exit the Gendrya fandom permanently.

That being said, I’ve read all of Joe’s interviews and he’s not against it. The only time you can find something negative being said is when he was 23 and she was 14. And he flat-out stated in interviews he didn’t feel comfortable discussing the possibility of Gendrya and that it wasn’t fair to ask him those sorts of questions. And he was absolutely right.

Ever since season 7, he’s been very, very open and welcoming to the possibility of Gendrya. And this was before their characters even reunited. I remember being surprised at this change in perspective because I clearly remember how badly he used to dislike it.

He’s said during season 7 interviews:

I think one of the roles Gendry played in Arya’s story was as him being an older guy who sort of awakens certain feelings in Arya for the first time as she’s becoming a young woman. 

It would just be nice if they met again, wouldn’t it? It’s a pairing you wouldn’t want to mess with.

They were two people who were looking for something and I think they found it in each other a little bit.

There’s a real connection there, a real bond there; but whether that means it’s anything romantic further down the line, I have no idea, really.

They shared a bond and a connection, there’s a lot of this happening in the show where characters cross paths that are both wanting for something and happen to find it in another character. 

I think with that in mind, he’d love to see Arya again. He senses she’s a good soul. I wouldn’t say he’s pining, because you have to toughen up and accept there are people who are going to drift in and out of your life. I’m sure he thinks of her every now and again and wonders how she’s getting on.

Q: Will he end up with Arya? A: I think there’s certainly an appetite.

Q: He’d marry Arya, wouldn’t he? A: Yeah, he’d probably marry Arya.

And these are JUST from his season 7 interviews, before anyone had any clue what would happen in season 8. He was already entertaining the idea and didn’t seem against it at all. He even encouraged it at times.

That has not changed for season 8. Joe has said absolutely nothing negative regarding Gendrya and has never shot it down. People are trying to twist his words into something they are not.

He’s said:

Gendry understands the “no” he got.

Gendry jumped the gun at the proposal and it was likely a mistake and Gendry realizes that. Gendry will not hold onto resentment or blame her for her decision.

Gendry understands why Arya said no and Arya “rightly” said no.

Once again emphasized Arya “was absolutely right”.

Gendry is at Storm’s End trying to be the best Lord he can be.

In the moment of the proposal Gendry believes he is in love with Arya.

“All the things that he likes about her are the things that will make her never be with him that way.”

“He’s fascinated by her.”

“He’s very attracted to the woman she’s become.”

What he has NOT said:

Gendry doesn’t love Arya.

Gendry will move on, he won’t pine.

Gendry’s feelings for Arya are a mistake.

Gendry’s feelings for Arya aren’t real.

Gendry being intimate with Arya was a mistake.

The only “mistake” that happened was a pre-mature proposal.

I mean Captain Dempsie literally said “Gendry thinks he loves Arya” and “the reason Gendry likes Arya is the same reason she turned him down”... how can you read that and interpret it as a negative?

As an actor Joe has to look at things from Gendry’s perspective and root for Gendry as an individual, and try to come to terms with what the script given him and the ending D&D wrote for him. And in the script he was given that he had to act out and film, the last scene he ever shared with Arya was her turning Gendry down... and consequently that turned out to be the last conversation his character would ever have on this show. He is trying to come to terms with how things worked out himself, just like we are. He is in the same boat as us! Going into season 8 he probably also had preconceived notions about what would happened to Gendry or how Arya and Gendry’s relationship would develop, that he now has to re-adjust. Even then he has NEVER said “Gendry doesn’t love Arya, he’s moved on, he’s gonna marry someone else”, etc.

Saying that Gendry isn’t on the boat isn’t a bad thing, and that’s arguably the “worst” thing he’s said. Of course he’s gonna want Gendry to focus on his own shit and get his life together before he goes chasing after Arya. Believe it or not but Gendry can be Lord of Storm’s End and also be with Arya. And Gendry taking a gap year to learn how to read and write doesn’t mean he won’t marry Arya.

The TLDR of this post is: Joe is allowed to think whatever he wants and y’all will have to simply get the fuck over it. But that being said I’m tired of Joe’s words being manipulated by angry “stans” (y’all aren’t stans tbh) or seeing fabricated words being put into his mouth.

[inflammatoryfandomblog]

adam is the worst character in the show, and here’s why.

is what I would call this ranty post if I really wanted to clickbait and get that nice tasty Tumblr Fame, but Adam himself isn’t really who I want to talk about. He also is the guy I have to talk about. 

For the longest time in the show, he was the face of the White Fang--until the Volume 4 reveal that Blake was the daughter of the ex-White Fang leader. And up until the present day, he is essentially the face of the violent White Fang movement. 

I’m not convinced at all by the argument that Sienna is the face of the “new” violent White Fang to the audience. From a screenwriting perspective, she was a higher-up to be killed in order to bolster Adam’s position as a threat to the main characters. She was there to essentially give you an idea of Adam’s influence in order to make him seem like a “bigger” villain. Her existence in the story proper amounted to one scene in service to Adam’s status as a villain. Nothing changed--the audience assumed that Adam was the leader of the violent White Fang before, and now it’s been confirmed with an aspirational-GoT-like pizzazz. 

Which is a shame, because from the brief glimpse we got of her, she seemed to be an interesting continuation of the themes of violence set up by RWBY. A violent leader, but not in the genocidey, psychopathic way Adam was. At various times, the show actually raises this idea of using violence in social movements, and at least implies that there’s a cost-benefit analysis at work there. 

The reason the White Fang turned to violence in the first place was that peaceful methods weren’t working--see V1 Chapter 16: Black and White

Blake says, of the new leader, which we now know to be Sienna Khan, “A new leader, with a new way of thinking. Suddenly our peaceful protests were being replaced with organized attacks. We were setting fire to shops that refused to serve us. Hijacking cargo from companies that used faunus labor. And the worst part was? it was working! We were being treated like equals. But not out of respect... out of fear.”

From very early on, RWBY set up this idea of a dialogue or contrast between violent and non-violent movements, and people, even the most casual fans who uncritically consumed the show picked up on this. For the longest time, the White Fang was one of the most interesting and intriguing aspects of the setting because of this. It was also intimately tied to at least two of our main girls--Weiss and Blake. White and black. They weren’t being subtle about what it was supposed to evoke.

There’s a lot of history and a lot that has been written about the interplay of violent and nonviolent movements. People much smarter than I am have written literal volumes upon volumes about this. But we all know how the popular narrative of this plays out, right? How our history books frame it? Nonviolence is Always the Answer, it’s what the Good(TM) People opposed to oppression always did--and I’m a big supporter of nonviolence in general for a number of reasons, but never questioning its merits and assuming it as a default is naive and maybe even a bit dangerous. People get complacent with the notion that it’s the Best Way without exploring why that is, and how nonviolent movements interact with violent ones.

And it was so refreshing to maybe, maybe get that theme explored. Blake had already made her decision between the two by the beginning of the show; she had already picked her side. She believed violence was going to be ineffective in the long run--even though it was working for right now, so her arc, in order to continue, had to be a reckoning with her beliefs.

And RWBY was a webshow, right? It wasn’t limited by Executive Meddling, it had the space--however campy it might be--to legitimately engage with these sorts of ideas, even if it did it clumsily. It had the merits that pulp has writ large.

But then the face of all of that--the face of the White Fang, Adam Taurus--the face of the “violent” side--was revealed to be a genocidal abusive ex (and abuse is not really a strong theme of the show or indeed even Blake’s arc as it actually panned out, if people are interested in why I think this, I’ll get to it later). And nothing really replaced him, not effectively, anyways. 

Ilia was violent, but her arc was contaminated by Adam’s status as a rapey abusive creep--she was his follower, one of the people that knew Adam had killed Sienna. She had sympathetic motivations of course, she was a Complex Villain who thought violence was the answer "because it works!”, but she never gave the other side of the argument a fair shake. By the time the show got to her, she was a follower of Adam’s current White Fang, not Sienna’s, and thus existed to be a Confused Youth Who Never Wanted To Do The Wrong Thing, Really, she just chose violence because she was emotionally confused. During Ilia’s “redemption arc,” the show never really addresses the argument of violence working or the notion that “there’s two types of humans: the ones who hate and the ones who stand by and let the hate happen!” Nothing addresses Ilia’s actual beliefs that led her to the White Fang, she just is reformed by the power of... friendship? Forgiveness(TM)? But to be fair to her, nothing could really change her character by addressing her motivations, because admitting the violent White Fang might have a bit of a point now implicitly meant siding with Adam. Even when they were brought up, the merits and drawbacks of the violent White Fang’s philosophy were never actually addressed.

Sienna was really the last bastion of hope for anybody who even wanted a slightly nuanced discussion about this in the show--and the minute she appeared on screen, she was brought up, appeared to be a much more reasonable and level-headed leader than Adam was in the current state, and then was unceremoniously disposed to bolster his power level.

The leader that now represented nuance in the White Fang was stabbed through the stomach the moment she was introduced. It was as though the writers had acknowledged they set up this nuanced picture of the White Fang, said “yeah, here she is, now stop complaining,” and then killed her with this outrageous caricature of what “violent protest” meant. Yeah, they told us, here’s what you thought the White Fang was, and let’s just murder it in broad daylight.

That scene is when they dispensed of all nuance and metaphorically turned the White Fang into Furry ISIS. And it worked for most of the FNDM--Blake’s “White Fang arc” is over without meaningfully engaging with the themes it set up. All of this sleight of hand was possible because of the slow conflation of the violent arm of the White Fang with Adam Taurus, who is a Bad Guy So Therefore the Violent White Fang Guys Are Also Bad, Forget About What We Set Up Earlier, Shut Up, This Is A Show About Hot Girls Beating Up Monsters, You Idiots.

They borrowed the language of resistance to oppression and just ground it into the dust. Like... why spend all this time suggesting a theme you were never intent on having?

And like, I realize this reads like a disappointed rant--and it is--I’m sure I’ll be characterized as a “RWBY fangirl who stuck to her headcanons and not what the show actually presented.” So RWBY absolutely mangled its civil rights themes--so what’s the big deal, you histrionic banshee SJW? How does this actually hold down the show?

Well, half the main characters are intimately tied to the White Fang plotline--to the portion of the setting that deals with dealing with discrimination--and the weaker this plotline is, the more these characters suffer. Blake is the hardest-hit by this--she’s arguably the worst of the main four--but so is Weiss. Weiss just magically... stopped being racist and never had to reckon with it, so the most interesting part of her character was, too, erased. 

And why did this happen? Because the showrunners at once a) made Adam into a straight-up cackling villain so that it would be Satisfying when he was defeated b) unquestionably made him the Face of the White Fang without really giving that role to anybody else--and indeed, actively quashing other candidates who fit that role.

And man, I haven’t even gotten into how annoying it is that Adam is also the guy that got the most striking bit of oppression in the entire show asdfadddddd there’s just. So much. Here. They didn’t have to write it like this but they did.

[passionate-reply]

PET SHOP BOYS & PHIL OAKEY - “THIS USED TO BE THE FUTURE”

I love science fiction. It’s interesting to me how the notion of “science fiction” clearly exists across many different art media, and takes on a different connotation given the medium. The origins of science fiction lie with popular magazines and newspapers--in the 19th Century, serialized stories, later compiled into “novels,” and in the 20th Century, in so-called “pulp” magazines, named after the cheap and low-grade paper they were printed on. In the 50′s, science fiction became a popular medium for film, although it resided in a sort of artistic ghetto as it became associated with the schlocky “B-movie” format. SF kind of often gets a bad rap as lower tier of entertainment, it seems, although that does seem to be changing somewhat. Music is no stranger to engaging with science fictional topics, as well, although we’ve never had a cultural thread that doomed such music to the B-sides of records.

“This Used to Be the Future” is nothing short of a rumination on the worst ideas of the worst kinds of science fiction. I am sure that even though you may have never held a pulp magazine in your hands, you can imagine the silly worlds it conjured up, with their jetpacks, food pills, and flying cars. As someone who’s studied it in a bit more detail, I would be fully willing to argue that these sorts of ideas were never really taken seriously, and this entire sub-culture was usually aimed at little more than the brief amusement of children. And, on occasion, lascivious teenagers, leering at the busty alien heroes of such fare in spite of their green complexions. Consider that one of the greatest writers of such fiction, Isaac Asimov, became exposed to it as a child because his parents owned a candy store, which sold SF pulp right alongside the sweets. Empty of nutrition and long-term worth, but shiny and desirable, such indulgences beckoned to the brief attention of children, and parents acquiesced to them on occasion, taking relief at the fact that both of them were priced in cents. And to little more did such works generally aspire. Consumers of such tales didn’t necessarily believe their future would look that way, any more so than modern people literally believe the future will look like Black Mirror or anything of that nature just because they enjoy the diversion it creates.

Tennant, Lowe, and Oakey make a risible case in this track, apparently arguing that the problems of today are somehow related to the...excess optimism of pulp SF from the 50′s? Lord knows there was plenty of pessimism to go around, including in the world of science fiction, in literature of the Mid-Century. I mean, their countryman, George Orwell, penned 1984 in 1948, and it’s difficult to achieve more pessimism than that. I think their thesis is kind of interesting, but also so flawed that I have a hard time taking it seriously. But it is a cracking track. I adore the way those very harsh and metallic-sounding synths arrive right alongside Oakey’s voice part--they are very reminiscent of the earliest work he did as part of the Human League, before going fully pop and hitting it big with Dare! And that stupendous closing with his darkly meant “amen” gives me a chill. Musically speaking, it is every bit what we me expect from a collaboration between such illustrious artists.

Anyway, the real occasion for me to write about this particular track, today, is of course the fact that the Pet Shop Boys just released their latest album, Hotspot, this past week, and I’ve had some time to have a good, long couple of listens, and finalize my opinion on it. Here it is: Mediocre. About as mediocre as just about everything they have done this past decade, since the release of Yes in 2010. (”This Used to Be the Future” isn’t on the album, but was included with bonus editions of it, so it’s Yes-era, for our purposes.) They seem to descend further and further into “dull, soulless dance music” with every release, pushing fewer buttons and fewer boundaries. 

I love the Pet Shop Boys, and have since my age was in the single digits. They’re basically the first band I ever got very deeply “into,” and I would quickly and happily credit them with a lot of my love for music and my interest in sharing it and talking about it. But they should go their separate ways, in my opinion. It is nice to see that they are such good friends, evidently, but two people who know each other so well, finish each other’s sentences, and don’t seem to be challenging each other aren’t benefiting from this continuing artistic relationship. In their earlier work I think there is a kind of constant tension, a tug of war between Tennant’s “Che Guevara and Debussy,” and Lowe’s “disco beat.” In that tension lies art. But their recent projects tend to have a lot of one or the other, and it really isn’t the music I fell in love with anymore. 

That might be a bit of a controversial opinion, but it’s how I really feel. Perhaps they will at least consider more collaborations with other artists in the future, which might hopefully spark something new or create something more interesting. It’s certainly a lot of why I like “This Used to Be the Future” despite vehemently disagreeing with its message. And I also think that one of the few truly great things to come from them more recently is “Brick England,” their collaboration with the venerable electronic pioneer Jean-Michel Jarre. (That’s another piece for me to write about here, someday). What the “future” holds in store for them, we’ll have to wait and see.

[crqstalite]

WIP Wednesday

so i ended up being tagged three times today, by @that-wasnt-so-bad for scrap pile + WIP wednesday, as well as @ljandersen for scrap pile as well. unfortunately i end up being one of the most frugal writers you’ll meet, mostly everything i write ends up somewhere in a story, and i’m either powering through chapters worth of writing in hours or have nothing i haven’t published. but, thankfully i did actually have a piece i’ve been procrastinating on for a while (nearly scrapped it, so i think it counts), so here’s what i have.

pre-ME2, post ME1 shore leave. shenko...sort of. word count: 1808.

-

"So...Commander. Is this a temporary station or do you live here full time?"

Kodelyn raises an eyebrow at the question, still stretching out a few muscles in her back. Who knew getting Reaper bits rained down on you would have lasting effects? Two weeks later, she wasn't really supposed to be up and running yet, but Chakwas and the other doctors on the Citadel couldn't keep her down for long. No rigorous activity, they said, exasperated with her after only a few days, you'll pull your stitches and you'll be right back here, commander.

She was lucky they didn't send a nurse to live at her apartment for the next few months. Or however long it would be until they'd lay off and she could get back where she belonged -- on the bridge of the Normandy.

But for now, she was on medical leave. And medical leave meant taking it easy. Which she rarely did, without throwing a literal fit. Which also meant living on the Citadel for the time being because she was still on call, technically. Leave it to Anderson to keep her in the loop without her saying a word. She couldn't ask for better friend.

So here she is, walking through the hospital lobby with Lieutenant Alenko and her duffel over her shoulder, knocking into her hip withe every few steps. Why it hadn't been anyone else to retrieve her, she isn't sure. Possibly because he was the last human on her squad after the investigation into Saren. Possibly he came here on his own volition, as he had for a while after she'd been admitted. But that didn't mean she didn't enjoy this particular company. Still, she's uneasy with her eyes trained on him. Not entirely sure what the night just before they landed on Ilos even really meant, what to think about it. Fraternization was one of the many things she could be tried for, should the Alliance decide to press charges for the fact she stole the Normandy . It'd still meant a lot to her, even if she wasn't sure how to acknowledge it.

He'd asked for it not to change anything. She respects that, of course. But at the same time, maybe she wants things to change. After so long pushing people away, maybe she wanted someone to be by her side as more than a friend. He'd be a welcome one.

Then again she was the single worst person to be keeping secrets with. And the part of her that is the model soldier, the one who could be relied on for her integrity, eats away at her for those thoughts alone.

Would it be so bad to be happy?

So for now, she doesn't think about it, "I have -- had an apartment here. So do my siblings. I think I told you my parents still live on Earth?" A nod from him as the doors part for them out to the open area in front of the hospital's ground floor, "Between all my different postings and everything with the 'Reapers', it's easier to have a home here, be in the hub of everything and not have to commute back and forth every couple of months."

"Right, of course," He answers, turning his attention out to the Presidium and where parts still smolder with debris among the once green nature. His tone softens, "Makes plenty of sense. Uh, where did you live, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Further down in the lower wards of Zakera, actually. They tried to shove me up here with all the uptight brass when I earned the Star of Terra, but I wasn't really interested. Siblings live down there, and with C-Sec stretched thin I couldn't really leave them alone. But now?" She waves her hand out over towards the lower courtyard, "Now they managed to force me up here because of leave, and because somehow they knew that my old place got destroyed. Ease of access for the doctors in case something goes wrong. Better for Alliance to keep eyes on me.  Apparently becoming the first human spectre and saving the Citadel earns you a few perks, lots of suspicion, but perks nonetheless."

He chuckles in a way that makes her feel oddly at ease. More than she had in months, really, "Think I'd call this way more than just a perk, Commander."

She bites her lip to keep from grinning, before it creeps into her expression anyways. It was so easy to end up in a good mood with him around, should've been illegal, "Maybe. I still think a whole 'luxury apartment' is a little much. Lali says I can see the whole Presidium from the living room window."

"You haven't been up yet?" He asks, surprised while he presses the button to call the elevator, "It is your place isn't it, ma'am?"

"It is. But considering I was in the hospital for 'so long', I just let her move everything in. Seemed a whole lot easier than coming into a cold apartment with boxes everywhere," She shrugs, and winces immediately after as she shifts her elbow back. She can see his hand flex out of the corner of her eye, probably unconsciously because he'd been their field medic during their hunt for Saren. She offers him a smile instead, if not to comfort his worry than to ease her own pain, "Got plans for the rest of the day, Lieutenant?"

"No ma'am. Any reports Councilor Anderson needed from me are done. Less medical leave than it is a glorified shore leave now," He responds, stepping into the elevator after her, "Not that it isn't appreciated."

"Wait," She says, his hand hovering over the control panel as he turns to her. Kodelyn hesitates for a moment, wondering if she was about to make a horrible mistake or overstep the blurry lines they've drawn in the sand, "Would you -- would you want to come up to the apartment? Far as I'm concerned you spent more time in my hospital room than you did actually enjoying the time off. I could...I don't know make lunch?"

"Commander -- Shepard..." She can see the gears turning in his head, working through problem and solutions faster than she can try to figure out what he's thinking about. She'd seen it the few times she'd flirted with him outright on the SR-1.

"I just offered lunch, not my hand in marriage, Alenko," His cheeks flush at the notion while she leans over to hit the button for the part of the Presidium her new-home-away-from-home-that-got-destroyed-when-a-Reaper-attacked-but-apparently-they-don't-exist was on. Trying not to make it obvious that even she was reconsidering her offer, she steamrolls ahead, " 'Course if you're busy or you don't want to come up, I'll understand."

There's a long pause that she wants to fill with anything but silence, yet holds her tongue to keep from rambling before she says something she wouldn't want him hearing. The one time she wants her omni-tool to ping like it always does in the worst of times, it's surprisingly quiet. Thanks a lot, Liara, she thinks, You don't need anything from me now?

"That'd be nice, Shepard," He finally answers, and a weight is lifted off her chest, smiling again. Yet another thought runs through her head as she does pull up her omni-tool and scrolls through the messages from her sister. Had she gone shopping, or was she promising him noodles from down in the Wards?

Was Lali over right now?

She'd never been that out of the loop before, especially with a place she was trusting her security to for the time being. It's definitely unsettling, and shakes her a bit. However, she closes out the orange and white UI, deciding she'd work around any obstacle there was to this idea. The Council had been one of them to Saren, but she'd managed to bring him down. Finding something to eat with the Lieutenant had to be easier than that, "Got a preference?"

"Ordering in, ma'am?" He asks a question to answer her own.

"No, cooking if my sister did her job," He looks at her sideways, furrowing his brow as if disbelieving her statement, "What? You think that's outside my expertise, Alenko?" She asks, gently nudging his shoulder. She really would've done it harder if her own wasn't already sliding out of it's socket, or at least it feels like it. So many loose screws in her body right now, she wasn't even entirely functional.

"Of course not. You're a talented woman, Shepard. I didn't think it extended to the kitchen, is all," He answers, his tone changing to match her's. His expression changes to one of bashfulness, setting something aflame inside her with the compliment, "Not that you shouldn't be capable of anything you put your mind to, ma'am."

"Stop that, you'll make me blush." She says, trying not to reflexively turn from him, her cheeks burning. He returns it with a grin, and she steps out into the cool air of the Presidium.

Apartment ('luxury', she'd never get over that part. Thankfully as soon as she returned to service on the Normandy she could let it collect dust and not think about how much this cost -- let her parents have it) number 630. She gets turned around for a bit in the new, very shiny complex, trying to keep her head down from anyone who might recognize her and attempting to find the home herself. Lieutenant Alenko is a little more starstruck than she is, to where she finds him two hallways down from her new place admiring the view. They stay for a moment, watching skycars fly by. This is the time that Kodelyn finally sees the entirety of the damage that Sovereign had done, and it throws her for a loop. Within the past two weeks, Citadel forces had been able to do quite a bit of cleaning up, but it was still obvious the station had been shaken.

She'd prevented the worst of it. But people had still lost their lives.

And here she was, still here.

There's a beat of silence before she feels his hand grasp her's by her side. She flinches, "You...did all you could, Shepard. There are a lot of people who have their lives because of you."

"Probably. Doesn't keep me from feeling bad though," His hand drops back to his side, to which she frowns but turns away from the window. If that was going to be a problem, she could at least drop the curtain in front of her own foretold windows in her apartment, "Are you still coming in for lunch, or should I leave you out here?"

He follows wordlessly after her while she waves her omni-tool over the key reader on the door. Flashing green, it slides open.

[secretgamergirl]

RPG Campaign Setting Thoughts - The Origins of Magic

Previous entries in this series of posts:

The Planes

Alignment, Death, and Outsiders

The Actual, You Know, Setting

Today’s topic is something I think should really be the biggest preoccupation of any RPG campaign setting where it’s a concern, but one that most seem to gloss right over- Where the hell did all these spell casters come from? While I’m at it, I have officially decided that if I get a book out for all this, I’m going to include 4 PC classes (in addition to compatibility with all the existing options out there), covering the basics of Standard Party Composition and filling in some setting gaps here. Swashbuckler for a fighter type (never been happy with Paizo’s take on finesse-y fighters, might call it something else), single-school-focus wizards (gonna have to bust out the thesaurus for an unused name), divine casters who allow themselves to be possessed by agents of their deity (will likely come out like some kinda variant druid as a result), and something for the general rogue/bard 4th slot that’s a bit different that I’m tentatively calling The Party Mom Class.

Anyway, on with the magic origins. As I’ve already largely established, I think, most deities don’t really hold any direct sway over the prime material plane, and physical manifestation type stuff isn’t a thing. Divine casters of course open the door for all kinds of stuff, but you need to learn how to pray to your deity first, so as kind of a weird quirk I guess, every tradition of divine casters here is inherently rooted in arcane casters working out the whole astral projection thing, or people coming back from the dead having learned some things out there. The core deity list is something I’d really like to get some creative input on from practitioners of actual pantheistic religions, but I definitely want to get into the first follower of each once I get to listing them out, and how they came to be such.

So OK. Clerics come after wizards, but with wizards, there’s two things to worry about. They need some existing magic in the world to study, and they need a real good in-world reason to draw sharp divisions between different schools of magic. Well, OK NEED is a strong word. You could pretty much just merge everything together with no effect beyond it being a lot easier to look up spells by level and drop the whole school thing with little to no consequence, but I LIKE schools, so I need to rationalize them.

So my thinking is, every school of magic originally started as literally a different school, isolated from the others in a different part of the world, coming at the whole “magic” thing from a different angle. And this of course all only really applies to STUDIED magic. The whole concept of the prime material plane being painted with the inner planes used as a palette, coupled with the inner planes being inhabited just inherently means you’re going to have elementals and genies around from the beginning of time, along with dragons. And while I am writing out the whole concept of half-orcs and half-elves, all bets are off for people like ifrits and oreads and tieflings, so sorcerers are also going to be in play well before wizards.

So really, let me just put together a rough timeline on all things magic here:

Deities have just always been out there, with various outsiders forming as deaths happen and so on.

Elementals and anything else from the inner planes, while rare, have always been hanging out on the prime material, with half-mortal children following as soon as other creatures hit the table, really.

Dragons were probably one of the first types of creature to be created in the world, linnorms especially. And again, there’s some innate magic to them plus plenty of capacity for half-dragon children.

The first spellcasting class to really come about in the world though is going to be oracles. Oracles just happen after all. Mysterious circumstances of birth, ties to the great mysterious magic of the wold, no real teachers or questing or heritage involved. They’re rare though.

Sorcerers are next to hit the scene, because hey, after a few generations those half-genies and half-dragons are going to dilute down to bloodlines. Bloodragers come in at the same time, two sides of the same coin and I see it.

I’d go one further too and say all of the above predate even the basics of civilization. Which you do need at least a bit of to really get the ball rolling on the rest of the classes.

Druids come in next. A long secretive tradition of just trying to study and worship the natural world around them without bringing in any expectations, secretive order though, so they keep what they know to themselves. The more learned druids are probably going to work out some notion that there’s an afterlife thanks to reincarnate being a spell and all, but I don’t really see any other religious beliefs splintering off there. Just a weird thing to not think too hard about while you get used to being a dwarf woman or a boar or something

The first proper schools of magic I see springing up as people really start to settle down and invent systems of writing and social structures allowing for dedicated scholars are Evocation and Transmutation. Likely founded close enough together in terms of the actual date, but far enough away that nobody can really conclusively sort out the various calendars or lack thereof and be certain which came first. You’ve got raw elemental forces clearly evident as something magical because, again, elementals on the prime material plane are absolutely a thing, someone’s going to try to pin down how they work. Elves are out there routinely having their Doctor Who regenerations, along with the odd druid wildshaping, so, changing things around is equally likely to be stumbled across.

Alchemy begins as a tradition sometime after these, largely born out of a movement of skeptics seeing some of these early evokers and transmuters, trying to recreate what they do, maybe swiping some glances at spellbooks. Potions and recipes for them inherently spread around the world a bit faster than a bunch of nerds filling libraries in budding schools, too.

Next up, Necromancy. If humanity as a whole has people who can manipulate the elements, and make changes to people’s bodies out there, someone’s going to get it into their head to go all Full Metal Alchemist and work out exactly what’s so different about a living creature than a rock or something, and start some pretty depraved experimentation. Probably really focused on poisons and diseases at first, eventually getting some handle on the whole notion of souls and alternate forces that can animate a body, and eventually working up to the real serious game changer that is astral projection, and getting a handle on the whole notion of the outer planes.

One of the first proper divine casters is going to come along real shortly thereafter when some necromancer makes a new friend out there... and probably one of the nastier ones too. Like, when I have a pantheon nailed down and need to have a real proper “this is just the WORST deity who needs to seriously be fought against, probably the first to make contact with humanity.

So now we have this divine class I’m working on, followed shortly by clerics. And evil outsiders possessing people and corpses and generally making things less than great, along with giving the whole school of necromancy kind of a bad name for opening that up.

Tieflings naturally follow, and some more bloodlines of course.

Enchantment is the next school to be founded, because we have all these outsiders around now to give examples of how charms and profane gifts and such work to use as a model.

Illusion follows, kind of a parallel development, again, there’s a lot to learn from studying evil outsiders.

At this point in the history of the world, magic is going to have a pretty bad reputation in general, but hey, fight fire with fire, right?

Next out the gate though is bards and skalds. There’s 5 schools of magic out there in the world, so naturally you’re going to have people trying to pay them all a visit, learn a few handy tricks, pick up a lot of other esoteric knowledge as they go, and tell a good story. This also helps really spread the whole magic notion to any parts of the world who haven’t been paying it much attention.

So, the other schools are going to all spring up in bursts, as new eyes get on the whole magic concept. Abjuration to try and avoid dealing with the dangers of other forms of magic (and consequently, one with very few pure practitioners, nice to know at least a few other spells to know how to counter them). Conjuration largely as a fusion of the theories behind Necromancer and Evocation to see what can be pulled out of these other planes without the nastier baggage. Divination largely as a means of working out what’s up out there, and Psychic magic as a sort of alternate take on the whole thing, building up inner strength against these things, tied to monks culturally.

Other religious practices and paths to power are going to spring up along the way, fuzzier to pin down what crops out when without a full pantheon nailed down or major nations of the world. Shamans are probably about as old as druids, similar mindset involved. Witches probably crop up shortly after learning about some of the more powerful outsiders, with experimentation on how to get in touch with such without all the possession and astral projection and so on, and informed by some of the more naturalistic magic practices.

And while I do like the concept of the world’s first interaction with divine powers being on the grimdark side, I would think the rest of the pantheon would get in touch with people pretty soon after. Plenty of other necromancers to astrally project, learn what else is out there, make contact with other deities and outsiders. Divination is another gateway. Religious traditions that don’t involve spell-granting deities are going to precede all of this, and some practicioners on learning about this class I’m creating are probably going to try going receptive on blind faith, getting in touch with outsiders with similar sensibilities.

Then as we get closer to the present day of course, the trade in magic bards got started is going to get books on at least the basics propagating all over the world beyond these few founding schools so regular ol’ wizards with a full range of spells are now the most common by far, magi pick up enough to pair with swords. Arcanists to really go all turbo-nerd and try to break down theoretical fundamentals underpinning everything. Churches get big and militant enough for paladins, inquisitors, war priests. Anything I’m forgetting here?

Oh, and ironically enough, the creator god I’m calling Brin as a placeholder, despite having the most obvious visible impact on the world from the dawn of time is one of the last to really get a formal church. They don’t need mortal agents to influence things, they don’t have any reason to care what happens with anyone’s souls, and they aren’t based out in the outer planes, Really they’re a bit like Paizo’s Groetus in terms of ”why would anyone pick you to formally worship?”

[nightcoremoon]

I wanna coin a term:

Cismisogyny

the misogyny that cisnormative people utilize is focused on "biological/natal sex" and birth assigned gender, as well as intersex erasure, and is basically just glorified genital supremacy. that people with penises have power over people with vaginas, and therefore people with a uterus are inferior. it's a very particular type of sexism that's a blend of transphobia and misogyny but from a cis lens.

transmisogyny is specifically prejudice against what they deem to be trans women (as they're unaware that "passing" trans women exist), so cismisogyny would be specifically prejudice against what they deem to be cis women (or what they would just say is women), and is a separate notion entirely from the misogyny that misogynist trans men and misogynist but not transphobic cis men (and brainwashed dumb white blonde haired blue eyed bimbo trophy wives for conservative men so think a cookie cutter carbon copy of tomi lahren) frequently feel.

so to clarify:

Misogyny: hating all women

Transmisogyny: hating trans women

Transphobia*: hating trans people in general

(*includes gender binarism and truscum)

Cismisogyny: hating people with vaginas, indeterminate of whether they're trans or not

...

It's a very specific term but it describes a very specific type of sexism, you see. As someone who does not have a vagina, is transgender, and has the benefit of viewing things from an objective standpoint due to autism, it's a very disturbing trend I see in many parts of society. Even here on Tumblr.

I just saw a take that was blaming trans men and dfab nonbinary people for the lack of trans women's voices in trans spaces, and saying that they are silent about it because the silent oppression of trans women benefits them. A very cold take indeed. Trans men and dfab nonbinary people aren't responsible for the transmisogyny. Cis people are. And the reason why is because cis people typically are usually also male supremacists. If what a cis person perceives to be a male tries to "become a female" such as trans women and dmab nonbinary people (because cis people and male supremacists typically are also binarists), that is them rejecting the privilege society awarded us for having the magic Y chromosome that allows humans to be treated with dignity and respect. If what a cis person perceives to be a female tries to "become a male" such as a trans man or a dfab nonbinary person (see my prior parenthical remark), that is them attempting to reject femininity and embrace the superiority of masculinity, which accepts them into their ranks.

So trans men and dfab nonbinary people are typically lauded by many cis male-supremacist people are socially acceptable, especially since many of them seem to be okay with tomboys and women wearing suits and just a general overall sense of women embracing masculinity and rejecting femininity. That's acceptable to a bunch of white christian post-colonials. And of course degenerates would feel it's an "added bonus" to ~get~ to see breasts and vaginas in the locker room because tHaTs sO hOt.

But dmab people who identify as anything but men? Absolutely loathsome, in cis eyes, because femininity is EVIL and BAD and INFERIOR.

Cissexism is of course a definition I've seen, but it seems to be basically a synonym for transphobia. But see, while cismisogyny as I am describing it is indeed rooted in transphobic ideology, it doesn't seem to be in and of itself explicitly transphobic. I'll have to explain that.

Like. All white people are racist. Every person with white skin color benefits from the privilege accompanying it, at the expense of the people who don't. We perform microaggressions that we don't notice all the time. We absorb all of the negativity and racism society forcefeeds us, subliminal propaganda, and it releases itself. Now, a white person could actively fight and campaign for black rights. They could respect black culture and art. They could listen to and understand wu tang clan without ever letting a slur pass their lips. They could date black people who don't find them racist. They could be the least racist person you've ever met. But they would still be at least somewhat racist because that's how human development works. But just because they're not republican or a 4channer, don't laugh at lynching jokes, don't use slurs, don't treat black people as less or inferior, don't literally murder black people, that doesn't mean they aren't racist at all. It just means they're not specifically that kind of overt explicitly violent antiblackness like the kkk. It's a different tier of racism. It's not as severe or as noticeable, but it's still racism.

And it's the same way with cis people. Many cis people are supportive of trans people on the surface. They'll smile and welcome you into their homes and hug you and walk you to the bathroom and respect your name/pronouns and go clothes shopping with you and be the shoulder to cry on when someone attacks them and fight congress for your rights and punch a transphobic asshole in the face. But they still can & do perform transphobic microagressions for no other reason than society instilled those ideals in their heads since birth when they put the M or F on your birth certificate or in slightly rarer cases performed surgery on your infant genitals without parental consent. They can sympathize, they can attempt to empathize, but they will never fully understand. And that's okay. If they try, that's good enough.

Just as there are many tiers of racism there are many tiers of transphobia. Cismisogyny is one such tier that intersects with binarism and standard misogyny. People who aren't typically transphobic could still be cismisogynist. Even I can admit to experience cismisogyny in my life through sexual exploitation. My orientation is bisexual with a strong preference towards cis women, trans men, and dfab nonbinary people. I don't want it to be like that. And it's not like cis men, trans women, and dmab nonbinary people are not attractive to me, because they are (unf chris hemsworth 👌🏻🤤), but due to the social conditioning in my being born and raised a "straight white christian red blooded hoosier man" and the cismisogyny accompanying that, the entitlement complex that manifested side by side with my "nice guy in the friend zone" complex, that I didn't unlearn until after I was already a fully grown adult, that's how my brain be like. I recognize it in myself, and that's how I know that it exists. And it took that ignorant shitty post for me to actually be able to put these thoughts in writing.

I don't blame trans men and dfab nonbinary people for my social isolation and distinct lack of friends who are also trans women. I don't blame this new wave of drag kings and bio queens. I blame cissexism, cisheteropatriarchy, transphobia, transmisogyny, and cismisogyny. I blame the people responsible for the situation of our society. I don't blame my brothers, my siblings, my friends and family. I won't throw them under the bus, just as they didn't throw me under. We're all in this together, and I'm glad that they're having less difficulty than I am in that specific situation. Especially because due to my aforementioned objectivity, I've also noticed all of the hatred and vitriol hurled towards them, especially by dudebro gamer culture. I've seen it. I know it's there.

So I know I'm not really popular online. Very few people know me. My only claim to fame is the "aliens: [slide $40 to nasa] nasa: lmao what aliens" post and even then they don't know the individual URLs of the three of us involved. In fact I'm pretty sure the number of people I'm blacklisted by and blocked by is double my follower count. Even with the bots. Maybe even triple. Things I've said taken out of context have in the past made me look like I'm racist, transmisandrist, a sexual predator, a fucking rape apologist, and worst of all a person who "didn't get a joke" that I ignored heaving pile of religious intolerance that hates jews, muslims, christians, and... everyone else (people who weren't judeochristian didn't seem to care). Certain circlejerks herald me as a king of clowns of a sort (I'd say queen but they were mostly transphobic lmao). So I know that this post will get ignored. Maybe two or three people will like it. Maybe one person will reblog it... like that one crimson lady monarch, or the mildly irked homosexual wyvern, you two know who you are. Maybe nobody will. And looking back it's much more likely for a bunch of dumb uglyass terf cunts taking my sexual preferences bit out of context to make all trans women look like evil sex predators, than any people will see my vocabulary suggestion. But there is a reason why I'll hit post and not delete.

Cismisogynist trans women don't speak for me. Despite the problematic microaggressions my shit tier bad brain development perpetuates, despite what any ignorant cis tries to tell me, despite all of that shit... if you try to talk shit about my family I will obliterate you.

[darkspellmaster]

Some Thoughts Regarding the Disney Princesses and why they are all Strong characters that deserve praise.

Recently was reading an article on the Mary Sue about how Kira Knightly doesn’t let her daughter watch certain Disney films, and sure that’s her right as a parent. However, one thing that I noticed with the article is that the write seemed to be taking a lot of talking points that don’t make any sense as to why certain Disney films are less than others regarding their female leads, and I’m kind of tired of it.

Like, fine, if you don’t like a film because you disagree with the message, or the animation, or you don’t like the voice actress or actor of the character, or you hate the music (but why would you because this is some Broadway level music here), that’s totally fine, that’s on you. It’s your feelings towards a work and that’s cool, I’m not out here to tell you that your reason for disliking something regarding a actual flaw in the script or the acting or the animation isn’t valid.

What’s getting to me as a writer and a creator however is this sense that some of the older princesses and films are being dissed for a variety of flawed reasoning, and that’s what I hope to dispel with this post. I’m not going to change your mind if you’re set on believing in certain things, but I want to clear up some talking points that I think people are, by hearing them over and over again, misinterpreting in regard to the actual films and that people aren’t critically thinking when they view the movie.

Every Disney film has a surface level view and several deeper meanings in regard to the story, and that’s kind of what I want to clear up here. There’s been so much put on the characters in the stories through the princess line that many are now missing the key elements in the actual film that should be taken away with the character and their active, in most cases, approach to things.

So let’s Start with Snow White. Why? Because she’s the oldest character, the one that get’s the least notice by most people, and she is one of my favorites.

So what do people say about her regarding how “Bad” she is as a character:

She’s looking for her prince to come and save her.

She’s doing what her stepmother tells her to do.

She’s unable to save herself and is easily tricked.

She’s easily scared and too weak to do much on her own.

She’s a homemaker rather than a fighter.

She’s basically useless in her own story.

So I want to take each of these point by point and counter them with facts.

First let’s start out with those. Snow is 14  years old, and probably, other than princess Eilonwy, is the youngest princess in the group (though I think Alice is younger than her by two years and Wendy is a year younger), and lost her father not that long ago, as the story opening states. We know that her Stepmother is being cruel to her and treating her badly, but we also know that even in these circumstances she’s hopeful. We see her trying to make her work go faster by singing, and that this is an important point in her character. If you watch it and listen to the story, you’ll notice that the “Whistle While you work” song indicates that singing is clearly something she did a lot of to make it easier for her to deal with the burden that her Stepmother is treating her like crap and forcing her to work as a scullery maid for the castle.

Now that is another important factor. The Queen doesn’t give Snow an easy task, in fact she is given one of the WORST jobs in the entire castle.

From Wikipedia:

The scullery maid reported (through the kitchen maid) to the cook or chef. Along with the junior kitchen-maid, the scullery maid did not eat at the communal servants' dining hall table, but in the kitchen in order to keep an eye on the food that was still cooking.[3]

Duties of the scullery maid included the most physical and demanding tasks in the kitchen[1] such as cleaning and scouring the floor, stoves, sinks, pots, and dishes. After scouring the plates in the scullery, she would leave them on racks to dry. The scullery maid also assisted in cleaning vegetables, plucking fowl, and scaling fish.

The scullery maid provided hot water for the scullery, kitchen tasks, and household. In addition to her other tasks, the scullery maid had to keep the scullery clean by clearing away meat and vegetable garbage, scrubbing work tables, and swilling the floors. The water was carried through a drain outside the house.[6] Scullery maids would rarely have handled fine china, stemware, crystal or plate silver; these are cleaned by housemaids and footmen. Before the advent of central heating systems, scullery maids were required to light the fires on the kitchen stove and supply hot water for tea and washing. She performed these tasks in the morning before the cook came down to the kitchens.[7]

In a household with no between maid, the scullery maid may also have waited on staff in the Servants' hall, although this may have been assigned to another maid or a junior footman. In the days before the indoor water closet she may have been required to empty and clean the servants' chamber pots as well.[8]

So basically Snow White was not only doing the most physically demanding jobs in the kitchen, helping cook and clean, start fires in the kitchen, and probably other task, she also more than likely had to clean the Queen’s bath water, and chamber pots. Yeah this was not fun or enjoyable work.

Later we see Snow dealing with the Huntsman, and her reaction to nearly being killed by him. Some may say she’s being foolish in her actions here, but it does show that while she was scared she also can show mercy, understanding and forgiveness. Something that a lot of characters don’t often show as much anymore in regard to showing strength of character.  And even when she learns the truth, that her own Stepmother is trying to kill her, her first reaction is shock, showing that even though her Stepmother is treating her horribly, she still loves her enough to believe that the woman cares about her and wouldn’t harm her. It’s a total surprise to her that the woman that probably helped raise her until she was 14 would even contemplate this sort of action.

Even when we’re dealing with the Dwarves we see a strong character in her as, yes one could say she’s being motherly. But as –pretty much – a child who is still fairly young (as is her Prince –who goes by three names depending on who you ask: Ferdinand, Florian, or Fredrick) she’s going to imitate what she saw the cook do to get the other servants to come and eat dinner. Yet there is a confidence there that she has which shows that she can be as commanding as some of the newer Princesses, and she’s not a docile girl as she’s willing to enjoy herself even though she’s just been through hell. She doesn’t let the fear of her Stepmother coming for her weigh her down and keeps going even if she knows there’s a chance she may be in danger. On top of that you have her moment with the witch.

A lot of people think that she’s being an idiot here, but it’s in her nature to not judge people by her looks. Again, she’s been working as a maid in the castle, so she’s probably seen a lot of people who are less than good looking. Snow White, while making a mistake here, also shows you shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover, giving the woman a chance to prove herself. If this had been any other old woman, the message there would have been clear as a bell that looks shouldn’t equate if someone was good or wicked, and we know that the Queen herself is beautiful also that the Dwarves are not the most good looking of people in the movie, so the message still comes across.

Lastly we have her moment at the end when she wakes up. Who does she look to first, not the Prince but rather her friends, whom she thinks woke her up from a sleep as they did when they first met, and then she sees the Prince and is happy to see him. Her first notion getting up is the men that protected her and became her hope over the prince but she was still happy to see him moments later. Then, given the Prince clearly knows the sort of person she is, goes about allowing her to say goodbye to her friends one by one, lifting them up for her to again show her compassion and grace and courage. She was literally dead, and now, revived she still goes about making sure her friends know she’s okay and makes sure that they know she cares for them by kissing them on their heads showing that she will remember them and probably will see them again.

So back to the points above.

She’s looking for her prince to come and save her.

Nowhere in the movie does she say she is looking for a prince to come save her. Never once in any song does she even remotely indicate that that is what she wants.

Her first song “The wishing well song” talks about how she is wishing for the one she loves to find her today. Now the implication for most people is that she doesn’t know who the Prince is but in the song the lyrics indicate that she may have met him before (possibly when they were young children).

“I’m wishing, for the one I love, to find me, today. I’m hoping and I’m thinking of the nice things, he’ll say.”

This isn’t saying at all that she wants to be saved or taken away. It’s simply saying at this point that she would like to meet with the person she has feelings for to see her again and say kind things to her. As we know, by this point, the woman that is supposed to be treating her right isn’t treating Snow White very nicely or kindly. So of course she would be hoping to meet with the last person that treated her kindly and hoping to hear nice and sweet words as she’s living in a place where all she probably hears is comments by her own Stepmother that are more than likely insults done to bring her down more so that she loses her beauty.

Later in the story when she is running away as per the request of the huntsman, she never once calls out for help, she does all the running herself. She doesn’t even break down until she’s so lost in the forest that she doesn’t know where she’s at, and can anyone blame her for being freaked out by those trees? And when she does find the home of the “children” her first thought isn’t of the prince, it’s of “How can I make it so that they’ll let me stay so that I can hid from the Queen until I can figure out what to do.”

The only time she thinks at all of the prince is when the Dwarves ask her to tell a story. This is the only time we get her talking about the Prince at all since the beginning of the story. She explains, in the song, that Someday, not now or tomorrow, but someday he’ll find her and take her back to his home where she can be safe away from her Stepmother.

This is actually important if you know anything at all about history regarding kingdoms. When a woman was married into a royal family she became part of that family and thus the royal court of that new kingdom was there to protect her. In this case, Snow is hoping that by going with the Prince (who is not king yet) she can plead her case to his family, the same way she did with the Dwarves, and can seek asylum with them so that the Queen can’t hurt her because then that would be a declaration of war against the other Kingdom.

She is not at all being an idiot here. Hell she didn’t even know the apple was going to put her into a sleeping death and had no idea the prince would come and kiss her. She was planning on staying with the Dwarves for however long it took before she could, probably with their help, find a way to seek refuge in another kingdom, or until the Queen died or whatever, and then come back to her castle where she could rule fairly and not live in fear.

She’s doing what her stepmother tells her to do.

Again she is a Scullery Maid, and not by choice. The Queen places her in this post in hopes that all the work and wearing the rags and such would break her spirit and end up causing her to become ugly. Snow is doing what she can to survive this abuse and neglect from the woman who’s supposed to care for her. Of course she does what she’s told.

We’re seen in older story boards that the Prince at one point was to be held captive with a number of skeletons. It’s not that hard to believe that, given what the Queen says to the Huntsman that she would be more than willing to harm her stepdaughter if for a moment she thought she was falling out of line.

Snow is a survivor, someone who finds a way to overcoming this harsh reality, by doing as told to keep herself alive and using songs to keep herself from falling to despair.

She’s unable to save herself and is easily tricked.

And here is yet another made up bit that so many people like to say regarding Snow White. Okay so firstly, she does save herself. She runs away, as per the Huntsman’s request after she’s told the truth. Yes she’s helped by the animals to find the cottage, but again, she’s never been in these woods so she would have no idea where she’s going. Anyone would take the help in this cases, it’s not weak to ask for help. 

Then she takes initiative when they get to the cottage and insists on cleaning up all day, cooking a meal for the “children” all in the hopes that by doing so she can win them over and stay there till the threat has passed. She’s saving herself by using the skills she gleaned from working as a maid in the castle and putting them to good use. How many other princesses know how to clean up a mess like she does and use it as a means of a diplomatic intervention in order to stay at a place to keep from being killed?

Then, the whole tricked thing. Again, she has worked in the Kitchen of the castle so more than likely she has seen her share of not nice looking people over the time there. This means, again, that she’s trying to not judge a book by it’s cover. She’s trying to look past the whole thing of a hag that is pretty damn scary offering her an apple. Disney, smartly I may add, had it where she only had the one situation rather than the original three times she was tricked in the original story. Snow has no idea that the apple is poisoned, and again, in normal circumstances, one of the things that we as a society have been trying to teach people is to look beyond the appearance of others, so she was doing just that and trusting what she believed to be a kind woman. She doesn’t know that her stepmom can do magic, she didn’t even know she was a witch. Even when she learns this, the dwarves don’t give her examples, and this is also hearsay in regard to Snow who lived with her and probably never saw any of that. So her being tricked wasn’t a moment of weakness, it was a case of her own morality and being kind to others being used against her, which is something we should loath in the Queen.

She’s easily scared and too weak to do much on her own.

Yeah, I’m not buying this one either. Snow’s only moment of showing actual fear was when she was about to be stabbed, and who wouldn’t be scared in that moment, and freaking out in the forest. If you think about that moment she’s not only dealing with the fact that she’s lost in a place she has never been in, with what seems to be monsters attacking her thanks to her own imagination, and she’s just come down from being not only attacked by a man that she trusted to keep her safe.  But also learned that her Stepmother, the woman that let her leave the castle for the first time in years, go have fun, gave her a new dress, and is showing her some kindness for the first time in a long time and possibly to her having a change of heart and may love her again as a daughter, was only faking and wants to have her killed and will stop at nothing to have that done. That is one hell of a thing to process.

So yeah, I would probably be freaking out thinking someone’s gonna come after me too after learning all of this. And no, she’s not too weak to do much on her own. She not only managed to clean a house (with help with animals) but also cook a meal, got seven older men to clean up –something they haven’t done in years, and have a party with them, without anyone helping her do that. She’s a lot smarter than people give her credit for.

She’s a homemaker rather than a fighter.

Not all strong women have to be able to swing a sword. A lot of people seem to think that the only way you can show strength is in wielding a sword, yet one of the strongest members of the Princess line and the one that gets the most praise, defeated the bad guy with a fan and a rocket. Never once having to use the sword she learned to use to stab or cut anyone.

Snow’s strength comes in her diplomatic skills. She uses what she knows (her time as a scullery maid) to give a reason for the Dwarves to allow her to stay. She basically pulled off a trade with them. She’ll use her skills to keep things clean for them, for the fair price of allowing her to stay, and in return they will keep her hiding place quiet and probably listen up for any news of anyone trying to come to harm her.  Making deals is a hard thing to do, and Snow has this skill in spades and it’s something more people need to learn to do. Using kindness to get what you want over threats.

She’s basically useless in her own story.

Again, it’s this false narrative that so many people seem to see. Snow White has more agency in her story than some more modern heroines that are lauded by people. She keeps herself safe by doing as requested by her Stepmother, later when confronted by the truth, she chooses to run and hide till she knows she can find a place that can keep her safe. She uses her skills from her time as a maid to get the okay to stay in a safe house, and then the only time that she at all loses her agency is when she is tricked into eating an apple that she wouldn’t know was poisoned, and also she only does so because she believes that you shouldn’t distrust people based on her appearance.

So how do people think this young woman is a bad role model for younger girls? Because she cooks and cleans? Well everyone should know how to do that so that they can survive. You shouldn’t live in a mess just to say “Yo I’m a strong independent person.”

Next up Cinderella....