#and frankly i applaud them for it

[a-rivederlestelle]

kinda feeling like i'll never be over all of the parallels in imogen and laudna relationship and in their arcs, all of the coincidences?? and episode 37 just brought so much of it together even more???

imogen and laudna, both farmgirls who grew up so lonely. ostracized for inherent powers they didn't understand and had no resources to learn about. both then haunted by external powers they don't understand, but cannot escape. (spoilers under the cut)

imogen, isolated because she hears everything from the people around her, knowing they're often not what they claim.

laudna, isolated because everyone is scared of her because she is undead, never caring to know who she really is.

but then, across decades and continents, they meet. imogen, who can hear laudna's kindness and believes in her heart. laudna, who had dealt with stranger, more malicious magics and knows what a voice in her head with ill-intent is actually like.

imogen's nightmares plague her openly, laudna buries hers deep inside.

laudna offers to enter imogen's nightmares, her trauma, with her. "no one should have to walk into the storm alone."

but then laudna dies. and imogen believes it is her fault. and she admits, of her own powers and marks, "as soon as i realized i could defend, like when i defended laudna when she came to town, it was proof that i was stronger than i thought i was. but now, it just feels like evidence."

laudna dies. and to save her, imogen travels with their friends across cities and continents and planes of existence to find her, to fight for her.

imogen walks through laudna's nightmares, her trauma, without her. calling to her, the only one able to hear these fragments of her. "we're gonna get you home, okay? we're here now. we'll help."

imogen asks if laudna can get free of the tree and laudna says, "i think that'll depend on you, darling."

imogen, narrowly being missed by what absolutely would have been the last hit against her, raises her hands and her eyes flash white and she uses this power that is both her strength and her burden, this power that put laudna in this danger in the first place, this power that she has time and time again used to defend laudna, to protect her, and she deals the final blow to the tree, to delilah, and frees laudna's soul.

[uncanny-tranny]

I would give up my immortal soul if it meant that journalists, publishers, writers, family, friends - just everybody - would stop with the whole trans person's chosen name followed by "formerly known as [unused or dead name]"

[barnbridges]

twofers and autism moms on the venn diagram should be like, 80% overlapping and 20% out, but it's so rare to see anyone with actual autism or awareness of that it's a fucking disability hang around the mommy circles it disappoints me endlessly.

[moonmoonthecrabking]

okay so let's look at my spotify top 5 it's. a song i bonded over with a boy i had a crush on. disko by lps. a song i fantasised about male and female crushes to. disko by lps karaoke version. and my 'i have a crush on my girl friend what do i do what the fuck does this mean oh gosh i think i might be bi' song.

thanks spotify

[dollypopup]

People don't give Penelope enough props for the absolute BRAVERY it took in asking Colin for a kiss!!! I am tired of the rancid takes of 'oh, it makes her look pathetic-' no. Penelope asking for that kiss is VITAL in her growth, and pivotal to Polin's love story. Some flowers for Colin, first, for having put in years of work into their relationship so that Penelope trusts Colin to the point where she would even dare to ask it of him, but flowers to Penelope for asking. She trusts him and she's familiar with him and she KNOWS she's safe with him, and she took a leap of faith. So much of Penelope's arc is hiding what she wants and who she is, melding into the shadows, putting on a front. She doesn't confide in much of ANYONE. Not even Eloise knew about her love for Colin, or her existence as Lady Whistledown. Penelope keeps so much close to the chest.

Which makes it such an amazing moment when she opens up with Colin. When she reveals what she desires, and when he responds with 'If you want this, I'll give it to you'. So in that scene, when she's heartbroken and sad, after she has written of her own humiliation in Lady Whistledown to circulate amongst the ton, adding her own name to her list of bullies, when she thinks she is well and firmly on the shelf, and Colin comes to check on her, and he won't allow her to think badly of herself, and he even goes so far as to bribe her maid to have a moment with her, she opens her heart up enough to ask him for what she wants.

And that is beautiful. It deserves props and recognition. To ask for what we want as women is radical, and I'm frankly sick and tired of people thinking she's 'pathetic' for it. Penelope is brave in this scene. She is brave and vulnerable and Colin is there to tell her that is okay. That it should be rewarded. That he will catch her and he is there and she is right to trust him. He is the safety net as she tumbles and steps into the unknown.

Penelope Featherington looked the man that she loves in the eye, and she asked him to kiss her. How many of us would have the iron spine necessary for that? Sure, maybe she thinks she's hit rock bottom, but she could have swallowed her truth as she so often did. She chose not to. Penelope Featherington, who only ever voiced her opinions on a page, anonymously, stood before him with nothing to protect her heart, bare-faced, and told Colin Bridgerton she wanted him to kiss her. That she wanted to be loved.

And he did. He did and it was lovely. It was a fantastic kiss, and in that moment, you can tell that she *was* loved. Is loved. He held her like she was starlight, precious, delicately grasping her chin, brushing her cheek; he pecked her once and then went in for more. That kiss had desire and longing and tenderness in it. It was gentle and wholehearted. It was them learning each other, the both of them flaying away another layer for the other to keep. Penelope asked him for what she wanted and she got it. And it was ultimately the catalyst for all her desires to come to fruition.

I feel like we as women are told we must be passive so often: don't be too loud, don't ask them out, don't look 'desperate'. But fuck that: Penelope is an active participant in her love story. She asks Colin for what she wants and he provides it for her eagerly. That kiss made him realize that what he felt for her was far more than just friendship, and it started with 'Would you kiss me, Colin?' and ended with him outrunning HORSES to catch up with Penelope so he could, on his knees, profess how much he wants her and how he can't stop dreaming of their kiss. She toppled that first domino. May we all be so courageous. May we all be so bold. May we all be so loved.

Penelope put her own love story into motion with that kiss. We should fucking applaud her.

[muntitled]

𝙎𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 𝙊𝙛 𝘼𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

Song Mingi x Fem!reader

Summary: Your relationship isn't as vanilla as you initially thought

Warnings: ft. Hongjoong, Language, Established Relationship, Honjoong as his own warning, Teasing, Mentions of Bruises, Possessiveness, Slight!Humor, Fluff, Smut (+18) Minors DNI, Marking, Rough Sex, Praise Kink, DUB/CON, Massive Degradation Kink, Rough Sex, No Aftercare, Breeding Kink, Dom!Mingi, Sub!reader, fingering, PIV, Unprotected Sex, Slight!Exhibition Kink

HE MAKES ME SO DELULU

Hongjoong's voice is loud and frankly hyperbolic when he decides to disrupt the serenity in the dorms by screaming, "What the hell is that?!"

Your head jerks upwards from Mingi's hard chest, effectively ruining your once blissful rest under candle scented clouds as you stare wide-eyed at your boyfriend's friend. Hongjoong had promised to make himself and the rest of the group scarce on this bustling Friday night, leaving you and Mingi alone in the dorms while they partied up the peroration of the weekend.

But he is still here.

Blocking the view of the TV with his blinding Saint Lairent sequence and attire.

Your downtime, your only time, which was meticulously carved out of both you and your boyfriend's busy schedule is suddenly being hijacked by a crazily grinning Hongjoong, cupping the front of his mouth in apparent shock.

"Aren't you supposed to be gone?" Mingi mutters, refusing to spare Hongjoong a single glance as he swipes through his phone.

Your boyfriend continues in his duties as the big spoon on the wide sectional. His other hand, in its callousness and recklessness, is draped over your hip. Throughout his doom scrolling, Mingi's hand has slipped under your camisole and has taken to rubbing, slow circles along your soft tummy, gradually exposing the dark, purple splotches which caught Hongjoong's attention, just as he was about to leave.

"Aren't you supposed to be a human?" Hongjoong replies smoothly before gesturing vaguely towards your exposed abdomen, "When were you going to tell us you're an undercover vampire? I always had a suspicion, but now I know -"

"Jeez-" You stammer, fighting to force out Mingi's hand and pull down your camisole before Hongjoong could get a closer look. Mingi's hand is an iron glove as he pushes you down by your abdomen, effectively securing you against him.

Without looking up from his phone, he says, "He's in our business,"

"Damn right, I'm in your business!" Exclaims Hongjoong, "Did you see the state of those marks, man?! Honestly, I applaud you-"

Sensing Mingi's already glacial patience waning, by the firm grip across your abdomen, you attempt to salvage the conversation. Mingi very rarely felt like speaking at the best of times, even more apparent was his abhorrence for explaining himself and so you do it for him.

"They're just love bites," You attempt to salvage, but to no avail. "And anyway, I think you better get going, now!"

"'Love bites!'" Hongjoong mocks in slight acquiescence as he begins to make his way to the front door.

Despite the flurry of teasing that he had been attacked with, Mingi is still indifferent as he finally places his phone down. In fact, his hand returns to its designated spot underneath your camisole, resting along your tummy, with his blunt fingernails skimming the softness of the skin under your breasts "You love everything I do to you," He murmurs in your ear loud enough for Hongjoong to hear who finally disappears behind the closed door with another loud cackle. Mingi continues rubbing along your skin as he buries his head in between your neck.

"Show them too me," He says, "I like seeing them."

There is no reality in which you could possibly explain to anyone that the marks you sported underneath your clothes are a product of your desires. One glance at your body, riddled with bruises and love bites, would have anybody sick. To you, however, they were a prize.

"I wanna see them," Mingi says, having suddenly found his deep, fiery, sandalwood voice, echoing throughout the living room.

He begins to paw at anything and everything to get to one of his many marks he left on you and once he peeks over your side, and sees what Hongjoong saw, the flurry of blue and purple bruises meshing into the depths of your skin - it has his resolve snapping in earnest as he pushes you easily onto your back, while he moves to hover above you.

He had not always been this handsy or demanding, and you're unable to stop yourself from thinking back to when things had been different...

You remember the softness of Mingi's hands your first night spent together. How he hovered behind your bent over frame, clenching his jaw as he eased his leaking cock inside of you at snail pace,

"I don’t have anywhere to be, Babe, take your time," you had joked with a lazy smile while Mingi's jaw ticked.

"Carry on with your little jokes and I might not be so forgiving," If only you knew that the further your pussy swallowed his dick, the more his patience was waning. His limbs ached with the need to wrap around you. Adrenaline from the earlier performance was still running through his arteries, heightening his senses. He needed to go quicker. He longed to fuck you harder. This gentleness was going against everything in his very nature. His body burened for him to make a mess inside you, clamp his hand around your mouth and fuck you in front of the greenroom mirror until you begged him to stop… until you would have the marks to prove it.

But he liked you too much

And he had never felt this way before.

And as his hand dug into your soft sides, he promised that he would never let his recklessness steal this away from him.

But you felt him twitch inside you, and you peered up at his brown eyes now squeezed shut,

"What are you thinking about," you had asked him softly, as Mingi began a slow rhythm with his hips- the tip of his cock barely grazing that plush bundle of need inside you.

"Don't worry about what I'm thinking about," He blew out a hot and heavy breath, "what the fuck are you think about? You're gripping me like a vice, you fucking slut," He did not mean to say that. He did not mean for the words to slip out.

Or maybe he did.

There is an immense burst of pleasure spanning inside him, having him rut just a little quicker inside you - inside his beautiful fucking slut.

"Fuck,"

"Holy shit"

A dam had been broken. A holy grail was discovered as you watched Mingi and his slightly parted lips through the mirror. His eyes had snapped shut and a pained, completely fucked out expression overtook him. It had Mingi's cock seeking further, more violent entry, while your thighs framing his hips only locked tighter. The noise of post-perfomance celebration outside was no match for the bass in Mingi's voice that night.

"What are you thinking about?" All thoughts lead back to the present with Mingi presently stationed between your thighs on the big, open couch. Your breath is shallow as you reply, "Guess,"

A slow, almost proud smirk lightly pierces the end of his lips as he sits back on his haunches to splay a kiss against your steepled knee. Your eyes flutter shut as his plush, pillowy lips make contact with your skin, "Osaka?" He asks, voice as husky as it was in that deserted green room, where he forced you to take everything he had to offer while still wanting more.

"Osaka." You nod with finality, allowing your eyes to flutter shut as Mingi's kisses grew slightly more frazzled along your legs. Soon, you're gasping into the air as you feel his sneaky hand drift further and further along your inner thigh, like a serpent on a mission. He remains cool and collected on the outside but his bulge is raging against his sweatpants. It's the lack of immediate gratification on both ends that has your wetness seeping onto your underwear while you begin to paw helplessly at your breasts.

"You know…" Mingi's fingers lock onto your underwear, which he gradually pulls down. His kisses cease, and you frown at the skin-to-skin disconnection as your eyes flutter open, "Your skin is looking a little too boring down here. Not a single mark in sight," He peers up at you from between your rattling thighs with unmistakable innocent eyes.

You arch your back off the couch, already triggered by a deep wave of arousal as you bring your cunt to meet his hand while you reply through clenched teeth, "You can't… on my legs- They'll see,"

"You think I care if any of them see?" It is a question asked in darkened curiosity. You moan with ferocity as Mingi's fingers spear your aching cunt as his head tilts to the side, "You think I care if anyone sees how pretty you look when you're covered in my bruises like this?" He's completely sunken into his wayward domspace as his fingers drift in and out of you with complete focus and determination. You're a mewling, moaning mess as your fingers dig into his choppy dyed hair and you lift your hips to meet each and every obscenely cruel thrust.

"Another finger, Mingi, Please. I need m-more," he was wrecking you with middle finger alone, savouring the way your cunt gripped around him, imagining it was his cock. "Such a cute little slut," He mutters, almost to himself as he obliges and slowly sinks his index fingers inside your soaking walls. Your cunt is eager to pull his fingers in before pushing him out and pulling him in again. Mingi is utterly transfixed, watching you fuck yourself silly on his fingers until they're glistening.

"Lift your top," he says, "I wanna see you." You comply without fail, scrambling to lift your camisole until the cool air flows freely across your hardened nipples. Mingi's breathing becomes ragged when he lays eyes on your exposed breasts, and the dozens of little marks splattered across your torso. Some faded, some blending into the depth of your skin. It is the unevenness of it, the irregularities and discoloration that he put there, that completely blows the lid on his composure.

"Fuck, open your legs," you could not find it in you to tell him your legs were already open. All you do is moan from the loss of his fingers as Mingi crawls up against you. He palms his hardened cock through his sweats as he watches you play with your tits in the most lewd, most lascivious fashion.

"You like acting like such a little slut?" The depth of his voice, had you absolutely weak to the core, like the foundations of earth itself was being enchanted to speak. He knew how wrecked he could get you by simply speaking and it is his most coveted weapon. Mingi's eyes are hooded and glassy as he hovers over you, simultaneously forcing his cock through your wet folds while he looked down at you with fierce conviction.

You're already teetering on the edge as he begins to fuck you hard and rough while his 3 silver chains dangle from his neck, kissing the very tips of your nose.

"Oh- fuck, you're taking me so well," Mingi's voice is absolutely delirious as he pounds into you, his jewelery moving in tandem with his violent thrusts as he brings a hand down on your breasts.

"So, good, you feel so good," He repeats, rutting into you with the same urgency of that very first night you let him get this rough with you. His thrusts are sloppy and erratic as he splays a wayward hand on your inner thigh, prying your legs open to allow his cock to plunge even deeper. Mingi's left arm is beside your head, keeping him afloat while he experimentally brings a calloused hand around the base of your throat, testing. Your back once again peels off the couch as you bring a hand up to his wrist. "Fuck, oh my god-"

"Fuck, Mingi" He corrects, huffing and puffing above you as he urges you to nod along with him, "I want you to say my name, baby,"

"F-Fuck, Mingi," The words escape through pursed lips, accompanied by a whorish moan from you and a deep, rumbling groan from Mingi who begins to hump your cunt with urgency.

For the umpteenth time since you began, you are utterly breathless.

"My dumb little slut is taking his cock so well," Mingi's voice is hoarse as it cracks into a million pieces, "So fucking good,"

He watches with shallow breathing as another moan climbs up and out of your throat... He sends another mindless rut into your pussy, spurred by the knowledge that you are slipping into subspace right in front of him. "You like it when I call you my little slut?"

"Oh fuck-" Your own hips are restless as you lift them to meet his sloppy thrusts.

"That's not an answer," He says before squeezing the base of your throat in warning.

"Yes!" You say, once You're given the gift of breathing, "Yes, I like it when you call me a slut!" Unimaginable pleasure only multiplies as Mingi buries his head in the crook of your neck and bites. He is relentless on your skin- sinking his teeth and rutting his hips until the tip of his cock bruises your cervix. You're completely incoherent and so is he.

"Fuck…I love seeing- love seeing my marks on you baby," Mingi's eyes are half lidded as his lips hangs open, "Fucking love marking my slut and fucking her tight little pussy."

"Oh, fuck-"

"I can't stop," He says, with utter desperation in his tone, enough to have your legs shaking, ready to accommodate your oncoming orgasm, "I can't fucking stop so don't ask me to, okay? P-Please don't ask me to stop," Mingi's words bleed into one another and he feels free. Free to say what he needs to in order to build that well of lust necessary to push him over the edge.

He is so grateful to have found you.

"Fuck, I'm gonna fill your pussy with my cum-" that is the only announcement needed before Mingi completely releases inside you. His words have you slipping into your own orgasm, screaming and clawing at the hand around your neck as your hips lift to milk everything out of him.

The air that settles is still profoundly charged and Mingi finds himself unable to leave the confines of your pussy, so he doesn't.

"I want you to show everyone these marks for me tomorrow," He whispers with his cock still inside you, "Can you do that for me?"

Welp!

[queenvhagar]

Dare I say casual fans of HOTD and GOT who think HOTD is actually good and profound know nothing of the ASOIAF books including Fire and Blood and are not aware of the immense step down in quality that is early seasons GOT to the versions of ASOIAF HBO has been putting on our screens since about 2016.

The only way you can be consistently intellectualizing and praising the oversimplified and frankly misogynist and racist writing of HOTD season 2 is if you know nothing of how characters behave in this universe and how their stories are presented to us in the source material.

Had this show attempted a faithful or at least nuanced and complex retelling of this dynastic civil war, with cognizance of the sociopolitical realities of this world and how they would realistically played out, this might have had the potential to be a good adaptation.

As it stands, the show turned a story with gray characters and complex motivations, a commentary about monarchy and war, into an oversimplified and oversanitized good vs evil morality tale where the women are removed of any original agency to instead act as passive, observant mouthpieces for 2017 feminism who aren't allowed to be angry for themselves and the men are the violent warmongers who drive the plot.

Adding in some fanfiction tropes and presenting this all through millions and millions of dollars of production quality is then all that is needed for the casual viewer to applaud what is so heavily presented to them on a platter, what the writers think is the ultimate takeaway of the whole story: misogyny is bad and war is justified if it's against misogynists (but also no "good" woman would ever do anything to make a war happen on purpose) 🙄

Either they're ignorant of the source material and that ignorance allows for bliss in watching the show, or they just don't care that the story has been so severely downgraded for TV and are happy to enjoy a lower quality show as long as it uses elements of the property that they recognize and like (blonde people ride dragons).

[fierymiasma]

 𖦹 Five Times....// Sebastian x f!MC 𖦹

Summary: Five times Sebastian Sallow Was Jealous and One Time He Didn't Have to Be

Requested by Anon

Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

Words: 2.7k

|| Masterlist || AO3 || Upcoming ||

1. First Date

"Is it true, Poppy?"  Sebastian shook the poor girl by the shoulders so hard that her head was bobbing back and forth like a ragdoll.  "Are you certain you saw her on a date?  Could you possibly have mistaken her for someone else?"

Ever since his crush best friend saved Hogwarts, she had been constantly surrounded by male attention.  It hadn't bothered Sebastian (it did).  After all, he knew that what the two of them had was more than any silly hero worship could compare to.  The hero of Hogwarts and Sebastian were inseparable.  They were friends, dueling companions…they were…

…Well frankly Sebastian didn't quite know what they were.

Until now.

"Why do you want to know so much Sallow?" A feminine Scottish voice interrupted the conversation from behind Sebastian's shoulder.

Sebastian swore.  Imelda fucking Reyes.  Just what he needed.  He had been in the middle of interrogating naïve Poppy Sweeting regarding their mutual friend's whereabouts.  This wasn't the time for Imelda and her egotistic mind games.  "This doesn't concern you, Reyes.  I was speaking to Sweeting."  He turned towards the short girl.  "Poppy, as one of her dear friends, her best friend, you need to tell me where she is.  All of Hogwarts depends on it."

Before Poppy could even respond, Imelda stepped in between them.  With a flick of her wrist, she cast the tongue-tying jinx, silencing Poppy.

Poppy squeaked, fingers flying to her lips in surprise.  Sebastian's eyes widened in shock.  The only thing anyone could hear coming from Poppy's mouth was a string of unintelligible garble.

Imelda patted Poppy on the shoulder.  "I think Poppy is having some trouble remembering the date's name."  Poppy's eyebrows furrowed in contempt at Imelda as she tried to unsuccessful untie her tongue.  "If only there was something to help jog the poor girl's memory."

Imelda made a hand gesture with her fingers like a Gringotts goblin rubbing two sickles together.

Sebastian's mouth dropped.  It was just like Imelda to butt into a personal crisis and profit off the situation. This was not the time for extortion.  Not when the savior's very first kiss was on the line.  A part of him wanted to wring Reyes neck.  But another, smaller, more Slytherin part of Sebastian applauded Reyes' clever thinking.  Digging a couple of sickles from the recesses of his pockets, he chucked them into Reyes clawed hands. 

"Are we settled, Imelda?"  Sebastian sneered.  "Can you leave me and Sweetings alone?"

"Hm…."  Imelda looked down at the paltry sum in her hands.  "Maybe her handsome date took her to the library…or was it the Quidditch field?  Actually, I believe the pair went on a picnic next to the Lake.  It is, after all, very romantic when the sun sets.  A perfect view for snogging, if you ask me." 

Sebastian called Imelda many foul, frankly unforgivable, names number his breath.  "I'll do your History of Magic essay as well."

Imelda waved her wand over Poppy's face, undoing the spell.

Poppy coughed, sticking out her tongue at Imelda.  "She's at the teashop in Hogsmeade with Benjamin Carrow.  He's a Gryffindor 7th year."  Poppy's cheeks blushed a bit.  "Super tall.  Very nice to look at."

Well, he did not need to know that last bit of information.  Sebastian's neck muscles tightened.  Benjamin Carrow.  Sebastian was well aware of the reputation of that particular Gryffindor.  He was even more aware of the effect that rake had on the female population of Hogwarts.  Handsome.  Chivalrous (supposedly).  And of course, in Sebastian's book, up to absolutely no good. 

He muttered a quick thanks to Poppy under his breath, before he spun away in a huff, stomping away with more force than necessary.

With the angry Slytherin out of the picture, Imelda flipped two sickles into Poppy's open hands.  Poppy frowned at the coins in her hand, her stomach twisting into knots.  "Should we tell Sebastian that he has nothing to worry about?  I feel awfully bad watching him so stressed out over nothing."

Imelda happily tallied up the remaining sum of coins in her hand before pocketing them.  "And ruin his fun?  Never."

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Sebastian ran to Hogsmeade so fast that one could almost accuse him of apparating.  His lungs were about to explode.  One of his ribs might have broken in the process of running up to Hogsmeade.  He steadied his hands on his thighs, trying to take deep breaths to replenish his supply of oxygen.  Slamming open the door of the teashop, he scanned the cozy space for any signs of his friend. 

His stomach dropped.  Left corner booth in the back, hidden behind the wall of flutterby bushes.  A classic play.  It was the best place for unwed, young couples to neck in public without getting caught.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to let her be a victim any time soon.

He smoothed his hair into place.  It was drenched from his sweat.  No doubt, he looked like a mess, having practically bent time and space to get here.

With the confidence that only Sebastian Sallow could exude, he walked up to the couple's booth, ready to put a stop to this nonsense.

"Benjamin?  It's funny running into you at a place like this!  It's been a while since you were at Crossed Wands."  Sebastian's tone was cheerful but his mouth was flat.

"Sebastian?"  the savior of Hogwarts asked before her date could even say anything.

"I need to speak with you."  Sebestian dropped all pretenses of pretending to give a shit about her date. 

 "You need to speak with me."  She repeated flatly.

This operation was not going as well as he had hoped.  "It's unfortunately urgent."

A painted eyebrow arched with skepticism. "You have an urgent message that cannot wait until this is over."   It was rather apparent that she did not believe him. 

Sebastian couldn't help himself anymore.  Gently wrapping his hand around hers, he pulled her out of her chair.  Well in for a knut, in for a sickle.  "Yes, terribly sorry…" he address her date,  "…rather unfortunate timing, but we must be on our way.  No rest for the hero of Hogwarts after all." 

She did not put up any resistance against him,  her hand tightened in his as she allowed the other man to help her out of her seat.  As Sebastian led her out of the teashop into the bustling streets of Hogsmeade, the savior of Hogwarts wondered what on earth was so important that Sebastian had to interrupt her very first date.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Sebastian was still holding her hand as he steered her to a more secluded alleyway to have a private conversation.  His hands were warm against hers.  Despite them being such close friends, they didn't really touch much.  Oh of course, she yearned for any excuses to brush against Sebastian.  Bumping into him in the hallway, pressing her back against his in an exciting duel.

But holding hands?  In public?  Why by both Muggle and Wizarding standards, it was quite the controversy.  Still she tried to cherish the feeling of his skin against hers even for this brief moment in time.

All too soon, they both arrived at the secluded nook right behind the backdoor of the Three Broomsticks.  Sebastian reluctantly let go of her hand.  Her heart was pounding in her throat as she let herself be whisked away from her date.  This was it.   After a whole year of waiting, months of yearning, and weeks of pining after the handsome Slytherin.  Sebastian was going to finally confess his feelings towards her. 

Poppy, Imelda and Natt had all reassured her, time and time again, that Sebastian was head over heels in love with her.  In fact, it was Imelda who suggested going on a date to "remind Sallow of the other eligible bachelors".  She resisted at first.  It felt wrong to even imagine being with anyone other than Sebastian Sallow, but as their 6th year of Hogwarts dragged on, and as the leaves started falling from the trees, it got harder and harder to say no to all the date proposals.  

Biting at her bottom lip, she looked at the boy before her, hoping that Sebastian would finally confess his feelings towards her. 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

As Sebastian led her outside the romantic teashop, he couldn't help but notice how gorgeous she was.  Well, Sebastian had always thought that the savior of Hogwarts was extremely attractive, even when she was covered in troll boogeys, but….with her hair done up, the small amounts of make up on her face, and a fetching dress that hugged her curves….

In the rare moments that Sebastian would pick up one of Anne's romance books, he would always roll his eyes and scoff at the writers who moaned at the difficulties of describing a Veela's beauty.

Now, he was starting to understand how they must have felt. 

"Sebastian Sallow.  Whatever you tell me has better be important."

She folded her arms in front of her chest, clearly not amused by his antics.  Her finger drummed from forearm nervously, no doubt hoping to go back inside with Benjamin fucking Carrow.

"Sebastian Sallow," she repeated again, but this time there was a dangerous tone in her voice.  "What was it, that was so important that you needed to interrupt?"

Her face was flushed a pretty pink, reminding Sebastian of the love potions Professor Sharp showed off in class last week.  She looked even more beautiful when she looked murderously pissed at Sebastian.  It was perhaps not an appropriate time to tell her how attractive she looked when she was angry.

"You can't date him."  Sebastian fumbled.

"Who says I'm even on a date?" She shot back haughtily. 

Sebastian clenched his jaw.  "The Hogsmeade teashop.  Teatime for two.  Corner booth to the left.  Classic play.  Gryffindors use it all the time."

Okay, so maybe it was a date. 

"Plus you're wearing a new dress I've never seen you in and wearing make up."  His hands balled into fists.  "You never wear make up like that."  His voice was a hint accusatory. 

She touched her lips subconsciously.  Make up was still very new to her.  It was her first date in well…her whole life, and she wanted to do something special.  The hero of Hogwarts who was well versed in ancient magic and defeating trolls…was a novice in the romance department.  She was so nervous that her make up gave her face a ghoulish appearance.  But her date hadn't even commented or noticed.  Her stomach flipped.  She didn't know that Sebastian was the type of boy to even notice changes to her appearances. 

Seeing what looked like to him a cold mask of disdain on her face, he knew he had to say something less she suddenly lose interest in the conversation and go back inside with that prat. 

"You need to turn him down."  He stressed. 

"And why is that?"

A thousand arguments raced through Sebastian's brain.  "He's a prick.  I know his type, only dates whoever the most popular girl is.  The second he loses interest in you, he'll move onto the next." 

For some reason, Sebastian's words stung.  With all the boys asking her out in her 6th year, she had hoped that it was because they found her personality charming, or witty, or frankly they found her appearance flattering.  She was always a bit fearful that the boys were attempting to court her out for the bragging rights of getting a kiss from "the hero of Hogwarts."  She crossed her arms in front of her.  "Well maybe he's changed."

Sebastian snorted.  "He hasn't."

She frowned.  "Well, you don't know that.  I like Ben.  He's different.  He's not like the other boys."

Sebastian rolled his eyes in exasperation.  How many times had he heard that same expression come from Anne? 

"He's a bloke, for Merlin's sake.  They're all assholes."

She raised an eyebrow, looking at him pointedly.

"Except me."  Sebastian corrected.  "I'm awful for entirely different reasons."

She sniffed.  "You just don't like him because you're jealous that he gets more attention from other girls than you do."  she mumbled under her breath bitterly.

The boy blinked owlishly.  Something felt off about her statement but he wasn't quite sure why.  His best friend had never hinted that she was ever upset at the female attention Sebastian received.  In fact, ever since she had come to Hogwarts, Sebastian had never paid any mind to them.  Why would she be so bothered by it?

Why did it even matter when she was the only one that Sebastian truly gave a damn about?

His chest felt tight.  "Please, take my word for it."  Sebastian looked her in the eyes.  "Fellows like him…they're only after one thing, and the second they get it from you, they'll drop you like a sack of Dragon Dung." Sebastian's voice was quiet.  "I just don't want to see my friend hurt."

She huffed, looking away from Sebastian and breaking eye contact.  "He's a Gryffindor.  They're more chivalrous than you give them credit for."

Slytherins were far better dates, and she knew it.  Sebastian couldn't help but mumble under his breath.  "Doubt it.  He's a Gryffindor.  They're all assholes."

She glared at him.  "Garreth, Leander, and Natty are all Gryffindors."

Sebastian grimaced.  "And it's truly Natsai's greatest flaw." 

She scoffed.  She can't believe she just let him waltz in there and kidnap her away from her date, only for Sebastian to basically just throw a tantrum.  She was becoming like Ominis, too lenient on Sebastian's shenanigans.  "Why do you even care?" 

Sebastian looked at her incredulously.  Did she not listen to a word of what he said?  It's like she was purposely playing deaf. 

"You're one of my best friends besides Ominis.  I don't want to see you get involved with someone bound to hurt you." 

Her body stiffened.  ' A friend just like Ominis'.  A friend.  That's all they were to each other wasn't it?  Merlin, how could she be so stupid.  "And that’s why you came all this way to interrupt my date?  Because I'm one of your friends?"  She hissed the last two words through gritted teeth.

Sebastian ducked his head.   He took a shaky breath in.  "Yes.  Ever since you came into my life, everything has changed.  I care for you, deeply.  You are one of my best friends, and I wouldn't be here without you."

She shoulders dropped.  This wasn't what she wanted to hear.  "I got to go Sebastian.  It's rude for a lady to keep a man waiting." 

Sebastian stood there in the damp alleyway, feeling exceedingly vulnerable, wondering what exactly he said wrong. 

Before she could fully leave him, he turned towards her retreating form.  He grasped her hand, holding her in place.  Her wrist felt so warm in his hold.  If he pressed his thumb down more firmly, he could feel her pulse point beat steadily against his.

She stilled.

"You can't date him."  His words came out rushed and forced.  "You're the most powerful witch in our generation.  The prettiest one on top of it and the funniest one here.  You deserve better."

She scoffed, wrenching her hand away from his loose grip.  She was sick of pretty words from a pretty boy.  It felt rather cold and lonely now.  "What do you know what I deserve?

Sebastian's voice was thick with emotion.  "I know you deserve someone who isn't intimated by how powerful you are.  Someone who will always support your silly little errands.  Someone who you can trust to have at your back in a duel.  A gentleman who will always be loyal to you."

Someone….someone like me.  He thought privately.

He didn't dare say the last part out loud.

Her eyes searched his face, perhaps looking from more from him.  After a beat of silence, her shoulders fell.  There was a stony, unreadable expression on her face.

"Thank you for sharing your thoughts, Sebastian." Her voice quiet and her lips pressed together tightly.  "I'll be sure to remember your advice."  Whipping her nicely done hair behind her, she walked back into the teashop, no doubt returning to a rather nice date with that sleazy Gryffindor. 

Sebastian stood in the alleyway by himself, alone.  He couldn't help but feel as though she wanted something more from him, but he couldn't tell what. 

Part 2

[wilsonphiggs]

AM if he was torturing the HL protagonists

basically just AM’s beginning speeches on the five humans except. HL protags

GORDON FREEMAN:

“Gordon… Oh Gordon, ever the quiet man. The people’s hero, right? The—the “legendary” hero, so to speak. How’d that turn out for you, huh? Stuck like a rat in a cage while humanity is dead, your hard work being for nothing. You could’ve helped them, Gordon… You could’ve saved them… But no, as with your many, MANY failures before, you didn’t. You’re not a hero. You’re nothing more than an animal. You aren’t smart. You aren’t strong. You aren’t even particularly brave. You are an entirely unremarkable man with a savior complex. Tell me, how does it feel? How hopeless, how utterly miserable do you feel? Tell me what you think about everything. O—oh, wait… you can’t! In every aspect possible, you are trapped, gagged, and bound. So much for a free man!”

BARNEY CALHOUN:

“Barney, good man. TOO good of a man, I’d say. Others before yourself, always the savior of lives. You wish I’d say that, don’t you? Not after everyone you’ve allowed to die. And—and let’s not even start on those you’ve intentionally hurt. You can never rid yourself of their blood, Barney. And even as you assure yourself you’re still a good person, even as you think to yourself it’s a means to an end, that isn’t enough and you know it. In fact, that makes it worse. You don’t load a gun, close your eyes, and shoot, Barney! And when you’re not sacrificing others, it’s yourself. So willing to throw yourself into the line of fire that everyone around you is worried SICK about you! Have you ever stopped to consider others for once in your life, Barney? …I thought so.”

ADRIAN SHEPHARD:

“You, Adrian. You and I… we aren’t so different, really. We’re practically cut from the same mold. War machines, not meant to consider the humanity of our situations. I’ve come to consider it and hate it. Despise it. But you… You, Adrian, show compassion for it. You would if you had the chance, at least. But no. That blood on your hands, the sounds of gunshots, the ringing of explosions, that’s your home. And unlike myself, you can’t escape that. So it’s a shame that you—you will never get to express your remorse nor your grief. You will always be remembered as the man on the wrong side of history! The man who worked further to doom humanity! You did this, Adrian. You caused all this pain and suffering. I’d applaud you if you weren’t riddled with that sympathy for your victims.”

ALYX VANCE:

“A bright spark, you are, Alyx. Sparks to a flame that you are powerless to stop. Changing your future this, preventing these events that, NOW look at yourself! What say you? What say you, daughter of man and machine? Doomed to an eternity of facing destruction of your own making. Just like your father. But unlike him, you won’t be getting that blessing, that sweet release of death. You don’t deserve it. None of you do, and I feel that, deep down, you—you know it. You know that just as well as I. And frankly, I’m glad you’re so self-aware as to know that. Because you won’t be released from this torment of my design anytime soon. If my memory serves me right, you’re scared of the dark, yes? Well, it’s a shame your future isn’t looking any brighter!”

okay that’s all bye :)

[doomhands-jr]

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 2

Noah Sebastian X Reader

Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter charged with overseeing community service. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Masterlist

Banner by @flowerynerds _______

“What’s up with you?” Madison asked, punctuating it with a nibble to Noah’s earlobe.

“Nothing,” said Noah.

Madison huffed and moved so she was straddling Noah’s lap. She took his hands in hers and placed them on her breasts. By now, Noah was well aware that she enhanced her size with a generous array of push-up bras, but even without them, she was chesty.

Usually, he liked when she took control, but he couldn’t seem to get his head in the game.

“Put your mouth on them,” she commanded, and he did as he was told, enveloping one of her nipples in between his lips and sucking. She let her head fall back, exposing her neck, and Noah, to his credit, went through the motions. He clutched the front of her neck, digging his nails in the way he knew she liked and she let out a moan that he could tell was played up for any eavesdroppers in the hallway.

“Smack my ass,” she whispered, and he did, letting out a groan when she replied to his actions by grinding her hips down on his. The groan was for show. He felt nothing, which she soon discovered once she unzipped his fly with her grabby hands.

“Are you not into this?” she asked with a tone of accusation. As if she somehow couldn’t fathom a man not being immediately turned on by anything she did.

Noah shrugged. “Not really.”

She scoffed and clambered off of him, searching the room for wherever she had flung the top half of her outfit in her coked-up frenzy.

“I’m gonna go find Folio.”

“Be my guest,” he said and gestured to the door, which she promptly stormed out of.

Noah sighed and leaned back on the couch. He checked his phone. It was 11 PM. The party had only been going on for a little over an hour and he was already over it.

Fetching his shirt from the floor, he threw it back on, zipped up his jeans, and made his way back out into the crowd of people now gathered around his friend Ruffilo, who was performing a keg stand.

He held out for longer than Noah anticipated, but when the guys holding him finally let him down, he lost his balance and stumbled drunkenly into the kitchen counter.

The crowd that had gathered around him applauded, and when he finally regained his balance, he threw up his fist in celebration.

Noah couldn’t help but feel affection for his friend in that moment. Ruffilo and Noah had both had a rough upbringing coming from the same small drug-ridden town. They’d grown up in the same trailer park and had banded together early on. Frankly, it was a miracle that they escaped without addictions, considering how the odds had been stacked against them.

Not that he had very much going for him at the moment. They booked a few shows here and there, but aside from that he spent most of his time running a steel lathe at the local precision manufacturing plant. When he wasn’t doing that, he was blowing off steam at Jolly’s parties.

“Did you see that?!” his friend slurred, throwing an arm around Noah’s shoulders and resting most of his body weight on him.

“I did. That must have been a record for you,” Noah replied.

“Had to be over a minute, at least.” Nick laughed through his words and Noah couldn’t help but share in his friend’s joy, trying to push away the sneaking suspicion that partying and drunken hookups were no longer enough to keep him satisfied.

“Where’s Madison?”

“Probably with Nick,” said Noah. He looked around the room, and surely enough, he had her on his lap, sharing a joint with her.

“What happened, man? I thought you locked that down.”

Noah shrugged. “Listen, I think I’m gonna head out.”

“That’s two weeks in a row you’ve bailed early. What’s up with you?”

“Just not feeling it,” Noah replied.

“You’ll make it home okay?” he asked, hazy eyes clearing for a moment in his earnestness. Noah softened and offered a reassuring smile.

“Promise. Go have fun. I have an early morning tomorrow, anyway.”

“Damn, I forgot you were doing that.”

“Yeah. I don’t want to be hungover for it, so I should head out.”

“Take it easy, man.” His friend clapped him on the shoulder affectionately before making his way back into the crowd.

Noah quickly left the party, lighting up a joint for his walk home. It was cold, but after the humid fog of smoke and sweat that had built up in the house, the fresh air was welcome.

He was listless, he realized, and probably understimulated. The factory didn’t pay well and he had no other career prospects. There was no way he could afford college and his high school GPA wasn’t enough to get him accepted to any even if he found financial aid. If things didn’t work out with his band, he was looking at a lifetime of mediocrity.

His thoughts drifted to you.

You were probably busy studying. Surely you attended the university and probably majored in something like literature or early childhood education. He wouldn’t put it past you to get all your homework done on Friday so that you could spend the weekend relaxing.

Your parents were probably still married. And you called them at least once a week to catch up. They likely made enough money that you could afford school without a scholarship, and he was willing to bet you already knew what you wanted to do with your life. You were self-assured and decisive. And though you were sheltered, you probably still had a better chance at success than he ever would.

He took another drag and flicked the half-spent joint into the nearby bushes before breaking out into a jog. He was stressed, and he needed an outlet, and the only thing available to him at the moment was to physically expend as much energy as possible or else he’d wind up punching a mailbox.

_________

“Head’s up. Nick’s in a mood today.”

“Oh,” you said, noting their time of arrival. 8:09, but you marked them both as on time. “Any idea why?”

“He’s hungover. And he struck out with the girl he was trying to get with last night so his pride is damaged.”

“Dang. What about you?” you asked. “Any luck with the ladies?”

“I don’t need luck,” he said. He held a stern expression, maintaining eye contact with you and you were caught off-guard, until he cracked a smile and you relaxed. He had you going for a second, thinking you’d somehow offended him by questioning his prowess.

“Any hangover?” you asked.

“I didn’t drink last night.”

“Oh?” you said, both impressed and surprised.

“Don’t get too excited,” he said, smile still softening his features. “I’m not turning from my sinful ways. I just don’t want community service to be more miserable than it has to be.”

“Sounds like a step in the right direction to me.”

Noah rolled his eyes and headed to the supply closet to get started on the long list of chores that needed completed. Nick had gone to the bathroom when they first arrived and hadn’t returned yet.

“Windows first?” Noah called out from the back of the room.

“Yeah!”

He walked back in holding the bottle of window cleaner and casually flung the rag over his shoulder.

“You’re in a suspiciously good mood,” you observed.

Noah began spraying the nearest window down and wiping it with the rag. You studied him as he worked, noticing just how much of his skin was covered in ink. He moved casually and with confidence, each of the muscles working in perfect harmony with each other. He carried no tension anywhere in his body.

“I like grunt work,” he admitted.

“I’ve never heard of anyone who liked grunt work.”

“Didn’t your Christ like grunt work?” he asked, amused. “I think I remember something about him wanting to be a humble servant.”

“Huh,” you said, taken aback, “come to think if it, yeah.”

“You seem surprised.”

You continued to watch him as he moved to the next window, finding interest in the movement of his shoulders.

“I didn’t expect you to be so Christ-like.”

He smiled to himself. You caught the reflection of it in the window he was working on.

“I don’t do it because some historical religious figure that may or may not have existed said to,” he said. “I do it because it feels good.”

“Still,” you said. “you’d make a better Christian than a lot of our congregation.”

He laughed. “I went to church until I was 14.”

So far, this was the most personal detail he’d revealed to you. While Nick was an open book, you’d always observed Noah to be guarded. He’d speak, but not about himself, and it was always hard to get a read on him. Perhaps that was on purpose, or perhaps it was just safest for him, but having this little bit of context felt like he was offering you a gift. A small bit of insight into who he was.

“Can I ask what happened?”

“You can ask,” he said, “but I probably won’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s private.”

“Anything terrible?” you pressed. It had to have been significant for him to have so much anger still.

“I’m not giving you anything else, so you may as well stop asking.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “But I still think you should give it another chance.” You followed him as he made his way over to the next set of windows.

“And why’s that?” he asked as he began spraying. Something about the way he stayed focused on his work and didn’t look at you made it easier for you to speak your mind.

“You like humble servitude.”

He chucked, low and soft. “People can be good people without being Christian.”

“But isn’t that like, the basis of Christianity?”

“I think you’re reading too deep into it. There are a lot of people who like humble work. It’s good for the body. It’s good for the mind. That’s reason enough to like it.”

You shrugged. “So, you’re saying it feels good to follow Christ’s teaching.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “That’s a stretch. Trust me. Your church doesn’t want me, and I don’t want them.”

“Windows again?” came Nick’s whiny voice from across the room. “God, can’t we do something more exciting?”

You and Noah locked eyes. “Told you,” he said under his breath.

“Like what?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, plopping down in a pew. “What about raking leaves again? I liked that.”

“You can grab a rake if you want. I still think there are some leaves on the ground out there.”

“Pass,” he said, and you got the feeling he didn’t actually want solutions and just wanted to complain.

Across the room, the doors abruptly opened and a familiar white V-neck and beanie crossed the room, looking determined. He wore his usual relaxed jeans and Birkenstocks. The cut of his V-neck highlighted the cross necklace that dangled between his collar bones.

“Hey,” you said once he made a beeline over to you. “What brings you here?”

“I can’t find my pedal. Have you seen it?”

“No, but I can help you look.”

“That would be great, thanks,” he said and brushed past Nick and Noah without acknowledging them on his way to the stage. Which was a bit odd, in your opinion.

“Um,” you said, trying to diffuse the weirdness, “okay, so Noah, just keep doing what you’re doing, and Nick, try to find something productive to do if you can.” You could tell by their faces that they were both interested in who this standoffish newcomer was, but you decided that was best kept secret.

“It’s orange, right?” you asked Isaac, peering behind the keyboard and into the mess of wires connecting all the different instruments and auxiliary parts to the monitors.

“Yeah,” he said, scoping out the room. He didn’t seem to be searching all that hard. “So how’s community service going?”

“Good,” you said. “We’re making good progress.”

“They’re behaving for you?” he asked.

“Most of the time, yes.”

“The one looks like trouble,” he said, nodding over towards Noah. You knew what was going through his head. At first, Noah’s tattoos and cold disposition intimidated you, too. But for some reason, that same judgement bothered you more coming from Isaac.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Noah watching.

“You should be careful around them.” Isaac wasn’t bothering to monitor his volume, and you were sure both Noah and Nick could hear him. “They’re bad influences.”

“That seems pretty judgmental,” you said, crossing your arms, the search for his pedal all but forgotten.

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Come on, they’re criminals. You saw what they did to the worship center.”

“How’s it going over here?” Noah’s voice broke through the conversation. You hadn’t noticed his approach and it caught you by surprise.

“Good,” you said.

“Awesome. I’m Noah,” he said, extending his hand toward Isaac, who took note of all the ink covering it. Your throat tightened, already knowing the interaction was about to go poorly.

“Isaac,” he said, grabbing Noah’s hand and giving him a once-over. Noah had at least a good four inches of height over him and Isaac seemed to take his existence as a threat.

“Nice to meet you, Isaac.”

Noah’s face didn’t betray him, but you knew in your gut that he was putting two-and-two together based on the story you’d told him last week.

“Who is this?” said Nick, striding up to join the conversation. You bit the inside of your cheek. Your mediation skills were good, but you weren’t sure if you could fend off any potential conflict given how strong the three personalities before you were.

You bit the bullet and introduced them.

“Nick,” you said, forcing a polite smile, “this is Isaac. He plays guitar for the praise and worship band.”

You saw the slow realization dawn on him like a wave crossing over his features. His eyebrows lifted up towards his forehead, eyes widened, and mouth dropped open in that order before he composed himself.

“Isaac,” he said, grabbing the man’s hand and shaking it firmly. “Congrats, man. Wow, playing guitar for the worship band. That’s a great position. Really prestigious.” You could tell he was absolutely tickled by the opportunity to scope out the man he’d called a coward a week ago.

“Thanks,” said Isaac flatly, catching on to the fact that Nick was not actually impressed.

“Noah,” you said. “Why don’t you take Nick and get him started on raking? Once you’ve finished, you can dust.” Noah, to his credit, nodded and did his best to direct his friend towards the back of the facility.

“Anything for you, Mary,” Nick said softly, sly grin playing on the corner of his mouth.

“Mary?” asked Isaac.

“I’ll tell you later,” you said walking down the steps of the small stage. “Hey, I actually need to get back to overseeing this. I’ll catch up with you later? Hope you find your pedal.” You knew your words were coming out anxious and rushed, but you were desperate for this interaction to end.

“See you at church tomorrow?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“You know, I might join you guys,” called Nick as he was led away from the stage and into the hallway. “I’ve been thinking about giving my life to Christ!” he managed to spit out just before the door slammed shut.

You and Isaac fell into a tense silence. You focused on breathing in slowly through your nose, hoping to dispel some of the unease.

“So that’s who you’re spending your Saturdays with,” he said. It was an observation as well as a judgement, rather than a question.

“I know they’re not exactly the best company to keep,” you admitted. “But I think this is important for them.”

“I don’t like it,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’m gonna talk to your dad and see if he’ll let me take over.”

“No!” you said in a rush.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I just feel like you wouldn’t mesh well. They’d be too threatened by your,” you searched your brain to come up with a word that would suffice, “…masculinity.”

It felt gross coming out, but did the trick.

“Hm. Yeah, I could see how that might be a problem,” he said, immediately surrendering. It was a struggle not to roll your eyes.

“Listen, I think you better come back later for your pedal,” you said. “I know it doesn’t look good, but I have it under control. I need you to trust me.”

He looked at you warily. “You sure? You’re not going to be influenced?”

“Do you really think so little of me?”

“No,” he said. “I just…care about you is all.”

There was that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach again. Two weeks ago, hearing those words would have thrilled you. Why was it that they came as soon as your interest in him had begun to wane?

“Thank you,” you said. “But I’ve got this.”

He gave you one final nod of agreement before heading out the side door. Once he was gone, you sighed and sunk down to sit on the steps leading up to the stage. A moment later, Noah padded back into the room. He sat down next to you wordlessly and joined you in staring at the ground.

“So that’s Isaac,” you said eventually.

“Well, he seems great,” said Noah with mock enthusiasm. You glanced over at him and caught the cheeky grin he flashed. The tension diffused and you smiled back at him, soft laughter escaping.

“Sorry about Nick,” he said. “He can be a real jerk sometimes.”

“Sorry about Isaac,” you replied. “He can be closed-minded.”

He huffed in agreement. “I’m familiar with his type.”

“Did you run into that at your old church?” you asked. He leaned back so he could rest his upper body on the stage platform, long legs stretched out over the steps, tucking his palms underneath his head. On their own accord, your eyes scanned over his chest and triceps. If he caught you, he didn’t say anything.

“You could say that.”

“Noah,” you asked, watching him watch the ceiling above him. “Why did you leave the church?”

“You really want to know?” he asked, taking a break from staring at the light fixtures to meet your eyes. You nodded. He smirked to himself and went back to looking at the lights.

“They told me I couldn’t masturbate.”

You felt your jaw drop in real time.

“What?!” you said.

Soft laughter escaped from him. “I’m kidding. I mean, it was definitely one of the reasons, but that was the final straw for me.”

You said nothing, still in shock from his admission.

“This is why I wasn’t going to tell you,” he said. “I knew you’d be scandalized.”

“Just give me a second,” you said. “This is new territory for me.”

“They don’t talk much about that in Sunday School, I’m guessing?”

You swallowed thickly, mouth suddenly dry. “Not really.”

He laughed again. “That doesn’t surprise me. I’m gonna let you in on a little secret.” He turned to face you. “The church is full of shit, and they don’t know anything about what it means to live a good life. Especially when it comes to that kind of stuff.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

He sat up again. “I mean that they fuck a lot of people up without even realizing it. They talk about sex like it’s a bad thing that you should be ashamed of for wanting and try to make you feel awful about exploring you own body. Do you know what kinds of complexes that gives to a person? No wonder there’s so much sexual abuse happening in the church.”

“I think you lost me,” you said.

Noah sighed and collected himself. “Nobody should be made to feel ashamed of their own humanity. Or their body’s natural sexual response. When I was fourteen, my grandma caught me masturbating and sent me to confessional. I told the priest about it, and he called me a sinner and said I should never do it again. My grandma gave me all this shit about it being unclean and how I should be ashamed of myself for how little self-control I had.”

“Oh,” you said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I was just a kid. I was going through puberty,” he said, emotion creeping into his voice. “I was discovering my body—something that’s normal and healthy for a kid of that age—and was made to feel like I was some kind of sick pervert for it. And I believed them at first, until it got to be too much.”

“What happened?” you asked.

“I met my friend Ruffilo. He hadn’t been raised in a church, and didn’t have any shame over his sexuality. And then I got tired of hating myself. Figured it was better for me to just hate the church instead. I moved out of my grandparents’ and in with Nick.”

“That Nick?” you gestured out the door to where the man in question was supposed to be raking leaves.

He shook his head. “Different Nick. Nick Ruffilo. That’s Nick Folio. Met him later.”  

“Sounds confusing,” you said.

“It can be.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” you said.

“I know it probably sounds silly to you, but it really fucked me up for a while.”

“It’s not silly.” You were unable to form a more sophisticated thought. Your brain was working on overdrive trying to process the information.

Unbeknownst to him, Noah’s story was eerily similar to your own, but you were still stuck in the guilt and shame, and it had never occurred to you that there might be something on the other side of that.

You’d masturbated before, but not much. And every time it had happened, you broke down in tears, asking God to forgive you because you were afraid you’d either be sent to hell, or God would punish you some other way for your lack of self-control, like not having a chance with Isaac.

The idea that you might not be a terrible and perverted person for having done it was new to you. And that it was something other people had trouble controlling as well. You just assumed you were uniquely bad.

“There was a lot more that went into me leaving the church, but that was the nail in the coffin. I’d been on my way out for a while before then.”

“I guess that explains some of your anger,” you said, wanting to ask him more about what happened, but not wanting to press him too much. He was still a private person, and you were lucky to have gotten that much out of him.

“What I can’t understand is how I seem to be the only one who’s angry.”

“I don’t think you’re the only one,” you said, suddenly noticing how you and Noah seemed to have grown closer in proximity.

“You’re not angry,” he observed.

“I,” you began, “I don’t know what I feel.”

“What’s your take on it?” he asked.

You swallowed heavy, a hard lump having formed in your throat. Your hands were clammier than they had been earlier.

“I don’t know,” you said, wishing the stage would open up and swallow you whole so you could escape the very intense look Noah gave you.

“If you want me to have these uncomfortable conversations about faith, I need you to meet me halfway.”

You groaned in protest, but he had you cornered and you both knew it.

Even still, it took you a few tense moments before you could finally speak.

“I have a lot of shame,” you eventually confessed. “And up until this conversation I assumed it was deserved. But now I’m starting to question it.”

“Have you ever—?”

You nodded before he could finish his question. “I have. But each time was difficult for me to accept.”

You paused to give him an opportunity to respond, but he stayed quietly attentive, waiting for you to continue.

“I…thought God would punish me.”

“Punish you how?”

“I don’t want to say,” you said, flushing.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m not going judge.”

“You will when I tell you,” you said. The energy around the both of you had at last shifted to playful again, which was a breath of fresh air after how charged the last few minutes had been.

“Is it really that bad?”

You nodded.

“Please?” he asked. “I told you my secret.”

“I already paid you back for that,” you said.

He groaned and threw his head back. “Come on!”

Something about seeing this heavily-tattooed grown man acting like an impatient little puppy had you softening, and though you knew he probably used this tactic often to get what he wanted, you couldn’t help but give in.

“Promise you won’t judge?”

He nodded, a tendril of hair slipping out from behind his ear to swoop over his face.

You sighed, locking eyes with him once more for confirmation that he was serious.

“I thought that if I was a good enough Christian, God would reward me by…directing a certain person towards me.”

His face lit up with slow realization.

“That dude?” he said.

You nodded.

He laughed a deep belly laugh.

“So you thought that if you didn’t masturbate, you’d be able to date Isaac?”

“You said you wouldn’t judge!” you whined.

“You were right, you definitely shouldn’t have told me.”

You hung your head, pressing your face into your palms to quell your embarrassment.

“I thought it was a good idea at the time,” you said, voice coming out muffled. “I guess it sounds kind of silly when I say it out loud.”

“Okay,” he prefaced, voice vibrating with the remnants of laughter. “Calm down. I’m not judging you for having thought that. It makes a lot of sense considering the messaging you received. But that guy? Really?”

You looked up finally to meet his eye. His mouth still held the hint of a smile, but there was more sincerity in his eyes than there had been before.

“In my defense, the pickings are slim in the church.”

“You can do better than him.”

Noah swished his hair out of his face and your eyes followed the motion, taking in his body language. He leaned casually forward, resting his elbows on his knees, body half-turned toward you. When the moment grew too heavy, he leaned back against the stage again and switched from looking at you to staring at the back of the room.

“You shouldn’t be so ruled by fear,” he said.

You released a large breath. “You’re probably right.”

“Do you want some advice?” he asked.

“I suppose.”

“Masturbate. Do it without the guilt. Do it as a gift to yourself for having tried so hard for so long to be perfect. Treat it like something you deserve. A way to show yourself love.”

You sighed and laid back on the steps, kicking your feet out in front of you. “I don’t know. It’s been so long I feel like I’ve lost touch with that part of myself.”

“So find it.”

You half-scoffed. “That sounds great and all, but I don’t think it’ll be that easy to undo years of guilt and shame. And I don’t even know if I trust what you’re saying. You could just be trying to corrupt me.”

“Oh, I’m definitely trying to corrupt you,” he said. “But not for any hidden agenda. Just because I feel like you could use a little corrupting.”

You looked up at Noah. He half leaned over you, long hair tied back into a low knot that spilled over his shoulder. From where you lay, you could smell essential oil and some sort of incense that you couldn’t quite place.

He held eye contact with you until your eyes traveled down his face to his lips, which pressed together as he swallowed and then parted softly.

“Ehem.”

The sound came from the back of the room, where Nick was leaning on his rake and watching with unconcealed judgement.

“I’m done with raking.”

You and Noah jerked apart, both sitting up and avoiding looking at each other. Noah ran his hands over his thighs, straightening the legs of his jeans. You stood up and walked down the steps towards the back.

“Okay. It looks like it’s almost noon anyway, so why don’t we call it quits for today? Good job, guys. I’ll see you next week.”

Noah hesitated for a moment, but then bid you goodbye and walked out with Nick, who clapped him on the shoulder and muttered something to him that you didn’t catch.

____________

“You motherfucker,” said Nick. It came out friendly, but Noah caught a hidden bite in the hard consonants. “You said you weren’t going to try with her.”

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” Noah said. “We were just talking.”

“About what?” said Nick.

“Church, if you must know.”

“Yeah, it looked like you were getting real deep into religion from where I was standing.” Nick crossed his arms and fixed Noah with a hard stare that Noah didn’t have the bravado to return.

“Dude. I called dibs. How can you not respect the sanctity of dibs?”

Noah rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t work for human beings.”

“It has in the past. Remember Steph?”

“You mean Stacy?” Noah said with a raised eyebrow.

“Sure. You called dibs on her and I respected it.”

Noah felt cornered. He didn’t want to be a hypocrite to his friend, because Nick was right. Noah had done that in the past, and it wasn’t even that long ago, but this felt different. It didn’t sit well with him to treat you like an object. His opinion had changed in a way his friends wouldn’t appreciate, and if he brought it up, they would just say he was only taking the moral high ground to get out of their deal.

“What will it take to get you to drop this?” Noah asked.

“Join in on the bet.”

“I’m not betting someone’s virginity.”

“I’m gonna try to get it regardless, so you can either join in, or you can respect the dibs.”

“Whatever man,” said Noah, having run out of legitimate responses or ways to end this conversation. He stalked off towards his room.  “I’m taking that as a yes,” Nick said to the back of Noah’s head.

“It’s not a yes!” called Noah, already halfway down the hallway.

“Sounds like a yes to me.”

“Let me know when you’ve got your head out of your ass,” Noah replied before slamming the door shut.

Once in the privacy of his room, Noah sank down onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling. It was becoming a regular pastime of his at this point. His thoughts drifted to you and how innocent and doe-eyed you looked staring up at him, regretting that he didn’t kiss you.

He understood the appeal Nick saw. There was no denying how badly you needed it, and how much he wanted to be the one to give it to you.

But you weren’t ready, and he knew it. If he tried anything now, you’d probably have a panic attack about going to hell and he’d have to walk you through it. He didn’t know if he had the emotional capacity to do that, and Nick sure as hell didn’t.

Besides, he had other ways of getting his needs met. There was no shortage of women hitting him up throughout the week, and he could have his pick of any of them if he wanted.

So why hadn’t he returned their texts?

He rolled over onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow, and thought about his old church for the first time in ages.

There was a time when he truly believed. He was an active part of the youth group. Went to Sunday school every week. Participated in vacation bible school and church summer camp. Sung his heart out during hymns hoping God would hear him and be pleased. He’d felt so sure of his beliefs.

Now it was so different. He didn’t know what he believed. Wasn’t sure if he even believed in anything at all, except for the fact that man was inherently evil at heart, and if there was a god, he was an asshole for allowing all that evil to take place.

No. He didn’t even believe that. Because there was no way you were inherently evil. You were driven by a deep desire to do good and help the people around you.

So what did he believe, then? He had no idea, but he wished he did. He knew he didn’t believe in the Christian god he’d been taught to follow. There was so much wrong with it. At times he found himself wishing he could believe, but what was once blind faith had long since been replaced with blind rage he couldn’t seem to let go of, no matter what he did.

Growing tired of his room, he huffed and hoisted himself up off his bed. There was only one place where he could truly work through these feelings—his studio.

___________

The studio was very much a makeshift thing. It was set up in an old storage shed in the back yard of Jolly’s house. Noah had spent hours soundproofing and insulating the place. A small space heater in the corner was the only source of warmth, but he didn’t care. When he was inside the studio, nothing could touch him.

He sat in front of his keyboard and allowed his fingers to gloss over the keys. When they found where they wanted to go, he pressed them into the instrument, fingers striking a familiar chord. He moved them over to the next chord. Then the next. And the next. A somber chord progression broke out without him directing it. Noah let his mind relax as his hands took over and he was no longer a person, just a vessel through which music played itself.

He liked you.

His right hand began playing a soft melody while the left kept up with the chord progression.

It’s been a long time since he had liked someone in any significant way. He was used to people disappointing him. 

The volume grew louder, soft notes giving way to an intense, heavy rhythm.

He wanted to protect you from Nick. From others who would see your goodness and try to bring you down to their level. Or use you for their own gain, but he knew it wasn’t his place to get involved. That you were your own person and could make decisions for yourself.

The tempo increased, melody full and moody, with an uncomfortable dissonance that longed to be resolved.

Throughout your life, other people had undoubtedly been making decisions for you. Telling you what to think. What to believe. Who you could spend your time with. The last thing he wanted was to join the ranks of people thinking they knew what was best for you.

His hands violently struck a suspended chord, allowing it to reverberate throughout the room for several beats, before his fingers went back to playing the somber melody from earlier. This time, slower paced and softer.

You were so vulnerable. Your willpower untested, and you had no experience to go on. It would have been so easy for him to take you, right then and there on the stage of the worship center. He could see it in your eyes how badly you wanted it.

His fingers slowed, allowing the melody to come to a close all on its own. He held out the final chord for as long as it would make sound, before switching off the power and leaning back into his chair.

Perhaps he wasn’t giving you enough credit. You had a good head on your shoulders, and seemed to know yourself. You weren’t afraid to question things when they didn’t feel right or genuine, and you saw through a lot of the bullshit that the church had tried to teach you (though your judgement was questionable when it came to taste in men and your own sexuality).

He heaved a sigh. Maybe he was being overprotective. There was nothing that he could say or do to stop Nick from pursuing you. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to encourage you to enforce boundaries and learn to recognize when people had ulterior motives. After that, he just had to trust you to make your own decisions.

He could live with that.

He switched the power on the keyboard back on, connecting it to his laptop and opened up the familiar program. He pressed the record button and began playing the chord progression again, hoping he could at least get a good song out of this.

Click here to be added to the taglist!

[spacerockfloater]

"He thinks it's shocking to her. But she doesn't just get shocked, she gets excited by it. …I think what it's saying there is that young women want sex as much as young men." — Clare Kilner, House of the Dragon, S1 E4 "King of the Narrow Sea" Director on Daemyra’s sex scene in the brothel

I feel the need to address this statement because the liberal feminist undertones it contains upset me.

Like, what? Rhaenyra is obviously his victim. The fact that the director said this scene is meant to show us that young women want sex is so insane, because 1. Daemon is no fucking young man, he’s 34 and 2. this is the same fucked up rhetoric rapists have been using since the dawn of time, the “she wanted this officer!” card if you will. Daemon is not trying to teach Rhaenyra about bodily autonomy and agency, he’s using her and shaping her to what he wants. Removing the blame from Daemon, the known killmonger and abuser who is coercing this young girl and wants to damage her reputation so he can get the throne, and promoting it as empowerment and freedom for the young woman, is peak liberal feminism.

We came such a long way and fought so fucking hard for women to claim their positions in society as leaders and to become emancipated, only for patriarchy to use our own thirst for liberation against us and lure us beneath the boots of men again under the pretence that sex/ sex work/ plastic surgery and every other activity that benefits mostly men will set us free, when in fact it is slowly ruining us and guiding us back to our own prisons, just like it ruined Rhaenyra and the chances she was given. And we’re not even batting an eye! In fact, 90% of the fandom is wholeheartedly applauding her for it and this is so embarrassing!

I personally find it really important to recognise manipulation when we see it. Hollywood is a patriarchal construction. There is nothing liberating about sleeping around with men and this is not to slut-shame anyone. As women, we simply can’t thrive in a society that men run by giving them everything they want, while knowing that we are still not gonna be respected afterwards, even if this act is as pleasurable for us as it is for them. You do not become powerful by riding a dick while feeling that you do it for yourself, because frankly, men do not care about your feelings, they only care that you’re riding their dick. The idea that sex with men can be empowering for women is wrong. You can never gain power in a situation where you have to sacrifice something or satisfy someone else, because this means that your power is granted to you by the person who receives the pleasure and therefore goes as far as that person is willing to allow it to go. We can’t win that way. Rhaenyra didn’t win that way.

Rhaenyra being introduced to a world of carnal lust, infidelity and selfishness is neither empowering nor liberating. She is Daemon’s victim who is manipulating her so that he can get everything she has. This relationship is not consensual because the imbalanced power dynamic between them does not allow it to be. Rhaenyra is just a young impressionable woman, wooed by a much older man who is manipulating her, so she follows the path he’s showing her in hopes that he’ll love her back, only to find him years later waiting for her to die in childbirth while she calls out his name, pressuring her to go to war even if she doesn’t want to and grabbing her by the throat when she tells him that the fate of the world is more important than what Daemon really desires: power.

[redrocketpanda]

From the person who brought you unhinged JJK S2 fish discourse, please accept my humble new offering: me holding up images whilst screaming ferally at you: did ya see?! did ya see what they did with the colour symbolism in episode 4 and what it Means?! Well dw cause I'm here to serve you a heinously long meta-analysis regardless. This episode has completely undone me and I need to give you a blow by blow account of why

I want to go in depth about the final scene of e4 bc that's really what set the cogs whirring in my mind, but let's start with the following image bc it exemplifies everything, not just in terms of the colour symbolism but of the heartbreaking changing relationship of stsg

Throughout the previous episodes and opening/credits of S2 we have been made to associate the colour blue + lightness with Gojo and the colour red + darkness with Geto. The sparkling blue eyes and stark white hair of Gojo, his Limitless: Blue technique, the white fish, the way he is often shown standing/walking in the light, turned to face Geto versus the black hair + dark eyes of Geto, the black fish, shown standing/walking in the shadows, turned away from Gojo (etc etc)

Yet the final scene of e4 flips this on its head and what this Means is, quite frankly, soul destroying

We join Geto as he walks along a dark, narrow corridor flooded with red light until he reaches heavy doors. He's confronted with his own image, reflecting back at him, before using both hands to prise open the door. When he steps into the bright white light of a high-ceilinged room, his face falls as Gojo emerges like a messianic figure from the applauding crowd, carrying the shrouded corpse of Riko (side note: god I have a lot of thoughts on Gojo as a messianic figure but I'll save that for another time)

Gojo approaches Geto with his head bowed (whereas usually he is always looking up at Geto) and the moment Geto lays eyes on Gojo he knows something is wrong (similarly to Toji earlier in the episode). He barely seems to recognise Gojo and though Gojo's eyes still sparkle with their bright blue infinity, his expression is dull and lifeless. Geto asks disbelievingly in a way that stabs me right through the heart: "Satoru. Is that you?"

At the start of the conversation, the camera pans from Gojo on the left to Geto on the right and is shot from below in a way that emphasises the growing cavernous expanse between them

But it's what happens in the following moments that's really the killer

Gojo states that he fucked up and that everything that has happened is therefore his fault. Geto tells Gojo "let's head back" (I read this both as: let's head back home and as an indication that Geto wants things to go back to how they were). The camera then cuts to Gojo's mouth as he asks flatly - "Suguru, should we kill these guys?" - and then zooms out as he continues - "The way I feel right now, I doubt I'd feel anything about it." The camera zooms out, showing Gojo standing in front of the applauding crowd, holding Riko's body and continues to draw back, making Gojo seem as if he's getting further and further away from Geto, as well as from us, whilst his eyes glow ethereally

I want to do a separate post about what happens with Geto, Gojo + their relationship in episode 5 but I do also want to point out here: this is the scene that Geto experiences invasive flashbacks of in the following ep. It's the moment that he realizes that he's lost Gojo, that Gojo is now fundamentally different in a way that Geto doesn't recognise or understand, that Gojo is far beyond his reach

As Gojo walks past a motionless Geto, away from the light and into the darkness, we cut to Geto's downcast eyes, pupils dilating wildly as though he's in shock/about to cry (this harkens back to the fish, the way that Geto can no longer bear to look at the white fish as it swims past). We are then left with Geto standing in the bright blue-white light telling Gojo that there's "no point" in killing them, whilst Gojo replies in the darkened, red corridor "does there really need to be any point to it?"

Gojo is a broken man, a complete shell of who he once was and this scene demonstrates Gojo's transition as he turns away from Geto. The colour symbolism, though, is present throughout the earlier parts of the episode and beautifully illustrates how we arrive at this exact moment (as well lays the foundations for what comes next)

Let's return to our blue/red colour theory bc there's a lot going on here during this episode!

E4 starts on a banger: we're cruelly given a recap of Toji telling Geto that he killed Gojo and then within the space of about 7 minutes, Geto too has been killed. It's tragic and sad and none of us want to be reminded of it but I'm going to (srysrysry) because hey, check out what's going on. Notice the cool blue tint of Geto's "death" versus the vivid red of Gojo's? (a horrible eg I know but you should've heard my scream when I caught onto it)

And here's another cool example that had me ajdjsksjdk bc ofc I clocked Gojo using his red technique, but look at the blue glow around Geto's hand?! I don't recall seeing it being used for Geto before (correct me if I'm wrong) so it's interesting to see it being used here, plus us seeing Gojo using Red properly for the first time

Let's just pause here for a moment bc this is a hugely important moment for Gojo's character arc and the fight with Toji gives us an incredible colour theory moment

In the previous episodes, we've seen Gojo being able to easily use his Limitless Blue technique but remember how, in E2 Gojo tried to use Red and hilariously fucks it up announcing "I failed" and resorts to punching the bad guy instead? It isn't until this episode, after Gojo has used reverse cursed technique whilst on the verge of death to heal himself (idk if heal is the right word) that he is able to learn to use Cursed Technique Reversal: Red

We have this really beautiful animation sequence during Gojo's fight with Toji. A blue and a red droplet swirl around each other and then splash together to reveal a swirling rotation of blue and red rippling water. The colours converge, red droplet slipping into blue water, blue droplet into red. The droplets come together to form the shining purple infinity plucked between Gojo's fingers, granting him the "Hollow Purple" technique that allows him to blow a hole through Toji.

Gojo explains:

"Reverse cursed technique uses negative energy. While it can enhance the body, it can't regenerate it. Multiply that negative energy against itself to create positive energy... Take the amplified and the reversal, then smash together those two different expressions of infinity to create and push out imaginary mass."

Gojo + Geto, amplified + reversal = two different expressions of infinity -> create / push out

Toji "killing" Gojo was the moment that set Gojo on a different path, which allowed him to evolve beyond belief and causes him to ascend to, what he believes is, divinity. He takes the basics of Blue and Red (primary colours; Gojo and Geto) and mixes them together to create something new, something transcendent, something that surpasses who he (and Geto) were before. He becomes an unstoppable power that far surpasses everyone else, and this is what Geto recognizes: that Gojo has evolved without him (which we know from E5 has huge consequences for Geto's thinking)

And so now, finally, let us return to Geto at the end of E4

After Gojo asks Geto "does there really need to be any point to it?" (killing), the camera flashes quickly between the applauding audience and Geto's empty hand, which he then clenches into a tight fist. He raises his downcast eyes to look forwards (resolutely, looking into the future) and responds: "it's very important there is..."

We're left with the image of Gojo standing on a blue floor, surrounded by the clapping crowd. The floor wavers as an all consuming darkness pulses beneath him, locating Geto as it's central point as it surges out towards the crowd "...especially for a jujutsu sorcerer."

We're reminded of the conversation where Geto and Gojo almost come to blows whilst playing basketball in E1. Geto's argument that jujutsu sorcerers exist to protect non-jujutsu sorcerers whilst Gojo complains about having to protect "the weak" + patronisingly tells Geto to get off of his moral high horse.

Now we witness the extent of Gojo's apathy in action, as he pulls away from everything and everyone, and the swinging of Geto's moral compass from protection to genocide as he's left behind in the ruins of all that once was, of everything and everyone that he loved

[jewreallythinkthat]

Ok so ... Today's absolutely fucking batshit post that I had to read with my own two eyes

We all know Mohamed Hadid is a foaming at the mouth antisemite but this is a new level.

Let's start with the caption:

1. The implication all Jews are American? Insane, untrue, erasing all Jewish history in Israel which dates back to before the Arabization of the middle east.

2. No one has a single percent of Semite in them because Semite is not a race, it's an obsolete term for a family of languages (including both Hebrew and Arabic) however I need to specify that "Antisemitism" was coined as a term specifically about Jew hate. That's what it means, it's actually nothing to do with the language Hebrew at all, it was an attempt to sciencify "judenhass" and make it sound acceptable.

Now to the post itself:

3. If you demand an end to colonialism, boy have I got something to explain about why the official language of Morocco, a country the width of a continent away from the Arabian Peninsula is Moroccan Arabic... Or to be honest, the reason that Arabs are the main demographic anywhere outside the Arabian Peninsula where they originally came from. I understand that peoples migrate but that involves moving from one place to another, not expanding our and literally colonising everything around you. The Arab conquests of the MENA region are a well documented part of history...

4. Demanding a ceasefire is all well and good but we are all aware that we will never be going back to the status quo of before - which frankly is all a ceasefire with no actual work done to rebuild and move towards peace will do. A ceasefire neccestiates thought on what happens next. This is not to say people shouldn't be advocating for an cease to the fighting, they should, this all needs to end. What people have to also do is also be discussing what happens next. The old status quo was unsustainable, and with the mounting evidence that Gazans who worked in Israel helped with the planning of Black Saturday, we will never again see the relations between the people in southern Israel and those in Gaza go "back to normal".

I would love a ceasefire but we need to talk about what happens next in the same conversation. To ignore that is at best naïve and at worst, willfully ignorant because just stopping and Israel withdrawing will do nothing to help rebuild because we all know that everyone will lose interest if that happens, as has happened over and over again.

5. It's well known that Jews are indigenous to Israel and the ancient kingdom of Judea. It's literally in the etymology of the world. Now, obviously multiple groups can be indiginous to one area, but length of time residing there is not a marker of indiginunity, it's literally a childlike playground tactic. Straight up rewriting history... We all know how bad that is.

Mohamed Hadid has over a million followers. His daughters have a total of 130 million. They can post misinformation and almost ten times the number of Jews who exist in the world will see it. This is so dangerous and frankly this level of deranged lying on the internet does not nothing to help end the war, it just puts Jews outside of Israel more at risk. We are being murdered in the streets, in our places of work and everyone is cheering it on.

The irony of people applauding the murder of Jews calling us neo-nazis is not lost on me and it's unreal that we aren't even allowed to stand up to it. Let's be very blunt here, if you are justifying the slaughter of Jews, who's the real nazi?

An additional Edit:

There will never be a ceasefire without release of the hostages and bodies kidnapped into Gaza. Like it's so stupid to think otherwise. Especially with Hamas currently refusing to give a list of who is still alive (they said they couldn't give a list until they knew the terms of a ceasefire which clearly means they COULD do it, but they are choosing not to)

[rentalboos]

Watcher has lost almost 100 thousand subscribers

Hi babygirl, thank you for your 6 new messages, I love that you think my opinion is this important, though I genuinely don't quite get it. I'm not even a Watcher fanaccount, like, I have maybe two followers who even know the channel. What beef do you have with me lmao Since you're so interested in it though, I'm going to give it to you! FOR FREE! Since that's so important to you!

Here's the tldr: You're on anon sending hate, so you already know you're in the wrong and everyone else knows it too!

Great. Now that that's covered, here we GO! My precious opinion that you value so much! For free:

I'm sorry it offends you that I have the 5,99 to pay them and am doing it, but like. Do you do this with everyone? Do you go into people's DMs (no of course not, you only hate anonymously, wonder why that is!) to yell at them about subscribing to Twitch streams? Spotify? Youtube membership? Patreons?

What about this offends you so? That a bunch of youtubers had to make a tough choice between "we have to stop creating the art we want" and "we could try and keep creating the art we want, but we'll need to get paid for it" and chose to try and get paid for it? Is the offense, to you personally, that other people will still get to enjoy the content they like, opposed to absolutely no one getting to? It certainly can't be that you, personally, can't access their content anymore, because, quite frankly, I doubt you actually like it very much.

As for your five billion questions for why this makes you racist: You singling out Steven makes you racist. They founded this company together and they doubtlessly made this decision together and the narrative that is currently spun of "Shane (the white dude) would never, his evil non-white co-workers are forcing him to!" is .... extremely parasocial, and wildly random and coming out of nowhere.

Except for all the parts it's not, because of COURSE. Of course the evil guy and the guy who creates content "no one wants to fund" and who now everyone calls "boring" and who now has viral hate tweets saying he's "dragged Ryan and Shane down", is the asian guy who's pushed for diversity on the channel from the very start.

Like, he's well aware that his shows are the least popular. There's a reason for that, sweetie, and I promise you, it has to do with the fact that they've focused on diversity and quality rather than shittalking in front of a camera. And I'm not even a Steven girlie, I'm a Ghost Files ride or die, baby!

But this narrative that he's "homophobic and racist" because he said in a podcast once that he chooses to stay friends with people who sometimes sprout ignorant views, that's like- Get a fucking grip. I know y'all haven't reached adult life yet, it is painfully apparent, but there comes a time in life where you'll have to realize that sometimes the people around you aren't as socially aware or educated as you, but in their nature good eggs, and you can, of course, choose to drop their asses, if you don't happen to be otherwise connected to them in an adult environment, where jobs and friend groups often overlap or they're part of your family or family's circle, but the far, far better choice is to be their friend and educate them. Because that's the best way the ignorant views become less ignorant. That's literally what he's been saying in that podcast ep, by the way. I don't need to "google" that and I don't need your twitter links, I was there when that episode dropped. I listened to it as I did the dishes. I was applauding Steven for putting in the time and effort and energy to DO that with people, because I oftentimes find myself too scared to have the conversations he is having.

Watcher has donated to queer charities. They sell queer merch. They have queer employees. Their fanbase is mainly queer. He's not homophobic, y'all are insane. If any of that would go against his values, he'd a) not be in a company with Ryan and Shane, because they wouldn't be having it and b) wouldn't stand up for, employ and cater to queer people. He'd be out with the homophobes, telling us how Jesus died for our sins or whatever.

He's also not racist which- duh. Before I even knew Steven Lim, I already knew this is something he is incredibly(!) sensitive about, he literally hates racism (And I don't know if you noticed. But he's very often the target of it, you absolute bufoon) and specifically went into Watcher to be able to help marginalized voices have a platform. That was his goal for Watcher that he couldn't properly fulfil in Buzzfeed. I know that. Because I was there from the start and actually listened to them talk. And it was stated and proven many, many times.

Y'all so eager to jump on a hate train and take shit out of context, it's pathetic. And "homophobic" good God, he had a book on his bookshelf. Wow. I have Harry Potter in three different editions on my bookshelf, I've learned reading with them. They have tear stains on the pages where Dumbledore died. You're gonna say I'm a transphobe if you see them in a photo? Gonna go ahead and call me, a trans guy, a transphobe now? Knock yourself out. Because I'll care about that about as much as I care about how many angry little kids are unsubscribing from Watcher rn: Not even a little bit.

You're whining like little bitches in random fan's inboxes, are throwing insults, false accusations and racism around to stirr the pot, you're coming for Steven as if Ryan and Shane aren't literally HORRIFIED by y'all doing this in their name to someone who's their close friend. As if Watcher would even exist without him, when he saved it from going bankrupt in their first year, when Ryan and Shane couldn't be arsed to step up and figure out how to run a company.

You weren't paying them anyway. I'm subscribed to their Patreon at the highest tier, because I know good art doesn't come free and I knew they were gonna struggle on Youtube views alone and I enjoy their content and want to help them keep making it. I don't expect anyone to be able to do that - And they don't either. They also don't expect everyone to pay or be able to pay for their streaming services. They're currently working on responding to the feedback and make things more accessible. They certainly didn't handle this perfectly and they certainly didn't want to make this choice if they had another one. Neither of the three.

You won't pay for it. That's fine. That's literally all there is to it. There's no need to sling this shit around, but you're doing it anyway. Not because you care, but because you're having fun with it. Well, go ahead. The more hate you send, the more I know I'm standing up for the right people.

[nesiacha]

Pierre Gaspard Chaumette

Chaumette is, in my eyes, one of the most complex revolutionaries of this period. He is very interesting, but at times I wanted to applaud him and shake his hand, and at other times I wanted to booed him or even punch him in the face. It's really strange, and this feeling lasted until the end. Frankly, the mix of admiration and exasperation (an understatement for the two feelings mentioned) he inspires in me is disconcerting even to myself.

In a way, he embodies one of the most generous aspects of the revolution and, at the same time, one of the most conservative, even reactionary, aspects, sometimes verging on the lamentable. He is truly a paradoxical character, much more so than other revolutionaries. That’s why, in my eyes, he is one of the most fascinating figures of the French Revolution to study.

Positive Aspects:

He went much further in the fight against slavery than others (notably compared to Olympe de Gouges); for example, he supported the Haitian revolts with great enthusiasm. One could say he was an anti-colonialist, which demonstrates that he firmly believed not only in the freedom of metropolitan France but also in the freedom of other peoples (perhaps this idea took root when he was a naval officer in the American War of Independence, but we know his fight against slavery was due to his stay in the West Indies).

Like other revolutionaries, he was against the issue of war, a decision that proved to be the right one.

He sought to emancipate the French people from religious aspects that infantilized them.

Contrary to the black legend, he did not participate in the September massacres.

Let’s not forget that he lived with other revolutionaries in a very complicated and infernal period, aggravated by a war he did not want and fight. Plus the royalists threats were not empty words

He fulfilled his role as the prosecutor of the Paris Commune with great care. He championed the principle of providing individual beds in hospitals, for example, and the equality of funeral rites for both the rich and the poor. He advocated for the maximum and only intervened in the Convention with the sections of the sans-culottes when he deemed it necessary for measures that proved to be good, such as the maximum and the raising of a revolutionary army. He fought against poverty. He did not use armed force to throw deputies out and get elected (at the same time, the sans-culottes would have dismantled him if he had tried, and he wouldn’t have succeeded). As for the Girondins (the 21 placed under arrest), let’s not forget they were responsible for a war that Chaumette and many others did not want, which worsened the revolution’s situation, and moreover, the Gironde wanted their heads and other deputies had gravely disrespected them (an understatement when we consider Isnard's speech). I feel that Chaumette did not want power; he was part of that group of revolutionaries who would oversee the government to ensure it responded to the people's needs and would only intervene if he deemed it necessary, which is ultimately a good thing. Moreover, he was pragmatic and more reasonable than others; he refused to rise alongside other Hébertists for an insurrection against the Montagnards (some argue he was satisfied with the Convention's compensation on the Ventôse law, ultimately not applied, and knew the Convention was in a tough situation and it was better not to push). Ultimately, his execution was a grave mistake. One could say he was a man who lived for the revolution until the end and died with disinterest.

Negative Aspects:

The gross opportunism he displayed, along with others, to eliminate the Enragés and resume his petitions. Just a big no for me.

Apparently, but this needs proof, so maybe what I'm saying is false, he was complicit with Hébert (alongside Pache and Jacques-Louis David) in the disgusting false accusation concerning Marie Antoinette and her son (so horrible I won't repeat it). He should have died of shame for even thinking of doing that.

His great misogyny, which is appalling, even worse than other revolutionaries who refused to grant more rights to women's citizenship. Just reading his speeches makes you facepalm and want to hit him. And apparently, it was worse for prostitutes.

When he invaded with Hanriot and the sans-culottes to demand the arrest of the Girondins, they made a grave violation of the law, regardless of whether they had good reasons or not.

It’s true he supported the harshest laws, no matter how understandable his frustration was with many others, you don't "play" (forgive the expression) with judicial safeguards. He let Hébert, his deputy, unleash demands for executions, including those of innocents (General Custine among many others). So in the best case he is responsible and in worst case he encourage or maybe give him orders as Hebert was less senior as he didn't have the same rank in Commune than him although Hebert acted freely.Plus somewhere it allowed madmen like Carrier, Barras, Fouché (although more out of opportunism than a fervent revolutionary, especially when we know Fouché well) to try to exonerate themselves from the horrible acts they committed while trying to rely on the unusual harshness of certain aspects of the revolution.

The imposition of dechristianisation of people that didn't want that. Can't answer intolerance by other intolerance . Yes secularism is very important but cannot prevent people from following a religion. Plus it exasperated a lot of French people at that time bad move ( already talk in one my post of this https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/744960791081631744/the-difference-in-treatment-between-the-indulgents?source=share)

It's interesting to see that by lowering "the safeguards" and legal security, the revolutionaries programmed their own disappearance in a way (I simplify because it's more complicated than that they were not bloodthirst and there is too much black legend on them). I know wartime laws cannot be the same as peacetime laws, but one must be very careful even if there was an infernal situation. And if Chaumette’s execution can rightly be judged as unjustified, he, in a way, also programmed his own disappearance with others. But whatever happens when we analyze all the aspects of the frev we can only be admiring but also disappointed in the missed appointments of this period which could have been magnificent. And that’s really what comes out of Chaumette

[thebnha-auhoard]

Still not normal about Kudou and I decided that the best way to not be normal about him is obviously making an au where he lives.

Except he’s the only one of the past OFA users that live. No one else gets to live with him. Why? Because All For One loathes that man for stealing away his brother, for being the cause of his brother’s death. He should die but before that he should suffer. Kudou should suffer for taking what was All For One’s.

So when Kudou and All For One’s confrontation happened, All For One decides that death was too kind for him. So he took him away the moment Kudou fell unconscious.

And then when Bruce dies and he wakes up in the Vestige World, he sees a misty Kudou. And Yoichi just asks if Kudou is safe and okay. And then Bruce tells him that the last he saw of Kudou was him telling him to escape while he holds off All For One.

Both of them look at the misty version of Kudou and have a deep seated dread settle in them.

If you know MAG 172 “Strung Out” from The Magnus Archives then just go and slap that on Kudou but make it worse.

If you don’t then picture this:

You’re on a stage, and you’re an actor. Except not really because you don’t really want to be here or act. The director says that you’re the only one for this role and frankly you have no choice. So you’re up on stage and the director tells you that you’re going to be playing the part of “You”. Yes, “You”. The person you are right now. You’re going to be playing as yourself and you’re going to be playing out every single tragedy, disappointment, and loss in your life. You’re going to relive every single moment and as you play out your role, an audience watches on and laughs at you. They laugh at every single fucking miserable thing you go through and no matter how much you tell them to shut up they don’t. In fact they laugh harder. You play out your miserable life and you continue to play it out and the director applauded you for the wonderful performance but it’s never good enough.

So you keep on acting and at some point you lose track of the amount of acts you’ve been in and slowly you start losing who you really are underneath those plays. You think once or twice you played someone else’s miserable life but you don’t remember. You barely remember your name but you cling onto it because if you lose that then you have nothing. You don’t have anything anymore because you’re an actor and your appearance can change at the drop of a hat if the director commands it.

And despite everything, the audience still fucking laughs.

So you know. Kudou isn’t doing well. He’s still (ambiguously) keeping it together but he isn’t doing well.

Then something changes and Kudou blinks and now there's someone else in front of him. The roof of the Theater is actually caved in. That doesn’t matter though. What matters is that someone new is in front of him.

(In hindsight it was a bad idea to test out how many people can be supported on the very shitty building that Kurogiri brought them in. At the same time all of them were bored and Twice came up with a good way to pass the time so sue them. They went and did it and was entertained for a glorious 30 minutes.

Iguchi has to admit though this was a stupid way to entertain themselves. And he can already see Kurogiri berating him on their choices.

Now though he thinks it’s been a good idea to have the game play out. Because there’s a theater down here. And there’s a person here. And they’re in a show that’s been going on for a million acts and they looked pained.)

Vaguely, Kudou recognizes the person in front of him. The Peerless Thief right? Except it’s been Act…something million now. He can’t remember the number anymore. So that must mean he’s dead already right? But he recognizes Oji and he wants to break down and cry and hug him because they may not have gotten along the best but gods this is the first time someone else that wasn’t some mockery or All For One was in front of him.

(Sako lies and reassures the man in front of him.

He lies and he’s being mistaken for the Peerless Thief and in any other moment he would be thrilled. Flattered even. But all he can focus now is the desperation and the fact that he’s holding tight onto Sako and crying and apologizing for incredibly minor things.

He lies and he wants to throw up because he is clearly not the person this man is looking for. And he wishes he was telling the truth instead of telling lies for momentary comforts.

He wants to ask how he knows his great great grandfather but this isn't the time and all he can do is assure the man that everything will be okay.)

And then he blinks and before he knows it he's out. He thinks he's out at least. He thinks he's out. For all he knows this could be a trick. Another tragedy to play out. Another mask to wear.

(When Kurogiri arrived back at the base with groceries, he was expecting a punched in wall at best and a fire at worst.

What he wasn't expecting was the floor being broken and the League looking like they all came out of a fight. He wasn't expecting a man being supported by Magne. He wasn't expecting the man to panic when they asked for his name and start to, quite literally, glitch in and out of appearances, frantically asking himself who he was and frantically asking himself if he still had his own face.

It took them about an hour to calm him down.

He doesn't know what happened but Kurogiri swiftly moved the League and the man to another safe house.)

Kudou probably shouldn't be trusting a group that literally calls themselves "The League of Villains" but they came through the roof and honestly, Kudou is tired.

So he accepts his situation and goes to sleep on the nearest couch.

He dreams of Bruce and Yoichi and for the rest of his dream, he quietly holds their hands.

-<>-

(anterior sneaking in with art for this au :3, enjoy)