#because that’s untrue black and white thinking and I am the only one who can love this body the way it should have been loved when I was

[harryforvogue]

happy may the fourth LMFAOAOAOOAOAOAOAOAO sorry this is more than a month late and sorry for the horrendously rushed sex scene. i am bad at smut now <3 2.1k

***

Harry looks down at the notecards, his dinner abandoned besides his hands. He flips through a few of the cards while Yasmine slurps obnoxiously on her pasta to get him to scowl at her, but he’s too captivated by his extreme nerd behavior. Honestly, it’s embarrassing for him.

He finally settles on a card and clears his throat. “What is the name of Leia and Han’s child?”

“Oh,” Yasmine mumbles as she swallows. “Um, the hot guy.”

Harry gives her a weird look. “He’s not hot, but sure.”

“I mean, from a certain angle,” she says. “I don’t need to explain the appeal of Adam Driver to you, nerd.”

“Er, okay. What’s his name?”

“Kyle.”

Harry stares at her for a second before he puts the note cards down and scrubs his face with his hands. “No, his name is not Kyle!”

“I know it’s not! It’s Kylo. But I always think it’s Kyle so my brain goes to Kylo next because I know everyone has weird ass names in Star Wars.”

“Don’t say Kyle next time! That’ll be a deduction!”

“Stop yelling at me!”

“I can tell you didn’t study my notes!”

“Your nerd notes? Yeah I didn't! I had better things to do!”

Harry pulls his hands away from his now red face. “Like what?”

“Like making the dinner you’ve not even thanked me for!” Yasmine snaps.

Harry blinks. He glances at his dinner and then murmurs an apology, abandoning his cards behind to eat his food. “Thank you.”

“Shut up.”

He sighs and continues eating. 

Yasmine only stays mad for two minutes. Then, she’s talking. “My costume came in yesterday by the way. Are we still doing the secret thing?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “And don’t feel stupid about dressing up, alright? Think of it as Halloween.”

“Nerd Halloween,” Yasmine mutters.

Harry looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel. “You’ve called me a nerd three times already.” He takes a deep breath. “Which outfit of Padme’s did you pick?”

“Padme? I’m going as Chewbacca.”

“Hilarious.” 

Harry stands up with his plate and walks over to the other side of the table, sitting beside her. 

Yasmine looks at him. “Why did you move?”

“To be closer to you?”

“Oh.”

Harry throws an arm over her shoulder. “Am I not romantic enough? Yasmine, I swear you act like I’ve never touched you by the way you act sometimes.”

She scoots her chair closer to him. “Untrue.”

He raises his hand to gently caress her cheek. Yasmine turns her head to bite his finger.

“See?” Harry sighs, prying his finger away. “Be normal.”

“I can’t be. I have a nerd boyfriend who likes to touch me too much.” Yasmine brightens. “And you’ll touch me a lot more when you see my dress for tomorrow.”

Harry’s wiping his finger. “Which one did you pick? The one from Attack of the Clones?”

“Um.”

“The second movie.”

“Er.”

“The white one.” Harry drops his head to the table, groaning. “Oh we’re never going to win tomorrow.”

“You should just take one of your other nerd friends, Harry. I know you want that Lego Star Command–”

Harry groans louder. “Star Destroyer.”

“--whatever. I know you want it so maybe you should take someone else.”

He turns his head to glance at her. He takes a deep breath and then sits up, letting the color drain from his face. “No. It’ll be fun.”

“You’re going to yell at me.”

“Lovingly.”

“I’ll bite your head off.”

“Lovingly?” Harry asks weakly.

“No.”

“Anyways. Is it the white dress?”

“The one that’s ripped around the stomach? No.”

Harry looks very interested then. He slides closer. “The black one?”

“No.”

“The blue one?”

“Yes. Which one are you thinking of?”

“The one that looks like a nightgown.”

“No,” Yasmine says thoughtfully. “Maybe I should have done that. Mine is the other one.”

“Yasmine, Padme wear blue a lot.”

“Do you want to see it?”

Harry pauses. Yasmine can tell that he’s going through all the outfits Padme has ever worn that are blue. He comes to the same conclusion as she did days ago when looking for an outfit: the blue ones are the sexy ones. 

His eyes narrow. “Show me yours if I show you mine?”

“Deal.”

Harry stands first. He takes their empty dinner plates to the kitchen and then goes to their room to bring out the two packages of outfits. He tosses Yasmine hers and then proceeds to bring her to the livingroom to open them together.

They decided early on they’d wear a couple costume: Anakin and Padme.

(Yasmine secretly hoped Harry would wear the whole Darth Vader suit with the helmet, but that’s something to unpack at a later time.)

Harry pulls out the Anakin costume, holding it to his body. “Hope it fits.”

Yasmine imagines him in it, the pants sticking wonderfully to his thighs, his hand grasping a large lightsaber. 

“Go put it on.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “You put yours on too.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

They stare at each other before Yasmine grabs her outfit and goes to the bathroom.

When she returns, Harry’s changed into his as well, swinging around a red lightsaber expertly.

“Oh,” Yasmine says, stopping in her tracks.

“Fuck,” Harry says at the same time.

The outfit fits him so well. As expected, the pants are tight around his upper thighs, but Harry’s just gifted in that department, so it’s normal. Still. He looks mouthwateringly…well, hot.

He’s got sort of a wild look in his eye at the sight of her. With narrowed eyes, he walks backwards until he sits on the couch, holding his hand out.

Yasmine shuffles close, unused to the dress. It’s a bit too long on her.

“Wow.”

Yasmine takes his hand. His fingers trail up to her wrist.

It’s too quiet in here. 

His other hand raises.

He runs his fingers over her bare stomach. The top is just short enough to land by her sternum, leaving a few pairs of ribs exposed. She shivers at his touch and when she goes to move away instinctively, he grabs her wrist.

Yasmine fidgets under his gaze. “I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Harry murmurs.

“Look at me.”

“You hate it when I look at you?”

“Yes.”

Harry tightens his hand on Yasmine’s wrist. “Get used to it.” Then he yanks her closer. Pulls her into his lap. “You are beautiful. I could stare at you all day long.”

“It’s just the dress.”

He laughs, just inches away from her skin. Fire erupts in her stomach. “No. Definitely not just the dress.”

Yasmine shudders as Harry leans in to kiss her neck. Her fingers tremble when she clutches his hair, staring up at the ceiling. Pleasure runs through her, landing between her legs.

She loves when Harry gets like this: so desperate to have her close, hands grabbing without a care of how rough he’s being. All he knows is that he wants her body attached to his. And it’s incredibly enticing how he shows it. He tilts his head back so that she can reach his lips. Her fingers plunge into the soft wilds of his messy, shoulder length hair. He hums and kisses her back, hard.

The dark color looks so good on him. He’s long known that black and brown look especially good on him (and Yasmine reminds him of this often to ensure he’s continuing to fill his closet with those colors). Seeing him in this outfit…Yasmine supposes she’s the nerd as well now.

She hardly cares.

With a soft maneuver, she presses herself against his growing bulge. Harry groans softly, detaching his mouth from hers. She grasps his hair tighter. His lips trail down to her neck again where he buries his face and grabs her waist. No matter how many times he makes that noise, it always sends her on a downward spiral.

“Harry,” she whispers, rocking herself against him now. His fingers grip her waist.

“Yes, baby?”

And his voice! His breathy, desperate voice.

“I wanna do something.”

“Yeah, let’s go upstairs.”

But the mere thought of going upstairs – the mere thought of parting from Harry long enough to make it there – threatens to disrupt whatever they have going on. So Yasmine slides away from Harry, but before he can stand, she sits before him on her knees.

Harry freezes.

Yasmine reaches for the sole button on his trousers.

“Oh,” Harry says. “Fuck.”

Yasmine touches her wrists in hopes of finding a hair tie there, but when she finds none, she frowns deeply up at him. Harry shakes his head and carefully pulls her hair up into a makeshift ponytail, making sure all her curtain bangs are out of her face. “I’ve got it, Yas.”

“Thanks,” she whispers, though she feels silly afterwards.

“Yeah.”

Harry lifts his hips long enough for Yasmine to get him out of the trousers. She scoots closer so that she can get his boxer briefs off as well. Harry’s hold on her hair tightens. She reaches out to wrap her fingers around him, giving him a long stroke.

“Fuck,” Harry murmurs. It’s music to Yasmine’s ears. She strokes him again, bringing him to full hardness. There’s a soft flush on Harry’s neck and face, and his thighs are tense. Oh how she loves his thighs.

She loves them enough that before she wraps her mouth around him, she bends down to kiss his thighs. 

She glances up at him as she does, enjoying the small twist of his lips when he looks back down at her. Now, she doesn’t mind his gaze. Because despite the implications, Harry is most certainly not in charge right now. She is.

After biting down on his thigh – just to hear his sharp hiss – Yasmine opens her mouth and takes him in.

His thighs tighten even more. 

Yasmine presses her tongue against him. Harry’s fingers grip her hair when she sucks gently at his tip. 

“Fuck,” Harry whispers, tilting his head back. “Fuck me.”

Yasmine’s stomach flutters. She watches him, enjoying the rise of his chest, the strain of his neck with the beautiful vein protruding every so often. Harry’s head turns to look down at her suddenly, hips rising just barely to meet her mouth.

He gives her a look.

She nods.

He blows air from his mouth and gently thrusts into her mouth, careful and soft despite the firm grip on her hair.

“If I’d known,” he murmurs, “that you’d get like this, I’d have tried the outfit on even sooner.”

Yasmine gasps softly as she pulls off of him. “It’s not only the outfit.”

He laughs, wiping the corner of her lips, which should be damn well embarrassing or weird, but neither of them seem to care. She wraps her mouth around him again, cutting off his laughter with a groan.

After a few moments, her dress begins to slip from her shoulders. Harry’s eyes catch the movement right away and his hips stutter. She’d make a joke but there are more concerning matters presently. Having been with him for a long time, Yasmine knows exactly what he likes: how she should use her tongue, her hands, her eyes that blink up at him all pretty.

“So pretty,” Harry mumbles, on cue. She feels him run his thumb over her cheek as if there’s something to be endeared about right now.

Just before he’s about to come, Harry pulls on her hair and gets her to pull off so he could bend down and kiss her mouth, and then let her tug on him.

“Not on the dress please,” Yasmine says, voice shot.

“I’ll try, baby.”

He manages quite well actually, especially with Yasmine’s effort to move out of the way, letting him spill over her hand instead. His desperate whimpers keep Yasmine’s eyes glued to him.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Harry protests softly when her hand keeps moving over him. “That’s enough.”

Grinning, Yasmine fixes her dress and grabs a few tissues from the coffee table to wipe her hand.

“Maybe instead of going to the trivia night, we can do more of this tomorrow.”

“Mm,” Harry hums, still catching his breath. “Not a chance.”

“Oh come on. This is so much more fun!”

He tucks himself back in and holds his hand out, making her climb into his lap. “No.”

“You’re such a –”

“Nerd?” He laughs, grabbing the back of her neck. “I am.” And then he kisses her slowly, clearly having no issue with what they’ve just done. “Thank you.”

Yasmine hopes her face accurately portrays the glare she thinks she’s putting on. Harry’s eyes are soft and filled with love – but that’s entirely unhelpful because they always are. 

“Just don’t break up with me when I say that Han Solo is Luke’s father.”

Harry holds her tighter. “I’ll try not to.” Then he grabs her waist, pulling her to him. He stands easily, keeping her balanced on him, her legs tight about his torso. “Come on. I’ve got a favor to repay. And the dress stays on, understood?”

Yasmine shivers, despite herself. "Understood."

[miniwheat77]

Wild. (Rudy x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, MINORS DNI! unprotected p in v sex, (sorry if I missed any.)

*not edited*

When people think of Rudy they think of him as a kind, gentle, loving man. And they’re not wrong, not at all. He’s gentle, he’s a good problem solver. He’s good at soothing people when they’re upset in any way. He’s good at de-escalating situations, and he’s a phenomenal getaway driver.

Everyone knows Rudy is a family man, but he doesn’t talk much about his wife. Alejandro has only met her a couple of times and knows that she’s quiet and reserved.

But everything was about to change, because you were coming to work on base as a bookkeeper for Alejandro.

—

When people met you, they were surprised. You were stunning which made sense because of course, Rudy was good looking. But than, talk started around the base.

Alejandro had overheard very gross conversations between a few of his men, making them do push ups and handing out suspensions like candy on Halloween. He didn’t expect Rudy’s wife of all people to be such a big topic. You got plenty of glances from the men on base and it made you uncomfortable and Alejandro was furious obviously. They looked like a pack of hungry wolves and it was absolutely ridiculous behavior.

After about a month or so, everything finally calmed down. Everything slowly started going back to normal, but you were still getting cat called. They would say gross things to you, stare you down. They were ridiculous.

You were sitting in the mess hall, figuring out a spreadsheet and drinking coffee. Rudy and Alejandro were getting coffee, and you were getting frustrated with the conversations you were overhearing from the table near you. “Yeah, I’d hit that. There’s no way Rudolfo is satisfying that.”

That was your last straw. You let out a very exaggerated sigh, standing up and pushing your chair in. Which gathers a few glances from those around you. You stand there with the spreadsheets in your hand. Leaning up against the table with your arms crossed. “You know I’m sitting 5 feet away from you, I can hear absolutely everything you’re saying.” You say. This catches the attention of everyone, including Rudy and Alejandro who are waiting for coffee. “Yeah? So what. Nothing I said was untrue.” He shrugs. He smiles.

You send him a very fake smile.

“Listen.. Sergeant Ramirez right? There’s a reason that none of the women on this base interact with you. Because you’re a total creep who keeps talking about having sex with a married woman.” You laugh. “I don’t know why my sex life is sooooo interesting to you, but since you must know, it’s great. Rudy is satisfying me just fine, I’m a VERY happy wife. But thanks for your.. weirdly obsessive concern.” You step closer, your face only a few inches from his. “If I hear you say “I’d hit that.” One more fucking time, I’m going to hit you right in the jaw with my fist. Am I clear?” You narrow your eyes at him. He’s clearly embarrassed, nodding his head. “Great!” You say. Walking away from your table, down the hall. “Jesus Christ.” Alejandro laughs. “Didn’t realize she had such a fire in her.” Rudy laughs, bringing his coffee up to his lips. “Oh, no tienes idea del tipo de actitud que domino en el dormitorio.” He takes a drink of his coffee, trying not to smile when Alejandro nearly chokes on his. “Jesus Rudy!” He laughs.

“I’m gonna go check on her.” Rudy laughs. He’s not wearing his normal gear yet, still just wearing black jeans and a white t-shirt. Wearing that signature comfortable grey jacket he has. He opens the door to your room, seeing you looking over something. “Hey. You alright, amor?” He breathes. You nod your head. Turning to look at him. “Don’t let them get to you.. they’re just.. immature.”

“They don’t get to me, I just hate that they think you’re so soft.” You narrow your eyes, an evil grin playing at your lips. “The Rudy I know is far more devilish than they know.” You roll your eyes. “Yeah? That’s cause I have to do something to combat that fucking attitude of yours.” He crosses his arms. You roll your eyes. “Fuck you Rudy.” You laugh. “Sí, te gustaría eso, ¿no?” He smirks. “Quizás lo haría.” You reply. He snorts, locking the door behind himself. He pushes his jacket off, discarding it on the floor as he makes his way toward you. He cups your face, kissing you hard. Helping you pull your clothes off, only stopping to tug your shirt off. He reaches for his belt but you stop his hand. “Keep it on.” You breath.

He rolls his eyes.

He grasps your wrist, tugging you until your back is to him. His lips ghosting by your ear. “I forgot..” he chuckles. The fabric of his shirt burns your bare skin. “You like the way it rattles when I fuck you.” He whispers. “I hope you think about the way I fuck you anytime you hear something rattling.” He growls, pushing you down onto the bed. You whine as he pulls your hands behind your back, lining his cock up with your aching hole. When he sinks into you, you’re gasping out. Trying to take in a breath. Turning to look at him. He pushes your hips into the mattress, rutting his hips into you. “Fuck Rudy-“ you gasp. He’s breathing hard as he fucks into you, gritting his teeth. No matter how many times he was inside of you, he’d never get used to it.

He tries to keep you quiet as he rocks his hips into yours but he doesn’t really care who hears at this point anymore. You push your hips back into him, and he smiles as he moves away. “I wanna ride you.” You breathe. He smiles. He sees your chair, sitting down in it and you move quickly sit in his lap, lining him up with your entrance again, moaning as you sink down onto him. He rests his hands on your hips, looking up at you as you start to rock your hips into him. “Fuck..” he sighs. “You’re so fucking good at this.” He breathes. “Siéntete tan jodidamente bien mi amor.” He breathes, looking up at you through his eyelashes. His eyes are dark and loving as he looks up at you. “God, no wonder they think you’re so sweet, stop looking at me like that.” You breath, pushing down on his chest and rocking into him, raising up off of him more, taking more of him down. “Ah-“ he moans, a smile still on his face. “I’m not doing anything.” He mutters. “Yeah you are, you keep looking at me like you love me or something.” You giggle, a gasp leaving your lips as he thrusts up into you. “Maybe that’s just because I love you. Love that attitude, love your personality.” He breathes. “Love this perfect body you have, love the way you make me feel. And god do I love watching you put people in their fucking place.” He gasps. Thrusting up into you faster. You clutch onto the chair for dear life. “Me vuelves loca de mierda.” He gasps, tilting his head back.

You cup his cheeks, kissing him as he holds your hips, thrusting up into you. He can feel you getting tighter around him, and he’s fucked you enough to know that you’re close, so he stands up with you, lays you back on your bed, and hammers his hips into yours until your crying out his name. “Yeah, that’s it. Cum for me.” He breathes. “Muéstrame lo buena chica que eres.” He growls. You reach your peak with a gasp, eyes screwing shut and he pins your hips to the bed so that you can’t squirm away from him as he rides out your high. He grits his teeth, letting out a cry when he reaches his own orgasm. Not pulling out of you even when he knows he should.

He takes a deep breath. Pulling away from you with a sigh, moving himself to lay next to you.

When you make eye contact, he’s got that same look in his eye that makes you laugh. “What?” He rolls his eyes. “Nothing, I love you.” You breathe. “I love you too. Now Cmere.” He breathes, pulling you into him.

A knock at the door has you both going stiff.

“I think you’ve made your point, hermano.”

[shewhotellsstories]

It’s crazy ironic how you go on and on about how “Penelope stans call Eloise a white feminist/criticise her/etc to bring up their fav (Penelope)” when literally all u do is criticise Penelope as a half baked attempt at defending Eloise.

Let me be clear - I am not a Penelope fan. I do not like her, and I fully agree with your criticisms of her. That said, it’s ridiculous how pretty much ur only method of responding to Eloise crit is by bringing up things Penelope has done. Like, they are two different people. Penelope’s bad behaviour does not in fact have any bearing on how Eloise should be examined.

And all this while constantly complaining about the same damn thing u urself are doing ??? Insane levels of hypocrisy honestly

You know, I went a good chunk of the summer without getting any obnoxious anon messages. But all good things must come to an end, and of course, the peace would end over Regency Era Perez Hilton. So let's get into this anon.

If you've read my blog you'll see that my issues with Penelope Featherington pre-date her falling out with Eloise. I've said I think she punches down quite a lot. I've said I find it wildly unethical that her stans call what she does "reporting" because reporters have ethics, editors, a responsibility to fact-check, and ways of being held accountable if/when we get something wrong. When you're hiding behind a pseudonym and printing whispers and rumors as fact, with no way of verifying if it's truth that's just not happening. Additionally, at the end of season one after the reveal I posted that I didn't think Penelope's hurt feelings over an unrequited crush were as serious as the threat facing Marina as an unmarried pregnant girl (google fallen women, they tend not to live long). I don't think that Colin deserved to be tricked, but given the alternatives of a lifetime of poverty or being married off to a creep twice your age who approaches an engagement the same way a person purchases a horse, I understand why the desperate 17-year-old pursued the boy her own age who she knew would at least treat her well. Not only that, but I said I found it gross that she was smiling in Marina's face while having exposed her secret in the cruelest way possible.

Here's another Eloise-free critique of Penelope, she's the worst kind of mean girl, the kind with a victim complex who wants to do nasty things while still being seen as an angel who can do no wrong. Do you want another criticism of Penelope that has nothing to do with Eloise? I think it's icky that she mocked Kate for being a spinster and called one of the few Indian women on this show a beast. I heard that was in the books too, but fun fact, Black and brown people being compared to or flat-out called animals has a racist history and present. Despite the "Penelope woman of the working class people" song and dance, I pointed out that she's trying to stay in Madame Delacroix’s good graces because she can blow the whistle on her.

I've said, it annoys me that people behave as if Penelope's crush being unrequited is a terrible hardship that justifies all her misdeeds, when Colin has never been cruel to her about romantic feelings he doesn't know are there. Contrary to Penelope stans version of history he hasn't tried to lead her on or hurt her, he treats her like a friend and nothing more. In Queen Charlotte, I said it was a dick move to needle the Queen about her lack of heirs during her granddaughter's funeral.

Now, you're saying that I only use Eloise to criticize Penelope, but not only is that untrue it's devoid of context. I only started comparing Eloise and Penelope because after their falling out Penelope's stans started saying that Eloise was a privileged white feminist as a reason that Penelope's actions weren't wrong and why she had no right to feel betrayed. Eloise's feminism is flawed, there's a lot she hasn't considered because she's been sheltered. ICYMI, I pointed out that she failed to understand that due to their class differences, Theo was in more danger than she was because he didn't have a rich family nor the protection that comes with her surname. I even agreed with Theo getting frustrated with her because due to class he is vulnerable in a way she is not. Furthermore, when Penelope stans say Eloise is an entitled white feminist it's not really about what Eloise has done, it's said in service of absolving Penelope of any wrongdoing. I've pointed out that it's said as if in comparison Penelope is Audre Lorde and hasn't been almost as privileged as Eloise up until her father died.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Who acts like more of an entitled white feminist. The girl who is ignorant or the girl slut shaming other women and notably hurting women of color for her own selfish gain? Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony would be proud. Sure, it's despicable that they used racism to gain support for women's suffrage and threw Fredrick Douglas under the bus, still wanting voting rights is less selfish than wanting the high and financial gain that comes with running an anonymous burn book.

Call me a hypocrite if you want but I've got the receipts to show I started criticizing Penelope way before she fell out with Eloise. And frankly, it's hypocritical of you not to realize that my Eloise and Penelope comparisons are a response to the "Eloise crit" that are just thinly layered Penelope apologism and revisionist history.

Have the day you deserve anon.

[jadedbutler]

back when i'd first read dark rise, i'd written this little moody rescue au oneshot for Will & James (KempClair? What're we calling them lol),

I'd started drafting a James POV + continuation of it, which was left marinating in my gdocs until i read dark heir last weekend and had my brain chemicals once again reactivated.

below is a sample of that WIP which i am feeding you directly from my stupid little hands ;;

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

All draped in black and gold, crystal and white, wearing lavish masks over their eyes, unable to obscure their covetous little stares. Appraising James like he’s one of the cracked marble busts or stolen baroque oil paintings laid out on the lobby floor to be admired, but all too rich for their blood.

Another era, another gilded cage.

James St. Clair, on display again, an objet of virtu presented by yet another man drunk off conditional loyalty and borrowed prestige. Surrounded by vermin that think themselves his followers.

Well. Not untrue.

James tips his crystal drinking glass to his lips, itching to stain the crimson carpeted floors of the Hotel with a much darker red. It would be sooo easy; with a twitch of his fingers, he could turn this stupid masquerade into a massacre. But what he lacks in temperance and humility, he makes up for with patience. So he lets the wine soothe his nerves and sharpen his tongue instead. Biding his time.

Waiting. Always waiting. 

"Are you enjoying yourself, my jewel?" James' current "patron" whispers, close enough to disturb the pendant dangling from his earlobe. A diamond-encrusted silver cross, clamped painfully onto James' ear, since his invulnerability makes piercings impossible to hold. It's not a relic, but like most jewelry designed in his honour, the earring is... troublesome.

"Oh, positively euphoric," James drawls in reply, inspecting the cuticles of his free hand to showcase exactly how much fun he's not having. But his sarcasm is lost on his patron, the dleusional swine, who returns a satisfied hum as he swirls his own champagne glass thoughtfully.

"As you should be. After all, tonight will be the marking of a new era - a new king. And what is a king without his crown jewel?"

Hah. Derision peals out of James' throat before he can swallow it back. How violently laughable. It's like this every fucking time.

But his laughter falters a moment later, as a subtle murmur ripples through the throng of cultists surrounding him. No, not a murmur, no one has stopped talking, not for a second.

Not a flicker, either, the chandelier lights overhead glittering bright, winking starlight into his eyes.

A shiver, then. A sudden drop in temperature that only he seems to feel. And it was so sickeningly hot just a moment ago.

And then --

Found you.

Robbed of his breath and his heartbeat and every thought he's ever had, James lifts his eyes and finds himself pinned, under that dark endless gaze he's felt a thousand times in his dreams.

There, in the crowd, separated by a dozen or so false followers, a pale face looks regards him, shrouded in black lace.

James' lips part by a fraction of a centimeter, and he feels himself about to say. You found me.

The spell remains unbroken, even as James' patron pulls an arm around his waist, announcing his latest conquest to the thrall before him. "A toast--" he says, or maybe he doesn't. James isn't listening. He can't hear a thing.

He swallows back the rest of his wine, untangles himself from the unwanted grip.

"Where do you --"

"Breath of fresh air," he mutters, tearing himself away.

Away, away and up the empire steps to the mezzanine, up the next few floors of the Hotel until he reaches an empty hall, void of false followers and prying eyes. He's vaguely aware that he's shivering hard. Not because his thin white shirt leaves his back exposed. Not because of the wine in his blood.

Absently, he grabs a forgotten coat draped over the bannister, and pulls his arms through. But the shaking does not stop.

In the Hotel, his steps are muted against the carpeted floors. But as pushes through the glass doors leading to the balcony. the ground beneath his boot heels is more solid. Still, he feels as though if he takes another step, he'll fall right through.

Will is waiting for him by the marble-wrought railing, still and beautiful as a sculptor's depiction of Lucifer. God's beloved, fallen.

"You came for me," he breathes, bathed once more in Will's beckoning gaze. With impossible yearning, James reaches out, not with his hands but with his magic, to assure himself this isn't a spectre, a cruel trick, the kind that fate has played on him over and over and over -

"You can come closer,"

A gloved hand reaches toward him. Not begging to touch. Not commanding.

It's too much. James had spent this entire lifetime cultivating a wall of ice and iron around himself, only for it to melt from a single gesture from Will. He practically pours himself into Will's arms, pressing his cheek against his hand.

"I wasn't sure," he sighs, dragging his fingers, his real ones, along Will's armdf;lskdf;lka;lkfsdlkjdf idk to be conitniutend ?????? bY e

[milfmacbeth]

Hi! Your top 5 best and top 5 worst endings of anything that you liked? Could be TV shows, books, movies, podcasts. Thanks!

hi!! thank you for the ask <3

i generally prefer tragic or bittersweet endings over unambiguously happy ones; this will be long; spoilers ahead (obviously)

best endings

hannibal

the wrath of the lamb fucking rearranged my brain chemistry. how do i explain to people that one of the most romantic things i’ve ever seen was a murder-suicide?

technically hannibal was canceled and not ended but in absence of a season 4, i will consider twotl the ending. i don’t even want a season 4 because i can’t imagine any better ending than the one we’ve got. yes, season 3b was a rushed mess of hannibal, will, and dolarhyde playing fuck marry kill with each other, but they stuck the landing so well, and it’s this perfect tragic mix of “this could’ve all been avoided” and “there’s no other way this could’ve ended”.

and yeah the ending is ambiguous and it’s implied they lived but my favorite interpretation is that they died in each other’s arms.

black sails

wars have been fought over the interpretation of this ending. i personally think john silver is lying but whatever your take, jack’s “a story is true, a story is untrue” speech is brilliant and it’s a perfect ending to a great show

fleabag

“i love you” “it’ll pass” I AM NORMAL. 

i love you, female characters written by women. i love you, comedy that turns into tragedy halfway through. i love you, clever use of narrative devices.

this show is damn near perfect, and even though the first thing i did after finishing fleabag was go on ao3 in search of thousands of words of fix-it fic, i wouldn’t change a thing about the ending. 

white fang

i wouldn’t say i have a favorite book, but if i had to answer that question it would either be the iliad or white fang. this is the book that got me into reading.

this book caught me at exactly the right time in my life. i was obsessed with wolves as a kid; i was 11 or so, and my grandma handed me this beautifully illustrated book that had the most amazing old book smell (because it’s been in a wooden attic up until then).

it’s about the life of a wolfdog (more wolf than dog) that was born in the wild but gets tamed/adopted into a dog pack that hates him because they can smell he’s not really a dog and hooo boy does something is wrong with you and others can tell that you’re not like them hit when you’re a lonely child.

anywayyyyyy it ends with white fang, having been adopted by a kind man, lying in the sun, still a little confused/out of his element but content. the ending is bittersweet and thematically fitting and he’s a good dog and deserves it.

the mechanisms

the mechanisms are a band of immortal space pirates telling stories of their adventures. their last album is titled death to the mechanisms and in the eponymous song , they realize they’re not quite as immortal as they thought they were. it’s sad, it’s funny, it’s beautiful, it’s poetic, and it’s a worthy send-off.

if you’ve got six and a half minutes, it’s worth a listen (even without context), if only for gems like “witnesses will say that they have never before seen someone so viciously excited to die” or “his body will float there forever, far beyond the warmth of stars” or “pointless, ignoble deaths the lot of them. but who that lived can really boast otherwise?” (this band is so quotable it's insane)

onto the hating!

worst endings

dexter

what the absolute FUCK was that. i adore this show but the ending sucks so much it feels almost malicious

supernatural

i’m not sure i can answer “do you like supernatural?” without a lawyer present. i was obsessed with supernatural as a teenager, then i stopped watching around season 10 or 11. i decided to rewatch the entire thing after november 5th. 

supernatural would be so good if it was good. i’m a “supernatural should’ve ended after season 5” truther but i admit that some of the later seasons do have their moments.

not the ending though. the ending is so completely beyond parody i don’t even know what to say. castiel is in superhell for gay angels. dean gets nailed by vampire clowns. when i first saw the aged-up version of sam i literally burst out laughing. at least the wincesties got a forehead touch out of it i guess???? i am so glad that i’ve built up enough emotional distance to laugh instead of rage about this because i know my teenage self would’ve had a conniption.

goethe’s faust and euripides’ orestes

they’ve got nothing to do with each other but i have the exact same beef with both of them so i’m just gonna throw them together. 

faust ending: faust loses his wager with mephisto and should’ve by all rights gone to hell but god says ????? (don’t even ask i’m not sure i could explain whatever twisted logic is going on there. something about faust using his devil-bestowed powers for good) and faust goes to heaven anyway.

goethe, my guy, you named the thing faust. eine tragödie. where’s the tragedy i was promised? false advertising. fuck you.

orestes ending: standoff between menelaus and orestes; orestes is holding a knife to hermione’s (menelaus’ and helen’s daughter) throat; this will not end well. or so you thought! at the last possible second, apollo swoops down and fixes everything, tells orestes to marry hermione and ???

nothing is satisfyingly resolved but hey, at least no one’s dead. except iphigenia, and agamemnon, and clytemnestra. this fucking family…

this is what the ancients called deus ex machina and what i call an ass pull.

i just think if you’ve constructed an entire narrative that follows a very clear, specific direction, you shouldn’t then swerve to the left. SEEMS LOGICAL TO ME

and it’s not just philistine bitching on my part btw. there’s actual academic debate about what the hell these authors were thinking. that being said, i’m a hater because i’m a lover, and i wouldn’t be so mad if i didn’t love both these plays

game of thrones

i am sure everyone has heard about how much the ending fucking sucks. from building up the night king to be a badass villain only to kill him in the ass-pulliest way imaginable in one (1) night, to walking back all the character development the characters went through to jon’s heritage being meaningless to having a thus far sympathetic dany snap and burn a city down over literally nothing to jaime and cersei being killed by falling rocks to brandon fucking stark, a character so uninteresting the show forgot about him for a whole season, sitting on the iron throne.

also, euron greyjoy is my favorite character in the books and i’ll never forgive the show for butchering him (i don’t know who the fuck that guy on the screen is, it sure ain’t euron).

one thing that i find fascinating is that it’s literally just the writing that sucks. the costumes are beautiful, the soundtrack is better than the show deserves (thank you ramin djawadi ilu mwah <3), the dragons look great, the actors are doing the best they can. highest production value piece of garbage ever made.

the magnus archives

(little warning bc i’m really mad about this so vitriol ahead. also, i have not listened to the magnus protocol and i’m not sure i ever will)

i yelled about this a lot and i’m ready to yell about this some more!! THIS IS A SEASON 5 HATE BLOG. i’m so serious it’s literally a better podcast if you ignore season 5 and act like MAG 160 is the ending.  jonathan ‘the archivist’ sims should’ve had a corruption arc and i will die on this hill, everything E V E R Y T H I N G pointed towards jon becoming a monster and enjoying it. it could’ve been so good!!! instead we got some formulaic bullshit, the concept of (and i cannot stress this enough) parallel universes introduced like three episodes before the ending, and the single shittiest romance i have ever been subjected to. the way martin treats jon is sooo fucking vile and yet the podcast is constantly like aren’t they so cute :) isn’t this soo romantic :) NO IT FUCKING ISN’T. he’s dating his shitty coworker who he doesn’t even like that much why exactly am i supposed to be rooting for this relationship jesus fuck i feel like i’m being gaslit. i don’t just have a notp i genuinely feel like jonmartin ruined the entire thing.

s5 also completely ignored jonah magnus who, apart from being one of the most interesting characters, is THE GUY THE PODCAST WAS NAMED AFTER. but yeah, sure, who cares about him? let's have five more episodes of jon and martin being fundamentally incompatible. 

and then there’s the ending where jon is the only one who stands up for what’s right. the podcast tries to act like keeping the fears in their world or releasing the fears are two equally bad choices but the latter is so clearly worse. so clearly the wrong choice to make. AND THEN THEY MAKE THAT TERRIBLE CHOICE FUCK THIS SO MUCH

tma season 5 is one of those cases where you can so clearly see the potential of something that could’ve been so great and they just threw that away AND FOR WHAT 

(ok i’m done yelling about this now. just kidding i’ll never be done)

[septembersghost]

How do you deal with all the hate directed towards Elvis? He wasn’t a saint but some people are so intense for their hatred for him online that it kinda takes the run out of being a fan :/

hi anon! okay, so the first thing i'm going to do is link you to my love tam's @headfullofpresley reply to this question because she recently answered it very well and more succinctly than what i'm about to write.

i am not on the clock app, which is where i gather a lot of this is coming from? but i know the breakdown of that hate comes in three basic forms - 1. COMPLETELY false and easily disprovable accusations of racism that have somehow spread over the internet for years. (there are countless sources to dispel this, this touches on a mere few.) this has somehow entwined itself with the idea that he "stole" music, which is categorically untrue, and while absolutely there is a factor there regarding the fact that he could succeed differently due to being a handsome white man in a still segregated and tumultuous time, his music and his melding of gospel and r&b was never malicious, it was inspired by absolute love. he also actively supported charities, including black and jewish organizations. his generosity and kindness wasn't limited or biased at all. 2. people victimizing priscilla as if she isn't allowed to speak for herself and tell her own story, one in which she has never claimed that and i don't personally believe anyone else has the right to decide that for someone. (which @bcofl0ve has addressed well here and here). 3. really upsetting and damaging ableism that has persisted in many ways since his death, where people make certain insinuations and judgments about his health and choices with disdain rather than any understanding. this is a problem in that it tends to demonize addiction and weight and other issues rather than approaching that sympathetically.

moreover, i do believe it's a real problem with current social media that we expect sainthood from anyone. demanding unimpeachable behavior and strict nearly puritanical morality from anyone is never going to be attainable. the legendary music, the various iconography and images aside, at the core of it all, he was a person. people have faults and flaws, they make mistakes, everyone is affected by whatever trauma and grief and struggles they may face, and the pressures of that intense, and quite unprecedented when elvis' star rose, level of fame are unimaginable. was he perfect? absolutely not. but being perfect isn't the same as being good. and when you delve into his life and his beliefs, his feelings about other people and reaching out to them, his connection to his music (be it rock and roll, gospel, or anything in between), the way he searched often for meaning, how he had that desire to extend kindnesses to others and to make others happy...there's so much, and the accounts from those who knew and loved him paint a picture of someone who certainly was fallible, but was undoubtedly good. and i think that's an important distinction to make - perfection simply isn't real. human beings are never one thing - we're fragile and resilient and angry and loving and impulsive and kind, and that's never one facet at a time, it's all at once. if you can only look at someone from a judgmental, "this is problematic!," point of view, you're frankly NEVER going to be able to interact compassionately or genuinely. if you look at someone and define them by their mistakes and condemn that without nuance (and you know what i mean by this, obviously we are not speaking of unforgivable actions here), you're never going to be able to embrace the full person, but it also limits understanding and compassion for anyone. i just feel it's vital to look at the entire tapestry of who someone is, and the full measure of their light and heart.

and then i'm just going to reiterate what tam said - haters (of anything) are miserable and tend to be misinformed and thrive on that mean-spiritedness, and that's so antithetical to how i interact with things i love that i don't have time for it and don't think it deserves energy. if something makes you happy, please don't let outside noise steal that! we know and can easily explore what was inherent to his heart and soul. we can hear the beauty and innovation and joy in his music. if that's providing you a sense of comfort and happiness and fun, that's what matters most. if someone doesn't get it, that's their problem. you are always allowed to love things. 💗💗💗

[noonecaresaboutyourwhining]

Welcome to my own extremely controversial opinions!

This is the kind of shit that would get me lynched irl. "You coward, you're hiding behind a screen!" Damn right, I am! People are killed all the time for simply having opinions the masses don't agree with. I am not suicidal, which is why I run this blog and not my mouth irl :D

Here we go.

Black people who think white people owe them "reparations" are dumb af. Not only are you suggesting people be held accountable for things that people's ancestors did hundreds of years ago that at the time was fully legal and generally socially acceptable, but you are also showing your true self-righteous ignorance by assuming black people were the only race to be enslaved.

If gender exists on a spectrum, then one end of the spectrum is male and the other is female, and all these other "genders" people are claiming are bullshit. You can't have it both ways. Even if you exist perfectly in the middle, then it shouldn't matter that much so just pick one. Making it other people's responsibility to adjust to whatever you've decided in your head is unreasonable. It's like a kid who gets mad at people for not knowing they're being a unicorn that day.

There are four sexualities. Technically three, but I'm including asexuality even though that's often a disorder that can be corrected. You can be heterosexual, homosexual, or bisexual. Anything else is something you've made up in an attempt to define yourself within parameters that make sense to you. Being attracted to someone for their personality instead of gender does not make you "pansexual," it makes you bisexual. Getting to know someone before attraction forms is not unusual and you are not special enough for that alone to require your own unique sublabel.

All deviations in gender and sexuality are firmly encapsulated within the "Q" of "queer," as in that which is not the norm. For this reason, you don't even need the "LGBT-+" part of the acronym; it could just be "Q", meaning those who are not cisgendered heterosexuals, i.e. the norm. (Notably, just because you are offended by it being the norm, doesn't make it untrue.)

Hold on to your hats, folks; this is gonna be the longest and by far most controversial point. Building off of point 4, whether you approve or not, pedophilia falls under the queer label. If it were destigmatized it would allow for those afflicted to seek help and lessen the numbers of child molestation cases (though it's worth noting that many such cases are less about sexual attraction and more to do with psychological factors such as control). The torches and pitchforks approach is not helping anyone. No one chooses a sexuality that is not only publicly condemned but also may harm vulnerable individuals. In fact, if you believe it is not a choice to be gay, you also have to concede that it is not a choice to be a pedophile. It is a choice to be a child molester. The issue is that often these terms are used interchangeably. Many pedophiles live out their lives never laying a finger on a child or indulging in illicit materials. The inherent sexual deviation is a miswiring in the brain. Now, don't get me wrong - people often jump to conclusions and put words in my mouth - I am of the firm belief that if you harm so much as a hair on the head of a single child, you should be castrated, maimed, and dragged through the streets before being thrown to an angry mob. I am simply suggesting that the possibility to intervene exists before it comes to that, and perhaps then we would not need to condemn neither innocent children nor those afflicted with this specific neurological defect to a life of misery. Just maybe.

There's more, but these are the main ones. Have at it in the comments!

[a-lady-in-shining-armour]

I am just not having as much fun on this website anymore. I used to enjoy all the really interesting articles and studies that people would share and discuss, but that’s really dropped off. I lot of the normal women on here used to drop some great common sense content about everyday things like the ‘second shift’ and the expectations of being gender conforming etc that once you notice you see it everywhere. Now most radblr bloggers are as terminally online as any bun-gender person and everything is interpreted in bad faith with overly emotional call outs peppered with emotive buzzwords.

I’m so sick of logging on to see such out of touch takes as ‘expecting me to ever be in a public space with a baby is misogyny’ and the sequel ‘criticising abstinence only sex education is homophobic’.

Some of you need a reality check so here it is:

You are not an activist (necessarily obviously that might be your day job) you are a tumblr blogger engaging in social media for entertainment.

Most of you are not wise sages educating young grasshoppers girls about how having a baby might effect their career (no shit Sherlock) or that domestic violence can exist in heterosexual relationships (is it their first day on earth?). This is basic common knowledge especially for women interested in feminism, you really are preaching to the converted on this topic and it’s annoying as hell when you act like we might not have ever thought about it. Most of us are successful adult women, we know at least the basics about the risks of motherhood and marriage (often first hand) and it’s offensive for some random stranger to tell us that they (and only they) have all the right answers to some of the biggest issues in world for women. Basically, we are all peers here and not one of you has any real authority over anyone else.

The decision whether to have a long term relationship with a man and/or have children (and who you do this with) is The most serious and important decision in most woman’s lives. This is so commonly acknowledged that I have talked about it with my Mum, my Grandma, my sister, my friends, and even some work colleagues. It’s the focus of so many fiction and non fiction books, and in my opinion female anxiety about these choices that disproportionately effect women is why the entire romance genre exists! Our teachers had discussions about it in class and I remember wondering if I really wanted children when I grew up as young as 12. Such an important decision is something that is not taken lightly by any woman (feminist or not) and will never be decided on the advice from online strangers. It’s especially galling that some of the most condescending and demanding bloggers on this topic also post things that reveal that they are young and lack life experience. Obviously that doesn’t mean they’re wrong, but it definitely means they have no right to talk down to women old enough to be their mothers that often have firsthand experience with what to them is political theory.

The risks of heterosexual relationships are well known, I mean who the fuck has never heard of domestic violence by adolescence? If a woman interested enough in gender critical or radical feminism to blog about it in her spare time decides to enter an intimate relationship with a man and/or have children with him it won’t be because she’s ignorant about domestic violence or how hard child rearing can be. I trust myself and other women to make hard choices and manage risks in our own lives.

It is entirely possible for individuals to know and understand the same information and still make different choices. Someone disagreeing with you or making different decisions does not necessarily mean that one of you is right and the other one is stupid. That style of black and white thinking is unhelpful and untrue, people’s opinions and decisions depend on the individual circumstances of their life, about which you know next to nothing. It’s beyond time to retire the smug ‘I always know best’ attitude and acknowledge the shades of grey.

[freakin-edikan]

I was randomly reminded of the time my 10th grade English teacher forced my class to use cursive for a month or so but like really obnoxiously. She ended her blog two years ago so now I don't have to worry about being posted to it the way she posted about my brother. I will now make a post (taking jabs at her every now and then) about the time she made us all write in cursive because she thought we were all, like, fucking stupid? and refute the claims she made about our class, script handwriting, and why some of us write the way we do.

Background So one day we're required to do a weekly writing assignment about an article in national or global news, and she says we have to do it in cursive because she randomly decided it would be better for us to have the knowledge. She had a number of reasons in favor of cursive which I will go through in ascending order of weird.

The arguments The typical argument for cursive is that it's comfortable and helps you write faster. In practice, cursive only helped two students write faster, and they both already wrote in cursive. The rest of the class had their work impeded by having to check their glyphs over and worrying that their script was even less legible than their print. Or they were getting cramps from trying to write cursive with ballpoint pens and HB pencils. It was also not faster for lefties such as myself and others. (More on this later)

But she actually opened with the "kids your age don't know/were never taught cursive." Factually untrue. If you wanna get technical, "cursive" or "script" refers to any handwriting with conjoined letters, which qualified a lot more students than the singular student who actually used proper cursive. But even not going for petty points, my high school class was specifically either the last or second-last 3rd grade class to be taught standardized cursive in our district. I don't disagree with the notion that more knowledge is a good thing but she was the kind of person to blame people for not being educated rather than the institutions that failed to educate.

By far the strangest statement she made was that smart people use cursive and that cursive is an indicator of intelligence, which at the time I found bizarre because my first thought was "I am the smartest person in this room and I don't write curisve." And then my second thought was "so why don't YOU write cursive?" But those are frankly not very strong arguments. So let's be a smart, cursive writer and think this through: is cursive a marker of intelligence?

Erm, of fucking course not?

Cursive is a marker of whether or not you write cursive and nothing else. Any and all links to intelligence I'm fairly confident can be linked to the other things that are "linked" to higher intelligence, like socioeconomic status, access to education and better schools, and availability of other resources like private tutoring. If cursive is dying out, what kinds of schools do you think would be the first to have it taken off the curriculum? There's also a strange patriotism peppered in the conversation about cursive and the "death" of cursive, with "America" and "the Constitution" coming up frequently enough to be concerning. But really, what was the point behind making a writing ranking? A cursive caste system? hierarchy of handiwork? Be serious. The two students with smart kid monikers who wrote cursive were a white boy and an extremely antiblack black boy, and there was an implication was that they were aspirational students. (But at the end of the year, she posted my, not anyone else's, AP scores onto her Facebook page---without telling me, of course.)

Why gen z no cursive :( If she wanted an answer for why people don't write in cursive, I have plenty. I HAD plenty, actually, in a written defense of print I made, which she dismissed out of hand when I gave it to her. I don't have that document anymore. Anyway.

Cursive is circumstantial. It developed because of the writing instruments available. When writing was done with quills, repeatedly tapping the tip to the page would wear it out more quickly and make it prone to breaking, and script helped preserve the tip for longer. The elaborate Copperplate and Spencerian scripts are beautiful but became increasingly impractical due to how laborious they were (as in how much pressure is required to write that way). So it was phased out in favor of scripts with little to no line variation. Then when HB pencils displaced 2B (which can get a darker line with less pressure) and ballpoints (over rollerballs, fountain pens, and, later, gel pens) became the writing implement of choice, cursive became more laborious. Many students returned to print because it didn't require them to maintain continuous pressure on the pen/cil, which cursive did.

Script and the way it is taught is generally not lefty-friendly. Every "pull" toward a righty's body is a "push" away from a lefty's. Combined with the fact that some left-handed folks have hooked or sideways grips to avoid smudging, cursive cannot be inherently more comfortable unless it is taught in a modified way for lefties. (There are a number of other things that can make cursive harder for particular individuals but I'm most familiar with left-handedness)

It was the STEM-worshipping Common Core that removed cursive from curricula around 2010. The students had no control over this.

Some people just prefer print, the same way she (a white woman) "prefers" to date Asian men, something she felt the need to admit in public

They still make you use cursive for your signature, forehead

Did she achieve the desired effect? Nope! Everyone who was forced to write cursive reverted back to print when her experiment was done! This is mainly because she didn't actually teach anyone cursive, just to look up the glyphs and copy them by looking at them. She didn't dedicate any time at all to practicing writing, let alone teach stroke orders or glyph pairings. When I learned cursive in 3rd grade we spent around 15 minutes every day for a chunk of the school year on practicing cursive. That's a small part of an elementary school day but a large part of a 50 minute class, so it's understandable that she didn't have the time, but it was very silly of her to think she did.

It was one of the things that made me realize after I graduated that I didn't actually like her (and another white woman teacher who also tried to pass herself off as being 'cool'). This woman was always wishing she were somewhere else while trying to be conversational with (but still superior to) literal teens. Hopefully after she ended her blog she realized she should also stop harassing black children with one-ups and zingers over stupid shit like rhyming and writing in cursive. Headass

[goldkirk]

it’s my first day of trying assignments for art therapy! my thoughts on what I kind of realized today are in the tags if you want to read 💛

[beca-mitchell]

Umm... that girl who reblogged a post from her male friend who you made all your buddies send rude anons to? Don't play dumb

edit: removed usernames bc i would hate to be told i’m bullying by setting my followers on these people or something like that

Are you joking?

Nobody made anybody do anything. I don't know who sent her anons, but she is literally a 20 year old adult who was called out on something shitty. Do you think I give enough of a shit about her to send friends to send anons? Or do you think nobody has an any agency? Like did she send YOU to send anons? Or are you just here being a knight for no reason.

After simple research, she has been crying non-stop about anons she got that were evidently not remotely rude (if they were the ones published on her blog) and she consistently has been fucking lamenting over how shitty things are for her.

You all don't seem to get it so I will spell it out nicely for you:

[REDACTED] posted a long post about how he was HATE CRIMED. Literally, "I was a victim of a hate crime". Then detailed how the specific hate crime was that a black woman (an "African American woman" rather) crossed the street to avoid his house while he was standing watering his front yard.

Now, there are SEVERAL reasons why any person would cross the street to avoid a person watering their lawn (one being that they don't want to get wet??).

But of course, this individual decided to give us more information. He said he was a 40 year 6'4 caucasian male. Fairly fit or whatever his description was. She was a black woman.

Not only did he profile her immediately, he ASSUMED she was judging his singular pride flag hanging outside his house. Not anything else. Now if you don't know why a black woman or any woman really would want to avoid a 6'4 man (a white man!) in today's climate/society/environment, then you need to TURN ON THE NEWS.

(side bar - if you think this is a hate crime, then you are simply a white karen and you will stop at nothing to make yourself a victim in situations where you want to exert power over the agency of minority populations. full stop.)

Now your dear friend [REDACTED] reblogged it and said "this is so sad uwu signal boost bc more people need to be aware" and "mental health" or some other obnoxious shit like that. There is nothing to signal boost here. Do you know why? Because you have yet another white man profiling a black woman and stripping her of her agency, her entire being, and what she was doing (which was minding her own business) just so he could make a post about being sad about hurt feelings. That's all it was. People get hurt feelings all the time from social interactions they don't understand, but you can see not ONCE in his essay-length post did he consider what she was thinking. Somehow, to him, the only thing that could have been going through a black woman's mind as she encountered a 6'4 white man watering his lawn was that she wanted to hate crime him by minding her own business and walking across the street.

never mind that he was obviously tracking her for several minutes by watching her exact positioning at any given time.

so no, i do not believe it was right for her to reblog it. she can reblog what she wants on her blog, but she now wants to cry wolf and point to things that are simply untrue. i am not making anybody send her things, nor have i posted about it publicly at the level she has. she has simply made herself out to be a victim when she is not one. in fact, she was told by, ostensibly, several black individuals (black women if i recall correctly) what she was doing was uncomfortable and wrong and all she did, instead of removing the post was to remove the "signal boost" tag and leave "mental health".

There is no mental health at all associated with that post. There is nothing to be gained from that post, at least nothing of value to other people. it was not a coping method, it was not important. somebody's feelings were hurt and that was it. this person, rather than knowing how to cope with hurt feelings in a totally proportionate way to the situation, decided to blow it out of proportion. and your dear friend, instead of talking to her friend privately like most people would, decided to make it everybody's problem by reblogging it. then told maybe one or two black individuals (or the same one) to get off her blog when they identified themselves as such.

she, for some reason still has the reblogged post up so you can see several people's comments on his original post. nobody sent him anons (to my knowledge) and nobody that i know sent her anons (to my knowledge).

PEOPLE WERE UNCOMFORTABLE BECAUSE OF THE POST. This not just that he's a fucking dude in the PP fandom, this is about him making it uncomfortable for several people, especially black people. So they can make it out to be an "oh my god theresa and her friends want people to be excluded from this fandom" um??/ nobody fucking said that? and i certainly do not endorse that? it was uncomfortable bc it was like a thousand microaggressions in each sentence!

for the record, i am not black and i would never pretend to be black. What i did was (1) send her a DM after she unfollowed me bc i got a couple anons and (2) posted in a gc tagging her, to which she unfollowed. i also posted screenshots on twitter.

so you can take these as it is, but if she wants to call me a "demon" or a "minion" or whatever, that's fine with me. i said my piece several days ago and she is the one who is CONSTANTLY bringing it up.

this is not bullying. she and her friends simply do not understand what is going on and have re-characterized this as something that it simply isn't. and they are consistently talking about it, crying about it, and bringing it up in ways that are DRAGGING THIS OUT for no reason.

[vividaway]

I know it doesn't have any relation to the trial now, but was JD really racist? Or homophobic or transphobic? I'm totally on his side and knowing this won't change my stance but I'm curious. I can't find anything that suggests this. I just wanted to ask because you seemed to know. I hope this doesn't come off as disingenuous, I just wanted to get it clarified. Sorry to bother you, have a good day!

(will be reblogging to address the other claims, this one got long because i'm very passionate about educating)

hi, i'd like to try to answer this with as much proof as i can, as i do feel the statements made are NOT ACCURATE to reality.

i first want to start off by saying you arent a bother AT ALL. this is a very good question, and its one that is a bit more complicated than that.

theres the accusation that Depp threatened black peoples lives. this is unfathomably untrue, and i cant believe that i got AS TWISTED AS IT DID. i've linked an explanation before, as it couldnt have be explained more clearly.

Depp was drinking. the "shot" is a shot of alcohol. its very blatant once you know the context.

now, lets talk about the native american claim. as someone who is indigenous, its something i think we SHOULD talk about.

in the past, johnny has claimed to be (i am ASSUMING, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CORRECT ME IF I AM WRONG) a mixed cherokee, and i only assume this based on how the media portrayed his claims.

this is a hill i will DIE ON as a cherokee. MIXED CHEROKEE'S EXIST. my families has tries to the blackfoot cherokee specifically, AND THIS IS IMPORTANT BECAUSE-- THEY ARE NOT A TRIBE.

a LOT of indigenous people were subject to the cruelest tortures well after we "gained our rights" in america. we were subject to forced sterilization at late at the early 80's, and native children were taken off of their tribes by the government and adopted out to white families.

Now, this is very VERY TRICKY. because you are actively apart of a white family. this lead to a TON OF WHITE PEOPLE claiming "they were apart of the blackfoot-cherokee tribe" and this lead to the demonization of the term.

due to this, a LOT and i mean A. LOT. of native people grew up not knowing they were native. this lead to a whole generation of people who do not know their native heritage because they didnt grow up in it. some of my cousins identify as blackfoot cherokee, (my great grandfather was blackfoot) and thats the sole reason WHY blackfoot-cherokee exists. as a label for those who DO know their heritage.

personally, i dont see myself as blackfoot cherokee. i TECHNICALLY am, but i actively realize that if i were to join a tribe, i would have to "pick a side". this leads to a ton of confusion for people who GENUINELY GREW UP WITH THEIR PARENTS FROM TWO DIFFERENT TRIBES.

these people grew up WITH BOTH CULTURES. they grew up hearing stories from BOTH tribes. they grew up actively participating in their heritage, and this is all seen as "a waste" because they identify as blackfoot-cherokee. there are actually MANY MANY conferences that people who GENIUNELY learned from both tribes due to their parents AND grandparents, and speak out to spread awareness that blackfoot-cherokee isnt a tribe, but a mixed culture. its simply when two different people meet, and create a kid.

now, all of this explanation IS IMPORTANT. because not only has depp claimed to be cherokee or creek, he was fucking 'adopted' by the comanche nation chairmen in new mexico. (im not sure the legitimacy of said adoption but i still find it very cool)

either way, he IS an honorary member of the comanche nation tribe. not just that, but his explanation OF his native american history matches the timeline of those whom were forcefully kidnapped from their homes and adopted out and those who were forcefully kidnapped from their homes and put into "boarding schools" (where they taught native that their culture and heritage was BAD, and that they were to act like white people.) i UNDERSTAND why it is so controversial for him to mention him being mixed tribe, especially without proper certification. but he of all people would know his history.

he even has a tattoo for his great grandmother, whom he was very proud of.

people quote a blog that has no validity, has broken links, and most of the links they DO have are to other blogs with no validity to them in an attempt to "disprove" that he's cherokee. they link people who arent related to johnny, and its all a big stretch to try to prove he's "lying".

WHY IS THIS RELEVANT?

because johnny depp has been accused of misappropriating native american culture, time and time again.

so with all of this, do YOU think johnny was racist?

[slythergirlimagines]

Life Changing Adventures with Zuko

Summary: Zuko and the Reader get into some trouble when they meet a witch who switches their bodies. The Gaang tries to help them switch back. Pretty much fluff, not much angst! (GIF is not mine, but I absolutely love it!) Words: 5,659   Request: Yes Masterlist

****Also, would you guys be interested in me making a masterlist of all my fics? Let me know!

                    Life Changing Adventures with Zuko

  You should have never come here. That’s what you’re thinking as you and Zuko climb up the incredibly tall, dangerous mountain to see what’s in the mysterious cave.

  “I don’t like this.” You say, crossing your arms in an effort to preserve some sort of body heat. Of course, Zuko didn’t have to worry about the cold and he seemed no more bothered with this excursion than he would be anything else.

  Zuko glances back at you, black fringe hanging in his amber eyes.

  “Just calm down, we’re nearly there.” He says, and continues his climb up the winding, steep path.

    You roll your eyes, but hurry to match his pace. You definitely don’t want to fall behind in this place, but Zuko’s long legs are growing increasingly hard to keep up with.

  You can feel it in the air that something’s not quite right. There’s an undercurrent of something undefinable. Like magic. It hums all around you, and gives you goosebumps.

   Up ahead, the wind whips through Zuko’s raven hair. It also blows his tunic tight against his body, and you can just make out the contours of his muscles.

  Mentally, you slap yourself. Why do you care about Zuko’s muscles? He had chased you and your friends for months, and he had been responsible for a myriad of bad things that had happened to you. You had forgiven him, but you guys fought all the time. Your bickering often drove your friends crazy, and had been nonstop since he arrived. 

   “Life changing adventures with Zuko.” Toph had once called the personal journeys your friends had taken with him. You and Toph were the only people who hadn’t had one, and you certainly hoped today wasn’t your day.

   Zuko stops and cocks his head, listening. You slowly approach him, taking care to keep silent. If Zuko was concerned then you should definitely be concerned as well. Your eyes dart around, but you don’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary.

  The sun is starting to set, and it’s making this damn mountain even colder than before. The trees cast long shadows over the path, and it all feels foreboding. Subconsciously, you gravitate closer to Zuko.

  “Remind me what we’re doing here, again?” You ask. You’re trying your hardest not to show any fear, but everything in your body is telling you to leave.

   Zuko squints and stares in the direction of the cave.

   “Aang asked us to check it out.” He says in his low rasp. This however is partially untrue.

  Aang had asked you to go check it out, not Zuko. Aang claimed that something felt wrong up here, but he was currently trying to the closest village from being occupied by Fire Nation troops and didn’t have time to check. You weren’t a bender, but you were a capable warrior, and Aang trusted your abilities.

   Zuko, on the other hand, had volunteered the moment you agreed to go. He claimed that it was because he couldn’t have Fire Nation soldiers recognize him, but his hastiness made you suspicious. He was always doing that, hovering around you during missions and tasks. It got on your nerves how little he trusted in your ability to defend yourself.

   “I don’t think we should be here.” You reiterate. “It just feels....”

   “I know. I feel it too.” Zuko says. He turns to you and offers a large hand. Sighing, you take it and allow him to lead you closer to the cave.

   Zuko stops behind a tall tree, and peeks his head around to observe. The tree is hardly wide enough to conceal his broad shoulders, but at least you are in the shadows. You notice that you are still holding his hand, and drop it before he can read too much into it.

   In an effort to look busy, you squint into the dark, trying to make out any sort of object that could be important. Without Aang here it is virtually impossible to know what you need to find.

   Zuko seems to be following the same train of thought as you, and scans the area with his eyes. The light is almost dark enough to conceal his scar. Your fingers twitch with some foreign urge to trace over it. You ball your hands into fists. Maybe you just want to punch him in the face.

  “I don’t see anything.” Zuko mumbles, still watchful.

   “Me neither. I say we go back to camp and tell Aang that there’s nothing up here.” The wind has picked up since you got here, and you’re teeth are chattering.

   Zuko notices your shivering for the first time, and rolls his eyes. He flexes his fingers, and you can tell what he’s about to do from the look on his face. You can’t have him firebend here.

   “Don’t.” You say harsher than necessary.

  “You can’t give that away, especially if someone’s here.” You hastily add. You don’t know why you’re suddenly so concerned about sparing his feelings.

    “Yeah...you’re right.” Zuko says, but there’s a strange look in his eyes that you don’t quite understand.

    Suddenly, the cave bursts into life and a bright light pours through it. The hairs on your arms prickle as the hum around you intensifies. You can practically taste whatever it is in the air.

   “We need to get closer, see what’s going on.” Zuko says, “Maybe this is what Aang meant.”

   You swallow loudly, but nod your consent. Hesitantly, you trail behind him, nearing the cave. The light illuminates the wideness of its mouth, and its seemingly never ending depth. Anything could be in there, but what could be of any importance to you?

   However bad you think the idea is, you know you have to go inside. Something is waiting for you in this cave, and you have to face it.

   You look to Zuko to see if he’s come to a similar conclusion, and you find the same grim expression on his face. Locking eyes, you nod at each other, and start the trek inside.

   Zuko lights his fists on fire, and the flames dance around his knuckles in beautiful patterns. Even though you wish he wouldn’t bend, it’s Zuko’s flames that you focus on to keep yourself from becoming panicked. For the first time, you’re truly glad he’s there with you.

   So focused are you on Zuko’s flame, that you don’t notice that someone is sneaking up on you. You hear the sound of their footsteps too late, and then everything goes dark.

                                ————————————————

  You wake up to a pounding in your head. Groaning, you move to lift a hand to your injury, but find that they are bound to something. That something just so happens to be a warm, angry firebender.

  “Y/n?” He asks, and you can’t help but notice that his usually crabby voice is laced with concern.

   “Ugh.” You groan in response. The back of your head is exploding with pain.

   “Are you alright?” He questions lowly.

   “Head hurts.” You mumble.

    You feel Zuko moving behind you, and assume he’s nodding.

   “You got hit pretty hard.” He whispers. You’re appreciative of the fact that he has lowered his voice. “Good thing your head is so hard.” 

    And there it is. You decide to be the bigger person and ignore him.

   “Hit with what?” You ask.

    “Magic, dear.” Says a wheezing voice. All of a sudden, light fills up the cave again, and you squeeze your eyes shut against it.

    Your head pounds viciously in response to the brightness, and you groan again.

   “Sorry about that.” The voice says again, and this time you can tell that it belongs to a woman. An old one by the sound of it.

    You hear shuffling near you, and then something is pressed to your lips.

   “Drink this, it’ll make you feel better.” She says.

    You shake your head, but she pressed the vial through your lips anyways, and forces your head back.

   “Leave her alone!” Zuko snaps.

   “Don’t worry firebender, I haven’t forgotten you.” The old woman says.

    The sweet liquid slides down your throat, and instantly your pain fades. You open your eyes to a wizened woman with a shock of bright white hair. Her eyes are crazed, and instantly you have a bad feeling about her. She winks at you and then moves away, one of her legs dragging behind her.

    You briefly take stock of you surroundings. The room is made of stone, so clearly you haven’t left the cave. That at least would make it easier if you escaped. The room is cluttered with vials, plants, and random torn pages. On one of the make shift tables you see a large cauldron and a mortar and pestle.

    “You’re a witch.” Your voice is flat.

     The old woman let’s out a shrieking cackle.

   “If that’s what you want to call it! Now I think it’s time you answer a few of my questions.” She says, crossing her arms.

    “We don’t owe you anything!” Zuko says through clenched teeth. You can feel his anger heating his body from where your backs touch.

   “No?” She says coyly. “You came to my cave to attack me!” She squeals, one eye twitching.

    “We didn’t come to attack you.” You say, trying to maintain the peace. Maybe she could be reasoned with. You feel Zuko tense behind you, and you know he’s preparing for a fight.

    “Then why were you sneaking into my cave, with this one on fire?” She says nodding in Zuko’s direction.

    This is the tricky part, figuring out how much to tell her. She clearly isn’t a fan of the Fire Nation, due to her reaction with Zuko, but maybe that isn’t true. Maybe she knows who Zuko is, and is a Fire Nation sympathizer.

    “Well?” She questions.

    “We’re traveling with the Avatar, and he sent us up here to check this place out while he went to help the nearby village.” You blurt. It comes out of nowhere, and it was definitely not what you meant to say at all.

    Horrified, you gasp. Zuko tenses begins you.

   “What did you do to her?” He demands.

   “Just a little truth potion.” She hums. “Can’t hurt to know the people around you are honest.”

     You clamp your mouth, biting into your lip hard enough to draw blood.

    “We’re not your enemy.” Zuko says. “You don’t need to restrain us. Or trick us into telling the truth.”

     You watch as the old woman paces back and forth.

    “I am Kara.” She says finally. “Years ago, I made a deal with Fire Nation to protect my people. I would provide them with some magical assistance, if they would spare my village.”

    “You’re helping them?” You cry out.

    “Don’t judge me too harshly girl.” The woman snaps. “I did what I could for my people, just as you try to do.”

    “The Avatar will free you’re village.” Zuko says. “You will be able to prosper without Fire Nation soldiers breathing down your neck. Let us go, and we will be able to help him.”

    Something in his voice makes your heart stutter. Maybe it’s the sincerity in his voice, or the hard edge of determination. You have got to stop thinking about Zuko that way.

    Kara laughs and shakes her head.

    “No one will be able to defeat them. Not even the Avatar.” She shakes her head, sadly.

    “We have! Many times before.” You say. You don’t like Kara talking badly about Aang. He has almost mastered all of the elements, and you know he has what it takes to defeat Ozai. You all have done so much good for people already. 

    Kara just shakes her head again, and resumes pacing.

   “I’m sorry.” She says finally. “I wish your friend well, but I can’t let you leave without knowing you aren’t a threat to the Fire Nation. If they know that I didn’t do anything I could to help them, they will hurt the people I love.”

    Kara begins muttering under her breath, and you tense up. You hate being completely vulnerable and open to an attack. Zuko must be on the same page, for you can feel him struggling against the bonds.

    “Heat them up.” You whisper as quietly as you can. “Burn them.”

    Kara starts going around and picking out various objects from her jars.

   “I can’t. Your hands are too close, I’ll burn you.” He says.

   “You’ll have to. It’s the only way we’re getting out of here!” You snap.

   “No.” He says, hotly.

    “Zuko!”

    “I’m not going to hurt you, y/n!” He growls.

    To your dismay, your arguing has caught the attention of Kara. She has a bright gleam in her eyes as she’s watching you two.

    “I see.” She says. Then she starts laughing hysterically, wiping tears from her eyes.

    “I know just what to do! But first, young lady, just how much does this boy mean to you?”

    The truth spills from your lips again without your control.

    “A lot.” You say, and then you’re whole face turns red. You’re mortified, but at least Zuko can’t see your face.

   Kara giggle with glee and then nods to herself

 “Oh yes, just the thing.” She comes over to you both, and plucks hairs from your heads.

   “Hey!” You and Zuko both protest.

  She sets the hairs in a bowl, and then starts talking to herself again, this time loudly enough for you to hear. She’s speaking in a foreign language of some sort, and hastily you begin to tug on your bonds again.

   “Zuko, just do it!” You say.

     In a surprisingly fast move, Zuko manages to wrench his wrists away from yours and singe the ropes without burning you. He is up and shooting flames at Kara in an instant.

    The bowl catches on fire, but it’s a pink fire, something magical and not from Zuko.

    “You’re too late!” She cackles gleefully. Then she disappears in a plume of smoke, and you and Zuko are left alone in the cave.

                                  ——————————————

   You  are both on high alert as you make your way back to camp. Every noise makes you jumpy, as you wait for Kara’s spell to start working. You make it out of the woods without so much as a scratch. Though it looks like you’ve avoided her wrath, something feels off.

   “You’re too late.” She had said. Chills race up and down your spine.

   Zuko keeps lighting and extinguishing his fists. You think maybe he’s trying to make sure he can still bend. Possible scenarios play over and over in your head. There were thousands of things she could do to sabotage you and Zuko. She could take away his bending, paralyze you, or turn you into bugs. The possibilities are endless, and yet nothing has happened.

   The Gaang is waiting up for you when you finally arrive back at camp. You tell them about the witch and her curse. Sokka rolls his eyes and seems unconcerned.

   “She’s just a crackpot you guys. Obviously nothing will happen.”

   Toph seconds his notion, but Aang and Katara look wary. Katara makes you and Zuko repeat the story until you’re blue in the face, but she can’t figure it out any more than you can.

  You are too embarrassed from your admission to talk to Zuko, or even bicker with him like you normally would. You quickly excuse yourself to go to sleep, and spend the rest of the evening hiding in your tent.

   You fall into a restless sleep that night. You dream of the horrible things you considered happening to you. In one dream you’re a frog, in the other you’re pinned to the ground unable to move.

   You’re utterly exhausted when you’re woken up by you’re own screaming.

                             ————————————————-

  You sit up in your tent immediately. You knew you heard yourself scream, but it hadn’t come from your mouth. Seconds later, you burst into your tent.

  Your clone stops and look at you, with wide eyes.

  “Y/n?” Your voice asks you.

   “Yes?” You say, but it isn’t your voice that comes out when you speak. Instead, it’s Zuko’s rasp that forms the words.

   All of a sudden the pieces of the puzzle start clicking together.

   “Oh no.” You say horrified, and look down at your body.

   You have muscles now, and you feel stronger, bigger. You reach a hand up and grab a handful of short, ebony locks. Your other hand traces your features, and you feel the rough scar under the pads of your fingers.

   “This can’t be real.” You say in Zuko’s voice. “This can’t be happening.”

   “It’s happening.” Zuko says.

   It’s weird to see yourself objectively like this. You have this horrible out of body feeling, and it’s making your head spin. Anxiety hits you, and you start breathing heavy. You’re going to pass out.

    “Calm down!” Zuko says, rushing over to you. He wraps his arms around you, himself? Ugh it’s too confusing.

  “If you don’t calm down, you’re going to burn this tent down and hurt yourself!” He says. He awkwardly starts rubbing your back. “Breathe with me.” He instructs.

   Slowly, you start to calm down. Zuko lets his, your?, hands linger for a moment longer, before he pulls away and puts some distance between you.

    “What are we going to do?” You ask. Zuko makes a face at how weak his voice sounds.

    “I don’t know.” He says. His mannerisms look so weird on your body. You can tell that it’s him, just by the way he holds himself. You wonder if he’s experiencing the same thing watching you in his body.

  “We need to go back to the cave, demand that Kara gives us our bodies back.” You say.

   Zuko rolls your eyes.

  “I’m sure that will go over well.” He says.

  “Don’t make me sound all crabby.” You snap at him.

  “Don’t make me sound all girly and pathetic!” He retorts.

  “Pathetic?!”

  “Oh Zuko,” he mocks “what are we going to do? Save me Zuko, I care a lot about you!”

  “You’re so annoying!” You shout, embarrassed that he remembered your confession.

   “Can we not fight this early in the morning!” Sokka says, throwing open your tent.

  “Oh.” He says, looking between the two of you.

  You realize in embarrassment that you and Zuko are awfully close together, and you are in Zuko’s body in your sleeping bag. It has to look like Zuko slept in your tent.

   “Sokka, we can explain.” You say.

   Sokka hurriedly shakes his head, raising his hands.

   “No, no. Please don’t.” He says.

   “Sokka listen, the witch really did curse us.” Zuko says. “She made us switch bodies.”

    Sokka looks between the two of you and then bursts into laughter.

    “Ok well I have to say that’s the first time I’ve hear that excuse.” He says, wiping tears from the corners of his blue eyes.

   “We’re serious!” You snap at him.

    Sokka sobers up, looking between you two again.

   “You really did perfect your impressions of one another.” Sokka says, suddenly sounding a bit more unsure.

    “Ugh!” You snap, and push out of the tent in a huff. You need to find Toph. She could prove you weren’t lying.

     It’s cold outside your tent, and to your horror you find that you’re not wearing a shirt.

    “Zuko!” You screech. “Why the hell aren’t you wearing a shirt!”

   “I’m a firebender, y/n. I get hot!” He defends.

   “Get me a shirt!” You snap. Zuko rolls his eyes at your dramatics, but leads you to his tent and throws a tunic at you.

    It smells like him when you pull it over your head. You try not to obviously inhale, but it’s the first time you’ve really noticed how Zuko smells. It’s not the first time you’ve noticed his muscles, but now you have a first hand look. His abs are hard and defined, and you blush quickly finishing dressing.

    “Are you done starting at me?” Zuko asks.

    “I’m sorry, it’s just weird!” You tell him.

  Sokka’s jaw is nearly touching the ground as he watches your exchange.

   “No way.” He says, finally believing you.

  “Yeah, Sokka.” You say.

                           ——————————————————

  Toph confirms your story, and everyone sits in dumbfounded silence. Even you and Zuko don’t have much more to say.

  “Well you have to go talk to Kara.” Katara says helpfully. “We’ll have to make her change you back.”

   “Wow that’s helpful. Thank you Katara, why didn’t we think of that.” Zuko says.

  “Y/n!” Katara says, hurt.

  “Zuko.” You and Zuko both correct her.

  “Whatever.” She mutters, angrily.

  “Katara’s right.” Says Aang. “We’ll all go. Maybe if I can convince her that I can help, she’ll change you back.”

   There seems to be no better plan than this. Sokka and Toph stay behind at the campsite, while the rest of you start the hike up the mountain.

   The breeze isn’t so bad now that you’re in Zuko’s body. He’s right when he says that he doesn’t get cold. He, on the other hand, is openly shivering in your body. You almost feel a little bad, but you remember him telling you it wasn’t that bad last night, and think better of it.

   “How do you survive like this?” He moans when you come to a stop. “It’s so cold all the time.”

   You smirk at his dramatics.

  “That’s what you get.”

   “For what!” He questions, and you can feel the fight brewing.

   “Oh I don’t know, maybe ‘You’re so dramatic y/n.’” You mock. “’It’s not that cold, y/n. Calm down, y/n’”

“I wasn’t telling you to calm down because you were cold.” He snaps. “I was trying to tell you to stop panicking!” He throws his hands up and stomps ahead.

   It’s a little embarrassing, and you think back to every tantrum you’ve thrown. Maybe this is a somewhat positive experience. You’re definitely learning about the annoying things you do.

   You and Zuko bicker all the way up the mountain. Though it’s not unusual for you all, but you can tell it’s driving Aang and Katara crazy.

   “Can you all please knock it off!” Katara yells, eventually. All three of you jump, and she crosses her arms. “I am sick and tired of hearing you all argue. That’s all you do every day! Can’t you all come to some sort of truce?”

   You and Zuko both narrow your eyes at each other.

 “No!” You say at the same time.

   “Ugh!”

                         —————————————————-

  You make it up the mountain alive, but barely. Everyone’s tempers are running high by the time you break through the trees.

  “Alright,” Zuko says. “We need to be careful. She knocked y/n out with one blow. She’ll do it again if we aren’t careful.”

   You’re about to protest the way he makes your ambush sound, but Aang mediates before your get riled up.

   “Just let it go.” He tells you.

   You all enter the cave quietly, heads constantly scanning the area as Zuko leads you down to the belly of the cave. You recognize the room when you get to it. The evidence of Kara is everywhere, still littered around the floor.

   “She isn’t here?” Zuko says.

    “Great observation.” You retort.

   “Guys, guys!” Aang snaps. “Enough. Let’s look through the books around here. There’s got to be something that tells us how to fix this.”

   The four of you spend what feels like hours combing through the books and pages around the room.

    “There’s nothing here!” Zuko cries, slamming a book onto the table.

    “That’s because it’s a spell of my own invention.” Kara’s wheezy voice says.

    You all jump into defensive stances, ready to attack. Kara holds up a wrinkled hand, but otherwise looks unbothered.

    “Please.” She says passively. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

    “Change back my friends!” Aang demands. “It’s me you have a problem with.”

   “Ah the Avatar.” Kara smiles. “You really are here.”

    “Yes. And I promise I will free your village. But first you must free my friends.” He says.

   “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” She says, eyes glittering again.

    “Why not?” Katara challenges.

    “I can’t change them back, because they must do it themselves.” She smiles.

   “What do you mean?” You ask, broad furrowing. There’s a light protesting from Zuko’s scar at the movement.

    “Save my village and I’ll tell you.” She says. “And you better do it fast, because in three days this will become permanent.”

                            ————————————————-

   Freeing the village from Fire Nation troops is going to be a bigger struggle than you anticipated, you realize as you and Zuko stroll down the streets. You currently have a hood pulled way over your head to hide your identity. There seemed to be hundred of them, and there were only six of you.

   “We’re never going to be able to pull this off.” You mutter under your breath. “I’m going to be you forever.”

   “How do you think I feel?” Zuko laments. “I’m losing my bending, my honor, everything.”

    “Well we wouldn’t be in this mess if I had just gone up there alone.” You snap as you approach the center of the village. 

    “Right, if you had gone alone you would’ve been killed!” He snaps back.

    “Why do you assume I’m so incapable of taking care of myself?!” You’re infuriated now. “I took care of myself for years before I ever met you!”

    “Don’t see how!” He growls. “All you ever do is get yourself in trouble, and someone always has to be there to help!”

    “Excuse me?!” You roar. “How dare you?!”

    The Fire Nation soldiers are slowly starting to gather around you, curious about the fight.

   “How dare I?” Zuko ramps up the volume. “How dare you?” He points a finger at your chest.

   So far, your distraction seems to be working. Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Toph are all getting into position. You just have to keep up the fighting a little longer.

   “You’re always babying me, and acting like I need a keeper! I’m not a child, and you don’t have to take it upon yourself to be my caretaker! I’m just fine on my own!” You yell, channeling his body’s natural penchant for rage.

    “Somebody has to!” Zuko snaps back, and over exaggerates putting his hand on his hip. “You never do it yourself. You’re always doing reckless things for other people, and your not as equipped to throw yourself in danger like everyone else!”

    Suddenly this fight feels a bit too real, and you find yourself getting actually offended. How dare he insinuate that your lack of bending meant you weren’t a good fighter!

   “What so I’m not allowed to care about my friends and do things to protect them?” You screech. “I’m sorry I don’t have all your talents, my lord. Next time I’ll make sure I get your permission first before I try and help somebody out!”

    “You always take everything I say out of context!” He snaps.

     “Hey guys?” Aang says, garnering the attention of the crowd. “I think that’s good enough, thanks.”

     Then all chaos breaks loose. Katara, Aang, and Toph start the fight with their bending. The Fire Nation soldiers, though caught unaware, do not take long to start fighting back. You wish that you knew how to utilize Zuko’s firebending, but you settle on using his physical strength instead.

   Most of the defense moves you know are geared towards you being smaller than your opponent. Not all of them work now that you’re Zuko’s size, and you find yourself struggling more than usual in your fights.

   Zuko seems to be having a similar issue learning how to fight in your body. You notice he has a habit of getting into bending stances out of pure habit. You notice that he’s getting cornered, when you go to help him.

   Together, you fight pretty well, instructing each other on moves as you go. Sokka’s boomerang flies about, knocking out opponents left and right. Your benders are doing well too, and soon enough, you’ve defeated the Fire Nation soldiers.

   You’re sore, body aching from exertion, but the happy villagers make it feel worth it.

   “Thank you, Avatar!” Someone yells after Aang explains who you all are.

    Your eyes find Kara’s in the crowd. It was time you got your body back.

   “Hey!” You yell as she walks away.

    “Y/n?” You hear Zuko call behind you as you take off, pushing through the crowd.

    “Hey! Stop!” You yell at Kara. “You owe us an explanation!”

      Zuko catches up to you, and you both chase after her. Finally, Kara stops in the woods, away from all the people.

     “I thought you’d want some privacy!” She cackles. “I saw your little distraction out there. Seemed pretty real.” You and Zuko shuffle and avoid eye contact, as the rest of the Gaang catches up with you.

  “We saved your village!” Aang says, “Now tell us how to fix this.” He waves a hand at you and Zuko.

   Kara’s eyes sparkle as she looks at all of you.

  “As I said, I can’t change you back. You have to do it yourselves.” She sings.

  “How?” Zuko grounds out through his, your, clenched jaw.

   “All you have to do is kiss!” She says gleefully clapping her hands together.

   Everyone is silent as you all take in this information.

   “There has to be another way.” Zuko says. There’s a desperate edge to his voice that hurts your feelings. Is the thought of kissing you so awful that he wouldn’t do it even to get his body back?

    Rolling your eyes, you stroll over and kiss Zuko’s, your, cheek. It’s a weird experience for sure, knowing that you’re kissing both Zuko and yourself.

   “Not that kind of kiss.” Kara says, smiling like a maniac. “A real one!”

   The color drains from Zuko’s face, and the rest of your friends remain silent. You can feel their eyes watching your every move. 

  Zuko’s disgust is plain, and even though it hurts, you just want your body back and to forget this every happened.

   “Zuko, I know you’re absolutely disgusted, but I’d like my body back before I’m you forever.” You say annoyed. “You can wash out your mouth and vomit when you have your own body back.”

   You can hear the muted hurt in your own voice, and it’s kind of embarrassing that you know everyone else can hear it too.

   “I’m afraid it’s the only way.” Kara adds.

   “If it helps just think about the fact that you’re kissing yourself, not me.” You say. More than ever you want this experience to be over, so you can go mourn your hurt feelings somewhere in private.

    Zuko sighs, and then approaches you.

  “Fine.” He says.

  Awkwardly, you both fidget, unsure how to initiate the kiss. It doesn’t help that literally everyone, including Momo and Appa, are looking at you.

   “Some privacy?” You ask them.

   “Oh yeah sure.” They all mumble, whistling and looking away. The second you turn back to Zuko you can feel their eyes on you. Some friends.

   “Let’s just get it over-” you get cut off by Zuko pressing his lips to yours.

    Instantly, you feel the switch happening. You feel yourself being pulled and re-anchored into your own body. Your limbs feel normal again, and then you really start to feel the kiss.

   Zuko pulls you closer to his warm, muscular body. Everything is exploding around you, and all you want to do is be even closer to him. You bring your arms up and settle them on his broad shoulders. Your hands wind themselves around his neck, and you play with the ends of his hair.

   Zuko’s large hands are also doing their fair share of exploring. One rests on your hips while the other tangles itself in your hair, and both pull you closer. His tongue opens your lips and you let him in, a moan escaping from you. It feels right, kissing Zuko like this. Like it is something that was always meant to happen.

   Somebody clears their throat and breaks up your moment. Slowly, you and Zuko part. You’re thrilled to realize it’s his swollen lips and amber eyes that you see when you pull away.

   “Well that was something!” Kara squeals in delight.

    Heat pools into your cheeks, as you asses your friends’ expressions. Aang looks embarrassed, Katara has heart eyes, and Toph and Sokka both look disgusted.

   “It worked.” You say breathlessly. Already you have the intense desire to kiss Zuko again, but suddenly you’re insecure. What if he hated it? He had seemed so disgusted before.

   “Yeah it did.” Zuko says, and then he smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Some privacy?” He asks everyone, tightening his grip on you. Butterflies explode in your stomach as he does, and you’ve never felt so fluttery before.

   Your friends make themselves scarce, telling you they’ll be at camp. Kara scrambles off too, cackling all the while, and then you are alone.

  Your heart is pounding, and you’re really unsure how to tell Zuko how you feel. What if he doesn’t feel the same?

   Suddenly, Zuko presses his lips to yours again, and it feels like he’s devouring you. He’s passionate and fiery, and every press of his tongue against yours makes you feel like you’re on fire. Your body is buzzing when he finally pulls away to catch his breath.

   “I didn’t mean what I said during our fight.” He says, leaning his forehead against yours and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I don’t think you’re incapable or less than because you aren’t a bender. I think you’re one of the most talented people I know, and I also know that you can take care of yourself.” He says taking a deep breath.

   Zuko takes a step back, and removed an arm to put a finger under your chin. He lift your chin so you’re looking into his eyes.

   “I worry about you. All the time.” He says. “I’m so scared that you’ll get hurt and I won’t be there to protect you. My number one instinct is to protect you. That’s why I always ‘hover’ and volunteer to go on missions with you. If something happened to you....”

   “I feel the same way about you, you know.” You say smiling. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt either. And I don’t necessarily hate it when you’re around.” You tease him. “Or when you kiss me.”

   Zuko laughs, a deep happy laugh. It’s one of the first times you’ve ever seen him look so buoyant. You take the opportunity to kiss him this time, and he sighs happily into your mouth.

    “What are we going to do now?” You ask him.

    “Probably get back to our friends.” He says, grabbing your hand in his as you start making your way to your camp site.

    “You know, Zuko, Toph’s right.” You say. “You really do take people on life changing adventures!”

A/n: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this! I’ve been working on my requests so hopefully I’ll have a few more stories out for you guys over the weekend. I’m going to be adding some things to my ‘Fanfic prompts’ post, so be sure to check it out if you want to request something! (also I’m fine with people requesting things that aren’t on that list if you have something specific for me to write!) Have a good weekend, and you can find all my other writing under the tag slythergirlimagines. I think I tagged everyone who asked to be tagged in my atla stuff, but if I missed you please let me know and I’ll correct it!!

Taglist: @galacticamidala​ @a-random-queer-kid​ @taeeemin​ @realimbo​ @samsmultifandomblogs​

@fire1ordzuzu​ @shortmexicangirl​

[burnedbyshoto]

Can I request a self conscious chubby Shouto? Reader gives him kisses on his tummy and reassures him about his weight?

tw: shouto has poor body image, fluff, angsty

shouto had been hospitalized for five months.

after what was most definitely the most horrific villain attack seen on live tv against only one hero, the doctors never shut up about how he was lucky to have won, how lucky he was to be alive. it was far after the days that recovery girl had passed, and with no healing quirk having matched her ability it had been a long five months in hospice care.

he had spent one month in a coma and the next four just healing. it had been a hard four months, his body almost refusing to move, black and yellow bruises covered his body still, and the diet... the diet they had him on was one that was supposed to help him gain weight. it was to help with his healing and aid with the muscle gain he was going to need in order to be where he once was - he understood that and he appreciated the doctors doing what was best for him but he didn’t understand how he went from his strong, toned, and lithe form to one with flappy arms, pooling thighs, and a tummy so large he couldn’t see his toes without leaning forward. he never thought he would hate that he couldn’t see his jawline anymore, that he could hate that he couldn’t sit up without feeling his stomach, hate that he was so hungry all the time. he hated that he was so... he was so—

“welcome home!” you cheered merrily, guiding shouto back into the house that had been without his presence for almost half a year.

he tried to focus on you and only you, your mindless babble about how you had learned how to make cold soba noodles for him while he was in the hospital (although you made sure to insist that they weren’t that good so to not get his hopes up, but shouto was tittering on being excited and nauseous at the thought of having endless cold soba), how you had temporarily moved the master bedroom into the closest room to the front door and kitchen just in case he wasn’t ready to move that much, how you had accidentally broken the sliding door but had his brother come and fix it for you, and of course just how happy and grateful you were that he was out. shouto tried to stay engaged but he could feel the eyes scorching on his back, the nosy neighbors and paparazzi who wanted the first pictures of him since his release.

he hated this, he hated his body right now, and their judgmental gaze burned him from the inside out. for over twenty years of his life he had never been without muscle on his body and now... now he was... he was—

“watch your step, you’re been limping again, I don’t want you to trip,” came your gentle voice, your foot planted on the stair and the other on the floor as if to support him in case he fell. like you could keep him upwards if he did, he bitterly thought.

regardless, shouto gave you a gracious half smile and carried through, stepping up to the stair and flinching when he felt that skin he was still starkly unfamiliar with move. but the moment the front door closed behind the both of you, shouto felt empty.

the rest of the day was filled with shouto adjusting to the house once more. adjusting to the way the floors creaked under his feet, of how you always waited for him to enter through the doorways instead of attempting to go through them with him, of how you lingered behind him with conscious eyes and nervous fingers. he knew you were worried, it was as obvious as the sun during a summer heat wave, but it offered him no comfort... it only made him feel worse, made him graze his fingers against his... his...

“why don’t you take a shower?” you suggest, your hands grabbing the dishes on the table. you had made soup, he was still to be on a mostly liquid diet until next week. “I bet this has been exhausting, and if you shower then I can shower and we can sleep early tonight!”

shouto strained a smile again, his tongue still failing to speak. he hasn’t spoken a word in weeks, but you never seemed to grow angry at his lack of words thankfully. his eyes fluttered close when you leaned across the table and pressed a kiss to his cheek, his body shivering both at the familiar contact that he loved and the aching pain that continued to be suppressed.

showering nearly killed him.

feeling the way that his body now worked within the confines of the small room made his head spin. he hated that he couldn’t merely twist his body anymore, he had to completely turn around. he hated that he had to use more body wash, his hands shaking when he maneuvered around the fat that had built on his stomach, the stretched skin that fell on his thighs and arms.

stretch marks... as if the scar on his face wasn’t enough.

with a shaky sigh, he turned off the water and exited the shower.

he wasn’t feeling too bad with the warm water soaking into his skin, but he made the mistake of looking into the mirror as he made his way back to the room.

a mistake.

a mistake.

a mistake.

his eyes bore into his figure, was this really him? he could barely recognize himself. this... this had to be a mistake, there was no way this was him. his hands pressed to his side, hoping that this was all a figment of his imagination, just some twisted depression that was keeping him bound to the worst of this all.

but his hands fell on his body right where he had hoped they wouldn’t, and something snapped within him.

CRASH!

shouto didn’t even realize that he was panting like some rabid animal, his body trembling with extreme force, and the room covered with ice and burn marks. he collapsed forward, suddenly feeling weak, and with every ragged breath tears pricked at the back of his eyes, threatening to fall out but wouldn’t.

he was...

he was f--

“shouto? are you okay in there?”

he couldn’t even bother turning his head to look over at the opening door, but had he, he would’ve seen the way that your head peeked in, your eyes focused with concern, sympathy, and love. he focused on his hands, the white of his gripping knuckles, and the bulge of his veins.

“I-I’m okay,” he finally spoke, his head remaining low, horrid thoughts plaguing his head as the cold hallway air drafted into the room sending shivers down his spine - not that he reacted to it.

“that’s a lie if I ever heard one,” you sigh, not even trying to give him the satisfaction of believing his lie. but again, that was a quality he loved about you. “I won’t press because i’m sure this has been an overwhelming day for you, but... i’m here for you, shouto, you know?”

it was then that your hand pressed against his spine, and shouto felt his soul leave his body.

he didn’t want you touching him like this, he thought, storming away, trying to avoid your worried look as he pushed past you.

no not like this, his eyes clenched and his fists trembled at his side.

he was ugly, he gasped for air as he entered the room, his vision swimming.

he was... he was--!

“please don’t cry... please don’t cry without telling me why you’re upset!” your voice begged and shouto hated how distraught you sounded. “are you in pain?”

“no. well, not really.”

“is this happening too fast? were you discharged too soon?”

“no... i’m fine.”

it’s....

“was it the food? I know i’m still learning, but I didn’t think the food was that bad!”

“n-no, not that...”

it’s because...

“then what’s going on, sho?”

“it’s because i’m fat!” shouto finally spat, his body shaking with exploding emotion, steam spilling from his body as if he was fighting some evil villain.

his face was set in stone, a look of pure emotionlessness as long as you didn’t look into his eyes. as long as you didn’t know that sad glint in his eyes meant that he was emotionally beyond repair right now. he saw your mouth drop, most likely to ease any ‘untrue’ thoughts that danced on his mind. he didn’t want to hear it.

“I am, y/n, i’m fat. my clothes don’t fit and I have to wear these... throw away clothes! the doctors said im almost twice my usual weight. I-I have fat in places I didn’t even know existed, my stomach is so fucking huge i’m surprised kaminari hasn’t sent me some pregnant meme by now, and it took all my energy to just shower today. i’m fat!” shouto heaved, his forehead covered in cold sweat while glaring at the wall to the left of your head. he couldn’t look at you right now, not after that outburst.

the silence lingered thickly in the air, corroding the muscles in his throat, making his heart flutter in anxiety driven pulses while you shifted from foot to foot, your teeth gnawing at your lower lip. he wanted to apologize to you, for what he didn’t know but he felt bad. his actions were halted by you sharp inhale, and that kind strong smile that fell on your face.

“...well, im not going to fight you on that, but i’m glad you spoke your mind,” you said softly, your hands moving to grip each other while you tried to save face in front of him. it was obvious that you hadn’t even thought that which made shouto feel even guiltier. “I’m going to shower, so please get ready for bed, yeah? we’ll talk more once we’re in bed and relaxed a bit!”

shouto’s nostrils flared, his heart squeezing at the fact that you still showed him such kind and soft love, and so he nodded his head in agreement.

“I won’t take long,” you promised about your shower, and shouto smiled even if a bit emotionlessly before your lips pressed softly against his. “be right back, get ready.”

he wasn’t sure how long it took him to get ready and for you to join him in bed, but his eyes were opened and he was staring off at your side of the bed as you climbed into bed. the gentle, warm, and cool scent of your hair wash and body wash drafted into his nose, a very welcoming smell after months of knowing only the sterile smell of bleached walls and floors.

“you ready to talk?” you asked him, and shouto blinked once, twice, his sight refocusing on your shining eyes and furrowed brow. he knew immediately that you had a lot to speak on, most likely creating some sort of script to follow.

“no,” shouto couldn’t help but say, his own worries forgotten for a moment when the natural need to tease you infiltrated his veins. “but i’m ready to hear you talk.”

your lips pursed, twitching in a way that made it obvious to him at least that you were resisting the urge to verbally attack him. 

“five months ago, I thought I was going to lose you.” you began, your eyes uncharacteristically dropping from his own gaze and trailing down his body, as if in disbelief that he was even here. your hands moved to his chest, pressing softly onto the skin that he was hateful towards. “when I got the news that you had been hospitalized, and that you had gone into a coma... I wasn’t sure what to think. but you woke up before I knew it and then four months went by after you woke up, and i’ve been so... grateful that you survived that I hadn’t even bothered to think about how you must be feeling about this entire thing. I know this is a lot of change, its a lot of change, and I don’t know how to really help, but this is what I think.”

shouto felt his breathing nearly stop as your fingers trailed down the fat on his arms, his chest and his stomach. your eyes almost shyly met his and you pressed a kiss to his lips, unwilling to allow him to think for a second that this was just some staged thing. 

“your weight doesn’t define you. your weight doesn’t make you less desirable. does your weight make you fat? sure, it completely does, but there’s nothing wrong with being fat. fat is not ugly, fat is not weak, fat is not less. bodies need fat, its basic biology. without fat we can’t exist, we can’t do anything, and sure right now you have more than you’ve ever had - but it’s okay, you’re still healthy and that is what matters. i mean look at fat gum! sure, he needs to be fat in order for his quirk to work, but nevertheless, he’s fat and he’s a pro hero. he’s healthy and still he’s fat. if you would rather be skinny than fat, that’s okay, you can choose what you want to be, as long as it’s done with good intentions. at the end of the day you’re still my shouto, you’re the man I know and love because fat determines none of that. I love the fat on your body as much as I loved the abs because either way it’s you.”

the words rang heavy in his ears, all thoughts and reasons he had seemingly disappeared the moment the last word was said. and tears fell from his eyes when you kissed every spot on his body that he had once been dreadfully insecure about. every kiss to his stomach sent butterflies through every cell, every soft breath spreading chills until he was gasping for breath - until you were finally back to his face and pressing kisses to his face until he wrapped you closer.

“I love you in any form you take.”

~

a/n: it may not be my place to share this with you, but while writing this it actually reminded me of a ted talk I had seen once. I think its a very good talk, and dismantles a lot of mainstream thoughts about self love which I at least thought was important. if you were able to make it to the bottom of this, I suggest checking it out because as this video re-taught me, fat is not a synonym for ugly, and we should stop believing that it is.

[thedreadvampy]

Hey Ruth! I noticed you've talked in the past about asexuality in quite a negative manner. As an ace-person (who has received backlash for it) I was wondering: do you still uphold these opinions?

Hey! I have in the past said I don’t really...like people popping up in my ask box asking me My Opinion On Asexuality, but I do appreciate you asking me as someone I kinda know and with your face turned on, so I’m gonna aim to answer in the macro. Though I mean it depends on what the opinions...are? I have had a lot of opinions over the time I’ve had this blog and I don’t necessarily know what all of them were or which ones have concerned you. I can give you a top-level view of how I see my views, though (however, since I have been largely holding off on answering this kind of ask for Literally A Year Now this is less an answer to your specific question and more an answer to the last year of asks)

(also if I get dogpiled in my inbox for Having Bad Asexuality Opinions which I do every time I talk about asexuality regardless of what I actually say then. my phone is broken I won’t know about it :) so I feel untouchable)

I don’t think I hold a negative opinion of asexuality as an identity (I say I don’t think bc we all have blind spots)? I have a lot of very important people in my life who are asexual, aromantic or aroace and. I mean it feels pretty condescending to say ~uwu it’s valid~ bc like. ace and aro people don’t really need my input to validate their identity. but a) it seems like a pretty accurate way to describe their experience and b) I know a lot of them have had a really huge boost from finding a name and community to fit their experience and have found that really helpful, and I’ve seen that make a huge difference in people’s lives and I’m really happy to watch my friends come to understand themselves and feel comfortable and accepted in a part of themselves they had felt really alienated or stigmatised by. In a broader sense, I think there’s huge value in decentralising romance and sex in our assumptions of What Human Happiness Means and for some people that’s not the most important thing, and for some it’s just not interesting. 

So like. I find it difficult to really express these opinions in any meaningful way because my opinion on asexuals and aromantics is much like my opinion on trans people or idk like people of colour. like very obviously those people exist and very obviously those people don’t deserve to be marginalised or stigmatised but it would feel. weird and performative to just make a post saying like “Asexuality Is Good And Valid, I Am Pro It” bc again like. who needs my permission or cares about my opinion. it’s not a Good Thing To Do it’s just. a thing you are that shouldn’t be treated as a bad thing.

however. and I suspect that this is what you’re referring to. while I love and appreciate ace and aro people, I think building communities and active support for ace and aro people is valuable and needed and, as above, I think Asexuality Is Good And Valid I Am Pro It, I do take some issue with elements of how discussions around asexuality are framed online (pretty much only online, I really haven’t run into the kind of black-and-white thinking in in-person queer spaces) 

and I also. think there are some issues with people extrapolating their experience of their own sexuality onto the world in a way which. I’m just going to say a lot of the time when I talk about The Ace Discourse in a negative way it’s around people assuming that the world is split into a binary between ace and allo people, or assuming that only aspec people experience a nuanced or complex or fluid relationship to their sexuality while pigeonholing allosexuality into a pretty flat image of sex and romance focus. and I have always felt like this does a massive disservice not just to people who don’t identify with aspec labels, but also to the general hope that we could work against the expectation that there’s a Standard Amount To Value Sex/Romance - I think that the assumption that there are aspec people and then Everyone Else Has The Normal Type and Level of Attraction just. reinforces the idea that there’s a “Normal” type and level of attraction. which is ultimately pretty self-defeating and also just. observably untrue. 

and this division of the world into Aspec People and Allo People also has some other weird knockon effects - I don’t think there’s anything intrinsically wrong with identities like gray ace or demi or other aspec labels beyond asexual and aromantic, but I do think that the way those labels are used is often. unhelpful. and they’re defined in such personal, subjective ways that you get weirdnesses sometimes like people Diagnosing Each Other With Demisexual or people saying ‘you can’t talk about this experience you share because it’s an Aspec Experience’ and again. there isn’t a concrete material experience there because the whole experience of romantic and sexual attraction, what that feels like and how sharply divisible it is is very, very personal and subjective. and everyone has different experiences of those and will name those experiences differently.

there’s also. historically a minority of Big Ace Blogs that kind of sneer at allosexuality or who would hijack posts about other issues to derail them to asexuality. but I don’t think they were ever representative of the community as a whole and I certainly think that inasmuch as those blogs remain around they’re a legacy of the Long-Ago (and a lot of them are trolls imo)

but there is. an issue I take that does seem to be more currently live which is the question of allo privilege. I think personally that framing all allosexuals/alloromantics as privileged over all aspec people on the basis of feeling sexual/romantic attraction is provably untrue in a world where people, particularly queer people, are actively oppressed and marginalised for expressing non-normative sexuality. it isn’t that I don’t think asexuality and aromanticism isn’t marginalised and stigmatised, because it visibly is, but it seems pretty reductive to boil it down to a binary yes/no privilege when both sexualisation and desexualisation are so actively tied into other forms of marginalisation (this is what I was trying to express in the argument about Martin a while ago - sex and sexuality are so often disincentivised for fat, queer, disabled and neuroatypical people that it doesn’t...feel like a reclamation that those tend to be the characters that get fanonised as ace where slim, straight, able-bodied and neurotypical characters aren’t. like it’s more complex than a binary privilege equation; sex and romance are incentivised and stigmatised differently at the intersection of oppressions and. for example. in a world where gay conversion therapy and religious oppression of gay and SGA people is so often focused specifically on celibacy and on punishing the act of sexual attraction, I don’t think it’s a reasonable framing to say that a gay allosexual man has privilege over an aroace man on the basis of his attraction) 

so those are like. things I would consider myself to feel actively negative about in online discourse (and again. in online discourse. not in how I relate to asexuality or aromanticism or aspec identities in general but in the framing and approaches people take towards discussing it in a very specific bubble).

but also. um. the main criticism I have of the online discourse culture of asexuality is that there are things I don’t have experience of that I have mentioned, when asked, that I don’t personally understand the meaning of but I don’t need to understand them to appreciate that they’re useful/meaningful to others. things like 

the difference between QPRs, asexual romantic relationships and close friendships

how you know the difference between romantic attraction and friendship

the distinction between sexual attraction and a desire to have sex with someone for another reason

and I hope I’ve generally been clear that this is. honest lack of understanding and not condemnation. I personally have a very muddled sense of attraction and often have difficulty identifying the specifics of any of my own emotional needs so like. it’s a closed book for me at the moment, how you would identify the fine distinctions between types of want when I’m still at step 1: identify That You Want Something Of Some Sort, Eventually, Through Trial And Error. but I think I’ve always been explicit that this isn’t a value judgement it’s just a gap in my own knowledge and yet. every single time I’ve said anything other than enthusiastic “yes I understand this and I love it and it’s good and valid” (and again. I have not gone out of my way to talk about it I have mostly only mentioned it because people keep asking me to talk about it) I have got a massive rush of anger and accusations of aphobia and “just shut up if you don’t know what you’re talking about but also answer my 30 questions to prove you think Correct Things about asexuality” and. I understand that this comes from a place of really unpleasant and aggressive backlash towards the ace community so it’s a sensitivity with a lot of people but like. it doesn’t seem proportional.

also I feel like ever since I hit like 700 followers my Tumblr life has been a constant cycle of people asking me Are You An Ace Inclusionist Are You An Exclus Are You An Aphobe Justify Your Opinion On Asexuality which. eventually yeah I’ve got pretty snippy about the whole thing. but you know. fuck it I’m just gonna lay it out and if you or anyone else is uncomfortable following me based on those opinions then I’m sorry to hear that and I will be sad to see you not want to engage with me any more but I also think that’s absolutely your prerogative. however I will not be taking questions at this time (and not just bc my phone’s broken) - demands for an argument about this Are Going To Be Ignored so if you want to go then go.

so like the big question I reckon is Do You Think Asexuality Is Queer and

yes. no. maybe. I don’t understand the question what does it mean for an identity to be queer? 

there are spaces and conversations where any form of aromanticism or asexuality makes sense as a relevant identity. talking about hegemonic expectations of normative romance. building community. combatting the idea that heterosexual missionary married sex between a man and a woman is the only rewarding or valuable form of relationship or intimacy.

there are spaces where I think heterosexual aros/heteromantic cis aces don’t. have a more meaningful or direct experience of the issues than allo cishets. because while being aro or ace or aspec has a direct impact on those people on a personal and relational level, disclosure is largely a choice, and the world at large sees them as straight. they don’t have the lived experience of being visibly nonconforming that SGA people and aroace people do. they may still be queer but there’s a lot of conversations where they bring a lot of the baggage of being Straight People (because. even if you’re ace or aro you can still be straight in your romantic or sexual attraction and if your relationships are all outwardly straight then you don’t necessarily have an intimate personal understanding of being marginalised from mainstream society by dint of your sexuality). this doesn’t make you Not Queer in the same way that being a bi person who’s only ever been in m/f relationships is still queer, but in both cases a) you don’t magically have a personal experience of societal oppression through the transitive properties of Being Queer and b) it’s really obnoxious to talk as if you’re The Most Oppressed when other people are trying to have a conversation about their lived experience of societal oppression. and they’re within their rights to say ‘we’re talking about the experience of being marginalised for same gender/non-heterosexual attraction and you’re straight, could you butt out?’)

(I very much object to the assumption coming from a lot of exclus that “cishet ace” is a term that can reasonably be applied to non-orientated aroace people though. het is not a default it really extremely doesn’t make sense to treat people who feel no attraction as Straight By Default. when I were a lad I feel like we mostly understood “asexual” to mean that identity - non-orientated aroace - and while I think it’s obvious that a lot of people do find value in using a more split-model because. well. some people are both gay/straight/bi and aro/ace, and it’s good that language reflects that. but I do think it’s left a gap in the language to simply refer to non-attracted people. this isn’t a criticism of anything in particular - there’s a constant balancing act in language between specificity and adaptability and sometimes a gain for one is a loss for the other)

some queer conversations and spaces just. aren’t built with aces in mind. and that isn’t a flaw. some spaces aren’t built with men in mind, but that doesn’t mean men can’t be queer. some conversations are about Black experiences of queerness but that doesn’t mean non-Black people can’t be queer. not all queer spaces will focus on ace needs but that doesn’t mean asexuality isn’t queer, or that queerness is opposed to aceness - sex, sexuality, romance and dating are all really important things to a lot of queer people, especially those whose sexuality and romantic relationships are often stigmatised or violently suppressed in wider society. there should be gay bars, hookup apps, gay and trans friendly sex education, making out at Pride, leather parades and topless dyke marches and porn made by and for queer people, romantic representation in media of young and old gay, bi and trans couples kissing and snuggling and getting married and saying sloppy romantic things. and there should be non-sexual queer spaces, there should be discussions around queerness that don’t suppose that a monogamous romantic relationship is what everyone’s fighting for, sex ed should be ace inclusive, etc. 

I think the whole question of inclusionism vs exclusionism is based on a weird underlying assumption that If An Identity Is Queer All Queer Spaces Should Directly Cater To That. like. aspec identities can be queer and it can be totally reasonable for there to be queer spaces that revolve around being sexual and romantic and there can be conversations it’s not appropriate or productive to centre asexuality and aspec experiences in and we can recognise that not all queer people do prioritise or have any interest in sex or romance. in the same way that there’s value in centring binary trans experiences sometimes and nonbinary experiences at other times but both of those conversations should recognise that neither binary or nonbinary gender identity is a Universal Queer Experience.

anyway that one probably isn’t one of the opinions you were asking about but I have been wanting to find a way to express it for a while so you’re getting it: the Ruth Thedreadvampy Inclusionism Take.

uh. it’s 1:30 on a work night so I have been typing too long. if there was an opinion you were specifically thinking of that I haven’t mentioned, chuck me another ask specifically pointing to what you want me to clarify my thinking on. sometimes I gotta be honest I’ve just been kind of careless in my framing (thinking of the Martin Fucks debacle where I spent ages insisting I didn’t say Martin couldn’t be aroace then read back like two days later and realised that I had said “he’s not aroace” bc I had written the post at 2am without proofreading and had meant to say “unless you think he’s aroace”) so I May Well Not Stand By Some Posts or might Stand By Them With Clarification

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (60) || atz

“You shouldn’t have done that, Wooyoung-ah.”

At the sound of your voice, the head gunner turns away, completely silent, dark anger boiling beneath his skin. He’s clearly not in the mood to have a talking to now. But you have no fear, not anymore, anyway, and seat yourself next to him on the bed. Your bed, you realise.

Wooyoung’s mouth is pressed in a tight line, edges of his lips curling white in something crossed between a frown and a sneer. There’s a big bruise on his cheek, presumably put there by Jongho again, and he’s looking away very determinedly, set on not meeting your eye.

Unfortunately for him, your stubbornness more than rivals his own, and you’re not about to let him off the hook so easily. He punched his captain, for god’s sake. That’s not typical Wooyoung behavior. “We can sit here all day, you know? I have all the time in the world.”

You really don’t (haha brain, very funny joke), but fingers scratch irritably over the cover of your pillow, Wooyoung chancing a quick glance at you before his eyes have flitted elsewhere. The tension is so thick it’s practically suffocating the two of you alive, but you’re not about to give in anytime soon.

You wait.

Waiting doesn’t take long. Wooyoung’s personality loves comfortable silences or noise. Awkward silence? Not so much. He opens his mouth once, hesitates, closes it, and opens it again with a swallow.

“How... how’s your hand?” He’s still not looking at you.

“This?” You raise the empty stump, the phantom itch still throbs strangely. You’re strangely calm for someone who’s just lost their hand, but knowing death is right on its tail really puts things into perspective. “I’m fine. I was injured by Gunho during the battle and, well, you know the rest.” you shrug, turn away yourself. He really doesn’t, but it’s easier not to go into the specifics.

Wooyoung flinches a little, but you see it. Then an angry growl leaves his chest, fingers digging so hard into your pillow they turn white. “I should have killed that bastard when I had the chance.”

“You couldn’t have known what he was going to do.” You tell him gently, glance out of the porthole and watch the sky outside slowly turn from inky black to midnight blue. Silence lingers between the two of you for a moment before Wooyoung finally puffs out a breath, licks his dry lips.

“How’s Captain?”

Your captain snorts a little as you dab water at his nose. “If Wooyoung had been serious about beating me up, I’d have a lot more than a broken nose.”

“Well,” you shrug, bringing your knees up to your chest, “you nearly broke his nose, gave him five different bruises, very big ones, I may add, and almost gave Master a heart attack.” Wooyoung makes a satisfied noise, patting his raw knuckles fondly.

“He deserved that much, at the very least.” He mumbles, drags a hand across his face, but he looks relieved. “Five bruises was letting him off too easy.” You glance at him for a second, turn back to the world outside, the sky and sea separating as the first hints of day draw a line of light across the horizon. Beyond the heavy wooden door of the sickbay, orders are called, the thud of boots resounding across the deck as the crew rush to carry out said orders.

“I’ll be fine, really.” You find yourself saying, though he hasn’t asked. His eyes find yours and more words start to spill out of your mouth unchecked. “I might have lost a hand, but at least I’m not dead, am I?”

The second you say that, you feel like you’ve somehow slapped both Wooyoung and yourself in the face, metaphorically, of course. At least I’m not dead, your heart gives a little self deprecating chuckle, and you resist the urge to cut off that loose tongue of yours for its stupidity.

Great job, you.

“Get ready to storm the island! I want every one of us to find that Captain Kang and drag him to the Treasure by the knees! Do you understand me?” You hear Mingi shout from behind the door of the sickbay and you make to rise to your feet, “we should go check out what they’re up to-”

But you’re stopped by a familiar hand. “Wait.”

Frowning, you turn back, arch an eyebrow. “Why?” You ask, a little confused. Wooyoung glances up at you with deep green eyes, soft and serious with emotion, and one by one, his fingers lace around yours, squeezing gently. Your heart skips, tumbles a beat, but you keep your eyes on his face. “Wooyoung?”

“Just listen to me for a moment.” He says, voice pleading and for some reason, it makes you nervous, like you’re not ready for whatever emotionally weighted words he’s about to unload on you. “I just need to say something.”

The two of you probably really should get going, but something about the way he’s talking makes you pause, nod for him to go on. “When I was on that island... and we realised that it was a trap for the Treasure...” a shudder runs down his spine, the pad of his thumbs tracing small circles on the inside of your wrist, “I can’t begin to say just how damn terrified I was. And while I was running back to the ship, all I could think about was just how stupid I realised I had been.”

“You couldn’t have known it was going to be a trap, Wooyoung.” You remind him firmly, intent on stopping him from blaming himself just like his captain did, gods were all of them going to be like this? “No one knew, not even Captain, and we all came out fine, so there’s no harm done-”

“That’s not what I meant.” Wooyoung interrupts. The chains rattle as his hand falls to his side, as heavy as his words. “What I meant was... pushing you away, thinking that by distancing myself, I was keeping you safe, but in reality I was just a coward who didn’t have the balls to face my feelings.”

What?

“When I was running back to the Treasure, one thought kept replaying in my mind.” He bites on his lower lip, an agonized look crossing his eyes as he stares at you so longingly, so painfully. “What if the last thing you remembered of me was leaving you alone on that mast and removing myself from your life without knowing how I really felt? What if...” he chokes, head bowed, “what if the last thing you had thought of me was that I hated you, and you died without knowing just how untrue that was?”

You don’t even know what you’re hearing right now. The words, you hear them, but you don’t really hear them. Wooyoung doesn’t hate you, that... that’s amazing to know, but why do you feel like that isn’t the end of it quite yet?

“Chin Hae.” He looks into your eyes, so piercingly you couldn’t look away even if you tried. “I’m scared of women. I’m terrified of them. I have scars all over my body, and I can’t forget the way they touched me, how I was forced to serve them until Captain rescued me. After I left that life behind, I played women like toys because I wanted to convince myself that I was no longer the victim, no longer the powerless.” He takes a deep breath, searches you with a defeated smile. “But it seems like I was wrong, and I find myself powerless in front of a woman once again.”

Your thoughts swirl like the raging waves, a jumble of noises and words and so much emotions. “Wooyoung, what-”

“I love you, Chin Hae.”

“Wait, give me a moment-” You try to collect yourself, but Wooyoung smiles gently, squeezing your hand lightly again and that affectionate, familiar gesture grounds you like a lifeboat in the middle of a storm.

Gentle eyes meet yours.

“You don’t need to love me back.” He tells you, smiling a little wistfully. There’s peace in that lopsided grin, as if a massive weight has finally been lifted off his shoulders, as if he hasn’t just dropped the emotional equivalent of his 42 pound cannon right into your arms. “I just wanted you to know. You... you’re really precious to me, Chin Hae.”

You try to find words, and only one comes to mind. “Buh...” You’re immediately disgusted by your own apparent inability to form complete sentences. What is your brain made of, clay?

...probably.

At your flustered state, Wooyoung breaks into peals of laughter that resemble an entire pod of happy dolphins, slapping his thigh in amusement. Fumbling about, you throw your headrest at him, only making him laugh harder when it bounces off the wall next to head. “Wooyoung!”

“I’m sorry!” He laughs, not sounding sorry at all. You glare at him, not amused, but squeeze his hand back, like you always have.

“I don’t know how I feel yet.” You tell him honestly, linking your fingers together. Wooyoung nods earnestly, purple hair falling into his eyes. “You... you might only be saying this because you almost lost me, so I want you to think about what you feel again, after all of this has calmed down... before you tell me this again.”

Wooyoung shrugs. “I know what I feel, but if it makes you feel more assured, alright then. I’m fine with waiting.”

A breath of relief escapes you, and you nod seriously, but before you can say anymore, there’s a knock on the door, and it swings open to reveal-

“Captain.” Wooyoung rises to greet his captain a little awkwardly, scratching his head. The corner of Hongjoong’s lips lift in a slight, weary smile at the sight of the two of you seated on the bed, pausing slightly at the door.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all.” You wave your captain over and Hongjoong takes a step, but his toe dances lightly at the door right before it crosses into the room, and stops to squint a little at his head gunner.

“You’re not going to throw another punch at me the second I step into this room, right?”

Wooyoung lets out a humored chuckle. “God, no, even if I wanted to.” The ice broken, he bumps shoulders with his captain and Hongjoong finally cracks a smile, although it seems a little... off, somehow. “Though I still think it would have been an improvement to your looks if I’d broken a few things on your face.”

Your captain gives a good-natured snort for someone who’d just been beaten up less than half a day ago. “Well, it’s good to have you on the same side again. I was wondering if I could borrow your gun and your eye in,” he glances out of the door onto the deck with a grim smile, “maybe about a few minutes or so.”

Something about the way he says that has something sinking in your chest.

“Just my gun and eye?” Wooyoung tries to lighten the tension by joking with a raised eyebrow, similarly on edge at the tone of his captain’s voice, his fingers shifting towards the long flintlock at his hip as he gestures at himself. “You know you have to get me too, right? We’re kind of a package deal.”

“I might throw in a bonus if you come along.” Hongjoong shrugs, still gazing out of the door. The angle the two of you are at, you can’t quite see what’s happening on deck, but the shouting from outside is loud enough to reach your ears and you’re immediately tensed.

“Appreciative enough to spare me bilge bailing duty for a week for rearranging your face?”

“Maybe. If you ask nicely. Actually, no.” Hongjoong replies, turning to look at the two of you with a smile that’s a little too strained for your liking. “Well, someone has just approached the ship from the island, and-”

“Captain Kang says he wants to talk.”