#but we need more quotes otherwise ill just end up picking all of them so we have enough lmao

[grishaverse-chaos]

guys go submit quotes for @bestgrishaversequotes!!

[mrdarcysdadbod]

It is pretty fucked up how Amy is mostly reduced to the baby of the family when she's around them(coming in the next day to find Mrs. Laurence sitting in her mother's lap, as if being made `the baby' again,) would've loved it if she and Laurie had settled down somewhere else. Also childless, because I really don't see either of them being parents, they're not like Meg and John or Fritz and Jo, them being caged in a white picked fence never felt right, and I'm so glad you pointed it out because I'd never been able to put it into words myself.

Same anon here this is CONT. It also would've showed, as you said, that not everyone needs to seetle back home with children to be completely realized. Completely missed opportunity, putting Amy and Laurie in the same box as Meg and John and Jo and Fritz didn't fit them as charactes and I fully believe LMA didn't care enough about that

Good pull on the quote there! Appreciate you

I wouldn't go so far as "fucked up" myself just bc sibling/birth order dynamics are pretty normal (and as a baby of the family myself it's a pretty sweet gig lol). I think it fits in with the general dynamic that LMA is setting up and exploring throughout the novel, and at the same time I think it stifles Amy's growth as a person and restricts her to a certain role and persona within the context of the March household. I talked about the bias LMA has towards Jo (for obvious reasons, as the author insert) and I think that the character of Amy (as well as Beth, for a completely different reason) is one of the places where the use of the Alcott family as a template and source is a weakness rather than a strength. For all LMA is a skilled writer, poor Amy just doesn't get her character dug into and explored with the same depth. And that's a hard thing to do, balancing four characters like that! It's a testament to LMA's skill that they're all as well developed and vivid as they are, and I'm not going to ding the book for being biased.

We do diverge on our opinion of Amy's ending just because I would've preferred she didn't end up with Laurie at all. I don't think I would've liked both of them settling away from home, just because I like Mr. Laurence too much to have his boy far away from him, but I also just... Don't like Laurie. I liked him early on, but he got less charming as the book went on, and I'm very much still not over the fact that he said on the page, twice, that he was settling for Amy cause he couldn't have Jo. I know he didn't continue to hold this position, necessarily, but it still sours the whole relationship for me that that was something he said/felt at all. It didn't have to be in there, and it was, and that's telling of him as a character. Ultimately I think Laurie ends up doing many right things for completely the wrong reasons and I just. Don't like it.

That said, in terms of the ending they DID get, I think it was basically the best possible option. I can't see either of them having the same joy in parenthood that Meg or Jo do, no, and the text kind of acknowledges that when it talks about their daughter in the last chapter, but it also says that her being sickly brought them together like nothing else could, which I can absolutely see. In a weird way, I think that the anxiety of having an ill child would have them both be more present and involved as parents than they may otherwise have been, just because being good parents would feel more urgent for a child who might not live long. And there's the fact that they experienced Beth's passing separately from the rest of the family, but together with each other.

I think my preferred ending for Amy would've been, like... She realizes at some point that maybe Laurie isn't a dream she wants to pursue, and either decides to stay in Europe and study art (which I know is not in keeping with the idea of "genius" at the time) or has a genuine romance with some completely new guy who's only ever known her as the self-possessed and fully-realized Amy, rather than the fourth March sister, and she gets to come to the realization that her ambition was less about being fancy or famous and more just about distinguishing herself and finding an identity that's hers alone.

Ultimately I think the sticking point that I come to with the novel, thematically, is that it has kind of a one-note image of the family relationship as, like, if you love your family you want to be around them all the time and get pretty much everything you need within that dynamic, and there's not really space for loving your family but needing to have your own life and identity outside and away from the family. Which kind of draws in other questions about contemporary and historical attitudes towards the family, but I don't think "I love my family but I need to exist outside of them" is necessarily a revolutionary take for 1868 since it's present in more than one Austen novel, at the very least.

Boy that got long! Thank you for the ask.

[tarosin]

the great adventures of y/n tubbo jack niki and wilbur - racing across the sea

requested: yes/no

part 8 of the great adventures series

warning: cursing, anxiety about the sea

ever since the argument you and tubbo had become inseparable, he practically lived with you and your parents at this point, and your community was loving it. everytime one of you would stream, tens of thousands of people would tune into your stream to see what madness was going on and today was no different. the pair of you decided to stream a laugh and the stream ends challenge. safe to say you ended up changing the rules several times, you even made ranboo join the stream so you could have extra lives. not long after the stream ended you, ranboo, and tubbo practically dominated the twitter trending page. today however was tubbos last day at yours and shortly after you ended stream, the pair of you headed out to the train station so you could make sure your best friend made it onto the train safely. after you said your goodbyes, you decided to facetime jack on your way home to discuss vlog ideas, and just to talk to him, as you had been rather busy this past week going over plans with ranboo, tubbo, and all of your parents about the uk trip that was happening pretty soon.

a few days later, it was finally time to go film the vlog. you couldn’t exactly lie, you weren’t exactly looking forward to this, as you were told it had something to do with the sea and boats which oddly enough didn’t mix very well with your fear of the deep sea. you had no idea what’s down there and you didn’t want to find out, but hey at least you’d be with tubbo.

your parents offered to drive you there so you didnt have any additional stress from having to get a train then a taxi, this allowed you to have a pretty quiet journey to meet up with your friends. you sat in the back of the car on facetime with tommy who was the only one who knew about your fear and was rather confused as the why you would agree to do such a thing

“i’ll never understand what goes through your mind, you’ve got this though! you’re going to be completely okay, plus you never know it might help you get over your fear, you did tell me you had been working on getting over it.”

“I suppose you’re right, it can’t be too bad. I mean I love the sea. I just don’t like what’s deep down, you feel me?”

“i understand mate, but you need to remember jack wouldn’t put you in danger. as much as he acts like he would, and even if you do fall off the boat or some how end up in the water, you won’t automatically end up at the bottom of the sea. just try to enjoy yourself, yeah?”

“...yeah”

“call me when you get home you can tell me all about what happened, afterwards we can record a minecraft mod video.”

“of course, boss man.”

“you hang out with tubbo too much, you should hang out with me a lot more.”

the car pulled into the car park and within a minute of the car stopping tubbo was at the window shouting your name.

“right tommy, i should probably go, ill see you later bud!”

you said goodbye to your parents as tubbo opened your car door for you.

“what a gentleman, thank you, tubbo.”

“anything for you, now let’s go. jack began filming the intro and i really want the hat hes wearing.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

he stood with his arms crossed shaking his head, pretending to be offended before walking off with you not far behind him.

you stood with niki and wilbur as tubbo went off filming some of the intro with jack. the three of you stood talking about how you have all been and discussing more plans for your meetup.

“y/n, go control your friend, he’s stealing a hat!”

you ran up behind tubbo and stole the hat from him, putting it on your own head.

“why have you got the hat now?”

“i am now captain!”

“but i wanted to be captain!”

you and tubbo stood arguing back and forth over who was captain, ignoring jack trying to get the pair of you to stop.

“you have 5 seconds to stop arguing or you’re being separated 5...4...3...2...1 right.”

“jack no!”

jack pulled you aside claiming he has something really important to ask you.

“so did you bring something valuable?”

“yeah i did actually, i brought tubbo and the necklace tommy gave me for my birthday last year.”

tubbo overhearing the conversation walked over telling you both that he also brought a valuable item, in fact it was a family heirloom.

“i brought an urn.”

“why would you do that tubbo? what the fuck-“

“you two do realise if either of you lose it had to go in the sea?”

“poor grandma.”

“aye about that you will have to pry that necklace out of my hands in order to throw it in the sea!”

the three of you went up to wilbur and niki where wilbur stole the hat you stole from tubbo, and you were told that you were all about to race to the isle of wight.

it was unfortunately time to board the boat, you sat next to tubbo, so that you felt like you had some sort of control with what was about to happen. the others sat making jokes about what was going on whilst you were trying to get control of your breathing. as you all set sail, you thought you were doing a good job of hiding the fact you were potentially about to have a panic attack as no one seemed to notice, or so you thought. considering the fact tubbo was your best friend, he instantly noticed something was wrong and wrapped an arm around you, and decided that distracting you would be a lot better than making you focus on what was currently happening.

“hey y/n, i have an amazing idea for when ranboos in the uk. a 4 month sleep over.”

“heh?”

before you had time to fully process what was going on, all you could hear was wilbur now claiming to be captain then going on to tell you why portsmouth is called portsmouth. you couldnt help but laugh at the random things he was coming up with since he put the captains hat on.

“that is a cinema..i’ve been in this industry for a while now, isn’t that right?”

it was silent for a while until niki tried to steal the captains hat, but was unfortunately unsuccessful .

“maybe next time niki.”

“thank you for believing in me, y/n.”

you pointed out a castle which ended up with wilbur talking about how the planned executions there .

“are they dead?”

“...tubbo of course they’re dead. what kind of question was that?”

the other boat began getting closer to the boat you were all currently in, indicating that it was almost time for you all to split up into two groups.

“my boat is going much faster.”

“that is a sign of pollution.”

“wow jack you’re polluting the world, i hope you’re happy!”

the ride was pretty chill until jack asked what he had lost in the past.

“past relationships.”

“the love or host.”

“laugh you lose streams.”

“the waterslide races from when we went to the water park.”

you and tubbo continued listening things that jack had lost.

“okay. so i’ve lost a few things.”

jack looked towards the other boat.

“however, you two are about to lose each other.”

“excuse you?”

“no, y/n is mine!”

eventually wilbur had enough and picked tubbo up and took him to the other boat with him.

“TUBBO!”

“Y/N!”

you and niki sat laughing as jack and wilbur bickered about who was going to win the boat race. whilst jack was distracted, you felt niki tap your arm and told you to look over to the other boat where tubbo was reaching his arm out to you so you could quickly swap boats.

you quickly got into the boat and sat next to your best friend, tubbo knew you were still slightly nervous, so made it so you would be sat in between him and wilbur so you would feel a lot more comfortable. a few minutes later, your boat began to set off and all you could hear was a mixture of tubbos laughter and jacks yelling getting quieter the further you went.

“AY THEY CANT START WITHOUT US!. AND THEY GOT Y/N, WHEN DID THEY GET THEM?!”

you turned to face wilbur who pointed towards a building before announcing that it definitely belonged to the the three of you, and was renaming it reddit gold.

“reddit..reddit gold, are you serious?” you said through your laughter, the three of you sat together taking turns narrating what was happening .

“go on, y/n.”

“if this capsizes, were all drowning.”

“cheerful as awful.”

“do you think sharks are beneath us?”

“i’m not even answering that question.”

you looked over your shoulder to see that niki and jack were catching up to you all.

“i hope they don’t overtake us, otherwise it’s bye bye tubbo.”

“and grandma.”

“excuse you, tubbo?”

“he’s claiming that he brought an urn with him and if we lose our valuable item gets chucked into the sea.”

a little while later jacks boat was next to yours and you and wilbur started to shout how it was like romeo and juliet.

“y/n, you studied this at gcse a while back, yell some quotes.”

“tubbo i didn’t listen to the teachers.”

“do it!”

“no!”

wilbur continued to talk to the others whilst you and tubbo sat bickering about William Shakespeare .

“tubbo my favourite character was benvolio and he fucked off halfway through.”

“what do you mean he fucked off?”

“he literally disappeared.”

wilbur was genuinely questioning what he was listening to he slowly turned around and tried to catch your attention; however you were currently in the middle of a debate about why benvolio disappeared, which was that last thing you expected to be doing on the boat. eventually your debate died down and you looked up to see wilbur shaking his head at you both, clearly confused as to why you spent 5 minutes arguing about romeo and juliet. an idea came to wilburs mind as he started laughing and pointing at the sea.

“drink some seawater, tubbo.”

you looked away as tubbo reached into the water trying to hold as much water as he could before bringing it to his lips and drinking the seawater.

“tubbo did you really just-“

“more tubbo!”

tubbo did the same as before, however this time brought his hands towards your face.

“drink it, y/n!”

“yeah, y/n, you can help desalinate it.”

“how wonderful, i’ll pass though.”

tubbo looked at you pretending to be upset and lifted his hands towards you again, this time you gave in and drank some of the water.

“thanks, tubbo, I can now only taste salt.”

jack noticed what you and tubbo were doing and looked at wilbur confused.

“im making them drink seawater!”

“what’s it like?”

“potassium!”

“salt.. a lot of salt!”

you checked your phone as you kept receiving multiple messages from tommy trying to get your attention, forgetting that you were currently on a boat with the others. you looked up from your phone to see tubbo drinking more seawater.

“AGAIN?”

you had no idea what was going on for jack and niki, but it sounded a lot like they lost hope as jack yelled asking if there was room for him on the boat while tubbo sat flipping him off in response to his question. jack continued to yell at the three of you however none of you could hear what he was yelling, so you kind of sat just nodding your head in agreement to what he was saying. wilbur pointed out that he could see the finishing line and how it looked like you were all going to make it. you looked over to see jack and niki recreating that one scene from titanic tubbo looked at you smiling, trying not to laugh.

“absolutely not one of us, if not both of us, would end up in the sea.”

the boat began to go significantly faster. at the start you were unsure how to feel, however a few minutes into it you began laughing enjoying how fast you were going.

“woahhh we’re turning!”

the boat did a loop before going straight on as fast as it could go.

“y/n, tubbo, we’re going. we’re going.”

“OH MY GOD!”

you ended up passing another boat you and tubbo instantly waved to everyone on the boat a few people waved back .

“they don’t wanna wave.”

“they know their boat is bigger than ours.”

“they could easily ram us and kill us all.”

“hopefully they decide against doing that.”

the boat began weaving resulting in you, tubbo, and wilbur constantly crashing into each other, not that any of you cared you were all having the time of your lives. you pointed at a boat which was cutting off the boat jack and niki were in .

“we’ve got this in the bag boys, victory is ours!”

your boat slowed down so it could dock.

“i think we’ve won!”

“we won”!

“holy shit we won! tubbo doesn’t have to go in the sea now!”

everyone got out of the boat so you could all wait for jack and niki to reach the dock, as the two of them approached you all tubbo began to sing.

“we are the champions my friend!”

“STOP IT!”

“i have to go into the fucking water!”

you pulled niki into a hug.

“jack you cruel man.”

“did you not have fun niki..we had a great time.”

you let go of niki and stood behind tubbo placing your head on his shoulder whilst jack explained to wilbur what was going to happen if they lost.

“oh, I thought we got to decide who was thrown into the water.”

“no no no no no no!”

“well i think considering we won..”

after a small discussion as a team, you all instantly agreed that jack should be thrown into the water, you all stood on the boat as niki argued that he cant throw her into the water. a couple seconds later wilbur walks towards jack handing him the camera before picking him up.

“are you ready?”

“i don’t think the bits that funny will, i don’t think the bits that funny!”

you all screamed and laughed as jack was thrown into the water. jack complained about the temperature of the sea as he climbed back onto the boat only to be pushed off again by you and tubbo.

“that’s revenge for trying to put us on separate boats!”

you spent the rest of the day together just hanging together as a group before you said your goodbyes.

the ride back home was you excitedly explaining what your boat ride was like to your parents, once you got home you ran upstairs to your room then called tommy on discord

“how was it then?”

“tommy it was so cool, honestly i wish you could have come with us.”

“i mean you’re coming with me george and wilbur to a water course next week, you don’t have a choice.”

“oh okay, it’s a good job i’d love to be there then, tom, also what mod are we playing just so i can check i have it ready.”

“rlcraft.”

the two of you spent a good hour talking before getting ready to film a video with charlie and jschlatt for tommys youtube channel.

taglist:

@l0ver0fj0y @etheriaaly @xx-smiley-xx @hawarun @kylobensgirl @cawcaw-pretty-thing @reverse-iak @c1loudee

[ianenjoyer]

an overly detailed analysis of every time Ian and Mickey talked about loving each other bc I love pain and angst apparently 

1. “You love me, and you’re gay.” -Ian, 3x09

So right off the bat this one was always the most shocking to me. Throughout the season, there were definitely hints that they were falling in love with each other/already in love but the fact that this is the first time we actually hear it hurts me so much. Especially because Ian was so sure. He wasn’t asking Mickey if he loves him or begging Mickey to love him. He just... knew that he did. This scene is so raw and painful and real because you just see two kids who are desperately in love with each other, but not allowed or able to show that in a healthy way, so they just end up lashing out at each other.

2. “You try sitting on your ass while the person you love--” -Ian, 3x11

Like I said: pain. So before, we heard that Ian knows Mickey loves him, but I always thought it was interesting that he focused on that instead of telling Mickey that he loves him. Because he does, and he definitely knew that. I think this speaks to Ian’s tendency to compartmentalize and only think of his emotions in terms of other people, which he does consistently throughout the show. So here we hear him admit it, but not to Mickey, and only because he’s drunk out of his mind. Ian is just one of those people that constantly keeps things bottled up inside and only deals with them when he reaches a breaking point, which he definitely did in this episode (and we see the fall out of this in 3x12).

2.5 (bc i forgot it the first time) “You love Mickey?” -Carl, 4x11

So I do think it’s really interesting that he says “I like how he smells” here instead of just saying yes. I mean I do think he likes how Mickey smells which is very adorable but he also definitely loved Mickey at this point and he was definitely aware of that. I think he didn’t say it for two reasons: one, he wasn’t ready to admit it out loud and two, he didn’t want Mickey to hear him say it. Before, being over-eager and too obvious about his feelings hadn’t been met with a good response from Mickey, so I think he was trying to avoid scaring him off, while also doing some pretty serious compartmentalization himself. This especially makes sense considering that they weren’t technically a couple here, and that Mickey had only just started admitting (through actions, not words) that what he and Ian had was about more than sex.

3. “You love him?” -Svetlana, 4x12

The dynamic between Mickey and Svet is a very interesting one, and I don’t know if anybody could ever fully pick it apart. But in this scene, you see an odd mutual understanding between them (which extends in season 5a). And what’s truly shocking is that Mickey says “maybe”, which is such a big step for him. Before, if somebody asked him that he would have completely avoided the question while probably blowing up at the person. But he says “maybe”, showing that, even if he doesn’t fully understand his feelings, he had definitely thought about it, and it doesn’t scare him like it used to. This is definitely because he came out and finally felt like he could really be with Ian without this sword hanging over his head (even though the circumstances of that weren’t great).

4. “I love you.” -Mickey, 5x06

God this one... breaks my heart. First of all, the fact that Mickey was the first one to say it would have been shocking in seasons 1-3, but it actually makes so much sense in season 5. Over and over again this season, Mickey’s shown that he loves Ian, but the fact that he can only say it when he thinks he’s losing Ian, and that it’s obvious he didn’t mean to say it, shows that he still hasn’t fully come to terms with his feelings, no matter how strong they are. 

5. “You used to love me--now you don’t even know who I am.” Ian, 5x12

This one is almost identical to #1, except with the added piece that Ian no longer thinks he deserves to be loved. This one is so fascinating to me, because it shows, once again, that Ian projects his emotions onto other people instead of dealing with his own feelings. He tells Mickey that he used to love him, even though there’s been no indication from Mickey that he no longer loves him. He says that Mickey doesn’t know who he is when, really, he’s the one that doesn’t know who he is. He put words into Mickey’s mouth, because that’s what he believed to be true, and I really don’t think that at this point anything could have convinced him otherwise. The lack of self-worth that comes with having a mental illness is so debilitating and all-consuming that no amount of reasoning from Mickey would have done much to convince him that he deserved what Mickey was offering to give him. 

6. “I love you.” -Mickey, 5x12

So while we have Ian telling Mickey that he used to love him, Mickey counters by just saying how he feels to his face. I think that seeing Ian go though what he went through, and almost losing him like three times made it so that Mickey could no longer deny his feelings. But like I said, Ian had it so cemented in his mind that he was doomed and fucked for life, that I don’t think anything could have gotten through to him at this point. And of course at this point Noel left the show, so we never got to see what could have happened between them if Mickey had stayed. (I 100% think they would have gotten back together sometime in late season 6 after Ian reached a stable place again but whatever).

7. “I love you.” -Ian, 7x11

Fuck. 7x10 and 7x11 are such bittersweet episodes because while it does make it so clear that Ian and Mickey are the loves of each others lives, it’s also when they thought they would never see each other again. What’s extra sad it that this is the first time we’ve ever heard Ian say this. And it’s a goodbye. The only time Ian can really face his emotions head on is when he’s forced to, and he was definitely forced to here. He loves Mickey. He knows Mickey loves him. But that didn’t really matter here, and it’s so tragic, but also really realistic. As for Mickey, he doesn’t even seem surprised--because he wasn’t. He wouldn’t have asked Ian to come if he didn’t know he loved him. This scene is extra heartbreaking because of that. This whole thing just serves as a reminder that sometimes love isn’t enough, and that sometimes there are forces bigger than any two people at play, which I think has always been a central idea to their story.

8. “I love you.” “I know, love you too.” Ian and Mickey, 10x03

Mutual ‘I love you!!!! It took like 10 years but it finally happened. They say it like they’ve said it a thousand time before, which makes me think that it’s definitely not the first time they’ve said it. There’s not really much to talk about here except that finally they’re allowed to love each other. Sure it’s not an ideal situation, but it is one where there are no forces actively working to keep them apart, which is so wonderful. When Ian and Mickey are allowed to just be, they work so well. Even though they’re saying goodbye here, it’s not a real one, not like the break up or the border. It’s temporary and they both know that so for once, them saying ‘i love you’ is a happy (or at least bittersweet) thing instead of the tragedy it was all of the other times.

9. “I love you…and I trust you.” -Ian, 10x08

Remember that quote where Fiona tells Jimmysteve that to her (and all the Gallaghers) trust is bigger than love? Yeah. Anyways his scene is tough because while I don’t think Ian was necessarily lying about genuinely wanting to marry Mickey and the legal stuff just being bonus, I do think he was downplaying the importance, both to himself and Mickey. And at the courthouse, once the bonus of spousal privilege wasn’t needed, he definitely started to realize the magnitude of the situation and what connotations marriage held for him. I mean marriage isn’t something you should just decide on a whim, no matter how much you love somebody and I think he realized that the second the impending threat was gone.

10. “Mickey, I love you!” -Ian 10x08

This is him making it as clear as possible to Mickey that it’s marriage that’s the problem, not him. He saw how heartbroken Mickey was when he didn’t sign the papers, and was basically doing damage control at this point. The problem was, Mickey couldn’t see through his initial heartbreak to really listen to what Ian was saying, or try to understand where he was coming from. I think that Mickey is an incredibly understanding person, but this was just one time too many for him.

11. “You’re just saying you don’t love me enough now.” -Mickey, 10x09

This is probably the first time we’ve ever seen Mickey question Ian’s feelings for him. I think that at the courthouse, he was just so blatantly reminded of the break up and the border that he wasn’t thinking rationally. He was so terrified at the prospect of Ian not choosing him, that he couldn’t listen to Ian’s (pretty reasonable) explanation for why he didn’t get married. However, I don’t think he really believed what he was saying, especially because of how petty he was being with Byron, and how obvious he made it that he would instantly go back to Ian if he proposed. But it still is really sad that he was reminded of that all over again after believing that he and Ian were gonna get married and that he was never going to have to worry about that again.

12. “How do you know you love me?” -Ian, 10x09

I’ve written a meta on this before but here I go again. He’s once again assuming that Mickey couldn’t possibly love him--that he couldn’t possibly want to be with him forever. Not because Mickey’s done anything to indicate that, but because that’s what he thinks Mickey should feel. He genuinely can’t believe that Mickey would want to be with somebody like him, especially because of what he saw with Monica and the way she destroyed relationship after relationship (both romantic and familial). I don’t think he sees himself as being all that different from Monica, so even though that’s definitely not something Mickey would ever care about, it weighs on him heavily (and probably always will). This whole thing just so directly parallels the break up, and it’s so sad to think that, after everything, Ian still doesn’t think he’s worthy of the kind of love Mickey has for him.

13. “I love you Mickey Milkovich. More than anything.” -Ian, 10x10

More than anything!! God, the proposal was a little underwhelming but this line!! It’s Ian choosing to get past all of his doubts because his love for Mickey is bigger to him than they could ever be. Like I said, I don’t think he’ll ever fully be over his insecurities, but he can definitely choose to let Mickey in and have hope that they can work through it together. And even though Mickey knew that Ian loved him and was basically just biding his time, it must have felt amazing for him to hear it put so clearly like this.

14. “Look I love you. I love you.” -Mickey, 10x12

First of all, the way he says it is so amazing. Second of all, there isn’t much to say about this except that it’s so indicative of his growth. Like he went from being closeted and terrified, to blurting out how he feels in a room full of people. That is such a beautiful thing and I get really emo whenever I think about it. 

15. “To love and to cherish you ‘til death do us part.” -Ian and Mickey, 10x12

I actually really love that they used traditional vows for their wedding. So much of their relationship was complicated and hard, so to have something very simplistic but meaningful as their vows was so perfect. And the way they say them... they’re being so sincere and so honest. They really mean what they’re saying. They love each other!! And they’re married!! Wow!! That’s all I have to say about this.

[meggtheegg]

evan hansen, sam wilson, & wanda maximov?

ohh man this one's gonna get long so i'll put it under a read more :D

evan:

favorite thing about them

his sincere desire to make sure everyone is okay. half of his problems stem from that one need, but it's ultimately what makes him set things right, too.

least favorite thing about them

there are many obvious character flaws that i could point out, but the most overlooked one is that he goes off his fucking meds without telling anyone that shit is dangerous and should not be treated as anything but that.

favorite line

"dear evan hansen, today is going to be a good day and here's why. because today, no matter what else, today at least you're you. no hiding. no lying. just... you. and that's. that's enough. maybe someday, everything that happened will all feel like a distant memory. maybe someday no one will remember about the connor project. or me. maybe someday, some other kid is going to be standing here, staring out at the trees, feeling so...alone, wondering if maybe the world might look different from all the way up there. better. and maybe he'll start climbing, one branch at a time, and he'll keep going. even when it seems like he can't find another foothold. even when it feels... hopeless. like everything is telling him to let go. this time...maybe this time, he won't let go. he'll just hold on...and keep going. he'll keep going until he sees the sun."

brOTP

evan and zoe should be friends, and even if that's super unrealistic, i will still hold onto that

OTP

evan x going back on his gosh darn meds

nOTP

i've never really seen an evan ship that bothers me, actually

random headcanon

i've said it a million times and i will say it again, this kid has autism, and no one will ever convince me otherwise (side-eyes steven levenson and ben platt)

unpopular opinion

evan is neither a horrible kid or a smol uwu anxious bean. he's a mentally ill teenager, who should be treated with the nuance and understanding that deserves.

also, the kiss at the end of ywbf kills all the emotion and power of the song so quickly, why has it not been taken out yet

song i associate with them

kill the ghost - motherfolk

favorite picture of them

(i am so sorry, i had to share this picture with the world it makes me laugh every time)

sam:

favorite thing about them

what is there not to love about sam wilson, honestly? if i have to pick something, it's probably his adaptability. captain america trolling him on his morning run? okay, let's talk to him about his trauma. he and black widow show up at his door saying everyone's trying to kill them? let them in and make them breakfast, if they eat that kind of thing. being hunted by some masked assassin? time to bring a knife to a gunfight and win, i guess. the masked assassin is cap's best friend? well, time to drop everything and search the world for him and become an avenger. superheroes have to register with the government, now? well, guess it's time to become a fugitive and go on the run for a few years. cap is an old man, half the world has gone on without him for five years, and now he's supposed to be captain america? well, he'll hesitate to take up the mantle, but good for steve. the masked assassin that tried to kill him is part of his found family now? sure, whatever. invite him to the cookout. i think that literally nothing could surprise this man, by now, and he just keeps doing what he feels is right without even stopping to question it.

least favorite thing about them

honestly, i don't even know. some of the stuff he says to bucky feels uncharacteristically unsympathetic, in civil war and the beginning of tfatws, but also like,,,usually he's not wrong, he's just kind of blunt about it??? idk man i love sam wilson.

oh, and i guess the cowl on his cap suit looks kinda dumb and uncomfortable

favorite line

"the only power i have is that i believe we can do better."

that's sam summed up in one line, right there. he's a normal guy surrounded by superheroes and yet he holds his own and stands out because he's so sincere and dedicated and good that it doesn't even matter

brOTP

sam and steve. we should've gotten more of them hanging out, honestly. they were great together.

OTP

sambucky, baybee! for all the reasons i listed in my answer for bucky :)

nOTP

another one i can't think of anything for. i guess sam/tony, if anyone ships that???

random headcanon

sam was actually pretty quiet, as a kid. he kind of let sarah do the talking for him. it wasn't until they got older that he started becoming more talkative and developing his sense of humor

unpopular opinion

sam did make mistakes in tfatws. bucky wasn't the only one to screw up. that was what made their reconciliation so nice. yeah, bucky was being way more of an asshole about the shield than sam was about anything, but that doesn't mean he was perfect 100% of the time, and that's good. that's what makes him human and relatable.

song i associate with them

come on, there's no way i can't say trouble man, here.

favorite picture of them

wanda

favorite thing about them

her gentle kindness. especially in civil war, there's something so soft and genuine about her that's just immediately endearing.

least favorite thing about them

the way that closing scene in wandavision implied she still may become a villain, despite having that option and rejecting it at the cost of her family, earlier that same episode. it just felt...wrong.

favorite line

"i can't control their fear. only my own."

i probably quote this line way too often. it's just....chef's kiss

(honorable mention goes to: "I don't even know who you are." "You will.")

brOTP

i so wish agatha hadn't become a one-dimensional villain in the last episode, because their friendship, however fake, was really sweet.

but also her friendship with the rest of team cap, especially steve, was also really lovely and i wish we could've gotten more of that

OTP

🎶WANDAVISION, WA-WANDAVISION, WANDAVISION WA-WANDAVISION...WANDAVISION!!"🎶

nOTP

wanda/pietro....just...ew....

random headcanon

despite her love for the genre, the two sitcoms she could never watch were alf and gilligan's island. the themes of being trapped somewhere without your family, no matter how funny the circumstances, just hit too close to home.

unpopular opinion

they shouldn't have aged wanda up to match lizzie's actual age. i know it was never officially stated anywhere until wandavision, but in aou and civil war, she was heavily implied to be a teenager, and honestly, that would've made everything about her character both hit harder and make way more sense. she could have been in her late teens-early 20s by the time wandavision rolled around, but having her in her late 20s-early 30s just doesn't fit all the comments about her being a kid/going to high school/etc. making her younger would mean that her decision to join hydra was the misinformed decision of a traumatized teenager, rather than a grown woman, and could have tied into tfatws and karli, which could then expand into an actual examination of why young people are willing to go to such extremes to make change and that could have been really interesting.

song i associate with them

razzmatazz - i don't know how but they found me

favorite picture of them

[excitedlysuffering]

OMGOMGOMG possibly Kakashi head-cannon collection? He is the love of my life (lmao don’t tell my bf that)

Your secrets safe with me he’s my love too😂

Kakashi Headcanons Collection

What He Looks For In A S/O~

• A reader, they don’t have to read Icha Icha (bonus points if you did) but someone who appreciates a good book

• Someone laid back and not very high maintenance

• I see him wanting a shinobi S/O cause he needs them to be to take care of themselves or he’ll worry too much

• he’ll worry anyways

• Someone who understands his pain and won’t shy away from him when he’s going through a rough patch

• Someone who is good with words, like say something sweet and he’s metlinggg

• A person with considerate personality traits

• He would like an S/O who’s willing to try new things and adventures

• Someone who would take things slowly

• Someone who could honestly make him laugh

• He’s DadKashi he’s going to want someone good with kids

• To be frank, he would probably want a relatively stable S/O so that in his mind there’s no chance of them ending up like his father

• He wants companionship so someone who’s not distant and who wouldn’t mind him being around all the time

• I really can’t see him with a tsundere S/O, he needs to see that his partner loves him as much as he loves them

Relationship With Kashi Stuff~

• Please do domestic stuff (Sending him off to work with a kiss, a note in his lunchbox, kissing him when he gets home) he will be near tears every time

• TEAMWORK MAKES THE DREAM WORK™ (whether it’s kicking butt, making dinner, or teaching (raising) Team 7)

• You probably won’t notice moving in with each other until you look up like ‘holy crap I haven’t been to my apartment in like 2 weeks?’

• Read with him or read to him, and you will have his HEART

• He’s not clingy per se, but he loves to be in your presence whenever he can

• Will take you out on dates once a week EVERY WEEK (Sorry Tsunade-sama, I have a date then, but I’ll leave right after?)

• Dating Kakashi means you’re now honorary rivals with Gai (who knows Kashi better, who can make him laugh most etc.)

• Pick up line wars 24/7, the loser has to do the other’s chores Kakashi wins

• Okay, but Kakashi never had a childhood, so make a list of everything he never got to do and you slowly complete them together

• He’s such a sweetheart like, surprise, he’s so sensitive

• Get’s so flustered seeing you in his clothes, he temporarily shuts down

• He’s given up trying to take back his mask whenever you’re wearing it

• Okay, we all know this silver-haired hottie is suave, but he is SMOOTH, he will 100% find ways to have you blush whenever possible, he is the CEO of leaving you hot and bothered

• Made you your own area in the Hokage office as a hint that he needed your company

• Has never forgotten an important date (he uses his Sharingan on the calendar)

• He’s fought demons and other crazy villains, but will still be terrified of you on your period (he’s brave tho he’ll just bring a lot of peace offerings)

• He heard you refer to him as DadKashi in front of Team 7 and/or your friends and just about loses his mind

• When you first see his face without his mask you’re probably pissed cuz WHY would he hide that beauty from the world?! it’s for the greater good hun

How To Lose/Annoy Him~

• Being insensitive/ignorant about things like loss or mental illness

• Constantly distracting him from his duties or hobbies

• Being rude or uncompassionate

• Being willing to abandon people or being self-centered you SCUM

• He always makes time for you, so he’d be a bit bothered if they didn’t put forth any effort to spend time with him

• Little pranks are harmless, but things that make him scared for your wellbeing or stealing his mask are big fat NO

• Being reckless just because, being a shinobi is already dangerous with would you play with death like that??

• Being lazy, Kakashi at his core is really something of a go-go-go person, he doesn’t want to just do anything all the time

Soft Kakashi Things~

• Kakashi is such a softie omg

• He likes to fall asleep last just so he can tell you how much he loves you and you saved him while you’re asleep

• If you’re having a bad day, he’ll drop everything (if possible) to hold you and be there for you in every way you need

• Definitely has Sai draw a small pic of you so he can carry it around and/or put in the Hokage office

• Mission dates are a thing like imagine flirting with Kakashi while destroying your opponents (so romantic)

• He’s big on practical gifts. If he notices you’re running low on shuriken? Expect a box of them from him

• He’ll read a particular *wild* Icha Icha quote to you just to make you flustered (bonus points for him if you’re in public)

• His students question you all the time like how did you end up with their lonely, pervy sensei?

• Will sweep you off your feet for no reason other than he likes to hold you and carry you

Random Kashi Facts~

• Kakashi’s love language is words of affirmation like he craves hearing that you love him and the like

• He hums and sings around the house or whenever he’s bored or preoccupied

• After having eating fish out of necessity day after day he prefers not eating it if possible

• He will often fall asleep a good while after he actually lays down because he enjoys debriefing himself of everything that happened during the day

• Actually sleeps really deep when he’s next to you, otherwise, the smallest sound can wake him up

• He likes to put notes or letters from you in his Icha Icha books so he can read them whenever and no one will peak cuz ew, Icha Icha

• In all honesty, Gai is a common factor in why he’s so late everywhere, but it’s mostly him walking around and taking in the sights like a nostalgic old man

• In the episode where Sakura and Naruto transformed into kids and called Kashi and old man, giving him an identity crisis is actually common. His hair color and the fact that you can’t see his face make some kids think he’s old

• Sometimes when he can’t sleep he’ll find a random tree and fall asleep in it (he’s a strange one)

• He lost his newest Icha Icha book when he was Hokage and very nearly (thanks to Shikamaru) called a citywide search party

Little Things~

Favorite:

• Place to kiss- Your temple, it feels really intimate to him and he’s so tall it’s an easy place for him

• Way to hug- Kakashi loves those giant bear hugs where he just envelopes you like you’re basically one with him now

•’Thing to do with you- He really loves reading with you, whether it’s the same book, or you’re just both sitting next to each other reading

• Type of date- Although your most common date is a mission date (lol), his favorite is being able to take you to a nice restaurant and then on a walk around the city

This or That:

• He’s a winter person actually, he loves being cuddled up with you and blankets, and the abundance of hot drinks

• He’s a morning person because he’s been waking up early since he was a child, and doesn’t really know how to enjoy sleeping anymore (but if that wasn’t the case he’d be a night owl)

• Loves both cooking for you and being cooked for he puts Bobby Flay to shame honestly

• He spends all his time reading obviously and if his S/O is a writer or he’ll be soooo excited and will read everything they put out

Conflict Happenings~

• He knows disagreements are a normal part of relationships (in moderation of course) so if there was a real problem, he wouldn’t shy away from it

• He won’t raise his voice or take a tone with you, he doesn’t feel the need to, but he will definitely get his point across

• To his fault, he might throw in a slight or cutting remark here and there but he will regret it the second your expression changes

• He’s a real go with the flow kind of guy so if he realizes that something is his fault, he will correct it ASAP

• If he notices you’re getting really worked up, he’ll just hug you until you calm down and can speak coherently but at that point it’s like ‘what was I mad about??’

• If his S/O is headstrong it’ll probably bring that side out in him, even if temporarily

• If it’s a minor disagreement he’ll probably say something funny to diffuse the situation

• He would rather die than argue in public, to him it’s a private thing and he hates causing a scene

Modern Kashi~

• I can see him as more of a club/extracurricular activities leader than a teacher

• He’s really close to those kids in his group and probably sheds a few proud DadKashi tears at their graduation

• That one fine teacher that all the students are thirsting over

• If not a teacher he’d probably be an elite CIA agent or a higher ranking FBI officer

• He has so many dogs like he sees a stray and how could he possibly give them up??

• He’d probably walk around Playboy Magazines just cause he can

• At one point he dyed his hair black cause he thought it’d look more ‘normal’ but he HATED it

• He likes plants but he’s so bad at taking care of them?? He can remember all of his dogs’ names and their food preferences but can’t remember to water a plant

• His house is so clean he’s been doing all his household chores since he was a child

• He definitely met Gai in elementary school and they never parted, even going on to become college roommates never again

• Gai probably barges in Kakashi’s classroom so often he’s most likely considered the co-leader/teacher

• Kakashi has definitely gotten drunk on school nights before but he’s such an in-control drunk no one ever noticed

• Kakashi was my first Naruto love and my first husband. BACK OFF

Masterlist

[ratplagues]

🔥 any dishonored thing of ur choosing -deathoftheoutsider

wah okay!! i will talk a bit about the outsider and void then..i dont really wanna frame it as a Hot Take bc i have no interest in starting shit or whatever like ill interact with whatever i want to in this fandom and ignore the rest and everyone else is free to do the same but.

I do not think The Outsider is a “character” in the conventional sense, much less that it does his character or the allegory he wields any justice to be shipped with anyone in the series (at least without seriously considering the implications and framing it in a way that completes the allegory. more on this later)

the outsider and his void are an allegory for Otherness; i’m namely gonna frame it as queerness and neurodiversity, but really anything could fit as long as it’s about you feeling seen as a marginalized and othered person. he is written to represent this allegory, not to be a person with a satisfying narrative arc or dimensions. this is why some people feel that he lacks depth-- he’s not supposed to have depth compared to others in the series, he’s mostly a vehicle for what he represents, and is supposed to be easy to identify with or recognize.

he was born to a life of hardship, suffered at the hands of the rich and powerful, was ignored, cast out, etc. etc. a familiar story. poor, queer, nd, really whatever you wanna frame it as. he was a nobody outcast. in comes the envisioned, they pick him to serve as their martyr and idol without his permission. he then had his name cut away and forgotten, and was thrust onto a pedestal to spend the rest of eternity being worshipped by other outcasts who had suffered at the same hands he had. he has something greatly in common with those who worship him, including the very people who stripped his mortality from him in the first place, but because of this shared hardship (and nothing else), his own autonomous personhood was disregarded completely in favor of The Community needing someone Just Like Them to idolize. if this sounds familiar, that’s because it should!!

his humanity was taken from him, and in his place, an idol was created. his human body is frozen in stone in the center of the void-- retired. out of commission. no longer needed. he was immortalized, transcended. this is traditionally desired, although dishonored is trying to convince you that it is not actually desirable. in the age of internet content creation, you can be immortalized without even being present, without knowing about it. you become what you can do for other people, and what you cannot. people fall in love with an idea of you, the idea of you being like them, and other people come to hate you deeply without even knowing you. people came to hate the outsider more deeply than he ever had been when he was human-- he wasn’t seen when he was human. a pedestal only helps you to be seen. the outsider had the choice made for him to achieve immortality in exchange for the simple joys of being un-known.

he spends all of doto trying to convey this idea to billie through the hollows:

"There is freedom in being hated. There is license in being cast out. Some learn this lesson a little too well."  "These people lay their thoughts, their petty wants, their murderous desires in front of me to witness. I cannot turn away." "We carry what was done to us through the rest of our endless days. No one asked if we wanted it." (i like this one. he speaks for the community-- this is a shared experience, one everyone can recognize. however, as a Queer Figure, he never asked for this. he never asked to be immortalized. i like the double meaning here)

not to mention, the entire extent of the outsider’s Sole ability and influence on the real world is to “choose” people and give them untold power over others. this is a fun ironic twist on what marginalized groups endure from powerful people, (dishonored is largely about power imbalances and socioeconomic hierarchies) but it’s also fun to think about in the context of the role model/fan framing-- so many worshippers give their lives to be “chosen” by him. it’s easily framed as an exaggeration of otherwise very real power imbalances and often the flagrant breaching of boundaries existing between creators and fans.

and on the subject of the VOID...ohht he void.....

the void should be a haven for queer folks. for nd folks. it’s wanted by so many to be a safe space, it should be, it’s the Other World! it’s renounced by the abbey, crusaded against, even. but it isn’t. it’s just this limitless, eons-old horizon that hungers and starves for something to fill it. if the outsider is the lament of queer idolatry, the void is the lament of queer Hunger. it is roaming, and restless. it does not belong to the outsider; the outsider cannot survive without it. it’s the desire to belong, not a place of belonging.

the void craves this idol, this outsider-- i, for one, have often experienced hunger for a truly moral and just role model, someone to make the world Right, and i know this is another shared feeling. those who worship the outsider, who drive themselves mad trying to see him or be chosen by him, are suffering from this idol hunger. you see this in a lot of queer and nd kids and young adults. i grew up just having my life and interests like, punctuated by different fixations on different people that i didn’t know at all, only fell in love with the idea of. it happens a lot.

there’s a couple more doto quotes that really highlight this for me:

"They carve my mark into the old bones bleached by the sun. They carve my mark into their skin. They learn true hunger in the Void." "All these charms, these runes and fetid offerings on shrines made for me, will be nothing more than objects worn of meaning. Bones and dead things, thrown into the dirt."

“They learn true hunger in the Void.” is something that i wanna touch on real quick. people can spend their lives obsessing over the idea of what they think the void will cure for them, will fix in their lives, only to find out that it’s just a hollow manifestation of the emptiness they’ve felt all their lives. it’s not the needs met, but the need itself. you have to make the home, it doesn’t already exist and you can’t fucking run to it. it is heartbreaking, frustrating, one of the bleakest messages i’ve ever encountered in a game, but i’ve never felt more seen. by submitting to these ideas, the idea of a perfect unhuman human and the idea of a perfect otherworldly home, you are surrendering your humanity. you’re not only being transformed by the powers gained (if they are gained), you’re essentially dissolving with hunger after never having these needs met. you see so many people in these games whittling themselves down to nothing but base need. empty apartments occupied only by shrines, sometimes containing their corpses. journals of people dedicating their lives to the worship of the outsider, always ending darkly.  "I will find this empty place. Somehow the key to open the Void will fall into my hands. In time, I will learn the secret and he will call to me as he called to her."

not to mention The New Envisioned-- prolonged exposure to the void will always, without fail, turn a human into silver void stone. these creatures can no longer interact with or acknowledge the mortal world. they have surrendered themselves to hunger, and cannot be saved. this is celebrated by the cult, honored by them, even. i honestly like....i pity them, and i hate them, and i recognize that i’ve been those people, lmao. when i was at my worst as a teenager, i wasnt so much a person as i was just a shell full of hunger and heartbreak. my personality was defined by who i was a fan of. i think i definitely was Less Human then. the cult of the outsider is a universal experience!!

dishonored, at its core, is a celebration of humanity. it asks you to celebrate human emotion and weakness despite greed and bigotry. the powers are not to be wanted, they are to be ignored, refused. it is human to hunger, but it is Queer and Divergent to make hunger your life’s meaning, to need to learn the secret, find the key, be chosen and loved and cherished, to be made whole by some perfect thing. to find your humanity in something un-human. dishonored sees all that, mourns it with you, and then asks you to find humanity in each other !! love the spine of your lover, the blood draining down the docks, the pause to stretch languidly in the sun of a work day.

and finally...on the topic of outsider shipping....i dont think that, in his god form, it does him much justice to be shipped with anyone. he’s not much of a person, just a projection of his former self and a vehicle for his allegory as discussed-- im sure he could be shipped like this, but it just isn’t satisfying to me in any way. however, let’s talk a bit about his lethal and nonlethal ending. DOTO asks you to make a choice. is it better to give him an abrupt and merciful ending, after deciding that the fury he’s endured at the hands of others’ famine is too much trauma for any mortal to live with? or will you decide that it’s only fair to give him a chance to live the life he never got to, to return his humanity that was taken without his consent? if you choose to free him from the void, i think you can very very easily make the argument that he can be shipped with corvo, or anyone else that can easily be shipped w/ ppl. he’s finally free to live his life as a queer man, can explore the simple and complex joys of being human with other people, navigate the hills and valleys he never got to before. corvo’s just a nice pick bc 1) experienced human/inexperienced human is good, 2) they know each other, but they don’t. this is a good setup. 3) corvo is an older queer man and uhh you cant convince me otherwise lol! and older queer/younger queer is a self indulgence for me. also corvo is just nice. i think he would enjoy helping the outsider navigate his new humanity.

just some thoughts i have running through my head all hours of the day :) this is really long cuz its a combination of a lot of infodumps from discord lmfao

[wisteria-lodge]

snake primary (bird model) + lion secondary (bird model)

I’m feeling really lost when it comes to my secondary. I’m fairly sure I’m a Snake Primary with a strong Bird model. But My secondary is tripping me up and I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I’ve been severely depressed for about 6 years, dealing with PTSD for 12, and dealing with anxiety since middle school. I’m also getting evaluated for ADHD. I’m getting help so don’t worry. So, here we go.

You seem pretty okay. I’ll keep an eye out for possible burning though.

Bird: I do think I have a Bird model. I plan things, I research the heck out of things when I need to make a decision, I’m always asking for advice (like now…), etc. But a lot of that seems driven by anxiety and fear of messing up. I literally never asked for advice until middle school, which was when the anxiety started. 

We have us a Bird secondary model that you built as a coping mechanism.

I do love to learn languages and I like to watch videos on YouTube about historical fashion and stuff like that. I used to read constantly but I’m so burned out that lately I haven’t read much. If I have a new interest, I can never do things by halves. I also have a huge cookbook collection and a huge collection of quotes on Evernote. I love puzzles and figuring things out. But yeah sometimes I’ll just be like “let’s check every book about tea/socialism/the regency era out of the library.” Then I text my Double Badger friend who is super into tea about it and she responds, “Just enjoy drinking your tea, what are you doing??” Okay now I’ve confused myself and I’m wondering if I really am a Bird. Or maybe that’s all ADHD hyperfocusing. Probably? Ugh. Who am I??

So your Bird model is also something you use to play, that’s good. And you love being social too. People focused Bird? 

I don’t think I do the Bird Actor thing, though occasionally I’ll pretend to be a character for fun when I’m walking on the sidewalk or something. And I’m not a strategist? When I play chess or RPGs or write I just kind of try to go for it and figure it out along the way. 

You’ve got a bit of an improv-for-fun thing going on. Snake? Lion?

But that doesn’t always end up working so I do now plan out my longer pieces of writing to avoid plotholes and getting off track.

Coping mechanism Bird secondary model. 

I’m very conscious of how I frame things. Like if I sense incoming drama, I make sure to speak up first and frame things in my favor so that people will be on my side. It’s not automatic, though. Like as soon as I realize there’s going to be some sort of confrontation, I’m thinking to myself very quickly, “Okay. To get people on my side I need to talk to them before the other person does and frame things X way and make these facial expressions.” Usually this does not involve lying, just telling the truth in a way that favors me. 

This honestly sounds pretty Actor Bird. This sort of thing is a lot more… automatic, if you’re doing it though a Snake or a Badger secondary.

I was a terrible liar until high school when I made the effort to learn how to lie effectively

Here’s that Bird secondary again, picking up the slack. 

I do feel like I tend to reflect people a little, though? Like if people are talking about politics and make it clear they’re super conservative, I will just talk about the few things that I agree with. 

That could point to Courtier Badger…

I don’t like arguing with people anymore because I’m scared they won’t like me or will be offended. This goes double after the last two elections when multiple people dropped me for disagreeing with them and other people said I made them uncomfortable for…having what I see as generic normal opinions. I’m also just not good at thinking up arguments on the fly at all because everything gets all jumbled in my head and I forget details so arguing makes me feel stupid. I tried to do debate one year in school… Oh man what a disaster. If I’m arguing in writing though and I can look stuff up? They better watch out.

Wait, whoa. You like arguing for fun? And the only reason you don’t is because things got more intense after the last election + arguing in real time is annoying since sometimes your memory doesn’t cooperate? Oh that’s Lion. Lion secondary or Lion secondary model.

At the core of it though, I don’t really lie unless it has a purpose (getting something I can’t get otherwise, trolling friends for a laugh, avoiding punishment) and isn’t a big deal.

“trolling friends for a laugh” sounds pretty darn Lion secondary. As does the implied getting-into-trouble that “avoiding punishment” would require.

Will I answer on a form that I’m x religion that I was raised as to get into a Facebook group I really want to be in? Yes. If someone straight up asked me what religion I am currently practicing? I would NEVER lie about that. The thought makes me feel physically ill. I also lost those family members because the thought of pretending I liked the loser of our recent election was disgusting. And if I truly hate someone because they deeply hurt me or a loved one, nothing can make me pretend to like them. The most I can do is be coldly polite in that situation and usually I can’t even manage that.

That’s Lion. I could see that go back to either a Lion primary or secondary, but if you’re happy with your Snake primary, I’m going to put down another point for Lion.

But like…would I lie about my address to get a library card for the much better county library system next to my tiny independent city? (My state is weirdly structured). No guilt at the thought of that and I’ve seriously considered it but they require proof of address.

You’re a little bit of a rule-breaker, aren’t you? And that’s a side of yourself you really like. That’s Lion. 

Basically if it will help me get something I need, I’ll feel better about lying, but otherwise I feel uncomfortable and usually I try to be at least “technically” truthful. Which sounds sort of Lion? Oh wow I thought I was going to be asking about Snake vs Badger but instead it’s Bird vs Lion. 

…ADHD Lion with fun and helpful Bird model? IDK. 

I think so :) 

[lisarichardsonbylines]

How to Tell Your Husband You’re a Witch

Witches we need you. Now more than ever. In the time of COVID-19 we can find respite in place-based reverence, plant magic and the divine feminine. So writes Lisa Richardson, who came to witchiness with nothing but white hetero straight-lacedness and a crush on a yoga teacher.

Lisa Richardson | Longreads | April 2020 | 15 minutes (4,084 words)

On a Friday afternoon, pre-COVID-19, my husband dropped some ice-cubes into glasses, ready to make us screwdrivers and cheers to surviving another week of working/parenting/wondering where the hell the years were going, only, the vodka bottle was empty.

“Oh yeah,” I said, my eyes sliding sideways, trying to not cause a fuss, “I used it for medicine.” The previous week, the kitchen counter had been cluttered with a giant mason jar full of oily plant matter. “Balm of Gilead!” I explained, brightly, as he wiped away the breakfast crumbs around it.

“But what is it?”

“Cottonwood tips in oil.”

His eyes had flicked, then, over to the brand-new bottle of extra virgin olive oil that was now nearly empty, as I enumerated the medicinal benefits of this old herbal remedy (and all this from a tree in our backyard!). Twenty-four years together means I could hear the abacus in his brain clicking, as he wordlessly calculated the cost per milliliter of a gallon jar of plant matter masticating in top-shelf olive oil, against the cost per unit of a bottle of generic aspirin tables, overlaid with the probability of me losing interest in this project.

First the olive oil. Now the vodka for dozens of little jars of tinctures — garden herbs and weeds soaking in now-undrinkable booze. My midlife quest to attune more deeply to the rhythms of the natural world was starting to incur unexpected, but real, costs.

He was quiet, as he opened the fridge and pulled out a beer instead.

* * *

In my defense, I could have pointed my finger at Natalie Rousseau, a yoga teacher living in my 5,000 person village, who I’d first encountered leading a solstice yoga class billed as a way to survive the madness of the holidays (in slightly more gracious language). Thanks to her offerings of insight I did survive the commercial horror of the “festive” season, and a few months later, as the new moon entered Aries (whatever that actually means), I plonked down $200 to subscribe to her online 13 Moons course — my foray into “slowing down and being more present,” as I pitched it to my husband when he inquired about the strange entry on the credit card statement.

But I did not deflect the simmering tension between us by naming Natalie as the instigator of these “kitchen witch” experiments. Even though I am not a member of any kind of coven or cult, (I don’t think book club counts), I know deep in my bones to never throw another woman onto the fire for helping you. That has been done too many times.

But there it is. The word. Witch. The wound.

* * *

Every day, after COVID-19 entered our world, Natalie Rousseau has responded with an offering, a teaching — a meditation, an ancient mantra of protection, a yoga practice for managing anxiety, a how-to video on harvesting poplar medicine. It’s as if she’s been resourcing herself for this moment to develop the richest arsenal imaginable, to navigate, not the public health crisis, but the billion personal crises each of us is forced to confront as life as we know it slams into pandemic mode. It’s not what I thought a witch would do, if I ever thought about them at all.

Natalie doesn’t look like a witch either — not in the way I conceived it for last year’s Halloween costume, with my long black skirt, dollar-store pointy hat, and heavy black eyeliner, walking alongside my 6-year-old vampire-werewolf. Natalie is petite, just a few inches over five feet, her long blond hair still evoking the decade she spent living in a west coast surf town, her chest and lean muscled arms bright with full sleeve flowery tattoos and Mary Oliver quotes. She moves like a dancer, demonstrating yoga poses as if she’s transcending gravity. As a teacher, she speaks exactly, even in Sanskrit, and guides movement precisely, padding gently and soundlessly through the room, making an adjustment here, offering an instruction there.

So, I was surprised when she used the word “witch” to launch her new online offering, The Witches Wheel. The lure was irresistible. Natalie was claiming the word “witch” without flinching, without anger, without provocation, not as a way to reclaim feminine power and stick it to the men, warranted as that may be: It was essentially an invitation to observe the cycle of the seasons.

A threshold beckoned.

* * *

Natalie, a recent empty-nester, lives with her husband Paul and two dogs in a modest townhome, with a creek and a dozen rogue gardens installed by various residents running behind it. The garage is full of motorbikes. The porch is swept clean on the day I visit, six months into the 13 Moons program, wanting to talk with her about this radical word and why, in a world still unsure what to do with powerful women, she’s not afraid that she’s exposing herself to pitchforks and fires, haters, and trolls.

Even though I am not a member of any kind of coven or cult, (I don’t think book club counts), I know deep in my bones to never throw another woman onto the fire for helping you. That has been done too many times.

A tea blend of her own mixing — vanilla chaga chai — is brewing on the stove in an open saucepan. She tends to it, as I settle in, sneaking glimpses around the room, looking for evidence of witchcraft — pentagrams, cloaks, bottled frogs. Nothing. The space is uncluttered, a throw-rug on the armchair, a couple of stark white deer skulls are mounted, European-style, on a wall against a reclaimed barn board — definitely more Soho chic than occult-goth. Her husband returns from town, where he has picked up fresh croissants for us. He’s tall and strong, with a tightly cropped red beard — he looks like a guy you’d run into at the gym, at the surf break, at the hardware store.

“So, what’s it like living with a witch?” I ask him as Natalie attends to our tea, a light-hearted question sprouting out of the great compost of fears I am thinking. Is it impossibly hard to be with a woman who comfortably claims her own power, magic, cycles, voice? What kind of a man can love and honor a witch? And lurking deep beneath it all: Will my husband be one of them?

Paul rolls his eyes, overly-dramatically, pointing up to the light fixture in the kitchen — light bulbs housed in mason jars of all sizes, evoking summer cabins and fireflies and Kinfolk magazine dinner party lanterns. “I made this for her because everything ends up in jars. Have you seen inside these cupboards?” He walks around the house, in faux-exasperation, opening doors to reveal neat stacks of jars, full of dried petals, leaves, syrups, tonics, salves, salts. “And there’s more upstairs!” If it hadn’t been for the dinner party they’d hosted the previous night, most of their apartment’s horizontal surfaces would be covered in jars, he tells me, and the front porch would have housed a dead raven and a dead Cooper’s hawk.

“She’s always sending me out in search of dead things,” he jokes. He picks up roadkill in case she can salvage feathers or skulls.

“When he first met me, I was already a skull collector, and now he goes and finds them for me and brings them back,” says Natalie. “He’s gotten really good at living with witchy stuff.”

The two of them are remarkably self-sufficient — an animal lover (“he loves animals more than people”), Paul realized veganism left him tired and undernourished, so took up hunting to procure his own meat humanely; one of the deer skulls mounted on the wall was harvested this fall, its meat now fills their freezer. They grow a garden, wildcraft, eat well. There is an ease between them — a tidal push and pull as they navigate their modest shared space and the morning routine, without evidence of fake niceness, of power trips or struggles.

Witchcraft, in Natalie Rousseau’s mind, is too non-dogmatic and non-hierarchical to submit to a single all-encompassing definition. “As a practice, it’s so highly individual,” she says, “but across the board, it is very place-based, land-based and body-based. For me, it’s about cultivating a relationship with your own body, your own mind, your emotions, and subtle sensing faculties. It’s learning how to trust your intuition. It’s about reclaiming your own instincts, but also being able to feel: this is what stress feels like in my body, this is what relaxation feels like, this is what it feels like to say yes to something out of a sense of obligation or pressure, this is what it feels like to have a boundary. This is what it feels like when I’m safe. These cues come to us from our bodies. It has to be, for it to work well, otherwise, you’re always reaching outside yourself for another authority.”

This is what she wants to help women, particularly, to reclaim: their sense that they are the first authority on themselves, that they can trust their bodies’ wisdom.

“The biggest thing I want to share with people,” says Natalie of her teaching and online courses, “is how to trust themselves. Everyone can very easily make the medicines that their household would need for common household complaints — colds and flus and chest colds and menstrual cramps — so many basic things that anyone can make very simply, quite affordably. I’m not anti-pharmaceutical. There are many medications people have to take daily to live. And if I have a serious infection, I’m going to take antibiotics; if I am seriously ill, I am going to go to the doctor; if I have any kind of trauma, I’m going to be so grateful for that form of medicine. But I believe the role kitchen medicine has is in the maintenance and prevention of illness.”

One of her biggest laments, though, as she makes videos and handouts and shares them with her online community, is that even people who have paid to do her course don’t feel that they have the time to take it into their kitchens. “Making a tincture is literally pouring vodka over plant materials and leaving it on your counter for four weeks!” she says. But it is easier for most people to just buy one online and have it delivered to their doorstep. “I am saddened by how easily women give their power over. This is the biggest thing I’ve noticed as a teacher in the past couple of years — how quickly women will say, ‘but how do you do this? I don’t know how to do this! I’m afraid to try this because I might not be good at it, I might be doing it wrong. I’m an imposter.’ I really struggle with this. Where is it coming from?”

But she knows. We have relinquished our power, over a thousand years or more, of wounding, of witch-burnings, of patriarchy either convincing us we have none or forcibly stripping it away, (hello Harvey Weinstein), until all we feel empowered to do, now, in 2020, is consume. And we’ve been doing that with all our might.

We override the listening, we ignore the nudges, we push through, like good soldiers. “Most people are running so hard,” observes Natalie. “Our culture is so focussed on productivity. We are so overly heroic — it’s all or nothing. I can’t do something unless I’m an expert. I don’t want to try. But this is a craft. It’s a path of education.”

Natalie’s invitation is gentle, and she’s crafted her online course to serve that: Start with one plant and learn its taste, its smell. Spend five minutes a day on meditation or in conscious ritual and begin to notice what’s going on in your nervous system, in your mind, in your body.

“When he first met me, I was already a skull collector, and now he goes and finds them for me and brings them back,” says Natalie. “He’s gotten really good at living with witchy stuff.”

Don’t get so distracted by the word witch, that you fail to notice that it is connected to craft. Witchcraft, for Natalie, is a path of learning “how to trust and problem solve, from within, knowing that we are in a system of power that, for better, for worse, will strip us of any ability to trust ourselves and to always feel empty so we have to keep buying more stuff.”

When she says this, a deep thrill of recognition hums in me, accompanied by a shiver of fear. Those are revolutionary things to say out loud, to cast into the open air. I recognize it viscerally as the kind of talk that gets people in trouble.

* * *

Last summer, before I met Natalie, I had stepped from my backyard patio stones onto freshly cut grass and spied the sinuous form of a wandering garter snake. I leaned in quickly, excitedly, about to call my 6-year-old over to glimpse the garden visitor before it shimmied away. But it was eerily still. Ugly slash wounds marked its body. It was dead. Innocent victim to the ride-on lawnmower. Obliterated by our oblivion.

“Oh no,” I muttered. “I’m so sorry!”

I had already begun to wake up to the natural world, it’s rhythms, it’s offerings of medicine, it’s otherness, but it had come with a shadow side, a growing despair at what we were doing to the world. Even without a malicious intention, I was causing death and destruction — just mowing the lawn, drinking my coffee, wiping my ass: My actions, all our human activity, had compounding impacts that were destroying the snakes, the ocean, the atmosphere, the forests, the icecaps — beyond repair.

I wanted my garden to be a habitat. I wanted the bees to waggle-dance directions to my sunflowers to their hive-mates, I wanted the wandering garter snakes to nest in their hibernacula through the winter and bask in the long grass in the summer, I wanted to lie on my back and watch butterflies dance through the flowers and the hummingbirds zoom in and out, I wanted to inhabit innocence again.

I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. My penitence froze me in place, scared to make a move for fear of ruining something else. Then, regret overriding my squeamishness, I fetched the flat-bladed shovel and edged it under the dead snake. I carried her body over to the vegetable patch, and in a space between the beds, where the mower never goes, I laid her down. I picked marigolds and calendula from around the garden, where they’d been planted to keep the snails away, and lay the bright orange blossoms in a circle around her.

Grandmother snake, I whispered, hoping that some force that exists beyond the definitively dead snake at my feet, might spread the word among the entire species, “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean it. I will try to be more careful.”

It was a made-up ritual, the kind that a kid might perform deep in her dream world at the bottom of the garden, and it made my 44 year-old-self feel a little bit better. At least I’d made a gesture of repair, had expressed my desire to return into balance with the living world around me. If it had any effect, I’d never know. I went back inside, said nothing.

A few days later, out in the garden, my husband tripped over the skeleton of a decomposing snake, ringed by wilted flowers, half consumed by ants.

“That was spooky,” he confronted me. “What’s going on? Are you some kind of witch?”

* * *

* * *

Natalie has always been comfortable with the word. Now she’s having fun inviting people to consider the archetype, circle it, unpack it, stumble upon some kind of recognition: Wait a second! Maybe I am a witch!

“It’s cool how people in the western world can take a description that has been used mostly as a slur, and turn it around to use as something empowering,” she says.

For thousands of years, witch was a term used to incite violence against women. By the most conservative estimates, half a million people, mostly women, were executed in the European witch craze between 1300 and 1650. Accusations of witchcraft were used against women, says Rousseau, “in ways that were extremely dangerous and terrifying. It was really about getting power from them, and getting land back. So, to use a word like that in an empowered way, even today, you have to know you’re safe to do it. And it’s important to realize that in many places in the world, it’s still not safe for women to say that. But if we can, in safe places, take that word and turn it around, that, to me, is extremely powerful.”

I wanted the bees to waggle-dance directions to my sunflowers to their hive-mates, I wanted the wandering garter snakes to nest in their hibernacula through the winter and bask in the long grass in the summer, I wanted to lie on my back and watch butterflies dance through the flowers and the hummingbirds zoom in and out, I wanted to inhabit innocence again.

Natalie herself embodies empowerment. Not in the traditional way I have come to recognize power — as someone standing over, dominating someone else, her source of power comes from within.

She doesn’t need to take any from her partner.

“Do you find this relationship at all emasculating?” I joke to Natalie’s husband.

“I don’t. Not at all. No,” he replies.

“We’ve always given each other space to be ourselves.”

But that’s not always a guarantee of safety.

If it is dangerous to be an empowered woman in the world, then it’s dangerous, too, for the men who love them.

Lyla June Johnston is an author and activist of Diné and European heritage. Her inquiry into her disowned European heritage led to a realization: The millions of women burned alive, drowned alive, dismembered alive, beaten, raped and otherwise tortured as so-called, “witches,” were not witches at all. They were the medicine people of old Europe. Her lens, as a contemporary indigenous woman, and as a survivor of sexual violence, helped her identify that those were the women who understood the herbal medicines, the ones who prayed with stones, the ones who passed on sacred chants. And the all-out warfare of the witch burnings didn’t just harm the women. It had a profound effect on the men who loved them, their husbands, sons, brothers. She recognizes the echo of this in the story of her own time, of her own people. “Nothing makes a man go mad like watching the women of his family get burned alive. If the men respond to this hatred with hatred, the hatred is passed on. And who can blame them? While peace and love are the correct response to hatred, it is not an easy response by any means.”

How many men have kept their women down, tried to keep them at home, have become the handcuffs that the women fought against because they were answering to their own unarticulated primal instinct to keep them safe?

Natalie Rousseau speculates, “I am sure historically you had lots of husbands telling their wives to tone it down, not because they didn’t respect their power, but because they were genuinely afraid. I’d apply that to any women described as uppity — getting involved politically, or getting involved in local stuff that’s happening, fighting for the environment: Stop getting noticed so much. This could be dangerous.”

Some dangers are too great to be able to protect each other from. And so we turn the fight on each other — little domestic power-trips that distract us from the fact that we’ve relinquished all our power any way to the Great Machine.

* * *

My tentative inquiries into witchcraft, becoming fluent in my own moods and emotions, and paying attention to the seasons, barely prepared me for the abrupt slow-the-fuck-down order that came when COVID-19 landed in British Columbia, in my village, as school broke for spring break. The emergency handbrake was pulled. Everything came to a squealing stop — all my plans, canceled; all the stores, closing; the whole damn world, under house arrest and in a panic. The whiplash from the stunning speed of that shift has left my whole being hypersensitive to any sudden movement, to being jerked around. But the first things I have staked my trust in, in that space of uncertainty, were Natalie’s teachings: First, trust your body. Pause. Listen.

In self-imposed isolation with my husband and just-turned-7-year-old, I dance with anxiety and curiosity and disconnection and too-much-information. The well-trodden pathways we have all been racing along, flexing our power and exercising our entitlements as consumers, are suddenly bordered up with emergency tape. This invitation that Natalie has been dripping out, month after month, takes root. There is far more potency available to us, than shopping, driving, holidaying, consuming, endlessly moving around the planet.

There is potency in all the feelings that have been showing up at my door. Oh, good morning frustration. Ah grief, yes, I suppose you’d like a cup of tea. Hello there, existential terror, I wondered when you’d pop by. There is potency in sitting with my back against a huge cedar tree and listening, in slowing down so much that I can give my 7-year-old my full attention. There is potency even in my words, when I soothe him down from a tantrum by saying, “you know, this is a really hard time for everyone in the whole world right now because no one knows what’s going to happen and no one can play with their friends. I’m really proud of you.” And I can feel his body relax into this space of being acknowledged in his struggles and his efforts.

I don’t know if there are any medicinal properties in the tincture of St John’s Wort and valerian that I drop into water and hand my husband, to gentle his nervous system. Or in the jar of immune-boosting oxymel, that I brewed up with grated ginger and turmeric and orange peel, and shake every day. But even if it’s a placebo, there’s a relief for me in feeling I can do something, can offer my people some kind of healing intention in a little glass, that I can acknowledge that this is hard for my husband too, and that acknowledgment isn’t a concession that takes away from my own sense of struggle.

For decades, we’ve bought into the illusion that our power is as consumers. Now that stores are closing and the shelves are emptying and we have to stay home and not immediately indulge every whim that arises, we all feel powerless. But that was never our truest source of power. There’s another source that we can all plug back into, our deep relationship and interbeing with the life force. Maybe, this is our threshold moment. Maybe, this is a chance to craft a few little spells, to speak the words of the world we long to inhabit — a place where the currency of kindness and wonder flow, where humans return to a deep memory of belonging among the plants and creatures, and to brew up a cup of tea, light a candle, and dream it into existence. Maybe it’s an invitation to say, “I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to, I will try and be more careful,” and to build a little altar, even if you feel kind of cray cray doing it. Let your nervous system settle as you invent some small ritual, (just ask your inner 5-year-old for guidance, she probably remembers exactly what to do), and make a gesture of repair.

“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have on my Apocalypse team,” I tell my husband, the night the global virus countertops 400,000. He’s been chopping wood, auditing the pantry, getting our kid across the finish line of the LEGO project that has absorbed him for four days. My husband was a farm kid. He’s always been practical, my polar opposite. Even when we have battled each other, (am I giving up too much of my power to him? If I acknowledge his pain and his needs, will that cancel mine out?) I’ve always known he would do anything to keep me safe. “Not that I can request an upgrade now,” I joke. “But I bet you’re glad to be stuck with me. One always wants a daydreamer at your side in a pinch.”

“Oh yeah,” he spoofs me: “’ The stock market is collapsing, let me just go check my Tarot cards.’”

We laugh. And hold each other. We can’t buy our way out of this. None of us. Our entire species, our global community, is being vividly reminded that we are all in this together, inextricably connected, epidemiologically entwined, in our vulnerability and our sweet potential. We didn’t need Amazon and airlines and online shopping to know what the witches have been telling us all this time. All the power we need is right here — between us, around us, within us. We just have to remember it.

* * *

Lisa Richarson

is a senior contributor to Coast Mountain Culture magazine and a columnist for Pique newsmagazine and edits the hyperlocal websites,

TheWellnessAlmanac.com

and

TracedElements.com.

She’s deep into a decade-long mission to slow the fuck down, but still optimize life for happiness and productivity. Born and raised in Australia, she has lived as a guest on the unceded territory of the Líl̓wat Nation since a ski vacation went rogue 20-odd years ago.

Editor: Carolyn Wells

Posted by

Lisa Richardson

on

April 8, 2020

https://longreads.com/2020/04/08/how-to-tell-your-husband-youre-a-witch/

[eatprayworm]

without fox demons, no village is complete: an essay on tsomd’s li zilong and fox spirits

The big bad of The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty live action series, Li Zilong, is in many ways a mystery. We never learn his real motivations for wanting to take down the emperor, and there’s so many odd details about him that don’t add up (how did he disappear in thin air from Wang Zhi?). I propose a theory that provides an explanation for this antagonist: he is a fox spirit. I use a combination of sources to come to this conclusion. Let’s read.

The Real Li Zilong

A good place to start is the history of the real life Li Zilong. According to “The Eunuchs of the Ming Dynasty” by Shih-shan Henry Tsai, the Chenghua emperor established the Western Depot in 1477, with Wang Zhi at the helm. What made the emperor create the Western Depot? Well! The original mission of the Depot was to investigate the case of Li Zilong, a “transvestite” (the book’s words, not mine) who allegedly practiced witchcraft and had magical abilities. Li Zilong worked with a court eunuch to sneak into the imperial harem and mingle with superstitious women. And so, the Chenghua emperor created the Western Depot and had Wang Zhi search for any other witches or strange people. Wang Zhi went on to become a terror in the lives of many common folk.

So, the real Li Zilong was tied to mystical practices.

The Book Li Zilong

What about Li Zilong in the novel? Well! I haven’t read the novel so I can’t fully speak to it, but I’ve read some passages that describe Li Zilong. In chapter 3, Tang Fan discusses the Demon Fox Case, about a golden fox demon who was sent in to kill the emperor. This demon fox was said to be killed by the Ming Dynasty’s founding emperor. There was also a Taoist named Li Zilong who appeared around the same time, and for whatever reason, the court associated Li Zilong with the fox, and he was executed. After Li Zilong was executed, the emperor established the Western Depot so he’d have a more reliable source of information.

Since I haven’t read the novel, I can’t say if Li Zilong is really dead or if there’s more information on this case. I’d love to hear if there is! Otherwise, what we can infer here is that Li Zilong was, most likely, a fox demon spirit out to kill the emperor.

The book is not the show, though, so this could be dismissed. However, I propose that the show version of Li Zilong is indeed a fox spirit. To better explain why I believe this, we need to understand a few things about Chinese fox spirits.

What are fox spirits?

There is a very long history of fox spirits in Chinese lore. I’ve done a few hours of research, but I am by no means an expert, so take all of this with a grain of salt. Likewise, fox spirits are called many terms (huxian, humei, huli jing, to name just a few) and they have various roles within ancient lore. For the purposes of this essay, I’ll focus on some general fox spirit information.

There are some generally accepted lore about fox spirits. According to old records, fox spirits have long lives and can take different forms depending on their age. When they reach 500 years, they can take the form of a beautiful woman, a handsome man, or an old wise scholar. When they reach 1,000 years, they may enter the heavens and become a celestial fox.

In some stories, foxes are seen as good omens who bring wealth and fortune to humans. In other stories, foxes take human form and seduce men or women. In others still, foxes are seen as signs of misfortune, sorcery, and rebellion.

Powers

Fox spirits are noted to have particular traits and powers, including:

strike their tail on the ground to cause fire

the ability to possess humans

ability to see into the future

can see events up to 1,000 li away

invisibility

pass through walls

a cunning and trickster disposition

Motives

The motives of foxes vary. Some have no moral alignment. Others seek to play mischief and tricks on humans; others steal the spirits of men so they may increase their own.

There are also tales of fox spirits taking revenge, either for themself or a deceased individual. To quote one source, “Typically in folklore the Chinese fox had two basic motives, to show its powerful shape-shifting ability by assuming the form of a person or demon to achieve the second motive: that of revenge for some crime it perceived, real or imagined.”

Interestingly, this is not the only source to discuss fox spirits and revenge. One tale speaks to a fox who cursed three generations because it was harmed by the family. Another source states, “...the Chinese revenge-fox stories: the killed fox is able to punish his murderer, being almost as clever as he is.”

Li Zilong? A Fox?

Now, why do I think the show!Li Zilong could be one of these crafty fox spirits? It’s a combination of canon clues and some inferences on my part. Let’s begin!

Age & Revenge

Li Zilong tells Princess Gu’an that he is a descendant of the Li family, who ruled during the Tang dynasty. The Tang Dynasty. What’s interesting to note is that the Tang Dynasty ended in the beginning of the 900’s - over 550 years before the present day in the show. Why would a descendant from this very old royal family have it out for the emperor? And what does this have to do with foxes?

The Tang Dynasty was the height of fox and fox spirit worship. The Tang Scholar Zhang Zuo noted: “From the beginning of the Tang Dynasty, many of the commoners worshipped fox deities. They offer sacrifices to them in their bedchambers, and food and drink offered are the same as those consumed by humans. At the time there was proverb saying ‘without fox demons, no village is complete.’”

There are other mentions of fox demons and their roles as gods. In one instance, dozens of “fox demons” appeared at a temple honor Li Jing, a Tang Dynasty general who was revered as a god. In another instance, a temple was erected for the “fox kings” in the land. In the year 1110, the Grand Councilor ordered that 1,000 fox-king shrines should be destroyed. (Li Jing? Some demon foxes being called huli jing? interesting coincidences.)

So. We have Li Zilong, who was a descendant of the royal family that ruled during the height of fox worship. What’s more, Li Zilong wears the same type of headpiece that the Chenghua emperor wears.

Was Li Zilong truly the descendant of royalty? Or, is he perhaps royalty from the era itself, a remnant of the fox kings of old? After all,  why would a descendant of the Tang Dynasty care about an emperor who lived hundreds of years later, unless he’s been around long enough to have a reason to care? Could he, like his book counterpart, have been slighted by the Ming Dynasty’s founding emperor?

When he finally confronts the emperor, he stares and says he’s waited a long time for this day. Maybe he’s waited over a hundred years.

Photos for reference:

Powers & Omens

Li Zilong exhibits traditional powers of fox spirits.

Invisibility. When Wang Zhi and he are walking out of the brothel, he tells Wang Zhi to look away. Wang Zhi looks away for a few seconds, turns back, and Li Zilong is gone. There’s no hint that he leaped away; he seemed to disappear out of thin air.  Or, perhaps, he simply turned invisible. He pulls a similar trick when Tang Fan sees him across the street, but he disappears after a carriage goes by. Naturally, he probably hopped on the carriage. But….what if he didn’t. Additionally, how did Li Zilong get into the brothel when he was holding the meeting with the Oirats? Why was he so unafraid to be in public when he was literally public enemy number one? Only someone who could disappear quickly could have such confidence.

Precognition/knowledge. Li Zilong knew everything about everyone, even when it didn’t make sense for him to know these things. How did he know so much about the chicken cup? How could he predict the moves of the heroes again and again and again? How did he know the history of individuals so well? Sure, he had men that kept him informed. He had Qing Ge. But his ability to not only know so many past and current events, and keep a thumb on so many individuals and schemes (like the Yunhe silver situation) for years is very, very impressive. Almost inhumanly impressive.

Fire. Now, Li Zilong himself does not have the power of fire, but he sure is attracted to it. Ding Rong describes the explosions of the bolang as a sea of fire - and wouldn’t that appeal to a fox who can strike fire with his tail? Imagine being able to amplify this natural ability. Li Zilong seemed to grow particularly protective and fond of the bolangs; his eyes would light up, he asked for far more than he ever needed. A fox with a penchant for fire indeed.

Wealth & Rebellion. Li Zilong fits the archetype of the fox being both a benefactor and an ill omen. He says time and time again that he’s a businessman, and indeed he is: he fills the pockets of men (and himself) with gold, so long as they follow him. Sounds almost like worship? And wouldn’t an old fox king just love that? Additionally, Li Zilong is considered a rascal, an outsider, a rebel; Shang Ming, Wan An, and Wan Tong will collude with him, but they still deem him an “other”, an outside force. Fox spirits were typically seen as the other, as a sign of chaos.

Miscellaneous

Here’s some additional details I picked up while rewatching that lend some credence to my fox theory.

Fox Rings. On one of his hands, Li Zilong wears orange and black rings, side by side. These colors are typically associated with foxes.

2. Actual fox reference. In episode 47, Li Zilong warns Qing Ge that you cannot run from the eyes of the “three old foxes.” These mean the corrupt officials, of course. But what’s even more curious is what Dong’er tells the emperor: don’t run from Li Zilong, because he will always find you. So who is really the old fox here?

3. Qing Ge. One of the most common tales of fox spirits is them taking on the form of beautiful women to enchant men. Li Zilong adopting a skilled courtesan who canonically has men falling at her feet? Could this old fox king see a potential fox spirit in this adoptive daughter?

4. Tang Fan. In the Encyclopedia of Demons in World Religions and Cultures, the author states that “huli jing are especially fond of attacking virtuous scholars, as reasonable and virtuous people enrage them.” Li Zilong focused on Tang Fan as his real enemy. Not Sui Zhou. Not Wang Zhi. And why, when all three would eventually lead to his downfall? Because I think Tang Fan was the exact kind of scholar who Li Zilong couldn’t outsmart and beat, and he hated it.

5. Eyes. When Li Zilong falls down and dies, his eyes briefly change color. They flash from grey to silver; in the next scene, they’re brown again. What happened here? What spirit has left him? Could it be the death of a very old fox?

Conclusion

Fox or human? Descendant or royalty? Who knows what a Li Zilong is, but I think we can certainly assume he isn’t human - and may be the trickster from old. Ultimately, this is just my headcanon. At the end of the day, he may just be an old man who wanted to cause havoc for the hell of it. But I think this is a fun theory to entertain, and it gives him far more depth and intrigue than canon gave him otherwise.

Again, I am no expert in Chinese lore or Chinese fox spirits. Any mistakes are mine, and I’m certainly open to corrections!

[jamr0ck83]

If Nobody is Racist, Then Who Exactly is Keeping Systemic Racism Going?

Everybody seems quick to insist that they’re not the ones who are racist.  So, then who is?  If it’s only the people you say, then why are we like this as a country?

Recently, someone with which I somewhat briefly attended grad school for education (And no, I don’t want to talk about what happened with that whole endeavor) posted the following image to their Facebook profile.

On its face, it seems like a completely reasonable and acceptable statement, and as such, it was generating some likes.  At the time I first saw it, I think there were 6.  But before I, too, submitted my approval of this image, I thought a little more about it, and its implications.  And I realized that I didn’t really agree with it.  I knew the person who posted it had no ill intentions, and I think they even found the image on the profile of another POC.  But the more I reread the sign featured, the more I was sure that it was not a true statement.  I knew that my stance was not going to garner nearly as many likes or other accolades as if I had posted a phrase like “Black Lives Matter”, which at this point, it seems like all reasonable people are able to agree that they do (or at least it’s the obvious appropriate thing to say in this moment).  I knew I might receive some pushback or criticism, and while that did admittedly make me nervous, I knew that I needed to speak up in this way and in this moment.  And I was willing to deal with whatever consequences came my way.  I decided it was that important for me to make a case for a diverging opinion.  So, I typed out the reply below and posted it.

I want to agree with this, but I'm not sure if I do. Please hear me out. It is entirely possible to be a Trump supporter and not be a person who has ever uttered a racial epithet or been otherwise explicitly or overtly racist. However, I do believe that there are degrees of racism, and if you're someone who has responded that "all lives matter" or "blue lives matter" when another person asserts that black lives matter, I would argue that you are on the spectrum of holding onto or entertaining some form of racist ideology. If you watched the video of George Floyd having his life choked out of him and then watched the footage of riots from that first night in Minneapolis and thought "It's a shame that guy died, but what they're doing now is uncalled for", this might indicate that you prioritize law and order (no matter how unjustly they are being enforced) over the life of a man whose only transgression was that he was black, and that, too, places you on that spectrum of racism. Racism isn't always waving a confederate flag and yelling at POCs to go back to where they came from. Sometimes, it's knowing that the politician you support will turn a blind eye to or even praise people who march around with tiki torches yelling, "Jews will not replace us" and wanting to vote for him anyway. Sometimes, it's hearing black people beg to have full access to the citizenship rights that are due them but deciding it's more important for you to vote for the guy who advocates for you to keep your semiautomatic rifle. If you are deciding that your wants (not needs) have priority over the humanity of POCs, then I would argue that you are on the spectrum of racism. And that demands some self-reflection. Complicity is part of what makes racism so destructive. What's the point of knowing better if you refuse to hold others accountable for doing better?

And then I waited.  I waited for blowback.  I waited for pushback.  I waited for agreement.  I waited for literally anything anybody might feel compelled to say.  But the only feedback I received was a single “like” whereas the post itself had garnered six additional since the posting of my comment.  So, people obviously disagreed with my stance but couldn’t bring themselves to make that known in any kind of direct fashion.  And frankly, that concerns me.  A great deal, in fact.  And there are a couple of reasons why.

Firstly, and this is something of which I was starting to become more aware even months before the death of George Floyd and these subsequent protests, white people are very quick to assert that they, themselves, are not racist.  They are also quick to assert that most people who look like them are not racist.  According to them, hardly anybody is really, truly racist.  But if that’s actually true, then why is this country such an absolute mess, and why have we been that way for centuries?  It’s as if the term “racist” is being reserved for truly egregious and over-the-top cases.  And everything else is just the way people are.  White people seem to have a very specific and narrow idea of what racism looks and sounds like, and that allows them to never truly have to consider whether they, themselves, might be racist.  Or if their family members are racist.  Or if the politicians they actively support are racist.  Under their definition of that word, it barely applies to anyone. And as a black woman who considers herself knowledgeable of both history and current affairs, I will confidently say that this is wrong.  

I have had people who cloak themselves under the banner of liberalism say some things to me that would make me raise an eyebrow if I knew at all how to move that particular facial muscle. And no, it’s not the times when the racial epithets and slurs are used that I feel compelled to do this.  It’s actually the times when I’ve made some sort of assertion about the impact of oppression on the lives of black people today, and I am met with sentiments such as “It’s not fair that we keep getting blamed for everything” or “You weren’t a slave, so the legacy of that institution doesn’t create any modern-day problems for you” or “Slavery ended over a hundred years ago, so why do you keep wanting to bring it up? Why can’t we all just move on?  Life is hard enough”. (That last phrase is a direct quote from a white woman who replied to something I said on Instagram regarding the role that white women have historically played in the role of oppressing black bodies.  She objected to my assertion that this is an issue that is rarely discussed, because dwelling on it would cause white women to feel discomfort, and that is in direct opposition to this silent societal code we all seem to follow that says that we must do whatever we can to prevent white women from feeling uncomfortable.  Ironically, she was shutting my argument down, because it made her uncomfortable.) Also, I’ve been told that the ways in which I have experienced oppression throughout my life just aren’t true, that I must be mistaken and that I am making something be all about race when it’s not about race at all.  And finally, I’ve been told the oldie but goodie “I don’t see color; I just see people”.

To the people that are brave enough to read this right now, I will submit to you that these statements and sentiments all reek of racism.  Every single one of them.  And every single person who uttered these phrases would have gone to the grave denying that they could be considered racist.  And sorry, people who made these statements, but this assertion by you would be wholly incorrect.  By so narrowly defining what racism is, we have given many people permission to absolve themselves from any responsibility for how it continues to thrive in American society. Nobody needs to look inward; nobody has to come to terms with any mindsets they might harbor that are truly problematic. And if nobody is willing to deal with anything or even acknowledge it, how are we going to change anything?  If we can’t even recognize and talk about what racism is, how are we going to put an end to it?  And the short answer is, we’re not.

My second concern is that, while it seemed like almost no one who saw my comment agreed with it, no one felt compelled to say anything, give any sort of reason for WHY they disagreed with it.  Maybe it’s because I’m black that they felt like they should just let me get on my soapbox and say what I needed to say, and that would be their form of allyship (even though at the end of the day, them doing this was just a dismissal of everything I said so they could go on with their lives, which kind of flies in the face of being an ally).  When these protests first started, I think many black people were reasonably skeptical about the degree to which we could rely on non-black allyship for the duration of however long we needed it.  We wondered if the outrage and fervor exhibited was sustainable.  And we wondered if white allies, specifically, were truly willing to endure discomfort if it would eventually lead to the advancement of our movement.  And I hate to say it, but I feel like the instance of this post about racism and who it applies to gave me substantial reason to believe that they are not.  The fact that there are people aligning themselves publicly to the BLM movement who are already seemingly unwilling to settle in their discomfort in order to be a more effective agent of change greatly concerns me.  It indicates to me that for some people (not all, but some) a lot of what’s going on right now is an exercise for them in anti-racism theater.  To put it simply and bluntly, they are not “in it to win it”, because “winning it” requires that they sacrifice more comfort than they are ready to do.  And while that’s certainly not everybody who calls themselves an ally, I worry that it represents a substantial number of people who we are currently relying on as allies who really aren’t.  And when they start drifting away from the protests and the posting of hashtags because this movement is no longer the fun, new thing we’re all doing, the people who remain are going to have to pick up the slack and work even harder to account for their absence.

To be clear, I’m not trying to knock anyone who wants to be an ally or make it seem like I want to nitpick at everyone and that there isn’t anything that any non-black ally can do that would truly please me.  If that’s what you are thinking now as you read this, I would implore you to reconsider. Because that perspective is one that stems directly from the notion that we are trying to hurt people’s feelings. It stems from this idea that it is our responsibility to make our white allies feel good about what they are doing right now so that they will continue to feel encouraged, or else they will walk away.  But this movement is not about pacifying white people’ feelings, whether they consider themselves to be allies or not.  We are not here to make you comfortable.  We are here to seek the justice that we are due.  We are here to seek the rights of citizenship that we have been routinely denied.  We are here to put an end to systemic racism.  Catering to allies’ feelings is nowhere on that list.  It’s not even a close fourth.  We need people to put their own individual feelings aside (discomfort, guilt, or whatever else) and help do what needs to be done.

And I realize this might be a harsh reality check, I do, because I know that many black Americans have spent a significant portion of their lives doing whatever they could to make white people comfortable.  During slavery, we performed their backbreaking hard labor so they wouldn’t have to but could still reap the financial benefits.  In modern times, many of us deliberately hold back a lot of ourselves in white people’s presence, because it’s always been an expectation that successful black people who have properly assimilated in the larger American society need to make sure that nothing we do resembles anything that might make them remember that we are not the same color.  For many black women, this means stifling their voices and hiding their frustrations, because nobody wants to deal with an angry black woman.  For many black men, this might mean being keenly and constantly aware of their physical stature and proximity to other people, because they don’t want anyone to find them intimidating in any way.  I think white people take these acts for granted because we’ve always done them, but they are not “just the way we are” or “just the way we like to be”.  They are a series of survival skills that we have been forced to adhere to, because to refrain from doing so would allow others to perceive as people they’d rather not deal with, if possible.  That means, we wouldn’t be the ones who get into the good school or get the good job or even get to keep our lives.

I have been deemed a quiet person my entire life, and while some of that is due to my genuine introverted nature, the majority is supplemented by the fact that, in most situations, if I am given the choice between being the quiet and unassuming black girl who nobody really has a problem with or the more vocal and passionate black woman that asserts herself but then has to deal with the consequences of nobody really wanting to be around her, I choose the former.  And I started choosing it at a very young age; I was definitely still in elementary school.  It starts that early.  Because we know that early.  We know that this country was not designed with us in mind unless it was to depend on our labor or our ability to entertain.  We know that the system is literally rigged against us in such ways that, if we were to inform white people of all those facets of oppression, they would accuse us of being paranoid.  Actually, that is precisely what happens when we try to tell people about our experiences of being black in America.  There are a lot of people out there who are masterful at gaslighting and being utterly dismissive of our struggles.  And that is a response that is literally for the sole purpose of driving the other person to the point of insanity.  So, for the most part, we stopped telling you things, because you weren’t really listening, anyway.  And we realized that, if we were going to make it in this country, then we really did have to work twice as hard, be twice as amiable in demeanor, and twice as resilient. Was that fair, for that to be put on us? Of course not.  But we shouldered that burden.  Because what was the alternative?  So, we did it, and we’ve done it fairly quietly for a very long time.

But we’re tired.  And we’re angry.  Because no matter what we do, people keep killing us for little to no reason and then justify it to say that we must have done something to deserve it. “Well, you should’ve known that wearing a hoodie makes you look threatening.”  “A toy gun could look a lot like a real gun, so that’s an honest mistake on the officer’s part.” “Oh, wait.  You were minding your own business sitting in your apartment when somebody shot you?  Well, were you really living beyond reproach and therefore entitled to keep your life? You sure you’ve never done anything wrong? Don’t you smoke weed sometimes?”  These are the ways people have justified our deaths.  And I would argue that all those statements and sentiments are couched in racism.  All of them. None of it is okay, and it all needs to end.  And we need everyone we can get to commit to joining us in this fight.  But if you’re really going to sit there and maintain the party line that racists are really few in number and that you, the non-black ally, don’t need to consider the ways in which you might harbor some racist ideology, then you’re not ready to be an ally.  And you can’t help us.  And you won’t help us.  Because as soon as things get a little less trendy or a little more uncomfortable, you will prioritize that over our humanity.  And that, in itself, is pretty damn racist.

[apharine]

Sightseeing

Chapter 1

Pairing:  Siane x Nanu

Fandom: Pokemon

Rating:  T

Read on AO3

My writing commission info!

Summary:   Siane hadn't meant to wind up in Alola, under Nanu's care, while she recovered from a mysterious illness that left her prone to weakness and collapsing. But now that she's here and getting stronger, she wants to see more of Ula'ula than just the rainy skies and the Po Town wall by Nanu's police station. And who could be better suited to give her a tour than the Kahuna of the island himself?

Notes:  Siane is the wonderful HybridDragoness’ OC and she is amazing!  This fic is a commission for Hybrid and I’m honestly so honored to have been able to write for Siane and Nanu bc I love them so much!  Hybrid is a really talented artist and you can find her art of Siane here!  You can also find Hybrid on Twitter and AO3 under the same handle as on Tumblr!

                                         _____________________

“Is every day like this here?”  Siane asks, gesturing vaguely out the window at the grey and looming clouds.  It’s already started to drizzle, and she’s sure that by the afternoon, it’ll be pouring.  Because here, on Route 17, where she’s staying with Nanu in his police department-slash-home, that just seems to be what the weather always does.

She’s hoping that Nanu will just say that it’s been an unusually bad stretch of monsoon season weather for the last….four weeks?  Five?  Siane’s a little foggy on exactly how long it had been, and she has the sudden feeling that time has been getting away from her while she’s been so weak.

But Nanu smirks, sipping at his coffee - black - and lowering the newspaper he’s reading, his shocking crimson eyes meeting hers from across the small kitchen table.

“Pretty much,” he responds easily.  For a moment, Siane is sure he’s watching her for a reaction, but all she does is blink and look at him closely in return.  He’s an odd one to figure out, in some regards - he reminds Siane, oddly, of some of the Pokemon she’s worked with as a conservator, back home.  More specifically, he reminds her of the ones that don’t like humans very much.  

Except…there’s that light in his eyes, that light that he thinks he conceals.  He thinks he’s so surly - and sometimes he is - and he thinks he’s negative in a way that puts her off.  But Siane notices the little gleam of curiosity about him, and she knows exactly what it means.  She’s seen it before, and she’s seen all the Pokemon with it come around, in the end.

“So,” Siane says, finishing her breakfast and sitting back.  “The whole island’s like this?”

Nanu, who had been about to return to his newspaper, sets it down and sighs.  A Meowth cries, brushing against his leg, and he automatically reaches down to pet it.  Siane’s lips curl into a slight smile at the sight.

“No, of course not,” Nanu returns.  “There’s a lot of variety on Ula’ula.”

Siane raises her eyebrows encouragingly.

“Like?”  She prompts.

“There’s Malie City, of course, where the weather is typically nicer.  We’ve got Hokulani Observatory - they picked their site on Mount Hokulani because it’s above the city lights and it’s almost always clear there.  There’s the Haina Desert, too, and the Ula’Ula Meadow just off this Route, which is covered in flowers,” Nanu says, ticking things off on his fingers as he goes.  

“Wait - an actual desert?  On this island?”  Siane says, gesturing again out the window vaguely with a little snicker.  It’s nearly impossible to imagine that there can be a place on this same landmass that isn’t absolutely smothered in rain and puddles.  “You’re sure you’ve got that right?”

“I better,” Nanu grumbles, picking up the Meowth and setting it in his lap.  “I’m Kahuna of ‘this island’, after all.”  He does little finger quotes as he speaks, and Siane can’t resist the way her smile grows on her face at his unintentional antics.  Nanu notices, though, and frowns at her.  “What?”

“Well,” she says, careful to deflect.  She’s learning that being too directly friendly with Nanu often puts him off, and she really doesn’t want to put him off just now.  “I was just kind of thinking…I’m feeling better these days.”

“You nearly passed out before your shower yesterday,” Nanu says sardonically.

“Yeah, but that was like, the only time I had an issue all day,” Siane says, waving his concern off.  Sure, he’d had to catch her, but still - she was doing better, and she hated feeling - or admitting to being - weak.  “Don’t give me that look.  I know I need to get more of my strength back.  But I also need a change of scenery.  I’m pretty sure I’m going to wind up with a Vitamin D deficiency here otherwise.”

To her surprise, Nanu actually makes a little snort through his nose that she thinks is supposed to be laughter.

“Vitamin D deficiency or not, you’re in no shape to be going galavanting around the island alone,” Nanu returns, his voice holding a little of that biting edge that he seems to think is so off-putting.  

“I know,” Siane shrugs easily.  “That’s why I was hoping you’d come with me.”

Siane watches as Nanu takes a sharp breath in, his crimson eyes flashing.

“I have - things to do,” he mumbles, suddenly deflating and looking away.

“I thought it was your day off today,” Siane prods.  She knows she’s being a little pushy - there were plenty of friends back home who would be quick to point that out in a moment like this - but she also knows it’s the only way she stands a chance at getting her way.  And she needs to get her way.  She needs to be stronger - not only for herself, but for all Aedis, too, and she won’t get that if she stays inside this police station forever.

The Meowth in Nanu’s lap jumps off and scampers away, interested in something across the room.

“Yeah.  It’s my day off.  Doesn’t mean I don’t have things to do around here,” Nanu returns, though the biting edge to his voice is gone.

“I can help you with whatever needs to be done tomorrow,” Siane offers.

“Oh?  Then we could just as easily tour the island tomorrow,”  Nanu quips, his eyes narrowing.

“I guess we could,” Siane acquiesces.  “No reason why it’s gotta happen today, right?”  Somehow, the ready admission seems to put Nanu off a little, though he covers it quickly and well, years of his police training likely kicking in at a moment’s notice.

A long silence stretches out between the two of them, and Nanu takes a sip of his coffee, his red eyes drilling into her.  Siane tears her eyes away from the Kahuna, instead looking out the window again.  The rain had picked up a little, and she traces one particularly fat raindrop as it rolls down the window, gathering other droplets in its path.  As easily as she’d admitted that tomorrow worked just as well as today, spending another day doing nothing feels intolerable to her spirit, which is just bursting to be free.

“We can go today,” Nanu finally speaks up, setting his drained coffee cup down on the table.

“We can?”  Siane says, her head whipping around to allow her gaze to refocus on Nanu.  She could swear that the edges of his lips are turned up just the slightest bit - though it’s hard to see for sure at this distance.

“Yeah.  You got me, girl.  No reason I can’t do my stuff tomorrow, either, I guess,” the grey-haired man says.  Siane’s foot bounces just a little in excitement, and her chest feels like it could explode at the thought of sightseeing and adventure.

“Well - thank you,”  Siane says, a grin spreading across her features.  She stands to clean her dishes and get ready to go, but immediately, a wave of dizziness hits her.  She’d stood a little too fast, though she’s able to conceal this from Nanu by putting her hands flat on the table to brace herself.  With the eagerness written all across her face, she’s pretty sure the move just comes across as excitement.  “I promise you won’t regret this - we’ll get through everything you need done tomorrow.  I’m actually really excited about this, you know.  I finally get to see Ula’Ula, and my tour guide is going to be the island’s own Kahuna!”

A crooked smile flashes across Nanu’s face for a moment.

“Finally get to see the island, huh?  Didn’t know you’d been wanting to go for so long,” he comments, arching one eyebrow.  

“I’ve mentioned it, like, three or four times before now,” Siane laughs, standing up straight now that the dizziness had passed.  She gathers up her dishes and sets off for the sink, flashing a teasing smile over her shoulder at Nanu.  The man gathers his dishes and hovers close to her as she walks; he clearly doesn’t trust her on her feet just yet, which Siane figures is just as well at this juncture.

“Didn’t really think you were serious when you were saying that stuff, since you couldn’t make it to the door if you’d tried,” Nanu returns dryly.  

“Well, I was,” Siane says.  “Serious, that is.  And I really am excited about this.  So thank you again.”  She affixes the Kahuna with her best smile, and this time, she definitely sees the way his fingers fidget just a little on his coffee cup.

“Hm,” Nanu says.  “You’re welcome, I guess.”

As Siane moves off to the side to put her rinsed dishes in the dishwasher, he scrubs at his coffee cup with a sponge, trying to get the ring of black out of the bottom and trying even more desperately to convince himself that he had agreeing to this just because he didn’t want her to keep bothering him about it.  It had nothing to do with the fact that he felt a twinge of pride when he thought of all the radiant locations across the island - his island - or that he wanted to see the look on this young woman’s face as she took them all in.

You could have let her go alone, a small voice insists in the back of his mind.  Send Honchkrow with her.  She’d be fine, and Honchkrow could fly her home if she were to have a problem.

But the thought of Siane, crumpled on the ground and hurt, alone, in a strange place, makes his heart clench a little.  And why shouldn’t it?  His job - both as a cop and a Kahuna - was to protect people.  Whether Nanu liked it or not, he was a protector, and the young woman currently telling him she was going to go find some shoes for going out in had landed herself squarely in his protection.

“You’re going to want to change your clothes, too,” he calls after her, putting his coffee cup in the dishwasher.  “The rest of Ula’ula is a lot sunnier and hotter than it is here.”

“Okay!”  Siane calls back, and Nanu allows himself to smile a little to himself as he scratches the ear of a Meowth who’d come up to nuzzle at him on the counter.

Whatever the reason he had agreed to play tour guide for the day, he has to admit that he feels a little excited about it, too.

 ***

 “So, Kahuna,” Siane grins, standing under the eaves of the police station to stay out of the rain.  Nanu glances up from the device he’s trying to operate - apparently called a ride pager - and affixes Siane with what should be a withering gaze, except that she’s in too good of a mood to find it anything other than amusing.  “Where to first?”

“If I can get a Charizard to come, we’ll be going to Malie City first,” Nanu grumbles, turning to frown down at the device again.  “Pretty sure I just - there we go.”

“You use that thing often, huh?”  Siane asks coyly, and Nanu’s eyes flit back up to her, a sharp expression in their red depths - but it vanishes quickly, as soon as Nanu realizes Siane’s teasing is harmless, playful, even.

“Usually I just fly on Honchkrow if I’m going any distance, but I can’t ask him to carry both of us,” Nanu explains.

“Makes sense,” Siane says, shifting on her feet a little.  Nanu’s surprised to find himself taking a step closer to her, just in case that little weight shift was a sign of any impending wooziness.  But no - she seems steady on her feet, and he’s just worrying too much.  “You know, I am a flying-type specialist.  I’m sure Fearow could carry me.”

Nanu frowns at this.  

“No.  I’d feel better if you were on the Ride Pager Charizard.  They come with this, kind of a saddle thing,” Nanu explains, trying to gesture with his hands to indicate what he was talking about.  “You’ll be safer on that.”

The unspoken implication of the hazards of Siane’s unpredictable weakness hangs between them for a moment.

“So what’s in Malie City?”  Siane finally asks.

“Well, there’s the Malie Garden, and the architecture is pretty spectacular in the city.  It’s right on the ocean, too, so you’ll get to see that.  Plus I figured we could pick up some takeout to have for lunch later,” Nanu shrugs.

“Yeah?  Like, a picnic?”  Siane asks, sounding a little excited.  A lopsided smile pulls at Nanu’s lips, but he smooths it over in a flash.

“Something like that.  Mount Hokulani isn’t far from the city, so we can take a bus to the observatory if you’d like,” Nanu continues, thinking through his last-minute plans for the day out loud.

“I wanna see this desert you claim exists here, too,” Siane says, giving Nanu another teasing grin.  Nanu only frowns at her words.

“The desert is halfway across the island, Siane,” he says.  “And the conditions there are harsh. Neither of us are really sure how much you’ll be up to…”

Siane’s face falls, and to Nanu’s surprise, he actually trails off instead of hammering his point home, like he usually would.  He grimaces and glances away, scanning the cloudy skies for any sign of the Charizard he’d called.  Nothing yet, of course.

“We’ll see how the day goes,” Nanu concludes.  Even as he continues to look away from the young woman by his side, he’s surprised to hear himself softening his own words for her.

Must be getting soft in my old age, he thinks to himself, grimacing again.

A long silence stretches out between the two of them, but Nanu can sense the way she continues to shift her weight a little, clearly regaining her sense of anticipation for the day ahead.  Nanu is happy to stay quiet and listen to the rain, which pours off the eaves over them and trickles to the ground in great drops.

Finally, he sees a winged figure approaching through the clouds - Charizard.  He puts one hand up to wave it down, though he knows it’s likely unnecessary - all Ride Pager Charizards know the Island exceptionally well.  Siane looks to him, then back to the approaching Pokemon, and decides to mimic him, waving it down as well.

Hmm.  Cute.

Nanu’s eyes widen at the thought.  Had he - had he just thought she was cute?  No.  Acerola was cute.  Meowth was cute.  A grown young woman relying on him for safety and protection could absolutely not, under any circumstances, be cute.

Charizard lands with a happy roar of greeting, and Siane’s eyes light up at the sight.  She glances over to Nanu, a brilliant smile on her face, and exclaims,

“Are you seeing this?  He’s got a saddle!  And I’ve never seen a Charizard so orange before!  Their faces are different in Aedis, too!”

Before Nanu can reply, she hustles over to the Charizard, approaching him politely and letting him sniff her while she continues to coo over him.  Nanu rolls his eyes, but ultimately smiles to himself.  If she thinks this is exciting, she’s gonna have an amazing day ahead.

[master-of-the-opera-house]

(Franz Ferdinand as a teenager, presumably late 1870s. Franz Ferdinand and Sophie Chotek on their wedding day, 1900. Franz Ferdinand and Sophie Chotek, undated. Franz Ferdinand and Sophie Chotek, early 1910s.)

As anyone who bothers knows, ever since my trip to Sarajevo, I rediscovered the Archduke whose assassination caused WWI and shaped the modern world as we know it. But I want to take a day in this month (April is Autism Acceptance Month, after all) to say something that I've noticed in my attempts to uncover Franz Ferdinand's story.

First off, I'd like to say that we probably can’t accurately, flat-out diagnose historical figures. Simply because what we have left of them often doesn't tell the whole story, and also because we wouldn't know, first-hand, what they were experiencing. And also because we're not professionals; this isn’t exactly the same as self-diagnosis. But I also acknowledge that science and medicine has come a long way, and many things that historical figures were going through could possibly fit the criteria for certain disabilities and/or illnesses as we know them today. It's something people have discussed about multiple historical figures, but so far, I've yet to see anyone entertain the notion of Franz Ferdinand POSSIBLY being neurodivergent. Maybe it's because we tend to attach neurodiversity or disability to masters as a way to explain their genius (another suitcase to unpack another day). But the thing about neurodiversity - and autism, specifically, in this case - is that anyone can be neurodivergent/autistic. Even royal victims of assassinations whose deaths mean more to history than their lives.

((That being said, most of this post is going to be based on my own experiences as an autistic person, because I can’t speak for the experiences of other autistic people that may apply. If anyone else has anything to add please feel free to drop me an ask or a message, I’d love to discuss this!))

One of the things I've noticed in almost all of Franz Ferdinand's photographs ((images/slide before cut)) is that he's always got his hands clasped together like that. I guess it can be brushed off as something someone who is unsure of what to do with their hands in photographs might do, but I haven't really seen anyone do it quite as much as him. I do speculate he might've been stimming - a common experience in autistic people. Stimming is a repetitive action that brings comfort or relief to the individual. I think it’s notable how he always reverted back to this pose or action as seen from how these photographs were clearly taken at different points in his life, perhaps indicating that he might have found something comforting about it. Interlacing or rubbing one's fingers/hands together is quite a common form of stimming, and can be quite subtle - which would make sense for someone who probably couldn't resort to a more overt action for it being seen as improper or unseemly as someone who came from both royal circles, and a more repressive time.

These excerpts recount a few details from his childhood, particularly, picking up strong interests, being fond of the rituals and routine of religion, and struggling in school. These strong interests - special interests, to those on the spectrum - will be further explored later. Autistic people tend to find solace in routine, and I think it is of no secret that autistic children may have trouble in school, especially if the environment isn't suited to their needs (education for upper-class children in the past was especially tedious), or if the content covered isn't in line with their special interests. In Franz Ferdinand's case, these interests would comprise of hunting, architecture and history, at which he would excel in contrast to nearly everything else taught to him, and which he would pursue as an adult. I think it's also worth noting, as per the last piece of text in the second slide, that this inaptitude for just sitting down and studying was something that followed him well into adulthood. This was in spite of contemporaries observing that he was otherwise intelligent and able to approach problems from different perspectives: yet another common autistic trait.

This following set of excerpts I find especially fascinating, because I think they're almost transparent about how his interests go beyond 'neurotypical hobbies’, simply because of how “obsessive” he appeared about them, centering his life around them ((organising a world tour with one of its main purposes being to hunt, for instance, or planning family trips around his hunting)) and investing a lot of resources into them as the books discuss. He's also said to be fond of collecting things extensively here, assorted things that pique his interest (yet another interest that manifested itself from his childhood), which is also pretty common amongst autistic people who may grow very attached to certain items.

This next set of excerpts stings of the struggles of being neurodivergent, and hit the closest to home for me. The first three pieces of text consist of people's perceptions of him: 'mad', 'insane', and 'strange' seem to be the most frequent accusations (so frequent, in fact, that there’s a significant portion on it on his wikipedia page which I have not seen with other historical figures), which is..... Telling, especially from a time in which mental health isn't really understood. They're what people conclude about someone who doesn't quite behave in the way they're used to, even if there's often a good reason why said people behave in such different ways. The way neurodivergent people often behave, for a lack of understanding of social cues, sensory sensitivity, to name a few possible reasons. One of the most common accusations of his personality, of course, were of his explosive temper and generally temperamental disposition. Whilst I do think those were definitely his personal shortcomings, I also do think some of his infamous outbursts may have really been meltdowns, explaining their unpredictability, especially to people who didn’t know what his triggers were ((and, regrettably, we don’t have many clues in that area either because such things were simply not watched out for and thus not recorded)). He was visibly very uncomfortable in social settings, too, as seen from these quotes, and certainly didn't pick up on how to win favour in them, which I think a lot of autistic people ((stereotypically, but not always inaccurately)) have difficulty with. You can see more of this in the 6th and 7th excerpts, where his beloved wife Sophie figured out a set of social cues that worked for him and guided him in such interactions throughout their relationship. He very much returned the affection, so much so that he was rather possessive or obsessive about her, blowing up at any offenses directed at her, defending her where her position would not allow it and ultimately further sacrificing his reputation for his love. Needless to say, such behaviour (again!) wasn’t understood by those around him, though he loved her boundlessly and probably didn’t care, and vice versa. Sometimes, it led to other inappropriate or unwelcomed acts on his part as observed in the 9th piece of text, but ‘Franzi’ and ‘Soph’ made it work anyways, which is more than what can be said about many of their contemporaries.

Another thing I’m pointing out on this post is his rather black-and-white view of the world, as demonstrated in the rather unpleasant ((but admittedly quite funny in its tactlessness)) quote in the last excerpt. Oftentimes, autistic people can find it hard to grasp nuances, categorising things into 'good' or 'bad'. I think that's certainly how he saw the world and the people around him, leading to rather strong opinions in both the private and political sphere that, needless to say, wasn't a very popular trait of his, being very generous towards people he favoured and outrightly hostile to people he didn’t. One thing these slides don't address are records of sensory sensitivity, many of which can be found in his ((rather extensive)) travel diaries whenever he'd pay special attention to how a certain place smelt weird or was really noisy. All that being said, I don't think it was a surprise Franz Ferdinand wasn't a very well-liked person at all, shunned in life and unmourned in death, simply because people didn't have the resources to understand where his differences and shortcomings were stemming from. I just wish he had it better than to go to his grave with such a tainted reputation. But I guess this is also the best I can give him now, to try to understand his story through different lenses, something he was known to do in his own life. After all, difference is something we're both accustomed to. And I'm glad he managed to find fulfilment, especially from the family he built, even in spite of all the struggles thrown at him, in spite of his untimely end, because hey, that's the least he deserved. 🌈♾️

(All text images are taken from the books The Assassination of the Archduke by Greg King and Sue Woolmans, and The Archduke and the Assassin by Lavender Cassels.)

[light-of-being]

On the void (aka summary of like, 5-7 years of my life lmao)

Idk if this would apply to anyone else at all but regardless. If you, like me, have a side of you with an almost-irresistible pull towards nothingness -- finding existence itself ill-fitted, false or otherwise undesirable -- manifesting in hating the fact of a physical body, infinite passivity and the desire to do nothing ever, wanting to be silent forever because words are some sort of betrayal, explicit wish for disappearance, blend into the surroundings (them posts about lying down in the forest and have the plants grow over you), etc ...or if you feel like you’re already there, a little diffuse, not sure if you exist at all...I’d invite you to at least consider it.

Strong tw for suicide and disordered eating.

The problem (and failed solutions)

For a long time, I tried to realise that desire as much as possible. I did, literally, for weeks and months, stop eating, stop speaking, even for a brief period stop moving entirely. I guess my subconscious was playing along, erasing memory, identity, perception itself. I knew it was hurting me and not a sensible thing to do, but I couldn’t not. The ideal, of course, was death, and I tried to get that too, but at some point I was resigned to living but continued trying to make it as little alive as possible. (see also: that quote from Persona)

I expect we know, it’s Bad, but it’s also the only thing that feels right, feels pure and true. Also feels...inevitable.

I spent years trying to eat normally again, because I “knew” it wasn’t working for me. And it was, like, stupid. I was endlessly frustrated because really, I know better than that, and this doesn’t need to be so hard. But if I’m being honest, I really didn’t want to. I kept hoping and trying for a way to sneak past myself and my life and find a way to still stay true to that...need. And every time I slipped, it felt like I’d found my way back where I belonged. Back with my heart, the void. Home. Where things are a little less wrong.

They talk a lot about the whole “control” thing, and I guess yeah, in a way it’s that. It’s rejection of all that’s been placed upon you, just one big “No” to living a life that’s not on your terms, that you never asked for. No, to life itself. Because none of it feels true to you and you’d rather have nothing than betray yourself. And at some point, you’d rather have nothing than...anything. It feels like passivity -- for a long time, I was like, “without influence, nothingness is the default state. doing anything is an active decision. sustaining life is an active decision. i’m just letting things be in their natural state.” But if you pay attention for a single second, it’s nothing like that. It’s stubborn af. It’s the strongest assertion you’ll ever make. (also, lol, being stationary and nothing is not the natural state of jackshit, at least not for a long time. the heat death of the universe is far away, folks. it’s precisely staying the same that requires resistance)

The thing that led to my first halfway-successful “recovery” attempt (grudgingly, still, not some magic transformation)...wasn’t any good reason that life is good and void is harmful. It was -- “what I desire is literally not a thing I can ever have”. However much I may believe it to be the ultimate good, it’s impossible. And insofar as I’m not actually there, I’m no happier for trying to approximate it. “Slightly pure” is not a thing. It’s just as miserable. It’s futile. All I do is hate myself for every way I fall short.

How does starving myself proceed, how does it end? Not even in death, not usually (I would probably have considered that okay, good even). If I “succeed” enough, it probably ends in a hospital room, being force-fed. And after that? Well, I can just go back to how it was, and have that life on repeat and maybe die somewhere along the way (or just have them not release me again). Or I can try to stop at that stage. Which I guess gives me a little while longer that I can keep up my shit before then, but like. Is that really any good? (my brain still often says yes, but let’s be real. if we can avoid the hospital that’s probably a thing we want)

That’s pragmatic thinking, though; it’s considering things within the frameworks of the world rather than keeping oneself outside of them, and void-self hates that (and I’m 99% sure that anyone who sufficiently strongly related to the previous shit in the present would’ve scoffed at that last paragraph. although some part of you probably also hated to admit it’s true. unless you’re still deep inside, in which case you probably still think you can sneak past it. spoiler alert: you can’t). And I’m sorry, void-self, I know you’d rather have literally anything else, but that is where the universe has placed you, and life isn’t easy enough to let you cop out of anything it gives you.

Void-life is more than just dysfunctional and harmful, it’s completely unsustainable and futile. You’re never going to get there. You’ll just become progressively more miserable. And you can cover your head with a blanket and try to pretend that’s not true while you keep trying, but I know that deep down, you know this. And you hate it and it hurts, and you want to run away from this, too, but...tough. Soz. There’s probably few things you hate so much as, “That’s just the way it is” and you probably just hate the world that much more for not even letting you have this. one. thing. And yeah, fuck the world. Or fuck you. End of the day, you’re probably right -- you weren’t made for each other.

So what now?

I mean, you can die. That’s always a thing you can do. And the first time I really thought this through, I was 100% ready to die rather than deal with it. But it wasn’t the void death from earlier up in this post. It was the anxiety/escapist death from the previous paragraph -- “ohmygod ohmygod I can’t accept this I’m out”. Which, personally, doesn’t generally translate into action, just extreme discomfort and running around like a trapped mouse, wanting to throw myself against the wall (unless it lasts long enough without finding an out of some sort, that it becomes standard depressive hopelessness).

Stage # the next one went like, “well...I guess dying is a thing I’ll get eventually. as such, I could get it anytime I want! eh, what the hell, i can probably fuck around a little while.” Which works, until things become difficult to handle and it becomes, “now seems like a good time.” (after this, technically there was a stage of “killing myself would hurt this person i care about and i’m committed to not doing that...i can probably hang on through it” but that’s not really relevant so i’m sweeping past it.)

But let’s say, for whatever reason, dying is not the ideal option (look, you’re reading this. if you felt this, death was probably one of your first considerations. i expect there’s some reason, however ridiculous, you haven’t successfully gotten to it yet. most of the time, void-self isn’t the whole self and the rest of you still hopes there’s a better way you can satiate it).

Okay, one last thing that I’ve noted to be common in people with this kind of thing going on before I carry on: you have weak boundaries. It sometimes feels like the things placed upon you might seep in and subsume you, and although you seek nothingness, you don’t want to be that kind of nothing (like I said, secretly stubborn af. after all, part of your desire for nothingness involves wanting to be “not that” where that is fkin everything. see also: abjection).

A possible way forward

So here’s what’s been working quite well for me (so far. it might turn into a trainwreck at some point so eh...yeah. but it has been a long time). It boils down to the exist harder and/or assurance point. It also consists of behaving a bit weirdly like you’re [at least] two people.

The main thing is: like I said above, if you’re picking this direction, it’s probably not the void-self choosing it. There’s something else to you. So here’s the plan. You feed it. You strengthen it and let it grow as close to a full person as you can. At first, this looks almost entirely like fighting against void-self and forcing yourself into the world no matter how much it complains. This is really fkin difficult and terrifying to do, and you should use any tools or support you can. This person has been hiding all this time; they’re weak and scared and don’t know how to life. But as they get stronger and develop more of a voice, it becomes easier.

Whatever fragment of this person you start out with, you should be able to identify one (1) thing they consider important or want (don’t tell me there isn’t. that’s not true. it can be as fucking stupid as you like, but if there’s nothing get your depression treated first). Start with that. As you throw them out there more, you’ll probably find more things that they like. Explore many things, stuff you wouldn’t necessarily consider or would be scared of, but you’re curious about. But try as far as possible to make this very much yours. You don’t want to feel like you’re succumbing to some external pressure. You want to feel like you’re in power; that is literally the most important part -- any non-destructive things make you feel like that are great. Take your time. (A thing that’s vaguely useful is miscellaneous advice for people rebuilding themselves after a breakup or loss, because that’s what you’re doing: rebuilding yourself. For yourself this time. Not just for survival.)

Are we suppressing void-self, trying to kill it off? No. We’re just saying it no longer gets to govern our entire lives, because it’s no good at that. It has a place, a place that will probably bring you a lot of happiness, but its place is not controlling your external life. It’s internal.

What we’re doing is giving it a caretaker. We’re giving you the ability to carve out a space for yourself where you can comfortably exist and be a person, without dissolving. But for that you need boundaries, and you need to sustain life first.

More than that, though. The person you’re building will make space for void-self to exist. Void-self doesn’t do that for you. It’s selfish. It kills that person off. It wants to be everything. That’s not fair to the rest of you. And guess what? The rest of you is great, too! It has a lot of potential. It has capabilities void-self could never have dreamed of, that you would never have dreamed of while under the control of void-self. It can bring you a lot of happiness. It has the right to exist, to take up space in your life, too. It will surprise you. This person has the magical ability to exist in the world without being fake...yes, really.

And then, when they’re all grown up, they can protect void-self from being subsumed by everything pushed onto it because they have the strength and skills to navigate real life, to negotiate and place you in situations you want rather than where the wind blows it. And now? Now they can nourish void-self. You can go off on a trip and “disappear” for all intents and purposes. You can go and lie in a field for hours. You can read poetry and do all of the things that do feel authentic to void-self. It never has to pretend to be anything ever again. You can even learn how to really express it to others (something it’d love to do but lacks the ability for). But you can also go to work the next day and feed your organism.

Will void-self be entirely happy with this arrangement? Eh...not really, not when you propose it. You will definitely encounter resistence. But, in my experience, when you actually get there, it comes to peace.

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

I Always Knew

Steve Rogers X Bucky Barnes Steve laughed bitterly, taking off his glasses to wipe away the tears that had begun to slide down his cheeks.  Bucky wanted to reach over and wipe them away for him, to show him that he wasn’t completely alone.

a/n:this is my submission for @capcountdownchristmas, i got the quote “You’re being ungrateful!” hope you guys enjoy! tw:alcoholism references, cheating, fluff at the end at least!

Steve was known to go over the top with decorations, they were usually scattered around the apartment he shared with both Sam, and Bucky.  The other two men didn’t mind so much, as long as it didn’t affect them personally.  So when they came home and found the apartment clean, with absolutely no decorations whatsoever, it was quite a shock.  Surely Steve knew that it was after Thanksgiving, and that he was allowed to decorate.

“Do you think he forgot or something?” Sam looked around the living room, as if he could find the answers there.

“We’ve known the man since we were kids Sam, he didn’t forget that Christmas is a few weeks away.” Bucky stepped over to the fireplace, electric as it was cleaner than an actual fireplace, noticing a few things were missing.

Steve had put a picture of himself with his mom, and Peggy, back before she’d lost her battle with cancer and left Steve to be on his own.  A loud crunch echoed in the otherwise silent apartment as Bucky turned to face Sam.  The frame had been thrown onto the ground, glass shattered against the dark wood. 

“What the hell?” Bucky knelt down, pushing aside the broken glass to pull the photo out of the now broken frame.

“Isn’t that the last picture Steve had with his mom?” Sam abandon his search and headed over to where Bucky was, glancing over his shoulder.

“Yeah, so why the hell was this on the floor?” Bucky knew damn well that it couldn’t of magically fallen off.

The frame was sturdy on top of the mantle, they’d done enough stupid shit in the past that could’ve easily knocked it off, and nothing had, so what changed?  Luckily the photo inside looked to be completely fine, except for the fact that Peggy was no longer in the photo.

“Oh shit.” Bucky handed the torn picture over to Sam, sighing more to himself than anything.

It was obvious what had happened, and this wasn’t something either of them were trained to handle properly.  Bucky had seen Steve go through nearly everything in his life, had been the one to help pick up the pieces when his mother passed.  This though?  Bucky wasn’t ready to deal with it just yet.

“It doesn’t sound like he’s home, he probably left after he threw the frame, and tore the picture up.” Sam shook his head, setting the photo down onto the coffee table.

Alpine, Bucky’s little furball of a cat, had perched himself in the middle of the couch, curled up in a comfortable ball, watching the two adults try and figure out what to do.

“We need to talk to him, figure out what happened.” Bucky could already feel a headache forming, running his hands through his hair with a long sigh.

“Trust me, I know, but I’m afraid of how he’s going to react to all of this.” Sam merely shrugged, stepping around to go into the kitchen.

Alpine perked his head up, meowing softly as Bucky reached over to pet him gently.  Sometimes he wished he could talk to Al, figure out what he should do with his life so he didn’t feel so lost.

“Buck, I don’t think he left.” Sam’s voice, although quiet, was loud enough to gain his attention.

Bucky headed over, picking up the sound of what seemed to be someone sobbing.  Shit, had Steve been home this entire time?  Listening to them discuss what was going to happen when they had to confront him?

“Give him some space for now, if we go in there he’s gonna be pissed, and I’m not gonna be on the receiving end of Steve’s anger.” Sam had a point, whenever Steve was upset he tended to cry first, and get unbearably angry second.

It wasn’t going to be easy though, not if Bucky planned on trying to figure out what even set Steve off in the first place.  If this had anything to do with Peggy, Steve was going to be a wreck for a while.  They were inseparable, and it seemed like things hadn’t ended as pleasantly as everyone had expected.

“I gotta do something Sam, I can’t just let him wallow in his own self pity, he’d hate us for letting him do that.” Bucky frowned, watching as Sam’s brow rose nearly to his hairline.

“I’m sorry, did you just say you wanted to go help Steve whose most likely having a mental breakdown?  The man will kill you with his bare hands without a single thought.” Sam had a point, but damnit, Bucky needed to help his friend.

Which is exactly what he didn’t do.  Bucky had tried to knock nearly five times, chickening out each and every time he was outside the door.  He knew better than to try and get Steve to open up when his wounds were too open and raw.  Instead, he headed down to his own bedroom and turned on netflix, letting Alpine climb onto his stomach and relax.

And it was perfectly fine for the night, he wasn’t entirely sure when he’d managed to fall asleep, the sun peeking through the blinds letting him know that it was morning.  Al was still perched on his stomach, sleeping as contedly as ever.  Man, what Bucky wouldn’t give to feel that kind of relaxation.

Unfortunately, when he managed to get out of bed and head out to get some breakfast for himself and the little feline, he noticed that Steve was already gone for the day.  He always went for a jog in the morning before heading down to work.  Except it was a saturday, so he had the day off.

“Have you seen Steve?” Bucky looked over to where Sam was busy typing on his laptop, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Nope, he was gone before I even got up, and you know I don’t sleep very late anymore.” Sam had gotten into the habit of waking up at the ass crack of dawn, and it hadn’t stopped him for a while.

“Shit, do you think he’d answer if I called him?” Sam gave Bucky a ‘you really can’t be this stupid’ type of look.

Bucky, on the other hand, happened to be quite stupid when he wanted to be.  Which ended with him calling Steve approximately three times, and texting him five before finally giving up.  He wanted to be left entirely alone, and it was glaringly obvious.

“Maybe I could call Peggy, see what’s going on.” There was clearly tension in the air, something had happened that Steve refused to share.

They’d broken up years ago, fortunately there was no ill will towards the other, or at least no one could sense that.  Sam noticed an open envelope, addressed to Sam, Bucky, and Steve.  He was expecting some kind of invitation to another wedding, or a jack and jill for one of their friends that were getting married.  What he wasn’t expecting to see was Peggy’s wedding invite, falling on the exact date of Sarah Rogers’ death.

“Buck.” Sam felt his blood run cold, fear racing through his veins as he stared at the other man.

“Please tell me that’s a joke.” Bucky took the invite from him carefully, noticing that some of the ink seemed to be smudged.

Steve must’ve checked the mail after he’d gotten home and seen the invite when Bucky, and Sam were still at work.  This wasn’t something they could handle easily, Steve only ever really had his mom growing up, and to have this thrown in his face.

The door swung open harshly, slamming into the wall with a loud bang.  Bucky jumped, spinning around to face the incomer.  Steve looked horrible, from his rumpled clothes, bloodshot eyes that looked far too red from where Bucky could see them.  The smell of whiskey seeped into the air, almost choking Bucky where he stood across the room.

“Steve, what the hell?” Bucky was ready to start yelling, to demand answers to the questions burning in his mind.

“Leav’m alone.” Steve stumbled down towards his bedroom, falling into the wall as he struggled to stay upright.

Sam could only watch with horror, the man he’d called his best friend for so long was degraded to nothing, a shell.  He was so strong, had been named the Star Spangled Man With A Plan when they were all in the army together.  That had been a joke, a way to keep everyone’s spirits up when they got home sick.  This though?  This was Steve at the lowest point he could be in. 

“He did the same thing when mom passed, blamed himself for not making sure she was seeing her doctor regularly.” Bucky and Sam had practically dragged him to a rehab center for his drinking, and he’d come out of it healthy.

It had been almost nine years since her passing, they always took the day to remember Sarah for the woman she was, making promises to be the type of people that would make her happy.

“You’re his sponsor, it’s not really a surprise on why he didn’t bother talking to you.” Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair.

He was tempted to follow Steve, to see how truly broken he was over this entire mess.  That wouldn’t do any good though, not unless he wanted to have the wrath that was pissed off, and drunk, Steve Rogers coming after him.

He could really only do so much.

“I’m gonna talk to him.” Bucky puffed his chest out, taking a deep breath before heading down to Steve’s room.

Sam wished him good luck, cause he was definitely going to need it right now.

The door was unlocked, and partially open when Bucky made his way down the hall, standing outside as his nerves took hold.  What would he even be able to say that wouldn’t set off the blonde?  ‘Oh, sorry to hear that your ex is getting married on the anniversary of your mom’s death, what’d you wanna do for dinner?’.  Bucky couldn’t do that without losing his head, even if the words were simply to break the tension in the room.

“Steve?” Bucky stepped into the room slowly, unsure as to what sight would greet him.

Steve was curled up on his bed, all six feet, and two hundred forty pounds, looking as small as he had when Bucky and he were kids.  How could someone manage to look so small with shoulders wider than most doorways?  Now’s not the time to think about something like that.

Steve’s shoulders were falling and rising slowly, as if he was asleep.  He kept his footsteps quiet, leaning over to check on his best friend.  Steve wasn’t sleeping, much to Bucky’s disappointment.  His cheeks were splotchy and red, streaked with tears, knuckles torn and bloody.  So not only had Steve gone out and gotten beyond drunk, he’d also managed to get into a fight with someone, the cops would be showing up when Bucky least expected, he could feel it.

“She was there when it happened, saw my mom take her last breath, and this is how she decides to spend her wedding?” Bucky frowned, stepping closer to the edge of the bed.

Tears were sliding down Steve’s cheek once more, jaw set harshly as he glared a hole into the wall, well, tried to at least.

“Steve, you can’t get mad at Peggy for moving on and getting married when you were too much of a chicken shit to ask her, she has her own reasons for choosing that date.” Bucky knew his words were harsher than intended, and it wasn’t going to put him in Steve’s good graces.

The blond lunged off his bed, nearly knocking over the lamp that sat on his bedside table, his glasses were hanging precariously near the edge.  How the hell had Steve managed to walk around town without them on?  Or had he taken them off at some point while he was out getting drunk?

“I’m not mad that she moved on, I’m pissed off that she chose the day my mom died to get married!  She knows how fucked up that date made me feel, and if you’re going to side with her, you can get the fuck out.” Bucky furrowed his brow, shocked at the words spewing from the other man’s mouth.

“You’re being ungrateful!” Bucky glared at the other man, arms crossed over his chest.

Steved laughed bitterly, throwing his head back as if he’d heard the most hilarious joke in the world. “I’m being ungrateful?  For thinking my ex is being a little pessimistic and choosing a day I try not to think about because it drove me to alcoholism?  I thought I knew you better, but clearly there’s things I don’t know about you.” Steve’s voice was abnormally calm, expression smoothing over into a smooth mask.

Bucky knew exactly what it meant, he’d served alongside Steve for nearly five years, this was the persona he’d taken on when he’d been promoted to Captain.  

“Get out Buck.” Steve hadn’t moved an inch, body tense as he stared the other man down.

Bucky didn’t wait any longer, storming out of the room and down to where Sam was nervously pacing.  It was a habit he’d picked up from being in the army, waiting to hear news about friends that were on their own missions.

“Leave him be, he’s in one of his moods right now, and I’m not about to be lectured by someone who was called Captain America.” Bucky scoffed, plopping down onto the couch with a groan.

Sam didn’t bother to ask, he knew better than to acknowledge the sudden change that seemed to shift in the air.

“Why don’t we go out and get something to eat, let him be pissy all he wants.” Bucky couldn’t deny the offer, it seemed too tempting to go out and stuff his face for the next hour.

And that’s exactly what he and Sam did.  Well, Bucky only stuffed his face a little, he didn’t want to overdo it in case Steve wanted to talk when they got back.  Well, Bucky knew Steve like the back of his hand, and there was no way he would be willing to talk.

Sam stepped into the apartment first, listening for any kind of noise that would let him know where Steve was.  Alpine was perched on his cat bed, relaxing in the midday sun as he slept peacefully.  Bucky wanted to run over and get a picture before the ball of fur woke up from his nap.  He couldn’t do that though, not when he and Sam noticed that Steve had made his way out to the living room, in what Bucky could only describe as a blanket burrito.

They looked at one another, unsure of what their next step should be.  Would Steve be angry that they were back at the apartment?  Or would he simply pick himself and head back down to the solace of his room?

“Steve?” Sam held his hand out, slowly walking over to where the other man was currently laying.

“Bucky’s right, I am being ungrateful.” Steve’s voice sounded so hollow, void of any and all emotion as he glanced over to where the photo of him and his mom currently sat.

He’d tried to fix the frame before slipping the photo inside, grimacing at how the glass seemed to be cracked the most over his mother’s face.  He’d taken the last photo he had of her, and ruined it out of his own selfishness.

“No wonder she finally gave up and left.” Steve muttered softly to himself.

“Steve, that’s not true.” Bucky frowned, standing beside Sam who’d kept a few feet between himself and Steve.

“I developed a drinking problem that nearly killed me Buck, I didn’t get into the army because I needed something to do to pass the time.” Steve laughed, the sound sodarnic and bitter.

Bucky and Sam had already enlisted by the time Steve had followed close behind, saying that he needed a new perspective on life.  He’d moved up quickly, passing Bucky within the first few months before he’d been made a Captain.  To know that he’d wanted to die on the battlefield, it left a sour taste in his mouth.

“Wait a second, you’re telling me when you ran into the burning building, you weren’t planning on coming back out alive?  Steve, what the fuck!” Bucky was furious, his best friend was suicidal in a place where people tried to keep themselves alive at all costs.

Bucky wanted to scream at him for being so stupid and reckless, why hadn’t he said anything to Bucky or Sam?  Why bottle everything inside to the point that he was ready to risk everything?

“She had been seeing Daniel before we broke up, said that I wasn’t emotionally there for her anymore, so she found someone who could do it for her.” Steve smiled to himself, it seemed disproportionate on his face.

“I had buried my mom a week before she told me, and I think the only reason she said anything was because I caught them,” Steve’s eyes welled with tears, this wasn’t something Steve had talked about before.

“God, I begged her to stay, that I could do better for her.” Bucky glanced over to Sam, forcing to keep his own emotions in check.

This wasn’t something they could easily talk about, not without opening old wounds that had healed so long ago.

“You know my mom was the only person who knew I was bisexual?  I tried not to let it show, like I needed help instead of telling everyone the truth.  Peggy ended up finding out after the funeral, she found a journal I’d started writing in, that was a screaming match from hell.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at the greasy feeling.

“Said there was something wrong with me, that I shouldn’t be having feelings for anyone else, that I was a freak.” Bucky’s jaw had hit the floor, Steve had already been going through enough, and to be attacked so harshly?

Bucky felt terrible suddenly, guilt washing over him like a tidal wave as he realized he’d of reacted the same way all those years ago.

Not about Steve of course, but about himself.

“She didn’t like that you were figuring yourself out, so she wanted to make you hurt.” Sam sounded so much like a therapist that it bothered Bucky more than it should.

He’d come out to his family when he was fifteen, telling them that he was gay, and they’d been supportive of him.  Of course things between him and Steve were a little tense when he’d started getting out into the dating world, but he assumed it was because he was getting into the dating pool.  Steve was still tiny, overlooked by everyone around him while Bucky was pulled in every direction.

People would ask why they were friends, Steve wasn’t worth his time, Bucky could clearly do so much better.  He didn’t want to though, he and Steve were best friends from childhood, and no one could change that about them.  It wasn’t until Bucky had gotten together with his first boyfriend that their friendship was nearly torn apart.

Jordan Wilson was a good kid, he and Bucky were what most people would’ve considered the perfect couple, but Jordan was accepted to a college out in Cali.  Bucky had told him to do what was best, so they broke off their relationship.  There wouldn’t be any bad blood between the two, something Bucky was grateful for.

Except he worried about Steve more and more, the man was drinking nearly three bottles of vodka every weekend.  It escalated to everyday soon after, Steve stumbling drunk wherever he went.  Bucky was terrified his friend was going to get himself killed, so he sent him to rehab.

“She always told me that I’d end up alone if we broke up, I guess she was right.” The room felt thick with tension, Steve’s shoulders slumped forward as he stared at the coffee table.

“That’s not true and you know it.” Bucky sat down next to Steve, giving the other man enough space to keep him comfortable.

Steve laughed bitterly, taking off his glasses to wipe away the tears that had begun to slide down his cheeks.  Bucky wanted to reach over and wipe them away for him, to show him that he wasn’t completely alone.

“Who would even want me Buck?  I’m barely making ends meet, I’m a recovering alcoholic, I can’t stand the thought of the spring because it reminds me of my mom, add the PTSD from being in the army, who the hells gonna want that?” Steve didn’t turn to look at him, wiping his glasses off with the end of his shirt before sliding them back on.

Bucky could either let their conversation die where it was, or admit something he’d held in his heart ever since he was barely thirteen years old.

“I’m in love with you.” It felt like word vomit, Bucky couldn’t stop the words even if he were actually trying to.

It sounded as if everyone in the room had stopped breathing, Steve’s eyes were wide behind the lenses of his glasses.  Sam was staring at him incredulously, and Bucky was more shocked he’d finally admitted it.

“It took you long enough to admit it.” Steve didn’t sound angry, more amused than anything.

“What?” Bucky felt flabbergasted, Steve knew?

Bucky glanced over to where Sam was, noticing that he looked just as confused and shocked.

“I’ve been kinda obvious about how I felt, but you never showed any interest so I backed off.” Steve glanced over at the brunette, raising a brow.

“You’ve had feelings for me?” Bucky wasn’t entirely sure how his jaw was still working, it felt almost as if it had fallen off.

“Remember when we were playing spin the bottle, well you were playing and I was sort of sitting on the side, over at Micky’s place?” Bucky nodded dumbly.

It brought a smile to Steve’s lips, he snickered under his breath.

“Well, when it landed on me and they kept telling you to kiss me cause they were kids and assholes, well I thought about that kiss all the time.  I didn’t want to say anything and make stuff weird between us, but yeah.” Steve shrugged as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on Bucky.

Sam slowly walked out of the living room, clearly trying to gather his thoughts on how to even approach what was going on.

“So, would you like to get coffee sometime?” Steve’s smirk snapped Bucky out of his trance, bringing him back down to earth.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.” Bucky smiled softly, cheeks darkening with a blush.

The holidays didn’t seem so bad anymore.

[misscrawfords]

The Rise of Skywalker: Part One

I have lots of thoughts and feelings about TROS. Most of them negative. For three days I’ve been alternating between raging and crying. Finally, I’ve felt able to start writing.

This is a negative review. If you loved the film then this might not be the post for you. I am very sensitive to what happened after TLJ. And I want to reassure anyone reading that I would never turn criticism for a film (which is absolutely a valid response to seeing something that you disliked and are trying to understand) into personal attacks against the actors or creators involved or, worse still, fans who liked it. If you liked TROS, can’t bear to hear any criticism of it, and still choose to read my posts about it, then that is on you. (I really shouldn’t have to say this but this is a hellsite.)

This post contains spoilers for TROS... and Jumanji 2. Go figure.

Things I liked:

·       C-3PO and everything he did. This droid is the character I identify with most in the entire SW series (which probably says some uncomfortable things about me but this is not the time!) and he had such a big and important role and his quips were genuinely great and funny and I loved everything he did. Apart from – but more on that later.

·       Ben Solo. Uh, other people have talked about his little shrug and his “ow” and his smile – oh god, his smile. Ben Solo is amazing. It’s a shame that – but more on that later.

·       I didn’t hate Rey Palpatine. I mean, I literally wrote this story when I was 13 when I made Hermione Voldemort’s daughter as a way of explaining her inner darkness and had her team up with Harry (with whom she had a telepathic bond) to destroy him. (You can read the story here if you really want to.) So it would be pretty hypocritical of me to hate this plotline. I enjoyed seeing angry, feral Rey on screen, I enjoyed seeing a female hero confronting her capacity for destruction and darkness. I was okay with the idea of a final face-off between a Palpatine and a Skywalker and how this is a way of bringing final balance to the Force. This was pretty interesting and I’d be up for this. I much prefer Rey Nobody but as a concept I’m not actually against it. Unfortunately the execution – but more on that later.

·       I really enjoyed more of Finn and Poe. I love both of them as characters. I mean I can’t think of a single bit of dialogue that was meaningful between them or what they accomplished in particular for they had some fun moments.

·       Finn and Jannah’s conversation about being ex-stormtroopers was a lovely scene, a moment of much-needed quiet and reflection and bonding in a film that was far too hectic and crowded. Shame it went nowhere.

·       Reylo kiss? I mean, that was cool.

·       Unironically, I loved Hux. He was snarky and his revelation of being the spy because he just hated Kylo that much got the biggest reaction in the cinema of the entire showing. Admittedly it was derisive laughter as we all realised what a clusterfuck of bad writing this film was, but still. It crossed over into so-bad-it’s-good territory. Hux gave me considerable pleasure in a film that otherwise made me very angry.

·       My favourite scene in the film was when Rey and Kylo fought on Pasaana over the transport ship with Chewie (apparently) on and Rey blows it up. The cinematography was amazing, it was a visual representation of both balance and building on the lightsaber breaking scene in TLJ while upping the stakes considerably and Rey’s reaction of visceral horror when she realised what she had done was truly shocking and unexpected. To have Chewie killed off so suddenly like this for no reason except that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and the stakes are high and this is a desperate war with casualties – genius. A perfect way to make Rey and Ben even more similar – both having killed father figures – and have Rey confront her dark side as she wrestles with what she has done and the consequences of having a non-unified relationship with Ben while also being in a position to truly empathise with him – this was exactly the content I had signed up for. But it was the moment that it was revealed that Chewie was still alive that I realised what I’d only suspected before then: that this film was terrible and I would not be able to trust any emotion it was inviting me to feel.

Fundamentally, I think that this film is incredibly poorly written and emotionally dishonest. It is telling that I saw Jumanji 2 earlier in the day and out of the two films, the only point at which I cried was when Milo decided to stay in Jumanji as a horse. Why did I cry? Because Milo and Grandpa’s relationship had been gradually built up over the course of a film that was not afraid of quiet moments and building a narrative of a relationship that revealed what it needed over the course of several meaningful scenes. It allowed Milo’s decision to stay to be both a tragic loss but also a happy ending for him. Truly bittersweet and in a way that everyone can relate to. The loss of a dear friend to illness is a horrible but human thing to contemplate. To be able to set this friend free through a metaphor of a beautiful death and afterlife is genuinely moving and hopeful. Unfortunately TROS did not manage to give me any such emotions or elicit a single tear.

At least not till afterwards. I’ve subsequently cried a lot, some of it over the tragedy of Ben and Rey in a film that promised hope, but mainly for myself and the other (mainly) young female fans who have poured all their knowledge and intelligence into analysis of TFA and TLJ and who seemed to understand the story that was being told and who had been promised more of this story in the interviews and trailers released prior to this film – and who are now feeling like absolute garbage as this film throws out its own mythology for an incoherent, self-serving mess that in many ways defies analysis. The only thing I feel really capable of analysing is how much it doesn’t work, as opposed to what the film is trying to do. Where is the symbolism? Where is the metaphor? Where is the hero’s journey? Where is the heroine’s journey? Where is nuance? Where is everything that was set up in both TFA and TLJ? IDK, I can’t see it. It’s a kick in the teeth.

So, no matter how many individual things I was able to enjoy at the time when watching TROS, they end up being meaningless because the entire film was so bad. I can’t feel pleasure thinking about the good bits because they were mired in context (or lack of it). I can’t feel genuine sorrow about the fate of Rey and Ben because the execution of that fate was so poorly done. I don’t even mind that Ben died. It was always an option and the story of redemption followed by death is a very common story, a very Christian story. Though the death of Christ to save us from our sins, is crucially followed by resurrection. I mean, literally everyone can and does die. That doesn’t make you special. If you’re going for a Christ metaphor, you kind of need resurrection too. But I’m not sure that was exactly what they were going for with it; it was a mess and the execution made little internal consistency.

It may be that if I watched the film again, my problems would be lessened and I would see new things in them and they would make sense. I’ve read some twitter threads of people who are making connections and finding explanations on a second or third viewing. But the problem is that I shouldn’t need to see a film more than once to fundamentally understand it. I don’t mean picking up on new and interesting features and subtext which a good film, like a good book, rewards you with on multiple viewings. TLJ does that. But you should be able to follow what the ultimate meaning of a film is when you see it first.

If that is the case, then the ultimate meaning of TROS is that the good are good, the bad are bad, change is rewarded with death, a character who was once alone ends up alone again, plot coherency is sacrificed for whatever explosion or cool backwards-reference is needed at the time, death is not the end except when it is, there is no cosistency and consequently no emotional impact. And apparently it is a happy and hopeful ending? The tonal disconnect with the story being told and the way it was shot and the music being played and the clear intention of the people making the film is utterly jarring.

To famously quote Macbeth:

It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

This post is already too long so I will go into my criticisms in more detail in a further post. Stay tuned!

Read Part Two here.