#how do i tag this without getting connected to the other trump...

[pikabelle]

True Vampire anime announced!

The True Vampire, or TRUMP series, is a Japanese stageplay series set within a gothic world of humans and vampires and the doomed romances between them. The most infamous of these characters are the Delico and Fra families, whose tragic entertwining stories have been the focus of five different stageplays, depicting the complicated relationship between the two patriarchs as they attempt to solve the disappearance of some vampire children and carrying on all the way to the equally-complicated school days of their sons. Mysteries, murders, sword fights, and supernatural phenomena abound.

This anime series, titled Delico's Nursery, will serve as an interquel to these stageplays, but is also intended to be viewable as a standalone story. It will focus on Dali Delico and Gerhard Fra attempting to raise their children together in the wake of their wives' respective deaths. The original writer and director of the stageplays, Kenichi Suemitsu, returns to the same roles for the anime.

And before you ask, it's not a BL... Technically? But their respective marriages were arranged and lacking in passion beyond procreation, and Dali is canonically attracted to men and asks Gerhard out on a date at the end of one play, to which Gerhard acts tsundere but doesn't turn him down. I dunno how much of that will be addressed in this anime, given the style of the writer it will likely just be left at subtext, but yeah. Gay vampire dads.

[karenandhenwillson]

The enthusiasm about Bucktommy has brought out some conversations about the family Eddie, Chris, and Buck have built that leave me honestly a little speechless. Mostly because it's all so focused on this idealized idea of a nuclear family despite fandom usually being all for found family.

I've seen discussions in the past about some people bemoaning the fact that others seemingly put the traditional roles of a nuclear family on the members of the 118. I honestly never got that impression at all, but maybe I'm just really good in avoiding the really strange fanfiction by studying the tags. So I feel a little startled to now be in the position of this person saying "Why do you press everything into this nuclear family dynamic?"

There are many people who claim that any serious LI for Buck or Eddie (of course mostly focused on Buck right now) would utterly destroy the dynamic most of us have come to love in the Buckley-Diaz family. I call utter bullshit to that. They claim that either Buck or Eddie finding a serious LI would force them to break away from their friendship.

The funny thing is that we already have seen in this show how there can be very successfully built a family around two parents who aren't in a relationship (anymore in this case) whit both finding new partners. They did a beautiful job of showing how the friendship between Athena and Michael developed during and after their separation. They also created a wonderful friendship between the existing adults in the family and the new partners, and to show how these new partner stepped into the role of additional parents without replacing either Athena or Michael.

Oh, I already see people rising to argue against this comparison. "But they were married!"; "But they are the children’s biological parents!" (or worse: "But they are both actually the parents and not playing pretend!"); "But that was a hetero couple!" (Yeah, not getting into the semantics here.); "But Michael has legal obligations!".

So what? Do you really think biological relationships or legal relationships trump emotional relationships? I'd argue that any emotional relationship is ten times more important than any biological or legal relationship. There are people out there who don't give a fuck about their biological children because they don't have a emotional relationship with them. And others who don't give a fuck about any legal responsibilities.

We have seen numerous times how deep the connection between Buck, Eddie, and Chris is. We have seen Eddie fight to give his son a good life, to find him the best possible support. We have seen Buck relentlessly search for Chris after they got separated in the tsunami and have seen him take care of Chris when he was on the brink of breaking apart himself over watching Eddie getting shot right in front of him. We have seen Chris seek out Buck for support and council, and plotting pranks with Buck to play on his father.

There is no need for those emotional bonds to go away to find romantic partners who might have the potential to become life partners. And in Chris' case, I'm pretty sure there is no force at all that could break his emotional attachment to Buck or Eddie as long as neither of them does something to utterly break his trust.

Sure, there are a lot of people out in the world who wouldn't stand for stepping into that kind of dynamic without changing it. (And I have no doubt that everyone crying over how Eddie and Buck's friendship would need to break to make room for a LI are exactly that kind of people who expect their partner to be only friends with them.) But there are equally as many people out there who'd embrace the family Buck, Eddie, and Chris have built and who'd work hard to become part of that family instead of replacing anyone in it.

I think the biggest stumbling block for the Buckley-Diaz family is everyone pressuring Eddie into finding a woman to share his life with. He didn't even want to date until his aunt pressured him into it. And that's the only reason Marisol is even in the picture! Because his family and even Bobby are actively enforcing this idea in his head that for a family to exist, for a father to be happy, there needs to be a mother in the family's life.

It's coming back to this same bullshit idea that the only viable family model is a nuclear family with two parents and 2.5 children. Single parents are bad because a child needs a mother and a father otherwise the child will be utterly ruined. (And to remind all of you, people coming up with that line usually also claim: Queer parents are doubly bad because there needs to be a mother and a father!)

Buck, Eddie, and Chris could be perfectly fine to add to their family with LIs for Buck and Eddie. They just need to ignore these voices (from Eddie's family and from the fandom) that try to dictate to them how their family should work. They just need to find people who are open minded and willing to step into their existing family. And we have seen with Bobby and David that there are some great people out there who are very willing to do something like that!

[xxsycamore]

—𝘈𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘖𝘯 𝘔𝘦!

► SYNOPSIS:

When his nunuche wanders off at the Christmas fair too much and ignores him, Napoleon comes up with the perfect method of keeping her close.

He also wins himself a kiss out of it.

▍napoleon x mc ▍rating: G ▍tags: fluff; christmas shopping; sharing a scarf; kissing ▍wordcount:  949

▍masterlist

▍a/n:  Hehee these napoleon fluff fics simply write themselves now don't they... Hope you enjoy!

Written for mine and @voltage-vixen’s ‘Tis The Season For Love challenge!

PROMPT: Sharing a scarf

If Napoleon wasn't already all about the magic of Christmas lingering in the icy air of the fair, people buying gifts with a smile and someone in mind, couples walking hand in hand, children singing; he'd be here because of his Nunuche. He has this unique trump card of his, for making any and all locations, scenic or urban or whatever, a thousand times more worth the visit - simply by taking her there. She is like a mirror of the energy of the place; emotions projecting on her face in pure, unadulterated honesty - gentle tears rolling down her cheeks at the opera, laugher ringing in his ears at the cabaret. A mature and tranquil smile to match his own while welcoming the dawn somewhere alone for miles. A giggle of innocence when their hands bump while laying the picnic.

Here at the Christmas fair, keeping her in his gaze proves to be a little difficult. And while a moment ago they were too a part of those cute couples walking hand in hand (that's one hand less freezing in the cold! It's very important!), now there is an unacceptably big gap between them. A gap of a whole stall, or two, or three. When did she managed to get all the way there?!

"Nunuche."

"Oh! Napoleon! I almost thought I'd lost you here for a moment!"

Napoleon groans, and the gesture is visualized in the form of a white puff of air. "Yeah. I thought the same. Don't wander off on your own like that."

He emphasizes his warning with a quick ruffling of her hair, which successfully binds her attention on him for the grand duration of three seconds, but not her eyes. They're too busy looking at the goods on display. And so Napoleon takes his own eyes off her, busy fixing the scarf which end fell off from where it was swept behind his back. This thing seems to be a bit too long, after all… he should consider going out with a different one next time.

And she's gone.

"Nu-nu-che!"

His brows come together in the middle in a frown, steps coming faster and heavier. And yes, he does call her by her actual name too, in case she forgot about his existence altogether and everything related with it, including his loving nickname for her. He spots her beige coat before any of his calls do the job.

"Come here." He comes with an idea and hurries to put it into action before she can escape again. The excessively lengthy scarf is suddenly coming in handy because Napoleon guesstimates correctly that it can be used by two. Unhooking one part of it from around his neck and looping it once around his puzzled nunuche, they're suddenly connected by the soft red cashmere. Almost like an improvised red string of fate.

"Napoleon!!! W-what is this!! Do you realize how we look from the side-"

"Like two lovers obsessed with each other's company. I know."

If it wasn't for his even tone and matching expression, MC would take it as another one of his teasing remarks. But now he sounds… serious. Somehow mad with her. Huh. She wonders what that's about.

The absurdity of Napoleon having to precisely keep up with her step AND struggle with the height difference at the same time aside, she manages a sincere pout. "I was looking for a present for YOU, you know!"

"And have you asked me what I wanted?"

Ack, she hates it when he answers that quick. "What do you want, Napoleon?"

"A kiss in front of the Christmas tree."

The Christmas fair, strategically situated in close proximity to said tree, would naturally have a path leading there. A path that Napoleon led the way to, without her noticing. And, just like that, they're at the perfect wishes-come-true location, if your wish includes a kiss from a person who's face is already forced close to yours.

MC doesn't need the scarf connecting them to shorten the distance. She'd even love having a stall or two or three worth of distance between them just so she can run all the way here and press her lips on Napoleon's, right now. Just so he could see how deep her intention runs. But it's fine.

His lips are cold, remarkably cold. For a second she wonders if they're going to be stuck like that, glued in an awfully perfect kiss. But they're not, and Napoleon sports a stupidly wide grin in the next second.

And they wouldn't have to worry about these things if they were to kiss again! Suddenly MC's lips are warm, because her cheeks are warm, because her ears are warm, because her heart is warm. But Napoleon is not kissing her anymore. She considers going once more around every single stall and booth from the first to the last, right this instant. Just because.

"Well, Napoleon, have YOU asked me what I wanted for Christmas?"

The staring contest is concluded, but even when running away from it Napoleon always comes out triumphal, somehow. It's very irritating.

"No need. I already got you something, by the way."

A sudden tug by the neck is seeing MC clinging to Napoleon's side, linking arms with him just in order not to stumble and fall with that scarf forbidding any distance to be kept between them. She wants to be annoying and pester with questions just to see if she can soften him into letting away some of it, but she already knows he won't say a thing. Or maybe ask him if he planned sharing the scarf ever since they went out. Suddenly, he is all she can think about.

------

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @animeworldsposts @randomanimatedhusbandoseeker @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @pro-cat-stination @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou @themysticalbeing @canaria-blackwell @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 @ikemenlover24 @violettduchess @mcofthemansion @tiny-wooden-robot @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @atelieredux @cilokgoang let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[obstinaterixatrix]

Oh I didn't know you wrote m*shang! (I'm censoring because considering the premise of the original webnovel it makes if you don't wanna show up in the tags lol) what do you like about it?

thank you for protecting my privacy

[HEAD IN HANDS] [SCREAMS] I LOVE M*SHANG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE M*SHANG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'M DERANGED AND COMPLETELY INCOHERENT I LOVE M*SHANG SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! okay okay okay so first of all.

1) I love one-sided relationships and airplane's one-sided relationship with mbj is nigh unfathomable. his absolute most favorite guy that he made for himself and almost killed to save his own skin. WHAT a dynamic. how do you even begin to unpack that. plus the fact that mbj's his most favorite guy of all time, a guy he made up, and airplane is only ever half right about what's going on in mbj's mind and THAT'S BEING GENEROUS!!!!!!!! the thing is, aus RARELY captured how convoluted the one-sided familiarity is, it's a hard thing to translate, but I've thought about it and I think a keystone of this dynamic that needs to be kept in is that either airplane has to have some responsibility for mbj's success, or has to have a weird degree of familiarity with him that mbj has no context for. if mbj's a random hot guy airplane's obsessed with, that loses a lot of their dynamic!!!!! there's been good aus that I've enjoyed without that keystone element but I still think that connection is like. load-bearing. It's M*shang. and on the other side of things I love how mbj's relationship with airplane is like, it's pretty ambiguous when and how things exactly develop but what's abundantly clear is that mbj has never been right about what he thought was going on with airplane like ever at all.

2) the characters themselves fit an overall dynamic I'm really biased towards, I love self-sabotage disaster dumbass + guy with 0 EQ. they're both extremely emotional in completely opposite ways except when they're the same kind of emotional. very easy for them to be balancing each other out or making each other worse. plus, with all the baggage of their relationship and with the canon timeline it's 20 years MINIMUM before they even BEGIN to get to the place where they can even ENTERTAIN a romantic relationship, and even then they haven't really started by the end of sv. (well, mbj is but airplane isn't). it's such an uphill battle for them and i love that. I think some people tend to... well I can't say it delicately. I think some people put mbj in the standard box of trashy BL top, but it can be so much more interesting than that--mbj (abandonment issues) is terrified of losing airplane (again), which means he won't make a move unless there's something drastic going on. airplane (coward) is a Coward, which means he won't make a move unless there's something drastic going on. and even if (miraculously) one of them does decide to make a move, there's still so many ways both of them can misinterpret each other, or the situation. it's just so easy for things to get messy amd tumultuous between them which I think is really fun. guys who were built to work against themselves and each other <3

3) I tend to be very picky when 'this happens because a character is horny' is an explanation because it can come across as more of an excuse for smut rather than something that's grounded in character/relationship development, but for airplane in particular it works because it's internally consistent and when people characterize him well it gets REALLY funny. because his self-preservation has to trump his horniness like... idk, 99% of the time so it usually takes a backseat to whatever's going on OR it's mixed with a fun combo of resentment/envy/fear/idolization/etc.

[holycatsandrabbits]

Hey Good Omens fans! We tend to have big participation from creators and bidders in Fandom Trumps Hate, but there's always room for more! In fact, there's room for everyone! <3

Please consider getting involved in the Fandom Trumps Hate auction!

Info: FTH Carrd ~ @fandomtrumpshate ~ FAQ

What is Fandom Trumps Hate?

FTH is an online auction of fanworks, with the proceeds going to small, progressive nonprofits that are working to protect marginalized people. We began FTH in the immediate aftermath of the 2016 Presidential Election, and over the course of the last 6 years have raised over $192,000 for a range of amazing organizations.

2023 nonprofits

How do I participate in the auction? Become a creator and/or bidder and/or volunteer:

Creator signups for the auction will open on February 6th. We use google forms for signups; the link will be available here and across all our other social media sites as well. (dreamwidth) (pinterest) (carrd) (twitter)

The auction itself will be hosted on Dreamwidth, on a separate site dedicated solely to this year’s auction offerings. This site is not available yet: it will be publicly visible at the start of “browsing week,” which is the 3-4 day period before the auction officially opens.  But if you’re wondering what these auction posts look like, take a look at last year’s auction site for some examples. Although we update our tagging system every year, the tags for the 2023 auction will work pretty similarly to those on last year’s site.

What types of fanwork can I offer?

You can offer any type of fanwork that can be delivered digitally, including:

written fanworks (fic, poetry, remixes, etc.)

digital art, which includes but is not limited to gifsets, manips, moodboards, etc.

podfics

fanvids (including fancams)

fan labor, which includes but is not limited to betaing, brit/japan/america-picking, or offering specialist expertise.

For the truly uncategorizable, we also have an “other fanwork” category.

And/or, join the ROFL:

The Regiment of Fan Laborers (ROFL) aims to connect FTH creators with beta readers, expertise-pickers, and other kinds of fan labor support. The ROFL is a group of fan laborers who – in addition to offering individual fan labor auctions – have volunteered to make their services available to anyone creating fanworks for FTH over the course of the year. Fan laborers who sign up to offer their services in the FTH auction can opt-in to the ROFL, or they can join without offering an auction by emailing fandomtrumpshate at gmail dot com. Note that fan laborers who sign up for auctions are NOT automatically enrolled in the ROFL.

How to make an invitation post like this for another fandom (or you can just copy this one)

[tychodorian]

Writer's Block and NaNoWriMo?

What's your go-to strategy for overcoming writer's block during NaNoWriMo?

Or... really at any time?

Last week I cranked out 10k words in one day for my book, and I'm probably going to do it again this week (not because I'm cool but because I'm terrible at planning and this is my life now). I had someone ask me in my Discord... how? Let's talk about it!

I'd like to say right out the gate that I know that there's been some controversy with NaNoWriMo this year, but I'm not super privy to what's going on and merely use their site as a word counter for my own projects. I don't condone any actions by any predatory individuals.

With that out of the way!

Ah... November - the month of literary inspiration, caffeine-induced anxiety, and the frenzied tapping of keyboards. NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month, is a marathon for writers. Yet, even the most seasoned wordsmiths can hit the dreaded wall known as... WRITER'S BLOCK. How do we vault over this darn wall?

This is what I typically do to meet that 50k goal or to just write at all during the times when I feel burnt out and really don't want to.

Freewriting

When the cursor is blinking and mocking you, just write. And I know that sounds silly, but this is the first thing that I do when I feel like I'm stuck. Literally enter a trance state and just vomit words. Don't judge them. They don't have to be perfect, don't even have to make sense. Just unshackle your thoughts and let them go. No structure, no coherence - just creativity. You'll find that you can get out a lot of words quickly and without judgement, and then you can go back an edit later. We're not worrying about that right now!

Connect with Fellow Authors

When you're really stuck, bounce ideas off of other authors! Assemble your friends and run ideas by them. If you're having trouble finding other writers, check out your social media of choice, as there likely are a bunch of writers hiding like little goblins in there looking for friends, too.

Characters Drive the Plot

This is the central focus of all of my books. Characters and their motivations always trump plot. Rather than relying on plot devices to drive your story forward, just ask a simple question: What would the characters do now? What events shaped them to get them to this point? What secrets do they have? Exploring these backstories not only enriches your characters but can also lead you to plot twists and narrative threads you haven't considered yet.

Stop writing!

Seriously, just stop. Put it down. Walk away. You might feel like there's a time crunch, but guaranteed there's enough time for a 30 minute tea break. Walk, meditate, or go and veg on a show for a second. Your brain most likely just needs a little time to reset and refresh.

SO! What do you do? What are your favorite tips that get you through writing massive amounts of words at one time? I'm thinking about making a long-format video for my YouTube that compiles all of these tips, so drop your best ones and I'll tag you if you're featured!

[protect-namine]

Opinion on ness? _aesterblaster

omg I don't talk about him much but I actually really love satellite characters and ness is totally kaiser's satellite

since I don't talk about ness that much I'm pouring everything into this one post lol, so brushing everything under the cut to spare everyone the long essay. also, obligatory disclaimer that my thoughts on him will probably change once we get his backstory.

I think ness is an interesting character to have in the germany team because BM is all about rationality and the rational part here is to rely on and support kaiser to score. if blue lock shakes up that system, is ness "rational" enough to support other players if it's the logical thing to do, even if (especially if) it's against kaiser, or will he stick by kaiser anyway? tbh I don't know enough about him to say, but I'm willing to bet he's actually more loyal than logical, but that loyalty didn't come from nothing! maybe he truly believes kaiser is better than everyone and he is the best strategy, or maybe his loyalty just happens to coincide with what is the best strategy right now. but I'm really betting his loyalty trumps "rationality" because just look at his eyes here after isagi steals the ball and assist kunigami

he's such a smiley, cheery person usually. I wonder what his backstory is...

we already know that the chain designs are deliberately drawn in ways that say something about the character (like sae's broken and golden chains, kaiser's clear chain, etc). ness's chain having blue roses is kinda a given since he makes it his goal to direct the plays around kaiser and it's probably also holding him back since he doesn't cultivate his own "ego" outside of it. what is ness outside of kaiser? how do we define him without kaiser in the picture?

I would love to get a ness arc to explore the implications of this picture!!

we already know plenty of characters like him with similar roles/skills but they can stand on their own (tabito, hiori, heck even isagi himself) and/or are growing past their need to be defined as a shadow of someone else's talents (reo). he's a nice contrast to all of that. I don't necessarily think he needs to get rid of or surpass kaiser for growth (like how nagi and reo broke up), but maybe their relationship dynamics can change. like how bachira didn't necessarily move on from isagi to surpass him, but their relationship changed to one where they constantly challenge each other to be better. as much as ness is defined around kaiser, kaiser is also only able to prop himself up because of ness and that doesn't have to change. I mean, rose thorn imagery aside, their relationship seems (for now) waaay healthier than reonagi and even rin and sae back when rin was just as obsessed with being sae's right hand man (see the post's tags for more on this topic).

(tangent: tbh I think the reason why isagi can't beat kaiser yet despite learning to do meta vision at will is because he forgets that kaiser is relying on two sets of eyes... ness is right there with probably the same vision skills so together they consume less energy to control the field unlike isagi who just solos it)

idk if we'll ever see it but I would love to see some story moments that contrasts him with kurona (who, in order to stay in the team, chose to be isagi's satellite), hiori (the OG isagi satellite and cheerleader!! but currently benched...), and reo (who is trying to move on from being nagi's satellite but damn the reonagisagi thing just keeps getting messier and messier. I really feel bad for the guy). I think there's potential in exploring ness's character with these other three as foils.

(another tangent: I've been wondering why his chain becomes transparent at the back but I saw someone point out that it could be because it connects to kaiser's. super neat detail!!)

I think ness has more control over the team than is apparent, he's just not loud about it like kaiser is. it's like... if kaiser is the director of a play, ness is the stage manager that makes it all happen, y'know? kaiser might be the star but I think they both know and understand that ness holds just as much power here. but he's a super chill guy who's got a handle on things so I'd love to see what makes him mad. this is blue lock! we deserve to see a truly pissed off ness!!

outside of plot, and more into fanon territory: I think he holds 90% of kaiser's impulse control; he would make a great mom friend (how come no one thought of giving the blue lock kids the magical mikage translation earbuds until he arrived?? also he probably knows how to calm down a Kasier Tantrum if it happens); he would probably be down for a karaoke/hangout chapter with the blue lock kids; he either has anger management issues deep inside OR he already took care of that in therapy and is now just living his mostly-chill but pretty-obsessed happy life being the stage magician for kaiser

further fanon delusions: I hope they turn out to be childhood friends. omg wait, even better: I hope the twist is that kaiser actually got a blue rose tattoo because of ness............. because ness genuinely thinks he can "attain the impossible" (one of the things a blue rose symbolizes) and kaiser got that tattoo'd as a reminder to himself. oh man, that would be nice I think. I think it would be fun to flip the script and make ness the hidden reason for kaiser's existence even though on the outside it seems like the other way around.

but lol maybe kaiser really is just a dramatic person that likes blue roses and maybe ness really is just a super big kaiser fan. I have no problem with that too!! these two are just theater kids playing football tbh!!

[4ragon]

I'm not the original anonymous but I would extremely want to see that essay about Apollo's trust issues.

Also since I just finished Spirit of Justice, do you think Lamiroir ever told Trucy/Apollo about her and if so what would be their reactions?

Let’s see if I can write this up without crying again like I did on twitter.

So a while ago a friend of mine asked me why I liked Apollo, and I really couldn’t put my finger on it. I knew he was my favorite, but unlike Simon Blackquill, I hadn’t done that deep dive into figuring out why. I’d always just sort of loved him, and was never able to pinpoint the part that made me care about him so much. It drove me crazy, too, I love rambling about characters that I love, and I love writing from Apollo’s perspective more than anything. So why did I love him? Why did I care about him?

Well. I figured it out. I figured out my answer.

I think there are two things that characterize Apollo more than anything. One: He has trust issues. He genuinely believes that the people around him don’t give a shit about him. Especially after being betrayed multiple times in that first trial, he truly and deeply believes that the people around him are only trying to hurt him and is too scared to really believe that they care about him.

And two: He cares so much about the people around him that he constantly helps them anyway.

So like. And I won’t tag her because I don’t think she’d appreciate it, but I was watching the laquilasse AA4 stream last night, and the entire opening of Turnabout Corner is so striking to me, especially right after the end of Turnabout Trump. At the end of Turnabout Trump, Apollo’s trust and belief in Phoenix is finally and thoroughly shattered, and Apollo lashes out, punching Phoenix in the face. And for good reason! That was a huge breach of trust! Apollo literally did the exact thing that got Phoenix disbarred, namely present evidence that wasn’t real. Sure, they never exactly claimed it was the real deal, but Apollo didn’t even know it was faked, he just trusted Phoenix and this new piece of evidence and it almost fucked him over. It did sort of fuck him over, he did lose his job and his Mentor.

And then, Phoenix calls him and says that they’re in trouble, and Apollo doesn’t even question it, of course he shows up to help.

Like. You can feel how much he mistrusts Trucy on their first meeting, in everything he does and says. Especially when Trucy and Phoenix are in the same room, he’s actively thinking about how he doesn’t ‘buy their act’ when Phoenix is calling Trucy daughter-ly nicknames. And then, in a way, he’s kind of right? They guilt him into essentially being their errand boy, and I feel like they’re constantly and loudly using him throughout so much of the game.

And Apollo was there anyway. Apollo doesn’t even trust them and he’s still there the first instant Phoenix says he needs his help.

Like you can loudly do and say whatever you want and crush his dreams and betray his trust, and despite everything, there’s always that part of Apollo that desperately needs to help anyone who asks him. He can’t even bring himself to trust them, and he’s still crawling back the moment someone needs him, ready to let them disappoint him over again.

Like this struck me about Apollo from the moment I played AA4, but he’s so lonely? And desperate for connection? He cares so much about a world that has always and consistently never cared about him, and he just keeps caring and keeps caring even as that starry-eyed naivete is ripped away. And I feel like he just wants someone to care about him back, but never really able to believe that they do, because they never really seem to, because every time he allows himself to trust it’s just thrown back in his face so horribly.

Here’s an interesting thing I noticed: in Turnabout Trump, there’s a really interesting line. Phoenix has accused Kristoph of being the murderer, the extra person in the room. Kristoph takes the stand and claims to have witnessed the moment Phoenix committed the murder. And this exchange happens:

Apollo: There must have been someone else there at the moment of the crime!

Kristoph: Justice... I just said I saw no one. Not a soul.

Apollo: B-But, that goes against what Mr. Wright said!

Kristoph: Ah yes, this mysterious "fourth person"... ...who would conveniently be the "real killer", I suppose.

And this is well past the point where Phoenix has accused Kristoph of being that person. There’s no possibility at this point that they’re both innocent, it’s either one or the other. And Apollo is still so desperately trying to find a way for them both to be innocent, basically saying, “Just give me a fourth person and I’ll believe you.” And then Kristoph turned out to be a monster, and then Phoenix turned out to have betrayed Apollo from the start, and as far as Apollo is ever aware, none of the care from either of these men was ever real. He trusted, and he suffered the consequences.

But again. He’s still there. Someone pointed out a while ago, but Apollo stays. Apollo shows up to the Wright Talent Agency under false pretenses, and he complains and hems and haws, and he still stays. Why?

Phoenix and Trucy loudly manipulate him into working their case. They’re perfectly happy to flaunt that they’re basically tricking him. And he stays. Why?

Because Apollo can’t trust them, but he wants to so fucking bad. He doesn’t even seem to like Phoenix that much, but he wants that connection so fucking bad. He cares about them so much and he doesn’t believe for a second that they extend that feeling back at him, and he’s compelled to stay anyway.

He knows Trucy is practically using him, and he’s a sobbing mess when he thinks she was kidnapped for a few minutes. He’s cynical and mean and it’s all just to cover up the fact that he loves all these people around him with all his heart and they never once pay it back. And he comes back anyway. He’s like a fucking loyal dog that is never given enough affection and so he’s constantly trying harder and harder to earn that love while never believing he’ll ever really get it.

(Shit nope crying again)

It’s just so sad. And this is all without adding anything from the 3D games. The 3D games do build on this theme in one way or another, but from the get go, this is who Apollo is. A caring young man who is constantly punished for caring and yet can’t stop caring anyway.

We see it again in the 3D games. And I think part of why I don’t enjoy DD as much as SoJ is that DD doesn’t capture this mistrust the same way. It’s so surface level, that sense of betrayal and mistrust and anger he gets consumed by in that final case. And the worst part is it doesn’t have to be! There’s already that foundation! Apollo has been hurt already a million times. The only person he’s ever been able to trust, the only lifeline that’s kept him above water since he was a child, was Clay Terran, and now that was taken from him because he DARED to trust someone new. That’s so fucking compelling! But we never get that! We never get to see how Apollo is feeling. We get that he’s convinced Athena did the murder, but never really get into the Why, into the What This Means for Apollo.

It’s a bit better in SoJ. We see how far he’s come in terms of trusting people when he trusts in Trucy wholly and immediately in case two. And then, conversely, we see his mistrust and hurt when they introduce Dhurke into the mix. Apollo refuses point blank to believe that Dhurke had come to visit him, that Dhurke cared about him. Apollo demands to know why Dhurke was there, what Dhurke wanted, how Dhurke was going to use him. He’s been able to slowly start building that trust with people like Trucy, but he still cannot let himself trust again when Dhurke had already betrayed that trust.

I said it before, but as much as I hate the slapdash ways in which Capcom keeps throwing backstory at this boy, I love what the backstories are, because they build on this angry, cynical, lonely young man I care about so much. He’s been hurt and abandoned and used and betrayed since he was young, and being good never truly paid off for so long, but he kept doing it, he kept being good, he kept caring about people because he couldn’t help it, and kept hoping that maybe they could care back. And eventually I think it does start paying off for him. People do start caring about him. And I feel like it takes until around SoJ for him to start really believing that the people around him might care about him too.

Also congrats on finishing SoJ! Since there’s a very good chance that they might be announcing AA7 soon, I...hope? fear? expect? that they’ll touch on this then. However, I also worry that they’re going to botch it up so hard.

I know what I want to happen. I want Trucy to be angry. I want her to be angry at Lamiroir and Phoenix. She is constantly putting on a mask to try to make the people she loves happy, and I feel like this is a reasonable breaking point. After all, this is kind of the one thing that Phoenix hasn’t been honest with her about. She had a brother right there, and knew the whole time?! She had a mother there the whole time?! And no one bothered to tell her?! I think she’d be heartbroken, and I think she deserves to be angry. She’s been through so much, and they never give her time to really grieve or be upset.

I think Apollo would be ecstatic and angry at the same time. All he’s ever wanted was family, and now he does! He already loved Trucy, and thought Lamiroir was amazing, so I think he would be so happy to have that family back in his life. On the flip side, I do think he’d be angry at Phoenix, particularly for keeping it to himself before Lamiroir came into the picture, but I think if they talked it out, Apollo would come around to it and be able to forgive Phoenix.

[starrynite7114]

Body Art (Angel Reyes)

A/N: Good morning everyone! This was done last night, but work was insane and I didn’t have a chance to post it. Hope you all enjoy this one. It was one of my requests that I have not had the chance to do. But I finally got to do it! I’m making my way through my request list right now, so hopefully I’ll get everyone’s request done soon. 

The request list link is below, please check if your request is there, if it is now, let me know so I can put it in! Still currently taking requests if you all would like to make one. 

Art smut with angel Reyes! He asks you to let him do body art on you. All front and you’re wearing panties right and he asks you to take your bralette/ bra off and he’s like woah and yea lol - @cherry-icetea​

Sorry it took so long love! Hope you enjoy! <3

Enjoy!

Masterlist

Request List tagged list: @justahopelessssromantic : @ifoundmyhappythought : @iambabyharry : @everyhowlmarksthedead : @briana-mishell24 : @bribri-82 : @briannab1234 : @carlaangel86 : @twistnet : @marvelmaree : @blackmissfrizzle : @thickemadame : @woahitslucyylu : @chibsytelford : @agirllovespasta : @sesamepancakes : @enamoured-x : @encounterthepast : @trulysuccubus : @jadert15 : @elcococruz : @gemini0410 : @cherry-icetea : @claytoncardenasbabymama : @sadeyesgf : @xserenax-13 : @whyisgmora : @samcrobae : @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass : @sheeshgivemeabreak : @lady-pswrld

You and Angel have been quarantined together for a month. 

While you two enjoyed the other’s company, the movies and television shows to binge on was slimming down. You both loved nature and craved to be outside. You missed being able to just walk outside without a worry.

But you also knew not to be selfish. 

This was for the better and it was going to save lives. 

But you both were surprised that you haven’t wanted to kill one another. Surprisingly enough, you two enjoyed one another’s company and gave the other space when needed. You two shared a two bedroom apartment. It was nice to share your apartment with a friend, especially one you met through your ex-schoolmate Ezekiel. You and Ezekiel had become close during your first semester at Stanford and when you found out of his fate, you visited him weekly. He didn’t close you off and you were thankful for that. One time you came and his family was there, you met his big brother, Angel and his father Felipe. 

The attraction to Angel was immediate, but you kept everything at bay since you both were in different places.

But somehow, four years after meeting, you found yourself in Santo Padre. While you two texted often, you didn’t hang out with Angel much. When he offered to room with you when you immediately moved to Santo Padre, you were hesitant at first, but you realized that there was no other person you would want to room with besides Angel. 

Work brought you to Santo Padre. Currently, you were a teacher at the high school. It was nerve wrecking since teenagers could be little shits, but somehow, they enjoyed your world history facts that you always taught them.

Living with Angel was a delight. He always brought you home food when he could and helped you cook when he could. He did your laundry for you when he was doing his. Always made sure your oil was changed for your car and everything. And it was always a plus to see Angel walking around shirtless. That man was a god and if you just had some guts, you would jump him, but there was always this unspoken thing between you two. EZ was his younger brother and you were EZ’s best friend, you two were just not allowed to be together, for EZ’s sake.

Regardless, that didn’t mean your attraction was nonexistent. Angel was very attracted to you, and he has been for years, but his promise to his brother always trumped his desire for you.

However, with this quarantine in place and the time he spent with you, Angel found it harder to resist you. Walking in those booty shorts of yours that showed off your assets. He was a strong man, but there was just so much he could take.

One of the best things about living with Angel was the artwork. He painted your room, the artwork suited you so well. You loved watching Angel paint. Your favorite thing to do was reading a book while Angel painted on the ground, concentrating on his next masterpiece. If this outlaw biker thing didn’t work, he could totally open up a gallery. 

Currently, you both were on the couch, finishing up the Punisher. Angel had his head on your lap, as you watched the show intently, digging the storyline and enjoying the eye candy.

“This show is amazing.” You praised it as the ending credits came on.

Angel clicked his tongue. “Or you mean the guys are hot?”

“Don’t be jealous Ignacio, you’re still the apple of my eye.” You pinched his cheek, causing Angel to push your hand away, but he chuckled, loving the feel of your skin on his. It was pathetic really, but he promised EZ he would never fall for you. He thought that maybe EZ was in love with you, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

“Want to take a break from watching?”

“Sure, what you got in mind? If you say let’s fuck, I’m going to slit your throat.”

“I love it when you threaten me.” Angel chuckled, sitting up. “Want to help me paint?”

“You know I don’t have an ounce of talent for art in my body.” You’ve painted with Angel a few times and he always told you how you were getting better, but you somehow doubted that. Angel was a great teacher, really nice too. Maybe if he didn’t want to do the art gallery, he could definitely be a teacher. 

“No, let me paint you.” Angel really enjoyed your presence whenever he was painting, he felt inspired and encouraged whenever you were around. 

Angel has never requested to paint you before. Wait, that’s a lie, he has numerous times but you always shut him down and made an excuse to leave. He knew that you wouldn’t be able to make an excuse today. You were stuck at home after all.

“Me? No way.” You shook your head. “I feel like we can FaceTime someone and you can paint them instead.” 

“Come on mi dulce, I’ve always wanted to paint you.” He took your hand in his, trying to ignore the butterflies and the spark that just coarse through your body.

“Angel, let me FaceTime Kristin, remember how hot you thought she was?” You were really trying to get out of this as best as you can. You couldn’t keep still and there was no point in painting you.

He recalled making that comment, but he only said it to get a reaction out of you, which obviously didn’t work. “Nope, I want you.” The way he said it, it made the butterflies in your stomach move around even more wildly than before. 

“Can you just not paint me and say you did?” You offered.

“You don’t trust me?”

“No, I’m just shy.” 

Angel smirked. “Shy? You don’t have to be shy with me.” He stood up, taking your hand and taking you to his room. “Do me a favor mama, strip to your bra and panty.”

“What?!” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Come on baby girl, you won’t be fully naked.” He tried to ease your shyness.

“Alright fine, but I expect to be compensated for this.” You were comfortable with your body, but this was also Angel who most likely has seen so many beautiful girls naked. And he may have also slept with you before, it was a drunken night which you remembered well however, you weren’t sure if he did. He’s never mentioned it and you didn’t want to be the one to do so.

As you took off your clothing, Angel immediately regretted asking you to be his model. He’s always imagined how you would look in your unmentionables and he was beginning to forget about his promise to EZ and well, he was fucking forgetting EZ. 

He’s seen it all before. He was buzzed that night, but he definitely wasn’t drunk. At times, you haunted his dreams, seeing you naked could make any man go crazy and it fucked up Angel. He didn’t even know how to approach the subject and quite frankly, since you didn’t mention it, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to embarrass you or himself.

That one night three months, two weeks, and five days ago was embedded in his mind. He never told EZ about it knowing it would upset his younger brother. But seeing you before him now, Ezekiel could go fuck himself.

“Angel?” You broke him away from his thoughts, biting your lip nervously.

“Sorry, fuck.” He chuckled. “You look fucking gorgeous, querida.”

God when this man spoke Spanish? Used a term of endearment for you in Spanish? It made your thighs clench together because all you wanted to do since that night maybe 3-4 months ago, was fuck Angel again. But with his relationship with EZ just being repaired again, you didn’t want to have them fighting over this. You understood why EZ was protective of you, you technically just had him, but it was also quite annoying.

“Thanks.” You smiled shyly. “How do you want me?”

“You want to lay down? Just so it’ll be more comfortable.”

“Sure.”

Laying down on the floor, Angel looked at your bralette which was burgundy at the area of the cups with flowers branching up from the sides, the bottom of the bralette was black lace. Angel bit his bottom lip, thinking of how he could connect your bra to your panties. Your panties were burgundy, matching your bralette, with lace at the top of your underwear.

You watched as Angel’s eyes roamed up and down your body. It was comfortable, oddly, not creepy whatsoever, but then again, this was Angel. Even though he had this intimidating presence, he was a fucking teddy bear that loved affection and being spoiled.

“Can you at least give me a pillow?” You requested.

Angel chuckled, handing you a pillow. “Don’t know if I told you yet, but you look absolutely stunning.” He began to feel nervous, unsure if he could actually do this. But he reasoned that of course he could, why wouldn’t he be able to do so? He was an artist, he could push his desire for you to the side while he was touching your body. 

Fuck. He was screwed.

Taking out the paint for him to use, he picked burgundy, white, green and a light shade of blue. He had this picture in his mind that he wanted to portray on your body, but all he could picture was having you naked, your sweaty body against his, you breathily moaning, gasping out his name. He shook his head, trying to concentrate. He could paint on you, this was going to be easy. 

Angel began to paint on the black lace of your bralette, a giggle escaping your lips. He chuckled, forgetting how ticklish you were. This whole quarantine has been ridiculous, but he never knew how much he would enjoy life just being at home, but that had a lot to do with you. At first you had offered EZ to stay with you two, but EZ insisted on staying with Felipe. Angel didn’t mind, he wanted you all to himself. Even though you two have been roommates, he didn’t know much about you. He barely found out that you were afraid of heights even though you went hiking with him whenever you two had the chance to do so. He also didn’t know you could handle your liquor better than any of the fucking guys, which thoroughly impressed him. He also didn’t know that you have four tattoos, all on your back, that represented major events in your life. 

He also didn’t know how much he’s been avoiding his feelings for you till he was stuck at the apartment with you with nowhere to go.

“Is this the set I got you for Christmas?” You asked him as he began his work on you.

“Yeah, it was. I’ve used a majority of the set except for this.” Christmas, it was three days after that you two slept together. Angel woke up and you weren’t in his bed anymore. He was going to bring it up, but it seemed every time he tried, it just never happened. “Do you remember what happened a few days later?”

“When we got plastered and played a prank on EZ?”

It was a few hours before you two slept together. EZ was sleeping so you and Angel had the idea of using a feather and shaving cream, tickling EZ on certain spots on his face till he was fully covered. EZ didn’t wake up till Gilly and Coco busted out in laughter when they walked into EZ covered with shaving cream.

“Oh yeah, good times.” Angel chuckled. You felt his fingers moving across your stomach, spreading the paint. “Why are you so tense?”

“Cause I’m trying not to be ticklish.”

“Or maybe I make you nervous?” You could hear the smugness in his voice.

“Nervous? For what?”

Fuck it.

“I don’t know, you tell me mi dulce.” He moved on your other side, to paint that side. It wasn’t his best work, but he just wanted to touch you. “So do you remember that night?”

“I remember bits and pieces of it.” You were being truthful, but it seemed that Angel was trying to have that long awaited talk. It’s not like you didn’t want to discuss it, you just didn’t know where to start. 

‘Hey, remember the time we fucked? Just wanted to let you know that you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.’

Yeah, that would go over well.

“Do you remember when we had sex?” Angel was playing it nonchalant, painting random patterns on your skin. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing anymore, but he just needed something to distract him, in case you rejected him. 

“Yes, I do.”

“Why’d you leave me alone on my bed?”

“Come on Angel, you don’t want to have this conversation.” You didn’t. Angel always seemed forbidden and they were so right that forbidden fruit tasted so much fucking better. You were certain that you and Angel had sex at least four times that night. 

“I do, you don’t? I promised Ezekiel that I would never make a move on you, but to be fucking honest, I don’t really give a fuck anymore.” Angel noticed then that he had painted angel wings below the lace of your bralette. He bit his lip, just thinking of how beautiful you would look with something he created tattooed on you. 

“What are you talking about?” You slightly sat up, looking over at Angel. He softly pushed you back down so he could continue painting, or whatever the fuck he was doing.

“I like you, I’ve liked you for quite some time but I haven't made a move cause Ezekiel asked me not to.”

You were speechless, unsure of what to reply. You like Angel too, but you were wondering if he just liked you now cause there was no one else to sleep with. But he wouldn’t say those words to you just to get in your pants, it would ruin everything. 

“You're kind of making me nervous here.” Saying his feelings aloud made Angel feel vulnerable, made him feel terrified of what the outcome could be.

“I’ve liked you for some time too, but I just figured you didn’t want to cross the line and I could respect that. I left you in bed that morning because I’m not good with rejection. We were both intoxicated and needed some release, I was cool with that.” You truthfully told him. “I think you’re an idiot for listening to Ezekiel.”

The brush strokes stopped and before you knew it, Angel was hovering over you, his lips on yours. His lips were warm, just as you remembered, parting slightly along with yours, his tongue slipping in your mouth. Your hands were on his neck, scratching the back of it. He groaned into your mouth before he pulled away. His eyes roamed down your body, biting his lips as he did.

“Fuck baby, can I take off your clothes?” His voice was so intoxicating, it became deeper. You remembered his voice the most that night. Angel was very vocal, which didn’t surprise you. His mouth made you fucking go insane.

You nodded your head. Angel removed your bralette, licking his lips as his thumb played with your nipple, grazing it softly before rolling it in between two fingers. You bit back a moan, arching into his touch. You’ve slept with a few people after Angel and you were upset how he ruined other men for you. Angel knew your body so well, that one night fucking ruined you and you honestly weren’t even mad about it.

“Are you wet baby girl?” His hand drifted down to your underwear, his art work was slowly being lost with every movement of his fingertips against your skin, but he didn’t care. Your body was art for him, the way you were taking a breathy gasp was music to his ear. He couldn’t wait to hear your moans again. He’s fucked other women after you and he would call out your name, even though the moans, the scent, the feel wasn’t the same.

“Yes,” you answered. 

Angel’s fingers slipped underneath your underwear, running a finger up and down your slit. Circling your clit a few times, you moaned out his name, feeling yourself become wetter with every touch. He slipped a finger inside you, pulling it out and adding another when he slipped it back in. Your legs voluntarily widened, accommodating him as he kneeled in front of you. He slipped your underwear down your legs, you were bare in front of him now and he felt his cock twitched as he watched your pussy swallow his fingers. 

“Are my fingers stretching you enough baby? Preparing you for my cock?” He kissed your lips, moving down your neck, nibbling, marking you as his. Looking down at his artwork that was smeared by his own fingertips, he had to say that it didn’t look terrible whatsoever, your skin was glistening with sweat. “Can I take a picture of you baby, take on my runs?”

All you could feel was Angel’s fingers working their magic on you. His words registered, but as much as you wanted to fight him about having your nakedness on his phone, it was kind of hot. 

“Okay.”

“Yeah baby? Fuck.” Angel got his phone that was on the coffee table, smirking as he opened up the camera app. Your face was covered by your arm, which he didn’t mind. He already had so many pictures of your face, but this was different. He took some pictures before putting his phone away. He felt your pussy clenching as he continued to go in and out, stroking your clit every once in a while. “Oh baby, I feel that. Querida, you cumming?”

“Fuck, yes Angel, holy fuck.” You cried out, back arching as you came.

“For months, I’ve been waiting to see you in this state again, to hear you moaning out my name in a blissful state. Hearing it again, seeing it again, I won’t ever be able to have my fill of you.” He continued to move his finger in and out of you as he said that, helping you through your orgasm. 

“I’m feeling it again,” the feeling was building in your stomach, again. You heard Angel chuckle as he took his fingers away, causing you to whine. 

He took off his shorts and his shirt, sitting against the couch. He pumped himself as you licked your lips, remembering just how good his cock felt inside of you.

“Like what you see?” Angel held his hand out to you.

You nodded your head, crawling over to him. 

“No time for you to suck my dick baby, I need to be inside of you.” He watched as you stood up and slowly squatted in front of him, making him groan. Slowly, you sink down on his cock, stopping every once in a while to adjust to him. He threw his head back, the sensation was incredible. “Look at that pussy stretching to fit my dick.” He rubbed his thumb around your slit, using the wetness to wet it so he could rub your clit. 

Throwing your head back, Angel watched the look of pure pleasure on your face, memorizing it. He knew this wouldn’t be the last time he would have you, like he said, he didn’t care what Ezekiel thought. They were adults, you’re a grown ass woman, EZ could suck it up.

You had your hands on Angel’s shoulder, using it as leverage as you moved up and down his cock. The burn, the stretch, everything about it felt amazing. If there was one thing you remembered vividly about that night all those months ago, it was how well you fit with Angel. Maybe it was cliche to say, but you didn’t care, his cock just felt so damn good.

“You feeling good mi dulce, you missed my dick?”

“Do you ever shut up?” You groaned as you felt your movements speeding up, trying to chase that euphoric feeling. 

“I could, but I know how much you like my filthy mouth.” Angel pulled you against him, your chest against one another. He wrapped his arms around you, trapping you against him. His hips thrusted upward, hard and fast, and you just took in the onslaught, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your orgasm hit not a few minutes later. He continued to fuck into you, causing you to scratch his sides, moaning out his name over and over again. He slowed down, letting go of you. 

Your head landed on his shoulder, your hand on his stomach. “Give me a minute.”

Angel chuckled. “My dick too much for you baby? Don’t worry, we’re gonna be fucking so much, you’ll learn how to keep up with me.” He kissed your shoulder. “This pussy is mine now, hell, it’s been mine since that night.” He pulled you away from him so that he could kiss you, his tongue entering your mouth. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, helping you move up and down as his lips touched yours, his breath just hot against your lips. “We sleeping in the same room now baby.”

It wasn’t even a question, it was a statement.

“My room, I don’t like your bed.” You kissed him again. Pulling away, you ran your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t care which room, as long as you’re in my arms.” Angel laid you on your back, bending your knees and holding them at the back. Looking down at where you two were joined, he smirked. “Can’t believe I listened to EZ.”

“Such a good older brother.” You teased Angel. “Shit Angel, go faster.”

“You don’t like this pace baby? You don’t like it when I go slow, taking my time on you?” Angel ran his hands up and down your thighs, moving it down to your stomach as his art was smeared all around. “I wanna design a tattoo for you querida.”

“No, we have time for that later. Fuck me.” Angel chuckled. “If you fuck me good enough then you can design whatever you want for me.”

You saw how Angel’s eyes darkened, he had your legs hanging on his shoulders. He pounded into you, in and out at a fast pace. You slightly regretted challenging Angel, but this felt so fucking good. 

“This hard enough for you baby?” He taunted. 

You nodded your head. “It feels so good.”

“Yeah you do, you feel fucking amazing querida.” Angel groaned. “You look so beautiful underneath me baby, you’re just gripping my dick baby. This is my pussy, ain’t no one else ever going to see you this way from now on. Fuck those puto’s you took home.”

Taking one of his hands that was beside your head, you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking on it before you directed it towards your clit. Angel immediately followed your order and rubbed it.

“You look so good like this.” Your eyes were closed, toes curled, and lips bitten. You hold onto one of his arms, nails digging into his skin and he fucking loved it.

“Angel!” You cried out as your orgasm finally came. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He followed right after you, moaning out your name as well. He pulled out, the emptiness making you whimper. Angel helped you up, his cum dripping down your leg. He smirked as he watched it go down and you rolled your eyes.

“Such a guy.” You playfully pushed him. 

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, his cock was already semi-hard. 

“You ready for round two, cause we ain’t fucking leaving our bed till at least Monday.”

It was only Thursday.

[purplehairedwonder]

Hearts With(out) Chains Chapter 10

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu) Words: 3233 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Monkey D. Luffy, Nico Robin, Usopp, Zoro, Nami, Franky, Smoker, Tashigi, Vergo, Heart Pirates Note: I’m taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won’t leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.

The story title is based on the Ellie Goulding song “Hearts Without Chains.”

Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law finds a strange connection to Monkey D. Luffy, which offers a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.

Previous chapters: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

When Law ended the call, Bepo felt his heartrate picking up as he considered what his friend had said. Bepo didn’t know where Law was—he kept so much to himself anymore and had practically fled when he, Shachi, and Penguin had confronted him on his way out of Dressrosa—but Vergo following him from Dressrosa was bad news. Everyone in the Family knew there was bad blood between the first and current Corazons, though not everyone knew why.

Bepo did, having seen the aftermath of the wounds Vergo had caused when he and Law had first met. Shachi and Penguin were the only others—except Violet, Bepo supposed—in whom Law had confided that history.

What Bepo couldn’t figure out was why Doflamingo would believe Law had defected, considering his entire crew was still on Dressrosa; Law would never risk them like that. Doflamingo saw to it that Law would not (could not) betray him. But if Law was worried enough to warn them, Vergo must have some trump card.

Not for the first time, Bepo wished Law had brought backup on his mission, whether it was him, Shachi, and Penguin or any of the other Hearts. Bepo’s captain was too willing to go at it alone when he didn’t have to—and now he was in trouble because of it. All the Hearts could do was be his backup in Dressrosa, waiting for his return and whatever that might bring.

Still, as Bepo scoured the Hearts’ rooms and the most likely hang out spots around the palace for his nakama, a part of him was lighter in relief. The Law on the other end of the Den Den Mushi had sounded familiar; he’d sounded like Bepo’s captain and best friend, who Bepo hadn’t heard in two years. Law had locked himself away since Shachi lost his arm, drowning in guilt and refusing all attempts to bring him out of his self-made prison. It had pained them all to watch helplessly as he pulled away, becoming a shadow of himself in a misguided effort to protect them.

But Bepo had known that his best friend—strong, brave, and loyal—was still in there, under all the guilt and pain.

And he’d been right.

Bepo’s best friend had been the one to call his nakama in the middle of a mission to warn them of potential danger while promising to return for them despite the obvious danger doing so presented.

Bepo had missed Law, and now he’d do whatever he could as first mate to support his captain and look after their nakama.

It took about half an hour, but Bepo finally managed to gather his crewmates in Bepo’s room. He knew they wouldn’t be overheard here, as Law regularly checked the Hearts’ rooms for surveillance Den Den Mushi. The small bedroom was not designed to house twelve people, but the Hearts were used to confined spaces.

“What’s going on, Bepo?” Shachi asked once everyone had arrived and the door had been shut firmly behind them.

“Law called,” Bepo replied. He refused to use the title the Family used for Law when speaking only among the Hearts. He was also not surprised by the concern that his pronouncement elicited.

“Is he okay?”

“Where is he?”

“What’s going on?”

Bepo held up a paw, and once his nakama had quieted, he relayed what Law had told him. Bepo knew frustratingly little about his captain’s situation, so when his nakama burst into questions, Bepo had no answers for them. No, he didn’t know where Law was, though he must be close because he’d only left that morning. No, he didn’t know what Law’s mission was or why Vergo was there. No, no, no, he didn’t know.

“He said he worried Vergo would tell Doflamingo he’d failed or defected,” Bepo reminded his nakama. “He didn’t know that Vergo did for sure. But he wants us to be careful in case he did.”

“Would Doflamingo believe Vergo about this?” Jean Bart asked, looking at the crew who’d been around the Family longest.

Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo exchanged glances and shrugged. Doflamingo’s moods were impossible to predict.

“Vergo is Doflamingo’s most trusted agent,” Penguin said. The intimacy of that relationship was common knowledge within the Family. “But Doflamingo also knows about the bad blood between him and Law.”

“He must also know Law left all of us here,” Shachi added. “He knows Law wouldn’t risk us.”

“Then what are we missing?” Ikkaku asked, glancing at Bepo. “What had Law so worried about Vergo lying?”

There was no answer to that. But Bepo had heard the worry in Law’s voice and the seriousness in his warning. Whatever Law was keeping to himself must be quite persuasive.

“What do we do now?” Uni asked.

“Head for the Tang,” Clione muttered.

“We can’t act like we know anything is wrong,” Penguin said, ignoring him. “We’d raise suspicions and make Law look guilty otherwise.”

“But we need to keep an eye on each other,” Shachi added.

Bepo nodded. This is what he had promised Law; they would take care of themselves, so Law didn’t have to worry about them in addition to Vergo and whatever his mission was.

“Stay close,” Bepo said. The Hearts had their own wing of the palace, complete with common area, kitchen, and training rooms, so they didn’t often need to leave; the isolation suited them just fine since they, being loyal to Law rather than Doflamingo, felt out of place from the rest of the Family. “And if you need to leave, take a buddy.”

Normally, someone would have cracked a joke about the buddy system, but the concern on the air was heavy enough to stay even Shachi’s tongue. Instead, everyone nodded in response. They would take no chances; they’d seen what happened to traitors to the Donquixote Family. There was nothing to be done other than stay on their toes and wait to hear from their captain.

-----

Law entered the lab the same way he had when he’d first arrived, Shambling through the back entrance into the darkened hallway. He headed for the control room, unsure of what he would find. He thought his bootsteps echoed more loudly than he remembered from a few hours earlier, but he knew he was just imagining it. He tightened his grip on Kikoku and kept walking until he saw light.

Once he and Straw Hat had shaken on their agreement to team up, Nico Robin had returned Kikoku, the nodachi suddenly appearing in Law’s vision as a disembodied hand offered her to him. Law managed to suppress a surprised flinch and took the blade with a nod to the woman, who smiled at him in that unsettling way of hers. Still, a feeling of calm had settled over him with the return of Kikoku’s familiar presence; she was an old friend, after all.

Between Law and the Straw Hats, they had two separate goals on Punk Hazard: stop Vergo and save the children. Law wasn’t particularly concerned with the second goal, but the Straw Hats were set on it and Law would do what he needed to in order to help his nakama.

That put Vergo, Caesar, Monet, and Caesar’s men in their way. G-5 was a wildcard. Though the Marines had entered the lab with the other half of the Straw Hats, there was no telling how long that tenuous alliance would last, especially with Vergo on the island.

Law had no way of knowing if Vergo had called Doffy yet, though he had to operate on the assumption that he had; anything else would only get him—and his crew—killed faster. As for whether Vergo had shown his face in the lab, that was another story. While Caesar and Monet would be friendly to Vergo, Law also knew that the vice admiral would go out of his way to avoid blowing his cover with the Marines. The other man was of most use to Doffy in his elevated position among the Marines and wouldn’t blow fifteen years of undercover work just for his grudge against Law. With that in mind, it was entirely possible Vergo was remaining hidden and waiting for his chance to capture Law and bring him back in shackles to Dressrosa without being seen.

Knowing the importance of doing recon before setting any plan in motion, Law had convinced the Straw Hats to let him go back to the lab alone and see where he stood and see what he could find out about Vergo and the rest of the Straw Hats. They’d been hesitant, but Law had held firm that it made the most sense for him to go on his own.

“What if Vergo did out you?” Black Leg asked. “You’d be a sitting duck by yourself.”

“I can handle Vergo,” Law replied. Now that he wasn’t hindered by Seastone anyway.

“But what about all the other guys?” Straw Hat asked. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

“It’ll raise more suspicion if we’re together,” Law countered.

“But if you need help—”

“What about a Den Den Mushi?” Long Nose interrupted. Everyone turned to look at him, and he shrugged uncomfortably but kept speaking. “If he,” he said, jerking his head at Law, “calls our ship’s Den Den Mushi and leaves the line open, we can hear what’s going on.”

“And we can come if Torao needs us!” Straw Hat concluded, satisfied. “Let’s do it,” he said, pumping his fist.

Law had rolled his eyes, but that was how he’d ended up with his Den Den Mushi’s line open to the Straw Hats’ as it sat in his coat pocket. He’d warned Straw Hat not to be noisy on the other end of the line or he’d blow Law’s cover, and the others had promised to keep him quiet. (Law hadn’t been particularly reassured but didn’t have much choice but to continue anyway.) The Straw Hats were stationed outside the lab out of surveillance range, listening as Law entered the control room.

Law blinked as he stepped inside, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the bright light before glancing around. The room appeared empty. Where were Caesar and Monet? It looked like he’d need to head further into the lab.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Den Den Mushi. He opened his mouth to update the Straw Hats on what he’d found, but a familiar voice cut him off.

“Corazon? What the hell are you doing here?”

Law’s gaze followed the voice to the far wall, and he blinked in surprise at a large cage partially hidden in the shadows. He didn’t remember that being there before, but he hadn’t studied the room carefully upon his arrival either. He pocketed the snail and meandered over to the cage, raising an eyebrow when he saw what was inside.

Or, rather, who was inside.

Smoker was the one who had spoken. His eyes were narrowed as he eyed Law from his prone position, chained with what was undoubtedly Seastone chain.

“How’d you get here?” the swordswoman growled at Law from next to her boss.

“Where’s Luffy?” the cat burglar demanded.

Law simply watched the group, considering. Smoker, his second, the cat burglar, Zoro, and the cyborg had apparently all been captured by Caesar and were left chained in this cage. That left the tanuki and skeleton as well as the remaining G-5 soldiers somewhere in the base. He was considering what Caesar might want with them and what this meant for Vergo’s position when the cat burglar interrupted his thoughts.

“Say something, would you?” she sneered when Law remained quiet. “What did you do to Luffy?”

“Nothing,” Law replied, turning toward her. Though he could see why she would assume he had. “We…” he began, considering how to describe what had happened, “came to an agreement.”

“What kind of agreement?” Zoro asked, his one-eyed gazing piercing. He didn’t sound as disbelieving as the cat burglar did, though his attention was focused fully on Law now.

“Was that Nami and Zoro?”

Everyone started at the sound of Straw Hat’s muffled voice coming from Law’s pocket.

“Luffy?” the cat burglar called.

Law sighed and pulled the Den Den Mushi from his pocket. “Your crew seems to have gotten themselves captured, Straw Hat-ya,” Law informed him.

“What?” Straw Hat yelped. “Are you guys okay? We’re coming!”

“Wait, Luffy!” Long Nose interrupted. “What’s going on there, Torao? Is that guy there?”

“Torao?” the swordswoman asked, confused.

Law ignored her. “There was no one in the lab except your captured friends,” he said toward the snail. He looked back to the prisoners. “What happened?”

“Caesar,” Smoker growled.

“Is that Smokey?” Straw Hat asked.

“He did something to air when we confronted him about the children,” the vice admiral explained. “Woke up here after that.”

“What about Monet?” Law asked. “The woman,” he clarified when the others looked at him blankly.

“Brook and I were fighting her before I blacked out,” Zoro said.

“Whatever the clown did to the air probably didn’t affect him since he’s a skeleton,” the cat burglar said thoughtfully. “No lungs.”

Law knew Monet was dangerous, having gone on numerous missions with her before she’d been sent to Punk Hazard, so if the skeleton could keep her occupied while they took care of Vergo, that would be helpful.

“Where’s the tanuki?” Law asked.

“He’s a reindeer,” Zoro and the cat burglar replied, along with some garbled voices from the Den Den Mushi.

Law rolled his eyes. “Whatever. He’s not here with you.”

“He was looking for the lab to find out what the clown had done to the children,” the swordswoman said. “They must not have found him yet.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you know what they’re doing to the children?”

Law shrugged, uninterested. “No.”

“You’re Donquixote’s second, you must know everything that’s going on,” Smoker countered.

“You may be surprised to know that I don’t have intimate knowledge of every project Doflamingo has going on,” Law countered coolly. The fact was, Doffy simply had too many ongoing schemes for any one executive to know all about. They all had specific projects they oversaw for Doffy, and Punk Hazard was Vergo’s. Law knew the general outline of the SAD manufacturing on the island, but that was about it.

“You still haven’t answered what kind of agreement you and Luffy came to,” Zoro interrupted.

Law turned back to him, but it was Straw Hat who answered over the open line. “We’re going to help Torao save his nakama from Mingo!”

“What?” the cat burglar sputtered.

Zoro narrowed his eye. “What are you talking about, Luffy?”

There was some shuffling on the other end of the line before Nico Robin spoke up. “One of Doflamingo’s agents is on the island and is threatening Corazon and his crew. Luffy has decided he wants to help.”

“Why?” the cat burglar demanded, glaring at Law. “He tried to kill us. He works for a man experimenting on kids.”

Looks like that had stopped bothering Law a long time ago, so he simply returned her look evenly.

“But he doesn’t want to,” Straw Hat said. “Torao’s a good guy!”

“Luffy—” Zoro started, but his captain cut him off.

“He saved me, Zoro.”

There was some meaning in those words that Law didn’t fully comprehend, but Zoro apparently did, his mouth snapping shut. He closed his eye, leaned back against the cell wall, and nodded grudgingly. “Fine,” he grumbled.

The cat burglar looked at him in disbelief. “You’re just going to go along with this?” she demanded. She looked like she could have smacked him if she hadn’t been bound.

It seemed the cat burglar was the member of the crew with the ounce of common sense Law had been wondering about.

“He’s the captain, witch,”

Zoro commented without opening his eye.

She huffed. “Luffy, he’ll betray you.”

“Nope,” Straw Hat replied. “He won’t.”

The cat burglar eyed Law suspiciously. “How can you be so sure?”

“As of now,” Law said before Straw Hat could speak, “our goals align. It’s in the best interest of me and my nakama not to betray you all.”

“How reassuring,” she sneered.

“Nami.”

She looked back at the Den Den Mushi. “Luffy—”

“Do you trust me, Nami?”

She startled at that. “Of course.”

“Then trust me. Please.”

After a long moment, she sighed and nodded, the tension in her frame deflating. “Fine.”

Even the cat burglar, it seemed, could be swayed by the will of her captain.

The Will of D., Law couldn’t help but think.

“Now what, Torao?” Straw Hat asked.

Rather than answer, Law dropped the snail back into his pocket then held his hand up and opened a Room large enough to encompass the cage. He unsheathed Kikoku and sliced the bars open. The sound was finally enough to wake the cyborg, who startled into consciousness. He yelped at the sight of Law above them, sword in hand, but the cat burglar murmured something to him, and he quieted down.

Law stepped inside, and, with three quick slices, three sets of chains fell to the ground as Law freed the Straw Hats. They pushed themselves to their feet and, stretching their cramped muscles, filed out past Law. For his part, Law eyed Smoker and the captain.

“Now, what to do with the two of you?”

Smoker glowered at Law while the swordswoman watched him warily. As far as Law was concerned, they could sit here and rot, but as a fellow vice admiral, Smoker could be good leverage against Vergo, if the bastard showed his face. Anything that made things more complicated for Vergo was a good move in Law’s book. That didn’t mean he couldn’t make them sweat a bit first, though.

“Go ahead and kill us, pirate,” Smoker sneered. “Finish what you started earlier. See what happens to your boss when it gets out that his second killed a vice admiral.”

Law decided not to mention he’d been sent to Punk Hazard to kill Smoker in the first place.

“No!” the swordswoman said. “Please, let us go.”

“Tashigi,” Smoker hissed. “Don’t beg for your life from a pirate! Where’s your pride?”

But rather than be cowed, she glared right back at him. “There are innocent children on this island that need help. It’s our duty to rescue them, so if begging for my life will help me save those children, then I’ll gladly do it!”

Law was grudgingly impressed with her resolve. “It seems she’s smarter than you, White Chase-ya.” Smoker growled wordlessly at Law, but Law pressed on. “Your presence on the island is, ironically, useful to me now, so I’m willing to let you go. On one condition.”

“What’s that?” Smoker demanded.

“Not a word of this alliance between myself and the Straw Hats to anyone. If it gets out, I will come find you.”

“Fine,” the swordswoman agreed in her boss’s place. “Now let us go.”

“Alliance?” a new voice said.

Law stiffened. Shit. He turned to see Vergo standing in the doorway to the front entrance of the room.

“Doffy didn’t believe me before that you’re a traitor, but now he’ll have it in your own words, Law.”

Next chapter

[where-all-the-time-went]

gah, screw it

[ID: A tumblr post from me, reading, “now is probably the time to write my 500-word essay on the politics of revolution of the daleks that gets 30 notes and is never seen again, which i return to in a month to find a lot of typos, otherwise no one will see it, isn’t it,,, “but i haven’t seen jack robertson’s first episode,,,”. End ID.] answer: yes, it is. but im gonna take a while to write this and look up a summary of arachnids in the uk (which i dont wanna watch because i heard its Not Good and you dont have to watch every episode of doctor who to be a fan, ok?) i sometimes talk about politics on tumblr, but rarely do i make political posts--mainly because, as my sidebar bio says, i’m a teenager. i don’t really have a degree in politics, and as much as i have been trying to read up on political stuff, its kinda hard when i dont have access to a college professor to guide me along. still, some things about this episode stood out to me, especially because it’s stuff i’ve noticed in a lot of media. i’m not even sure where i stand politically, but i absolutely love media commentary, and i have so many thoughts i feel like i never get to put out there when im watching movies and tv. obviously, spoilers under the cut (and it probably won’t actually be 500 words. probably.) i’m also gonna assume you’ve seen this episode, because i don’t wanna recap it. if you haven’t, go watch it! tbh, it’s well worth it (my favorite chibs era episode, just ahead of the haunting of villa diodati and demons of the punjab)

Now, um, obviously this episode is political. It’s the in-your-face without down-your-throat type of political we know and love. Still, media can be a direct allegory that wouldn’t bother the average viewer while still having politics that are good, bad, or somewhere in the middle (I mean this extremely subjectively). First, I’d like to address the elephant in the room:

While a Doctor Who festive special would normally film in the summer, this time the episode was filmed well ahead in winter 2019, over a year before it was due to be broadcast in a bid to include it within filming for series 12 (which aired from January to March) and give cast a longer break.

- The Radio Times

I’ve noticed some people pointing out that the episode references the protests that happened this summer. Honestly, I’d love it if that was the intention behind the episode, because then maybe Chris Chibnall’s team really does have a TARDIS, and we can all just time travel out of this mess.

[ID: An image from “Revolution of the Daleks.” A very sleek Dalek stands in front of police who have riot shields. The air is foggy, possibly gaseous. End ID.] However, the protests from this summer and the episode itself do not exist inside a bubble. Police brutality did not come into existence this summer, and it did not end with the autumn equinox. The episode, while featuring a small-scale protest that was eerily reminiscent of the large BLM protests this year, chooses to focus instead on one of the roots of the issue: somehow, capitalism.

I can’t say how purposeful the anti-capitalist messaging in the episode was. Obviously, Jack Robertson is meant to be an American capitalist caricature. Not to mention, Doctor Who is a family-friendly show: you can’t get too overt with what can be considered “radical” coding. Nonetheless, the episode tackles the connection between policing and money, and thus inherently comments on capitalism. 

The Dalek itself only exists to support the police force because Prime Minister Patterson knows that the idea of security will appeal to her constituency. Simultaneously, it could not exist if Robertson didn’t know just how profitable it would be. As they preach security, they create chaos. More importantly, the security they preach is one that bases itself on profit--similar to the weapons of the policeforce, and the prison industrial complex. As a result, the “security” inevitably fails.

[ID: Prime Minister Patterson, in a red coat, listens to Jack Robertson and Leo, in dark neutral-toned clothes both. They stand in front of a brick wall as they discuss the new Dalek plans. End ID.] Unfortunately, while the show presents a clear stance against money in policing, there is never any direct call to action. The political allegory may be straightforward and obvious, but the solution at the end is just to end the Daleks, and watch as Robertson announces his run for President (which, by the way, is very reminiscent of Trump, who does exist in-universe, so that’s weird). Regardless of all that, why am I even talking about this? Well, on the one hand, I love talking about these sorts of things. On the other hand, this post has started to sound like nothing but a rant with some pictures. Earlier, I said that this was something I noticed in a lot of media. For instance, I think of “The Boys,” with its obvious anti-capitalist and anti-military industrial complex messaging. At the same time, the show offers no solutions. Both are afraid of the obvious solution to capitalism: replacing it. To be clear, I say this as a person who is unsure about capitalism. I don’t know where I stand. Like I said, I’m a teenager. However, these shows can’t seem to make a decision either, when they're made by big companies with big budgets and professional adults. Politics in popular media tends to fit perfectly with the popular politics of the time, given that media must do so in order to make profit. Hence, similar to the media we consume, so many individuals seem to recognize that there’s something off with the hand money has in politics, and war, and security, yet no one seems to look for solutions.  Personally, I love talking about politics in the media, and analyzing media in general, because it’s the best way for me to communicate my internal thoughts. Meanwhile, I don’t even know my own internal thoughts. This post’s very existence is ironic. I had said in a very awful post that I wanted to write this when the tag was still trending, because I, in part, want someone else to do the thinking for me. I want people to see this and go, “well, okay, here’s where you’re wrong,” or, “here’s what we do about it.” Do I then have a responsibility to know what I’m talking about? Is the discourse all that matters? Does the media as a whole have to propel revolutionary ideas to get them into the social conscience, or can it just open up discussion?  There is, of course, irony in shows that could only exist in a capitalist world degrading aspects of that system. But no one, not even me, is exempt from the fact that these ideas do not exist in a bubble. The show’s protests look eerily familiar because, as this summer has proven, those protests are profitable (see literally every ad from companies that own sweatshops talking about how much they care about races they don’t represent in their board of directors). At the same time, I exist in that capitalist world, and my opinions have been formed via the capitalist media I was raised with. tl;dr: i know literally nothing. im sure of literally nothing. help, someone tell me about the politics of doctor who. wow, this was a really sad tl;dr, i normally make a shitty joke here. um, uh, EXTERMINATE

[star-anise]

I think I am having vicarious stress about how immagrint families are being treated at the American border too. Also other horrors happening in America though I live in Canada. How do you cope with that? If this question is annoying or personal you dont have to answer. Is it weird to feel post election stress after the 2016 election although I am not American? I heard American college kids had almost ptsd levels of trauamtic stress after the election in America.

It’s funny, today I was on the phone with a grad school friend who does front-line crisis mental health work in the USA, and grew up being heavily involved in the Democratic Party. She said, “I have such an issue with this rhetoric now, like, ‘don’t look away.’ Bitch, I haven’t looked away for two years. I’m fucking exhausted.” Because things like that are intended for the people who do look away, who are conservative and apathetic, but often they only reach an audience that is already engaged with the issue, and they land like hammers on people already trying their hardest.

And yes, freaking out about the shit that goes down in the USA is a fine old Canadian tradition. To quote Pierre Trudeau’s 1969 comments to the US president at the time: “Living next to you is in some ways like sleeping with an elephant. No matter how friendly and even-tempered is the beast, if I can call it that, one is affected by every twitch and grunt.”

(And Canadian politics are definitely negatively affected by the USA. My province just lost its NDP government because its Conservatives “aren’t as bad as those crazies down south!” and I have a sinking feeling the Cons will cakewalk to federal victory too in October)

You might also notice that on my blog, I post about political issues in only a small number of cases: 1) I have a unique observation I think needs to be added to the world, 2) It’s an issue I genuinely haven’t seen covered yet, and I know people who would want to know; 3) It’s a feel-good story meant to comfort people who are fighting the good fight; 4) It’s advertising an immediate, low-barrier thing people can do right away to directly affect the situation; 5) It’s a resource to help those fighters be better activists. And I do my best to always tag political posts with a standard set of tags to let people ignore them, so if somebody wants, they can follow me and just get my cats’n’fandom content.

The audience I usually have in mind when I blog are people like my friends: Smart, compassionate people committed to social activism, but without limitless amounts of money, health, time, or attention. Some of the people who follow my blog are DC lobbyists directly fighting the Trump administration’s policies. Some of them are crisis workers and EMTs and librarians and deal with the ragged edges of human existence in today’s society. I know I don’t have the nerves or capacity to be their news source; they can follow anyone else on Tumblr for that. So what I try to be is the friendly cat cafe they can go to at the end of a long shift to relax.

My response is really guided by a blog I followed a lot when 9/11 happened; I was following it to learn about getting published as a fantasy author, but its authors were New Yorkers and socialists and military veterans, and they had a lot to say about the false witch hunt for a justification for starting a war in Iraq in 2003 and the slow erosion of rights and freedoms of Americans and “enemy” POWs and the incredible damage the American war machine does when it gets going.

They’re not blogging as much now, but when Trump was elected, they released two posts that I found to be deeply useful:

Defense in Depth - Tl;dr: It is important that those of us in resistance to the world’s outrages don’t attack each other for having different priorities, because we need a diversity of targets and approaches.

Taking It Back - Tl;dr: Our enemies WANT us to be overwhelmed and horrified and frozen in shock and catatonic. That is a deliberate tactic they use. Whenever we seem to catch our breath, they create a new outrage for us to get upset over. We need to learn how to set our own pace, resist the lie that you have to be upset and horrified all the time, and focus on taking care of yourself.

I’m also really affected by Rebecca Solnit’s book “Hope in the Dark” where she points out that activist movements have two effects. The first is to influence whatever issue they’re actually agitating about. The second is to give people the tools and experience they need to become citizens who change their societies in deep and enduring ways.

One part of the problem is finding ways that you can make the world better that feel really concrete and achievable. That’s a whole other discussion, that depends a lot on what you’re good at, what your resources are, what you’re capable of. People feel a lot less terrified if there’s something they know they can do. 

But even once you’ve figured out how you’re fighting to make the world better in some small way, you probably can’t do it 24/7; you’ve got to keep mentally resilient the rest of the time.

So what do I do to cope?

I focus on easy-to-do, ordinary hobbies that bring me joy, especially ones that get me off my computer and out of my head. I garden; I just bought a bike; I’m getting my sewing room back in order so I can go back to making costumes and working on the @betterbinderproject.

I make sure I keep social connections where we can relax and enjoy each other. That means being codependent with my cat, babysitting my nieces and nephews, exploring my local bi/pan meetups, going to historical re-enactment events, texting with my friends about Tumblr drama, talking to my colleagues during slack moments at work, and enjoying the fandoms and fanworks that bring me joy.

I do my best to look after my physical wellbeing. Which for me means stretching, yoga, taking my psych meds and vitamins, taking painkillers, looking after my cuticles, using moisturizer, braiding my hair, getting massages, and always making sure there’s a cake in the kitchen. My emphasis isn’t whether I’ll get some disease 30 years from now; it’s making sure that inhabiting my body today is the least unpleasant that it has to be.

I try to look after myself; I go to therapy, look for jobs, keep up on my business paperwork, budget my money, work on upgrading my skills, and develop my 5-year plan. I work really hard on doing this without being stressed, because my habit of procrastinating and only getting around to this stuff when I’m in abject terror isn’t good.

I also, and this feels weird to say or suggest, try to educate myself on issues that are not the crisis du jour. I watch TV shows about the Russian revolution, listen to books about Indigenous language reclamation, read the diary of a World War II servicewoman. This isn’t an attempt to expand my list of crises to worry about, but because I find my ability to cope with the present immeasurably helped by knowing that people have faced other, different crises, and how they dealt with them. It’s… background research in resilience. With the added bonus that it helps me stay intersectional and aware of when we might be only seeing the most privileged part of a crisis situation.

[globe-trotter-80]

Stories of a Linguistics Minor in Customer Service During a Pandemic

A key component of any service industry job is being able to alter your tone, word choice, and other aspects of communication depending on the customer. Subtle manipulation, it may be, but my experience this past year has proven it a necessary skill. Linguistic anthropology offers a way to explain the differences both in the question’s phrasing and the responses from customers based on gender, ideology, age, and other factors. By drawing conclusions from my own experiences, I hope to highlight how these factors influence certain responses from customers. 

“Hello! Can I offer you a mask?”

A simple question, right? You would think so, wouldn’t you? However, if the past year has proven anything, it is that anything can become political.  In the 2020 election, my county voted 53% Biden to 45% Trump, though Trump had more support in the suburbs where my store was located. If there was a Venn Diagram of anti-maskers and Trump supporters in my area, it would almost be a circle. There are two stories that demonstrate how being an anti-masker is automatically associated with being a Trump-supporting Republican. 

The first example came from one middle-aged woman who came into guest services to make a return. She did not have a mask on and seemed not to notice this until halfway through our interaction when she froze and immediately exclaimed, “Oh! I forgot my mask! I swear I’m not a Republican!” We then gave her a mask as she continued to apologize and swear to us that she was not an anti-masker. In her mind, to not wear a mask signified one was a Republican, which makes sense given the area we live in. My coworkers and I were grateful she realized this herself and we were not forced to ask her to wear one because, as a whole, we’ve had terrible experiences, as you will see. 

One example of a less than stellar interaction was with a middle-aged man wearing a Blue Lives Matter shirt, who when asked if he needed a mask, responded that no, he would not be needing a mask, because he was not an idiot. Now, this is an interesting response for two reasons. First, if there was any correlation between wearing a mask and intelligence, you would think wearing a mask would signify higher intelligence. Apparently not to this man. Furthermore, his response indicated he thought I was an idiot for wearing a mask. Second, Blue Lives Matter is associated with the Republican party, especially in response to the Black Lives Matter movement’s growing support. Because of this association, I concluded that this man was a Republican and any further attempt to persuade him would be futile and could potentially evolve into an altercation. Therefore, I did as I was instructed by my superiors to do- I let him walk off with no mask. 

This story also highlights another aspect of linguistic anthropology that I want to highlight- the importance of gender in the way conversation is instructed. As a twenty year old girl with coworkers that tend to also be young women, we are accustomed to the attitude some men tend to give us. Men as customers tend to talk down to employees, especially female employees, through interrupting (Dent, Parallelism and Gender). Moreover, there have been times when it seems they simply disregard any instructions in favor of doing it their way, which is normally completely wrong (Dent, Parallelism and Gender). This behavior is also seen in response to the question asking men to put on a mask, regardless of ideology. 

For example, a younger man came in without a mask on. I could not be sure if he subscribed to a particular political ideology, but I could tell you he did not respect female service workers. In response to asking him to put on a mask, he instead said, “No, I’m good. And you shouldn’t wear one either--” Here, he paused for dramatic effect, before continuing, “You’re too pretty to cover up half your face.” Now, I cannot say for sure whether or not he would have said this to my male coworkers, but I have a feeling “pretty” would not be his word of choice. Additionally, I am still not sure what his goal was when he said that other than to make me uncomfortable. He effectively used his position as a man and as a customer to demean me as a woman and an employee. However, I concede that he still would have said no to a mask, even if a male coworker had asked instead.

Service industry employees, regardless of gender, tend to utilize “women’s speech” as defined by sociolinguist Robin Lakoff (186). These include:

Tag questions in place of declaratives

Empty adjectives such as cute or charming

Hedges such as sort of, kind of, and I guess

Intensifiers such as so and very

Sounds to indicate sympathy or listening

Generally “indirect” forms.

Because of these phrases and forms of speech, men tend to register this as being indecisive or hesitant, which leads to the interrupting and/or disregarding of instructions. However, in the case of the customer-employee relationship, I assert that female customers are also likely to interrupt employees. 

In this next story, a fairly old, albeit spry, woman came up to guest services and began her story with “Now I just wanted you to hear it from me first before they made it up here.” This woman was a proud mask-wearer and made sure to make that explicitly clear to me, my coworker, and my manager, who she insisted we call over. It turns out that she had made this opinion also clear to a family of anti-maskers by taking a Nerf Gun and shooting the children in the head. My female manager frequently hummed sounds of sympathy and nodded her head at all the right moments to indicate she was listening. My manager said, “I kind of see your point” and “I guess I understand where you’re coming from” and “No, they were being very disruptive.” Each time, my manager would start a sentence, this woman would just keep interrupting to continue her rant about anti-maskers. In the end, she made the statement that all these anti-maskers must have been raped at gunpoint. How she connected that to confessing she shot two kids with a nerf gun, I am still not sure, but she continually interrupted my manager, just as male customers continually interrupted me. It seems that my manager’s authority in this case is superseded by the customer’s authoritative tone.

Authority in terms of linguistic anthropology is interesting in a customer service frame. Knowing what I do and don’t have the authority to say is a delicate balancing act, even more so with my managers. So, when there is already the precarious position of talking to a customer and there is the addition of a highly charged political issue during an election year, there is sure to be some ambiguity on who has the authority and when. Technically, Target is ‘doing its best to enforce state and local regulations concerning mask wearing,’ but this is merely corporate jargon used to deflect blame for sick employees and keep customers happy. This mindset is then passed from corporate to middle management to entry-level employees. At the end of the day, my job is to make customers happy. 

So, what happens when one customer is upset over people not wearing masks and another customer is upset over having to wear a mask, such as in the example above? Most disgruntled customers do not turn to Nerf Guns, but instead track down the nearest employee to make their opinion clear. Both sides seem to believe that employees are completely on their side and, more importantly, have some control over how store policy is enforced. Despite this idea, I and other entry-level employees do not have any real authority over other customers’ actions. The extent of my authority when it comes to mask-wearing is changing how I ask customers to wear one, but I cannot force them to wear one. My managers’ authority is also limited; they can essentially only ask people to wear one and attempt to explain to concerned customers why their hands are tied. 

In my experience, when I try to give the illusion of authority, I tend to adjust my manner of speaking and leverage the frame of the customer-employee relationship (Dent, The Monologic). Factors like confidence and force have impacted the successfulness of asking someone to wear a mask. Additionally, by attempting to emphasize my position as part of the company rather than a low-level employee, I can give the appearance of representing the company and its interests. By doing this, I subconsciously shift away from “women’s speech” as addressed early by being very direct in my speech and actions. While it is never entirely effective, I take comfort in knowing that I am doing my best to enforce regulations and protect not only myself and my coworkers, but other customers as well. Though some may find gratification in having manipulated customers into complying with certain actions despite using “women’s speech”, I find it to be counterproductive to my goal and hardly empowering (Hall, 1995). By consciously choosing to embody more masculine ways of talking and giving myself more authority in my tone and word choice, I am trying to assert agency over my linguistic patterns in order to obtain a specific goal: to get more people to wear a mask (Zimman, 2019).  Another point of note is how I use specific words to index that I am asking on behalf of the company and others by using “we” versus “I”. By shifting to third-person pronouns, I can leverage my authority in a way that seems like others support me, even if Target seems to barely care about enforcing their mask policy. 

When it comes to balancing the different identity factors of guests and answering the question of just how much authority do I have, asking people if they could wear a mask is a daunting task. Some of my coworkers have given up trying to enforce our policy whatsoever, which makes sense given the political affiliations of my area, while others, such as myself, are still trying our best to weather this pandemic. Certain phrases and attitudes seem to have some effect on the efficacy of carrying out our policy, but I have needed to be careful of knowing the boundary. Given that men tend to automatically disregard me as a woman, especially if I use “women’s speech,” I have started to utilize more direct speech with male customers. Some still ignore me, of course, but it is amusing to see them stare at the ceiling so they cannot make eye contact with me. With women, there are less cases of anti-maskers, but they tend to make more complaints about either violations or attempt to gain sympathy for “having to endure wearing a stuffy mask.” In response, I do tend to use more “women’s speech,” in order to make them feel as though they are being heard and their concerns are valid. However, in the end, my authority is what I am relying on to get more people to comply with our mask policy. It is fascinating to see aspects of linguistic anthropology at work in my daily life and how I can use my knowledge to positively impact my community.

By: Savannah, A Very Tired Target Employee

[wanderingcas]

Safe and Sound. Commission for @starsmish 3.5k words

. . . 

Castiel leans back against the wall adjacent to the men’s bathroom, looking down at the watch-face poking out of his sleeve. People stare at him curiously as they filter in and out of the restrooms. Castiel smiles politely back, all the while keeping his eyes trained for a specific face: one with bright green eyes, a jawline that Castiel is positive would cut glass, and dusty blonde hair. 

He was assigned to Dean Winchester approximately two weeks ago. What Castiel originally thought was going to be a low-key assignment, protecting Lawrence’s newly-appointed councilman is turning out to be one of his more difficult cases. 

The first red flag is that Dean’s family hired Castiel without informing Dean at all. According to the family, Dean had been receiving death threats from an alt-right group so cleverly named “the Trumpers” because of Dean’s very liberal agenda in his politics. The family was concerned. Castiel assumed that Dean was also concerned. 

But when Castiel walked into the room and saw Dean for the first time, saw the equal parts of surprised and pissed off look on Dean’s face: that was Castiel’s second red flag. 

He checks his watch again. It’s been 20 minutes. 

“Goddammit.” Castiel pivots and swings through the bathroom door. He opens each empty stall. He does a useless circle around the empty bathroom. 

“God damn it,” he says again, voice echoing off the tiles.

. . . 

It isn’t hard to find Dean, as the workaholic councilman is parked where he usually is: his office.

Castiel smacks a styrofoam cup onto Dean’s desk. Drops of cold coffee spring to liberate themselves through the plastic lid’s opening. “You forgot this.” 

Dean’s eyes barely leave his computer screen. “Mm,” he replies. He picks it up; sips. Grimaces. “That’s disgusting.” 

Sitting in a chair across from Dean’s desk, Castiel says, “Yes, Dean. That’s because it’s cold. Because you left it. Hours ago.” 

“Huh,” Dean says.

“When you left a location without informing me,” Castiel continues to explain. “Again.” Dean still doesn’t look up. “That’s dangerous,” Castiel adds.

“Uh-huh.” 

Castiel kicks the desk with the toe of his foot, making it rattle. “Are you even listening to me?” 

Dean finally takes his hands off the keyboard, folds them in front of him. “Cas. I have more important things to do than listen to you bitch about how you failed at your job. Again.”

“You can’t keep running away from me,” Castiel says tightly. “I can’t keep you safe if you’re constantly running away.”

Dean leans back in his chair, laces his fingers behind his head. “I dunno, I’d call it more like… walking briskly. Not my fault that you’re too slow.” 

“I was waiting for you.” 

“Huh. Didn’t see you.” 

“I was waiting,” Castiel continues, leaning forward, “as I was all the other times when you’ve attempted to ditch me. During that press conference on Wednesday, at every grocery store you go into, at the restaurant last night—” 

“Well, you being on my date was a little weird, to be fair,” Dean says.

“Dean.” Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose. “You hired me to protect you. I can’t do that if you won’t allow me to do so.” 

“My family hired you,” Dean corrects, “and based on some stupid disorganized Trump fanatic group that couldn’t even find their own ass if it was handed to them. Nothing’s gonna happen, okay? I’m keeping you around to make my brother chill out. That’s it. I don’t need your damn protection.” 

“I disagree,” Castiel says. “I’ve been monitoring tagged posts with your Twitter username, and some of them are violent death threats. From multiple extremist groups. Additionally, you did a very poor job at hiding the letter you received that depicted a very graphic drawing of you getting eaten alive by hellhounds.” 

“But that’s all they are, Cas,” Dean says. “Threats. Nothing’s actually happened. You’ve been up my butt for weeks; have you seen anyone stalking me? Confronting me personally?” At Castiel’s reluctant dissenting head shake, Dean says, “See? It’s fine. Nothing to worry about.” 

Castiel hasn’t known Dean long, but he can identify three qualities in him: stubborn, handsome, and fiercely loyal to his family. Castiel straightens in his chair and plays his last hand “Elections are coming up,” he says. “That’s when people get most heated. And if you’re ignoring the seriousness of the situation, there may be an attack on you that could get multiple people hurt if it’s not intercepted. Like the woman you were on a date with last night.” Castiel takes a breath, attempts to hit home. “Or your family.” 

It has the desired effect: Dean’s face becomes stormy and still. He slowly points a finger at Castiel, jabbing with it in the air. “Don’t you dare bring my family into this.” 

“I am not doing so. The people who are threatening your life will.” 

Dean sits, stone-faced, until an unheard noise makes Dean snap to attention. “All right, Cas. You wanna play it like that? Then here’s what I think: you’re bad at your job. It’s why you work as an independent contractor who costs next to nothing to hire. You’re shitty at your profession, and you’re blaming me for it. I’m not a ninja, and yet I slip past you every goddamn time. You think that’s a coincidence?” 

Castiel clenches the fabric of his pants, bunched at the knees, willing himself not to take the bait. “If this whole thing is some sort of ridiculous self-punishment—”

“Where the hell did you pull that out of your ass?” Dean scoffs.

“—from that attack last year that hurt your brother, instead of you, because he got caught in the crossfire—”

Dean says, voice raised and sharp, “Don’t you dare bring that up, you son of a—”

“You could really get hurt, Dean!” Castiel shouts above him. “This isn’t a damn game. No matter what your problem is with me, or with having protection in the first place, you have to face the facts.” 

They stare at each other in a moment of silent standoff. The hallway beyond Dean’s office’s open door has gone tensely quiet. 

Dean stands and pushes his chair back harder than necessary. “I did a little digging on you too,” he says, a little too calmly. “You were fired from the former Secretary of State’s detail because you made a mistake on the job. It’s classified, obviously, but I’m willing to bet it had to do with that bomb making its way to the East Wing. Am I on the right track?” 

Castiel clenches his jaw. “The whole security detail was fired,” he says. “Not just me.” 

There’s a flicker in Dean’s expression—a softness that Castiel had not seen yet from him—but it’s gone as fast as it occurred. He replaces it with a condescending smile. “Pretty hard to protect anyone properly after that piss-poor mistake, huh?” 

Something in Castiel’s chest splinters. “All right,” he snaps, the backs of his knees smacking the chair as he stands. “Message received. I’ll resign from protecting you, effective immediately. You won’t be hearing from me again.” 

“Peachy,” Dean shoots back. He falls back into his chair, trains his eyes once again onto the computer screen again. 

Castiel has his hand on the knob, clenching it so hard it could shatter. “Whatever your opinion of me is; I hope you think about what I said.” He turns the knob sharply against the silence behind him, says, “I don’t want to see you get hurt,” before slamming the door behind him.

He takes the stairs that are down the hall from Dean’s office. His feet hitting the metal stairs echo sharply in the empty space. Striding through the lobby of the office building, he narrowly avoids connecting shoulders with a group of men who are walking quickly in the other direction.

When he gets outside, he doesn’t know what to do. He pulls his scarf against the wind. As is the theme of the week, people look at him strangely as he stands there, staring down at the sidewalk. The sun begins to slump in the sky. 

“Idiot,” he says to the ground, as if to explain. “He’s a goddamn idiot.” 

Despite this, he knows he has to go back in. 

He’s clenching and unclenching his hands, indecisive, until his phone begins vibrating violently in his coat pocket. He scrambles to take it out with his stiff fingers and pulls off a glove with his teeth so he can hit the green button on the touchscreen. “Hello?” 

“Cas—” says Dean’s voice, cut off by something that sounds like static. 

Castiel holds the phone closer to his ear, listening intently. “Dean? Hello?” 

“Cas—” says Dean’s voice, again, this time more desperate. It sounds like some sort of fabric is being rubbed against the receiver, making the connection fuzzy. A few odd thuds are heard over the receiver. 

“Dean, what’s going on? Where are you?” He hears Dean’s voice again, but this time it’s not forming a word—more like a cry. The realization of what’s happening dumps over Castiel like cold water. 

“Fuck,” Castiel says. 

Like a shot out of a gun, he whips around and bolts through the revolving doors. He holds the phone to his ear like a lifeline with one hand, pushing people out of the way with the other. “Dean, hang on!” he shouts into the phone. “I’m coming, just hang on! Call the police, tell them to come to office 202!” he barks at the bewildered doorman as he sprints by. 

He was only gone for ten minutes, he thinks desperately. Or twenty. How long was he standing outside?

Castiel dashes into the stairwell he used earlier to leave. As he begins sprinting up the stairs, he hears the grunts and thuds he heard over the phone become a reality.

Castiel throws his phone aside and increases his speed, taking two stairs at a time. He sees a group of men all huddled around one broken one. He jumps at the back of one of the men, barely slowing his sprint, knocking him to the ground. 

Seeing Dean bleeding and curled up on the ground brings out something primal in Castiel. He kicks a man over the railing, barely hearing the thump that follows. He punches a man with one fist and pivots to scissor-chop a man’s neck with the other. Castiel barely sees how many people there even are, barely stacks the odds in the fight: he just knows that Dean is in danger, Dean needs to be helped, Dean needs protection. 

Among the chaos, Dean has teetered to his feet and is fighting beside Castiel, landing the occasional second blow after Castiel deals the real damage. Castiel grabs Dean by the arm, leading him toward the door that opens to the hallway. He fumbles for his taser, aiming and firing at a man running toward them. 

“Go to your office and lock the door,” Castiel tells Dean, already pushing him into the hallway. He sees an argument in Dean’s eyes; Castiel barks, “Go!” 

. . . 

In the end, one man against six is a bit stacked, even for a trained bodyguard. He’s caught in a headlock and can barely see out of his left eye by the time the police arrive. 

As soon as his neck is free, the police shouting at the assailants to get on the ground around him, he stumbles into the light of the hallway and runs toward Dean’s office. 

He finds Dean with the EMTs, a blanket being put around his shoulders, a stretcher prepared for him to be taken to an ambulance downstairs. 

Castiel stands in the doorway, waves off the medic trying to treat him. “Focus on the councilman,” he snaps. 

Castiel walks beside the stretcher as they wheel Dean out of the building; Castiel can tell that Dean is pretty hurt since he barely protests to the special treatment. 

When Dean reaches for Castiel’s hand, he decides that Dean is downright delusional; nonetheless he grabs Dean’s hand tightly, refusing to let go during the whole ambulance ride to the hospital. 

. . . 

“Cas.” 

Castiel raises his head from where it’s cradled in his hands. His delirious mind mistakes the voice for Dean’s; a few blinks into the fluorescent hospital lights confirms that it’s Sam Winchester looming before him. 

He feels a whole new wave of shame overtake him. “Sam.” Castiel wipes a shaking hand over his face. “God. I don’t know how to—” He stutters out a breath. “How is he?” 

Sam sits in the plastic chair next to Castiel’s. “He’s stable. A few broken ribs, concussion… nothing too serious, though. They’re going to keep him overnight for observation.” 

Castiel nods. He can’t sit still, has a weird tremor in his leg. “I am so sorry,” he whispers. 

“How long have you been here?” Sam asks. 

It’s a ridiculous question that Castiel couldn’t care less about the answer to. “I don’t know. What time is it?” 

“They brought Dean in six hours ago,” Sam says. “I got on a flight as soon as you called me.” 

Castiel nods numbly. He doesn’t even remember that phone call. Or where his phone is now. 

“Cas.” Sam puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder; he flinches at the touch. “Have you had anyone look at you?” 

“There was a nurse,” Castiel says. He vaguely points to his swollen left eye. “Stitches.” He can’t meet the younger Winchester’s eyes. It makes no sense that Sam’s being gentle or caring to someone who so tragically and stupidly let his older brother down. If anything, Sam should be shoving lawsuit papers underneath Castiel’s nose.

“They arrested all the guys that attacked him,” Sam says. He huffs a laugh. “Although the majority of them had to be hospitalized, too, after the number you did on them.” 

Castiel clears his throat against the scratchiness that’s rising up in it. “Dean fought back, too.” 

Sam chuckles, shakes his head. “Of course he did.” 

They sit in silence, as nurses and white coats and stretchers scurry by. Castiel keeps his eyes on the scuffed linoleum floor that’s yellowed with age.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sam says, shattering the silence. 

Sharply rising to his feet, Castiel says, “Don’t.” 

Sam stands with him. “Seriously, Cas, it wasn’t. Dean was being difficult. He ignored the dangers—and you can probably tell by now how freaking stubborn he is. I’m honestly surprised you lasted this long with him.” 

“I should have stayed by his side, no matter how much he complained,” Castiel says. “It’s part of the job. I didn’t do my due diligence, I didn’t protect him, I didn’t even see this attack coming—”

“Cas, whoa, slow down.” Sam puts a hand on his shoulder again, pulls him to face him. “These guys that attacked Dean aren’t even an alt-right group that was contacting him with those death threats. It was a completely random attack. They saw Dean go into the building and they impulsively decided to go in.” He looks imploringly at Castiel. “I don’t blame you, not even for a minute. And neither does Dean.” 

Castiel feels something thrum through him. “He’s awake?” 

“Yeah. And he’s asking for you. That’s why I came out here.” 

“I don’t—” Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t think I can—”

“I think he wants to apologize,” Sam continues, “Which for Dean is … well, frankly, a minor miracle. So don’t pass up this opportunity, okay?” 

Castiel looks for a moment at Sam’s reassuring smile. “I’ll go,” he finally relents. “At the very least to apologize to him.” 

“Whatever makes you two stubborn idiots talk to each other,” Sam says with a gentle pat on Castiel’s back. 

Dean’s hospital room is a private room with a security guard stationed in front of it. Castiel doesn’t meet the guard’s eyes as he walks in. 

Dean is on the bed, hunched over a sprawl of papers on his lap. He’s shirtless, bandages wrapped around his bare torso.

Castiel stands there for a moment, mouth open, staring at the scene. “What the ever-loving hell are you doing?” 

Dean looks up. “Hey, Cas,” he says with a lopsided grin. 

“‘Hey, Cas’?” Castiel spits out. “Are you kidding me? You’re doing work?” Dean opens his mouth to argue, barely gets a word out before Castiel is striding over to him and snatching the papers from him, dumping them on the floor. “And you shouldn’t be half-naked in a hospital where you can catch a cold,” Castiel continues, snapping Dean’s hospital gown in the air before depositing it on his head. “Put that on.” 

“Jesus, fine,” Dean tentatively putting his arms through the sleeves, wincing at the disturbed bruises on his skin. “I didn’t realize Sam hired a nanny instead of a bodyguard.” 

Castiel sits in the chair adjacent to the bed, bristling. “I won’t have you getting hurt on my watch again, Dean,” he snaps. “Not for the last few hours I’m in your employment.” 

Dean blinks. “Are you quitting?” 

Castiel looks at him incredulously. 

“Okay, yeah. Well, I probably owe you an explanation.” Dean shifts minutely in his bed. “And an apology.” 

Seeing Dean vulnerable deflates Castiel from any anger. “No, I have to apologize. If I had been there—”

“But you weren’t, because I pushed you away, Cas. The things I said to you…” Dean rubs at the eye that’s not bandaged, huffing out a sigh. “I said those awful things because I knew pissing you off wouldn’t make you go away; hurting you would. I know how to find people’s weak spots and apply pressure. It’s why I’m in politics I guess.” 

“It’s not like the things you said to me weren’t true,” Castiel says softly. “You’re right in that I did get fired. That I failed at my job. Similarly to how I failed at this one.” 

“No, Cas, that’s not it. You’re human, okay? But I just—” Dean pauses. Frowns down at his hands clasped over the thin, blue hospital blanket. “Sam was attacked last year. You know that. He didn’t get hurt, but—those people were after me. And I didn’t protect him. My whole life, it’s just been me and Sam against the world. I always protected him, kept him safe, and last year I realized that I just… can’t anymore.” He laughs, but it’s humorless. “It was fucking depressing.” 

Castiel blames it on the lack of sleep when his hand reaches out and gently grasps Dean’s arm. “Dean…” 

“And then Sam hires you because he thinks that I can’t take care of myself, and I just saw red. I saw you as this, I dunno,” Dean waves a hand in Castiel’s direction, “physical manifestation of everything I can’t do: take care of Sam or even myself from a bunch of crazy lunatics. I took it out on you. And I’m sorry.” 

Tightening his grip on Dean’s arm, Castiel says, “I shouldn’t have left you.” 

“It’s not your fault, Cas. Seriously. I don’t blame you for a second.” Dean wraps the hospital gown tighter around himself. “I blame myself, for being a coward. Not really facing the dangers that are out there.” 

Castiel shakes his head. “Dean—”

“I know there’s bad people on both sides,” Dean says, words rushing forward. “I just wanted to… I dunno. Be one of the good guys. Be brave.” 

“You are brave,” Castiel says. “You’re assertive in your beliefs, you don’t back down from your opinions just because someone dissents. That’s brave.” 

Dean shrugs, pondering on that for a minute. The heart rate monitor beats a steady thrum in the silence. “That means a lot,” he finally says. 

“Good. Because it’s true.” Castiel adds, firmly, “And protecting you has been an honor.” 

There’s a rise of color on Dean’s cheeks; he chuckles, “Jesus, Cas, buy me dinner first.” 

Castiel smiles. He pulls his hand back; as he does, Dean grabs it, just as firmly and decisively as he did while riding in the ambulance just hours before. 

“I’ve been an ass,” Dean says, “and I would understand if you don’t want to. But honestly, Cas, I want you around.” 

Castiel tries to take his hand back, but Dean holds tighter. “No, Dean. I think you’re incorrect. I wouldn’t keep you safe, I’d just—”

“I was safe until I pushed you away,” Dean says. 

Castiel can’t argue with that. He looks away from Dean’s green eyes are imploring. “I suppose that’s true,” he admits.

“I won’t do that again,” Dean says, “seriously. I’ll let you do your job. If I promise not to keep trying to dodge you, and at least, uh—try to be less stubborn and make your life easier… would you—” 

It’s the lack of sleep, Castiel thinks, it must be, because his mouth is moving and is interrupting Dean to say, “Yes.” 

Dean gapes at him. “You really want to—”

“Yes,” Castiel says again. More sure this time. He squeezes Dean’s hand tighter. “If you promise not to leave me standing in front of bathrooms again as you climb through the windows, then yes, I will stay. Keep you safe.” 

The smile Dean gives Castiel is blinding and beautiful, and if Castiel were hooked up to that heart rate monitor, it would be going wild, giving him away. It’s the first real one that Castiel’s since he started protecting Dean.

“I promise, Cas.” 

[liskantope]

Okay, I’ve really reached my limit. I need to take a break from social media and try to stay away from Tumblr discussions on the current political crisis and even the pandemic crisis. [Below I briefly describe some things that are affecting my mental health badly and so would be kind of a hypocrite not to content-warn for that here! Also, content warning for privileged whining.]

At the beginning of this year, I deleted my phone’s Facebook app and found myself away from it for days at a time and that was going great. When social isolation started I slipped back into the habit of going on there all the time, in order to feel more connected with other humans. But anyone reading my posts of the past few days will see evidence that it’s not currently healthy for me. I have been seeing the biggest freak-out on social media that I’ve ever seen outside of the 24-hour period in which Trump got elected. I can’t scroll through much of what people are saying without getting the stomach-churning sensation that my country is starting to burst apart at the seams. Some people are talking about a civil war and other calamities of that magnitude. There is similar talk here on Tumblr. The person advocating the take given in the third bulletpoint I wrote in this post (possibly the most intellectually honest and best-reasoned person on my newsfeed nowadays) is talking in terms of massive chaos and food shortages because of a resurgence in Covid from the protests, and her boyfriend paints a much more dire picture of a literal apocalypse coming to America -- they invited me to a private Facebook group one of whose purposes is to discuss the logistics of obtaining passports/visas for fleeing the country.

When I think about it, most of my Facebook friends aren’t talking in terms of every aspect of life as we know it falling apart -- it’s just more of the same displays of wokeness that I’m used to on a daily basis anyway but cranked up a few notches. The only time I remember an even bigger onslaught of this was exactly six years ago after the Elliot Rodgers murders, which I actually had a pretty hard time dealing with at the time due to its particular rhetorical content, but that was mainly over one weekend and not in the backdrop of major long-term political and economic turmoil. It’s not making me feel energized or helping me to be a better ally to hear a dozen times a day about how everyone who stays silent about race (as I was) is Part Of The Problem. I posted some links to initiatives for police reform that I will support, and hopefully that does a bit of good -- it’s telling that this garners far less response on Facebook than the average concrete-suggestion-free, hyper-woke post.

I’ve become addicted to checking both Facebook and Tumblr constantly and can’t get my mind off the whole crisis situation (but a lot of it is rumination on what people are saying rather than the situation itself) even when away from my computer. And I’m falling behind on obligations, with research (that I badly need to take this summer as an opportunity to do) plodding at a snail’s pace, and I’m days away from giving a talk at a virtual conference that I haven’t made many preparations for. So yeah, this cycle has to be broken. I’m ordering myself off of Facebook for at least the next week. I’ve never really figured out blocking tags on Tumblr and people here don’t seem to be consistently tagging anyway, but I’m going to try to crank down my Tumblr-browsing to a lull and see if I can become adept at scrolling past the upsetting posts. I might interact with responses to this post but would rather not write anything new relating to current events for a while.

Yes, I’m very privileged that this is one of my main problems right now, and it can be ameliorated just by essentially spending less time on the internet. But it needs to be done.

[arcticdementor]

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that it’s getting harder and harder to be a “white ally” in the service of racial justice. And yet sometimes it actually does take a rocket scientist. U.K. native Nick Berry has lived in Seattle for the past quarter century. Berry is a rocket scientist, like, fer real, man (his degree is in aeronautical and astronautical engineering). Berry’s your standard Seattle white male…Trump bad, masks good, Trump hates science, STEM needs diversity, etc. He’s even done a TEDx talk (a rite of passage in that tribe). In his spare time, he runs a neat little science blog that’s actually quite worth a visit.

Nick Berry is dying of stage IV cancer, and he’s using what little time he has left to give free science lectures at colleges and universities. His politics aside, he seems like a decent enough guy who’s handling his bum deal with humor and dignity.

Last week, Berry was sitting in Seattle’s Ravenna Park minding his own business when a large, “muscular” black man started beating the living crap out of him. No provocation, no reason at all. White man sitting quietly in park = “that ofay devil be needin’ a beatdown.” Berry had to be rushed to the ER.

…

A white scientist battling cancer gets beaten half to death in a public park, and his first reaction (and the first reaction of his friends) is to be a black “ally.” We’ve reached the point where “allyship” has become the No. 1 priority of the average white American. A higher priority than family, employment, or even physical safety and well-being.

The problem is, blacks don’t seem to be very interested in white allyship at the moment.

…

The unbearable agony of the white ally was experienced firsthand by a guy I covered in this column two weeks ago. Dr. Brian Richardson is an Alabama urologist who, along with another doctor, hatched the greatest, most amazing plan in the history of white saviorism: White doctors should wear black scrubs because the sight of a doctor wearing fabric that sorta looks like black skin will make blacks feel good about themselves or good about whites or something along those lines (the details are fuzzy). #BlackScrubsForBlackLives day was Aug. 28, and even with heavy promotion from the national news media, the thing laid such a rancid egg I damn near got salmonellosis reading about it. A search of the #BlackScrubs hashtag shows that the paltry few who “commemorated” the event were Richardson’s fellow white saviors. The tag didn’t even slightly crack “black Twitter.”

Embittered by the tragic reality that he wasn’t spending his big day being carried around like a hero on the shoulders of the Crimson Tide, poor Doc Richardson took out his frustrations by whining to me on Twitter over the course of a couple of hours, seemingly under the impression that his project was sunk by my critical coverage rather than his scheme’s inherent crappiness. And while I generally prefer not to revisit past amusements, Richardson’s impassioned defense of his “allyship” is too good not to use.

…

Again and again in the course of our lengthy exchange, Richardson kept circling back to his “good intentions,” which, he posited, prove his allyship even if his campaign fizzled. But the doc couldn’t grasp the core problem, which is that, broadly speaking, there are two types of black Americans. There are the normal ones, the sane ones, the ones who go about their daily lives uninterested in buffoonery. The ones who would have nothing but derisive laughter for a white man who says, “Hey—I’m wearing a shirt that kinda looks like your skin. Doesn’t that make you feel good about yourself? Aren’t you proud of me?”

The other type of black American is the BLM terrorist thug. They would likely have an even more viscerally negative reaction (à la “Feminista Jones”) to the “I’m wearing your skin!” campaign. BLM’s race hatred, coupled with its paranoia, makes its members highly aware of and hostile to white condescension and pandering. They’d kick Richardson to the curb (and stomp him) in a heartbeat.

That leaves Doc Richardson a savior without a flock. A savior preaching to other saviors.

But there is a path to salvation for whites…there is a perfect way to show allyship with the BLM bullies, thugs, and terrorists. And it ain’t wearing black “skin” or joining protests or putting BLM signs in your yard. It isn’t half measures and good intentions. You want to be a white ally? Here’s the one true way:

The Amy Biehl way.

…

Although the Biehls had no connection to South Africa prior to Amy’s murder, the parents still felt “responsible” for the plight of blacks in that country, because all whites owe all blacks everywhere and for perpetuity. The Biehls decided that the killers were owed the “right” to puree their daughter, and they’ve spent every year since doing everything they can to compensate the murderers for the pain they suffered when their knuckles were tragically bruised against Amy Biehl’s skull.

The Biehls didn’t order a hit on their own daughter, but one could be forgiven for thinking they did, considering the astounding amount of praise they’ve heaped upon her assassins, and how much they’ve crowed about how Amy’s murder made the world a better place by enriching the blacks who offed her.

Now, that’s allyship. And it’s the only kind BLM allows. “Let us rob and terrorize you, let us murder your children. You owe us the right to commit these crimes; take your losses with humility. Don’t prosecute us; reward us. Apologize to us for what we’ve done. Defund the police, and fund us for the privilege of suffering under our fists.”

There is no other type of allyship that BLM seeks. “Let us kill you. Do not hold us accountable or judge us. Ask us to forgive you, and pay us for our troubles.”

As I said at the start of this piece, it takes a rocket scientist (not a urologist). Nick Berry got it, instinctively. He responded to his near-fatal pummeling exactly as whites are supposed to: “I’m terribly sorry my face got in the way of your fists.”

“Thank you, sir, may I have another?”

Welcome to Amy Biehl Nation.