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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years

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Update - Harry Styles

i’ve been deep inmy harry feels and this thought just wouldn’t leave me alone so i had to write it. im thinking about starting a taglist for harry, i think i’ll write more about him in the future. let me know if you’d be interested in the taglist!

word count: ~5.9k

masterlist

Sequel: The best present

Harry is not that into YouTube videos, has never really been, which is kind of ironic seeing the number of videos on the internet that is about him. The man himself who makes everyone talk online feels weird seeing someone talking on his screen, looking into his soul as if they were right there with him. But today he felt the sudden urge to be like his peers and get lost in random rambling videos from strangers, who felt the need to put themselves out there.

He has made a mean cup of tea for himself, made himself comfortable on his couch with his laptop balancing on his thighs and now is opening up his browser to unwind in an unusual way. As YouTube opens in front of his tired eyes, he stops when he tries to type in the keywords he is searching for. What is he looking for really? He thinks to himself trying to remember what he heard from his friends when they talked about funny or interesting videos. One thing is for sure, he is trying to avoid watching videos of himself in any content. He has had enough of him for the day, it’s time to focus on someone else, even if he doesn’t know the person.

He scrolls through several pages of many different keywords until he settles for a video where a girl talks about how her latest moving day went. Starting off Harry feels weird listening to her talk about such personal things as where her bed went in her room, how she packed all her stuff to fit them in the boxes, but soon enough this feeling settles and he starts to realize it’s kind of relaxing.

It doesn’t take too long for him to fall down a rabbit hole and by the time his tea empties out from his cup he is intensely watching a guy rant about his boss at Subway while doing a mukbang. The latter is a new discovery for Harry, he has never heard of it before, but he can see why some people find it satisfying.

The video ends, Harry checks the time and sees that it’s already after midnight and he hasn’t even realized how fast time flew by.

“Alright, just one more,” he mumbles to himself scrolling down the column of the recommended videos until his eyes stop at one particular upload at the very bottom.

July update for my Sammy, ready the title and an eye-catchingly beautiful girl is smiling from the thumbnail. He finds her breathtaking, the lack of makeup, the worn out hoodie she is wearing and the many various plants in the background makes it appear she is sitting in the middle of the forest.

Harry finds himself clicking on the video before he could even decide consciously to watch it. The screen loads and the girl appears in front of him, this time in a much larger size.

“Hi Sammy, welcome back to our channel,” she starts with an angelic little laugh as she pulls her shoulders up to her ears as if the camera is making her shy. She has no reason to be shy, Harry thinks to himself. His second thought is about Sammy, he is one lucky guy to know this angel and have her think about him. “It’s Y/N here, your one and only sister,” she adds.

Sister. The word brings Harry relief and he is surprised to feel this way, but he has no time to think anything of it because she starts talking again.

“Here is my July update, I’m sorry I’m a little late, but we got back from Oregon yesterday. Aunt Ella is sending you kisses and hugs, she missed you at the barbeque, or maybe it was just your helping hand at the grill,” she chuckles to herself, probably recalling the memory.

Harry has no idea who Aunt Ella is or where she lives in Oregon, but the way she talks about it makes him feel like he is part of the family a little.

Y/N carries on and starts talking about everything that has happened in July. Painting the shed at her parents’ home, buying a new armchair, one her cat absolutely adores and refuses to sleep anywhere else now, she went to the hairdresser to get a trim, but not too much. She tells about her plans for August, how she is thinking about going to the farmers’ market more often, and she has been playing with the idea of adopting another cat.

“I think Henry has been feeling a little lonely lately. He could use a buddy,” she tells the camera, her eyes moving to the side from where a weak but moody meow can be heard as an answer. “Yeah, I think he agrees,” she chuckles and Harry finds himself smiling at the screen.

At the end of the video she asks a few questions from Sammy, how he has been doing, if his wrist feels any better, even asks about a friend called Matthew. Harry wonders if she has ever gotten the answers to her questions and where Sammy saw this video. What is he doing that made her want to do an update on YouTube?

When the video ends Harry clicks on her profile faster than he would willingly admit to anyone and it’s like he opened the gate to paradise. Tens and maybe hundreds of videos are queuing on her page, monthly updates, birthday wishes, short story times about family gatherings, news and happenings in her life.

Harry gets lost in her tales. He watches video after video, noticing the smallest details about her, almost mentally taking notes about her updates, finding anything and everything she talks about so interesting as if he knew those people and places she mentions. He comes to realization that Sammy is her older brother who is serving somewhere in the military. Y/N is making the videos to update him about her life even if she knows most of them doesn’t get to him until weeks later, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. He also learns that Sammy sends them back lengthy emails once a month and always ends them with a joke they made up with his mates at the army. Y/N loves them even when they're not even funny, she never fails to mention that she smiled reading them.

Hours pass by and the rising Sun peeks inside the window pulling Harry back to his own reality, shocked that he just spent the whole night watching her videos and didn’t even realize how deep he has gotten in her life. Lucky for him he has nothing planned until the afternoon, so shutting his laptop he sets it aside and heads straight to bed, but lying between his silky sheets he catches himself staring out the window, wondering what Y/N might be doing right now. From what he collected she lives somewhere in Spokane and has family in Seattle and Portland, which puts her quite a few time zones behind him. He finds the thought of them going to bed at the same time despite the distance a little funny. He lies in bed for quite some time before he finally drifts off to sleep with a particular girl on his mind, who doesn’t even know he is thinking about her.

“Do you think you can fall for someone you have never met?”

Harry’s question catches Mitch a little off-guard, but he is kind of used to his random bits of thoughts. Pouring some sugar into his coffee he follows the wondering singer to a free table in the corner.

“Isn’t it what all your fans feel?” he answers with a question, earning a surprised look from Harry. He hasn’t thought about this side, now the situation is kind of ironic, he supposes.

“Y’re right,” he nods stirring his coffee around in the small cup.

“Want to let me in on your thoughts?”

Harry feels a little shy to admit how he has watched all of her videos in the past few days, 207 to be exact and now he feels an oddly deep connection to this girl he has never even seen outside of a screen. Last night he dug up her Instagam profile, and even though she is not posting as frequently as she does on her channel, it was a refreshing change to see her in different settings. Chilling at a lake, having drinks with her friends, playing with her parents’ puppy, it amazed him that she has a whole life outside that small portion she lets him see in her videos.

Hesitantly, but he tells his friend about his latest hobby, if it’s not too weird to call it that, while his friend patiently listens and nods along his words while sipping on his morning coffee.

“D’you think I’m crazy?” Harry sighs leaning back in his seat, looking at his friend and colleague for validation that he hasn’t lost his mind entirely.

“Definitely not,” he chuckles shaking his head. “It’s like falling for that girl in school you know so much about but never really met.”

“Only that I’m stalkin’ this poor girl.”

“This is not stalking. We both know it’s far from that.” Harry nods with slight relief that his situation doesn’t seem as bad as he has been feeling lately. “Have you gotten in touch with her?”

“And what am I supposed to do? Comment on her video that I think her cat’s a cutie and I watched all her videos in three days ‘cuz I think she’s beautiful and I find her voice soothing?”

Mitch lets out a soft chuckle at the oddly specific answer he just gave and finds it amusing how interested his friend has grown about someone in such a short time.

“Maybe phrase it a little different.”

“So you do think I should reach out?”

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t. Use your personal YouTube, leave her a nice comment. Maybe she’ll reply.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” he chuckles. “Just go with it and you’ll see. You are obviously interested in her, it’s better than just sit and watch her videos.”

Harry agrees. It wouldn’t hurt to try to reach out to her, possibly in a not too creepy way. Maybe just a sweet comment on one of her videos and if she replies… Well, he doesn’t know what comes after, but he’ll figure it out.

Y/N updates regularly. Usually once a week and mostly it’s Sunday when a new video gets uploaded. This next Sunday Harry finds himself checking her page occasionally through the day to see if there’s a new update, but it seems like she is missing today. Right until he is driving home and gets a notification from the app.

Y/N has just uploaded a new video! It reads and Harry’s heart beats a tad bit faster. He thinks about pulling over to see it right away, but he tells himself that would be a bit too much, so he is forced to wait until he is in the comfort of his home.

Finally sitting on his couch he opens up his laptop and clicks on the video that has the title: September update.

Y/N sits in her usual spot, Henry in her arms as she is gently stroking his head with a warm smile on her face.

“Hi Sammy! Welcome back to our channel,” she greets him with her usual words and Harry loves how she calls the channel theirs. “This is my September update, even though not much has happened,” she breathes out, eyes wandering to the window besides her and Harry wonders what she sees from her window every day. Does she live in the city? Is it an apartment or a house with a backyard? Are there any trees or does her room have a terrible view, maybe just another house next to hers?

She starts her talk about the month, which she spent mostly with working, a little shopping and meeting her friends. She tells him about her planned trip to the local shelter to see possible new kittens to add to her household and Harry feels himself growing excited about it. He even thinks about what kind of cat he can see get along well with Henry even though he has never even met him.

“Anyway, mom and dad miss you, I miss you too. I loved your joke about ducks in your latest email,” she chuckles sweetly, bringing a smile to Harry’s face as well. “Mom is excited to see you at Christmas, our cousins will come to Portland as well. Maya can’t wait to play Jenga with you, she said she’s been practicing.”

The video soon ends as Y/N tells Sammy how much she loves him and eventually turns the camera off.

He straight away moves the cursor to the beginning of the video and as she starts talking again he scrolls down to the comment section that’s entirely empty. There are only two views on her video, usually a hundred is the max, but she doesn’t seem to care about the views, it’s more about the message.

He clicks to type a comment, but his hands stop above the keyboard as he tries to think of what to write. Mitch was right about taking a chance at reaching out, but what is he supposed to write exactly? Everything that comes to his mind sounds so creepy and scary, and he knows it’s weird that he formed such a deep connection to an unknown girl online. At last he starts typing.

“Hi Y/N! I’ve stumbled across your videos the other day. Love how you keep your brother updated, it’s such a nice gesture. I hope life treats you and Sammy well, you truly deserve it. Good luck with finding a buddy for Henry! Love, an admirer of yours, H.”

He reads it back several times, deleting then retyping it again until he decides to just go with it. A rush of adrenaline washes over his body when he sends the comment and it’s officially out there. Secretly he wishes she would reply right away, but moments pass by, then moments turn into minutes and nothing happens. His comment stands there alone and he has to realize that maybe she will never even reply or even see it.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself as he shuts the laptop down and goes on to do his things, but he finds his thoughts wander over to her from time to time.

He has a busy day ahead of him the next day, quite a few meetings and a fitting. He checks back for a reply in the morning, but it slips his mind the moment he leaves from home and his phone rings right away. Throughout the day he basically barely has time to check his emails, his other notifications are just sitting patiently on the bar, waiting for him to acknowledge them. It’s way past five in the afternoon when he finally have some time for himself after his fitting. He is sitting in his car, people walk past him without even realizing who is sitting behind the tinted windows. Scrolling down he gets rid of everything that doesn’t seem urgent until his eyes stop at one particular notification.

“Y/N replied to your comment,” he reads it out loud, just to make it real, as if he is seeing it wrong and saying it with his own mouth brings it to life. He quickly taps on it and the familiar video opens up and while Y/N starts talking again the screen jumps down to the comments where, in fact, there is a reply from her.

“Dear H! Thank you for your heartfelt comment! I always forget it’s not just my family who sees these videos, but I’m happy you found them interesting enough to watch a few of them.”

“A few?” Harry huffs to himself feeling a little ridiculous he has watched all of them.

“I hope I didn’t bore you too much. Thank you for the well wishes for me, my brother and Henry too. He is sending his love to you. Y/N xx”

The comment was posted three hours ago. The thought that she has acknowledged his existence with not only reading but also replying to his comment brings him extreme joy. He reads her words over and over again, looking for any clue that would give away that she found his comment weird, but it seems like she was more surprised and happy that someone else saw her video besides her brother. Harry starts to type his reply without hesitation.

“Bore me? You saved me from watching another “what’s in my bag” video the other day. It was a pleasant change. I love your plants, by the way. Your room always gives off the most relaxed vibes. It reminded me I should have more of them in my home. H”

Harry smiles to himself posting his comment, the fear of appearing like a stalker long gone from him, the interaction is making his inside blossom from joy. For his biggest surprise a reply appears just a few minutes away and Harry reads Y/N’s new lines with deep hunger.

“Those videos suck the life out of me every time! I might be having a problem with buying too many plants, but I can’t help myself. They truly bring peace to me just by looking at them. I’m glad you are planning on buying some more, you won’t regret it!”

Harry is dying to reply, but he doesn’t want to look too eager and needy, so he opts for just liking her comment to let her know he read it and agrees. He locks his phone and puts it aside with the widest smile on his face as he starts his car and leaves his parking spot.

Two weeks pass by. In those two weeks Y/N uploads two more videos, one about her time with her grandparents, for a change it was filmed at their home and they even said hello in it. Harry feels wholesome seeing her with her granny and grandpa, it’s clear she cares a lot about them. The other video is just a short one where she has met some of Sammy’s old high school friends and she had a check in from them, sending a sweet message to him through the video. Harry doesn’t doubt how much these little things mean to Sammy, even if he doesn’t get to see them right away. Seeing Y/N alone boosts his mood every time she uploads a new video, he can only imagine how they make Sammy feel.

He leaves comments on her videos without a second thought and she replies to all of them, a lot of the time almost immediately. These are the highlights of his days without exception. Knowing that she has anything to do with him just fascinates him and he is starting to realize what his fans feel towards him on a different level. Whenever he sees the notification that she has replied to what he wrote or that she uploaded a new video he flies right to her page to check it, no matter what he is doing. Some of their comment threads turn out pretty lengthy, almost like a chat conversation and it has Harry wonder how they could maybe move it to somewhere else from the comment section.

He wants to ask for her number, but figures it wouldn’t be the best idea. Regardless of how much he enjoys their short little conversations, the situation is still weird and complicated and he doesn’t want to forget that.

But he is pleasantly surprised when she brings it up herself, to move the conversation to somewhere else.

“Would love to discuss that more with you. Up for exchanging IG names?” her question reads and he blinks a few before he fully comprehends that she wants to talk to him more in private. However there’s no way he can send her his real Instagram profile and making a fake one would be way too suspicious. Opening up the private messages he sends her a short, but informative message.

“I don’t use Instagram, but feel free to text me,” and then his phone number.

He sits at the dinner table anxiously, waiting for his phone to light up from a new text, and just a few minutes later it finally comes.

“Hi! It’s Y/N,” he reads from the notification and he saves the number right away.

“Hello! Save me as Harry. I haven’t even told you my name yet, how rude of me!” he replies chuckling to himself.

“Will let it slip this time. Harry. What a nice name!”

“Is it what you thought about from the H?”

“It was one of my theories. The other one was Hayes, but Harry fits you better.”

“You haven’t even seen me, how do you know what name fits me?”

“I don’t know. You had a vibe. There are many great Harries in the world, you seemed to fit between them!”

Harry wonders if she is thinking about him without even knowing that… it is him. He wants to ask her, but decides not to. Instead, he is enjoying that he can now reach her immediately and not through a comment section. He never thought this would actually happen.

The texts never stop. They have so much to talk about! Their entire life to share, millions of thoughts and so much to discuss! Harry is not proud of the time he has spent with his eyes glued to his phone, but he wouldn’t miss a chance to talk to her for anything. Their friends are not blind to the change in him, but Mitch is the only one with a guess about why he has gotten so addicted to his phone.

“Is it the girl from the videos?” he asks Harry one time when they are at the studio, having lunch break. Different food boxes are scattered around them, on the table and the couch. Harry’s phone just light up from a text and he immediately dropped his lunch to type a response.

He glances up at his friend with a shy smile nodding his head. He hasn’t talked about his newly funded friendship with Y/N yet, it feels like as if he tells it to anyone it might evaporate into just a dream.

“So you reached out, huh?”

“I did,” he nods returning to his food once his message is sent. “She’s great.”

“Does she know who she is talking to?” Harry’s lack of answer tells enough about the truth to Mitch. “You can’t hide forever, especially if you are planning on meeting her.”

“I know,” he answers shortly. “But I just don’t know how I could even bring it up to her without sounding like a mad man.”

“She’ll need proof.”

“M’not ready to show m’self to her. What if it changes everything?”

“Then it wasn’t worth it,” he simply tells him.

Deep down Harry knows it’s the truth, but he is not ready to be robbed from the joy she is bringing him. He has never felt such a deep connection to anyone before and they haven’t even met. It’s just a version of her he is seeing on the screen, not her real self. But it feels real to him and he wants to keep this reality to himself for just a little longer.

“I wish I could hear your voice, Harry. You are one big mystery to me, you know that?”

He forgets to breathe for a moment as he reads her message, lying in bed one evening, getting ready to sleep, but he wanted to check in with her before ending the day.

“You know so much about me already,” he types back.

“Not enough, I feel like. Sometimes I’m afraid Nev and Max are about to show up at my door and tell me that I’ve been catfished.”

He chuckles at her words, though he completely understands her fear.

“What do you want from me then?”

“Send me a voice message so I know you are real. That would put my suspicion to sleep. For a while…”

Harry hesitates for a long time until he decides just one voice message couldn’t hurt. Just a short one where his voice is not that recognizable so his cover won’t be over immediately.

“Good night, Y/N,” he tells into his phone and then send the recording to her.

He watches the status change from delivered to read and a couple of minutes go by before she finally responds.

“Thank you. Now I know that you are real. I hope I’ll hear your voice in real life one day.”

“I hope that too.”

His time spent undercover is coming to an end and he knows it’ll happen soon. It’s been weeks since they started chatting, almost an entire month and she’s been hinting her will to see his face and though he has been putting it off, he knows it has to happen.

Fate is playing under his hands, because he is traveling to Seattle for a few days, exactly when Y/N is traveling there to visit her parents.

“I hope you know you can’t leave without meeting finally,” she wrote when she found out they are going to be in the same city.

“It never even crossed my mind!” he wrote back chuckling to himself, however it brought him extreme anxiety that he is now going to be forced to come clean about who he really is.

He spends his whole flight to Seattle making up possible outcomes for their first official meeting. Not all of them end well and it’s just fueling his fear that he might lose her for not telling her the entire truth.

But she is a smart girl, she’ll see your reasoning, he tells himself, however he can’t entirely convince himself that it will be the case.

In hopes of squeezing in more than just one meeting into the weekend they agreed to meet almost first thing after he lands. So after checking into his hotel he heads into the city to finally meet her in real life in a local café she suggested for the occasion. Arriving to the place he is running a little late and she already texted him she’ll be waiting for him inside. Harry is wearing a beanie with shades to try to keep up his cover and it seems to be working, no one has approached him yet.

Stepping inside the cozy looking place his eyes roam around and immediately finds her sitting in the corner, pouring sugar into her coffee, not even paying attention to the door at the moment, but truth is she’s been intensely staring at it in the past ten minutes she has been there.

Harry takes a deep breath and nods to himself before heading in her way, hands shaking nervously as he stops at her table.

She glances up at him with innocent eyes, a smile spreads across her face as she sees that her mysterious Harry has arrived and she doesn’t recognize her until he finally takes his sunglasses off.

Harry watches her face turn from happiness to surprise then utter shock as she realizes who is standing in front of him.

“You are… my Harry?” she asks, confusion laced through her voice and Harry can’t ignore how she called him her Harry. He likes the ring of it.

“M’orry if it’s a little too much f’you, I really didn’t know how to tell ya.”

Keeping his eyes on her he pulls out the other chair at the table and takes a seat across her while she is still staring at him with a shocked and puzzled expression sitting on her face. Then she looks around in suspicion as he wiggles his coat off his arms, before her eyes settle on him once again.

“It’s not an episode of Catfish, right?” she asks making him chuckle.

“It is not, don’t worry.”

“I’m sorry if I’m being weird, but this was literally the last thing I was expecting,” she admits leaning back in her seat. “I believed things like this only happen in movies.”

“Not just there,” he smiles, slowly relieving that she is still sitting there and hasn’t ran out. It’s going way better than he expected.

She needs a little time to put the whole picture together and befriend the thought that she indeed just developed a friendship with Harry Styles through her videos for her brother. The absurdity is still shocking to her, but the more time passes by with him still sitting there, the more she finds peace with it.

Once the shock and surprise is gone they slowly realize they are seeing each other in real life finally. Harry feels overwhelmed, she is even more breathtaking than in her videos and through texts. He is mesmerized by her whole being and could listen to her talk in person forever, he wouldn’t get bored of her.

Time stops existing as they sit at the little café, talking for hours even though that’s all they’ve been doing through texts, but they just can’t get enough of hearing each other, seeing each other’s reaction and be able to see each other and not stare at a screen while talking.

Unfortunately, time never stopped just for the two of them and soon she realizes she needs to head back home. Harry doesn’t want to let go of her just yet so he offers to give her a ride, thanking himself for getting a rental for himself upon arriving. Y/N accepts the offer so the two of them head back to her parents’ home, soaking up the last minutes of their precious time spent together.

“Thank you for today, I really loved meeting you finally,” she smiles at him once they are parked on the driveway.

“I hope I didn’t shock you too much,” he chuckles scratching his chin.

“Just a little,” she admits before they both get out of the car and walking around it she stops in front of him, after a moment of hesitation she opts for a hug that he returns more than happily.

It feels as if her frame was perfectly sculpted to fit in his embrace and Harry can’t imagine how he could go this long without even seeing her in person. He knows it’s gonna be utter misery to be away from her after they leave the city.

“Will I see you before you take off?” she asks letting go of him. Harry looks down at her, the urge to kiss her growing bigger with each passing moment, but he is not sure if it would be appropriate to give it a try on their first time meeting.

“I’m free tomorrow for a lunch,” he tells her and she nods smiling.

“Then I’m free too,” she chuckles.

There’s an awkward moment where they are not sure what else should be done or said and the more they wait the weirder it’s getting so Harry clears his throat as he takes a step back, sad that he has to leave without feeling her lips on his, but he is not trying to be too greedy.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he smiles walking back to his car. Y/N waves after him and sitting back to behind the wheel he takes a moment to himself to collect himself after everything that has happened today. His hands curl around the wheel and he is about to start the car when someone knocks on the window. Y/N is smiling at him through the glass and he rolls it down curiously.

“I just…” she starts hesitantly, her eyes wander down to his lips and Harry knows what’s about to happen, but it still catches him by surprise.

Y/N leans in through the window and presses her lips to Harry’s, capturing them in a sweet, long awaited first kiss they both have been dreaming of for quite a while. Harry smiles into the kiss, bringing his right hand up to cup her cheeks as they stretch the moment for as long as possible. Whenever one pulls back the other brings them back for just one more kiss that turns into two more, then three… It takes a long time for them to finally let go of each other.

“See you later, H,” she smiles backing out of the car and running up to the front door, smiling wildly as she waves in his way one last time before disappearing in the house.

Lying in bed that evening Harry is scrolling through his Instagram feed when he finally realizes he can now follow her without a worry. He is quick to find her profile again and hit that follow button. He is happy to see she was already following him.

He is just about to put his phone aside and go to bed after such a busy but exciting day when a notification pops up on the screen.

Y/N has just uploaded a new video!

He taps on it quickly and her smiling face greets him from his phone’s screen.

“Hi Sammy! It’s me again. Welcome back to our channel,” she starts with a shy smile. The setting is new this time, he supposes it’s her parents’ home this time. “This is going to be a short video, but I wanted to tell you about something. Or someone.”

Harry’s heart skips a beat when he thinks about where it’s heading. He listens to her voice holding his breath.

“I met someone today. We’ve been talking for a while, but I could finally hug him today. His name is Harry, and he is a wonderful man. I think you two would get along well,” she says with a soft chuckle. “I love spending time with him and I hope he feels the same way. Actually…” Her eyes move up straight to the camera, something she doesn’t do often. She usually stares out the window or plays with Henry while talking. “I think he is watching it right now. Hi Harry!”

“Hello, Beautiful,” he greets her back with a smile as if she could hear him.

“I wanted to tell you how amazing you are making me feel. I hope I didn’t disappoint. I was so nervous to meet you today, I hope I lived up to what you imagined me to be.”

“You were so much better than that,” he answers again.

“Anyway… I hope you feel the same way. You are the first guy I’m talking about in an update, so appreciate it!” she tells him and he chuckles lightly. “I’ll see you soon, H. But until then… Know that I’m thinking about you.”

“M’thinking about you too, Angel.”

“Sammy, I miss you as always. I hope everything is well, can’t wait for your next email. I love you,” she smiles before the video ends.

Harry heads straight to the comments. This time he doesn’t leave a lengthy one, just a short line, but it has everything he wanted to tell her.

“I feel the same way.” The comment reads. Just a few seconds later comes the notification and he smiles sweetly at his phone.

Y/N liked the comment.

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freddiekluger · 3 years

Note

please drop the essay length analysis Judas and Jesus (extra gay Swedish edition), O great and knowledgeable monarch of our times

alright, you ask i deliver! please excuse any typos, my eyes aren't exactly working rn

welcome to my probably super subjective but correct analysis, aka

Judas Was Right and Jesus Was A Victim (At Least, In Swedish)

Before we get started, a couple points: i’ll try to avoid comparisons to other specific productions, i’ve only seen the other recorded 2012 british version which i didn’t like for reasons including but not limited to the amount of white people with dreadlocks. Also, my understanding of swedish is limited to a couple words and phrases, so most of the lyrics i reference will be english subtitles from Ola Salo’s swedish translation and therefore might not be the most accurate !

There’s so much i could cover in this, but for now i’m going to focus on how jesus and judas are portrayed in the 2014 swedish arena tour of Jesus Christ Superstar (JCS) starring Ola Salo as Jesus and Peter Johansson as Judas, along with how this production more implicitly views god.

From the opening number, translated into swedish as En Dimmig Himmelsdröm (A Foggy Heaven’s Dream), Peter Johansson’s acting and semantic differences in the lyrics present us with a deeply sympathetic portrayal of Judas. Looking purely at language, the english equivalent Heaven On Their Minds instantly paints Judas as much more of a faithless doubter- lyrics exclusive to the english version like “all your followers have gone blind / too much heaven on their minds” and “they think you’re the new messiah / and they’ll hurt you when they find they’re wrong” strongly enforce Judas’ main motivation for his actions being that he has less belief in Jesus and God’s plan than any of the other disciples with strong statements judging the other disciples for following him and claiming that Jesus ISN’T the messiah. The swedish translation doesn’t paint exactly the same picture- the focus of Judas’ number becomes his fear for Jesus’ wellbeing, not because he isn’t the messiah (the production remains fairly ambiguous on this point), but because Jesus can’t cope. The root of Judas’ concern comes from fear for Jesus’ wellbeing, and the disciples are referenced as regularly misunderstanding and wilfully twisting Jesus’ words. The swedish equivalent lyrics for the above examples are “they say, “jesus is god’s son” / but you know how people can change” (judas isn’t concerned with truth, just the danger that jesus will be in if the tide turns), and “the kingdom of heaven is within us, that’s what you said / bu they sew it, stitch by stich into some kind of foggy heaven’s dream”. Judas is showing that he HAS been listening and cares for Jesus’ teachings, but ‘they’ [his disciples] are turning them into something else entirely, and Judas’ worries that the support of the masses is fragile at best- the lines “and everything you say gets twisted by your lackeys / it will be anything but what you’ve said” and “you are being used by people who want you in their battle” reinforces this again. When combined with Peter Johansson’s tough but tender performance, in which he dances between disdain for Jesus, the institution, and affection for Jesus, the man (an important distinction), Judas is the harsh realist doing his best to look out for the man he loves. The way he takes Jesus hands and looks at him with love and urgency straight away establishes that his motivations are pure- Judas is doing what he thinks is best, even though it feels like no one will listen to him.

That was long, but En Dimmig Himmelsdröm is the perfect character introduction for Judas. He’s not totally unrecognisable, still delivering digs about ‘Jesus, the little carpenter’s son’, his manner is still rough and at this point we’re not sure whether or not the claims he makes about the disciples have any truth to them, BUT we can also see how much Jesus means to him, an important point that give context to the intensity of their future arguments and really makes the whole story much more heartbreaking.

This brings me to Ola Salo’s Jesus. Delightfully camp and queercoded, Judas describes him as being caught up in his own magic and mystery and buckling under the pressure, and he’s not entirely wrong. Throughout the first act, Jesus basks in the luxuries that being messiah can give him (the oils Mary paid for using disciple funds that were supposed to go towards helping the poor, him absolutely thriving in the shopping cart in What’s the Buzz?), and is shown actively avoiding any reminders of the seriousness of his position. He’s sick of the disciples asking him for a plan, he chooses the comforting Mary, who’s theme consists of telling Jesus everything is okay and he doesn’t need to think about anything, over Judas, who is less perhaps ‘cosy’ but is actively trying to warn and protect Jesus from an awful fate. During The Temple, he starts to crack as he’s overcome by the followers begging him to make him well, fear in his eyes as he raises his arms while frozen on the spot trying to avoid being devoured by the frenzy in desperate need of a messiah. Judas’ point about Jesus buckling under the pressure is starting to look more and more reasonable, and the dashes of showbiz campness add to the sense that much of Jesus is a persona constructed for the masses to give himself enough distance to prevent him from being crushed by the weight of God entirely. Jesus, the institution, prances around, lays his hands on his followers, and projects an air of easygoing calm. Jesus, the man, is scared and alone, and Jesus, the man, really comes out in Last Supper, but before we get there, I want to circle back to the Jesus/Mary/Judas thing.

Jesus, Mary, and Judas are presented as a love triangle: so much so, that Judas seeing Mary sing of her love for Jesus (I Don’t Know How To Love Him) is actually played as the inciting incident that sends him to the pharisees. Judas, the picture of the jealous lover, storms onto the scene, breaking them up and attempting to kiss Jesus, who instead shoves him to the ground in disdain. Judas, who is perhaps a little controlling, realises that any influence he had over Jesus has gone, and it’s likely a combination of jealousy and the knowledge that Jesus won’t stop that prompts him to head to the pharisees. In his meeting with the pharisees (known in english as Damned For All Time, although that phrase doesn’t appear once in the swedish), Judas’ expresses outright that “I’m the one who sees / Jesus, he can’t handle it anymore” “the truth is that this hysteria is making him lose control”, once he can get past explaining how much this plan of action feels like a last resort. He never even verbally or physically accept the pharisees’ offer of money, he denies it twice before it is eventually thrown over him after he reluctantly gives them the date and time to find Jesus- we never even see him pick it up, unlike other productions which show Judas grabbing for the cash and place a higher emphasis on Judas making sure he ‘won’t be damned for all time’, painting Judas as far more self serving. When it comes to Jesus, Judas is active- he’s running around trying to help, caressing him, embracing him, grabbing his hand, kissing him. They share countless moment of intimacy, especially at the start, establishing the fondness between them instead of instantly jumping to their conflict. When it comes to Mary (and admittedly, this is partially because she’s a secondary character- don’t get me wrong I still love her and Gunilla Backman does a brilliant job), she’s much more passive. Other than the much more gentle kisses in I Don’t Know How To Love Him and her penchant for dabbing Jesus’ forehead, she’s mostly just ‘there’. She cares for Jesus after the fact, and even when performing acts of intimacy like the oil and the kiss, she maintains a lot of physical distance- her songs touch on this as, much like Jesus (admittedly for different reasons), she actively distances herself from feelings to protect herself, so naturally she literally places distance between herself and the object of her love.

This brings me back to Last Supper, Gethsemane ( I Only Want to Say), and the kiss of death that broke all of our hearts. Throughout this segment, this is when Jesus, the man, really comes through, and it’s devastating. In Last Supper, he properly expresses the sheer amount of loneliness he feels, reiterating how he feels everyone will forget about him once he’s gone, and doesn’t really care about him as a man (”for you, my blood is not worth more than wine / for you, my body is not worth more than bread” “you will have forgotten me as soon as i give up my life”). This devolves into the disciples fighting each other and, you guessed it, ignoring him. For the first time, Jesus meaningfully lets out his anger, and as it turns to Judas, Judas does the same. Because of the set up of their complicated romantic relationship and the stakes involved, the amount of personal attacks and anger that comes out of Jesus and Judas’ repeated fights (which get physical) make complete sense- Jesus’ frustrations come from the fact that his entire fate has been predetermined and to him, Judas is just another instrument in the ways he’s been controlled (both with Judas being his betrayer, but also the way that Judas’ constant advice and interference with Jesus’ life (most obviously, the mary thing) are acted by Ola Salo as becoming increasingly frustrating to Jesus)- these frustrations are directed at their real cause, God, in Gethsemane. Judas’ frustrations come from the fact that no matter how hard he tries to help Jesus and keep him safe, Jesus keeps rejecting his efforts resulting in “all that we’ve built up [being] destroyed”- Judas’ heart hasn’t just been broken by Jesus rejecting him romantically, but on every level. Here, he’s actually shown to be the disciple most passionate about helping people practically and long term, being the only one concerned about Mary taking money which was supposed to help people, manipulated by the pharisees with the promise of doing good for the masses, and criticising Jesus for how they could be doing so much for people, ending his part of Last Supper with “every time i look at you i ask myself why you let all your things go so wrong? / all i ever wanted was to help you”.

This is also the point where Judas’ claims about the disciples are essentially confirmed, and this productions intent to portray Judas as more of a tragic hero become absolutely clear. In the english version, the disciples chorus remains virtually the same each time it appears, generally being far too calm considering their leader is about to die, revealing their aspirations to be apostles, and their intent to write the gospels to be remembered. the swedish translation still achieve this, but with variations from chorus to chorus it becomes much more poignant. i’m just going to stick to ttwo, which are choruses 1 and 3. In chorus 1, lines roughly translate to “i’ve always wanted to be an apostle / life is so nice when you’re saved/ then when we’ve got time we’ll write the gospels / then everything will be the way we want”- the apostles declaring that life is so good when you’re saved supports Judas’ opening statement that they care more about some idea of heaven than anything else, not to mention ignoring the absolute horrors that Jesus will have to go through to be saved, while the final line about the gospels introduces their intent to change whichever details they need to make ‘everything the way we want’: once again, exactly what Judas warned us of in En Dimmig Himmelsdröm. In chorus 3, taking place after Judas storms out for the last time, these lines change to “never really liked that judas / never saw what jesus saw in him / then, when we’ve got time we’ll write the gospels / and we’ll angle it so he gets all the blame”. Judas as a sympathetic character is confirmed here, as the disciples straight up admit how they don’t like Judas anyways and intend to write him as a villain (also inadvertently admitting that, since they have to write the gospels to make it look like only Judas’ fault, Judas isn’t really the sole one responsible for everything that is to come). It’s deeply unsettling, and for me was the point where I really began to question how good any of these disciples were, and by extension, how good is this production’s God if his truly sanctified followers are acting like this?

Jesus vents out all of his anger and desperation in Gethsemane. He acknowledges his own powerlessness and begs him to change the plan, but with the dark stage and no response (along with Ola Salo’s spectacular acting) it becomes clear that if anyone is there, they’re certainly not listening (”you, who have all the power / can you please change the plan / for i can already feel the pain burning in me”). It’s worth mentioning that a lot of the imagery in this swedish version is much more intense than the english, both in this song and the production as a whole. Jesus plainly calls god “thoughtless”, begging to understand, and it’s that this point we realise that he agrees with much more of what Judas has been saying than he’s been letting on- Jesus’ faith appears to be the only thing keeping him from listening to Judas and running away. Judas’ messages about people misunderstanding Jesus’ words also come out (”you care that everyone sees / but not that anyone understands”), and his eventual agreeing to die is played less as an inspiring act of faith, and more an act of desperation as he realises, he realise has no other choice. In this song, we see just how much of Judas Jesus has valued and taken on board, and that his air of carefree aloofness which frustrated Judas was, as we’ve already touched on, a complete act. The line “might as well finish what i’ve... what YOU’VE started” is absolutely miserable, reinforcing one of the major themes of this production: the idea that Jesus and Judas were both just ordinary men tormented by futures defined by forces out of their control. Just as Jesus has absorbed Judas’ logic, as an audience so we have, and it’s difficult to view the rest of the play’s events as anything other than an immense and unnecessary act of cruelty.

we’re almost done i promise!

Even knowing what Judas has/will do, Jesus still greets him with love. Judas, still under the impression that Jesus will be okay and that he’s doing what’s best, approaches him with the utmost tenderness, and the kiss is a beautiful signifier of two things. For Jesus, the return of his love for Judas shows his realisation in Gethsemane that Judas isn’t the one who’s sealed his fate and has only being trying to help, it’s god himself who has decided Jesus’ future. For Judas, the kiss shows that despite all of the anger and frustration that has been pouring out of him, he truly does love Jesus, and the way he cradles the scared and alone Jesus to his chest afterwards shows just how much he wishes he could be the one to help him and keep him close. Even with all their arguments and dysfunction, here Jesus and Judas find comfort in each other, and it almost seems like everything will end up alright. It’s in this moment that Judas and Jesus are most identifiable not as enemies, or as villain and hero, but as archetypal lovers from a Shakespearean tragedy. Neither of them set out to hurt each other, but through miscommunications, their own flaws, and external forces (both natural and supernatural), their love is simply never to be. Furthermore, in the following torture and spectacle, everything that Judas predicted for Jesus is about to come true. Another detail I find interesting is the way that Jesus and Judas both sport black nail polish, leather pants, and similar length hair: along with just looking cool as hell, the similarities really reinforce how close they are and how much they influence each other- it feels like a contemporary version of carrying a cameo or a lock of your lover's hair with you, a way for 'star crossed lovers' to keep a piece of their beloved no matter what.

The disaffected persona of Jesus, the institution, comes back as he’s taken by the authorities and subsequently insulted, degraded, and whipped. Also the swedish version of The Arrest, when the chorus starts singing questions, contains this dick joke and I think we all deserve it: “why were you dating a whore? / talk about a huge magic wand!”

Skipping forward to Judas’ Death, this is where both his character and the production’s conception of god beautifully (and miserably) align. When Judas runs to the pharisees, minor semantic changes (along with the genuine concern and great acting from Peter Johansson) reinforce that this Judas genuinely didn’t know that Jesus would be beaten and sentenced to death the way he has been, and Judas’ concern regarding how things look is played less as ‘oh no people will hate ME!’, but how having sentenced the man you love to death is one nightmarish thing, but for everyone to think you did it knowingly and willingly and then congratulate you for it is unthinkable. Where the english shows Judas’ attempting to evade responsibility for Jesus death, the swedish is more focused on Judas’ guilt, horror, and regret. The english “I’d save him all the suffering if I could / don’t believe our good / save him if I could” is swapped in swedish for “If anyone should die here I should / don’t say I’m good / better if I died”. While the english statements are somewhat empty (sure, Judas says he’d save Jesus’ suffering if he could, but he can’t so we’ll never truly know) and are still focused on Judas’ attempt to construct himself as a good guy, the swedish translation has Judas admit his guilt (even if it’s not really his fault), and make the promise of “better if i died” which, given the name of this sequence, he later delivers on. When english Judas sings “Christ, I’d sell out the nation / For I have been saddled with the murder of you”, swedish Judas sings “Jesus, I’ve been deceived / because of my act your blood’s now being spilt”, and instead of ending this first section with “I should be dragged through the slime and the mud”, swedish jesus returns to the theme of character assasination with “i will be cursed as the one behind your murder”.

The swedish translation of the next rework of I Don’t Know How to Love Him also places much more emphasis on Judas’ genuine romantic love for Jesus- we’d be here for hours if i listed everything but here are a few key contrasts. The english has Judas sing “I don’t know how to love him / I don’t know why he moves me”, whereas the swedish has Judas crying while singing “how do I show my love / all I want is to be close to you”. Along with acknowledging Judas already loves Jesus, the entirety of this segment is shifted from Judas singing about Jesus in the third person ‘he’, to a direct address. Judas isn’t performing his sadness, or venting his emotions, he’s emitting one last desperate cry to the man he loves as he sobs on a stage completely shrouded in darkness, and it’s devastating. Peter Johansson lets his voice run raw as he’s belting, and interrupts lines with sobs, and this Judas answers the question of “do you love me too? do you care for me?” with a quiet “no”- Judas is about to go to his death convinced Jesus must hate him, just as Jesus will face his knowing his love inadvertently put him there.

We finally reach Judas’ actual death, and the production’s far more ambiguous (if not negatively geared) depiction of god comes to a head. Judas’ screaming at god the moment he realises that his god essentially forced Judas to be the one to kill Jesus (an act of ultimate cruelty given their love) comes across as horrifying in it’s validity, unlike in other english language productions where it follows the more common characterisation of Judas being an unbeliever who can’t take responsibility for his own actions. When he spits on the ground, screaming “you have murdered me!”, we can’t help but agree- Judas was trying everything he could to stop Jesus from dying, and yet here he is. Most notably, Judas doesn’t set up his own suicide- a noose literally descends from the heavens, already tied, and Judas is literally trapped between the edge of the stage, and the symbol of death behind him. Much like he didn’t choose to kill Jesus, Judas has no choice in his own suicide- it’s suggested to merely be another part of the plan god has for him, and Judas raising his arms to form a crucifixion pose before he finally turns and jumps, disappearing into the depths of the theatre as the rope trails down (somewhat evocative of a leap to hell), highlight the sick joke. Much like Jesus begging in Gethsemane, a plea with god that in anyway implies fault or cruelty is met with silence followed by a death sentence.

When Judas reappears to the broken and bloodied Jesus in Superstar, he appears as more of a twisted hallucination than the literal spirit of Judas. He’s the opposite of everything he was in life, draped in colour, surrounded by red lighting instead of the signature blue, his hair quite literally let down, joking and dancing. Despite singing about him, Judas virtually ignores Jesus for the whole song except when he’s taunting him, snatching his hand away after a broken and desperate Jesus reaches out for the image of his beloved (refuting Judas’ belief that Jesus would die hating him), along with the swedish additions of Judas repeatedly addressing him as “little Jesus”. Where the living Judas was serious, sometimes harsh but always well intention, often paying more attention to Jesus than he received, this Judas is the opposite: light hearted but cruel, not caring about Jesus one bit. It’s somewhat an inversion of the beginning of JCS, where the tormented Judas was constantly reaching out to Jesus, and often met with scorn and insult (see: most of their arguments, this line from Everything’s Alright: “the thought is beautiful but quite unrealistic / yes, even quite stupid”). As the song goes on, and even as Jesus is crucified, the victorious scoring of the Superstar theme ends up reinforcing the cruelty and questioning of god distinctive of this production: Ola Salo’s Jesus is one of the bloodiest Jesus’s (Jesii?) I’ve been able to find, with blood covering his torso, his arms, and all over his face, not in passive dribbles, but violent ‘swooshes’ spreading out from his eyes, emphasising the fear and pain contained within them. As the music suggests how great and wonderful Jesus’ death is, the images straight out of a horror movie before us don’t seem to match up: as both Judas and Jesus question, if no one is understanding what Jesus is saying, why kill him? instead of making a point, you’re ensuring that the falsehoods continue to circulate, unless spreading the true message isn’t really the intent at all. or, simply that Jesus was wrong: his interpretation and teachings of god were far too kind and practical, and the true god really is the one that he briefly saw in the garden of Gethsemane, and that Judas saw before his death- a cruel and vindictive god using them for his own sick purposes. If you're a strong Christian, I'm sure you could watch this production and still believe that God was right (although I think Jesus and Judas being in love counts as blasphemy), but I think in doing so you'd lose part of what makes this production so hard hitting and, as i keep saying, devastating.

that’s pretty much it for this one! i feel like jesus and judas as a queer couple is less significant to this production than the fact that it’s specifically jesus and judas that are in love - they don’t face explicit homophobia as such, although i do think the paratextual and historical associations of queerness (both with them each looking visibly queer, and them as a couple) adds a beautiful dimension by subverting the standard christian teaching of Jesus’ sacrifice as “a love that changed the world” and making the love that truly could have been transformative (and was, to a degree) the love between Jesus and another man, not to mention the way in which queerness is often viewed as radical perfectly upholding the ‘radical’ views of god and the story of Jesus shown in the production. Why wouldn’t the love between two men be the love which has us questioning god, faith, and that which many of us have been taught since birth? Ola Salo has talked about how he’s able to be positive and negative towards christianity, along with how he wanted Jesus and Judas to really represent two sides of the same coin (’faith and intelligence’), and being bisexual along with having alluded to being raised christian (not to mention Breaking Up With God, a song by his band The Ark), it’s not surprising he’s managed to present such a nuanced and layered interpretation of Jesus Christ Superstar that even me, a trans exvangelical, can fall in love with.

UPDATE: @bands-and-hobbits has just let me know that Ola's dad was a priest! Apparently he's said that he liked the organs and the music, but that was all when it comes to christianity, which (when combined with Ola stating in interviews that the JCS soundtrack has been one of his favourite albums since he was 14) makes a lot of sense about the level of familiarity he had with the text giving him confidence to go in and make changes to really capitalised off of some of the themes that are hinted at in the english version- you have enough information to understand how everything works together, but aren't so dedicated to preserving belief that you feel you can't improve/change things (and my god are we glad he did)

#thank you if you made it this far!#also the inherent rhythm in swedish as a language just makes all of the songs sound better i'm gonna say it #english is really hit and miss when it comes to music and can get especially clunky with musicals requiring exposition #also sorry there's so much i've left out !#anyways enjoy #jesus christ superstar #jesus christ superstar swedish arena tour 2014 #jcs #peter johansson #ola salo #also i have barely edited this so i hope it's coherent

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overwatch-imagines-hub · 3 years

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Cowboy culture is Mexican, McCree is based in New Mexico and suspiciously tan hmmmmm I wonder

Ahdhdhdr you're amazing. Those two people + one other is commenting on SEVERAL of people's posts talking about McCree's skin too, lol. These people are acting like I said some racist shit or something too, like relax.

Anyway, here’s my long spiel. After this, the subject is over. No more complaining on my blog about “hE mUsT bE wHiTe, HiS sKiN tOnE dOeSn’T mAtTeR!!” If it didn’t matter to you, y’all wouldn’t get so fuckin’ pressed about some random person saying, “hey, maybe don’t make McCree’s skin lighter, thanks” anyway, lmao. After this, I officially give zero fucks about your opinion if you’re upset about people saying McCree is whitewashed, go the fuck away, lol.

SO, spiel.

All I said is they shouldn't change his skin tone. Because they shouldn't. From a character design standpoint, it's literally part of his distinct design and doing that would just be a stupid call. They also changed his literal facial structure somewhat, I noticed, which is also a bad call in character design. Characters have defining characteristics and if those change too drastically, then the character becomes a caricature of the character they used to be; this is one of the reasons reboots/remakes/sequels can go so poorly.

From the standpoint that we’re all actually talking about now, these are my tags from one of my most recent reblogs:

Now bear with me here. For equal footing’s sake, McCree happens to be white. Maybe he’s just a very tan white man.

That literally does not matter and here’s why.

Anyway you want to look at it, McCree is, by popular opinion, fairly racially ambiguous (for lack of a better phrase; I apologize if that’s not correct, it’s late and I couldn’t come up with a different way of saying it). The reason I say this is because I have never seen people argue about a character’s race in this fandom like I have about McCree; we can all either agree on or see the written proof that the other characters are a specific race. That being said, what everyone can and has agreed on about McCree is that he’s a darker skinned man (literally everyone arguing that he’s white are still saying he’s “darkly tanned”) and y’all arguing for his whiteness can say he’s based off old Westerns all you want (yes, I saw this argument) but cowboys originated from Mexico either way, ya ding-dongs. Furthermore, even if he was based around a white man in a Western, that doesn’t mean he himself is white, or solely white, or that he’s not just white-passing. Like, hello?

So, we have this dark-skinned, non white-coded man and it’s very public knowledge that people take comfort in him as such and can see themselves in him, whether they see him as Hispanic, Native American, whatever; obviously this is the case, because this argument wouldn’t be happening otherwise. Then we see this character, who so many people see representation in, or, hell, just like because he’s a smexy cowman, have his skin whitened a significant amount in these recent new design releases (the lighting used definitely had a part in this, I mentioned that already; that point aside). People see someone who was once their own skin tone--whose skin tone has apparently gotten continuously lighter over time, something I hadn’t personally noticed but have now seen many people point out--now with a skin tone that is much more Caucasian.

That’s one less darker skinned person lost to a sea of whitey tighties that has been drowning out poc for-fucking-ever. That’s one less dark-skinned person in the already far too small pool of poc representation. Anyway you look at it, it looks like a some form of whitewashing. That’s mega fucked up. It will not hurt a white person if McCree is not white, or not solely white; you can find ten other perfectly white cowboys to pine after in replacement. Whitewashing, on the other hand, is a very prominent and actually harmful issue. Not to mention, if you want a reason that’s not race-related, it’s just bad character design!!

He’s Hispanic? Cool, don’t lighten his skin tone. He’s Native American? Cool, don’t lighten his skin tone. He’s mixed? Cool, don’t lighten his skin tone. The only confirmation we get about anything ever is that he’s solely 50% Cow and 50% Man? Cool, don’t lighten his skin tone. Blizzard comes out with a statement ten minutes after I post this saying he’s Whitey “Jesse” McWhitePants-Man? Still don’t lighten his fuckin’ skin tone, he looks weird and less like the original character now, lmao.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk, back to your regularly scheduled, never having ended, warm-toned, Mexican-American McCree affection hours.

#anonymous #anon #overwatch #overwatch 2 #mccree #jesse mccree #asks #i keep wanting to say 'go put a cowboy hat on soldier if you want a cowboy'#but them i'm like oh wait the gays have that one too #lol

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rickriordanfandam · 3 years

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opinions on riordanverse ; my edition

a lot of people have been doing this so i decided why not right. probably gna lose some followers or smth but anyways. pls respect my opinions! if u disagree, thats fine, but please be polite. unless any of my opinions strikes u as morally wrong then pls point it out to me respectfully. thanks!

- i actually liked drew. im so sorry to everyone who hates her but full offence, why. think about it this way ok, first of all drew became hc because silena died. silena was the traitor, the one who betrayed chb, yet after she died campers celebrated her as a hero? and then drew suddenly has to replace her and live up to idk that legacy she left behind,, when all of a sudden this girl named piper swoops in and takes her place. idk abt u but i wld be salty abt that too. not only that, but as an asian, the chances of drew having faced racism/bullying as a child is pretty high (she studies at brooklyn academy). which means that when she finds out shes a demigod, and arrives at chb where most of the campers are white (this is an assumption btw), she’d obviously be scared of being bullied for her skin color right?? so the first thing she wld do before the campers get to bully her is to bully them before they can do so. (sentence structure here is wack i apologize) ofc this might not even have happened, drew could have had a perfect childhood && was a b1tch for no reason, BUT EVEN THEN HER ROLE AS A BULLY WAS PRETTY VITAL BECAUSE THAT FURTHER SHOWED THE CONTRAST BETWEEN HER AND PIPER,, HIGHLIGHTING PIPER AS A HERO//GOOD CHARACTER,, AND THEREFORE MAKING READERS LIKE PIPER MORE. anyway stop hating on drew please. ALSO WHY IS THIS SO LONGA SDFJHG

- jason isnt bland, the fandom just kinda erased his backstory (thanks to @pjohoo-memes for the phrasing lol)

- reynabeth wouldnt have lasted/would have broken up several times. idk i just see them as two extremely powerful characters who have firm opinions and will definitely clash at some point. in a platonic relationship,, i can see them as really good friends but as lovers? idk i just think theyll break up

- PIPABETH

- i dont really like jercy,, i see them as better friends than lovers. also idt jason and percy were that close..?

- the dam and not my type jokes are srsly cringey and were never funny. ik that seems hypocritical since my username literally makes use of the dam joke but honestly i dont actually like the joke. its not funny to me and has never been funny

- the seven were not best friends. they definitely argued,, and honestly probably werent as close as the fandom makes them seem. like ure dumped with 6 other people, out of which u only know a few. my introverted ass would have jumped off the argo 2 quicker than leo valdez could bomb camp jupiter up. also leo was a dick to frank. so what if frank is bigger sized?? thats not a valid reason to tease him

- the fandom needs to stop hating on octavian while worshipping luke. if u hate luke and u say u hate octavian too, then okay. but if u tell me ure a luke stan but u despise octavian?? imma disagree w u. luke was worse than octavian im sorry. first of all, octavian being a dick was kinda justified. hes been after the praetor position for so long, and everyone keeps saying to “wait for jason” when suddenly this dude, whos a son of NEPTUNE (neptune wasnt liked much by romans), and the camp decides to make him praetor?? dude i would be pissed off big time. and then afterwards, he finds out that greek demigods are real and the dude they made praetor is greek. AND THEN GREEK DEMIGODS COME TO CJ AND ONE OF THEM BOMB IT UP?? octavian has been told all his life that greeks are scum and this dude called leo valdez attacks cj. sure it was an accident, but did octavian know that? no. so it was honestly justified that he was such a salty prick im just saying. also some of yall be hating on octavian for cutting a teddy bear open and thats the funniest shit ive ever heard i swear

- luke didnt go to elysium

- travis and connor stoll r way too underrated. the two have been head counselors of the hermes cabin since luke was revealed as a traitor, can u imagine the stress? luke, the person they probably looked up to as a brother, betrayed them. and they didnt even have time to process this when they were thrown the roles of being hcs. that would have been so stressful and i would probably have broken down if i were them. the stoll brothers taking turns to wake up at ungodly hours because a new camper is crying and homesick and terrified, the stoll brothers having to comfort and take care of new campers, having to deal with the amount of people in that cramped space because not enough campers are being claimed fast enough. having to resolve issues between campers in the hermes cabin all the time. the stolls arent just comedic relief, and we need to stop treating them as such

- tratie shldve been canon idc idc

- demigods of the demeter cabin arent talked about enough and i love the fact that meg was demeters kid. like she isnt the child of one of the big three yet shes so powerful.

- we need to hype clarisse up more her character arc was phucking amazing

- rachel is overhated. sis found out greek gods exist and regularly come down to earth to fuck around and went “ok cool”. queen shit behavior methinks

- the floor 19 crew of mcga is srsly underrated. like do u even remember halfborn gunderson, mallory keen, tj, etc??? bc i feel like we only remember samirah, magnus, alex, and sometimes blitz and hearthstone

- sadie (tkc) was kinda annoying at first. i like her more now tho but i rmb not liking her for a phat while

- tkc and mcga need more love

- carter kane and jason grace arent boring. theyre just really sweet boys who are too good for this world and yes yes yes

- hazel and frank (especially frank) need to be hyped up more. i hardly ever see anything about them. also yall seem to forget that frank was literally made praetor and that even hecate admired hazel and was willing to fight beside her because of how powerful she was

- frazels age gap is kinda sketch but i still think theyre really cute

- nico definitely had trauma from going to tartarus on his own

- GROVER IS PERCYS BEST FRIEND

- annabeth isnt smarter than leo but neither is leo smarter than annabeth. ive seen a lot of discussions about who is smarter and heres my hot take on it: neither. theyre equally smart, just in different ways. leos a genius mathematically speaking. he has no issues solving math problems meant for people much, much older than him. annabeth on the otherhand, is great at strategies etc. she can make an army of 1000 more powerful than the enemy, even if theyre outnumbered. so in my opinion, both are equally as smart//u cant compare their intelligence, because their talents lie in two different areas.

- while i do agree rick riordan isnt a god and that hes bound to make mistakes,, AND that hes given us a lot of representation,, if the representation offends the people its sposed to represent, then theres a problem. im talking about piper as a poc and wearing feathers in her hair. im not a poc, so i cant speak for them on whether or not its wrong, because i dont know either. HOWEVER, i have seen multiple posts BY pocs talking about how they didnt really like rick’s representation of piper, and thats an issue. pocs have been and are still oppressed and discriminated against by many. as a white cis man, we cant really blame him for not knowing (tho he could have done a research,, asked some pocs,, idk), but by representing pocs in that manner, hes influencing impressionable kids/teens into thinking “oh pocs wear feathers in their hair all the time” etc, which isnt true. the pjo/hoo series is extremely successful, and kids who read the books will probably start forming inaccurate opinions on pocs. the amount of fan art that depicts piper with feathers in her hair dont help either. “but rick said so in the books, so its canon” yeah well rick isnt a god and he can get some things wrong at times. im not saying we should cancel him, im saying we should start educating ourselves and not spread false info like pocs wearing feathers in their hair all the time. also that snake song shit where she sang Summertime was just- yeah. bc heres the thing you can be racist, and still include minorities, but portray them in a racist way. And even then, ignorance isn't a thing to admire. Getting those facts wrong still has a major impact. It continues to perpetuate racist stereotypes.

“ With the feather thing, I looked it up myself; it takes less than five minutes to figure out that Cherokees don't braid feathers into their hair. I didn't grow up in the country where my parents are from. I have many other first/second generation American friends who have also been through that, with a bit of a disconnect from their culture. But something that most of us have in common is that when we didn't know something, and when our parents weren't that big of a help, we looked it up. We sought out resources online and through other people from our culture to be able to connect more with where we came from. Some of that took a Google search. So I find it hard to believe that Piper, a girl who Rick's trying to portray as someone who is attempting to connect with her culture and is totally against racist stereotypes, wouldn't know that eagle feathers aren't supposed to be braided into your hair casually. She may be disconnected from her culture, but she's also shown to want to connect back to it. Piper wouldn't be casually braiding feathers into her hair while also telling off people for being racist. It makes no sense.” - reddit thread (down below)

for those of yall who wanna know more please please read this, it has a lot of things i wanna add in here : https://www.reddit.com/r/camphalfblood/comments/gy3gl2/piper_mcleans_portrayal_is_innacurate/

as well as https://finding-my-culture.tumblr.com/post/189422373260/maxie-ratties-and-cattie-finding-my-culture

i will be posting screenshots of these in future posts so if ure viewing this on ig and u dont have tumblr,, dont worry

- the fact that most of the strong female characters in the series refuse to be “girly”, and ngl i dont really like that. just because ure girly doesnt mean u cant be strong.

- piper would have been a great way for him to start making the strong characters act girlier, but instead he went with the “I’m not like other girls” trope which is quite obnoxious to hear constantly, and I don’t think it’s necessarily great for younger girls to read that idea growing up. the closest we've ever had to a strong female character who was also into "girly" things was Silena. when I was younger I admired Piper's "I'm not like other girls" thing, but then I got older and realized that the whole mentality of "not like other girls" is super obnoxious, and a little bit toxic

i have a heck load more that i cant rmb rn but yeah feel free to add more

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ramblingkat · 3 years

Text

Fic: Storm(Bleach)

UraIchi discord is a terrible place if you are trying to hide from plunnies.

Look, a coffee shop and a writer AU, all in one. My shame is out for all to see. There is a lot more of this to come as well.

Characters: Kurosaki Ichigo, Urahara Kisuke, Unagiya Ikumi

***

Shutting his book, Ichigo rubbed his eyes and sat up, back popping.

Okay, enough of that. Time to take a bit of a break. College was fun at times, but it was also a lot of work. Which was why this job was such a good thing to have.

Yeah, Ichigo worked a weird little night shift. It never seemed busy enough to justify staying open, but he wasn’t going to argue. It was pretty much the perfect time to work with his schedule of school and actually getting a chance to see his friends. Which was needed. Tatsuki and Ishida’s mockery was sometimes the only thing that got him out of his fog of English words and books.

As he stretched a bit, Ichigo let his eyes roam the shop. There was only one person in the place, the scruffy blond man who came in regularly. He had been sitting in one of the corner tables, worn clothing still damp from the rain that had started to drizzle down not long before the man came in.

His battered bag was on the ground next to him, strap looped around the arm of the chair he was in to secure it. On the table was the ugliest hat Ichigo had seen in a while, green and white, tattered on the edges. Next to it was a notebook, which Ichigo knew was full of some sort of scribbles. Ichigo was really curious about what they were about. He had a glimpse inside a few times while cleaning up. Sometimes there were notes, writing neat and in a language he didn’t recognize. Sometimes there were sketches, drawings and blueprints of things, neatly labeled.

When Ichigo had glanced up earlier, the man had been holding the cup of coffee he had bought, eyes shut, almost asleep. Though the noise of Ichigo setting his book down had brought the man’s head up, and he blinked at Ichigo. Then he gave Ichigo a smile and took a sip of the coffee.

Given the look of betrayal he gave the cup, Ichigo assumed that the coffee had gotten cold enough to be unpleasant. Since the guy had paid for the first cup with change scrambled out of his pocket, Ichigo assumed that he didn’t have enough for a second cup.

But even across the room, he could see the shiver that ran through the man’s shoulder, and that tugged at Ichigo’s heart. As much as he liked to pretend that he didn’t have one.

Since the guy was his only customer in hours, Ichigo knew what the man’s order was. So he remade it.

When he set it down in front of the guy, Ichigo got to see the man’s eyes were grey for the first time. Usually, they were shaded by the guy’s hat and Ichigo couldn’t see them all that clearly.

Though without the hat, blond hair was starting to fluff as it dried, and pale eyes were wide as the guy looked at Ichigo, Ichigo had a realization that the guy was hot.

“On the house,” he said, and retreating rapidly. Was he blushing? Ichigo was sure he was blushing. That was horrifying. He just realized the homeless guy that hung around at the shop during the dark hours of the night was hot. Honestly, he wasn’t sure this could get worse.

As if waiting for that phrase, there was a brilliant flash outside, and a rumble of thunder that was more sensation than sound. A second flash and sizzling pop followed and the power went out.

Ichigo should have known better. He was an English Literature major. Why had he used the most cliche method of making things worse?

“I think the transformer exploded,” came a surprising voice, and Ichigo jolted as he realized that it was the customer. He scrambled from the man’s name. It was used from time to time when there was more than one customer at a time.

Kisuke. A weird name, not one he had heard before. But it made it easier to recall than if he had some regular name. Still, the man was quiet, and other than some murmurs when he made his orders, Ichigo had never heard the guy talk much.

There was a bit of a sigh from the other. “And no backup generator in here, it seems.” Kisuke tsked from the area his table was at. “I guess both of us are done with anything to do with reading or writing.”

Which annoyed Ichigo. He had a new book to read for fun, not one of his many books for class, and wanted to start that tonight. Yes, it was a trashy romance, but Ichigo didn’t care. It was a fun read, and there was a lot of interesting world building. And a great deal of smut, which was hilarious. Ichigo and Tatsuki had regular dramatic readings of the book for the entertainment of their YouTube followers.

So the loss of power was really annoying.

Pulling his phone, Ichigo texted the number they had been given to pass on the message of the power outage. Not that his boss could do much, but maybe she’d give Ichigo permission to shut down. Though it might take a bit to find out.

“So, Ichigo-san, you seem to be reading a lot of books in English,” Kisuke said, apparently deciding that the silence was something to break. Ichigo had a moment of wondering how the man knew his name, but then remembered he had a nametag on. “College?”

Ichigo nodded, glancing to where Kisuke was sitting. His eyes were starting to adjust to the dim light from the city glow. Even if their section was offline, there was plenty of areas that were still lit up. Otherwise, he’d have the flashlight on his phone turned on. But he realized that it was still dim enough that Kisuke might not have seen the nod. “Yeah,” he said, feeling a bit awkward about having a such a normal conversation in the dark.

“English is an interesting language,” the blond said, switching to the language with an ease that spoke of practice.

Ichigo could understand what he was saying and was pretty impressed. To have so little accent was something that was one of Ichigo’s goals for his own English speaking. No reason not to practice now, since he couldn’t do anything else at the moment.

“Yes, though the way they structure their sentences is odd.” He took his time, making sure he had the words and the grammar correct. But he was pleased with how he sounded.

There was a slash of brighter color from where Kisuke sat, the other obviously smiling in the faint light.

Another flash and rumbled, and even the dim light from outside faded as the sky opened up and rain poured down. Both men looked out, and then Ichigo yelped as his phone trilled. Fumbling it, aware he was blushing as Kisuke chuckled at him, Ichigo saw that it was Unagiya giving him a call back.

Moving back to the counter, he answered it. “Hey,” he said, leaning against the counter as he watched the rain come down outside. It was soaking wet out there, and he was glad he had brought his umbrella today. Yuzu had called and insisted, and the thought of his sister made him smile, just a little. He’d have to say thank you when he talked to her later.

“Lock up and go home,” his boss said. “The storm has half the city blacked out, so it’ll be while before it comes back on.” She sighed. “I’ll go through and clean up in the morning, toss the stuff that needed to stay cold. No need to try it in the dark.”

Ichigo glanced at Kisuke, then outside, frowning a bit. “All right. I can come in early tomorrow and help with any clean up if you need me to.” Because as much as they bickered, he liked his boss. Even if she was insane when her kid showed up.

She snorted on the other side of the line. “Go home and sleep for once. I’ll see you are your regular time.”

Then she hung up, and Ichigo rolled his eyes. Blunt as always. Putting his phone way, Ichigo glanced where Kisuke had been sitting.

Only to yelp again as he realized the man was standing just outside of arms reach, hat in place and bag looped over his shoulder.

Kisuke was close enough now that Ichigo would clearly see the shit eating grin on his face. “I assume you’ll be closing now,” the blond said cheerfully. “I hope you have a good night and a safe trip home, Ichigo-san.”

Huffing a bit at the man, Ichigo glanced outside again. “I will. Can I walk you anywhere? I have an umbrella….”

His voice trailed off, and he looked at Kisuke. The smile had faded, and he realized that Kisuke was studying him. Then the smile curled across Kisuke’s face again, softer and calmer as the man seemed happy at the offer.

“Ah, I will fine.” Kisuke shifted so his bag was secure. “Though I appreciate your kindness.” He held up the coffee that Ichigo had just given him, and then moved, ignoring Ichigo’s startled protest as he managed to get to the door and then out, without even running into any of the chairs or tables.

Ichigo grimaced. The guy was going to get soaked.

He wondered if Kisuke even had dry stuff to change into.

Hopefully.

Ichigo made a note to get him a free drink the next time he showed up.

Because it was the right thing to do. Not because of the way Kisuke had smiled when holding the cup before leaving.

Ichigo really needed to get better at lying to himself, honestly. With a sigh, he started to lock things up and head out. Something to consider later.

#Bleach #Kurosaki Ichigo #Urahara Kisuke #Unagiya Ikumi #Coffee shop AU #writer au #No regrets #Hobo Writer

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illfoandillfie · 3 years

Note

hi i hope you don’t mind me being nosey but i was wondering if i could ask a few things about u being aro? i kinda just wanted to know how u figured it out? and also do u still get feelings for people but choose not to pursue it? sorry if i’m kinda intruding i don’t mean to, just curious

i dont mind at all darl! (actually...lowkey i love when people are curious about it lmao so feel free to ask more questions) also this is going under a cut cause it got longer than i meant it to lmao

figuring it out wasnt easy and it took a lot of self reflection and like months of questioning and doing research and then worrying i was getting it wrong. Basically i first considered the idea that i could be aro when i was approaching my 25th birthday. A friend of mine (the only guy i’ve had any sort of a fling with) had announced he was engaged and i was completely down on myself wondering why i couldnt get a single date when he was off getting engaged (not that i even Wanted to get married i just would have liked some attention). I figured there had to be something wrong with me or something about me that was broken. And then i saw someone i followed at the time reblog a post about being aro. I’d seen the phrase a little before but never really considered it as fitting me but i’d also never really paid attention to what it actually meant.

I don’t remember what the post was exactly, it’s probably somewhere in the thousands and thousands of posts i’ve liked over the years but there’s no easy way to check so . Whatever it said it felt relatable enough that I went and googled aromanticism to try and figure out what it was and if it fit me. Because I was already in a headspace where I’d been thinking about my lack of a romantic history already, a lot of the stuff that i read had been stuff i’d been thinking about anyway. Like Reader said in Platonic when she was talking about how she figured it out, I’ve never had a proper crush. I spent months thinking about it after my friend told me he’d proposed. I have very vivid memories of literally deciding to have a crush on a boy in primary school because it seemed like i should (again, i included that directly in Platonic lmao down to the boys name and everything). And every guy I’ve had an interest in since has been either a brief physical attraction that i forgot about as soon as I wasn’t seeing him regularly or something that I deliberately manufactured either in an attempt to fit in with the people around me or because i was kind of bored. Even the cute music teacher at work last year like he was hot and i wouldnt have said no to a kiss or whatever but i just didn’t have any feelings about him beyond that.

While I was trying to figure out if I was aro I read a lot of websites. The AVENwiki has a page on aromanticism and I think also has pages on some of the aro-spec identities like greyromantic and demiromantic so that was a good starting point for definitions. Google also gave me a few different forums and stuff where aro people were talking about being aro. A lot of aromantic resources are tied up in the asexual community though because that’s where the language and everything was first suggested and what it evolved from. I don’t think that necessarily helped me feel comfortable using the term aro to describe myself because i’m pretty confident i’m not ace but the more I looked into it the more stuff I found from people who were allosexual but aromantic. Anyway, I spent weeks just googling “aromantic” and seeing what came up and rereading what i’d already read and resisting the fact that a lot of it fit me. Then I spent a while trying to find like a quiz or something that would just give me an answer. I found a few quizzes but all of them assumed at least one previous relationship so none of them were any use to me. But gradually I started feeling okay with calling myself aro. I think part of my hesitation was probably also because knowing I was aro didn’t feel like a solution it just felt my damage had a name. The other part is that romantic attraction is not easy to define which makes it hard to identify if you feel it or not so the part of me that wanted to be Normal kept being like ‘well if you dont know you cant call yourself aro’. But I thought about it a lot and I read any aro related post that crossed by dash and then ventured into the tumblr tag and found some helpful discussion stuff in there and then I started calling myself aro just quietly, only in my own head. It took a long time before I felt okay admitting that I was aro on my own blog but obviously i got there in the end lmao. That friend, the one who got engaged, he’s the only person i’ve told irl though.

as to your second question....

I don’t think I feel romantic attraction. Truthfully, as i said before, it’s hard to know for certain and there is a possibility that i could form a romantic attraction to someone one day but i think it’s very unlikely. Other forms of attraction are different though. I can be attracted to people physically and sexually. And I think I could possibly be attracted to people in a platonic “man i’d really like to be their friend” kind of way though it doesnt come up very much because im not really one to like meet people. I like my own company.

But i’ve never really acted on any sort of attraction or feelings for others. I was definitely attracted to CMT but I never acted on it because it seemed like too much work. The was a guy who worked at a pop culture collectables shop a few years ago who i thought was very cute and I did contemplate asking him out but it just never felt like a real option and I sort of just ignored it until he left the job. So yeah I guess I do get some sorts of feelings and then choose not to do anything with them, but they aren’t romantic feelings. But like right now I’ve got no interest in anyone (apart from ben and roger but i guess they dont really count lmao). None of the teachers at work interest me and i havent met anyone else recently and it really isnt bothering me. Theres a guy in IT who i could possibly see myself fawning over a bit cause he’s handsome and has an unusual accent but he’s got the same name as my brother so i’ve already ruled him out as a no go lmao.

Anyway, hopefully that answered your questions! If there’s anything else you want to know or you’d like me to try and explain something more fully my inbox is always open!

#Anonymous #about me

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years

Text

what more can I say?

There is a minor mystery for Juno to solve- why is Rita acting so strangely?

---

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment on Ao3, it means the world to me and it’s free!

---

Juno had known Rita for a very long time, he knew her better than just about anyone. So, quite some time ago, he had stopped trying to understand a lot of her decisions. There were some things that could only be chalked up as pure Rita-isms.

Something he hadn’t realised until recently, or at least hadn’t allowed himself to realise, was that following her crazy straw streams of non-logic would usually lead to a lot more fun than scowling or snapping at her would. He still felt a hot pinching sensation in the pit of his stomach when he thought about things he’d said to her in the past.

So for that and other reasons, when she came to him after their weekly family dinner, dragged his plate out from under his fork and told him they were gonna go to his room and get him dressed up nice, he didn’t immediately tell her to go to hell.

Instead he gestured with his fork at the plate, still with a good few mouthfuls of the moussaka he’d spent all afternoon making, and said, “I’m not done with that…”

“You can eat later, Mistah Steel,” Rita said immediately, stepping on the end of his sentence like he’d barely even spoken, “C’mon, let’s go to your room, let’s hang out! Like the old days, right?”

Juno narrowed his eye, not bothering to point out that they hadn’t hung out really in the old days, he’d been a sour asshole of a cliff face and she had been an undeservingly relentless tide of friendship crashing against him.

“Why exactly would I go get dressed up?” he put audible air quotes around the phrase, “We’re floating in the middle of deep space and will remain that way for the next three weeks.”

Rita’s eyes darted left and right before her grin increased another factor of ten, “I just think it’ll be fun! Who needs a reason, right?”

“Certainly not you…” Juno admitted, looking around at the kitchen.

Was it him or had the table cleared eerily quickly? Normally the crew lazed around, enjoying knowing their work for the day was done and the evening was entirely their own. He was used to Buddy lighting up the one cigarette she allowed herself per day, filling the air with a rich smell like burning flowers; he was used to Jet closing his eyes, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair, no one ever quite sure if he was asleep. He was used to doing the dishes with Rita, flicking bubbles at each other until Buddy calmly and fondly told them to quit before they turned the floor of her kitchen into a swamp. He was used to his boyfriend pulling him to rest against his shoulder and wrapping curls of his hair around his fingers, gradually getting more intimate and caring less about who was watching until Vespa would pretend to retch and tell them to get a room.

But it seemed like everyone had somewhere to be tonight, including his boyfriend. Nureyev was nowhere to be seen, which was passing strange. Juno had suggested they watch a movie together about now and he had seemed to agree but now he’d disappeared. Not completely unusual for Nureyev, obviously, but Juno somehow felt a little stood up, like a date left lingering at the bar.

“Fine, fine,” Juno sighed, “Whatever. Still don’t see what’s wrong with what I’m wearing…”

Rita looked down at his homemade tie dye shirt, the pyjama pants with the slack elastic, bright purple and patterned in cartoon bats that he’d been wearing since one not even memorable Halloween decades ago, the bed socks that didn’t match. She didn’t say anything which, for Rita, spoke volumes.

Juno pushed back his chair, rolling his eyes and walking towards his room. Behind him, Rita squealed and clapped her hands in delight before hurrying after him.

Nureyev wasn’t in there either, as Juno had been hoping. Not that they ever really hung out in his room, given that it was a tip and all the disorganisation gave Nureyev a headache. Juno thought that was kind of hypocritical, he’d seen the inside of that man’s pockets.

But he did have to admit, it was looking more and more like a teenager’s room as the days went by. It didn’t help that he hadn’t slept in here since he and Nureyev had gotten back together and now basically used it to store all the things he didn’t regularly need. The important stuff like his everyday clothes, his current book and his guitar were in Nureyev’s much tidier bunk. This was where he threw things he knew he wouldn’t need to put his hands on at a moment’s notice.

Like his wardrobe of nice clothes and fancy dresses, which Rita currently had the whole upper half of her body sunk into like she was going to end up face first in Narnia, spitting out snow.

“You got a lot of real cute outfits in here, Boss…” she called back, her voice muffled by netting and satin.

“Not your boss,” Juno yawned, flopping back onto the bed, sending a sheaf of files on jobs completed months ago tumbling onto the floor, “They’re mostly stuff for heists and the one date night a month me and Ransom get when we’re not stuck in the outer space ass crack of the middle of nowhere.”

“Nothing from the old days?” Rita hummed, reappearing briefly with a necklace wrapped around one of her space buns before plunging back in.

“You think anything from then is still gonna fit over my thighs?” Juno arched an incredulous eyebrow, “Nah, that all got left behind when we split from Mars. Besides...I dunno, I guess it wasn’t really my style anymore.”

Rita reappeared, looking like some kind of burrowing animal who’d made her nest in fabrics, “Oh I know, Mistah Steel. Cos you were kinda depressed back then, huh?”

Juno had to laugh wryly, “Yeah, I guess so. Or at least...I dunno. I was different, that’s for sure.”

Rita grinned and disappeared back into the wardrobe, “Now you got Misah Ransom. And you’re in love and happy.”

Juno felt himself blush and he suddenly became very interested in his fingernails, “I mean...I guess…”

“How about this one?” Rita burst out, holding a dress that was floor length and blue, glittering gently in the light.

Juno remembered it as soon as he saw it, it had been from a job at a Venusian casino. He’d spent the whole night with one hand idly stroking the skirts as they’d lain across his lap, he’d enjoyed the feel of it that much. As soon as he’d been presented with it, he’d thought of it as a slice of the night sky taken down and woven into a garment. He’d felt a little like a constellation come to life, he’d felt actually kind of pretty.

And, after they were back on the ship, Nureyev had disappeared under those skirts and made him feel beautiful.

Juno shook his head, “I still don’t see why we’re doing this but sure. That one works. There’s shoes to go with it somewhere in there.”

Rita found the shoes and a necklace and earring set that hadn’t been part of the original ensemble but matched very well. They were gold and gossamer thin, like the product of some jewelled spider, and they were studded part way along by miniscule stars. They looped and hung subtly, like Nureyev’s own earrings that he’d always admired.

“Aren’t you getting dressed up?” he tilted his head to fix the earring on better, looking in the small wall mirror that had come with the room, “I thought we were hanging out? I’m gonna feel like an ass looking like this on my own.”

He could see her reflection in the background of the mirror, she was checking her comms. Just as she’d done six times since they came in.

“Oh you won’t be the only one, Boss,” she said quickly, “I’ll get my gladrags on in a little bit.”

“Not your boss,” Juno sighed, “And fine, whatever. Though this is feeling more like a prank by the second.

“Not a prank,” Rita replied primly, “Just think it’ll make you feel nice. Does a lady good to beautify themselves every so often, y’know?”

Juno shared an exasperated look with his mirror self but he pulled out his old make up bag all the same. It was a mess, smeared on the inside with smudges of colour like a parrot had exploded inside it, and it’s chaos reminded him why he used Nureyev’s much more extensive supply instead.

Still, it was sort of fun, picking out shades that looked nice, playing with colour and shape. Nureyev always applied his make up too, doing it with one eye wasn’t impossible but it was harder. And he loved having his boyfriend so close, being the sole focus of every scrap of his attention. It made him squirm in a good way and often led to things that meant they had to redo the make up anyway.

But there was something fun about doing it himself too. It reminded him of being a teenager, one of the few fragments of that age that made him feel good, trying out the lipstick and mascara he’d shoplifted and suddenly feeling happy with his face in a way he never had, eventually finding words that could give him the same feeling. It didn’t have to look good, it didn’t have to be perfect, it never had. It made him smile all the same.

“That’s looking real pretty, Mistah Steel,” Rita popped up again, beaming like a proud older sister seeing her brother off to prom.

“It’s lopsided,” Juno grunted, focused on his eyeliner, “...but thanks.”

“You’re always looking real pretty,” Rita continued, her voice softening, “Does me good to see a smile on your face every day, Mistah Steel, it really does. You’ve always deserved someone like him, you know, someone who makes you smile and treats you right. I’m glad you found him and you worked out all the sticky bits and now you kiss and stuff…”

Juno turned to give her a look, “What’s with the misty eyes, Rita?”

“No reason!” she jumped, like she’d realised she was sliding down into something and busied herself looking at her comms again, her face a little tense like she was concentrating.

Juno watched her for a long minute, feeling the detective part of his brain stir. She was up to something, he could have seen that with his one eye closed. It was what she was up to exactly that he needed to find out.

“Say!” she bounced up to his side, taking his arm, “Why don’t we go up on the observation deck? Take a little walk? Maybe we can...oh! That’s it, we can take some pictures! Nice pretty pictures!”

Juno was too intrigued to argue, wanting to see where this was all going, “Why the hell not, huh? Me looking like a debutante and you still in your pyjamas. Why the hell not…”

Rita did blush, her eyes sliding down to the floor. But then she seemed to gather herself, the way he’d seen her do on so many late nights at the HCPD, so many cases that had seemed impossible, so many things he hadn’t thought they’d survive.

“Well what are we waiting for?” she grinned, tugging him up onto the kitten heels she’d found, “Let’s go see some stars!”

Again, the Carte Blanche seemed oddly silent. Juno could never forget that he lived with five other people, there would always be someone playing music or voices echoing down the halls as someone had a conversation. Jet hammering away or cursing as solder dripped on his fingers, Rita shrieking at some jumpscare in her show accompanied by the patter of popcorn hitting her bed, Buddy singing to herself as she brushed her hair out before bed, Vespa working late in the infirmary, knives and scalpels clattering out a sharp edged song as she sorted through them.

And Nureyev, always his Nureyev, humming to himself as he brushed out his hair, singing in the shower, stealing Juno’s book and laughing at the same bits he’d laughed at, talking away as he sewed. His voice, always part of Juno’s life, the constant reminder that he was there and close and Juno’s.

But it was like he and Rita were the only ones on the ship, in the universe even. There was only the click of his own heels and the gentle jangle of his jewellery, along with Rita’s heavy breathing which seemed to be getting more and more as they went along.

She was keeping something from him. Not something she did often but he could see she was practically bursting at the seams, about to explode in a fountain of confetti and probably an ear splitting scream. He was suppressing the urge to take a step back from her, just in case.

The Carte Blanche’s observation deck was right at the top, in the outermost of the ship’s bulged exterior. It required the climbing of a lot of stairs and a ladder, worming through the ship’s tightest spots, not exactly easy in heels and a long, swishing skirt. Harder even, seeing as Rita insisted on never letting go of his hand as she led him for some reason, her fingers warm in his own and trembling with the excitement she was trying to pretend wasn’t there.

If asked later, Juno would say it was because he hadn’t actually been a detective in years, it was no wonder his skills were a little rusty. That would be his excuse for why he didn’t realise what was happening until they reached the bottom of the last ladder and he heard the music drifting down.

It took him a moment to place it but once he did, he was there so completely it was like he’d slipped and ended up in another time. He was in a ballroom with towering ceilings and walls lined with impossibly expensive treasures. His dress wasn’t blue but gold and his heels were uncomfortably tall and Nureyev was beside him, slowly opening up to him over the course of an evening, ready to hear what he was saying. It wasn’t the high energy song they’d danced to, but the quiet, gentle song that had been playing as they’d ran as fast as they could back out into the night, laughter rising in their chest like champagne bubbles, a piece of a legend hidden under Juno’s skirts and his fingers wound through Nureyev’s.

Back in the moment, realigned in the here and now, Juno froze, a soft gasp escaping him.

Rita stopped, one of her feet on the rung of the ladder, turning back to him and seeing in a second what he’d realised.

“Oh no,” she moaned, her face falling into despair, “I told Mistah Ransom I’d keep it secret, I’m sorry, I knew I’d ruin it…’

Juno shook his head, squeezing her hand, “No, you’ve not ruined anything, Rita. He won’t be mad and neither am I.”

Rita looked at him doubtfully from behind her rhinestone encrusted glasses. He remembered the slow day they’d sat cross legged on his dusty office carpet and glued all of those little things on there. He’d found the bastards in the pockets of his coat for months afterwards.

“Are you sure, Boss? Cos you look kinda...pale? Like that ashy, not so good colour...”

Juno chuckled roughly, “It’s just a big deal, y’know? Everything kind of changes from this point. And I’m not your boss.”

Rita scuffed the toe of her sandal against the floor, “Maybe not as much as you think though? You’ll still have your thief and we’ll still live on this awesome ship like super cool space pirates. You’ll just get to call him something different!”

Juno considered that, feeling like he wanted to grin so hard his jaw would ache, his heart hammering against his ribs like it wanted out, “I do…”

“And...well,” Rita flashed her ten kilowatt smile, “If you wanna go steal Mistah Jet’s car and go drive off to Pluto together? We can do that right now. I got your back, Mistah Steel.”

Juno cackled, “Thanks, Rita. Maybe one day but for now...I think I’m gonna go in there.”

Rita nodded, making her space buns bounce, kissing his cheek lightly before starting back down the way they had come, “Sounds like a good idea to me. I’ll talk to ya later, Boss.”

“I’m not your boss!” Juno called after her, only realising when their voices were echoing together off the chrome walls that she’d mimicked him perfectly.

Juno chuckled to himself and faced the last ladder again, taking a deep breath. Another fragment of another time tried to press in, wanting to overlay itself across this moment, wanting to drag his thoughts in another direction. But Juno swept it away firmly. He would enjoy this. He would look back on this and feel nothing but joy.

Still smiling, he climbed, stepping up into the music.

Nureyev always paced when he was nervous. He was just so rarely nervous that many people didn’t notice.

But he was pacing now, rapidly walking the length of the observation deck, checking his comms over and over, watching the little digital numbers tick higher and higher.

Juno was supposed to be here two minutes and twenty seconds ago. That was what he had agreed with Rita, having to sit her down, hold her head and speak very slowly to make sure she was actually listening. It was all as meticulously planned as any heist the Aurinko crime family had ever pulled off, maybe even more so because this was his plan. He’d constructed this, down to the second, and he’d selected his partner carefully. He had a lot of faith in the little hacker, at least in how much she wanted Juno to be happy. He’d laid it all out for her at a table in the nicest restaurant he could find during their last stop planetside, he’d run her through every step and sub-step, every contingency plan. After she’d cried happy tears into her wine for an hour.

But now, right at the most important moment, it was falling apart. He was in position, with the music playing and the candles flickering like some of the stars outside had come loose and settled on every available surface. He was dressed impeccably, in the outfit it had taken him two weeks to decide on. It was part way between Duke Rose and Rex Glass, sleek and sophisticated but softer than he would dress for a job. He didn’t want armour for this, he wanted to be vulnerable. He wanted to wear things that would remind Juno of everywhere they’d been and every step that had brought them here. He even had sunglasses perched on his head as something of a joke.

He was as ready as he was ever going to be, sweating under his silk and mouth dry as a bone behind his perfectly lipsticked smile. But he had no Juno.

A million rationally unlikely but impossible to shake off theories vied for his attention. Nureyev knew they’d talked about this at length, he knew Juno’s past, he knew how he’d been hurt. He had been completely ready to accept that this was never something he’d want.

But he had also believed him when he’d taken his hands, a hundred nights ago now, and said this was okay. That one day, at some shining point in their future, Nureyev could ask and he would answer.

Nureyev knew that. He told himself that over and over but the possibility that Juno might have bolted was lurking in the back of his mind now, a shadow on a wall that kept catching on the corner of his eye. Maybe he’d been wrong this whole time, maybe he’d heard only what he wanted to hear. Maybe he’d dreamed the whole damn thing and was about to wake up alone in a hotel room in Hyperion City.

Four minutes now. Nureyev pressed his fingertips to his temples and willed himself to calm down. There was no time to spiral, he had to keep his feet on the ground. Losing his head had never done him any good, only telling himself he was in control until he willed it so had ever worked. If he told himself all was well then it would be, even if Juno never turned up, if he never turned up…

“Nureyev?”

His voice was soft but Nureyev would have picked it out from thousands. His heart was in his throat as he turned, a soft breath leaving him as he saw the lady life had rewarded him with, in spite of everything he’d done.

Juno looked beautiful, wearing his blue, star studded dress, a number Nureyev wasn’t likely to forget after how the night had ended the last time he’d worn it. His face was done up but it was everything underneath that made Nureyev stop, the scars and the badly healed breaks and the lines. Everything that reminded him it wasn’t a goddess he was looking at, it was something so much better. A human person, broken and tired as he was, who by some miracle loved him as much as he loved them.

You couldn’t spend the rest of your life with a goddess, after all.

It only took a second before Nureyev realised what that coy, lopsided smile meant. He knew. And a heartbeat later they were both laughing.

“I’m sorry,” Juno managed to get out in between his wheezing laughs, bracing on his knees, “I’m so sorry, go ahead, pretend this didn’t happen. Do your thing.”

Nureyev had his arms wrapped around himself, like he needed to physically hold it together, giggling madly, “Nothing ever goes right for us, does it?”

“No,” Juno admitted, finally straightening and wiping at his eye, “But I like that. We’re consistent if nothing else. But seriously, pretend I’m not a complete idiot, go ahead.”

“You’re not,” Nureyev smiled crookedly, taking a deep breath and brushing down the front of his suit, though it was as spotless as ever, clearing his throat before asking, “May I have this dance, Mr Steel?”

Juno smiled bright as a sun and held out his hand, “Thought you’d never ask.”

Nureyev had been trained in every kind of formal dance found on any solar planet, he knew every step, every combination, and he could move through them with grace and poise, every limb extending perfectly like he was underwater. Juno clearly had a scant fraction of that knowledge but what made the difference was he danced like he enjoyed it. He didn’t dance to perform, he didn’t dance for other people’s eyes. Clearly, he danced because it made him smile. And the smile he gave Nureyev as they danced across the observation deck, silhouetted before a galaxy, was beautiful enough to hurt.

It felt for a moment like they were dancing through the last decade. As the pink light from the cluster of gas and stars shifted, Juno’s face changed and Nureyev saw all the versions of his love that he’d known. He saw a scared and bitter detective who’d wanted him to save him but wouldn’t let it happen. He saw the man who’d fully intended to die for him. He saw the man who had held him and promised him his heart, only to snatch it away at the last moment so he wouldn’t see how cracked and scarred it was. He saw the man who’d bared everything to him after knocking on his door, with mascara smudges in the corner of his eyes, and made Nureyev want to stay for the first time in his life.

Nureyev couldn’t bear it any more. He stopped, dipping Juno carefully in his arms, pressing a feather light kiss to his lips so he didn’t overbalance them. Juno was laughing again as he righted them, knowing what was coming, tears already beading on his eyelashes.

Smiling softly, the thief sank to one knee and produced the ring he definitely hadn’t stolen, seemingly from thin air but actually from his pocket.

“Juno Steel,” he murmured, not seeing the point of flowery language, not right now, “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in the whole Universe. Will you marry me?”

It was an old ring, something he’d picked up at an antique shop the last time they had been on Earth, the only planet old enough to actually have antiques. It was simple, winding silver arms holding a small diamond, nondescript so he would never have to take it off no matter what job they were on. It had a deep sense of history to it, a piece of living proof that everything difficult in their lives, everything that had hurt them, couldn’t take away the future they had in front of them. Things kept moving forward, they always had.

Juno gave a little sob when he saw it, the kind that was kind of a laugh too. He held out his hand, nodding hard, “Yes. Yes, Peter Nureyev, I will marry you.”

Before the ring was even fully on his finger, he was crashing down onto his knees to kiss him, throwing his arms around Nureyev’s shoulders. They were laughing again because how could either of them have imagined it would end like this?

“I love you,” Juno gasped, kissing him hard in between bright bursts of laughter, “I love you, I love you, god damnit, I love you…”

“Fool,” Nureyev breathed, smiling, tears running down his face and not caring, “And I love you too.”

They wouldn’t be able to do it officially of course, Nureyev didn’t really exist and they were all living outside of the law and very much wanted by several different authorities. It would be something more performative, Buddy as their captain performing the rights in something of a space age matelotage, just their little family to witness it. But it would mean everything to them.

And Juno knew exactly who his maid of honour was going to be.

#jupeter #tpp #the penumbra podcast #juno steel #peter nureyev #tpp juno #tpp nureyev #tpp rita #rita #junoverse #juniverse #proposal #just some wholesome gayness tonight #and some good good Juno and Rita friendship

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pastelwitchling · 5 years

Text

This prompt is courtesy of Anonymous.

This is my last prompt! I swear!! So don't hate me too much lol Kyle noticing Alex's discomfort with his prosthetic/how much he's in pain and looking after him. Bonus if the gang is there to see soft Kyle. (bromance or romance, whatever you like)

***

Alex hadn’t spoken to Michael in months, and Michael had started to feel it within the first week. He thought of Alex when he woke up and Alex when he fell asleep. He thought of Alex as he worked on car engines, changed tires, replaced windows. No matter what he was doing, Alex was on his mind.

Michael roughly turned the wrench, his other hand on the hood of the car as he thought of the last time he’d seen Alex. The airman hadn’t spoken a word to him, hadn’t even looked at him, but Michael had been able to look at no one else. Kyle Valenti had been with him, his brows furrowed and a frown at his lips as he stepped closer to the airman, close enough to kiss, and Alex hadn’t even turned away. If anything, it looked like he welcomed Valenti’s touch. Just the memory of it burned his chest and had him levitating the lawn chairs and bonfire behind him by accident.

He closed his eyes, sighing as everything landed roughly back on the ground.

“Tough day?”

Michael looked up. It was no wonder that, after being unable to move Alex from his mind for even a second, seeing Kyle Valenti in his junkyard brought up more memories of the airman.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Some welcome.”

“You’re not welcome,” Michael said with an edge despite himself, but Kyle didn’t seem the least bit affected.

“I need to talk to you.”

“’Bout what?” Michael asked, returning his focus to the engine. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Kyle, to think that Alex had touched him so intimately, that Kyle had kissed him, that they had—

“Alex.”

Michael stilled. He swallowed, smirking despite feeling anything but humored. “What? Come to ask for my blessings? You guys wanna have sex, have at it, you don’t need my permission.”

“Would you shut up for two seconds and listen to me?” Kyle snapped, his voice quiet, but dark. Every muscle in Michael’s body tensed, and his smirk fell away. Taking this as a sign to continue, Kyle ran a hand through his hair, obviously lost on how to phrase the problem. Spit it out! Michael almost yelled, but if it turned out nothing and he seemed too eager, Kyle might tell Alex, and then there really would be no pretending that Michael didn’t care about him.

“He’s depressed,” Kyle said, and at Michael’s raised brow, he huffed, “Like, really depressed, Guerin. A week after Caulfield, he and I went to visit this psychic who was supposed to have been part of Project Shepherd back in the eighties. She – I don’t know – she freaked him out, told him he was going to end up just like his dad. A monster and alone.”

Michael frowned. “And Alex bought that? That doesn’t sound like him.”

“Really? Given recent evidence, you’ll have to forgive him for entertaining the idea,” Kyle said angrily, and it was only now that Michael realized the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hand slightly trembled – Michael wondered how long it had been since he had slept, and if that had anything to do with taking care of Alex. If his airman needed someone to take care of him, and wasn’t bothering with hiding it, then something really was wrong.

“Where is he now?”

“The cabin,” Kyle said, then shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s been in bed for days. He barely eats or sleeps, I – I don’t know what else to do.”

And Michael hated to ask. He hated that he needed to ask, but…

“Where’s the cabin?”

Kyle’s shoulders fell. He shook his head as if saying that he should’ve known better, and he turned around. “I’ll drive on ahead of you.”

Michael swallowed, the rag he’d picked up to clean his hands clenched tightly between his fingers. “Later.”

Kyle stopped in his tracks. “Later?”

“I, uh,” he gestured to the car in front of him. “I still have to finish this. I’ll go later, just give me the directions.”

Kyle’s frown deepened as he glanced at the car. “Did you not hear me? Alex needs help, we don’t have time to argue about this.”

But Michael couldn’t face him. Couldn’t bear to take the rejection in his eyes if he saw Michael. And what if he did accept him? What if he looked to Michael and asked him if he believed in the psychic’s words? If he believed that Alex was anything like his father? How would Michael say no and mean it? How would Alex ever believe him if he lied?

“He’ll be fine with you for a while,” Michael said, the words burning his tongue. He should be the one with Alex, he should be the one looking after him. To give that honor to Kyle, of all people, seemed like a betrayal of everything his heart yearned for. “After I finish work—”

“Forget your goddamn work!” Kyle snapped, beating a fist against the car Michael had been fixing. “Alex needs you. Isn’t that more important?”

Michael said nothing, and Kyle scoffed. “If it wasn’t for Alex, I wouldn’t even bother. But I’ve tried everything, and he’s still miserable. So,” he seethed, pointing at his own truck, “get your ass in the damn car before I put you in a coma, and I swear, I’ll leave you here to rot, Guerin.”

Michael swallowed, his brows furrowed, his eyes burning. He wasn’t afraid of Kyle, but he was afraid of whatever possessed Kyle to be so protective of Alex. He was afraid that it would take him out of the picture completely, he was afraid that with Kyle so desperate to save him, Alex would think that was enough. That he’d really never think about Michael again.

Without a word, he did as he was told, and he and Kyle drove in silence. Michael blinked at the large cabin. “How did Alex afford this?”

Kyle pulled out something glittering from his pocket; a key. Valenti had a key to the place?

“My dad left it to him in his will.”

“Your dad,” Michael repeated. The thought of even Kyle’s family protecting Alex bothered him. They were so intertwined, every aspect of their life connected. What was Michael supposed to mean to him?

“Come on,” he said, opening his door. “Keep your voice down. He was sleeping before I left.”

They stepped out of the car, up the porch, and into the cabin. As Kyle slowly moved around, Michael couldn’t help but think how smoothly he did it, as if he’d walked these halls a hundred times. He silently inhaled. He had to calm down.

Kyle glanced over his shoulder at him as they came to a stop in front of a partly closed room, and he gently pushed the door open, revealing a bedroom.

Michael looked around. It was as neat as he expected Alex’s room might be. No dark colors, no band posters, no anything that might’ve associated this Alex with the Alex he had known as a kid. Instead, there were files strewn around the foot of a bed, several papers having fallen out and jumbled together.

“What is all this—” he tried to ask, but Kyle instantly turned, shushing him. Michael looked curiously over his shoulder, his heart sinking when he saw Alex sleeping on the bed, his back turned to them.

“He started to slip a few days after the psychic,” Kyle whispered, very slowly making his way to the bed, and taking a seat beside Alex. “He was obsessed with shutting Project Shepherd down. Little by little, he just stopped showing up at the bunker. Then he stopped sleeping. Then he stopped eating. Then he stopped doing anything. I’ve had to make sure he’s taken his medication over a dozen times already.”

“Medication?”

“For his leg,” Kyle sighed. “And nightmares. Sometimes he forgets, but lately it feels like he just stopped caring.” He put the blanket up to cover Alex’s shoulders. “I mean, look at this,” his voice cracked. “Usually, just coming into the driveway would’ve been enough to wake him up. Now, nothing does.”

Michael stepped closer to the bed. All those times that Alex had ignored him, that he hadn’t even looked at him, and Michael had never known that things were so bad. He remembered his earlier concern of having to lie to Alex, but seeing him like this – so beaten down and sad – it felt like such a pitiful excuse not to face the man he loved.

Tears filled his eyes, and he whispered, “Was it always this bad?”

“Just gets worse every day,” Kyle said, and Alex suddenly started hyperventilating, squirming around in bed as if he was bleeding out. “It’s okay,” the doctor breathed, and pushed the blanket down to reveal Alex’s stump.

He started rubbing circles into the muscle, whispering, “It’s okay, buddy, I’m right here,” soothingly, over and over. Michael watched as Alex’s squirming and whimpers slowly subsided, and he was breathing regularly again, fast asleep.

Michael stepped back. “W – What was…”

“He gets a lot of pain in his leg,” Kyle said, seemingly having not noticed Michael move further away in a slight panic as he tucked Alex in again, moving his bangs from his eyes. His hair’s gotten longer, Michael thought uselessly. “Wakes up sometimes with this look on his face, like he’s forgotten.”

Kyle sighed and stood, pointing to the door. “Come on, we better let him sleep.”

He walked out, but Michael found himself unable to move. Alex’s brows were still furrowed, though he wasn’t fidgeting anymore. Michael reached down to touch his cheek, but just before he could, Alex groaned and moved away, as if even in his sleep, he was forbidding Michael from coming near him.

Michael’s fingers curled into a fist, and he let it fall to his side. He kept his eyes on Alex as he moved back, and finally left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Does his leg hurt a lot?” he finally asked as Kyle went to the kitchen, pulling out a pot.

“He says it’s just a little discomfort,” Kyle said, opening the fridge and pantry like he was used to doing it. “But I’ve seen enough pain to know what it looks like.”

Michael leaned against a couch, rubbing his face. “Yeah. That sounds like Alex. What’re you doing?”

“Making some soup. It’s all he can stomach nowadays.”

Michael stared. “You usually make him food?”

“Just lately,” Kyle said without looking at him. “Like I said, he’s been sick.”

The cowboy swallowed, looking to Alex’s closed door. “He’s like this because of me.”

“No.”

Michael looked to Kyle to see him watching him with a dark look in his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, his hands on the counter. “I’m not saying it for you. I’m saying it for him. Alex won’t break because of you.” He went back to chopping carrots. “No matter what, he would’ve gone to that psychic, and she would’ve told him what she did. Alex was always afraid of ending up like Jesse. One way or another, he would’ve needed to end up here.”

“What, so depressed he can’t even move?” Michael scoffed humorlessly, the thought of Alex in bed weighing him down.

“Alex was always heading in this direction, since we were kids,” he said. “He’s always been angry, and then he was scared, then sad, and now he’s just…” he sighed, rubbing his eyes. “He has to have this now. Get it out of his system, but he’ll be fine. I know he will.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Because I was hoping you could speed up the process.”

“There’s nothing to speed up,” someone suddenly said, and they both saw Alex coming out of his room. His voice was hoarse, his skin pale, the circles under his eyes dark, and he leaned against the doorframe slightly before he pushed himself off and made his way into the kitchen. “I’m fine.”

“You woke up,” Kyle said, the knife and bell peppers falling from his hands as he watched Alex with relief.

“Were you expecting me to be asleep all day?” Alex asked, though Michael couldn’t miss the way he winced as he put his jacket over his shoulders.

“Here,” he said, moving toward Alex. “Let me help.”

“What the hell’s he doing here?” Alex asked without sparing Michael a glance. He opened his fridge and pulled out a water bottle.

“He came to see you,” Kyle said with a meaningful glance at Michael. “I was just as surprised as you are.”

Alex tilted his head at Kyle, his hands stilling on his water bottle, his lips pursed as he swallowed. Then, for the first time in a long time, he turned to look at Michael.

“Is that true?” he asked.

Michael glanced at Kyle who was watching him as if to say, Lie. Michael swallowed and smiled, though everything in him wanted to hold Alex to his chest and cry. “Yeah, you saying you don’t want me here, Private?”

Alex watched his face a moment, then scoffed, taking another sip of his water before he said, “You really think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”

Kyle’s shoulders slumped. “Alex—”

“I don’t need him here,” Alex said, turning back to the bedroom. “He can leave.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Michael said.

“Too bad.”

“Alex—”

“Go back to your girlfriend, Guerin,” Alex said, and glanced at Kyle. “You shouldn’t have brought him.”

“You’re not okay!”

“And you think he’s going to fix it?” Alex snapped, and Michael stepped back. Alex huffed a humorless chuckle, his glare moving to the cowboy. “I bet you didn’t even want to come here. Right?”

Michael said nothing, and Alex scoffed, the hurt on his face brief. “What’d you say to him?” he asked Kyle. “What’d you do to make him come? No, never mind, don’t tell me.”

Alex went into his bedroom, but before Kyle could saying anything, Michael followed the airman, shutting the door behind him.

“I want you out.”

“How are you?” Michael asked, and Alex turned to him with narrowed eyes.

“Fine.”

“No, Alex. How are you?”

Alex searched his face, then sighed. “What do you think?”

Michael clenched his jaw, his eyes burning. “Alex, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry,” Alex pressed his lips together. “Noted. Bye.”

“So you won’t even listen to me?”

“No,” Alex stepped up to him, pointing his finger in Michael’s chest. “You don’t get to do that, not this time. I didn’t leave you, Guerin, this isn’t me walking away. This is me being done. Done with being the monster, done with being the failure, done with losing – I’m just done.”

“I never meant to—”

“I don’t care what you meant! I care about what you did!”

“How could you even say that?” Michael stepped forward, touching Alex’s cheek only for Alex to flinch away as if the touch burned him. “Alex, it’s me. We always fight and we always get back together, that’s how we work!”

“Really?” Alex asked. “Look me in the eyes, and tell me you’re not angry at me for what my father’s done.”

Michael exhaled shakily. “Alex, please—”

“Answer the question, Guerin.”

“Don’t do this—”

“Just say it—”

“Alex—”

“Say the damn words!”

“I can’t!” Michael confessed, then, quieter, “I can’t.”

Alex nodded, and a tear fell down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly and turned as if he didn’t think Michael deserved to see him cry. “Sorry your day was interrupted. Please leave.”

Michael shook his head, his own eyes filling with tears. He stepped forward, hugging Alex from behind, his hold on the airman tight. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop. Please give me a chance to stop.”

Alex reached up, gripping Alex’s arm with his hand so tightly that Michael thought his skin would bruise, but he didn’t care. He wanted Alex to hold on tighter, and just before he could say so, Alex called out for Kyle, and tried to step out of Michael’s grip.

“What – no!”

“Kyle!” Alex called again, and Kyle came in just as Alex managed to free himself.

“What happened?”

“Take Guerin home,” he said without looking at Michael.

“Okay,” Kyle said, tugging on Michael’s arm. “Okay.”

Michael felt something inside him burn away as he stepped out of the room, his eyes on Alex, silently begging him to turn around and look at him. But Alex wouldn’t. Not for him.

***

Dude, you’re anonymous, I can’t tell how many prompts you’re sending. Two more to go, and then my hiatus begins! I should have them done by this upcoming Sunday, hopefully before.

Thank you so much for the prompt. While I didn’t really like what I came up with, I hope you at least enjoyed reading it 💗

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twiceminded-archived · 4 years

Text

(Awhile back I wrote a cognitive assessment for Alfend, but today I’ve decided to expand on it! So here goes!)

(Long-ass fuckin post under the cut, lots of negative psychological stuff, and child abuse mentions.)

Amnesia - Certain memories have been surpressed by conditioning. Only Fendi suffers this, and his memories of his stay in the hospital are especially shaky because of it.

Anxiety - A given, considering what he’s been through. Many things make Alfendi nervous, due to events that have happened in their life. Al typically responds with agitation, while Fendi simply compartmentalizes the feeling and sets it aside.

C-PTSD - One would expect PTSD only due to a singular event, but Alfendi’s very early life involved emotional and verbal abuse. Due to these repeated reactions towards his behaviour, Alfendi now has a myriad of problems that persist later on in life. Al inherited the majority of those behavioural issues. Some of these will be expanded on further down the post.

Cynicism - Not exactly something either of them can help, but it’s hard to keep faith in humanity and in people when you constantly see the worst of them... and when the system fails you, where else do you turn?

Defensiveness - Absolutely. Press either of them on something they’re sensitive about, and they get defensive. Al angrily goes on the attack or stands his ground, but even Fendi can lose his temper and go off if he’s cornered, if he doesn’t just lapse into silence first.

Denial - Yep! Deny, deny, deny. They’re getting a little better about it, but there’s been no real significant progress in making either half admit truth in the face of pressure.

Depersonalization - Comes with the dissociation! And with the personality death. If this body belonged to someone before you, is it really yours? How real are you if you’re just a construct, or a fragment? Too many of these questions, and they start to lose touch with the physical world and perceive things as happening to just the ‘body’, not ‘them’.

Depression - Yeah, there’s not much to elaborate on with this. The depression is real.

Displacement - Is it really a surprise that Al has this? He can’t be aggressive towards the general public, his family, his friends, or his co-workers, so the next best thing are troublemakers who do something to deserve his ire. Who’s going to care if he dumps all of that simmering rage onto someone he’s sure is a murderer? (Well...)

Dissociation - Yes. I mean, it’s very much one of the most obvious things about them. The two of them dissociate semi-regularly, detaching from their surroundings to calm down -- and also ‘switch’ to suit the situation, as people with dissociative identity disorder often do. The blueprints for this were laid by Alfendi’s terrible childhood, before Hershel took him in.

Dysphoria - Is it really his body? Fendi isn’t sure. Al’s more certain, yet at times Fendi feels like he doesn’t belong in it. But he’s there to stay, and he has to look after this body and the alter in it anyway. At times, however, he just doesn’t feel right...

Emotional detachment - Not exactly a bad thing. Fendi makes use of his while in the workplace, where keeping a cool head is pretty important when you’re trying to get the truth out of someone. However, he takes it out of work and... stifles his emotions because he’s been led to believe that too much is too dangerous. And given the horrible feelings he has after losing his temper, maybe he can’t help it.

Flashbacks - Al has these, since Al carries the majority of childhood memories. While Fendi may freeze up when yelled at, Al will freeze up and recall being back in his first house. These flashbacks often throw him into a defensive mode due to their distressing nature and ability to evoke powerful emotions. Don’t scream at them, they hate it.

Flat affect - 100% Fendi. Another word for this is called ‘emotional blunting’ and if that isn’t Fendi I dunno what is. Typically this turns into straight-up apathy, but sometimes the flat affect is done to hide whatever emotion has just struck him.

Guilt - Fendi locked a sentient part of himself away for four years. When he realized the true reason why he had done this, he was struck with guilt that has never really gone away. But he hates guilt, so he refuses to even acknowledge it.

Hallucinations - Part of that psychosis! Fendi hallucinates voices and occasional movement out of the corners of his vision. The voices are almost always persecutory in nature, and the phrases they pick might come from the things he represses. The words don’t always make sense, however.

Hypervigilance - To a point where it can become exhaustion for them. Not always a problem but when it is, it’s usually because one of their traumas have been triggered or a phobia has been recognized. When combined with paranoia (hypervigilance isn’t the same thing), they become an absolute wreck.

Intellectualization - Done all the time by Fendi. ‘Thinking to avoid feeling’ is one of the cornerstones of his personality. Engaging emotion logically helps take the edge off of it, and makes it easier to fold up and put away.

Isolation - They’re getting better at this, but paranoia threatens to sabotage their hard work. Isolation is safer, isn’t it? But God is it lonely, and they’re sick of being lonely. As Alfendi makes more friends, he’s relying on this less and less.

Panic attacks - Perhaps ‘inevitable’ isn’t the right word; maybe ‘expected’ is. They can work themselves up into a fear-induced frenzy that then results in a panic attack. Unfortunately, agoraphobia (one of Alfendi’s most pronounced phobias) contributes heavily to panic attacks, so this man just cannot catch a break... Thankfully, they’re quite verbal about panicking and know how to deal with it at this point.

Passive-aggression - Fendi’s societal weapon of choice. Al is typically aggressive and only that, but Fendi much prefers to simply ‘accept’ before quietly undermining the person who has raised his ire. Some of his snark is quite passive-aggressive and indirect.

Paranoia - This is the big one. This paranoia is the source of so many of his problems. It has thoroughly invaded his life and so profoundly affected his behaviour that if somehow his paranoia were to be cured, he would undergo quite a personality change. (It, however, cannot be ‘cured’.) Though Alfendi is right to be on edge due to his job, mild celebrity status, prior incidents, and those who oppose him, he takes things a bit too far. He HAS to be safe, HAS to be as unreachable as possible, and his tragic dream is that one day nobody will be able to hurt him ever again. What has happened to Alfendi has thoroughly broken his ability to trust, and no matter how much work is put into helping him take down his paranoid tendencies, it only takes one betrayal (perceived or otherwise) to make him shut down...

Phobias - Yes! The most pronounced one is agoraphobia. Though most people assume it’s a fear of open spaces, that’s just a literal translation. Fendi fears that if he’s put in danger again, he won’t be able to escape -- thus, being inside will keep him safer. Obviously both of them are terribly phobic of anything that can extensively alter the mind, and despise the thought of losing control. The mere suggestion of having someone else in command of them is enough to terrify them both. There’s more! See if you can find them all!

Projection - Occasionally an issue for Al, he’ll misplace his aggression or own vaguely murderous tendencies in someone else. Not like the murderers can exactly argue...

Psychosis - Actually, they both have this! Psychosis comes along with paranoia for the ride. Being able to tell real threats from threats spun out of imagination is not a skill they have anymore -- hence, the paranoid tendencies.

PTSD - Getting shot in the fucking chest and almost dying is pretty goddamn traumatizing. So is being manipulated and taken adantage of to be used as a scapegoat, but it’s a tossup if that can be classified as a PTSD event or C-PTSD event.

Rationalization - You ever see all of those excuses Fendi makes for keeping Al down? That’s literally this. He’s rationalizing it.

Repression - Gestures at Fendi again. This is different from suppression in that feelings are being pushed into the unconscious to never be dealt with!

Self-harm - Oops! This is never done to a life-threatening extent, but Alfendi tends to scratch at his arms when he’s losing his grip on his own thought processes or is overwhelmed. Sometimes he draws blood, sometimes he just gets his skin under his fingernails and that’s all...

Somatization - The amount of stress Alfendi has occasionally manifests into pain with no definitive origin.

Splitting - While Fendi can see shades of gray in people, occasionally Al will split on someone, seeing them as all good or all bad. This is not especially healthy and has led to several friendship collapses in the past. The splitting mechanism was inherited from the original Alfendi.

Sublimation - While Al does project his aggressive emotions onto people from time to time, he’ll also transform his urges and dedicate his aggression to other things, such as his knife-throwing hobby and cooking.

Suicidal ideation - Fendi once had this problem. It was fixed. Now he does not want to go away, ever.

Suppression - Sometimes it’s better to just stop thinking about certain things, you know? This can be perfectly healthy, just... there’s a point where you have to stop! While Al does have a better idea of where to stop suppressing, Fendi has decided the line is way the fuck elsewhere and suppresses much more often.

Thousand-yard stare - Ever seen Al in the middle of a flashback episode? He isn’t looking at you. He isn’t looking at anything. All he can see is what he went through, and he’s not here right now. Alternatively, when either of them are having a period of extreme dissociation, you’ll see it -- that dead gaze, that soulless expression...

Triggers - Plenty of them! Screaming is one of them. Don’t scream. Thunder and gunshots, too, put them off significantly and throw them into the beginnings of a shutdown or the start of a panic. There are others...

Trust issues - OH I WONDER WHY

Violence - Al is occasionally consumed with the thought of it, and itches for the times he can commit it in the name of self-defense which is kind of terrifying! He thrives off the threats he can make and the reputation it gives him. Is it any wonder Fendi worries about the choices he might make?

Whiplash temper - Alfendi was on the receiving end of this as a child, and unfortunately there is a legacy of abuse. He used to be doing better about his temper, until his personality shattered and Al not only reverted but became slightly worse than his predecessor in that regard.

#[ headcanon ] something emergent.#(holy fuck this is huge)#(i don't know how long i spent time on this but it sure did take awhile!)#(i do feel like i've done a pretty good job on touching on most of these and explaining how or why they affect alfendi)#(if you have further questions go ahead and ask!)#(unless you're going to ask if i have any of these cognitive issues. that is absolutely none of your business.)#child abuse mention #self harm mention #suicide mention

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sureroger · 5 years

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hey hey guys !! it’s ava again with her second character who’s on the dl the opposite but also the same as her first ?? read on !!

jon bernthal + cis man + he/him + phobia-initiated ability manifestation.┊ ❛ ━ hey, is it just me or do you hear 1921 by the who playing in the distance ? oh, that’s just roger baron, a forty-one year old psychiatrist. according to my sources, i heard he can be neutral evil and is strategic, but also sadistic. that’s probably why they remind everyone of unserved justice, “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself,” and scribbles - or maybe it’s handwriting! - so much ! anyway, whether or not they’re against the supers, crystalline city is keeping a close eye on them !

triggers: murder, gaslighting, (mental?) torture

backstory:

roger was born to a pair of supers who absolutely prayed he would develop powers of his own, as they were vehemently against the human race. they saw themselves as superior in every way, shape, and form and hoped to establish a new order someday in the future.

“in the future” being the phrase. at the time, they were consumed with roger and had little time to take over the world, you know?

however, that didn’t mean a little murder on the side was completely out of the question. his mother used her wiles to charm a judge into coming back home with her; when he got there, she and roger’s father killed the judge who’d put one of their friends in jail.

for a good reason.

what they weren’t counting on was roger seeing the whole ordeal. from his mother taking the judge to the bedroom to his father brutally massacring him. when they saw roger had been watching through a crack in the door the entire time, they realized they had to cover their tracks.

they insisted he never speak a word of it, told him to pretend he never heard or saw it. they weren’t well-known criminals yet, they’d managed to keep themselves under wraps, and he had the power to destroy that.

but their coaxing worked. it worked so well, he went mute.

due to this, he had a rather friendless childhood. school counselors suggested to his parents that he go to therapy, as there was only so much they could do, but god knows they would never let that happen.

from the age of 8-14, he said maybe all of ten sentences. however, as his power began to develop, he began feeling a certain bond with his parents, horrible as they’d been to him, and started speaking to them regularly.

he’d learned of his power when a boy he was associated with in a minor way made a passing comment having to do with a fear of his. not yet able to control it, he made the other boy’s terror appear and was like... “sick! i’m not gonna be killed by my parents!”

by the age of 16, he’d learned how to control his powers and began speaking regularly again. other than his parents, he told no one who’d known him during his selective mute ‘phase’ why it came on and how he rid himself of it.

his parents were a bit tempted to ask him if he’d like to help them kill someone, but ultimately decided against it. what good parenting skills.

when he was 18, he was accepted into yale and earned an undergrad degree for psychology. he proceeded to attend grad school for psychiatry in specific. then he had to complete three years of residency, which he chose to do in chrystalline city. then he earned his license. then he got board certified. oh my god.

doing the math, boyfriend was DEDICATED.

when he was 29, he was fully equipped to become a psychiatrist. he had also fallen in love – so romantic! – and proposed a few months after finding work in order to begin providing a stable life.

she said yes!

i may send in a wc for her, but, for context, her tentative name is maggie!

the two of them had a child together, a little girl they named sawyer. they were really living the american dream. he had a stable and well-paying job. they had a child and a golden retriever. they probably had a picket fence, let’s be real.

but that all started to change when he came up with a certain method.

before spilling this method, we’ll preface by saying that he had read of a murder very similar to the murder his parents had committed when he was 8. really, he hadn’t thought much about his parents in years, but that jogged old memories and new feelings. his wife, his colleagues, his daughter – they all wound up changing the way he saw his parents.

so he stopped by for a visit. it started out as a nice dinner, just the three of them. they said they wanted to meet his wife, he told them ‘later.’ they said they wanted to meet their grandchild, he told them ‘later.’ when they completed their meal, roger used his powers for the first time since he was a teenager. while they were distracted by visions of having to kill a young roger for having no powers, he did the best he could to replicate the way his father killed their victims without the power used.

leaving the power vague so it doesn’t seem like i’m claiming more than one ksksksks but apparently it’s gruesome y’all.

he slept peacefully.

and that night, his brain hatched an idea! he began using his powers on his clients whose disorders seemed to stem more from deep-seated fears than they did brain chemistry. it was exposure therapy, so he claimed, and they surprisingly didn’t report him for malpractice?

up until they did. they never filed an official report, but word began spreading. a lot of it was seen as rumor, what given that he’d become a respectable name in the community, but it reached maggie...

maggie was the only person he would actually tell the truth to. suffice it to say, she was horrified. she threatened leaving him with sawyer if he continued this method.

he told her he’d quit... but he’d gotten such rave reviews from some of his clients...

it all went to hell when sawyer began fearing ‘the boogeyman.’ obviously roger didn’t know what the boogeyman looked like to her, and obviously both maggie and himself had tried the whole ‘checking under the bed’ charade first... but when it all fell through, roger used his power on his five-year-old daughter.

you know, she’s five, so it was more traumatic than it was ‘healing.’

that completely tore it. maggie left that night with her daughter after telling him off, saying he was sick and twisted, that it was the cruelest thing a parent could do to their child, etc.

well... most of it went right over roger’s head after she proclaimed he was ‘sick’... perhaps ‘powers’ actually stemmed from illness, hm?

after that experience, he came to the conclusion that the only way he could live a normal life – his wife and child back – was to rid himself of the power he’d once held so dear... furthermore, to rid the entire mutant race of their powers. everyone was sick.

he started performing experiments on himself, thinking to the root causes of being a ‘mutant’ – did it stem solely from genetics, or could it be developed through trauma? did he get them because both of his parents carried the gene? or did he get it because the power was so similar to the trauma they caused him?

thus far, none of his experiments have been very successful. some have muted his powers, but, judging by patient reactions, they were still very much there. he also began taking any mutant who seemed even slightly open to the idea and experimenting on them, recognizing that all of their experiences – the age the powers developed, how the powers related to their lives, etc. – were completely different and trying to find a common thread that went beyond genetics.

the side effects were much worse than the results – again, none of which were completely effective. when he attempted to increase the amount of the serum he injected into himself that’d resulted in his powers being dulled down, it did nothing but send him to the hospital after a grand-mal seizure.

still, he’s determined to find something. he’s determined to ‘cure’ the mutant race, to get his life back to the way it was, and he won’t stop until it’s all tied up in a nice bow.

personality:

the kind of person who would blame every single one of his faults on his parents.

to be fair, he did grow up under the reign of neutral – or true – evils and was heavily influenced by the way they acted around him. so guess who gradually developed into a neutral evil himself?

THIS GUYYYYY.

so so so so so so obsessed. the pressure of finding a cure is all he really thinks of nowadays. completely convinced there is one, he will not stop experimenting on himself and others.

speaking of which, there have been a few people he’s had to bump off after experimenting on them. due to the side effects, or due to something he did (e.g. project a fear of theirs), it wasn’t uncommon for volunteers to threaten telling the police that he was performing inhumane experiments on people without giving them proper disclosure.

he tries so very hard to not use his powers to aid him in it...

in the $ad boiz klub.

i’m bad at personality sections!!

wanted connections:

ya girl got a little page up here! more will probs be added later on but!

ok !! like this or hmu if you’d like to plot !!

#gloryhqs.intro #murder tw #gaslighting tw #torture tw #currently not creative enough for a wc page but like lila it's comin!!#roger having the same trigger warnings as lila? it's more likely than u may think w/ my so very creative mind.

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knightofbalance-13 · 6 years

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http://saltwukong.tumblr.com/post/173979310856/miles-luna-is-unequivocally-the-poster-child-for

Well then, let’s give you a bit of criticism yourself then.

Miles Luna is unequivocally the poster child for immature assholes who should not be in charge of other people or creative writing and the sooner people realize that the better.

Says the guy who threw a fucking fit over Scarlet being gay and calling it ‘insulting’ like a whiny bitch. (http://saltwukong.tumblr.com/post/174002001031/actually-let-me-say-this-clearly-no-praise-is)

Be polite in your criticism” fuck off. Miles is every bit as immature as his fandom who have famously taken every bit of criticism, no matter how it was phrased, as hate. Miles Luna and his rabid fanboys can fuck off.

Of course, rationally sitting down and explaining why something went wrong and showing it like in Faboover’s ‘Thoughts-RWBY Volume 4′ Series (https://www.youtube.com/user/Fal3oover/videos) is the same as flailing your arms around and crying like a child who was told no. I mean, only a whiny, immature, self obsessed, selfish, sociopathic piece of shit would say that because they are so far removed from what defines a human fucking being that the concept is foregin to them.

By the way, you seem to have uh, blocked me for criticizing you once (https://knightofbalance-13.tumblr.com/post/167961927725/a-girl-with-sparkling-lies-saltwukong). I mean surely, this must be a mistake. After all, why would you block me unless you’re even more immature than Miles?

I’m tired of dancing around this, I’m tired of being nice. I’ll be nice some other fucking night. All blind RWBY stans can fuck off. MKG can fuck off. Rip the goddamn veil off. Acknowledge that your favorite content has a flaw or five. Acknowledge that your favorite “writers” are people too, which doesn’t just mean they’re people with feelings, it also means they’re people with flaws, who are responsible for those flaws and doubly so if they refuse to work on them, and triply so if other people have to sit through the results of them.

Okay then!

Miles has a SEVERE tendency to put in more characters than necessary. I have said this multiple times.

The time skip retcon is an ACTUAL retcon and was fucking stupid. I have also said this multiple times.

And they need a professional writer on staff to teach them how this is all done. I have said this multiple times...

No veils here. I’ve always seen them as people with flaws....

But I guess you don’t want me to see them as people with feelings though.

Okay then, let’s test this out on you people:

You are a fucking coward. You sit there acting all high and mighty while you block everyone who might disagree with you because god fucking forbid any hurt your pwoor prwcious fweelings while you preach hate and destruction on a level that would make the KKK question their life choices.

You are also a fucking hypocrite, saying that Miles and Kerry should be held accountable doubly and triply so when YOU refuse to work on your flaws and I have to sit through it with you. And yet, YOU fucking hide like the cowardly little shit you are behind a blocklist because the mere thought of someone even saying in the most polite manner possible that your ego is fucking massive and wholly undeserved.

You’re also a fucking sociopath since you think that people sending Miles DEATH THREATS and ACTUAL HARASSMENT are JUSTIFIED and that Miles should eat up this shit without realizing that a skill a writer MUST have is discerning constructive criticism from DECONSTRUCTIVE criticism. But god fucking forbid someone post Sun hate in the sun tag when you can just ruin a man’s life (http://saltwukong.tumblr.com/post/173391967376/dont-fucking-post-sun-hate-in-the-sun-wukong-tag).

In general:

You’re all fucking bigots. I have not met a single RWDE poster who wasn’t racist, sexist or hetero/homophobic. Dudeblade outright thinks that the writing is bad because they’re white men, Soku thinks Jaune being white is a flaw, Invested In Your Future adamantly REFUSES to see a female character as anything other than in the right ect.

You’re all fucking cultists. You people will regularly attack anyone with different opinions than you while preaching your opinions as right. You religiously hate on Miles and Kerry to the point I’m pretty sure youd hear their names if I said ‘satan.’ And you indoctrinate people into your line of thinking all the damn time.

And you are all fucking SHIT at your jobs. Name five flaws in RWBY? I can name FIFTEEN!: Villians need a bigger presence, Aura needs to be explained, more racism against the fanaus needs to be shown, the fight scenes need a LOT of improvement, Ruby needs more focus, We need to spend time in locations in order to get a better feel of them, show don’t tell, the Maidens need more clarification, Volume 4′s plots were messy, Yang needed more screentime in Volume 4, Salem needs more focus, they need to show Aura breaking more, Ozpin’s morality needs to be more defined, the actual retcon of Volume 4s time skip, we need more interactions between Ruby and Blake.

RIght fucking there, I just made a list THREE TIMES LONGER than what you asked for. Thing is, I didn't lie about them, they aren’t formed from my delusions, they have an actual Impact on the quality, they are reasonable for RT to handle and I didn’t use misinformation to make them. That’s ALL YOU PEOPLE DO. You lie out of your asses so much if I hadn’t left I would have drowned in your bullshit, you demand fucking shit that would contribute to NOTHING except your egos, you demand RWBY handle shit more than RT can handle (which is one of the biggest problems with RWBY) and you rely on people forgetting certain parts of the show to make them work. You people aren’t getting shit for pointing out flaws: you’re getting shit because you are so BAD at it that you make people want to forget about them and thus enforce the idea that RWBY has no flaws. That AND as someone who tries to be critical of RWBY, I have to deal with you asswipes.

Actually, let me repeat that for the hard of hearing: “the writers are people too” means they are as deserving of criticism as the rest of us, no more, and definitely no less.

So...none at all, considering you people think you’re all SO flawless and perfect that if anyone criticizes you, they MUST be wrong.

Let me inform you of something: You DON’T see them as people. You see them as fucking SLAVES, you arrogant stain on the face of the Earth. You see them as slaves that you can beat and abuse and harm and harass and belittle all while expecting them to do as you say. You people are so fucking removed from humanity that unless people think like you, have ZERO empathy towards them.

Start thinking critically.

How about you lead by example?

Oh wait, if you thought critically for even a single moment of your life: You’d realize that half the shit you say is fucking delusional, that you sound like a ravening sociopath with zero humanity in him, that you are surrounded by people who will turn on you in a fucking instant if you step out of line, that 99% of the shit you preach if applied to you would make your life miserable and that you have likely driven away anyone who actually cares about and isolated yourself in a cage of hatred that you have no one to blame for but yourself. And when that all hits you, you’d try to scream but end up choking on whatever fatty soda is in your gullet and you’ll die choking on it, cold and alone. So you completely turn off every single part of your brain that performs critical thinking because let’s be honest: Critical thinking requires self awareness and said stuff is basically LETHAL to you at this point.

... Oh what, you have a problem with what I am saying? Well, all I’m doing is following YOUR rules. I’m just treating you as YOU treat Miles. You OBVIOUSLY don’t want things like compassion and empathy applied to you because you’ve never even shown a capacity for such a thing, let alone towards Miles. You wanted this and now you have to fucking take it, because even you know no one listens to a hypocrite.

Now how about you unblock me eh? Let’s see how you handle your veil being ripped from you.

#saltwukong

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jasper-rolls · 7 years

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i talked about this a bit on twitter but i wanna elucidate on it here so here’s another fucking post about the fucking dream daddy shit because i cant stop myself from being annoyed by the back and forth and misrepresentation and vague posts trying to act like they’re just talking in general when its very obviously about this

strap in cause this is gonna be a long one

there are three points i want to make

1) criticism of media is important and needed, particularly in the realm of discussing representation and creator intent, since its overall purpose is to further discussion and foster overall improvement in future. criticism of a work isn’t always an attack on the people who like it

i mean, we’ve all been there. it sucks to read when someone’s talking down something you like a lot, especially if its something that’s very meaningful to you. it happens to me too - i can’t count the number of times i’ve read an article or essay ripping apart something i love and found it very difficult to disengage my personal feelings from it.

but unless the person making the criticism is specifically going out of their way to say “and all the people who LIKE this thing are fucking gibbering idiots who wouldn’t know good quality if it punched them in the face”, then the criticism isn’t an attack on you personally, and you have to find the place to disengage that emotional attachment and at least tolerate the criticism of the work. you may accept and agree with it or not, but understand that the critic is (probably) not directly attacking you

and raising potential problems on the representation side of the work is important, because it highlights potential problems for people interested in it that they might not have been aware of before, like creator’s personal views influencing development of the work, or unfortunate implications of plot beats within the work

there’s definitely legitimate cause for concern in game grumps involvement with dream daddy. in my personal experience, the grumps aren’t particularly forward thinking in a lot of respects - arin and danny are quick to lapse into bottom of the barrel racist accent humor (particularly with asian characters), or “hey, isn’t being gay kind of weird” straight guy nonsense. the understanding they’ve showcased of lgbt concepts and issues leaves a lot to be desired (last i remember, arin still considered “cisgender” to be a slur despite being told what it actually means)

and every time this is brought up, i see fans saying “oh but they’re better now, they’ve learned!” and i have to say, i still watch them fairly regularly and...they really haven’t! the “progress” is minimal at best, its like watching someone push a boulder up a hill. they haven’t really changed all that much in the last few years to be frank. so the concern with them being involved with, and putting their name on, a game where the focus is on mlm (and has transgender characters) has definite grounding, given how they’ve acted before.

and the cult ending naturally has unfortunate implications - the idea that every character in the game is being tricked into being forever single, their misery being used to fuel some sort of demon...i mean, given how gay people have been treated throughout history and in media, at the very least it’s pretty regressive. you can’t fault someone for reading the transcript and feeling a little sick

the raising and highlighting of these things isn’t a personal attack. it’s overall, to help people make an informed decision, and be aware of the things that aren’t so great - that might be a dealbreaker, on a personal level. criticism is valuable, and useful, and we should recognize it as such

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2) on the opposite hand, EVERYTHING we read, watch, or play is guaranteed to have a problematic element of some sort, and nothing you ever enjoy is perfect. expecting something to conform to a 100% ideologically pure standard is unreasonable and ultimately a fool’s game

my personal favourite game of all time, ever, is killer7. it’s the game that bought suda51 to prominence in the west. it’s a weird blend of first-person shooter, rail shooter, and rpg. the story is outright bizarre, with disorienting visuals and surreal events like a lucha wrestler headbutting a bullet out of midair, a ghostly man wrapped in bdsm gear popping up to give you advice, and giggling zombies that explode on contact

its also got quite a share of shitty moments - a rape scene, the female characters leave a lot to be desired, its got a frankly weird interpretation of a lot of psychological disorders, and a good chunk of the game is dedicated to character development of a pedophile

suffice to say it probably wouldn’t be a big hit with a lot of people here. but does this stuff mean its completely reprehensible, and not worth spending any time with? i did just tell you it’s my favourite game so you can probably guess how i’m going to respond to that rhetorical question. this post is long enough without me spending several more paragraphs explaining to you why i think killer7 is worth giving a shot, so i’m going to skip to the point that this example is illustrating - the things we love, our favourite things, are probably just as, or maybe even more problematic than the things we don’t.

i’m not going to cite any further examples since i don’t know what you, the reader, personally enjoys or loves, but like...i guarantee you, its probably done something pretty shitty with its running time. i’m fairly confident i’ve never read or enjoyed something that didn’t at some point play into some shitty trope about lgbt people, or people of colour, or women - and if didn’t somehow, chances are it’s because it never showed them in the first place, because its focus is on straight, white, cis men, which is, naturally a problem of its own

if you’re willing to shrug off shitty opinions of creators of things you love, or bad tropes and plot elements in things you love, then why is it so different for the things you dislike? to write off dream daddy entirely, because of the involvement of game grumps, and the existence of one bad ending with shitty implications, and ignoring its more positive elements while praising the things you love that have more than likely done shitty stuff too is...frankly ridiculous

it perhaps may not seem like much to you, but dream daddy getting the kind of coverage and attention it has is...kind of a big deal as far as i’m concerned! games with narrative tend to be pretty hostile towards gay men*, so for a game that presents an overall sincere and positive representation of gay men to see this much attention and get to no. 1 seller on steam a significant step forward, i think. it’s not revolutionary, but personally, as a gay man, it means a lot to me, and i know a few other gay men who would feel the same, and that surely counts for something

and as far as killer7 goes, well...waypoint explains it better than i could, but i would just like to say: that pedophile character i mentioned? that part of the game ends with you beating him in a duel so hard, he falls over and gets eviscerated by a machine designed to cut out organs. so it’s not all bad.

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3) (this is the big one) this site has a big fucking problem with virtue signalling

perhaps its bad of me to assume something of people, but i’m going to go out on a limb and say at least one person immediately closed the tab the moment they read that line, and i wouldn’t blame them, because the problem with saying something like “virtue signalling” is that the alt-right and gamergaters have tried their absolute hardest to make that phrase essentially mean nothing by throwing it at anyone who shares a dissenting opinion of any kind. but despite their efforts, virtue signalling is a phrase that does actually have a meaning, and its the meaning i’m using here

i’m going to take a quick excerpt from hbomberguy’s video on the subject (it’s worth watching, it’s only 10 minutes long and pretty funny) - “The term was originally coined[...]to decry people who say, ‘I don’t like this thing very much’, in order to feel good about themselves, and then just, vote Labour every few years or whatever and take no stake in actually making things better.”

tumblr (or at least, the part of tumblr i engage with) does this, a LOT. it’s in the smug, one line “uhhhh, yikes, lmao 💅” rebuttals to arguments against the thesis of a given post. it’s in the strawman cartoons and chat posts that cast opponents of the OP as self-contradicting fools. it’s in the “so jot that down” responses, the “i’m side-eyeing everyone who isn’t reblogging this”, etc. etc. everyone has done this. you have probably engaged with this. i definitely have - at least one of my popular posts, if not more is, basically me, doing this thing! to be fair i had no intention those posts being popular, but then one never does, do they?

in the case of dream daddy, it’s “me: y’all:” image edits snarkily demonstrating how they’re SWERVING “that dad dating shit”, chat posts casting defenders points as “WHY CAN’T YOU JUST NEVER CRITICIZE ANYTHING EVER”, posts smugly announcing they’re going to pirate the game just to take money from arin hanson, as if that’s how game development works, and i think it’s what’s led to a huge amount of misrepresentation about this game in particular

i’ve seen people acting like the game grumps are like, directing and writing the game, when, as far as i’m aware, all they did was provide funding and voice acting. and the big thing that really got my goat, was someone describing the cult ending, and listing the implications i’ve already gone over myself, and then saying that this was the game’s true ending

this...literally could not be further from the truth. for starters, no-one has actually gotten this ending from playing through the game naturally. the reason? because you CAN’T. it was found through data-mining - it isn’t accessible through regular play. it’s either content that was cut from the game late in development, or, as the theory goes, intended to be a non-canonical or fake ending added in as halloween DLC come october (given the tone of the whole thing it sounds reasonable to me) which has, unfortunately, now been ruined due to this whole debacle

to do this kind of thing, to describe this as “the true ending” borders on being an out and out lie for the purpose of making dream daddy look way, way worse than it actually is. there’s no justice here, there’s no attempt to inform accurately. it’s “hey, check out how shitty this thing is! i’m good for disliking it, aren’t i? ignore the context, or the fact that i’m literally lying about what this is”

look, okay, i’m getting a little vitriolic - people can make mistakes, misunderstand things, it happens. everyone does it. me too. but this posing, this “look how good and cool i am, for not liking this thing”, it helps nothing at best and actively harms at worse. misrepresenting positions, context, and events for the purpose of satisfying the ego of whoever is making the statement - it helps no-one, except that person, in the most minor and meaningless of ways

i want to be clear - this final bit is just as much a memo for myself as it is for everyone reading this

be critical. don’t take things at face value. read into issues, understand context. get as close to the source of the issue at hand as you can, and determine the truth from there. resist the urge to be smug, detached, and dismiss those who disagree with your position - resist the urge to laugh at them, they may just not know. try and engage them in honest debate. if they resist that, if they don’t want to meet you on an equal footing you are within your rights to disengage.

be strong. support the things you love, and remember where the line is

we can all be better

*i’m not saying that other groups aren’t treated with hostility in games and gaming - trans women certainly get it really, really bad. just personally saying, in my experience as a gay man, the gaming community, and subsequently games with a focus on narrative themselves, have a sort of...special hatred of mlm. not necessarily worse, just...uniquely hostile

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aftaabmagazine · 5 years

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Adventures of the Zelzelah Man in Farkhar

By Steven Roecker

From the April-June 1998 issue of Afghan Magazine | Lemar-Aftaab

Caption: The Hindu Kush mountain range in summer taken by Steven Roecker from outside of Kabul.

"Are you sick?"

I remember the surprise I felt on hearing these words spoken to me in English. It was a late afternoon in mid-July, 1977. I was lying with my eyes closed on a rope bed in the middle of the main street of a small village in a remote area of the Hindu Kush, writhing in pain from a stomach disorder and wondering if this would be my last day on Earth. The improbability of hearing anyone speak English suggested to me that I had indeed passed on to another world.

How did I get here? As a graduate student in Geophysics at MIT, I studied the earthquakes, or Zelzelah, of the Hindu Kush as part of my Ph.D. dissertation. I was a member of a team of French and American seismologists who worked in Afghanistan in the summers of 1976, 1977 and 1978, recording the ground motions caused by the abundant and unusual seismic activity of the region.

For a young man as myself who had rarely traveled outside the confines of the eastern US, Afghanistan was like another planet. Everything was different, everything was strange, everything was an adventure. I loved it. Even my more worldly colleagues were entranced by the people and culture of the country, and the stories of what each of us encountered on any given day would keep us entertained well into the night.

It seems to me there are few better ways of exposing oneself to the culture of another country than operating a network of seismic stations within it. You find yourself negotiating with government officials for permission to work, bargaining with merchants for supplies and provisions, and spending afternoons drinking tea with the farmers and villagers in the places where the equipment is installed. Because the seismic stations are spread out over a large area, you drive around a lot, see a lot of scenery, and drink enough tea to feel like a walking samovar. In many parts of the world such traveling might allow only a superficial view of a culture, but in Afghanistan, where a brief stop to ask directions inevitably leads to an invitation to tea, then dinner, and then perhaps an overnight stay, this kind of work provided plenty of opportunities for learning.

As a result of all this traveling around in Afghanistan, I accumulated a sizable collection of stories. The following tale is one of my favorites, and I assure the reader that it is true.

In the summer of 1977, our French-American team operated a network of seismic stations in the Hindu Kush. One of these stations was located in the hills outside of Farkhar, a small village south of Taliquan in the province of Badakhshan. Every two days some members of our crew would drive to Farkhar from their base in Kunduz to maintain the equipment and archive the data recorded. One day, a heavy rain washed out a bridge on the main road between Taliquan and Kunduz, making frequent travel to Farkhar impossible. We were keen to keep this station operating and I volunteered to live in Farkhar and take care of it on my own until the bridge was repaired. So armed with supplies for the equipment and a few personal effects, we embarked on a long alternate route, driving north to the Soviet border and then overland southeast to Taliquan, and finally south to Farkhar.

The Afghan members of my group explained to the locals that I would be living in the village and described what I would be doing, and then left me with my few belongings and even fewer phrases of Dari to fend for myself. I took up residence in a small room that occasionally served as the post office - with the bridge down no one was expecting any mail anyway. One of the shopkeepers loaned me a rope bed which was too big to fit into the post office, so I left it outside and slept in the street (there was very little non-pedestrian traffic in the village). As it happened the street turned out to be a nice place to spend the night as there were few lights in Farkhar and the sky was brilliant with stars.

I took most of my meals at the local Chi Khana(tea house). Usually, I enjoyed eating in Chi Khanas, but this one was abysmal. Not only was the menu unimaginative - the only offering was a bowl of rice topped by a microscopic piece of mutton - but it was unbelievably unsanitary. At dinner, I would request two bowls of rice and place one at the other end of the table to give the armies of flies something else to occupy themselves with. Inevitably, after a few days of living like this, I awoke one morning with my stomach in a horrendous knot, the victim of some bug I had consumed.

The pain was nearly unbearable. I lay in my rope bed in the street trying to stifle the moans and groans that the eruptions of my intestines were urging upon me. Some of the villagers came by and looked at me sympathetically, but while their voices were comforting I had no idea what they were saying. Early in the afternoon, the contortions went from bad to worse; I started to think that perhaps an early death would not be such a bad thing. I was about to pass out when I heard someone speaking English.

"Are you sick?"

I presumed I was hallucinating, but the voice came again.

"Can you hear me? Are you sick?"

I opened my eyes and saw a young Afghan fellow standing over me. He explained that he was a student at the university in Kabul and was visiting his father on break. I managed a small amount of conversation and he invited me to join him at his father's house for dinner - apparently, it was his father's birthday and there was a big celebration planned. I thanked him but explained that I was in no shape to eat, much less attend a social event. The young man urged me to come, saying there would be some medicine for me at the house. I protested that I could not get up but he would not accept no as an answer. After a bit more cajoling, he threw my left arm over his neck for support and guided me down the road to his father's house, about a kilometer south of the village.

The house was a handsome one-story adobe-type construction common in that part of the country. It was well kept and had a beautiful lush garden in the back. When we arrived the party was in full swing; a band was playing and there were perhaps twenty men and boys eating and talking to one another. I made my way to some inviting looking pillows on a Bukharah style rug and reclined, my intestines feeling no better for the exercise just endured. My new friend went to collect some food and drink for us both, but I declined his generous offer and asked him about the medicine he had mentioned earlier.

"I've discussed it with my father. He is making it for you now."

Making it? I had expected that this medicine would be something that someone had brought up from Kabul or imported from a pharmacy somewhere, perhaps even a bottle of Pepto-Bismal.

After about half an hour my friend left and then reappeared with a cloth, inside of which was something that resembled a large oatmeal cookie with bits like odd-shaped; in it. He offered it to me but I said again that I wasn't hungry.

"This is the medicine I told you about", he explained.

I looked at the large round pill doubtfully, debating the consequences of ingesting this unknown quantity versus enduring the ever-growing agony in my abdomen. Pain won the day; I took the pill from my friend and ate it.

At first, nothing happened but after a few minutes, I could feel the pain starting to subside. After about half an hour I not only felt fine but started to regain my appetite. I joined my friend over at one of the tables for a kabob.

"That medicine you gave me is fantastic", I said to him. "What was it?"

"My father makes medicine from plants that he gathers in the mountains. In his youth, he led a caravan between India and Turkey and traded for a book of natural medicine in Iran. When he started his farm here, he used to make a number of different medicines, but now that he is older he regularly makes only two."

We were interrupted by the entrance of my friend's father, a handsome, powerful looking man of, I guessed, 50 years of age. He exchanged greetings with several persons at the party and took a seat at one of the piles of pillows obviously arranged as a place of honor. After he sat, one of the guests, a man who looked to be of similar age, placed a small child, barely more than an infant, in his lap. The father was obviously delighted to have the child sitting with him and began playing with him. Grandchild, I guessed, or perhaps even a great-grandchild, as there appeared to be several generations of men and boys at the party (the women were all sequestered somewhere out of sight, as custom dictated).

My friend went to pay his respects to his father and after some time returned to speak with me.

"My father is 80 years old today", he told me. I couldn't believe this and asked him to repeat it to make sure I heard correctly.

"I've never seen anyone that age in such good condition", I said.

"Yes, he takes good care of himself", said my friend.

"By the way, you mentioned that your father makes two kinds of medicine. What are they?"

"Well, one is the stomach medicine I gave you earlier. As you know, stomach illness is common here, so my father makes it rather often."

"And the other?"

My friend smiled. "It's an aphrodisiac. But he makes it only for himself and he won't tell anyone the ingredients".

I laughed. "Oh well", I thought, " at least one of these medicines is for real".

Our attention turned back to the party, and as I was feeling much better my friend took me into the crowd and introduced me to some of the men. After talking with five or six of them, I detected something rather curious.

"Are all these men and boys related to your father?", I asked my friend.

"Yes, in fact, we are all his children", he said. "We are all brothers, or at least half- brothers. My father has five wives, ranging in age from 78 to 23. That man" he said, pointing to the fellow who had handed his father the infant, "is his oldest son; he is 60 years old. The baby in his lap is his youngest".

That night as I lay on my rope bed I thought about what had transpired and resolved to try to convince my friend's father to share the secrets of his book with the rest of the world. But the bridge to Kunduz was fixed, and I left Farkhar the next day. I spent the rest of my tour of duty minding stations east of Kabul, and so did not return to Farkhar that year. I planned to return to Farkhar in 1978, but the coup d'etat in April of that year made it very difficult for foreigners to work outside of Kabul.

I never made it back to Farkhar and never saw my friend or his father again. Indeed, because of the nearly continuous fighting since that time, most of the people and places I knew in Afghanistan exist now only in memory. I still think about that book, however, and wonder if any of the father's many descendants managed to escape with it.

About Steven Roecker

Steven Roecker is a Professor of the Earth and Environmental Sciences at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute.

#afghanistan #afghan #northernafghanistan #earthquake #earthquakes #travelogue

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ramblingkat · 3 years

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Fic: Storm(Bleach)

UraIchi discord is a terrible place if you are trying to hide from plunnies.

Look, a coffee shop and a writer AU, all in one. My shame is out for all to see. There is a lot more of this to come