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yukiobeyme · 4 years

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Hi there! Just wondering if you could possibly write hcs for trans Beel or trans Satan? But if you can’t that’s fine.

I am supposed to doing my Civil Engineering HW? Yes.

I am coming back from the dead to answer this? Yes.

Can I talk about Trans!Beel and Trans!Satan all day? God Yes. Please ask me more talk to more about LGBTQIA+ and how it fits in Obey Me!

Thank you so much I hope I do this some justice. I am sorry how it got so long, but I got in the groove for this and I just came up with other ideas

Beel has some implied body issues, mention of top surgery and T-shots

So you more or less got Satan’s coming out story, I could have just written it as a fic and it would have probably been shorter and more concise. But I did add other headcanons as well and accidentally hc how Satan got his everyday outfit.

*Also disclaimer: Satan’s hc focus a lot on Parrotfish by Ellen Wittlinger being a gateway for him figuring out his identity. I have heard of it and seen both good and bad reviews. I recognize that some bad reviews implied that there are possibly inaccurate stereotypes but was a good starting point to introducing Trans Characters to fiction. I have never read it and can not confirm or deny what the reviews say.

Beelzebub:

From a young age he wondered why and how Belphegor were twins when he was a girl.

It caused a distaste in his mouth but more often than not he pushed it away.

It wasn’t until the Fall; did he finally act on it.

The first time he was called “sir” his heart almost burst out of his chest

He immediately told a sleepily Belphegor about it, he figured he wouldn’t remember in the morning

But boy was he wrong, it turns out Belphegor laid awake after Beel told him that. In the morning they talked about it again. Belphie offered his full support.

Belphie became Beel biggest piece in his support system. Like sure a lot of problems, he said maybe a nap or food would help. But it turns out he was right? (Well for the most part) but whenever Beel felt like everyone hated him and judging him, Belphie would wrap him up in the softest blanket in the house and they would take a nap together. Or when Beel seemed to be angry at everything and hated everyone, Belphie pulled him to the kitchen and made his favorite meal.

Randomly one day Belphie asked about how Beel felt about himself. “Like it doesn’t matter if you pass in someone else’s eyes or not, but do you like how you look?”

That’s when Beelz really got into bodybuilding and weightlifting

While he didn’t necessarily come out to the rest of the brothers, but none of them came out as cis so he wasn’t going to go out of his way and come out as trans

“working your legs naturally helps build more testosterone, so does eating eggs,” it was Satan that told him shyly behind a book if Beelz noticed that Satan was eating more eggs and even doing leg exercising he said nothing

Satan and Beel would have random conversations about gender and identity. Most times Belphie sat in on it. Asking questions or making comments.

Before he got top surgery, he would wear full-body binders, he had a standard black and white, but he also had an orange one. Completely confident to wear them by themselves.

After top surgery, he showed off (as he should)

Takes pride in his body and the work and effort he put into it. To make it his own.

· T shots doesn’t help with his appetite at all, the horror that went through the house when the avatar of gluttony appetite almost doubled. After a few weeks, it averaged out to be just a little more than pre-T but the brothers none the less both impressed and mortified

Belphie immediately opened his closet to Beel, like Beel occasionally stole clothes before, but this time Belphie made sure that Beel knew whatever he wanted he could take.

Asmo was definitely down to help Beel with shopping, but he turned him down. Favoring to go with Belphie

Faced little backlash, only some sports watchers had problems with it but were quickly shut down. Though even after all these centuries some people still have problems. But Beel has learned to keep his head high but knows he is allowed to be upset and hurt by their words. But he also knows he can go to any of his brothers for comfort and to regroup.

Beelz doesn’t get the same attention and attraction that Satan does, but he doesn’t mind. Though when he sees younger lgbtqia+ looking in awe at him at the gym, he usually swings by to see if they have any questions or need tips.

Okay, wait hear me out… Definitely created a club specifically for lgbtqia+ to have the gym and exercise together. Whether it was leading a class, he has gotten Asmo to lead a few yoga/ meditations or letting them break out into groups and giving them tips on stance or what exercises could build muscles to help them pass. But most importantly teaches/reminds everyone that their body is their own. That no matter what happened to them, their body is theirs. It can look however they want and even if it doesn’t look perfect, it is still is worthy of love and self-care. “The only opinions that matter is your own, it is your body. Claim and make it your own. No one can take it away from you”

Satan offered to let him borrow Parrotfish, Beel isn’t too interested but Belphie wanted to read it to him.

Overall Beel is confident and comfortable with his body and his identity. On his bad days, he knows he has endless support from Belphie and his other brothers.

Satan:

You know that feeling when something clicks and its that chilling calm that covers your body? Satan was reading a random book, Parrotfish by Ellen Wittlinger.

First came out to Asmodeus, because Satan knew Asmo would accept him and help him in whatever way Asmo could.

And of course, Satan was nervous because Asmo couldn’t go to the others not yet. Satan planned it out that Lucifer was on Earth and expected to be there for a week, so Satan had time to execute his plan.

Asmo was worried when Satan came to him all serious. Well, Satan is always serious but this time the nervousness and lack of confidence made Asmodeus sit still and hold his breath. Asmodeus was attentive as Satan slowly stumbled through his prepared speech, which mainly focused on talking about the book he had just finished.

Asmo didn’t understand until he saw how heartbroken and lost Satan looked. He was frantic in a sense and blurted out something along the lines of, “So, you wish you were a parrotfish?” while it wasn’t necessarily the best thing to say, the laugh it go out of Satan and the uncertainty in his smile was worth it.

Asmodeus took it upon himself to go shopping for Satan, getting him new more masculine clothes.

It was Levi that got Satan’s his first Binder, “A lot of cosplayers wear them, so you should be okay for some light exercising in it”

Soon all the brothers, well except Lucifer knew and the day Lucifer came back, Satan hid and avoided him.

Satan should have known better, but he was still surprised when Lucifer summoned for him

He was terrified.

When he entered the room, he couldn’t meet Lucifer’s eyes. But when he spared the glance, he saw the disappointment in Lucifer’s eye. Satan tried to swallow around the lump in his throat and ignore the burning in his eyes.

“What are you wearing?” Not exactly what Satan thought Lucifer was going to say first. “Was it Asmodeus?” “Ugh” Lucifer shook his head and strolled to his closet and threw the door open and went searching for something. “Ah, there it is,” Lucifer returned with a yellow sweater. “This would be more suiting for you,” Lucifer offered the sweater to Satan.

“You aren’t mad?”

“The only thing I’m relatively mad at is how offensive that outfit is,”

“I might have shoes too, but they might be a little big on you,”

Satan left wearing his new sweater and shoes on, laughing how he had to keep a black undershirt on, and the shoes flopped due to being too big. But he left with a lot of weight off his shoulders and high in spirits.

That sweater is the famous one you still see him wear today. He wonders why Lucifer would have such a bright color and when he asked Lucifer just made a face and rolled his eyes as he replied with “Asmodeus thought I needed to brighten my wardrobe.”

Satan loves it, its soft and bright. It’s a little too low cut for his liking but an undershirt fixed that problem. And it doesn’t hug his chest and honestly, it’s his favorite piece of clothing

Parrotfish is a permanent book in his room and he reads it once a year. And has special scenes marked, so he can go back and read certain passages when needed

Once Satan came out to Barbatos and Diavolo they both requested to read the book and met with him for tea to talk about the book and life.

Lucifer even snagged the book for a bit. (He tried to be sneaky about it and Satan pretended not to notice)

Asmodeus and Mammon is chaotic with their support, it nice and needed but can also be overboard but he knows they do it out of love. Pride is a huge thing at the house and Asmo decided to do a gender reveal party for Satan

Beelzebub, Belphegor and Levi are supportive like they are ready to fight anyone who gives Satan any issues about his gender and gender identity, but they are as obnoxious as Asmo and Mammon. They will sit with him, talk to him, or just quietly listen. Most times they can’t offer help and admit they don’t know what to say other then they are here for him and willing to listen to whatever he needs to talk about.

Lucifer is quiet support. At first, Satan thought he didn’t approve but then Lucifer would make a random statement or ask for clarification that made Satan feel comfortable. Lucifer glared at anyone who even thought about giving Satan a weird look.

Satan’s go to binder color is a light grey and most times it just a crop top rather than a full-body one. Though he has an aqua blue one he wears occasionally. (I have a drawing of this somewhere lmao)

Satan tried to give himself his first haircut but Asmo had to come in and fix up the mess and disaster he created. Sure, his hair was way too short for his liking, but it wasn’t long anymore.

Over the years has learned the different meanings behind the looks he gets, whether it’s in disgust or that longing look that demons that aren’t out give him. He somehow occasionally becomes a dad to other trans! Demons. Whether it's long talks or if it's just quick tips that help him through the years.

Ironically enough, Lucifer is his biggest support or the one he relies on the most during days or moments when Satan feels terrible. Because Lucifer won’t be fussing all over him or beat around the bush about it. Sometimes he will state he too busy to talk but will leave and come back with hot tea and Satan’s favorite biscuits. Lucifer sometimes sends him away to grab his homework and they will just work in silence together. While Satan hates to admit how much he appreciates Lucifer for these moments, it helps a lot.

Last one! The first formal after Satan came out, he realized he didn’t have clothes for it. Out of all the styles and outfits he had gotten nothing formal ever came through. His brothers came through though. Asmo couldn’t convince him on any of his extra formal wear so he went around finding pieces that the other brothers weren’t using. Satan was only missing a jacket, but the outfit looked perfect. When he ran into Lucifer, Lucifer brought him to his room and offered him one of his simpler jackets and touch him how to pin it to tailor the sleeves to a better height.

#trans satan #trans beel #trans beelzbub #obey me #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #yuki writes #Yuki Writes!#hiding this in tags but I thought about Autistic Satan and Autistic Levi

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enbies-and-felonies · 4 years

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KOTLC peeps!!!

I posted my first KOTLC oneshot about @everyonehasthoughts baby, Simon Foster :D Check it out on my Wattpad @pan-with-pans, or hit on that Keep Reading Button :D

My Name Is.... Simon

tw: internalized transhobia

tw: mild swearing

Sophie tugged at an eyelash. Today was NOT a good day, and knowing her life, it would probably get worse. Sitting under Calla's panakes tree, with its flowing branches and the sweet smell of its tricolor flowers normally helped calm her, but now...

She was dirty from helping clean Wynn and Luna after they found a muddy meadow, but she couldn't stand the thought of taking a shower. Angrily, she shoved her hair long out of her face. She wanted to yell. Why did she feel so... so rotten?! She looked down at her form-fitting tunic and felt her stomach heave as she scrubbed her eyes in an effort to keep her frustrated tears from falling.

She, Biana, and Linh had planned a girls outing for today, so they had had a sleepover and in the morning Biana had done their makeup. They had picked out gorgeous outfits; Linh wearing a dark grey, slim-fitting dress with silver embroidery that looked stunning with her hair, and a pair of leggings decorated with a flame pattern. Biana had chosen a light, flowy sundress with strawberries on it, leaving her arms and shoulders exposed. The light pink contrasted beautifully with her dark skin and hair, and she had even put her hair up with a matching strawberry pin.

For Sophie Biana had helped pick out a form-fitting white dress with gold trimming. Despite it being pleasing to the eye, it wasn't too flashy and Sophie had liked the way it looked. Biana had said it fit nicely, and showed her curves. At the time Sophie had laughed at the compliment, but now its memory made her stomach churn even more.

Why why why was she feeling like this???

Groaning, Sophie curled up into the fetal position. The tenseness didn't fade, but at least with her eyes closed she could focus on the bark cutting into her back and a stone pressing against her hip. It was a better discomfort than the way her stomach felt. It made her want to tear every single eyelash out, the more it hurt the better.

"Hey... You okay?" It was Keefe, and for some reason that didn't make her feel better.

"Fine and dandy," She groaned, now grateful for the curtain of hair that covered her face, and therefore her tears.

"BS." Damn empaths.

"Maybe I'm not fine, but it doesn't matter anyway because nothing's wrong." She wasn't trying to be difficult, but how else was she supposed to say that she had no idea what was happening?

"Sophie-" She may have been able to hide the flinch, but he felt the emotional recoil at his words.

"Foster, please," He tried again, "Let me help you?" An idea niggled at the back of his mind.

There was a pause, and a blue panakes flower gently settled onto Sophie's shoulder.

"Okay," She whispered, "You can try."

"Okay, so I'm thinking I just say things and feel your reaction to it and then we build off of that, so that then we can pinpoint what's up." The two blondes were sitting on Sophie's bed, cross-legged and with a plate of mallowmelt between them.

Sophie raised an eyebrow.

"What?! I didn't have much time to make a plan of attack!" Keefe raised his hands defensively, but a smirk played at the edges of his lips.

"Well... I did already say yes." In all honesty just being around Keefe and his jokes had already helped. He had poured a bucket of water on her, which had actually helped her get the motivation to take a shower, and then Grady had made some mallowmelt for them as a surprise. His still didn't really like Keefe, but he had a secret fondness for the boy.

"Will you need my enhancing?"

Keefe swallowed. "I think it would be better if we didn't make it more... complicated." Sophie didn't exactly know what he meant by that, but she went along.

"Ready?" She nodded, "Okay.... um... I should have come up with a question before I suggested this." He rubbed the back of his neck ruefully.

"Wait! I'll just start with some generic questions, so you get comfortable with answering questions, since I know you don't like telling all of your secrets. You ARE the Mysterious Miss Foster after all." A twinge swirled in with her general 'sucky-feelings' and 'gently-amused-anticipation'. Keefe thought it was interesting, but didn't push it just yet.

"Uh... So your favourite human thing." He needed to figure out some better questions to get to know people.

"Well, I really miss music, but I do still get to listen to some of it via my iPod. Other than that... probably miss movies the most."

"Favourite movie, and why?"

"Booksmart." There was a swell of happiness at the memory, immediately followed by reservation and hiding. Maybe... disgust? But why would she be disgusted at her favourite movie?

"Why?"

"Because the two girls were such close friends, and back then I was so lonely... It was nice to imagine people being so close." It was a good answer, but it didn't match the feelings she was radiating.

"Sophie," That twinge again, "I can't help you if you don't give me the bare-chested answers. I don't plan on judging you for a movie, so you can be honest. It's okay. I mean, unless its about eating meat, but I could probably forgive you for even that." She smiled, and he grinned at his success.

"I guess I liked it because..." She tugged an eyelash out.

Abruptly she jerked her head up, staring into his eyes, and he instinctively brought a hand to his stomach against the churning anxiety and reservation.

"Keefe."

"Yeah Foster?"

"How do- in the lost cities- How do you feel about the lgbtq community."

Oh damn, did she know?

"Like, personally or...?"

"Personally." Her anxiety was the main emotion now, bubbling and swirling in his stomach.

"I support them, for multiple reasons. And that includes ALL of them." He didn't know if she was trying to get him to say something or if she honestly just wanted to know, but at his words the storm of anxiety calmed slightly.

"Oh. Okay. I guess I liked it because it showed representation." She was still holding back, but Keefe was too busy recovering from the abrupt onslaught of emotions and then the change in subject.

"Cool... uh, favourite... Human celebrity??"

"Rain Dove." There was no hesitation, but afterwards she paused. "I don't- I don't really know much about them, but they seem cool." Them? Nonbinary maybe? The idea burrowed deeper into his mind, but he still didn't put it into words.

"This one will be more personal, okay?" Keefe waited until after her feelings had settled, not just once she nodded, before he asked, "Why don't you like being called Sophie?"

Her heart stopped, which probably shouldn't 'technically' count as an emotion, but Keefe still sensed it. Then there was a twist of confusion as she tried to answer.

"I don't know...?" She wasn't lying or hiding anything this time, but she still pulled at an eyelash and flicked it away.

"Every time I said Sophie this evening you have flinched. Not always physically, but still. Is it because that was what your human parents named you?" He regarded her as she thought, turning the idea over in her head like a pebble at the beach, before frowning and shaking her head.

"It's not that..." Her brow furrowed, and she reached her hand up again, this time continuing to tug at her eyelashes even as she pulled three out.

Keefe took a deep breath, steeling himself for her emotions before taking her hands in his.

"Foster, have you considered that maybe.. you aren't cis?" He really hoped he wasn't stepping out of line, and that it didn't offend her. What if he was just projecting? What if she didn't support trans people?? What if-

He cut the thoughts off when he realized that the majority of the panic was from Foster. Her eyes were wide and she pushed away from him, nearly slipping of the bed.

"What?! I'm not! No, I'm a girl!! I-" Her voice was shrill, but he felt the anxiety get replaced by disgust, and an undercurrent of guilt. She was lying...

And then she was crying.

"Keefe what if I'm broken? I don't know what I am. I think I'm a girl?? What else could I be?" She hiccupped, "I've always been a girl. I was *sniff* born a girl and I- I don't want to disappoint anybody and-"

Keefe hugged her hard.

"You are not broken, you have never been broken, and I am so sorry that you might even entertain that possibility. I'm sorry for pushing, and making you uncomfortable, I just wanted you to feel better and I noticed how you never liked 'Sophie' and you didn't like 'miss' and I didn't know what to do!! I'm so sorry Foster."

She hugged him back, "I think, I think I just need to be alone for a minute. Can I call you later?" She sniffed.

"Of course, I'm always here Foss-Boss."

~~~

Sophie rocked on her bed for a while after Keefe light leaped away. She had already tugged out five more eyelashes, and now she was rocking back and forth.

Was she not a girl? She had never thought of herself as trans before...

But now that she thought about it... It made sense with how much she hated makeup, and dresses, and formfitting clothing... So if she wasn't a girl, then who was she?

~~~~

"Hey Keefe?" The whisper was barely picked up by the imparter, but Keefe still heard it.

"Yeah?"

"I... figured some things out."

"That's great Foster, I'm proud of you."

"My name is.... Simon. I think I'm a demiboy."

#simon foster #kotlc #trans #demiboy #keefe sencen #sophie foster #keeper of the lost cities #keefe #foster #foss boss

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yourdeepestfathoms · 5 years

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A Little Piece Of Heaven (part one)

[Tour!verse]

TW: Surprisingly not many...I guess mockery of religion, specifically Christianity and anything in that branch. Very minor mentions of self harm (like one time- if you blink you’ll miss it). But mainly this fic is just psychological.

———————

Lord of The Flies

Let’s get something clear really quickly: Joan Meutas was not religious. Did she used to be? Unfortunately, yes, but after seeing the world for what it really was, after getting an axe to her vagina from her beloved husband, she has realized that there was no merciful God who would save lost souls. It was all a hoax by crazy old folk from wherever Jerusalem was to herd people into one belief, thinking that it may make them more humane and friendly. But religion has done more harm than good- Christianity damns all non CIS heterosexuals to hell, Jews got murdered by the thousands, that one branch literally won’t eat anything besides fucking grain or some shit, Catholics are just rude as all hell, those fasting things literally cause people to STARVE TO DEATH, and for what? To appease some higher being? Do they truly think they will be saved? If God was so merciful and wonderful and kindhearted, why would he make things like murder and cancer and rape and torture?

Joan even once heard that the Bible stated that when a woman was on her period she had to leave her village and wasn’t allowed to come back UNLESS she had a turtle dove. She’s never read the Good Book before, so she doesn’t know if that was true or not, but it doesn’t sound unlikely given all the stupid rules she’s heard about.

So, no, Joan was not religious.

It’s strange, she thinks, how offended people get when she says it or simply hints at it. Their eyes will practically bug out of their skull and they probably pray for her “lost soul”, maybe even do that weird cross gesture on their chest when they think she isn’t looking. They look at her as if she was actually a demon spy loosed from hell and not just someone who has enough common sense to realize that an “all powerful father” was complete and utter bullshit.

That’s the thing- it’s like the word “atheist” was purposely made to seem like the most evil string of letters to ever be created. You know the words- those synonyms that just sound much worse than the actual root phrase (molest, slaughter, moist). Atheist just has this dark shade to it. Or so religious people say.

But enough of that! There’s a reason why such a taboo subject is being brought up.

Joan was going to contact Death.

As they say, desperate times calls for desperate measures. And desperate Joan was.

You see, her queen- Jane Seymour- used to be quite the woman. Sharp, beautiful, powerful, but also warm behind the closed court doors. Joan was very lucky to see this side of her as her youngest lady in waiting, often getting called gentle pet names and sometimes pats on her head if she was particularly lucky that day. As a touch-starved orphan servant, this was like a pot of gold to Joan- love and affection is something she’s craved long before reincarnation in the modern world. And, speaking of the resurrection, Joan thought she would get even more of Jane’s “Mum Treatment” since they had more time on their hands, but she was very, very wrong.

Jane...Jane was different. She changed. No longer was she the motherly, caring, strong woman from the past, but instead coming back as some reduced version of herself- slightly younger (24, 25, maybe even 23), more awkward and timid, and much less maternal. The way she now looked at Joan wasn’t with compassion, rather...plain curiosity, sometimes even aversion. Her memory of her young lady in waiting has waned- it was as if she didn’t remember that Joan had been at her side the whole time when she was bedridden after giving birth to Edward! Like she couldn’t conjure up the remembrance of a teenager literally watching her rot away and slowly die for days!

To say the least, Joan was not happy. Add in trauma, insomnia, hate on social media, constant stress and pressure from her profession, and a severe lack of friends and you can probably see why Joan was going to such extreme measures.

Now, she knew about the stories. She’s read The Monkey’s Paw. She knows about the consequences of one’s actions. Joan wasn’t going into this completely stupid- have some faith, will you?

Gambling with Death was a risk. A huge risk that could very well end with her soul being ripped out of her mouth or her flesh being worn by a supernatural being that then goes on to commit atrocities under her identity. And not only was it a massive risk to take, it was also very, very stupid.

If I have to spell it out for you, listen closely: Death knows things. A lot of things. They don’t call him the “Lord of The Flies” for nothing. Which is why he loves to play games for those desperate enough to contact him because he knows he is much smarter than whatever pathetic, miserable piece of useless garbage comes clawing at a mirror, begging him to reveal himself. And unless you have every secret of the universe, you’re probably going to get ass-blasted back to Tuesday.

Oh, what am I saying? You won’t get a second chance.

You’ll be long gone by then.

And whatever state the cops find your body in the next morning depends on whatever mood the beast was in.

However, in Joan’s case here, she is desperate and stupid enough to take the risk. In her eyes, she doesn’t have much to live for. She’s a slave to SIX- day and night she’s working endlessly over musical paperwork and the same songs over and over and OVER again. It doesn’t help that she isn’t the closest to the rest of the cast and is often left alone when everyone else goes out and has fun. The scars on her wrists are evident of how many nights she’s been alone.

Without Jane, she has nothing to live for. She needed her.

And that’s exactly why she was sitting on the floor in front of a mirror propped against the wall in the dark theater surrounded by candles and a semicircle of salt.

Joan has done a lot of studying up to this point. She knows she has everything correctly, now she just has to get Death to appear...and hope he doesn’t immediately pull her small intestines out from her throat for bothering him.

Joan stares into the mirror as hard as she can, closes her eyes, then counted to ten. Her eyelids lingered shut for longer than she would like to admit after she hit the number one, but she eventually pried them open.

It was not her reflection staring back at her.

To be honest, Joan wasn’t exactly sure of what she was expecting to see. Some parts of her believed nothing would happen, other parts convinced itself that a grim reaper-like figure or a horned, goat-legged demon would be kneeling on the other side of the glass wielding a scythe or pitchfork. However, a suit-wearing young man was not really something that crossed her mind in her theories.

If Joan wasn’t a lesbian, she might have found him attractive, but he definitely was at a straight woman’s perspective. Perfect smile, the most amazing cheekbone structure, unflawed olive skin, neatly combed brown-blonde hair, a broad chest, phenomenal shape- if it weren’t for his yellow eyes with slit pupils, he might have been the perfect lady’s man (although, knowing straight women, they probably wouldn’t care for his demon eyes- after all, you don’t need to see someone’s peepers to suck cock!).

Joan sat completely bewildered, all of her confidence draining and being replaced with dread that drenches her like a thick, dark oil spill. She can feel her hands, which are lying in her lap, starting to tremble and clenching her fingers doesn’t help at all. The ability to form a coherent sentence slips from her mind, so Death speaks first.

“Hello, Joan Meutas.”

This guy is the real deal. He pronounced her last name correctly!

Joan opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water and Death is thoroughly amused by her sardine impression. He watches her through the glass, waiting patiently for her to learn how to enunciate again.

“H-h-hello-”

“Yes, yes, h-h-hello to you to,” Death laughed. He wasn’t directly trying to be cruel, but Joan’s self esteem was far enough into the ground to hear his jibe as a mockery of her understanding of the English language. “If I let you speak the whole time we are going to get nowhere! Pull yourself together, kid. You should see the look on your face! You look like you just got caught making out with the family goat!”

Joan’s expression remained one of fright.

“What? Didn’t you own a goat back in- god, what year were you born? 1517 or 1525? Historians paint it as both! But I thought a family farm animal was the big rave back then! I apologize- I need to catch up on the modern slang. Say, would you be considered a ‘boomer’? Because I have been DYING to use that phrase on someone who contacts me. Could you imagine it?” He warps his voice into one of a pruny old woman, “‘I wish for great fortune!’ ‘Okay Boomer.’” Death bursts into fits of maniacal laughter that sounded as if a thousand lost souls were chortling together at once.

Joan is still silent, but during Death’s monologue she was able to wire her brain back to functionality. She sits up a little bit straighter and Death notices, so he containers himself instantly, also fixing his posture.

“Ready to talk now?” He asked.

“Yes.” Joan answered.

“Wonderful,” There’s a glint in his piercing yellow eyes, “What is it that you desire of me?”

Joan gathers up all her courage, sits up a little taller, and says, “I desire to challenge you to a game of question-and-answer.”

The glint flares into a blaze of confidence. If Joan stares hard enough, she swore she could almost see the fires of Hell burning in his eyes.

“How fun,” The words ooze out from Death’s pale lips, soaked in liquid menace. “Shall I go over the rules?”

Joan nodded. She knew them, she knew she did, but it would be good to hear them one last time.

“Very well,” Death said. He cleared his throat and began speaking as if he were reading off of a manual, “Death’s Gambit: A two-player game between the Lord of The Flies himself and a human. After being conjured- just gonna skip over that process, you’ve clearly got it down, kid- and initiating the game, both parties will have sixty-six minutes and six seconds to answer as many questions correctly as possible. Anything can be asked- trivia, personal inquiries, riddles, even dares, as long as the salt circle is not exited. The catch of the whole thing is this: The Prince of Darkness is obligated to tell the truth only if the human answers correctly to his question or does a requested dare or the human manages to stump him. However, if he answers correctly or the human answers incorrectly to HIS question, he may lie about whichever question he wants. The score will not be revealed until the very end once the time is over. If the human wins, the Keeper of Souls MUST grant any one wish they have. If He-Who-Lies wins, the human will be the victim to whatever losing punishment he comes up with. Remaining rules include: The salt circle cannot be left- you may find yourself no longer in your dimension-, the game cannot be quit until the time is over, items like watches or phones are not permitted to be used to look up answers or keep track of the time. Good luck and Beelzebub be with you.”

Despite knowing this all already, hearing it out loud, spoken by the beast himself, made it all hit home for Joan. She was really doing this; she was gambling with Death.

She had to be the stupidest fuck to ever grace God’s green earth.

“Are you ready to begin?” Death asked.

Joan took a deep death and answered, “Yes.”

A wicked smile curled on Death’s lips. The candles around Joan blaze.

“The game is on.”

A dark feeling weighed down on Joan after that was spoken. The air around her seemed to shift. Her gut was screaming at her to run away, to hide, to do something other than just sit there, but she couldn’t move. Not from fear, but from sheer will. She couldn’t be stupid. Who knows what lurked outside her thin salt circle....

As he usually did, Death initiates the game and asked his first question.

“What was the name of Catherine Parr’s true love?”

Like that, a cold stone drops deep into the pit of Joan’s stomach. Of all the questions she expected him to start off with, Tudor history was not one of them. It startles her, takes her by surprise, and she realizes very quickly that that’s exactly why Death asked it. He’s trying to disorientate her right off the bat and weaken her before she has the chance to get some points in.

She could not let that happen.

It’s just that- she didn’t know Tudor history outside of knowledge on her queen and whatever is said in the show. The others certainly did talk about their past lives, but Joan- she-

It stung, to say the least, when she realized that Death knew about her nonexistence friendships with the queens. And that he was targeting that.

“Thomas Seymour.” Joan finally said.

She was pretty sure that was the right answer...but not completely positive. And, because of that, her worried mind began to scream doubts inside of her brain.

Was that a trick question? He’s supposed to be the embodiment of pure evil- wouldn’t he think Henry is Parr’s true love? Was Henry the right answer?

“Your turn.” Death said, not reacting to Joan’s answer, which scares her even more.

“What’s- why did you choose to show up in that body?”

“Oooh, you’re starting with a personal inquiry!” Death said, laughing, “How fun! And I hope you’re not flattering yourself, Joan- I don’t look like this to make your pussy wet. Trust me, I could look way more attractive, but I know you.” Those three words slither into Joan’s ears and made her shudder. “Isn’t the whole point of being a lesbian to not be attracted to men?” Death laughed again, “But I look like this because I want to. I can take whatever shape I want! Remember that one time I was a snake? That was weird. Although, peeping at a naked chick was pretty damn fun. As a lesbian, you could probably appreciate the sight.”

For just a moment, the image of Death disappears, the mirror hazes to white, and Eve appears. Not the paintings you always see- THE Eve, bare breasts and vagina and all, and if Joan weren’t also asexual, her own genitals may have been burning with desperate pleasure.

“She was a sight.” Death said, returning to view. He chuckles, then immediately goes to his next question, “What was the exact height of Mount Everest in the year 1666?”

Joan’s heart just about stopped.

How in the holy hell was she supposed to know that? Then again, that was probably the point of asking such a thing.

“Three...hundred feet?” It came out as a question, but it’s taken as an answer and Death doesn’t react except for a slight twitch of his nose. “What...is the hardest piece to learn on the piano?”

“Liszt.” Death answered smoothly. “What animal can see the most amount of colors?”

“A...dolphin.” Joan physically cringed at her answer. “Who wrote Liszt?”

Is this what she was going to be doing the whole time? Asking the King of Hell fucking piano trivia?

“La Campanella.” Death once again answered perfectly. “What is the full chemical name for the antidepressant and anti-anxiety medication, Zoloft?”

Wasn’t that the medicine Joan was supposed to take for her anxiety?

“I- I don’t know.”

Death just hummed and awaited his next question. He didn’t laugh at her like she expected him to, which slightly lightened the blow of her stupidity.

“What’s my favorite song in SIX?”

“None of them. Why did you stop taking your Zoloft pills?”

The answer followed by such a question felt like Joan was just punched in the stomach with a spiked gauntlet. She swore she was winded by some unseen force (probably shock). Her breath hitched in her throat and she seemed like a little kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I-” She hunched her shoulders around her neck. Death is giving her a curious look, which was at least better than worry or concern. “They- they weren’t helping me...so I didn’t think there was a point taking them if they weren’t going to fix me.”

Death hummed once more, this time louder and more enthusiastic. He clearly liked her answer.

“Interesting,” He mused, then quiets himself for the next question.

“What’s standing behind me?”

Ever since the game began, Joan picked up on the presence of something staring at the back of her head. She could feel their eyes burning into her skull, sometimes even breathing on the back of her neck.

Death smiled. “See for yourself.”

Joan saw nothing in the reflection, just darkness beyond the candles and Death, and she was not about to go and look away. She was scared about what would happen if she turned her gaze away from the mirror for even a second.

When Death realized Joan wasn’t going to fall for his tricks that easily, he quirked an impressed eyebrow and moved on.

“Will you greet the worker who just came in?”

Joan glanced fearfully to the corner of the room. A figure is hunched there. The glow from the candles just barely licks at their claws.

“What was their name? Terrance?” Death said, “Doesn’t he work in lightning?”

“That’s not Terrance,” Joan murmured.

Death took it as an answer, it seems. He leans in close to the glass and when he whispers, his hushed tone is right at the back of Joan’s ear.

“You don’t want to know what he really is.”

Joan can feel a panic attack rising in her chest. Death is trying to scare her, stray her from answering coherently or correctly and get her to waste time by freaking out. She had to steer the game back into calmness.

Or, rather, however calm a Devil game could get.

“What do I have in my pocket right now?”

Death seems a little bothered that the cryptic theme was interrupted, but he gets over it.

“One black pen that’s almost out of ink, a granola bar you promised yourself you would eat, and a rosary you stole from Aragon.” He said, “Oh and, by the way, that isn’t going to protect you from me. So return it as soon as possible or Aragon is gonna be PISSED!” He laughed, imagining the storm the golden queen would cause if she caught Joan with such a precious belonging.

Joan swallowed thickly. She didn’t want to check her pockets. She didn’t want to know that he was right.

“What is the color of the sky?”

It seemed like an easy enough question, but Joan, believe it or not, knew better than to fall for such a simple trick. She wracked her brain for a moment, then answered, “Black.”

Death doesn’t react aside from licking over his dried lips. His tongue is too pointy. Joan moves on.

“Does Jane care about me?”

Honestly, the question kind of surprised her. It bubbled up from her throat from out of nowhere- yes, she had been wanting to ask it so badly, but she didn’t actually expect it to come out.

“Yes.” Says Death.

For a moment, joy bursts through Joan, but the metaphorical, celebratory confetti is sucked up by the vacuum of doubt.

Is he lying? Is he giving me false hope? Or is he telling the truth?

“What’s your blood type?” Death asked.

“A...AB.”

Like Joan fucking knew that.

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Blue.” Death smiled, “Because the blue sky would always remind you of opportunities for a better life.”

A shiver runs down Joan’s spine. She didn’t like how he knew that.

“What’s something that you can’t eat for lunch or dinner?”

He’s asking a riddle. Joan bit the inside of her cheek, thinking.

It couldn’t be a food. That was too easy.

Think, Joan, think!

“...Breakfast.”

Death chuckles. Joan doesn’t know what to think of that.

Twenty minutes pass by in a blur. Cold sweat soaks Joan’s brow, dripping down her face, but she’s too scared to move from her stiff position. Her back muscles hurt from sitting like a statue for so long- how the hell does Death look so relaxed? Then again, he doesn’t really have much to worry about.

He doesn’t have to worry about the possibility of being mutilated or dragged to Hell or that that figure in the corner has been getting closer and closer as the minutes passed by.

“Do you think every human deserves to live?”

The question came out of nowhere, really. Death had been asking mostly trivia up until that point. He tittered at Joan’s stunned expression, then raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Well?”

“No.”

Joan didn’t hesitate because she knew it was the truth. Not everyone deserved to live. Rapists, pedophiles, serial killers, racists, homophobes, terrorists, abusers- they didn’t deserve life. People like them deserved to die.

And anyone who doesn’t believe that is a fucking idiot.

“Do YOU think every human deserves to live?”

Death scoffed. “Of course not.” He peered at Joan, really analyzing her for the first time. His yellow slit eyes raked over the girl, making her feel uncomfortable and violated. “You know, you and I think a lot alike. Not many humans give ‘no’ as their answer. They think optimism will make them seem like a good person. It’s pathetic.”

Joan just nodded silently.

“Now...where were we? Oh, yes.” Death leaned in, “Which queen suffered the most?”

Joan furrowed her eyebrows. The whole point of the show was to not compare, especially traumas, but...

“Katherine Howard.”

Come on- clearly K Howard had it the worst. The girl was violated by four different men before she was an adult! None of the other five stories combined could possibly rank to the fifth queen’s suffering.

“Honestly, I think the same!” Death said, “I mean- what is UP with the whole ‘one of a kind, no category’ gimmick? How stupid! Last time I checked, being a victim of sexual abuse doesn’t make you ‘one of a kind.’ Why would you even think of it that way?“

Joan nodded slowly.

“I agree,” She said, “Um- here’s my next question: Is this question false?”

Death raised his eyebrows and cooed in obvious interest.

“True.” He said, smirking. “My turn. Do you resent the queens?”

Joan actually recoils. Death laughed.

“I-”

Did she? Did she resent the queens? Surely she didn’t... She couldn’t! The queens were perfect! How could anyone ever hate them?

“No.”

Death almost looks disappointed.

“What’s worse than death?”

“You’re living it.”

Cold sweat drips down Joan’s face. It stings her eyes and is salty on her tongue. She hears noises all around her, but doesn’t dare to look. She already knows “Terrance” is on his knees beside the salt circle and his leaning his face in right next to hers. She can smell the rot on him.

“Have you ever wanted to hurt the queens?”

Death’s questions are definitely ramping up in darkness. Was the time close to ending? Is that why he’s getting deeper?

Joan shut her eyes tightly for a moment, but opened them quickly when the fear of losing sight of Death nagged at the back of her mind. Before her, on the other side of the mirror, the being is waiting patiently, eagerly for her answer.

“Sometimes,” Joan breathed, “Yes.”

Death smiles a wicked smile.

“How interesting,” He purred, then gestured for Joan to ask her question.

“Does God exist?”

“Unfortunately.” Death groaned, then laughed. He inspected Joan again. “How would you hurt the queens?”

Joan felt her stomach ache. She didn’t like that question. She didn’t want to think about actually hurting the queens, even if she’s considered it one or two times before.

“I- I haven’t really given it any thought.” She answered, then quickly sputtered out her next question before Death could comment, “Does the Bible speak the truth?”

“Of course not.” Death said. “My next question is this: If I were to give you a task, would you do it?”

“Depends,” Joan said, “What would the task be?”

Death held up both arms in a shrugging motion. “I don’t know! Pick up my dry cleaning? It depends! Don’t put me on the spot like that!” He then laughed that horrible laugh again. Once he contains himself, he says, “Time is ticking. The game is almost over. I want to switch things up before we end. I have a dare for you.”

Joan nods.

“Stab yourself in the hand.”

That flush of icy cold dread floods through Joan’s system again. Every part of her being screamed at her to refuse, there will be other offers or questions she could make up for, but she knew that was just false hope. Like Death said: time was almost up. She couldn’t risk refusing and docking more points (if she isn’t in the negatives already, that is).

“Fine.” She forced out through her teeth.

She reached for the pen in her pocket, but Death held up a hand.

“Don’t use that inky thing,” He said. “It won’t get the job done. Please- allow me.”

He flicked his wrist and a large carving knife appears out of thin air and clatters to the floor in front of Joan. She stares at it for a moment, then picked it up, setting her left hand down in its place. She took a deep breath, screwed her eyes shut, and plunged the blade down.

Joan couldn’t choke back the scream that burst from her lips. She cried at the pain, sobbing in horror when she looked down to see the knife practically pinning her hand to the floor. Dark red blood pools around her fingers, gushing and spurting like spigot from the wound when she pulls the blade free. She cradled her wounded hand close to her chest, weeping weakly.

“Very good,” Death cooed, clapping.

Joan raised her eyes slowly and Death smirked at how lit up they were, almost like hot coals.

“I have a dare for you.” Joan growled, her voice low and dangerous.

“I accept.”

“Change your eye color to blue.”

For a moment, Joan swore she saw the slightly twitch on Death’s features. She watched him close his eyes, sit their silently for a moment, then open them again.

They were still yellow and slit.

“I cannot.” He said. However, he wasn’t angry or irritated at being stumped, rather amused. “Next...what is the flying speed of a swallow?”

Joan ripped off of a strip of her shirt and wrapped it around her bloody hand, hoping it would be a good enough substitute for real bandages for now.

“African or European?”

Death grinned. And that grin only grew wider as the candles around Joan went out until only the one behind her remained lit.

"̸̡̢̢̣͓͚͖̪̼̪͑͊̈́͋̀́̾͗͘ͅT̷̼̺͈̮̜͔̙͂̋̉͋͛̈̿̀̕͜͠͝i̸̢̹̙̼̠͓͚̖̗͔̮̔̌͂̓̐̊̈́̔̃̕m̸̡̱̤̱͙͎̦̱͙̪̻̓̅͌̉̀̈́̐̄͒̌̕͘͝e̸̟̳͒'̸̗͎̞̙̋̎̓́́͑̉͐͑̈́s̷̰̬̙͖̲̩͚̥͈̝̩̻̻̮̭͂̀̐̓̑̓͌̓̀́̐̐ ̷̡̳͍̗͉̝͔̃̑͛̀͊͌͆̌̒̃̔͘̚͠ͅû̵̞̠̣͉̻̖̅̓̄̏͝p̷̛͖͎̮̖͇̬̮͉̥̲͈̟͊̃́̃̏̇̇͛͗̅̕͘,̷̢̧̧̹͈̗̝͙̪͉̖̆̈́ͅ ̸̲̩̥̇͂̓͌̀̋͗̀͛̚J̵̼̣̋ö̴̡͕̺̪̠͓̹͔̂͝ą̶̡̜̭̤͖̭̫̝̘̆̂̾̐͊̾̒̂̏n̶̛̛̬̦̥̠̮̐̓̃̋̍̒̂͐̂̽ͅ.̴̪̰̩̀͊̑̐́̂͗̍̐̈́̚"̴͍͆͛́̈́̈́̍͆̀͗͘͝͝

It was almost impossible to breathe. Joan can barely hold herself together- the tears are flowing freely and she can’t get them to stop. She would say a prayer for her damned soul if it weren’t for the whole atheist thing, and she worried that Death would get angry at her for it, even if it was said in her mind, which he couldn’t possible read (or, at least, she hoped he couldn’t).

Still, she bowed at the waist and thanked Death for the game.

“Let’s tally up the score, shall we?”

Joan first saw blood start to spread across Death’s midsection, then a sharp sting struck her in the stomach. She hissed in pain and lifted her shirt slightly, as did Death, and they both saw tally marks upon their flesh.

Death had twenty-three.

And Joan watched in shock as a twenty-fourth tally carved down through her skin right before her eyes.

“Congratulations, Joan Meutas,” Death says, “You’ve won. What is it that you wish for?”

#six the musical #six the musical tour #six uk tour #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #six fic #six ff #tour jane seymour #jane seymour #tour joan on the keys #joan on the keys #tw: religion

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asofterfan · 6 years

Text

Winter Winds

Prologue: Crying in the Club

Summary: Remy carries the sting of a thousand small cruelties. But he knows who he is, and he’s not going to change for anyone. After all, he’s never met anyone worth changing for.

Yet.

Warnings: underaged drinking, mentioned drug use, transphobia, enbyphobia, nbphobia, acephobia, arophobia, general ignorant asshattery

Remy is fifteen when he realizes that he has no friends.

He had always been popular- adults called him “charismatic” and “good with others” and a “social butterfly”. The kids called him “cool as fuck”. He held his head high, wore his shades inside, spoke sass like it was his native tongue. He didn’t walk, he sauntered.

For as long as he could remember he had been surrounded by people- people laughing with him, and inviting him to every event, and crowding around him at lunch, and maybe he kept them at arm’s length a bit but he still called them ‘friends’. But then one day his dad has to work late and Remy sat on the front steps on the school to wait for him, scrolling through apps on his phone, when one of the students sitting around him asks, “why doesn’t your mom just take you home?”

It feels like ice water over Remy’s head, and he’s glad he has his sunglasses on so they can’t see the way his eyes widen as he snaps his head to look at the girl who spoke. Her name is Emily and they’ve gone to school together since middle school, and Remy sees her almost everyday, and they talk at lunch and during science, and she has no idea that Remy’s mom is out of the picture. He looks around and realizes that no one in the crowd around him knows about the messy divorce his parents went through when he was twelve, how he started sleeping with his headphones on and blasting music to drown out the yelling and then never stopped because now he needs to drown out his own thoughts, and that his mom isn’t allowed to be around Remy unless his dad is there but she’d rather not be around either of them so it works out he guesses. They don’t know that it was Remy’s fault.

And if he’s really honest with himself? If they knew they wouldn’t care.

Because they’re not his friends.

Remy smirks, tilting his head to look at Emily over his glasses, “Gurl, you know I never miss an opportunity to loiter.” There are some laughs and chuckles, and Remy turns back to his phone and frowns, turning up some music so he doesn’t have to think about it.

“So you don’t like sex?”

Remy shrugged, scribbling in answers to the worksheet for her next class, “I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

“But you said you’re asexual.”

She had said that, yes. She just hadn’t realized her coming out required a goddamn lecture, “Yeah, being ace doesn’t automatically mean you don’t like sex. It’s about attraction.”

“But if you’re ace and have sex, then what’s the point of even saying you’re ace?”

“It doesn’t work like that, it’s-” Remy let out a huff of frustration, turning to the boy hassling her, “you literally carry a supercomputer in your pocket. Put it to use and Google it, bitch.”

The other student rolled his eyes, “I’m just saying, you shouldn’t say you’re ace if you’re willing to have sex! It’s just pointless!”

“Not nearly as pointless as this conversation,” Remy deadpanned, gathering her things as she stood from the table.

“Where are you going?”

“I lose IQ when I’m subjected to bullshit for too long.” She doesn’t wait to hear any replies, just saunters off without a second glance.

Remy doesn’t know how she feels about sex. But she stops trying to figure it out. The last things she needs is more ammo used against her identity.

Kevin enters the picture in the middle of Remy’s sophomore year.

The junior had transferred from a school on the other side of town. It was another boy in their circle who introduced Kevin to the rest of them, otherwise Remy doubts he would have ever noticed the boy- blonde, average height, average build, so plain he could star in a Disney Channel show.

Remy didn’t expect to get along, if only because he spent their first meeting dragging the boy to Hell and back. “There are still people named Kevin?” He raised an eyebrow, “that’s so basic. Next you’re gonna tell me you have an Aunt June or something.”

“Um, well…” the junior seemed caught off guard by the snark, but flushed slightly at the last comment.

“Nooooo….” disbelief spread across Remy’s face, “You’re shitting me.”

He shrugged, “My dad has a sister named June.”

“Okay, well… You dad isn’t named like… John, or Bob, or whatever, right?”

“Uh….” Kevin glanced around the lunch table, searching for some kind of support, but was met with glances ranging from amusement to pity, “His name’s Carl?”

"For fucks sake Kevin,” Remy threw his hands up in exaggerated exasperation, “Let me guess your mom's named Alice or some shit with an A huh?"

Across from him, the junior sighed in defeat, “…Allison.”

Snickers rang through the group, but Remy found himself pushing his sunglasses up onto head so he could look Kevin in the eye as he grinned good-naturedly, “Any siblings?”

Luckily, the newest student seemed to get the message that it was all in good fun, grinning back, “I have a sister.”

“I swear if her name is anything related to Britney or Jessica I will scream.”

Kevin smirked, “Tiffany.”

Remy clapped his hands together in emphasis, “BASIC. BITCH.”

“Oh come on, Sleep,” the girl next to him pushed him playfully, “not everyone can be as extra as you.”

He gasped dramatically, “I am not extra,” He pulled his sunglasses back on with a grin, “I’m elite.”

The teens around him laughed, even Kevin, and he decided the kid wasn’t so bad.

Remy had been 15 when she got her pronoun necklace. At that point she had identified as genderfluid for almost two years. She had tried to wear pronoun pins before, but always seemed to forget them in the morning or misplace them in her disaster of a room. The necklace lives on the side table beside to her bed, right next to her sunglasses. On the first day wearing it to school, she pointed it out to the students surrounding her at the lunch table.

“I know y'all can read, so I made this real simple for ya,” Remy had always been open about her gender, and figured this would help curb the misgendering, “It’s color coded and everything.” The other kids laughed and nodded, carrying on with their conversations, but Remy felt a little better, and her smile was a little more genuine that day.

Just that day, though.

It didn’t surprise her, exactly, the way no one bothered to even glace down to check her pronouns. The way she was waved off dismissively when she tried to correct them. But it still stung.

“How was I supposed to know?” Ariel, Remy’s partner for an English assignment snapped out after the third time Remy corrected her on her pronouns.

“I don’t know, maybe the ‘she’ hanging around my neck, or one of the multiple times I’ve told you. Take your pick, cause if you can’t read or listen, this project is gonna be hell and I will not hesitate to drag you down with me.”

Ariel rolled her eyes, “You say you’re a girl or whatever, but you look the same as you always do!”

“Yeah, genderfluid people don’t acquire their shapeshifting abilities until they turn eighteen. Is that not common knowledge in the cis community?” Remy mocked.

“I mean you’re dressed the same, bitch,” the other girl crossed her arms, glaring, “Like, you’re not wearing a skirt or anything girly!”

“Neither are you, bitch,” despite her best effort, Remy raised her voice, gesturing at Ariel’s jeans and shirt, “I didn’t realize you were born in the 1930’s, but honestly if we’re judging based off clothes I’m gonna assume your pronouns are ‘ignorant trash’!”

“Remy!” The teacher stormed over to the girls’ table, “That’s enough!”

“Damn straight it is,” Remy crossed her arms, “I want a new partner. Ideally someone who doesn’t have a negative IQ.”

Ariel screeches and soon both girls are yelling, words and curses blending together as the teacher shoves her way between them and fights to regain order.

Remy gets a new partner.

Remy goes to a college party wearing the shortest skirt she owns and too much makeup. Someone offers her some sort of pill and it’s not a school night so she takes it. She doesn’t remember much, but she remembers she didn’t feel sad, and in the morning she decides to start growing out her hair.

For awhile, Kevin is just another face in the crowd Remy surrounds themselves with. But the more Remy felt distant from the rest of their peers, the closer Kevin seemed to feel. He had been so nonchalant when Remy came out to him, not hassling them about it or badgering them with questions. Whenever he sat down at lunch, Remy would catch him glancing at the pronoun necklace and following it’s guidance like so few in their group did. For every hurtful word or ignorant comment, Kevin would be there, complementing Remy’s comebacks or rolling his eyes, smiling at Remy and stating “some people are so dumb”. He sits next to Remy on the front steps of the school and puts his arm around their shoulders and Remy lets him.

It should feel natural, the two of them getting together.

“Come on,” Kevin whispers, hand on Remy’s cheek to pull them closer, the two of them behind the bleachers after school like a bad cliche, “I like you. Do… do you like me?”

Remy doesn’t know how to answer that. But they know how they should.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

People always say you’re supposed to date your best friend, right?

Dating Kevin is… weird. Not too much changes, they suppose, but the things that do change make Remy’s stomach clench in a way they don’t really understand. They think kissing is supposed to feel nicer than it does. They think having a hand around their waist should feel safe instead of nerve wracking. They think they should be grateful to be given flowers instead of off put.

But all the good is still there. Their friend is still there. So it’s fine. It’s worth it.

They’re in Kevin’s room, laying on his bed, homework forgotten on the floor as they kiss lazily. Remy had kind of been hoping to actually just work on homework instead of being tugged onto the bed again, but he doesn’t think much of it anymore, happy enough to be spending time with the older boy. Or at least, he was, until Kevin slides his hand up Remy’s thigh and starts tugging at the waistband of his jeans.

Grabbing Kevin’s wrist, Remy immediately pulls away, “That’s a no-fly zone, hon.” He tries to keep his voice light, despite the confusion he feels because Kevin knows this, knows Remy.

But Kevin moves to kiss his neck, twisting his wrist out of Remy’s hand and placing it on Remy’s hip, “Babe, it’s been almost six months. Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?”

Remy pushes him away a little more forcefully, “Uh, I don’t know if you’re suffering some sort of amnesia right now but I’m ace. This isn’t something we wait for it’s something we don’t do.”

“Come on, I’m your boyfriend.”

Something about the way he says it, like it should be the end of the conversation, makes Remy acutely aware of his position lying beneath him; the way Kevin looms over him and won’t back off.

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest when he abruptly sits up and pulls away, finally getting some distance between the two of them, “Yeah, and I’m still ace. You’ve know this practically since we met!”

Kevin starts getting a little heated, throwing his arms out in frustration, “Yeah, but we’re dating. I didn’t think it applied to me.”

“Excuse me?” Now Remy is standing, fuming, fists clenched even as he backs away from the bed, “You didn’t think my orientation ‘applied’ to you?”

“Well I thought you loved me.”

And that makes Remy’s breath catch in his throat. His vision tunnels till all he can see is his best friend. And he wants to say ‘I do’, he wants to say ‘not like this’, he wants to say ‘don’t make me prove it’.

He wants to say, ‘I thought you loved me, too.’

But he can’t get any words out, and so Kevin keeps talking, patronizing, “Look, I get if you don’t want to bang random people or whatever, but I’m your boyfriend. You’re not being fair to me.”

Remy swallows thickly, and finally managed to grind out, “I didn’t take you for the ‘dumb jock’ type, but I find it hard to believe you’ve got multiple brain cells when you sprout ignorant shit like that.”

“Oh, well sorry if I don’t know all the intricacies of you being a prude.” It hits like a punch to the gut, and Kevin rolls his eyes, his face smug like he’s just won, like he’s waiting for Remy to fold and like Hell is that happening. Remy feels like he’s on autopilot, spine straightening, chin up, eyes cold, looking down his nose at Kevin like he was the dirt on his shoe instead of the crumbling remains of the best friend he had ever had.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have realized “no” was too complex of a concept for you. After all, you’ve barely known me a year and most dogs take at least a week to learn that word.”

Across from him, Kevin’s face fell, first into shock, then into fury. He opened his mouth but Remy didn’t let him get a word in.

“It’s okay, most toddlers have trouble with it, but I’ll try to explain the best I can. No, we’re not having sex. No, you don’t always get what you want. No, you can’t tell me what to do. No, we’re not dating anymore since I have become suddenly acutely aware of how out of your league I am. You need me to say it again slower? Or would you rather have a visual?” Remy flipped him off, stone faced even as Kevin’s turned red with rage.

Gathering his things, Remy ignores all the names hurled his way, all the accusations and curses and insults. He refuses to flinch when he hears something crash, though he walks to the door a little faster.

Kevin tries to get the last word in, shouting at his back, “Good! I didn’t sign up for half a boyfriend!”

Remy doesn’t stop walking. He doesn’t even turn around.

“You couldn’t handle half.”

The door slams behind him.

His footsteps seem to echo through the empty street. Evening has fallen, the sky darkening from pink to deep reds and orange. Remy manages to get a few blocks away from Kevin’s house when he can’t hold it back anymore, and he ducks into an alley between two apartment complexes. Leaning against the brick wall, it feels like everything in him collapses and he finds himself sliding down to curl on the dirty ground and sob into his knees.

The worst part is, Remy already knows that everyone will pour out false sympathies for the breakup, for the fact that he doesn’t have a boyfriend anymore. And Remy won’t correct them; won’t explain that he honestly doesn’t care about the end of the romantic relationship, but that he broke down in an alleyway because he lost his best friend. His only friend.

And logically he knows that he’s been here before. He remembers having no friends before Kevin, being alone in a crowd and he knows that he survived it before. But he doesn’t remember it hurting quite this bad.

This aftermath is so much worse than anything from before, and Remy decides that none of the good times in between were worth it. Not at all.

For about a week Kevin and Remy’s breakup is the talk of the school. The masses that huddle around Remy coo and send him pitying glances, telling him there are more fish in the sea while Remy smiles stiffly and nods along. Kevin has a lot to say and he says it loudly. But Remy stays so calm and cool, saying nothing except to cut down anyone who tried to make him explain his side, it was hard to take much of what Kevin said seriously. To an outsider Kevin seemed like a rambling peasant, trying to smudge the Ice Queen’s name. Remy ignored him. Soon everyone else did too.

His dad tries to talk to him. Remy had come home, face blank and empty as he explained that he had broken up with Kevin.

“What happened?” Picani asked, concerned, “Things seemed to be going so well.”

Remy had only shrugged, “It just wasn't working out.”

“I'm so sorry, Sleepyhead,” he pulled his child close in a one sided hug, “I know breakups are tough. I'm here if you want to talk, okay?” Remy had nodded against his chest, and then locked himself in his room.

Picani tried to bring it up a few times after that, even offering at one point to see if one of his old coworkers from the therapy practice he used to work at could fit Remy in for a session or two. But Remy always smiled and shook his head, “It's just teen angst, pop. I'll be fine, promise.”

Still. For about two weeks after that, Remy comes home after school and immediately collapses into bed. Being awake wasn’t very fun.

Finally, almost a month after Remy had their heart ripped out, they sit up in bed, where they’ve been for the three hours since they got home, and realize how pathetic they are.

Fuck this. Remy doesn’t want to sit at home and feel sad. They don’t want to be frustrated and confused and alone with their goddamn thoughts. They decide right then and there that that’s not who they’re going to be.

Filled with determination, they get to their feet, pulling their phone out and scrolling through old messages- there was always someone having a party in this city. Sure enough by the time they’re dressed and pulling on their jacket they have the address of some rich senior who doesn’t mind a bunch of teenagers destroying his parents’ house.

“Hey dad, I’m going over to a friend’s house tonight!” Remy calls out as they head for the front door.

Picani peeks his head out from his office, “Oh, I didn’t know you had plans.”

Remy turned and shrugged, “It was kind of a last minute thing. But I’ll be back in the morning.”

The counselor had a look of concern on his face, “Alright. Text me when you get there?”

“Sure, sure.”

“Okay,” Remy was already walking away, not noticing their father’s worried eyes following him, “Stay safe, Sleepyhead.”

Remy is just killing time before his next class, leaning against a wall and fiddling with his phone, when the jock approached him.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” the other student smirks.

Raising an eyebrow, Remy looked the boy up and down. He recognized the boy as a recent transfer, a stereotypical football player that Remy thought only existed on tv and cliche teen movies.

“‘Sweetheart’? That’s your opener? Do you get all your lines from B movies? Try silent films, you’ll have more luck.”

A flash of annoyance crossed the other’s face, vanishing as he straightened to stand a little taller, “You know, when they said you had a mouth on you, I was hoping they meant in a… different way,” he leered blatantly.

Rolling his eyes, Remy turned back to his phone, “You clearly weren’t listening then. Any “they” talking about me knows I’m not into that,” he responded cooly.

The other boy only raises an eyebrow, “What, don’t tell me you’re actually straight?”

Remy scoffed, “Did I say I’m straight? I’m ace.”

“Oh,” he rolls his eyes, “So you’re straight.”

“Are your ears just for decoration?” Remy crossed his arms, “I’m ace. I’m not interested in sex with anyone, gender’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Maybe you just need the right person to change your mind,” the boy purrs, putting a hand on Remy’s hip and leaning over him, looming.

Remy gasped dramatically, putting a hand over his chest in sarcastic shock, “Oh my God! I didn’t know it was possible!” He leaned forward, looking straight into the other’s eyes, “You’ve managed to make me even less interested!” The jock sputtered indignantly, but Remy just smirked and slid around him, not bothering to lower his voice as he walked away, “If I wasn’t ace before, picturing you in bed turned me off for good.”

The hallway fills with whispers and giggles, and Remy knows he won, but he still needs to hide in the restroom for ten minutes because his heart is still pounding from the feeling of being cornered.

He’s not short, but he starts wearing boots with a bit of a heel on them anyway. He feels safer being able to look down on most of his classmates.

Maybe being awake wasn’t the problem, it was being sober, Remy decided.

Her laugh came easier after a few cheap beers. A couple shots and she could dance without a care. If she gets drunk enough she can forget that her happiness is an act.

It’s a solid system.

Remy is sitting on the steps outside of school, the usual suspects sitting around him as they all passed the time before classes started. Tired and frustrated from a long week, Remy had started ranting about the number of fuckbois at the school, when one of the guys next to them rolled his eyes.

“I mean, you do lead them on.*

Pushing their glasses up onto their forehead, Remy raised an eyebrow, “Literally everyone knows I’m ace. I don’t exactly hide it. How is that leading them on?”

“Well you don’t act asexual.”

“You don’t act like a single-celled organism and yet here we are.”

“I’m just saying,” the boy held his hands up in defense, “that you‘re always flirting with people.”

“Uh, yeah. Flirting is fun. But last I checked talking shit wasn’t the same as agreeing to do the nasty in a broom closet between classes.”

“Wait, did that happen?” A girl on the other side of him chimed in.

Remy shrugged, “No, it didn’t, which made a certain asshole very upset because apparently I broke some sort of unspoken contract by putting a stop to all that nonsense.”

The first boy leaned back, waving his hands in surrender, “Whatever man. I just don’t know what you expect when you…. You know,” he gestured vaguely at them.

Huffing, Remmy leaned forward on their knees, “Yeah, well, my expectations get lower everyday.”

Remy loves getting drunk and dancing in the very center of a crowd of people. He loves the warm buzz, and the feeling of human contact without any sort of obligation. He wears tanks and crop tops just to get some feeling on his skin.

“So, Sleep, interested in anyone these days?”

The girl leaning next to Remy’s locker bats her eyelashes, an unspoken but clear, interested in me? She’s vaguely familiar, just like everyone else. They don’t know each other.

Glancing over, Remy snorted, “I’m more interested in the state of my cuticles than anyone in this school, hon.” For a moment, the girl looks almost hurt, and Remy finds herself softening, “I’m not into dating. I realized I’m aromantic.”

There’s a beat of silence as the other girl absorbs the information. Suddenly, her eyes widen, “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, that’s so sad!”

That made Remy raise an eyebrow, “Excuse me?”

“Well, I mean,” she has her hands over her heart, looking at Remy with pity like she was a Hallmark movie widow, “you’re gonna be alone forever.”

“Riiiiiight,” Remy drawls, hiding her hurt beneath patronization, “I forgot about how you’re only allowed to interact with a significant other. Ever since that ban on friends and family. Rough times for all single girls.” She wiped away a fake tear.

“You know what I mean,” the other girl frowned, “Are you sure you want that? I mean you’ve dated before, isn’t it better to not be alone?”

And Remy decided right then and there, “No.” She slammed her locker shut, keeping her gaze haughty as she sauntered away, “None of you fuckers are good enough for me anyway.”

Remy is in someone’s basement, belly full of whiskey, laughing with a group of people whose names she doesn’t know and pretending she didn’t come here alone.

During lunch, Remy noticed a boy, Travis he thinks his name is, staring at Remy’s backpack.

“Dude, if you want the homework answers all you had to do was ask, not stare a hole into my bag.

Travis jumped, startled, but then he smirked, “I was just looking at your pins,” He gestured to the large buttons on the front of Remy’s bag. They were all different flags- a rainbow, the nonbinary flag, genderfluid flag, ace and aro flags, and a large pink button that just had the word “QUEER” in curly black font. Travis shook his head, still smiling, “You have too many things.”

Remy raised an eyebrow, “Pardon?”

“I just mean, most people are just gay, or trans, or whatever. You don’t have to be every letter in the alphabet you know.”

He said it so nonchalantly, Remy felt his teeth clench, “Sorry we can’t all be minimalist straight boys.”

Snickers sound through the group, and Travis snorts and rolls his eyes jokingly, and the conversation is forgotten.

That night Remy can’t find a party, so he sneaks into a club. He stands in front of booming speakers and loses count of how many shots he has, and doesn’t think about how he somehow manages to be too much and not enough at the same time.

Remy is eighteen when he stumbled through the front door, trying to close the door quietly behind him. But the effort was for naught, as the lights turned on, and when he twisted around, his father was standing in the entryway, eyes alight with worry and anger.

“Where have you been? It’s after two in the morning on a school night, I left you five messages and I don’t even know how many texts!”

“I’m sorry, I just lost track of time,” the teenager rubbed his forehead, slipping his sunglasses off to hold at his side. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?” He tried to walk past his dad, one hand on the wall to try to keep his balance, but Picani grabbed his wrist.

“No! We are talking about this right now! You can't just-” he paused when he noted how the teen was swaying, “Remy are you drunk?” His voice was incredulous.

Remy blinked, shaking his head to try to clear his clouded thoughts, “I-“ he pulled his arm roughly out of his father’s grip, “I had a few drinks, that’s all! It’s not like I drove or anything-“

“It’s still irresponsible, and unsafe!” Picani raised his voice, brows furrowed with anger and worry, “You didn’t even tell me where you were going tonight! What if something had happened? I wouldn’t even know where to start looking!”

“Don’t be so dramatic!” Remy rolled his eyes, “It’s high schoolers drinking, it’s not that big of a deal!”

“It’s a big deal because I know you’re lying to me!” The counselor’s voice continued to increase in volume. He knew he needed to calm down, to keep his composure and discuss what was happening rationally, to explain his side with a level head. But it was hard.

Because this was Remy. This was his child standing in front of him, swaying on his feet, hands trembling at his sides, with dark circles under his glaring eyes and hair a wild mess. It was jarring to see how very not okay his child seemed. And Picani felt his rationality slipping through his fingers.

“You’ve been staying out later and later, you never talk to me, your grades have been slipping, and now this-?”

“I get it dad, I’m a problem child!” He tried to look angry, but he couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice, or the glassy look in his eyes as he ran shaking fingers through his hair.

Picani felt something like desperation rise in him as he took a step forward, “That’s not what I’m saying. But Remy, this isn’t you-“

“I am so sick of everyone telling me who I am!” There was a quiet crash as Remy hurled his sunglasses at the wall, the lenses splintering into several shards. Chest heaving, the teen looked up at his father with venom in his eyes, “It’s like mom all over again.”

The words are quiet, and sharp, and suddenly Picani feels like he can’t breathe.

For a moment they both stand, looking at each other and wondering how exactly they got here. Then Remy turns, and without a word, he walks into his room and slams the door behind him.

~~~~

The next morning, Remy comes downstairs and sits across from his dad at the kitchen table before school and lets out a soft, “I’m sorry.”

Picani stares down into his coffee, “Me too.”

Remy keeps his eyes on the table, “I’ll do better. I promise.”

There is still something wrong. All his years of training as a therapist and a counselor scream at him to do something- to skip work and school and stay here and find out why his child looks so tired and hurt and what happened and they can’t just leave things like this-

But when he opens his mouth, the words die in his throat.

Remy doesn’t need another controlling parent.

“Okay,” he nods. And then he stands, because if they don’t leave soon they’re going to be late. “Okay.”

Picani gives him more space, and Remy gets better at hiding his habits, and they don’t talk about it again.

Graduation comes and goes in a blur. Remy hugs people he has no intention of seeing ever again. His dad cries, holding him close and taking an absurd amount of pictures. A part of Remy feels a spark of warmth at how his father glows with pride, how he had jumped up and down during the ceremony, shouting when Remy’s name was called, “That’s my kid! That’s my kid!” like he wanted the whole world to know. The counselor had been so understanding when Remy had chosen not to go to college, instead applying to be an apprentice at a tattoo shop downtown. When he got accepted, Picani had grinned widely and demanded they celebrate.

“Oh, I can’t wait to get something done by you!” He had clapped his hands excitedly.

Remy smirked, “I mean, you *did* kind of give me the idea.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Picani winked sarcastically, crossing his uncovered and heavily tatted arms in emphasis.

A huff of laughter escaped Remy as he turned back to the computer in front of him, continuing to fill out the apartment application open in front of him. As he typed, his father moved to stand behind him, looking over his shoulder at the form for the small studio apartment.

“Remy… are you sure you don’t want to just live at home a little longer? You know I don’t mind.”

“I know,” Remy looked up to smile gently at him, the man’s face apprehensive and cautious, “and I know it doesn’t look like much, but I don’t mind having a smaller space while I work through my apprenticeship. I’m just…” she took a moment to consider her words. Trying to work around the truth without lying, “I want to start the next phase, you know? Start being an adult.”

Picani still looked concerned, so Remy smiled, leaning against his shoulder, “I won’t be far. You’ll still see me all the time, and I’ll still come by to raid the fridge and do laundry and watch Steven Universe.”

The counselor grinned, putting his arm around his child in a half hug, “Well, I guess when you put it that way…” He swiftly pulled Remy into a full embrace, crying out dramatically, “I guess I just wasn’t ready for my little Sleepyhead to grow up so fast!”

“Daaaaaad!” Remy laughed, halfheartedly struggling to escape.

It doesn’t take long to move Remy into his apartment. The space is small, so he only brought a few pieces of furniture. A mattress on the floor, a thrift store loveseat, an old crate to serve as a temporary side table, and a couple lamps. A few boxes and a suitcase held the rest of Remy’s life that he wanted to take with him.

Picani still seems apprehensive, but Remy does his best to soothe him, “I literally just moved in. It’ll look better once I get settled.”

“I know, you’re right,” his dad smiled, “I just can’t believe you’re all grown up now.”

“Taller than you and everything,” Remy joked.

“Only by a couple inches!” Picani cried indignantly, his lips twitching towards a smile.

Shaking his head fondly, Remy opened his arms, “Come on, it’s getting late and you have work tomorrow.”

Pulling his child into a hug, Picani gripped him tight, “I’m always a phone call away.”

“I know dad.”

Their goodbyes stretch a moment longer before the counselor finally takes his leave. The door clicks shut, and Remy moves to sit on the mattress, staring ahead blankly and waiting for twenty minutes to pass, as though his father might come back and catch him if he doesn’t wait. But he’s suddenly struck by the knowledge that he’s on his own now.

Nothing is against the rules anymore.

He doesn’t have to sneak around. He can leave his music blasting while he dumps out his suitcase and finds his fake ID and his favorite club outfit. There is freedom in being alone. No one to tell him who to be, or tell him to change, or be disappointed whether he does or not.

He’s free.

It’s dark outside by the time Remy finishes his makeup and grabs his keys. He grins as he walks down the street, heading towards a night of strangers and mindless noise and bodies pressed against each other without obligation and alcohol to drown out whatever the music couldn’t.

Yeah. Being alone is better.

Remy repeats that to himself a few more times as he makes his way into the night.

#punk au #winter winds #punk remy #remy/october #(sleepy hallow)#transphobia #transphobia tw #enbyphobia #nbphobia #exorsexism #hahahaha watch no one like this story #I tried #YEET

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homenum-revelio-hq · 5 years

Photo

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Bee!

You have been accepted for the role of MARLENE MCKINNON! I really enjoyed reading your application! I particularly like the way you incorporated the family farm and the winged horses throughout! It’s so important to Marlene’s character where she came from. I am so excited to have you as part of this roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours!Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Bee

AGE: 21

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m a college student, so my activity tends to revolve around my schedule, though I tend to be online at some point every day (unless there’s a big paper to write or a project or a test or something the next day, in which case maybe not… but still probably because I am a disaster). If I had to give it a number? 7.5, 8.

ANYTHING ELSE: HELLO AGAIN

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Marlene Elspeth McKinnon

AGE: 24

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis Female, She/Her… as for sexuality, Marlene really couldn’t give a shit less what people decided to call what her sexuality is. Love happens, life happens, and she isn’t going to limit the possibilities by slapping a label on herself. That, and she’s not exactly certain how her parents would react to their only daughter being anything BUT straight, and she isn’t in a rush to find out. But if I, the writer of this app, had to label Marlene’s sexuality, she’d be pansexual.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Ravenclaw

ANY CHANGES: Nope.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Marlene was raised with expectations, and those expectations molded her personality in more ways than she’d care to admit.

What was expected of her as a kid was that she was to be a good little witch. That she took care of the winged horses and didn’t pull out their feathers. That she didn’t steal her older brother’s toy broom and fly it around the house like she was a seeker for the Holyhead Harpies. That she knew how to say please and thank you, and how to read all the old, beautiful, dusty books that lined the shelves in their library. That she knew what Hogwarts is, and knew what house she would inevitably get sorted into- because what was a McKinnon if not a Ravenclaw, if not being the most clever person in the room. There were rules, there were standards, there were shouldn’t’s and should’s- and Marlene simply took them all. She didn’t question it- she just was the daughter that Maeve and Malcolm McKinnon needed. She had always been a perfect little witch growing up, her dresses and cloaks in the latest fashions, her wild curls always tamed- picture perfect. That is the Marlene that her parents knew and wanted, the one that would make her grandparents proud. Perfect… and they would have expected nothing less.

They didn’t know, nor would they likely want to know (at least, in Marlene’s mind), the wildfire that roared just beneath the surface. The fire that they thought they’d put out when it had been nothing but a little spark. Friends know that Marlene leads with her heart first. You know exactly where she stands on everything because she wears her heart on her sleeve. She lives in a world where she’s genuine with those she cares about, and therefore expects that everyone is being genuine with her. She hates secrets and lies (which can bother her, especially when it comes to Order things, but that’s a whole other story…). Because she’s so set in her own mind- that what she has to say is important, is right, is good, and should be listened to, it makes other views very hard to swallow. Having someone tell her she’s wrong can send her reeling.

She’s used to being the one who knows what to do. She’s used to being the one who knows all the answers to every stupid question you could possibly ask her- not that there were any stupid questions out there, just more obvious and less obvious. She’s the smart one, the one who knows what she’s doing… right? But there’s always that seed of self doubt. The one that tells her that she’s just faking it, that she’s not good enough for what her family wants of her. She’s not the perfect daughter. No, she’s just very good at pretending. Because, if she were perfect, someone would be listening to her.

There’s a piece of Marlene that feels rather lost, more like she’s screaming into the void than anything else. Like, somehow, in all of her doing what was expected of her, she became invisible. She wants to be heard for once in her life. Rather than holding a hand over her mouth and swallowing words because of expectations. Her opinion should matter, but it doesn’t- she’s in this war too, and she’s fighting for the right side. But how come she feels like she’s somehow the enemy in all this, and why does that make her feel so guilty?

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

The McKinnons were pureblood, yes, but they weren’t old blood. There’s a difference- if you come from old blood families, you know. No, Caelan and Maeve (Marlene’s grandparents) made an investment in the flying horse ranching business, raising the finest winged equines in England, if not all of Europe. But really, what would you expect from two Ravenclaws who graduated at the top of their class. Their business became their son’s business, and after their son, their grandchildren. As it was supposed to be. As the generations would pass on, the McKinnon name would gain respect. It would prosper, with many witches and wizards filling up the family tree. But that didn’t exactly change the fact that in the eyes of the Sacred 28, the McKinnons were nothing more than New Money.

And so, as these things go in the pureblood world, Holly Shafiq and Malcolm McKinnon met at some high society function, as they were supposed to, and got married, as they were supposed to, and a whole lot of ‘supposed to’s later, Marlene came into the mix. The last ‘supposed to’, the youngest of the mix. Her mother fawned all over the little Marlene- her darling baby of the bunch- while her father always seemed a bit too busy with the winged horse business, though he did read her Tales of Beedle the Bard every night.

She was a curious and wild little girl- not exactly what her mother had expected when she envisioned her ‘darling baby’ growing up. The vision in frills and bows with perfect little curls did not last long when Marlene was about four or five. She’d sneak off when she was supposed to be taking a nap and go on epic, self made adventures. She’d go romping in mud puddles with her older siblings, she’d go visit the flying horses in their stable and kiss their big fuzzy noses and stay sitting their until someone found her and dragged her off. There was an insatiable curiosity that ran in the little girls veins. She wanted to know why brooms flew. She wanted to know the name of every single flying horse in the stable (and if they didn’t have names, could she name them?). She wanted to know what a Hogwarts was, how floo powder worked- anything and everything was a question that needed answering.

The one who really encouraged this sort of ‘question everything’ mentality was her grandfather. A pureblood who had built his own fortune from the ground up, he didn’t believe in the frills and fanciness of high society that his wife, son, and daughter-in-law were so desperate to be a part of. Why be a part of something that wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with him when he had been a poor young man with aspirations? He was the one to really teach Marlene the ways of the world- the difference between good and bad, the need to question everything, the need to be set in one’s beliefs. Caelan McKinnon was such an important figure in his granddaughter’s life, she felt she was closer to him than her actual father. He passed away before Marlene joined the Order, but she’d like to think that if he’d still been around, he would have ruffled her hair and given her a kiss on the forehead as he’d always done when he was proud of her.

Her relationship with her siblings has always been very close. As she was the youngest, they were always a little protective of her. They taught her the important things. Like how to ride a broomstick or a winged horse. Which quidditch players were the best. How not to get a disgusting flavor of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. Where the best hiding places were on the ranch. Which flying horses were the friendliest and which would try and kick you if you got too close. When they were young, they were all practically inseparable. But time, as well as sticky situations, pull people apart. Some of her siblings don’t exactly appreciate the fact that their family’s estate has all but been filled with strangers. This puts a bit of a strain on their relationships.

OCCUPATION:

Technically speaking, the ranch is her occupation. She helps take care of the winged horses, helps with finding good owners for her winged friends, helps clean out their stalls… anything that the family business might need help with, she does. She doesn’t exactly get paid for it though- she has access to the family bank account, and money has never really been a problem in Marlene’s family. There’s always been enough for whatever she wanted or needed, and her mother made it a habit of making sure her children had literally everything they ever wanted, ever. This has put a bit of a disconnect on actual jobs for Marlene, as she’s only ever known a world where she could take a day off no questions asked, and she had everything she needed.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

The Order was Marlene’s opportunity to work with the good guys. Yes, it was under the law, which sometimes ruffled her parent’s feathers (after all, their daughter working with a bunch of radicals wasn’t necessarily the safest thing for her or for their family). But they didn’t disagree with her motives. Voldemort and his pure-blooded societal fantasies were wrong. Magic was magic. Killing and hating people for who they’re related to was something that needed to be stopped. Yes, the McKinnons were purebloods, but they weren’t those sort of purebloods. Her siblings were a little bit more in line with where Marlene stood- fighting back to protect the innocent was a lot better than doing nothing. Her parents were less actively involved, offering Marlene whatever she might need. Eventually, what she needed became their estate to hide targets of the Death Eaters.

The Dissendium Task Force offered her a place to help protect people who really needed it, whilst working with some of her closest friends. She’d been so excited to work with Lily and Remus, Emmeline- they all were so dedicated to fighting back by helping those who needed protection and hiding. Everything started with the best intentions. But the number of targets began to increase the longer and worse the war became, and Lily’s motivation became less of helping targets- the people who really, truly needed to escape, lest they be killed- and more of helping muggleborns. It drove her crazy. She felt bad about it, sure, but she couldn’t house every muggleborn in the whole of Britain and expect that Voldemort and the Death Eaters wouldn’t catch on and come and kill them all. It wasn’t logical. It was putting her, her family, and every single one of the poor people who were hiding at the McKinnon Estate at a ridiculous amount of risk. Not to mention the werewolf population living in the woods off the estate. The worry from the whole situation was enough to make Marlene sick. If they got caught by Death Eaters, they were dead. By the Order, they’d likely be thrown into Azkaban. And the more people she was asked to hide, the more likely it was that the whole operation could blow up in their faces.

SURVIVAL:

This is something Marlene is growing increasingly worried about. At the start of the Dissendium Task Force, she felt relatively safe. Sure, it was risky to smuggle Death Eater targets out of the country for their own safety. But hiding one or two people at a time was a MUCH different situation from hiding several people, not all of whom are targets, plus werewolves, all on her family estate. It’s almost like holding a giant, flashing sign that reads ‘We’re here! Come kill us!’. She’s survived by being stealthy and by being a pureblood- no one’s going to expect the new money pureblood family of jeopardizing their social position. But she’s sure that it’s suspicious to the pureblood families who were donning the eerie masks of the Death Eaters as to why the McKinnons hadn’t joined their ranks yet. She wonders if she’ll even survive the year at the rate the Task Force is going. She keeps looking over her shoulder and wondering when the day is going to come where she’s the next name rattled off on a Missing or Dead list.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Once upon a time, Marlene had seen Lily Evans as the little sister she’d wanted but hadn’t gotten. She’d grown fond of the younger Gryffindor through her time at Hogwarts, and had thought the world of her. When the Dissendium Task Force was started, she was thrilled to be working so closely with someone she cared about so much. And at first, things were great. They worked so well together, and both believed so strongly in taking targets, making them feel safe and secure, and getting them to safety. It was important- not everyone could fight to protect themselves in the war. But as the war has gotten worse and the Death Eaters get more power, Lily has seemed to veer off in a new direction: save every single muggleborn in Britain, regardless of the consequences. Marlene has tried speaking up, talking reason on how trying to save people who weren’t targets along with actual targets put everyone at risk. But no one seems interested in listening to Marlene, even though it’s about their safety. It’s her home, and it feels like her opinion on the safety of the people inside of it (stranger, friend, or family) means absolutely in the eyes of someone she once called one of her best friends.

Poor Remus has ended up hearing the brunt of her screams into the void and grumbles over the whole situation. She’s grateful that he’s on the task force- he knows how to talk to werewolves, and he knows how to deal with Lily when Marlene just can’t. He’s also great at dealing with the half-breed population, and always seems to know just what to say to them. He’s made her life a little bit easier in these strained times. A piece of her feels bad that the half-breeds need to live out in the woods, but a bigger piece of her knows that it is way too much of a risk to have a bunch of werewolves in the house. Besides, her parents wouldn’t dream of having those sort of ‘people’ in the house.

The only person who really seems to be listening to Marlene is Emmeline, and Marlene is definitely listening and watching Emmeline. The witch deserves more credit where credit is due. She’s more than just a healer, which is unfortunately what she’s being treated like. She’s intelligent, she’s talented, she listens to others. Marlene doesn’t feel invisible when Emmeline is around because she knows that Emmeline actually cares about what Marlene has to say about the task force.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

I will always ship chemistry. There’s no real anti-ship here. Where there is chemistry, there is the possibility for amazing threads. THIS GOES FOR RELATIONSHIPS OF THE PLATONIC AND ROMANTIC KIND.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Marlene lives in a world of privilege. She grew up in a pureblood household where she’s wanted for nothing. She doesn’t know a world where people look down on you- not really. She’s experienced people looking down on her for being new money. She’s only ever gotten a glimpse of what it feels like to be in a muggleborn’s shoes, and that was in the muggle world. In the muggle world, she’s a woman of color, and she’s not exactly ‘straight’, so she’s discriminated against. It put knots in her stomach the first time she experienced it, and she wasn’t exactly sure why until she realized that that was what it must be like for Lily and other muggleborns in the wizarding world.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

You’re group looks absolutely amazing, also, you’re amazing (thank you for talking to me and letting me reapply <3) I really want to write, and this group reminds me so much of old tumblr rpgs, which I miss terribly, so I’m really excited for this!

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

Marlene finding out about Remus being a werewolf is a possibility? Losing a muggleborn or a target the task force was supposed to be protecting? Something happening to one of Marlene’s siblings (also, I’d love to have some actual Marlene siblings if that was okay? IDK if that would be a possibility, but if it is, that’d be cool.

ANYTHING ELSE? DOBBY’S SOCK! … Have a nice day lovely admin.

#homenumaccepted #marauders era rp #harry potter rp #harry potter roleplay #hp rp

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smoaking-greenarrow · 6 years

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Overprotective Oliver fic idea: maybe one where felicity is being stalked by someone (like a creeper, old lover, the press) everywhere she goes even when she is with someone. Like at a restaurant, grocery store, coffee shop, on the streets, close to work, close to home etc.

A/N: Okay, not exactly the prompt, but the closest my muse was feeling ;)

They’d been fighting a lot.

No, not fighting. Disagreeing.

Disagreeing and making love. Back and forth, back and forth. They were struggling to see eye to eye again. To get on the same page. But at the same time, they were thriving. Reconnecting. Remembering everything that made them so incredible together. Seven years ago, falling in love with him had been inevitable. And figuring things out now…also inevitable.

Still, it was a pendulum of emotions. And it was hard. She hadn’t expected it to be so hard.

With a sigh, Felicity finished putting the clean laundry into their dresser, tired after the last couple hours of getting the house ready for William to come home. As she stepped out of their bedroom, flicking off the light, something hidden beneath her jewelry box caught her eye. She frowned, turning the light back on and reaching for it.

Her skin was pale, but not unattractive. She had pretty pink lips and soft blonde hair.

Realizing that it was a corner of a photograph, Felicity slid it out, looking down at the image of herself, standing beside her step-son. The picture she’d sent with John the first time he’d gone to visit her husband at Slabside. Oliver had kept it all this time? Kept it intact through the riot and all the creepy Level Two stuff?

Well, it wasn’t completely intact; the picture was torn, right down the middle, and she frowned in confusion. Someone had ripped it, and Oliver had taped it back together. Continued to hold on to it.

“Oh, Oliver,” she let out a deep breath, her heart squeezing in her chest. Felicity set the photo back down carefully, handling it with as much care as Oliver had, on top of her jewelry box this time. Because here, he didn’t need to hide it or protect it from harm. Here, it was safe.

He wanted to know what it was about this woman. What it was that captivated the Green Arrow.

Making her way out of the room, Felicity started unpacking the boxes and arranging their things, trying to make the new apartment feel more like home before William arrived.

She hummed to herself, cleaning and organizing as she moved through the rooms. Eventually, she glanced up at the clock, frowning. Her husband should have been home to help her by now.

One more minute, and then he would move. Out from the dark corner of the house. She wouldn’t see him coming.

As if on cue, her phone began to ring, and Felicity snatched it from the kitchen counter, seeing Oliver’s face on the screen.

His breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide as he watched.

“I was just thinking about you,” Felicity answered in greeting, a smile pulling at her lips.

“You were?” Oliver asked, and she knew he could hear the smile in her voice, and that he was answering it with his own.

“Mm-hm,” Felicity hummed, “I was just thinking; ‘where is my big, strong, handsome husband, and why is he making me do all of this unpacking by myself?’”

Oliver huffed, “I’m sorry, I’ll be home in just a few minutes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” he rushed, and she could hear him starting his car. “On my way.”

“Well,” she paused, leaning against the counter, “why don’t you tell me what you want to do to me when you get here.”

His heart slammed against his chest, feeling it race. Oliver was on his way.

Her husband inhaled sharply. “Fe-li-ci-ty,” he practically moaned her name. She’d missed that so much.

“What?” She asked, feigning innocence, “there must be a surface somewhere in this place that you haven’t bent me over yet.”

He gasped again, followed by a soft groan this time. “Don’t get any ideas. I was just training with John. I haven’t sparred like that in a while, and my back is killing me. I’m going to need a bed.”

Felicity chuckled, “okay, fine. You can just lie back,” she pondered slowly, a little thrill running through her to be talking about it, knowing he would be there in a matter of minutes. “Let me do with you as I please.”

“Damn,” Oliver grunted, and she swore she heard the car accelerate.

Plans had to change. He couldn’t take her in time. Oliver would know.

“Hurry home,” Felicity teased, covering her lips with her fingers.

She was too wrapped up in their conversation to notice. To see him. And he slipped by easily, ducking into the bedroom while she had her back turned.

After hanging up, Felicity set her phone on the counter, turning her attention to the boxes in the kitchen. She knew that as soon as William walked through the door, he’d ask for an Oliver Queen home-cooked meal. The thought made her smile, pulling dishes out of their boxes and organizing them into the cupboards. As long as the kitchen was unpacked and ready to be used, her boys would be satisfied.

Pulling the black hood tighter around his face, he watched her intently. There was no way he’d make it out of there with her. Oliver would find them.

Felicity glanced up when she heard a pair of keys outside the door. She leaned against the counter, crossing her arms and watching as Oliver pushed his way inside.

He seemed a little riled up, in a rush, and she bit her lip. “Hi,” he breathed, kicking the door shut and quickly closing the distance between them.

She didn’t have time to respond, he dropped his bag and hauled her against his chest in a matter of seconds. And then, he was kissing her. Felicity smiled against his lips, “you’re kinda sweaty.”

“I thought you liked it,” Oliver mumbled back against her lips, and she felt him smile, too.

Despite the arguments they’d been having about good and evil and gray areas, there was always love between them. Respect and trust. They were happy, even when they didn’t agree with each other. And that was a win in Felicity’s mind, considering where they were when they first met. “I love you,” she whispered, telling him for the millionth time. Making up for all those months she’d been unable to say it.

And Oliver groaned as if the words were precious, leaning into the kiss even more, his tongue sliding against hers.

After a moment, he pulled back, looking down at her with his soft eyes. “I love you, too,” he said, his expression echoing the sentiment. “Let me take a shower, and then we can unpack two of those boxes…before I take you to bed.”

Felicity scrunched up her nose, holding up her index finger, “one box.”

Chuckling, Oliver bent down to kiss her again, “you drive a hard bargain,” he mumbled, making her laugh.

When he pulled back with a sigh, Felicity shook her head, still amused. “Be quick!” She swatted his ass, and he turned to wink at her as he retreated to the bedroom.

Letting out a happy sigh, Felicity turned back to the box she was working on, choosing to put the glassware in the windowed cabinet by the fridge. Before she could even set one wineglass inside, Oliver’s sharp “Felicity!” startled her.

“What?” She whirled around, her heart hammering at the fright and at how harsh his voice sounded.

He stopped in the doorway to the bedroom, his eyes furious, the photograph in his hands. “What is this?”

She gaped, wondering if he was upset she’d found it and left it out.

But then he turned the picture around, his eyes wild as he scanned the house, his back tensing. And when she looked down at the picture, at the X’s drawn over her and William’s faces, the wineglass fell from her hand.

Oliver rushed to her, tossing the photograph on the counter and taking her face between his hands. “I didn’t do that,” she blurted, shaking her head.

Her husband nodded, his hands soothing her, fingers in her hair. “I know, I know,” he breathed, “that’s not what I meant.” Oliver tightened his grip, guiding her face to look at him. “Did you leave the house tonight? Did you go somewhere?”

“No, no,” she panted, “I’ve been here the whole time. Oliver, I saw that picture twenty minutes ago…it wasn’t like that.”

In response, Oliver pulled her a little closer, both of them realizing what that meant. With her head cradled to his chest, she could feel how tense he was.

“Oliver,”

It was an unfamiliar voice, but it had Oliver whipping around, yanking Felicity behind his back, shielding her between his body and the refrigerator. She peeked her head out from behind his arm, her hands gripping the back of his shirt.

The man in front of them wore a black hoodie, pulled up over his head. There were scars and bruises all over his face. He was small, mousy. Almost as short as her and probably weighed less.

But muscle didn’t mean much when there was a gun pointed right at her husband’s head.

Felicity’s heart twisted in her chest. In the tense silence, she saw through the gun and the shadowed face, the bloodied wreck of a man underneath. And she recognized him. The one who had been there the day she found out about Oliver and Level Two. The one who’d said he was Oliver’s friend at Slabside.

“You need to listen to me,” the man whispered, his eyes only on Oliver. “There are some people who want to kill me. You need to save me, Oliver. That’s what you do, you save people. That’s what you said, that’s what you do.” His words came out in a frantic rush, similar to her babbling, but much more deranged, a hint of madness in his tone.

To her surprise, Oliver lifted his hands, nodding along. “Okay,” he offered quietly, peacefully, “Okay, Stanley. Just tell me what’s going on. Tell me who is after you, and we can take care of it together.”

God, he wanted to believe him. But was he lying?

Felicity watched, perfectly still, as the man choked on a sob. “That’s all I want,” he blubbered, “you and me. Being a team again. Together again. That’s all I want!”

“All right, Stanley, then you need to put the gun down.”

It was a trick.

Stanley shook his head, his eyes sparking. “I fell for your lies before, Oliver. And you locked me in that room. You left me. You left me!”

“I had to save those people, Stanley,” Oliver answered lowly, keeping his voice even despite the escalating man before them. “I couldn’t leave with you and let them die. That’s not who I am. I know you understand that now.”

Of course. He understood. He understood better than anyone in the world. Better than Felicity Smoak.

A long moment of silence passed, and then Stanley shifted the gun, training it on Felicity. Without taking his eyes off of Oliver, he mumbled, “I need to talk to her. Alone.” Oliver held his arm out, caging her in behind him and simply shaking his head. “I need to talk to Felicity,” he repeated.

Stanley’s hand shook.

Oliver didn’t answer.

Stanley waved the gun. “Either I talk to her or I kill her right now!” He screamed, veins popping in his forehead as his face turned red.

“Okay!” Felicity yelped, reacting to the man’s snap of sanity. But her husband held on tighter, keeping his eyes trained on Stanley like he was just waiting for the moment his guard went down and Oliver could pounce. The problem with this man, like no one else they’d faced before, was that he didn’t have a guard to let down. There was no logic, self-preservation, or strategy to be found in his eyes.

And this could end very, very badly.

There wasn’t a bone in Felicity’s body that doubted she and Oliver would both be dead in ten seconds if Stanley didn’t get what he wanted.

“Oliver��” she mumbled, loud enough for Stanley to hear, “it’s okay, he just wants to talk. He’s your friend. I know him, we’ve met.” She nodded to Stanley, watching as he nodded back, “he wouldn’t hurt me.” Felicity lied through her teeth, but it had the desired effect.

Good, she understood. He didn’t want to hurt anyone who didn’t deserve to be hurt.

Stanley nodded, “yeah, yeah,” he exclaimed, relaxing a bit. “She’s right, I just want to talk!”

Felicity ignored the knot in her stomach, her instincts screaming at her, and quickly slipped out of her husband’s protection. His hand shot out to stop her, to pull her back, and there was suddenly a bullet in the steel refrigerator door right next to her head.

Oliver let out a pained noise as Felicity flinched from the boom of the gun. She squeezed his hand, meeting his eyes. Offering him some silent assurance, trying to calm the erratic breaths heaving in his chest. And then she pulled away from him again, knowing that the next bullet would be in her head, or Oliver’s, if they didn’t comply. Quickly.

Stanley seemed even more worked up after firing the gun, and Felicity saw that his grasp on reality was not quite right. She approached him with open hands, her heart sinking into her stomach because she could see the look in his eyes. Any lick of reason he’d had was released with that bullet.

So, she almost expected his next move. It was written all over his face, but she didn’t know how to avoid it.

As soon as Felicity was close enough, Stanley grabbed her, spinning her around and pulling her back against his chest so she was facing Oliver. She watched her husband’s expression break; murder all over his face, and he lunged forward.

Oliver made it halfway across the kitchen before she felt the cold gun pressed against her temple. And Oliver froze. Stanley dragged the gun down her cheek, caressing her with it, his breath heavy in her ear. It made her skin crawl. “Pretty blonde hair and smooth skin,” he whispered as if the words were just for her, but Oliver heard.

His jaw clenched with a rage she hadn’t seen in him in a very, very long time. “Let. Her. Go.”

“I can’t,” Stanley groaned, and Felicity could feel his hands shaking. In fact, his whole body was practically shaking like a leaf.

He was scared.

“I can’t,” he repeated, whipping his head back and forth. “She has to come with me. Every Oliver Queen needs a Felicity Smoak, every Green Arrow needs an Overwatch. I can’t let her go! She has to come with me!”

“Stanley,” Oliver said evenly, holding his hands up in surrender, yet Felicity could see him inching closer, his movements too subtle for the unstable man to notice. “You were a good friend to me at Slabside. And we can be friends like that again. But not if you hurt her. If you hurt Felicity, I can’t forgive you. And I want to forgive you.”

He does?

“You do?”

“Yeah, Stanley,” Oliver lied, “I do. If we’re going to stop those people who are after you, then I can’t be worrying about Felicity.”

No, no, no. That wasn’t right.

“She’s a distraction…” Stanley replied slowly, the gun pressing a little harder against her head.

“No, no!” Oliver got his attention back. “The truth is, there aren’t many people I can trust right now to keep my wife safe,” he let out a deep breath. “You always had my back in that prison, Stanley. We worked well together. I need people like you that I can trust.”

She could tell that Oliver’s approval, his praise, was exactly what Stanley wanted to hear.

It’s what made him hesitated. What distracted him.

Felicity met Oliver’s eyes, and she knew that he was thinking the same thing.

“I wouldn’t have made it out of there alive if it weren’t for you,” Oliver continued, seeing the way Stanley relaxed at the same time that Felicity felt it. “And I could really use your help now. Keeping my family safe.”

“You’d trust me with Felicity and William?” Stanley asked, turning his face into her hair, making her shiver. Feeling his nose in her hair made her want to take a twelve hour shower. And she hated that he knew their names. That he’d manipulated Oliver into some semblance of friendship. Judging by the flash of anger in Oliver’s eyes, the short snarl of his lip; he felt the same way.

“Of course,” Oliver nodded anyway. “You coming here proves to me that you’re a loyal friend. I trust you with their lives and my own.”

“Oh, Oliver,” Stanley finally, finally exhaled, “you have no idea how good it is to hear you say-” as he relaxed, he loosened the gun.

Without any thought, Felicity turned her head and bit his hand as hard as she could.

Stanley cried out, dropping the gun to the floor.

The next thing she knew, Oliver was on her, gently but firmly pushing her to the side before he laid one solid, knockout blow to Stanley’s jaw.

As he fell, Felicity kicked the gun, across he room, far away from the unconscious, unhinged man at their feet. She breathed heavily, looking up at her husband.

“Come here, come here,” he panted, reaching for her and pulling her into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around her like a fortress.

“From now on,” she mumbled into his chest, her voice muffled, “your friends are being put through a very strict vetting process. Conducted by me.”

He laughed breathlessly, but there wasn’t much humor. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, holding on to him tighter as he pressed kisses into her hair. His lips skimmed down to her temple, touching the same spot the gun had been, kissing her there. “We’re okay.”

#Arrow #Olicity #Olicity fic #Olicity fanfiction #Arrow Season 7

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hellinabentley · 5 years

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//Just a thought that probably floated through my brain because it's 3am and I should be sleeping. But I love how quick this fandom has been to embrace non-binary Crowley. (And non-binary Aziraphale, for that matter, along with non-binary everybody else celestial or infernal.) That, to me, is huge. I've never seen that. Like usually, there will be all of us label-less queers off in a corner writing fanfic about how such-and-such character is not cis. And that's basically it.

In this fandom, though, literally the whole fandom is just like "yep, Crowley's non-binary, and in other news, it's Tuesday." That has floored me. And the fact that the writer of the show/co-author of the novel has come out and said, "Yes, Crowley does present as female part of the time. No, we did not make major changes to David Tennant's makeup and whatnot to do that, nor did we whip up some crap about how Crowley can shapeshift so we'll bring in an actress for those scenes. And no, we did not play any of that as a joke, because it's not a joke." Like that just... That is powerful.

Real talk, here. I have seen exactly one (1) other non-binary character on a show that wasn't aimed primarily at a queer audience who was not played as a joke in some way. (That would be Syd from One Day at a Time, for those wondering. The show that made me sob because I'm queer and Cuban and I had never seen a queer Cuban on screen or page before, ever.) Y'all cis people in this fandom, I love you, but I just want to make absolutely clear how huge this is. Those of us who are non-binary are barely even recognized as valid anywhere but within our own community. So this? This thing that was bound to blow up because it was David Tennant and Michael Sheen in the tv adaptation of a really popular novel where the screenplay was written by one of the authors of the novel? The fact that it has embraced not just the broader queer community, but the non-binary community in particular so loudly and so matter-of-factly, that is so big.

And I know to some of the younger members of the fandom, maybe it doesn't seem that big. But I'm 30. I spent my entire childhood aware that I didn't quite fit in any of the boxes, although I learned by age 9 that asking why I had to be a girl or a boy was a bad plan and only resulted in having things thrown at me. I never had the vocabulary to express what was going on. I had never even heard the term transgender until I was a senior in high school. For reference, I was 17 by that point. It wasn't until college - and the message boards for a queer web comic - that I learned non-binary was a thing. I literally cried off and on for days, because oh my god, I wasn't the only one. I was half convinced I was either insane or there was something wrong with me until I realized it wasn't just me. And again, I'm thirty. I know around here that makes me a fossil, but I'm really not that old.

But having gone through that experience growing up, and spending so much time struggling with self-loathing and depression and suicidal urges as a teenager because I could not figure out what the hell was wrong with me, not only is this incredibly validating to me, but it also makes me hopeful. Because I don't want non-binary kids to go through the same shit I did. I don't want them to feel broken and alone. I want them to be able to see themselves represented on the page and on the screen. And is Good Omens necessarily something you want your 5 year old watching? Probably not. Do we need more representation in young-child-friendly media? Probably, although I really am out of the loop on that one because I don't have kids. But this is something that I could see letting your middle schooler watch. (Probably. Again, no kids and I was allowed to watch Monty Python's Flying Circus as a young child, so take my age appropriateness evaluations with a grain of salt.) But it does represent progress. And that's encouraging. You have to start somewhere.

And it is now 3:40am and I'm going to stop rambling at you and at least move towards bed now.

(As a side note, that post about how Aziraphale has no idea how to answer when somebody asks if he's gay, because his partner hoards all the genders and keeps bouncing between them? I high-key empathize with that post, except I am both Crowley and Aziraphale in that situation. I hoard all the genders and bounce between them and therefore I have no idea how to answer when somebody asks if I'm gay. That's why I just call myself "queer." It's a hell of a lot shorter than "that's relative to wherever I fall on the gender spectrum on a given day, but my sexuality is basically 'if you're a dude, probably nah.'")

#out of the bentley || ooc #who is the author || mun #friends of dorothy || lgbtq #pay no attention to the man behind the curtain || meta #((Mun was just really emotional about this.#And I have been spaming my best friend with stuff about it.#Not that she hasn't sent me just as many things.#But I get very excited over this stuff.))#long post

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ciphers-fr · 5 years

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Astralis: 1- Eltanin

The first part of my story for the Sornieth Zodiac Event!

Even in the early morning, the Clan Tempestas Clamanti was a flurry of activity.

The just-risen sun had yet to scrape over the dizzying high walls of the Great Tempest mesa and the Clan’s territory was still cast in darkness; still, dragons flitted amongst the gardens or picked their ways through the desert-dried earth and air. Some were just arriving from traveling throughout the night night, ready for foretold comfort and rest. Others were trying to get a start on the day’s business before the high-noon heat set in: whether it be helping tend the Oasis, training for when they went before the Stormcatcher for exaltation, or just getting to the next point in their journeys. Chaotic to a level, but in a way, beautiful. Like the buzz of a beehive, knowing that sweet honey lay at the end.

From the little lip of rock above the mouth of the Lair, Eulalia watched it all. Only a small respite, really, before she would be facing another day of leafing through endless papers, reading whatever reports might come, and helping train whoever asks of her. All the duties and more of a clan heir.

The petite Mirror clutched the steaming mug in her claws all the closer. Time seemed to have been flying by lately. So much had been happening… And yet it also passed unbearably slow. Every crest bookended by the doldrums of her work. When was the last time that she had a real moment of rest to herself? Eulalia lifted the cup, the sweet scent of the strong herbal tea curling around her as she took a deep drink.

A clearing throat interrupted her reverie. A supercell— one of the passers-through of the Clan— from what she could spot over the rim of the mug. They were familiar, too, one of the handful of longer term visitors staying down deep in the Grotto. The dragon shuffled their feet on the ground below Eulalia before lifting their head to call out: “Uh, excuse me? Miss?”

“Yes, what might it be?” Eulalia answered, setting down her mug.

The dragon looked away for a second and ruffled their wings. They turned back, “Hate to bother you right now, but there’s something we think you should know about.”

A silent sigh. Eulalia cast a wanting glance at her tea, perfectly honey-sweet. It’d probably be lukewarm and have no less than two insects skittering across its surface by the time she was finished with this. But she wouldn’t dare disrespect the dragon with slurping her way through their words.

She hopped from the ledge, flaring her wings to land daintily on the sand and rock below her. Two quick steps and she was standing in front of the supercell. A dip of the head to the larger dragon and she asked: “Is there a problem? A request?”

“A problem. One of your familiars kinda… attacked us? For no reason.”

“Oh dear,” Eulalia blanched.“Is everyone okay?”

This… wasn’t good. The potentially aggressive familiars should have been kept safely away from other dragons. Unless a wild one managed to get in unnoticed— which seemed far fetched, those types normally kept their distance— then there had to have been a breakout. But when?

“Luckily, no,” the dragon said sheepishly. “One of the others saw and pulled me out of its way.”

Eulalia nodded in relief. “Thank the deities. If you can, do you know if this particular familiar has been seen roaming before?”

The dragon turned their head back to the gardens. “We’ve been seeing them rustling around in there for a few weeks, but they always kept to themselves until now.”

“Weeks?”

“I think,” the dragon’s face screwed up. “I can’t remember exactly. Days have really gone by fast, huh?”

She took a step back, picking through the dragon’s words. “Did… did you say there were multiple of them?”

“Yes, miss. Dunno how many, exactly. Maybe a half dozen?”

Scratch that. This could be very bad. An unknown number of potentially dangerous beasts had been lurking in the heart of the territory for weeks. This was no escaped familiar by any means of thought. And while the Clan had no issue with sharing space among the native flora and fauna, incursions would be good for no one. For the beasts’ and dragons’ safety alike, they would have to be relocated.

First, they would need to figure out exactly what they were dealing with.

“I appreciate you coming to me with this information,” Eulalia spoke softly. “But if you would come with me, there is someone else that you should tell, too.”

Her tail flicked stiffly towards the Lair and the dragon nodded. Together they padded in and descended into the labyrinthian tunnel system, the cooling tea forgotten.

When it came to the myriad of beasts that roamed Sornieth, Eulalia was, sure, knowledgeable. But in reality, she only scraped the surface: what they consumed, which of the common ones made good familiars, which to avoid. The practical information. For the true strange and expansive lexicon of every creature that crawled, swam, or flew (Or some peculiar combination thereof), there was one dragon in the Clan to turn to. Her (At least, in spirit) sister.

She just had to find her.

It shouldn’t be too hard, though. Eulalia practically had the schedules of each Clanmember memorized. Those who kept one, at least. And to her fortune, Ciphers kept a rather regular one. Eulalia gestured the supercell into a long room just off the main passage.

The first familiar roost was still quiet this early in the morning; only the sounds of stirring fur and feather and sleepy, sighing beasts drifted through the air. It was also where the small Imperial padded down the rows, sending quick looks over the familiars as she went to fetch breakfast for the rowdy Nochnyr prancing at her side.

It was the early riser in the pair, not her, and Eulalia counted on that.

“Ci?!” she called carefully, trying not to disturb anything. “Could you come here?”

Ciphers bobbed her head without ever looking back. She tossed something unidentifiable to her jaw-snapping monster and, with a yawn, walked back up to the pair.

“Yeah?” Ciphers was bleary eyed and still the better half of asleep.

Eulalia looked to the supercell and found them a half-step behind her, looking like they were chewing at the inside of their cheek. “There may be a nest of… something in the Oasis that needs to be moved. I cannot be sure of what myself, but this one here has seen it.”

The dragon coughed and launched into an explanation. They weaved a tale of strange little beasts that they and others saw prowling through the Clan’s gardens. One with a too-large mouth. Another with a tangle of horns sat atop its head. A third with wiggling growths spurting out along its spine. Each one was a little bit more uncanny than the last, but all had a certain hazy quality to them, like they weren’t quite solid. And they had kept to themselves until that morning. Eulalia listen patiently but confused, it all went over her head. Ciphers, however, sat a little straighter and looked more awake with each description.

When the supercell had quieted, the Imperial was tight mawed. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll try to figure something out as soon as possible... But if that’s everything,” Ciphers briefly looked at Eulalia. “You can go.”

Eagerly, the dragon turned and dashed from the room.

“Well?” Eulalia asked.

For a second, Ciphers paused, wracking her brain. She then leaned down to whisper to her sister in a low voice, “I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think those are supposed to be here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, without seeing them for myself, I can’t know exactly,” Ciphers looked out the corner of her eyes. “But those sound like conjurings of some sort.”

Eulalia thumped her tail against the ground. Why would something— someone— send scouts to watch over them? And more importantly, why choose such gastly forms for it? “Do you think it could be spies?”

“Maybe,” Ciphers answered with a twitch of her wings. “Or someone trying to scare away all the supercells from here. Or both.”

The Clan heir ran a claw down her snout. “We need to investigate this. Quickly.”

“So we’re being spied on,” Ambigram concluded tersely.

“It is a possibility, yes,” Eulalia corrected the white Imperial. Ambigram, the medical apprentice in the Clan, was known for trying to cut to the chase, but more often than not creating an extreme jump to a conclusion. “But we do not know for sure.”

“Exactly,” Ciphers added. “It could just be some familiars. I—“ her voice petered out— “never actually saw them.”

Eulalia and Ciphers had gathered everyone that could be found and/or spared to the Vault. It was the only room that was both large enough for multiple dragons to gather and safe from wandering eyes and ears— supercells were barred from entering. The risk of word getting out and rumors spreading and growing out of control was not a risk they were willing to take.

From there, they had laid out what occurred.

“If you aren’t sure, then why are we here?” Khione snapped, creating a chorus of chatter.

“Because,” Eulalia’s voice cut through the din, “something has happened that could be a danger to this Clan, and we must find out what.”

Just as quickly as it began, the discourse stopped. The Clan heir shot a sharp glare at the Ice ambassador as she continued, “As I said, a supercell was nearly attacked. Who knows what may happen if we let this continue.

“We need to see if there are any clues to point towards exactly what this is,” her voice softened. “If you have the time to spare, we need help searching the territory and beyond.”

Artemis, the Clan’s huntress, was first to raise a claw. The Nocturne bounced on her heels instead of speaking, but the question was clear enough.

“Of course, Artemis, you are free to search the outerlands. Khione, if you could go with her? To make sure nothing is missed.”

The icy Wildclaw half-frowned, but acquiesced. She was always soft when it came to her friend.

Eulalia relayed the rest of the plan: “Stratos, you and Ambigram should speak with the harpies. Ask if they had seen anything, and if they will keep a watch. Offer use of the Rocs if you must. Everyone else… look where and when you can. Adjourned.”

As the majority of the dragons rose, Eulalia leaned towards her mate. “Have you… heard anything?”

“No,” Pandora whispered back. The Bogsneak’s fins flattened against her head as she turned to the jar curled in her tail, like her unseeing stare could force the cryptic riddles to again be chanted in her ear. “In fact, the Speakers have spoke nothing new for many days now. Only the same tales I have already head.”

Eulalia pulled back with a sullen look. She watched as her Clanmates— her family and friends— dispersed, murmuring to each other over where they should look. They are good dragons, she tried to comfort herself with the thought. Whatever it was that was stirring, they could handle it. Worse things have happened, right?

But her self-placations lingered bitter in her mind. All her normal assurances were failing. Someone more knowledgeable than her being unsure; no odd whispers to suggest the future; nothing. When had she become so reliant on others? Eulalia was the heir; others should be relying on her to know exactly what will happen.

The fear of the unknown festered in her chest.

#flight rising #fr #fr lore #fr writing #ciphertext #Astralis Arc #in other news me brain is fried from writing ;-;

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christopherrpike-archive · 6 years

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seb for the deputy ask thing? :D

i hope you know how long this took me FDGDFG but i had fun answering!!

under a cut bc this is long

Deputy Sebastian Chase Maxwell

The Basics

1. Give their full name, and describe them or post a picture! (Height, build, hair, eye, and skin color, etc.)

Sebastian Chase Maxwell, he stands at 6’4 with a fairly small build; on the lanky side but he does have some muscle on him. He’s pale with freckles lightly dotting his face and has bright, emerald eyes. He also has short, blonde hair that he keeps styled in place when he has the time to.

2. How old are they?

25, and he was born on May 23, 1993.

3. Sexuality and gender?

Bisexual with no strong preference, cis male.

Pre-Game

1. How did they end up at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department? How long have they worked there?

He was really looking for something to put some food on the table when he moved to Montana, and he’s been working there for a good year or two before the whole issue with Eden’s Gate.

2. Relationship with Pratt, Hudson, and Whitehorse?

He has a great amount of respect for Whitehorse, and it’s only intensified since he was brought to the county jail in the Henbane River. Like most of the other deputies, he looks up to the man like a father figure.

Out of everyone else, it’s Deputy Hudson he seems to be closest with. They look out for each other, and it appears that Hudson’s taught him mostly everything he knows. He may or may not have had any feelings for her.

He hadn’t known Deputy Pratt very well before the whole ordeal with Eden’s Gate, but he couldn’t help but feel terrible for what happened to him with Jacob. Now, he’s looking to get to know Staci better.

3. Do they have an education?

Yes, college graduate with a bachelor’s degree in business.

4. Where are they from? Did they speak a different language there?

Nope. He was born in Fairmont, West Virginia.

5. Is there anyone outside the valley that might have come looking for them?

His family; parents and sibling, and of course there’s his ex-wife and child.

6. Did they have a religious background of any kind?

He was raised Christian, but he never really stuck to it. After the whole deal with the cult, he definitely won’t be going to church any time soon.

Inside Hope County

1. What was going through their head when the helicopter went down and during the subsequent chase?

“I have to get out of here and find help”; basically, fear. Hope County was practically uncharted territory and seeing how angry the cultists were when they tried arresting Joseph, going up against them singlehandedly without any firepower wasn’t an option. So the initial plan had been to get out without getting spotted somehow, then find help anywhere.

2. Were they afraid of Joseph and Eden’s Gate? Angry?

Mostly afraid, but above all, cautious. Dealing with a cult wasn’t exactly in the job description when he first signed up for the team and there definitely wasn’t protocol for arresting a cult leader. Over time, however, that fear lessened, instead growing into anger.

3. Did they trust Dutch?

Seeing as he woke up handcuffed, no. But the longer he spent with Dutch (that and he really had no other choice and the man seemed to genuinely be helping him), he grew to trust him over time.

4. How did they feel about their team being taken by the cult, did they count them as lost, did they want them back, did they not care?

To Sebastian, no teammate is lost unless it was absolutely certain. He wanted them all back, and if it meant hitting the cult back hard was the way to do it, then so be it.

5. How did they take to the idea of being part of, if not leading, the resistance?

He was all for it! It’s not exactly what he expected, but he does have that sense of leadership in him, and he’d like to think he sparks some hope in the residents of Hope County. His occupation? Aspiring beam of light.

6. Which companions did they recruit, and who did they travel with the most?

He recruited just about everyone, but he travels with Sharky and Nick the most. With the three of them, taking down the cult seemed about as fun as a regular guy’s night out.

7. Did they have time to find romance amidst the chaos? How did they do it?

Not exactly, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find John and Faith to be at least a little attractive.

8. Feelings about Joseph?

To him, Joseph was a dangerous man. Whether or not he was right about his prophecies, doesn’t change the fact that he has misguided beliefs and what he’s doing is hurting hundreds of people.

9. Feelings about the other Seeds?

He has mixed feelings about John; he was dangerous, maybe a bit off-kilter, but also very, very, frustratingly handsome. Taking him down was the top priority, but there have been a few occasions where he was tempted to take up Addie’s idea of sleeping with him. You know, for the good of Hope County.

Out of all the Seeds, he thinks it’s Faith he likes (or pities) most. This is especially so at their final confrontation. Whether or not what she says about Joseph was just to get him to feel sorry for her so she could get the upper hand, he still wishes he could do something to help her.

Just when he thinks he isn’t afraid of the Seeds or their fanatical cult, Jacob comes in just to convince him otherwise. Out of all the siblings, Jacob just might be the most dangerous one, maybe even more so than Joseph. Sure, he didn’t have a silver tongue like his brother did, but what he had in compensation was ruthless power, and he had his own means of manipulating prisoners. Sebastian’s experience in Whitetail Mountains was easily the worst one.

10. How did they handle having to kill animals and other humans? Had they done it before?

Killing animals was easier for him to do, seeing as it’s a common sight in slaughterhouses and the like. That, and most wildlife in Hope County have their teeth bared and ready to pounce should he hesitate with an arrow. People, on the other hand, were a bit more complicated. After all, he knew the peggies were just heavily brainwashed people, made to think that what they’re doing is for the better. But it’s kill or be killed in Hope County, and these cultists weren’t about to back down.

11. Which canon ending did they choose in-game, and would you have changed the ending at all?

I haven’t actually finished the game so I’ll just skip this question but I definitely would have changed the ending. No bombs, and a chance to arrest the Seeds instead of just killing them.

Personal

1. Favorite weapon(s)?

The compound bow and a suppressed AR-CL.

2. Stealth or firepower?

Stealth if he can help it, but subtlety isn’t exactly his forte so he ends up charging in guns blazing most of the time.

3. How did they spend their time, when not fighting peggies?

Hunting and helping out the residents of Hope County with other, minor things.

4. Where did they live during the events of the game?

Fall’s End, it’s his second home at this point.

5. Any other facts you want to share about your Deputy!

I’m bad at these but here’s a few from the top of my head:

He has a 6 year old son and his name is Austin Sebastian Maxwell, currently in Montana with his ex-wife, Brooke Townsend. (Far enough away from Hope County but you can see why I’m pushing for at least a no bombs AU)

He has a twin sister named Pippa Maxwell and she acts almost the exact same way he does, although I’d say she’s the feistier one between them. Sebastian’s the older twin by a few minutes.

He has a gunshot wound on his temple from an unlucky encounter with the peggies. He wasn’t shot through the temple mind you, but he was shot point blank, the bullet was deflected by his skull and went out through the back. Incredible luck, but he was out of commission for a good long while.

#ask memes #long post #for those on mobile #far cry 5 #fc5 oc #the junior deputy #oc: sebastian maxwell #foofygoldfish

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yuzuruspoohsan · 6 years

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do you ever think that yuzuru is completely different irl ??? like i think it’s safe to say he puts on his “media face” whenever he’s in front of cameras and press and interviews, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing and im not trying to call him twofaced, but do u think he’s totally different when those cameras are off???

hi again im the anon who asked about what yuzu is like irl and i just wanted to clarify my ask as not to offend u what i was trying to ask was if you think yuzuru is any different off camera or irl as compared to when he’s on camera and with press and things and by “media face” i just meant like u know how he acts with the media u know poised and calm..hope this clears my ask up sorry!!

It’s okay, anon. I can see where you’re going. I wasn’t offended. Maybe a little baffled as to why this would need an ask, but then again…I have had this asked before sort of….[x]But in general, feel free to type ‘personality’ into the search bar for my blog, and I’ll have a few answers about him in that regards.

But your ask is a little more specific in terms of whether or not he is some way different from his presentation of himself before the official press/media, then of course, yes.

No one is exactly like their “press self.” It’s like asking, are you like the way you are when you’re giving a presentation before a group of people. You might be more formal or stern, or more exaggerated than your general self, so on…

But I have thought over my answer and it’s going to be a somewhat long passage….

So, when it comes to people….your gut reaction should feel something. And maybe some people have more accurate gut reactions than others, but there’s always something that you can generally deduce from what you see and perceive.

It’s not to say your reasoning is always going to be correct because you can be swayed and remain bias to your thoughts. In my case, I have had the experience of finding out that the person I was stanning was indeed a real jerk and asshole (scum of the earth). But then in hindsight, there were things he admitted in the past that aren’t things that someone should be proud of sharing or making a joke out of. So, maybe had I been a little more aware or judgmental of the guy, I would’ve noticed earlier.

But when evaluating someone, these are kind of the things you look for and think about:

1. Consistency

Yuzu has always been fairly consistent in how he presents himself. And it’s hard to consolidate how he is or who he is from the library of videos that have documented his existence, but in general, he is more thoughtful, mindful, reserved, and formal when speaking to the official press which are the news outlets.

Yuzu is more relaxed and can be more of himself when he is being interviewed by people he knows or has probably spoken to outside/off camera. For example, Arakawa Shizuka and Nobunari Oda (he trolls them during some interviews.)

And he tends to remain consistent to how he acts. You don’t feel like he ever does anything that should surprise you, other than, “hmmm, he’s doing it again.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do anything that surprised me when he’s on camera. And I keep bringing that up because you see, when you watch interviews with big hollywood stars, you never what to expect and that gives you the incentive to say….”woww, I can’t believe that happened.” And that’s probably because, they aren’t acting like themselves and they’re suppose to entertain you.

2. Incentive

Yuzu has no incentive to feel like he has to entertain people when he’s on camera. That’s not his job nor is it his job. He’s just answering questions in the best way he sees fit. Where as celebrities or TV personalities are more compelled to answer it in the best way that make them more charming.

Yuzu has said before in the past “I am not an idol. I am an athlete.”

I mean sure, he’s done commercials and promotions, but even then, he doesn’t do anything that is unlike himself to do.

You shouldn’t concern yourself with how he appears before the media or press. You should just watch videos where he’s in a more informal setting when he’s doing interviews with Arakawa-san, Nobunari-san, or Kenji. He’s most relax in those.

Watch him when he’s skating or sassing around.

Think about the accounts people have given time and time again about how it is like to work with Yuzu (Shae-lynn, Jeff, Orser, etc.) and skate with. The accounts are nearly all positive (save for the fact that he can be very stubborn at times). That adds to the consistency of who he is generally.And people generally like to be around him and work with him (unless you’re his junior and get intimidated when he starts doing the glarey glaring thing when he’s on ice…..)

But to conclude, I’m not really sure what you’re trying to figure out from this ask.

Are you concern that maybe he’s an asshole in disguise or not or something?Or whether or not he’s really that nice…?

And I would say, you shouldn’t have to worry or concern yourself all that much.

I can’t say that he’s completely like the way he seems or appears because, again, I don’t know him personally, and even then that wouldn’t really prove much because everyone has the ability to hide a part of themselves from the world.

But in my opinion, he does appear to be who he truly is on camera and that’s regardless of whether or not he’s speaking before the press or goofing around with other skaters during gala practice.

Yuzu is Yuzu. He is always going to be himself.

He looks empowered precisely because he is true to who he is.And he has consistently…subtly….shown people to remain true to themselves in everything they do. Pursue, persevere, and do what you can to succeed.

Note: That when I say he is probably how he seems, it doesn’t mean that he’s saint. Cause if you’ve seen enough of him, you’ll know he isn’t. He’s overall a nice guy, but I’m sure he has off days too like every body else in the world.

So, just to clarify, he should be how he appears to be more or less, and nothing more exaggerated.

But that’s my opinion, someone else can have a totally different opinion from me and that’s cool. Cause it’s not like I have the power to know if I’m right.

(Though I always like to brag a bit on how I’ve consistently guessed what he’s thinking….haha. Ci )

#i should be studying for my quiz #anon #replies #personality #on and off tv

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kuuderekun · 7 years

Text

The growing Hostility towards Redemption narratives in some circles.

http://jaredmithrandirolorin.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-growing-hostility-towards.html

I already hinted at how this bugs me briefly in my last post about The Last Jedi, called Subverting Expectations is not a substitute for actual Imagination. The "some circles" I mean right now are largely SJW ones, but not all SJWs. But it's ironic cause long ago, before I started these BlogSpot blogs, it was mainly a Conservative thing to complain about sympathetic villains in fiction. While people on The Left were arguing we need to reject such superficial classifications as good and evil. So the issue tends to be that redemption narratives are often a Privilege of Cis-Het White Males. And like my feelings on other subjects, the answer to this should be making more redemption stories for Queer and Non-White characters. Though those narratives can become problematic when it's primarily white people leading them to the right path. Or when redemption for a Queer villain requires rejecting their Queerness. Plenty of these people are not against any redemption narratives. But feel there are certain lines you can't come back from. My concern is that making people believe there is a certain line you can't come back from, will simply become a self fulfilling prophecy. Actions have consequences. A redemption story should not mean it's like that character's sins never existed, or that people have to trust them now. And just as recovering alcoholics need to stay away form alcohol, people who have a history of abusing their significant other should stay out of romantic relationships, especially with the specific people they abused in the past. Forgiving a lover who wronged you in the past does not mean you should then start a new relationship with them. This subject can kind of be divided into two categories. 1. Villains repenting of their sins and being forgiven by the narrative represented by the protagonist in the end before they die or something else ends their role in the narrative. Maybe while also doing some heroic redemptive act. 2. A Villain flat out becoming a Hero. I'm a supporter of both, the latter is a much more difficult thing to pull off well, which is exactly what makes the former often feel lazy. There are times when Sexism makes it seem easier for female villains to be redeemed, the High-Heel-Face Turn as TVTropes calls it. Plus the endless number of Femme Fatales who changed sides from falling in love with the Hero they were sent to seduce. The frustrating thing is when the now more virtuous version of the character loses the cunning she had before, like what happens to Ellen Palmure in the Rocambole novels. Also every Zelda Villianess has been pretty soft compared to the major male ones. On the subject of Star Wars. Some people feel in The Last Jedi specifically Kylo Ren passed the point of no return. And I can't call that wrong in the sense that I half way feel like that's what the film was saying. But logically I don't really buy it. Kylo (and the First Order as a whole) do not surpass the evilness of what they did in TFA, only in TFA were there attacks on civilians (if anything Rose and Finn's actions on Craite may have endangered civilians). TFO's actions are wrong in TLJ only in so much as they are on the wrong side of the War. Kylo certainly hasn't done worse then Vader in either film. Vader also killed his father-figure, and was much more directly involved when a super weapon was used to blow up an entire planet. And that's going off only Vader's OT Sins, just what audiences were expected to forgive him for in in 1983, not including what was added by the Prequels. And once again I have to talk about Anime. My love of Anime has a lot to do with how often enemies are forgiven. Because in Japan the West's simplistic Good vs Evil dichotomy has only recently become an influence. It's frequently been a big part of the Magical Girl genre. Sailor Moon didn't do it all the time, but Wedding Peach, and PreCure do it frequently, and so do the Darker Ones. So Rey setting out to try and save Kylo Ren because of the good she senses in him, and then that totally back firing on her. Feels to me like far more of a Meanspirited deconstructive slap in the face to Magical Girl convention then anything Madoka or it's imitators have done. And Rian Johnson could have been doing that intentionally, given how I saw a blatant homage to Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha episode 6 right in that very confrontation. It's also a big thing in the Mecha Genre, where the message is often that War itself is the real villain. And my love of the Prequels has been that I felt it was saying something similar, that The Empire was created because The Republic fought a war it shouldn't have. When I started watching Mecha shows like Code Geass and Gundam 00, they reminded me of my love of the Prequels from day one. So the Sequel Trilogy doesn't just bug me that it's staying stuck in the simpler OT formula. It's the subtext that what happened between episodes VI and VII was that the First Order rose to power because the New Republic was too passive. As an Anti-War person, that is a very problematic message to me. I consider myself an SJW, (and also a Communist). Maybe you want to question my status as one simply because I don't agree with TheMarySue 100% of the time. But I've been banned from Christian Forums and Facebook groups for saying Homosexuality isn't a Sin, when I wasn't the one brought the topic up. The only stance I take on any major modern political issue that would be classified in modern America as a Conservative one, is not a Social Justice issue directly, it does come up on those websites, but I feel confident in saying it should not be part of the definition of what SJW means. For the most part when I get into disagreements with other SJWs, from my POV I'm to the left of them. I used to not be as much of an SJW as I am now. Much of that transition happened before I even started these blogs, but since starting them I've moved to the Left on Abortion and a few other things. It is not really relevant to mention that I'm a Universalist, this topic is about fictional narratives where characters change their moral enlightenment during their mortal life, and what real life lessens they teach. Some of the people I'm disagreeing with here may not believe in an after life at all. And probably would prefer Christians who reject Eternal Damnation. The Christian value that is relevant is that you should always forgive those who wrong you, even if they never apologize. And that you should love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. For most of my life this seemed to be the most unambiguously Liberal of all Christian Values. It's the main area where Conservative Christians fail at being Christian, and the main area where Liberals might quote The Bible whether they're believers or not. It saddens me that this has changed about the Left over the same time period that I moved to the Left. But perhaps even that second Biblical subject may not be directly relevant. The question is, are there Biblical narratives of villains who become heroes? Well there is Saul aka Paul, who defined himself as the Chief of all Sinners. But perhaps a better parallel for saying that yes you can reach even Hitler level villainy and turn back, would be King Manasseh of Judah. He made the streets of Jerusalem flow red with Blood from one end to the other. But Second Chronicles records that he did repent and turn things around before the end. It's interesting that the compilers of II Kings chose to ignore that part of his story. But in the New Testament I think Matthew is siding with Chronicles here, since Manasseh isn't among the bad kings he skips in his genealogy in chapter 1.

#The Last Jedi #The Force Awakens #Star Wars #Star Wars Prequels #Kylo Ren #Reylo #nanoha #puella magi madoka magica #Mahou Shoujo #Mecha #Code Geass #GUNDAM #manasseh #King Manasseh #Magical Girls #Magical Girl Anime #Magical Girl Genre #Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha

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ghost-of-a-girl · 5 years

Text

03.09.20

Its been awhile since I've been active on this blog except for the occasional reblog every now and then. This is my safe place to use as a mental health/illness related outlet. However, things have... Changed.

- For awhile I questioned my gender. I had always accepted I was a cis girl and later that I was bi (or pan, but I prefer bi).

At some point in September Eli made a joke abt me being a trans boy and that got us talking abt how he had noticed the things I had said over the years abt presenting and genitalia without much thought abt what it meant. I thought abt the time I had been mistaken for a guy and how good that felt.

He fully embraced me figuring this out and even bought me a rather expensive realistic packer and answered any questions I had abt presenting. I still wasn't sure how to label it. Bigender seemed to make the most sense as I did, at times, feel like a girl even tho during those months I totally felt like a boy. I also didnt want to try hormones (tho facial hair would've been cool) or surgery as my body seemed easy enough to disguise (except for my height, lol. 5' for the win) and I could get away with just a sports bra and loose shirt and I actually love my body now- especially after my hips and breasts have finally developed now that my body has been out of starvation mode for 2+ years. But...

- I've recently found out it hasn't been just me. There are two others, maybe three, that I know of, also sharing this body. I'm working on getting a diagnosis (my guess is a form of OSDD as I'm sure I'm usually co-con and have only mild childhood (there were a few years I had completely forgotten trauma but a couple years of flashbacks kindly reminded me 🙃) and recent amnesia) and I really wish I had done it sooner. Ive been curious abt it but always pushed it away as "attention seeking" and didnt try to reach out to who might be there.

Now that I have... I realize poor James has been my voice of reason at certain times and I've been extremely rude and ignored him bc I always assumed they were my own thoughts. We talk a lot now. I only get minor headaches from our communication and we Haven't tried bringing him any closer to the front like we've done with the little (she actually kinda just does that by herself now that she knows it ok... She drains me, esp when she throws a fit but tbh, its 100% worth it and I love her) and already I've been a lot happier and made huge improvements in my life that have been issues for years.

Based on his name and appearance (his first way of making himself known was getting me to sketch his hair before describing what the inner world looked like already and why I was stuck where I was) I think he's been around for quite some time but either he's not sure how long or our communication still needs improvement.

Because of this I'm wondering if those months when I felt very masculine were him bleeding through, trying to help me while I rapidly declined.

- Eli and I broke up the day after Valentine's day and I have no other friends to talk to and my family isn't exactly trusted with this sort of thing. Any of it.

The URL of this blog is a line from a poem I wrote in long term in 2015-2016. ("Coward in a pillbox, ghost of a girl") I feel like I should change it but I'm not sure what to change it to. I'm more confused abt my gender identity than ever now, esp with how I seem to be mostly co-con with James and I still want him to be comfortable when he's closer to the front for long periods of time. Idk. This is all super new.

I might make a separate post describing how I discovered them and my time processing and accepting that it was real (James is very good at patiently arguing my denial, which I appreciate 💖)

So ye. I guess thats an update. Sorry its so long.

#osdd #did #bigender #genderqueer #questioning #/j #personal #tat #mine #update

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blackbird-brewster · 7 years

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I had two profound experiences today, extremely unrelated in context but both thought provoking after the fact. The first experience had to do with me getting my first library card in 18 years and how I was very anxious to go into the library for any reason other than to print something. I will detail this experience in a different post but long story short, all of the embarrassment and shame I felt because of my learning disability melted away and I ended up spending nearly two hours just browsing books. I left feeling to included and happy, I actually cried tears of joy. Fast forward to the second notable experience of my day. Tonight I went on a date with my flat mate to “Naked Girls Reading: The Feminist Propaganda Edition”. Naked Girls Reading is apparently a sort of “brand”, started in the US as a protest against the ways women’s bodies are usually sexualized when naked. The theory is exactly what it sounds like, performers are completely nude and read aloud to the audience. I had never heard of this amazing concept, so I jumped at the invitation. ESPECIALLY since tonight’s theme was feminism. I figured naked women reading feminist works sounded AUHMAZING. [Rest behind a cut for length and transphobia]

The event was hosted by a popular personality in the New Zealand LGBTQPIA scene. They are a self labeled transvestite that MC’s events as their drag king persona, Hugo Grrrl. I assumed, if it was hosted by a gender diverse person it was going to be fairly inclusive. Welp, you know what they say about assuming.

Things started promising as Hugo opened their monologue with my favorite greeting “Guys, gals and nonbinary pals”. Hugo then went on to talk about some of the topics of the night including body positivity, body hair, porn, sex work, sex positivity, etc. It sounded really exciting and inter-sectional, I was pumped.

Within the ten minute monologue there was also the disclaimer that “Although this is called “Naked Girls Reading”, gender is a spectrum and the binary is bullshit.” (woo, yeah!!) ”...We only call it that because it was started in America and we didn’t come up with the name.” (Wait, what?)

Ok... but you could literally just call it “Naked People Reading” or “Naked Folx Reading” or ANYTHING else if you want to TRULY be inclusionary. I wasn’t even concerned about the title UNTIL Hugo made the point to say gender binary is bullshit... but then to say “meh, we didn’t come up with the title we’re just being complacent in it” Was sort of shitty. If you are trying to include people, then INCLUDE them. Don’t say “Hey I’m not transphobic, BUT....” There was no point of this disclaimer other than to point out you recognized a problem but would rather go along with it than change one word of the title of the show. Things only went down hill from there. A few minutes later as Hugo was wrapping up the monologue they wanted to get the crowd pumped before introducing the performers for the evening. To do this, Hugo had “all the women cheer!” (which they did) then followed by “now all the men!” (which they did). It turned out it was just a set up to make the men a punchline of a very stereotypical “feminist hate men” joke. These jokes are always obnoxious and yes, I recognize Hugo was trying to connect to the large feminist audience so we could all laugh at how society views us...but again, we were back at only acknowledging the gender binary.

Now I realize many people right now will think I’m being extremely cynical. “Kit, you can’t say someone is being trans exclusionary if they are a queer that self identifies as a transvestite!” But I can because they were. If you are going to mention nonbinary people. If you are going to make a point of talking about how the binary is bullshit. If you want to have a disclaimer that gender is a spectrum. It’s ALL or nothing. Inclusion isn’t “I acknowledged you, you should be happy” it’s “I acknowledged you AND included you with everyone else as if we’re all the same.

The monologue is over, I am properly uncomfortable and agitated, the performers come out. From the promises of topics, I expected diversity. Again, that nasty assuming sure got the better of me.

Instead I get two skinny women and one average sized woman. They all appear to be white (although one was painted head to toe in blue and pink body paint as a My Little Pony...and later I learned she isn’t actually white.) They’re naked. So I can tell body hair isn’t really happening. A bit of bush but perfectly smooth everywhere else. All have shoulder length or longer hair and present very feminine. Idk, again, maybe I was just so cynical by this point that I let my critic get away with me. I just wonder how hard it would be to find a more diverse cast? Am I just too deep in tumblr culture to expect to see different size bodies at a feminist reading? Or people with actual body hair, especially since there was a point of mentioning it in the monologue? Tattoos? Scars? Short hair? Disabilities? More racial diversity? (Again, the one woc was painted blue. And I feel shitty for thinking she was white but they could have included dark skinned people too.) Introductions are done. The de-robing has happened. We now have three naked women sitting on a couch. Let’s read “feminist propaganda”! Some pretty typical stuff, Maya Angelou, Gloria Steinem, big names of the feminist movement. There was a reading of an MRA’s post from some MRA website. (Why are we giving MRA’s an audience at a FEMINIST reading?!) Intermission. During intermission, I got up the courage to go speak to Hugo and mention why I was peeved at the start of the show with the women/men division of the audience. They shrugged and said “well it was a set up to a punch line” I smiled and replied, “I realize that but don’t you think trans folks are the punch line enough?” They tried to back track but it got awkward and I walked away. Hugo does some “feminist” trivia during the break. Throwing prize bags of tampons and chocolate to whoever shouts the correct answer.

One question asks what does “SWERF” stand for. A woman yells the answer and Hugo repeats it back to the audience and says “Sex work exclusionary feminism isn’t feminism. Sex work is real work!” It would have been so easy to also educate about TERFs. They don’t. The irony is not lost on me.

More trivia. I win one. I’m told, “Here enjoy these tampons!” I catch it and yell back, “Not all women have vaginas” I turn to the women at our table and say, “Hello, I don’t need tampons and I hate chocolate. Enjoy” They gladly accept. Back to the readings... A dramatic reading of Spice Girl lyrics. Some very heteronormative erotica. A reading of a radfem manifesto of the 70s (that included very acephobic commentary) And then, the woman painted as a MLP says she’s going to read Ivan E Coyote. Now, for those of you who haven’t been blessed with reading their works or seeing Ivan perform (I just saw them again last week!), they are a trans writer from Canada. Very well known in LGBTQPIA circles. AMAZINGLY pure and moving stories and poems and “literary Doritos”. They are an amazing human being and have quickly become one of my favorite queer authors. SO I AM STOKED!! This night has been so cishet heavy and I’m crank, I am READY to end it with Ivan. Ivan has written four of five books, has mountains of published poetry and she chooses to read a piece that is so personal to me. She prefaces this with a quick word about Ivan being an LGBTQ author. But fails to mention they’re a trans masculine person who identifies as a Tom Boy. The piece starts out as a love letter to femmes who are often erased from Queer culture because they are “assumed” to be straight. But then turns to Ivan’s journey through figuring out they were trans and how they became jealous of femmes sometimes and how they will never be seen as who they are. How they will always be coming out of the closet over and over and over. Because their identity isn’t “visibly recognized” because it’s outside the binary. I sob every time I hear this poem because it is so personal to me. The first time I heard it was when Ivan performed in Chch last August. I was in the midst of struggling with how the world saw me and this poem touched a part of me I thought no one would <i>ever</i> understand. I sobbed again tonight. My flat mate patted my hand. She sobbed too for the same reasons. The journey to figuring out your identity can be so isolating, terrifying and lonely. But when you hear your story being told by someone who is on a stage, with an audience, talking as if your journey was the most normal and natural experience....it’s an emotional time. After she finished, the performer stated “As a cis woman, I obviously do not identity with the narrator. I do however think this poem speaks to me as a femme. Because we are often overlooked.” (This gets cheers from the audience) I feel sick inside. This cis woman just spoke the very personal words of a trans person bearing their soul and claimed it as a poem for her. No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to bend it to your whim. If you want to include poetry or stories about the trans experience, YOU FUCKING INCLUDE TRANS PERFORMERS. Thank god the night was over. My flat mate and I are sitting at our table deciding how to make our own event called “Naked Queers Reading” and how much better it would be. We’re minding our own business when out of the corner of my eye I see a crowd around the stage area. Of course. There’s a man who has taken off his shirt to pose with the naked women so he can get his buddy to take his picture. Of fucking course there is. That’s when we left. I don’t know if I am just lucky to live in such a comfortable Queer circle of friends that I’ve become blind to the world of heternormative, patriarchal bullshit or if I am truly too fucking cynical to go out in public...but fuck was I disappointed with tonight. Anyway, if you made it through this entire post, thank you. I promise I’ll post a really lovely story about the library tomorrow. Right now I want to watch Ivan E Coyote performances on YouTube and drink my tea from my Unicorn Elixer mug.

#long post #feminism #tw: transphobia #nonbinary #transgender #about me 2k17 #story time #/rant

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qwertsypage · 7 years

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How I Survived RisingStack’s Node.js Bootcamp

TLDR: We have a Node.js coding bootcamp here at RisingStack which will help you to sucker punch imposter syndrome and give you a kickstart learning Node.js!

In this article, I give you some insight on it and share my experience. I hope that if you are a rookie just like me, you will get some boost seeing my example, and you will jump right into it.

((Back then, I had no idea what I'm getting into!))

And the good news? Our Node Bootcamp is totally open source (aka free), so you can improve yourself too by going through it.

By the time you finish it, you’ll become a Node developer who can confidently work on enterprise projects (with the help of a mentor) - and it’s a great learning material in case you’re preparing for the Node Foundation’s Certification Exam!

This is my story:

Meet Me, the Wannabe Node Developer

My journey started back in May 2016. I’ve been looking for an opportunity for changing my career for quite a time back then. Originally I’m a civil engineer, but I was interested in web development. Doing some tutorials and online courses every now and then, but nothing serious, it was more like about learning new things, you know, just for fun.

Then one day I saw an ad of a coding course. 4 months of basic web development, with pretty good chances of finding a job. I did some research about the opportunities, and I spoke with a couple of friends in the industry. I guess you’ve found out already: I applied.

I got a junior front end developer job after finishing the course. It was all fun and games until I figured out that it’s not what I dream of. The team was superb, I learned a lot during working hours and even after. When I got involved in an API development and implementation project, I realized I’m very interested in backend technologies as well. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t have the chance to work on similar projects, since the company almost exclusively develops front-end projects and this was a one-time-only, internal project.

Fast forward to June 2017: a message was waiting for me in my LinkedIn Inbox. It was different from the usual recruiter messages, it was kinda personal and really straightforward, asking whether I’m interested in working on cool stuff, contributing to the Javascript and Node.js community and if so, let’s talk.

Best. Timing. Ever.

Starting the Node Bootcamp at RisingStack

On my first day at RisingStack, I got a T-shirt with two words on it: Node Hero. I immediately burst into laughter.

“Node Hero? More like a sidekick. Or the guy who changes the lightbulb in the callsign reflector…” - I said.

“For now, maybe. But at the end of our Node.js bootcamp you’ll know everything you need to move forward” - they said.

It turns out they were right though. The professionalism and knowledge they provided were more than enough to get the fundamentals about Node.js and to confidently jump into the new chapter of my programming career.

So I started the bootcamp exercise right on my first day, without any deeper knowledge of relational databases or Node apps whatsoever.

I’ve found it to be pretty delightful that my exercise wasn’t a to-do app they usually ask you to make. Not that there is any problem with it, but as a total rookie, I did it many times before so it was nice to see something new.

You know, just for fun and for the sake of variety. :)

So what did I do instead, you ask?

The main task the business logic had to handle in the first assignment was:

Find GitHub repos, using the GitHub public API

Collect the repos into a database in a form specified in the readme

Collect the contributors of the repo into a database in a form specified in the readme

Calculate the added lines per contributors and save it into the database

Be able to query the contributions

This seems pretty easy, huh?

You’d be surprised how complex it can get in no time! Especially if you want to do it at RisingStack grade..

First I was so confident in what I did, that I just jumped right into the first task, starting to hack-n-slash around. It was a good way to get lost in all the new things.

So I Needed to Slow Down a Little Bit...

“Could we like go through the daily task every end of the day and check whether I got everything right or not?”

During this bootcamp, each and every task - or milestone, if you will - introduces something new, a new tool / library / syntax / feature / unicorn / double rainbow you have to use, like

ES6 syntax with async-await

Joi for validation

Knex.js, for SQL query building and migrating

Redis to handle messages ( yes, there will be workers ;) ) just to name a few.

You can find links to useful resources next to the task description, where you can find documentation, examples, and articles which will help you to grasp the concept, from the very beginning, setting up the project and getting all the required things right, to deploying and making the app production ready.

Pro tip from a rookie: For me, it was really helpful to set up a method:

First I spent a day reading the resources, finding related ones and doing super simple examples to see how they work in real life and to check whether I got it right.

The next day I created a plan, usually with pen and paper (Yeah, I know, it’s so 3000 B.C., but it is the best way to make notes and drafts fast!) to draft a workflow about what I have to do in the task.

This way you can stay on track and save a lot of time!

Tests. They got your back, bro..

I think almost all of us know the phase where we all started: you know the basics, and can put together something that just miraculously works. I found this the main selling point in developing, you can just create things out of thin air! Absolutely amazing.

But is it really working? In every condition? What about that refactoring you did yesterday? Is it still cool? I think you’ve heard this a lot, or else, you’re the Test Pope himself, and so you can back me up on this one:

Testing gives you the confidence, that you did not screw up something accidentally and your code does exactly what you wanted it to do.

We think that proper testing is a crucial part of every project. Milestones are only reached if you have the proper testing done. You'll most likely find some predefined tests, but most of them need to be written by you.

The bootcamp helps you to get familiar with the most commonly used testing techniques and tools, like

Mocha.js,

Chai.js,

Sinon

for stubbing, spying and mocking out calls, from unit test to end-to-end tests.

They really come in handy for refactoring, because one of the main point of this exercise is to write maintainable, readable, efficient code. Which you probably won’t be able to do at first try.

Pro tip from a rookie: Try to organize your code in a way that makes it easy to unit test all your functions! If you already wrote it and then you realize that it’s not really fit for unit testing, just try to restructure it instead skipping the test!

Don’t forget: today’s skipped test is tomorrow’s bug. Potentially.

Is this the lab experiment accident which made me a super Node.js guru-hero-ninja and let me write ridiculously long section titles?

There’s this ancient proverb:

“The thing is, while you are a rookie, you don’t have enough knowledge to decide which way is the best to step on, the amount of options are just overwhelming...”

Nope, not at all. Probably you already know that it is not possible to become a pro in a fortnight, as there are no magic potions making you lean and muscular while you can eat trainloads of chocolate, heck, not even a shoe that fits all feet.

Fortunately for me, the good folks of RisingStack created an exercise that can give adequate answers for some simple, yet periodically emerging questions hitting all of us at least once in a time, like:

“I’ve just finished a tutorial on javascript. What should I do next?”

“Do you have a good exercise that fits a beginner?“

“What is the minimal requirements to get a junior job as a Node.js / web developer?“

I’m almost sure, that if you are subscribed on r/javascript, you saw these questions more than once…

What I loved in this exercise is that I got familiar with a lot of new things, while I created something that is the archetype of every web app nowadays.

After I finished every task in the Node Bootcamp, it became my number one backup code I went back to when I needed to create something, or when I wanted to try out or learn something new.

Just the recent example of mine: I wanted to create a login system with token authentication, by only myself, without any step-to-step tutorial or whatsoever. I didn’t want to create a whole new app for this simple task. So I just integrated it into one of the bootcamp exercises! After this I created a handy boilerplate out of it, so whenever I want to experiment with some new fancy stuff I need a backend for, I just grab this boilerplate and spice it up as I want to in no time! Really good for quick prototyping.

Wanna go farther? Sure thing, chief! What about wiring some CI system into it? Deploying out on Heroku maybe? Creating a front end for it? It is all possible, I know because I did it. It is only up to you, which direction you wanna move from this point.

So yeah, as you can see, this bootcamp is not equivalent with the bite of a mutant spider or chemical X, but it is a very firm base that gave me a general overview of back-end technologies, and it allowed me to experiment with new things.

The other very important personal thing is that it gave me confidence as a junior in what I know. I could start to learn effectively, and now I can distinguish what resource is useful and which is not. It taught me to learn, and now I am not afraid at all to get in the water for swimmers only.

You can Start RisingStack’s Node Bootcamp Now

My description above was just a small taste, barely scratching the surface. I suggest you to check out the exercises for yourself on GitHub: http://ift.tt/2vKcOhU

We’re counting on your feedback!

Also, If you find the bootcamp too easy, I recommend you to check out our upcoming Node.js trainings to challenge yourself even more. I bet you have plenty of areas to cover - like microservices and security!

http://ift.tt/2w9GiK0

http://ift.tt/2wizcTa

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