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docholligay · 4 years

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A Silent Voice--Koe no Kitachi

This movie has come up a couple times for Eight Days and various other things I’ve done, which was basically all I knew about it, until it was sponsored as a one-off by @iscahwynn. The first time I watched the movie, I felt a lot of ways about it at once. It was certainly one of the most interesting “anime movies” that had ever been recommended to me, and had a capacity and quality of humanity that I really didn’t expect going into it.

As always, non-spoilery review leads, spoilers under the cut.

A Silent Voice, (Which is called The Shape of Voice on my subs) if you read the blurb, is about a boy trying to make restitution for a deaf girl he bullied horrendously in elementary school. That’s a fair assessment, but I also don’t think it’s a complete one. The movie is really about the nature of alienation and friendship, and how a lot of lonely people have at least some culpability for that loneliness. I don’t know if I would go so far as to say I liked it. I had some issues with it that I’ll go into in the longer spoiler review, but being as its on Netflix right now, if you have any interest in seeing it, I don’t think it’s a waste of time at all.

I”m not going to go through a play by play of the film itself, I figure if you’re reading this you’re familiar with the general narrative of the film and I’m not super interested in padding this out for the mere word count.

Also, the main character’s names are really similar: Shoko and Shoyo, so I’m going to call Shoyo by his patronymic, Ishida, for clarity.

You feel, or at least this viewer felt, nothing but sadness and frustration for poor Shoko, who did nothing but have the audacity to show up at school. One thing I think this movie does an excellent job with is showing how resentment creeps in over the most minor of accommodations. We see at first, the kids be taken in by the novelty of writing in Shoko’s notebook in order to accommodate her and talk to her. Then we see it turn annoying, when she wants to be brought into conversations on a regular basis, and they don’t want to do that. It turns to hatred and resentment, as it gets easier and easier to simply ignore her or make fun of her. When a teacher comes in to teach them some sign language at ten minutes a day, for all but one student, this is too much effort for them to make.

It escalates with Ishida himself repeatedly yanking her hearing aids out of her ears and throwing them out of the window, into the trash, etc, at one point ripping them out with such force that her ear bleeds. His punishment for this cruelty is essentially that his mother has to pay back, or choose to pay back, all the money lost for the hearing aids to Shoko’s mother, but on a more personal level, his classmates, actually faced with consequences, turn on him and implicate him as the sole actor in all of the cruelty aimed toward Shoko.

And I’m fine with him reaping the whirlwind, let’s not mistake that, but I do have one compelling question:

There are 106 schools for the D/deaf in Japan, and you couldn’t put your child into one of them? I have no idea if Japan has any equivalent of the ADA whatsoever, and the internet seems to suggest that the rights and education of D/deaf people in Japan is pretty woeful, but this really annoyed the shit out of me. I mean, I’m supposed to feel for Shoko, so I suppose that didn’t detract from what the movie wanted to do in that right, but man did it make me irritated with every single adult involved.

I think some of the most interesting things that come out of the movie are the ways in which it deals with depersonalization and isolation.

After we see Ishida’s fall from grace, if you will, when in middle school, people are (rightly) told that he’s a bully. People don’t want to be around him, and while, again, I do not feel particularly sorry for him, there’s definitely something deeply human and deeply disturbing about the way they make him the pariah of it all, even though they were mostly all involved in treating Shoko cruelly, or at the very least, at a distance. It’s easier to believe that it was Ishida’s sin specifically, and that they bear no responsibility for their part in the cruelty toward her.

When this happens, by the time we meet up with him, we see that he sees the world of people with the letter X across their faces, as a sign that he no longer thinks of them as people, more like objects or happenings that are best to be avoided. He goes so far as to say that he never looks anyone in the face anymore. Its a very visually powerful way of showing how Ishida, when he is hurt, walls himself off in the world, while, even when we see Shoko later, there’s no indication that she has done such (Though admittedly, the vast majority of the movie is through the eyes of Ishida)

It isn’t until Ishida defends Nagatsuka, a fat kid with curly hair, from getting his bike stolen by giving his up as an option instead, that he begins to see people in any different way. And it isn’t even in the moment that he does something, but when Nagatsuka returns his bike, found in a rice field, that the x falls away from his face and he begins to see someone as a fully realized human. A cynical viewer, who might be me, would see this as an acknowledgement that Ishida’s problem is not seeing people outside of their relationship to and treatment of him. That it is only with returned kindness that he can see Nagatsuka as human, defending him only because he recalls the shame of having been so cruel to Shoko.

Which I actually don’t have a problem with! I think it would go fairly far to show that he’s learned something from the Shoko situation, for him to expect no inkling of humanity but still be so desirous to remove that shame that he acts anyway. I just don’t know if that’s the intention of the narrative, even having seen it several times now.

“Friendship lies somewhere beyond things like words and logic” is one of the best lines from the movie, and I think it does a fairly good job of doing that as it calls up a large group from the past. It’s complicated, because I actually thought the group aspect was very interesting, particularly the incident on the bridge where Ishida, every fairly, tells each of them how they failed, what their personal sin is, and he isn’t wrong! The first time I watched it, I found myself screaming at it, the reckoning of this responsibility finally shared.

But the downside of all of these characters is that the focus on Shoko and Ishida, as well as any real development of feelings and forgiveness between them, feels very rushed. We get to the end of the story, with Ishida having saved Shoko’s life and hurting himself in the process. SO much emotional and character development gets laid down in a five minute scene, and while the scene itself does lend a lot of strength to the characters for that, I found myself more frustrated that we couldn’t have seen this sooner, and come out over time. Unfortunately the time with the ancillary characters feels a bit wasted, given what ends up being sacrificed for it.

Some parts of the movie are tricky for me to fully allow myself to fall into, at best. It’s particularly difficult for me to see Ishida as a huge victim given the exceptional level of his cruelty to Shoko, and if he really only pays until he’s in high school, while that may play as “forever” to a younger audience, I don’t have a lot of sympathy for his plight. This isn’t following him to his damn job. Maybe I’m a jackass, and that’s why I can’t go with it in the way the film seems to want me to, or maybe it’s that I was also horrifically bullied to the point of tears as a child, and I do not feel any particular sadness for the ways in which some of my own bullies were socially punished in high school. I don’t want him to kill himself, I want him to be better, and honestly the movie could have really really worked for me if we just saw the developing of his friendship with Nagatsuka and his turning into a better, softer person. This kind of goes into what I was talking about earlier--in a two hour movie, there just isn’t the time for all the side characters as well as the full development of the mains. We would have been better off just having Ishida, Shoko, and Nagatsuka. I fell you could have told a quite complete story with that. I think if those three characters had been more carefully written, I could have ADORED this movie, instead of the middle place I end up with in it.

But instead we come to the question of Shoko. I kinda suck my teeth at Shoko’s treatment in the film. Her open hearted kindness was heart-breaking as a child, the way she just wanted to be friends and she still had that belief that it could all work if she just did as adults told her and was NICE, and it’s extremely effective. But when we get to the high school Shoko and we’re still meant to see her as being this very mild, very apologetic, very sad person with no friends...it stops being a tragedy of the character individually and starts being a way of writing a disabled character as someone for our protagonist to act upon. Shoko is never really given her own moment of anger for herself, her own rich life outside of Ishida and the friends he brings to her. We don’t see her thoughts except as they relate to Ishida. We’re meant to believe she has no one outside of her sister when Ishida decides to reconnect with her, a tragedy of convenience that allows Ishida’s “work” to be valuable to more than just him. Even her own sorrow and suicide attempt seem to have so much more to do with the further of Ishida’s character than the oppressive social forces that have conspired against Shoko.

And we ALMOST get there. The end conversation between the two of them, where he says he understood her in ways that were convenient for him, and that because of that he failed to see her own pain and isolation, is amazing. Great, and I wish it would have come sooner and that we could have had some real payoff from that conversation that showed their relationship deepening in a way that served both Shoko and Ishida. But it comes at the tail end, and the “solution” we get all has to do with Ishida and his embracing of humanity, which I want, but not at the expense of Shoko’s character, who I liked very much and longed for a richer treatment of.

The romantic element between them is frustrating. Not only because he was her very very overt bully, I might even go so far as to say abuser, but because it feels so tiresome when the movie clearly has bigger fish to fry, and in many ways, does fry them! It doesn’t help that it is like quite a few things, painfully rushed, and when she falls for him, it’s left to the viewer to supply your own reasons that don’t quite make sense. It adds a layer to the story that I personally felt it did not need, even as cute as I find Shoko’s little flappy legs on the bed when she has her head buried in a pillow after trying to confess to Ishida, but he can’t understand what she’s saying.

Basically, I think this movie watches better once. I know that sounds like a strange thing to say about anything, but the first time I saw this, I didn’t notice so keenly some of the things that niggled at me later. I think it’s pretty fucking enjoyable, in the one shot, to be honest! I think it’s an ambitious movie that is, at its best, trying to say something about the nature of bullying and that it not only harms the bullied but the bully themselves. And in some ways, I think it has absolutely brilliant moments with that, and reflections on the nature of friendship and what it takes. But I think some of that ambition falls through, and feels a bit flat, when taken on the whole.

Have you seen it? What did you think?

#Doc watches movies #Doc watches things

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belonglab · 4 years

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More than fed up with being labeled “less than”

by Neha Sampat, Esq.(!)

December 15, 2020

You know what bothers me about the whole brouhaha (or shall I call it “bro”haha) about Dr. Jill Biden’s use of her earned title? It’s not just Joseph Epstein’s mega-misogyny or even that the Wall Street Journal chose to publish the piece and then doubled-down on their bad judgment. That this [bleepity-bleeper] had the audacity to think he can publicly cut down someone who has out-schooled, out-accomplished, and clearly out-classed him says a lot about our society. He and the WSJ made themselves easy targets, and trust me, I’m not here to block your aim at them.

But what also is bugging me is the fact that Epstein and the WSJ gave voice and amplification to a too commonly shared notion that women are “less than” and should be maintained as “less than” by being cut down when they reach beyond the confines of the patriarchy and threaten those glass ceilings. This notion is so commonly shared that I suspect many of all gender identities first bristled when they heard Dr. Biden referred to or introduced as “Dr.” I teach people (especially women) to shout from the rooftops about their accomplishments, I try to model that by standing firmly and publicly in my own expertise, and one of my dearest and oldest friends is a brilliant woman with a PhD. But I admit (with horror) that even I was momentarily startled at first when I heard Dr. Biden introduced as “Dr.” a while back, and I had to take a good, hard look at myself to explore why.

So, like it or not, we now have an opportunity to look inside ourselves to examine our own biases (even the women among us harbor bias against ourselves and other women). Were you taken aback (even ever so slightly) when you first heard/read Dr. Biden introduced with her title? Did it bug you in the slightest bit to hear her husband and her referred to as “Joe Biden and Dr. Jill Biden?” Hmmm…why is that? Please, take a moment to sit with this, as it will help you de-bias yourself, and we all need to constantly be combatting our biases.

And, yes, this also is an opportunity to look outside ourselves at a culture that allows for (and in fact rewards) the cutting down of women and the minimizing of their accomplishments. Don’t even get me started on how multiply and historically excluded women such as WOC (and especially Black women) have their achievements and expertise questioned, belittled, and censored on a daily basis and to a far greater extent than most others! (Check out how Dr. Timnit Gebru was treated by Google, and read The Memo by the incomparable Minda Harts to learn more.) This absolutely is a societal, structural, and organizational issue.

Parallel to the Dr. Biden story hitting the headlines, I had been noticing a number of programs and posts attempting to debunk Imposter Syndrome, including some from colleagues I admire and trust. Yet, I have observed (and experienced, myself) Imposter Syndrome as a very real struggle. (I do wish we had another name for it that could be universally recognized; I’ll work on that).

Where I think my colleagues and I agree is here: Imposter Syndrome is not another externally-imposed mark against those who have it (which, by the way, is most of us). Imposter Syndrome is not a disease or personality flaw. It is not self-inflicted. It is not a black or brown person issue. It is not a women issue. There are plenty of black and brown women, for example, who don’t struggle with it, so let’s be careful about making generalizations. Imposter Syndrome is a human issue.

That said, the causes of it for historically excluded people are unique: Imposter Syndrome is a manifestation of internalized bias/oppression for many of us. Imposter Syndrome is the damage done by a society built on exclusion and othering, bias, prejudice, and marginalization. When Dr. Biden and other women are told their doctorates don’t matter and have their expertise publicly questioned on such a powerful platform, they (and all other women) are being told that they are not good enough, that they don’t matter, that they are “too big for their britches” (a phrase Dr. Brené Brown satisfyingly dismantles in her work). When the world is constantly telling you that you are not the giant force you are, you may start believing it. That voice of the doubters can become the voice in your own head that tells you that you are out of your league, that you are maybe not so great, that you are “less than.” That’s how Epstein’s effort to take down Dr. Biden serves as a perfect example of how Imposter Syndrome can be created.

By acknowledging Imposter Syndrome is real, we are not saying that it is the fault of the people who have it, and we are not letting off the hook the excluders and otherers, the biased and prejudiced, and the structures that support them. Society and orgs create and cultivate systems that birth and feed Imposter Syndrome. They are the cause, and Imposter Syndrome is the effect. Work must be done on societal and organizational levels to address this (and we are proud to do that work!). But at the same time, healing can happen in the individuals who experience Imposter Syndrome as a form of the harm done to them. External oppression does not have to become internalized oppression.

Thus, it has been so heartening to me to see women publicly claim (and for some, reclaim) their earned titles on social media this past week. We as women shouldn’t have to offer proof of our academic and other accomplishments to be taken seriously, but the truth is that we are constantly having to prove ourselves worthy of respect. By stating our credentials, we are honoring ourselves and our achievements and also honoring the credential itself by letting it sit proudly next to our blessed names.

I don’t have Ed.D., but you can bet that if I did, you’d know about it! But I have other achievements of which I am proud and which position me uniquely to make this world better in ways only I can. You, too, have achievements and credentials that position you uniquely to make this world better in ways only you can.

As we close out this year (finally!), I’d like to refer you back to a blog post we wrote to close out 2018, “Wrapping Up the Year: Turning the Page from To-Do to Ta-Da,” which empowers and encourages you to take a reflective moment to honor all that you did (your “ta-das”) this past year. But let’s take it a step further this year: Once you note your ta-das from 2020, I challenge you to boldly share at least one of your ta-das publicly. It can be on social media, or it can be with someone with whom you normally wouldn’t share it. By doing so, you practice owning (and believing) your own value and, like Dr. Biden so beautifully does, you create space for all people to stand strong in their expertise and be valued and celebrated for it!

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brinconvenient · 5 years

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Dear cis friends who are dying to get my perspective on the latest trans story you heard in the news:

Before you read further, please know that I applaud your curiosity and your attempt to be aware of trans issues in the media.

But.

But, just because your friend is trans doesn't mean that she's qualified to answer (or interested in doing so for that matter) any trans-related question you may have. Especially on topics which are hot in the news - the reason so many trans topics are in the news and coming to your attention is because we are being targeted and used as a wedge issue by conservative and far-right groups in an effort to gin up energy and excitement to get their voters to the polls.

After they lost big on the same-sex marriage equality issue, they turned their attention to a more vulnerable and less protected group and began aiming all of their attention, marketing budgets and legislative resources squarely at us.

Since 2015, we have seen bills trying to keep us out of public bathrooms and locker rooms, bill after bill targeting our access to healthcare, identification, name change processes and court case after court case trying to enshrine the right to discriminate against us in housing, employment and public life based on someone else's religious beliefs and, of course, an administration that seems to be specifically trying to erase us from public existence and public service.

All of this is helped along through their friends in the media "just asking questions" - ones that usually have nuanced and complex (but not difficult to understand) answers. Which they don't care about, of course, because asking the question is enough.

The goal is to get you to ask these questions, too. And just the asking puts enough cognitive distance between you, a cis person, and trans people to create the "otherness" in your mind that they can use to justify our continued dehumanization. It also forces us to repeatedly have these same conversations, over and over and over again.

I have answered the exact same questions over and over again for old high school or college classmates, coworkers, random internet acquaintances, who heard someone talking about an issue they have never cared about before, but suddenly need to know the answers to.

Lately, for example, it's been trans teen athletes. Before that it was trans people in bathrooms and locker rooms and why trans people want to serve in the military and why employers shouldn't be able to let an employee up for wanting to transition.

Most of the time, I put in the work to answer those questions because I know you all mean well. And you want to know the answers to what sound like very reasonable questions and you're trying to be good allies.

Each one tied me up for days with follow-up after follow-up after follow-up. And tired me out because I had to do all the research they could have done, but chose not to do, to become at least a middling expert so that they were satisfied with hearing the answers from the one trans person they knew, instead of reading the numerous articles from actual experts and actual trans experts who have already been writing about this since this particular boil began to fester on the general public's collective posterior.

Did you stop to ask yourself why you thought I might have, given my current life circumstances, any valuable knowledge about trans teenage athletes, let alone the finer points of high school athletics regulations? Or whether I've done any research about two specific trans teenaged athletes halfway across the country from her, who happen to be the media's bugbear and the target of a lawsuit from cis competitors? Other than the fact that I'm the one trans person you know?

For the record, trans women do not have any special advantage over cis women, under most current regulation schema. Do you think that it's possible that the high school athletics organization which regulates those two particular athletes are completely unaware of their existence and are simply waiting on enough curious cis people to "just ask reasonable questions" before they consult the science and those girls' specific situation?

Have you considered how many trans athletes must exist and how you're only hearing about a handful of specific trans teen athletes who happen to be winning. Are you not concerned about trans athletes as long as they have the decency to lose to their cis competition?

Trans people have been allowed to compete in the Olympics since 2002 (I believe). Do you want to guess how many trans people have even qualified for the Olympics? Exactly 1, maybe. One trans man qualified, just last month, to try to make the Olympic team this summer. Zero trans women in *ANY* Olympic event have ever qualified. Ever.

And trans people are not new to athletics. We've competed in just about any event you can imagine.

I might be the only trans person you know, but you are not the only curious cis person I know. Consider that before deciding that my specific perspective is required for you to find some way to be comfortable learning that other trans people exist in situations you didn't previously know, think, or, frankly, care about before now.

Please understand that it is a terrifying and exhausting time to be a trans person in this society. We have an enormous target on our backs. None of that is helped by our cis friends asking us to help justify, identify and isolate the pockets of public life where it's reasonable to exclude us and discriminate against us.

We are roughly 1% of the population. Roughly equivalent to natural redheads. There's zero conversations about how natural redheads higher pain tolerance might give them some kind of athletic advantage over their competition in endurance sports.

But then, there's also no well-financed movement trying to legislatively, morally and socially ensure that you see them as a lesser form of human so that they can hold onto their political power.

When you see these stories, and your curiosity starts to churn, ask yourself these questions before you reach out to your trans friends:

1. What is this article/story/column trying to make me feel about trans people?

2. Does it rely on treating trans people as an "other"/less than human/oppressive in order to make me feel that?

3. Does it actually provide information, an opposing view and sources for its assertions or is it relying on your lack of knowledgeand expertise to create an emotional reaction?

4. Is there another article on this topic that might have more information? Has someone written a response to this article (often found by googling the headline)?

5. Does this article/story/column quote from a trans person who is not the target of the article (i.e. an expert source, not the subject of the article)? Does it even contain a quote from the subject of the article or only from those who oppose them? What have other trans people said about this story?

6. Is the writer a reliable journalist or columnist? What is the bias of the publication/media source?

7. Who benefits from this being in the media right now?

8. What emotional impact will this have on my trans friend if I ask her about it without thinking about any of these previous questions?

Please continue to feel free to ask me your questions about transness, but also please try to ask Google first, especially if it's about a news article about some new fun way that trans people are being targeted, or cis people finding novel ways to feel oppressed by our audacity to exist near them.

Please take some time to consider what emotional impact it might have on me to hold your hand through another conversation that requires me to defend the humanity and dignity of trans people. Don't ask me to make you feel comfortable with discrimination against trans people, no matter how reasonable it sounds.

#trans #transgender #trans women #trans men #trans youth #trans athletes #educate yourself #brin rants

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kylorengarbagedump · 5 years

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Little Bird: Chapter 12

Read on AO3. Part 11 here. Part 13 here. Summary: Who knew that Commander Ren had pretty handwriting? Well, *I* sure didn't!

Words: 2800

Warnings: Handmaid’s Tale AU

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: HI! Surprising you again with another chapter! I really enjoyed this one--it's a bit more ruminate-y than most, but I just really needed for all of this development to happen, so I'm sorrynotsorry. I'm proud of Reader for building a backbone in a horribly oppressive society. I hope you are too.

Thanks again for everyone who is still sticking around for these updates! I love you so much now and forever!

When the door closed behind your Commander, breath leaked from your lungs in a long, satisfied sigh. Your cunt still tingled from the stretch of his cock, your pulse like a drum that beat from your core to your throat. A slow smile spread across your face, your eyes lulled shut. It wasn’t about the Ceremony--which had been as typical as one could expect--but the physical longing that pulled him toward you, the gentle, appearing-accidental brush of his thumb across your clit, the meeting of Ren’s stare before he left the room, a smirk on his face that you swore was meant only for you.

It was about hope. It was about promise. Or whatever combination of those two things you could pretend to enjoy.

Johana shifted underneath you, jolting the tranquility from your chest. She hadn’t yet let you go.

“Ms. Johana,” you said, “if you need me to go…”

“No, no,” she said, squeezing your hands. “Of course not. We should go through this together, right?”

“Uh, of course.”

She reached behind her and nudged you to ease up your hips. You did, and she stuffed a pillow under your backside. “There you go.”

Her kindness had been a source of nausea for you since you’d noticed it, but in this setting, it was even more bile-inspiring. Whatever she was high on, you hadn’t had any part of it. Really, what you wanted was to sprawl on the bed for the next several minutes and review another replay of your mid-morning rendezvous with the Commander--after all, this was the only current source of joy in your life. This was something made much more difficult when his Wife was busy preening in the aftermath of seeing him trying to impregnate you.

How had this become your life, again? Ah, right--a fascist insurrection that had uprooted any buds of life you’d dared to have and replaced them with rotten fungus. And here Johana was, frolicking in the fungus like a meadow.

“Ms. Johana,” you said, “I really appreciate your, um, kindness, but…”

“But what?”

You sighed. “Did you ever want something different?” You paused, but she was silent. “Out of life, I mean.”

Johana snorted. “Something different out of life?” She shifted again, staring into the ceiling. “What more is there to want?

You had a difficult time believing that watching her husband fuck another woman in her lap was part of her childhood dream. “I guess I’m not sure.”

“God has gifted me with a beautiful house,” she said, “and the dedication of the Marthas. Financial abundance. A husband who loves me.” Her voice was dry, empty. “I couldn’t have prayed for more.”

“That makes sense.” A torrent of pity washed over you. You might have felt guilt, if your sanity hadn’t been dependent on your duplicity.

Johana looked at you. “You wanted something different?” Her question didn’t seem accusatory--it was almost in admiration of your audacity.

You met her eyes. It was the most human she had seemed since you’d become Ofkylo. “I don’t know,” you replied. Talking about this with a Wife was only slightly more deadly than treading through a field of landmines. “I guess I always imagined myself with someone who loved me, too.”

“Oh.” Johana’s fingers wove through yours. “You don’t feel loved in this home?”

Laughter rumbled under your skin, daring to rupture to the surface--but your face remained still. You’d seen a surprising amount of vulnerability from Johana. “Well, Ms. Johana…” The end of the sentence hung on your tongue, and you spat it out. “Do you?”

“Of course I do,” she replied quickly. She squeezed your hands. “Of course I do. I’m…” Her gaze wandered. “The Commander…”

A lump formed in your throat. You swallowed. “Has he ever told you that he loves you?”

Johana’s stare searched the room in silence. The skin of your clasped hands slickened, and she cleared her throat, sniffling. Her cheek glistened. “Are you done, now?”

She threw her hands away from yours, rolling out from under you. You plopped on the bed and watched as she stood, wiping her hands on her dress in disgust. Sighing, you yanked the pillow from under your hips and tossed it to the head of the frame. Johana had moved to the mirror next to her wardrobe, smoothing out fabric on her skirt and tucking away errant wisps of hair. A piece of your heart twinged. There was a distant portion of you that didn’t just pity her, but wanted to help her. To watch her recede into the drowning of her own loneliness was almost too much to bear--particularly because you knew exactly how it felt. The both of you empty, stranded, together.

Gathering yourself, you stood. “Johana, I’m sorry--”

“Go.” She paused, the tension in her shoulders softened. “Please.”

You nodded, and took off toward your room.

Back in the closet-turned-living-quarters, you shut the door behind you, the breath you’d apparently been holding rushing from your lungs. This day had been too much. The vision of Johana’s glistening eyes was emblazoned in your memory.

You wanted to rip off your wimple and collapse onto the bed--but before you did, saw a folded piece of paper waiting on your sheets. Dread and excitement flashed through you. There was only one person you suspected of leaving it. Swallowing for what was probably the 50th time today (though previous instances more pleasant than this one), you snatched the paper from your bed--it was blank, no name written on it--but as you unfolded it, there was no mistaking it was meant for you. Written in swift, pretty cursive were the words Tonight at the garden.

Your heart dropped. Of course, you’d be going.

“Tonight” indicated affer curfew--the few hours between then and the Ceremony dragged like feet through glass. During the time between, you admired the Commander’s handwriting; the cold rigidity of his exterior seemed at odds with the brief but beautiful words on the paper. The top of the “t” curled back onto itself, the letters thickening where the pen swiped and turned. There was an artistry to it, something learned or inherent. The thought of the Commander studying calligraphy, especially before Gilead, seemed almost comical. But the reality of this note betrayed something about him you’d never considered. You tucked the note into your dress.

The cotton air of summer hadn’t cooled by the time you snuck into the garden. A film of sweat inspired the baby hair at the nape of your neck to frizz and loop in the heat, and you smoothed it with your palm. You weren’t sure where he might have wanted to meet, so you sunk onto a bench, thinking of note you’d hidden. You imagined his large, strong hands, how they’d dwarf the ink pen, the calm focus of his face as he inscribed--maybe a lock of hair had come loose, dangled over his forehead.

Footsteps broke you from your thoughts, and you spotted him crossing the stone path to your bench, dressed in slacks and a suit jacket, the top buttons open on his crisp, white shirt. His was sight already fixated on you. Between him and the temperature, you were concerned about the capability of your body to remain in a solid state. What was the melting point for human flesh?

As Ren approached you, his face remained stoic--you wondered what went on his head, what he’d been thinking while he penned the note, what thoughts had skipped through his brain that made him pull the paper in the first place. He stopped, considering you on the bench, and then sat next to you, closer than you anticipated. You could have moved your arm and brushed against him, inched over and pressed your hips to his. He leaned forward, his eyes trailing from your feet, up your legs, as if he was peering through the layers of your oppression, remembering the smoothness of your skin in the water. His silence next was almost as unbearable as his nearness.

You cleared your throat, thighs squeezing together. “You seem to be seeing me a lot.”

He said nothing, words darting inside of his head that he declined to speak. His reticence reminded you of Johana, earlier--the things she’d wanted to say, wanted to think, but denied herself the ability. In that way, at least, they were similar, but you realized that you could count yourself in that group, too. There were hundreds of thousands of self-censored thoughts that had passed through your brain since the coup--a number that grew exponentially larger with each day. Perhaps Ren, too, had the same burgeoning issue. Perhaps, despite being your Commander, he suffered in ways you couldn’t know. You wondered what his life had been like before Gilead, too. You wondered if he had loved Johana--as she so desperately seemed to need.

“How did you end up married to Johana?” you asked, searching for his eyes.

Ren blinked. “Why?”

A question for a question. “Was your marriage always like this?”

He met your gaze and glanced away again, now focused on the garden. The racing of his mind seemed to slow. “Her husband, a Commander himself, died,” he said. “In the revolution. Our lead Commander was… concerned. About my lack of attachment. So we wed.”

“Concerned?” You were emboldened by his unexpected honesty--and hungry for more.

A tiny smirk crossed Ren’s lips. “Concerned. “ He seemed as if he had finished, for a moment, and then continued. “The Commanders cannot be childless.”

“Oh.”

The marriage had been to produce children, and like so many other Wives, Johana hadn’t been capable. The memories of her hands winding around yours, her hardened, stoic eyes, the hidden desperation in her voice--they flashed through your body like a strange heat, left a hole in your stomach. You imagined her in her room, now, asleep. Alone.

“Did you ever want to marry her?”

“No.”

You frowned. Perhaps you’d assumed a Commander would be more than eager to take up a Wife to fulfill his duty--especially one as pretty as Johana. When she wasn’t scowling, anyway. Maybe it was the thought of marrying someone’s widow. Maybe the other Commander was someone Ren knew. Maybe the high ranks of Gilead were just as miserable for different reasons.

“Why?” you asked.

Ren’s brow twitched. “Why?”

“Why didn’t you want to marry her?”

He turned away, staring out across the acreage of his yard. His breath was slow, controlled; his hands were gripping each other pale.

You shifted in your seat. “Did you ever want to marry anyone?”

“Enough.”

Perhaps that had been too personal. You sat back, a hard corner of the note in your dress scraping against you in reminder. Clearing your throat, you pulled it out, unfolding it for him in your palm.

“This is your handwriting?”

He glanced between you and the paper, the tension in his back softening. “It is.”

“It’s beautiful.” The words brought a glow to your face--complimenting him seemed so intimate.

“I practiced calligraphy,” he murmured, fighting a smirk. “As a child.”

“Really?” you said. “I’d love to see more of it.”

There was a pause. Ren was considering you, considering the paper. Frowning, he plucked it from your grasp and folded it in his jacket pocket. “You shouldn’t have this.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t wrong. You crumpled, and your head tilted toward the sky.

It had been awhile since you’d gazed at the stars, truly gazed at them, and the existential glory of it rushed back to you with warm familiarity. There was something about locking eyes with the sky and understanding your finiteness in such liberating terms. It was not like a depressing nihilism--nothing matters, why bother--but far more humbling. In comparison to the vastness of the universe, the billions of stars, the trillions of possibilities contained within the endless expansion of everything and nothing, Gilead’s shield of religion was farcical. There was no God that would demand women be confined to reproductive slavery, not when there was so, so much more to existence than the color of your dress.

Johana’s question--You wanted something different?--floated through your mind.

“Do you ever wonder what’s up there?” you asked. “I used to wonder all the time. When I was little.”

Ren turned, scrutinizing you, gaze busy with some emotion too cloudy to discern. You watched him, breath short, the weight of him pressing the air from you.

“I did,” he said. “I do.”

You found yourself wanting to say more--I had dreams before this, I had plans, I had a life, I was alive--and, staring into his eyes, saw yourself there, in all of the loneliness and regret and confusion and fury. The both of you empty, stranded, together.

In a gasp of air your mouths were connected, one of his hands gripping the small of your back, the other cupping your cheek, every bit of him large and firm. Your lids fluttered in bliss, and you pulled yourself to his body, enveloping yourself in his frame, disappearing under his touch. Ren groaned, his hand sneaking from your back to slide up your side--first a thumb, and then his palm, squeezing and caressing your breast. In a whimper, your head craned back, and his lips travelled your neck, and then returned, his other hand guiding you to his mouth. Your cunt screamed for him, from him, the scream growing louder when both his hands kneaded your breasts--you were certain he was reliving the memory of your nude body in the tub, hoping to pull your flesh into the present.

You imagined throwing your leg over his hips, hiking up your dress, somehow pulling aside your underwear--how would you do that? As a matter of fact, why were you kissing in the garden, now? What if Johana saw? Johana, who had lost her husband; Johana, without love, Johana, holding your hands and hiding tears. She married him and he didn’t want to marry her, and here he was, groping your body, straining like everyone against the shackles he’d put on himself. All for Gilead, every bit of it for a system that served no one.

You pushed your hands into his shoulders, prying him from you, dizzy from your heaving lungs. Mind spinning, you examined him, examined the dark ache in his eyes--and felt a rising knot of fury. Ren had power. You didn’t.

“Do you even believe in Gilead?” Your words were becoming more dangerous by the day--but now, he didn’t seem fazed.

“Of course.”

“Then why are you out here with me?”

Ren’s brow drew back, his head tilting. He couldn’t meet your gaze. “I don’t know.”

Lips pursing, you leaned back, and caught a glimpse of the sky again, the moon hiding in the thick, cream-colored belt of stars. You wondered who was out there. You wondered if they wondered, too.

“I don’t want to be here.”

He sniffed, dismissive. “I want you here.”

You bristled. He, the creator and arbiter of your hell, wanted you here. It wasn’t to fulfill his duty--that much was clear. But was it for sex? Or something else? And if it was only for sex, why were you so accepting of it, when the vastness of your possibilities were reflected in the sky? If Gilead was truly as meaningless as you and he both knew it to be, how could you sit there and kiss him--and not demand more? It was not enough to survive on duplicity alone.

“Why do you want me here?”

At your question, he tensed, staring at you, and then he reached for you, tugging you against his body. Growling, you pushed him off again.

“Answer the question, or don’t kiss me.”

He seemed torn between irritation and restraint. “Watch yourself, little bird.”

Ren’s body was stiff, his eyes betraying hidden concern. You hung there for a moment, lungs stopped, waiting for an answer. Waiting him to acknowledge that some, or any part of him recognized your humanity. Waiting him to say that when he had looked at you, he had seen himself there, too. Waiting for him to expose the part of himself you’d seen scrawled onto the piece of paper in his pocket. But expected silence was all you received.

The both of you empty. Stranded. Together.

“Goodnight, Commander.” You stood, peeling him from you, and headed back to the house. He didn’t stop you.

You were getting out of this hell. With or without him.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #handmaid au #little bird #look at me actually trying to write lmao #I posted this on AO3 like two weeks ago sorry!!!!!!

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kpopfanfictrash · 6 years

Text

No Strings (XI)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jimin

Rating: 18+ (explicit sex)

Word Count: 7,086

Summary: It started off as such a simple question. How to know if you’re bad in bed? Of course when you asked, you didn’t imagine Jimin would actually answer. (This is an additional part to my series, No Strings, as requested in the poll for my follower milestone)

“I’m just saying,” Minsun says, spinning around on her stool. Taking a sip of her drink, she squints at the room. “If Namjoon were any klutzier, he would literally die.”

Fighting a smile, you tap your hand to the counter. “Oh?” you say, accepting the drink pushed your way. “You know what I think? I think you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not, though.” Shaking her head, Minsun points a finger at the dance floor. “Look at him right now. He looks like a twelve-legged octopus taking a beginner’s tap class.”

“If he has twelve legs, he’s not an octopus.”

“Shut up, you get my point.”

Hiding a smile, you nod because she is right – Namjoon truly does have dismal coordination. Right now, he is semi-drunk, waving both hands like one of those blow-up dolls at a car dealer. He slinks towards the center, fruity drink in one hand and hair pushed back from his forehead. Namjoon is a good-looking dude, intelligent and a catch for anyone to date – he also tends to be the most ridiculous human on the planet, without quite meaning to be.

Trying not to laugh, you return to Minsun. This week has been long, to say the least. You have been working on this giant presentation at work for a month now, one which went over well this morning – and prompted Namjoon and you to force your friends out in celebration. You have been at the bar drinking since 5:00 pm, although more of your friends have trickled in along the way, joining the revelry.

Seokjin arrived a half-hour ago; he is now seated beside you, two shots deep at the bar. He is partly to blame for Namjoon’s current state of inebriation, having convinced him that being drunk makes him a better dancer, not worse. Hoseok is also here, but Hoseok – you roll your eyes at the sight – is a stupendous dancer and seems completely at ease out on the dance floor. His girlfriend, Vikki, must be around here somewhere. Normally, you would say she is with Katie but Namjoon and Katie broke up two months ago, a messy split which involved your co-worker’s ex-boyfriend.

Wincing, you return the drink to your lips. Namjoon was devastated after, although it seems as though he is finally back in the swing of things. At least, he is trying – judging from the wavy sprinkler move he is attempting out on the dance floor.

Minsun snorts, draining the rest of her glass. “Okay,” she says, hopping down from the counter. Adjusting her skirt, she winces at the motion – the fabric is bright magenta, shorter than yours. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Wait here, hold my purse.”

Minsun disappears, flouncing away and you swivel your hips at the bar, returning to nursing your drink. Music thumps through the air, raucous and loud enough to drown out the voices around you – or, almost loud enough.

“Hey there,” a guy says, sliding onto Minsun’s vacated stool.

You glance up from your drink. A new wave of people has entered and it is a struggle to remain on your chair with everyone crowding so close. The stranger is cute, speaking mathematically. He has full lips, a broad forehead and the type of hair which seems perpetually stuck-up in the back. Beyond that though, your generosity ends.

The way he stares at you is calculated, as though he has a dating playbook and is eighty percent sure – if he says and does the right thing – you will be fucking him by morning. There is something to his gaze, his smile; this man thinks he damn well owns this room and you would be lucky to have him.

It is hard for you not to roll your eyes, taking a sip of your drink.

The guy leans forward. “I’m sorry,” he says, placing a hand on your arm. His touch is light, not overly forceful – he has done this before, and often.

“Are you?” you say.

A flash of confusion crosses his face. “I – what?”

“You said sorry,” you say, arching a brow. “I asked you if you are.”

The guy stares, taken aback before he smiles. “Oh, I get it,” he laughs, leg brushing yours. “No, that was just an expression of speech. I think you’re beautiful and wanted to say hi.”

Your smile turns brittle, grip on your drink tightening. Your remark was facetious – it takes a special kind of oblivious to ignore the fact that you are unwanted. Leaning away, you glance again at the bar. Seokjin, Namjoon and Hoseok are out on the dance floor, Minsun has not reemerged from the bathroom – fuck women’s restrooms and their lines – but once she does, you know she will kick this guy to the curb.

“Anyways,” he announces – louder, as the next song begins. “I was wondering if there’s a mirror in your pants?”

You nearly choke on your drink. “I’m not wearing pants.”

This is true, you are wearing a dress – albeit, not one as tight and short as Minsun, but a dress nonetheless.

Ignoring the warning in your eyes, the guy leans in to continue. “Well.” The guy has the audacity to wink. “I think you must have a mirror in your pants, since I can definitely see myself in them.”

A long moment passes while you attempt to regather your jaw from the ground. The pickup line is horrible, borderline offensive in its awfulness and you are about to go off when an arm settles over your shoulder.

“Thank the fucking lord that I found you.” Jimin exhales, pushing a hand through his hair. His hair returned to black sometime last summer, which was a welcome surprise. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere – and Y/N, listen. We really need to talk.”

The guy looks at Jimin, then you. “I’m sorry,” he says – although this time, the apology really does not sound genuine. “Who are you?”

“I’m sorry.” The corner of Jimin’s mouth lifts. “I’m Jimin. And you are?”

The man frowns. “Clint.”

“Well, Clint.” When Jimin smiles, his gaze remains cold. “To answer your question – I’m the dude who slept with Y/N two weeks ago. I’m also the dude who needs to tell her something important.”

Closing his eyes, Jimin steels himself. “Y/N.” Seriously, he reaches out for your knee.

“Yes?” you say, trying hard not to laugh.

“Okay.” Jimin opens his eyes. “So, it’s like this. About a month ago, I noticed my spunk had this weird smell. I kinda brushed it off, thought was nothing. I don’t know,” Jimin sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “I decided I needed to eat more pineapple, or something.”

You somehow manage to turn your laugh into a cough. “What are you trying to tell me?” you demand, mock-horrified. “Did you come all the way to this bar, just to say that –”

“Yes.” Dramatically, Jimin looks you in the eyes. “I have the clap,” he announces, loud enough for Clint to overhear. “Possibly several of them. And I probably gave them all to you – through my penis.”

“Alright. I’m out.” Clint nearly falls off the stool in his haste to escape.

Trying not to laugh, you take a sip your drink. Jimin grins, wriggling to fill the space in between you. “Hi, baby,” he greets you, kissing your gently. “How was work?”

Smiling back at him, you wrap both arms around his neck. “It was awful,” you say in between kisses. Moving closer, your hips brush his on the stool. “Better, now that you’re here.”

Jimin cannot help but smile. “Your flattery does wonders to my ego, babe. Have I ever said that, before?”

“No.” Sighing, you wrap your legs around his. “I’m sure it got lost in between all the compliments you say to yourself.”

“Hey!”

Laughing, you pull away long enough to boop Jimin on the nose. “You’re so cute,” you coo, stretching his cheeks. “When did you get so cute?”

Jimin growls. “Cute is for children,” he says. “Mostly, those between the ages of zero and five.”

“What happens after five?”

“They get precocious. There’s nothing worse than a precocious child, Y/N.”

Biting down on your lip, you try not to laugh. “Okay, grandpa,” you say, patting his cheek as you hop down from the stool. “Go grab a double shot to catch up to me. I hear Namjoon is already tearing it up the dance floor and I’ve been remiss, keeping away for so long.”

Jimin turns around to order and you rise on tip-toe, peering into the crowd. Minsun has not returned yet, which is strange. She left her purse behind and if she does not come back soon, you will need to drag it out on the dance floor with you. Namjoon’s flailing is awkward enough without multiple straps on your body for him to get stuck in.

“OH MY GOD!”

The voice is Minsun’s, shrieking over the sounds of the bar. Your head jerks sideways, nearly slipping in your haste to retrieve her. “Jimin!” you yelp, delving in between patrons. “Grab Minsun’s purse for me, okay?”

“GOT IT, HONEY!”

Minsun remains audible, yelling somewhere in the background. She must be yelling, to be heard over the music and as you shove through the crowd, you imagine the worst. Seokjin should be here too, chasing after his girlfriend because she is clearly either A) under attack, or B) drunk and yelling at a stranger and honestly, with Minsun, the latter is more probable. Then you skid around a tall, gangly someone and come face-to-face with your roommate.

Minsun seems livid. She is standing with Seokjin, arguing fiercely while he holds both hands before him; a metaphorical shield in their battle.

“Why!” she blurts, poking him hard in the chest. “Why won’t you let me buy fro-yo!”

Seokjin sputters, grabbing both her wrists with his hands. “Minsun,” he hisses, glancing around. “Babe, just a little bit quieter, okay? I want to talk about this!”

“No,” she yelps, wrenching free from his grasp. “I will not be quiet when my very freedom is being oppressed!” Minsun huffs, waving a hand and nearly knocking over Hoseok’s drink.

“Hey!” he yelps, jumping out of her reach.

“Sorry, Hobi!” Minsun returns to scowling at Seokjin. “My boyfriend is compromising my freedom, so I’m a LITTLE preoccupied!”

“Babe.” Seokjin exhales, rubbing his face with both hands.

Minsun inhales deeply, seeming ready to explode as you dart your way forward. “O-kay,” you say, sliding both arms around her waist. Minsun frowns at this, although she lets you pull her back. “What’s going on?” you say. “What’s, uh – what did Seokjin do?”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. "Why,” he demands. “Do you all assume I did something wrong?”

“Because it’s you,” you say, glancing at Minsun. “You said something to get Minsun pissed off, clearly. Something about… fro-yo?” you offer, remembering what Minsun was yelling.

Seokjin grits his teeth. Whatever he was about to say is interrupted by Jimin sidling up beside you. “Here, Minsun.” He bows, handing over her purse. “Your affects.”

Accepting this, Minsun tries not to scowl. “Thanks,” she tells Jimin, still seeming miffed in the process.

Her gaze moves to Seokjin, hurt and confused – this is enough that you frown, glancing between them. This seems like more than Minsun being drunk and hot-tempered.

“Seriously,” you ask, glancing between them. “What the hell is going on?”

“Seokjin is an ass.” Minsun pouts. “That’s the short story.”

Jimin turns his laugh hastily into a cough. “Sorry, man,” he shrugs. “That was funny.”

Seokjin stares blankly at him. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Minsun’s lips tug down at the corners. “I was coming out of the bathroom earlier and decided I wanted to get fro-yo. So, I reach into Seokjin’s pocket for his wallet –”

“Which I objected to,” Seokjin says.

“– I reach into Seokjin’s pocket for his wallet and he slaps my hand away!“ Minsun nearly knocks Hoseok’s drink over for a second time with her gesticulation. "And then,” she says, lower lip trembling, “he said to me… that if I wanted frozen food, I needed to buy it myself!“

You and Jimin both gasp in tandem.

"You…” Jimin stares. “You really said that to her, man?”

Seokjin glances around the circle, finding no comfort. “I...” He hesitates, shaking his head. “No, no – it wasn’t like that. I just… I don’t want Minsun going into my pants. That’s all.”

Now, you are the one staring. “Uh…” You wrinkle your brow. “Then, what were you two doing on the couch the other day? Did she drop a peanut in your crotch or something?”

“I just wanna eat drunk fro-yo,” Minsun huffs. “But my boyfriend is out here, calling me fat.”

Seokjin’s eyes bug out. “I – what?!” he yelps. “No! I never said that!”

Minsun swallows. “Just...” She exhales, burying her face in her hands. “Leave it. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“No, no, no.” Seokjin groans, moving quickly to wrap both arms around her. “You’ve got it all wrong, baby,” he sighs.

It is like watching a train wreck. You know you should look away, but find you cannot. When Jimin holds out your drink, you take a long sip.

"Ten bucks,” he whispers. Jimin’s arms slides around your waist, his lips brushing your ear. “Ten bucks Seokjin has a present for her in his back pocket, or something.”

Stifling a grin, you nod. Seokjin would never be rude to Minsun without good reason. You know this about him, even if you give Seokjin shit for it occasionally. He is whipped as hell for your roommate.

As though to prove this point, Seokjin squeezes Minsun tighter. “That’s not – I mean, well,” he exhales, closing his eyes. “Fuck.”

Minsun pulls back to look at him. “Well, what?” she demands. “What is it?”

“I think you’re perfect!” Seokjin winces at Minsun’s clear look of outrage. “ You can be big, small, whatever you want – you know, so long as you’re comfortable with your body and not unhealthy, or whatever, you can do whatever you want and I –”

“Dude.” Jimin coughs, drawing a finger across his throat.

"What are you even talking about?” Minsun gapes.

“You can’t go into my pocket!” Seokjin blurts.

Minsun blinks in surprise. “I don’t… I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

Seokjin’s cheeks flush, biting down on his lip. “Shit.” Groaning, he presses both hands to his face. “Fine! You want to know why you can’t go into my pocket?“

"Yes.” Minsun folds both arms over her chest. “Let me just prep myself before my boyfriend says that he doesn’t want me touching his dick anymore.”

“Because!” Seokjin huffs, reaching into his pocket. “Because of this, okay?” Yanking out a box, he forces Minsun’s eyes to widen. “I want to fucking marry you! Which you’re ruining, by the way, by making me propose to you in a bar!“

Somewhere in the background, In My Feelings by Drake plays while oblivious, drunk patrons grind out on the dance floor. They seem unconcerned with the fact that history is being made right in front of you – history, witnessed by only yourself, Jimin, Seokjin and Minsun. Hoseok disappeared sometime around the second time Minsun tried to knock over his drink.

Minsun blinks, taking an uncertain step backwards. "You… what?”

“I want to marry you!” Seokjin yells, stepping closer. “I want to marry you,” he says, softer this time. His hands find her elbows, tracing circles over her skin.

Minsun stares back at him, lips parted in shock. “I...” She falters, suddenly at a loss.

Seokjin smiles. “What,” he murmurs, pushing a hand through her hair. He is still holding onto the small, blue box with the other. “No smart answer, for me?”

Minsun inhales, as though she might yell at him – before she lifts on her toes and kisses him smack on the lips. Seokjin laughs, words muffled when he pulls her closer and sinks into the gesture.

“You jerk,” Minsun exclaims, pulling back. She scowls, starting to laugh but refusing to move. “How dare you propose to me like this – in a bar, no less!”

He huffs, yanking her closer. “I wasn’t going to,” Seokjin says. “I was going to propose to you tomorrow morning in bed and then you ruined it by stealing my wallet!”

Minsun grins. “When we’re married,“ she says, looping both arms around his neck. "I’ll have half of your wallet by law.”

“You’re such a gold-digger,” he teases, kissing her again.

“Your gold-digger.”

“So, is that a yes?”

“That’s a fuck yes,” Minsun says, grabbing his face and pulling him in for another kiss.

Seokjin responds eagerly, body moving against hers and you blink, suitably awkward when you realize where this is headed.

Jimin reaches down, tugging on your shirt. “Uh… let’s go,” he says, grabbing your hand.

Tugging you behind him, he pulls you onto the dance floor and leaves your overly-fond-of-PDA best friends behind. The song has changed, rap belting over the speakers but in the corner by the bathroom, Minsun and Seokjin do not seem to care. They are still kissing when you leave, one hand tangled in Jimin’s. You keep glancing at him, since it has not escaped your notice that Jimin has not said anything since the proposal.

He smiled, sure. He laughed – but there is something to his gaze which is giving you pause. Jimin whirls suddenly around, pulling your body to his. “Let’s celebrate,” he half-yells, to be heard over the music.

“Celebrate what?” Your hands slide around his neck. “Minsun and Seokjin?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jimin bends, nuzzling the exposed lines of your throat. “But also, life. Being together. Freedom. Whatever you want.”

You nod, letting your hips sway with the music. The word freedom sticks in your mind; a double-edged sword in comparison to the others. As you dance, you chance another look to where Seokjin and Minsun were standing. They no longer are, having disappeared along with the change of music. You presume they are on their way to properly celebrate. It is not difficult to be happy for them. You have been there since the beginning, after all. You have seen their relationship blossom since college and you know this is the next logical step.

Still, something nags in the back of your mind. Jimin said freedom.

Pressing closer, you try to ignore this. Jimin is not always good with his words – hell, it took him long enough to admit he liked you. It has been on more than one occasion he has said the wrong thing, but his intentions are always good and he learns from his mistakes. Deep down, you know Jimin is happy. It is only – your arms tighten, fingers running through the fringe of his hair – sometimes, you wonder if he regrets this.

Perhaps regret is too strong a word. You are Jimin’s first relationship in nearly five years, after all. Not only that, you two are a relationship, in all italic sense of the word. You began dating by saying I love you and that is a lot of pressure for anyone, let alone a reformed playboy. Thinking this, you wince and turn your face into his shoulder.

This might be unfair, since Jimin says he loves you. You know this, and you know it is not okay to hold his lack of girlfriends against him. It is only that word – freedom – which worries you, because it makes you afraid Jimin thinks this is lacking. The belief is unfounded, to be sure. Jimin has never once mentioned as much to you. It is only occasionally, at times like tonight, or at family gatherings – when the subject of marriage or kids is brought up, Jimin goes unnaturally silent.

It is hard for you not to notice. Jimin tries his best to hide his discomfort but to you, it is obvious – of course it is. There is no one who knows Jimin better than you, no one who can read his small ticks and tells like you can. You know that talk makes him uncomfortable and honestly, you do not blame him. It must be difficult to go from absolute freedom to someone always knowing what he is doing. To go from not having to answer to anyone to always thinking about someone else. Being in a relationship is work and occasionally, it crosses your mind if Jimin thinks it is worth it.

Refusing to entertain such thoughts any longer, you burrow deeper into his embrace. Jimin loves you, you remind yourself. This is just your insecurities rearing their ugly head and you should not let them win when there is nothing to back them up. Jimin pulls you closer, bending his body as you soften.

“Jimin,” you say.

Lowering your hands, you graze the soft threads of his t-shirt. It is hot outside, equally so on the dance floor because the AC can only compete with sweaty bodies for so long.

“Yes?” Jimin moves your hips with his own.

In the corner of one eye, you see the rest of your friends convene on the edge of the dance floor. They have that look in their eyes – the tipsy, where-should-we-go-next kind of look which you have no desire to follow.

“Take me home?” you ask, propping your chin on Jimin’s chest.

He smiles, grabbing your hand as he nods in response. Some Reggaeton beat follows you outside the bar – the same, distant beat which seems to accompany every Reggaeton song – and Jimin interlaces his fingers with yours, pulling his phone from his pants. The night air is chillier, breeze whipping your hair while you take a step closer and drape Jimin’s arm around you.

Jimin squeezes you softly, ordering an Uber. When it arrives and you pile into the backseat, Jimin is silent as he stares out at the window. You end up offering your apartment address, remembering Seokjin said he wanted to propose to Minsun in bed. On the off-chance he still has something he planned about that, you certainly do not want to be around for the moment. Resting your head on the window, you stare at the night until Jimin shifts on the backseat beside you.

“You know that I love you, right?” he asks suddenly, breaking the quiet.

There are a million things which run through your mind. The scratchy cough of the car driver, the feel of your butt on the fabric and the steady itch of your seatbelt. Jimin’s hand closes over yours, warm on the leather.

“Yeah,” you say, looking at him. “I know. You know I love you too, right?”

Jimin smiles, not quite reaching his eyes. “I know.”

When he does not add anything more, you nod. The backseat falls quiet again, you lower your head to the seat and Jimin moves nearer. “Okay,” he sighs.

You smile, resting your eyes the entire way back to your place.

When the car door opens, cold air blows on your face and you protest, burying your face in his shoulder. Jimin chuckles, pushing the door open to drag you outside.

“Come on,” Jimin says, wrapping his arm over your shoulders.

Grumbling under your breath, you let yourself be led up the walk. Before you know it, you are blinking outside the door to your apartment. Mutely, you hand over the key and Jimin lets you both in, stepping past the threshold to turn on your lights. You were right, it seems. Seokjin and Minsun went back to his place.

Yawning, you strip off your purse and fling this over a counter. Jimin has disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you alone in the front hall. After locking the door, you trudge to the couch and lower yourself to its cushions. You were so sleepy in the cab, as though you will fall right asleep – but now, you find yourself staring at the wildly printed fabric (chosen by Minsun), and feeling wide awake.

As soon you think this, Jimin jogs into the hall. “Righ’,” he demands, toothbrush half-hanging from his mouth. He pushes hair back from his forehead, continuing to brush. “Ai thou chu sh’d kno’ at –”

“Park,” you say, arching a brow. One by one, you kick off your heels to the floor. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying, which somewhat lessens the impact.”

Jimin pauses, nodding and disappearing again down the hall. “’ANG ON,” he yells, followed by the sounds of spitting and running water.

You kick your feet up behind you, lying like a lump on the sofa – your skirt is probably hiked up in the back, but you cannot bring yourself to care. It is too late and you are too tired. Jimin jogs again into the room.

“Okay,” he declares, sticking out his tongue to display newly minted freshness. “What I was trying to say –”

“Through a toothbrush.”

“– albeit, not in the most romantic of fashions, but what I was trying to say is that I love you, okay?”

Slowly, you sit up on the sofa. “Jimin,” you say gently. “I know this. Why do you keep repeating that?”

“Because.” He exhales, pushing both hands through his hair. It makes his t-shirt ride up, exposing a flat strip of stomach. You try not to overly ogle; no one likes being ogled when they are attempting to be serious.

“I’m really excited for Seokjin and Minsun – really, I am!” Jimin says. “They deserve happiness, but...” Walking closer, Jimin kneels at the end of the couch. He drapes both arms over the armrest, peering at you. “I don’t want you to feel as though I love you any less because I’m not proposing right now.”

Your eyes widen. “I – Jimin, I never thought that.”

“I know,” he says. You wrinkle your nose, making him smile. “You’re too good and too perfect to ever pressure me, I know.”

“Jimin, that’s not –”

“I know.” This last part is quieter, eyes shut so that the dark of his lashes brush cheekbones. “It’s just... something I think about every day, you know?”

His fingers trace over the couch, absent-minded. Swirl, angle, circle and line. “Jimin,” you whisper, gaze moving from his hand to his face. “What do you think about every day?”

His expression stills. “You. Me. The future. I think...” He inhales, a quick sound. “I think about it all the time. What it will be like to marry you. To wake up next you. To have kids with you. I want all that, Y/N. I don’t want you to think that I don’t.”

Instead of answering, you swallow. It does not seem as though he is finished yet, and you do not yet know what to say. This is the first time Jimin has confessed something like this to you.

He opens his eyes. “I have every intention of marrying you, Y/N. It’s just, for the first time in my life, I want to do things right. I want to plan, be ready for marriage because once I do – there’s no going back.” He scoots closer, tiny movements until his nose brushes yours. “I want to propose in a way you can’t say no to. Not in some dingy bar, where an overplayed Drake song is playing.”

“I don’t know,” you say, needlessly tormenting. “I kind of like that song.”

Jimin growls. “Fine, I’ll have that playing in the background.” He pauses, adjusting closer. “I just wanted to tell you, because – well, why shouldn’t I tell you what I’m thinking?”

Unable to stop yourself, you smile. “No,” you say, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I’m glad you did. I think about that stuff too, you know.”

“You do?” Jimin’s eyes crinkle. “What do you think about?”

Now you are realizing the balls it took Jimin to tell you all this because, while you daydream about the future quite frequently, it is another thing entirely to lay it all on the line.

“Um,” you mumble, burying your head in the crook of the couch. “I think about what kind of place we’d get together.”

“Oh?” Jimin stands up from the floor. “What kind of place?”

You inhale when he kneels behind you on the couch, hands sliding smoothly up the backs of your legs. “I – I,” you whisper, trying not to move. “A cute apartment, at first. One where we didn’t have to worry about Minsun taking too long in the morning to shower – or Seokjin, for that matter. Where,” your breath hitches when Jimin’s hands slide a bit too far, “we could get ready in the morning together.”

“Mm?” Jimin’s crotch grazes your hips, letting you feel his hardening length through his jeans. He pushes your dress upwards until cold air hits your ass. “What else?”

“I...” You inhale when his thumbs hook the sides of your panties. Jimin’s weight rests on your legs, holding you firmly as you squirm underneath him. “I think it might be nice to live together for a bit, before we get… married.”

Jimin inhales at the word. Bending, he supports himself with both arms to brush a kiss to your neck. “You want to marry me?” he asks quietly, hips molding to yours. “Are you sure?”

Gently, you nod. “Pretty sure. I mean, Daniel Henney is kind of out of the question, so –” You laugh when Jimin huffs, and then make a much different noise when he smacks your ass with one hand.

“Oh, you like that, do you?” he says, massaging the same cheek with his palm. You nod again, curling your arms underneath you to face into the couch. “You like being a little brat,” Jimin growls, shifting his weight. “You like being spanked, hm?”

You try to move, try to turn over but Jimin just chuckles, grabbing hold of your waist. “No,” he exhales, keeping you there. With one finger, he gently trails the damp center of your panties. “Not yet. I want to see how wet I can make you like this.”

You are not sure what he means until Jimin grips the couch on either side of your head. Your dress remains bunched at your waist, his jeans still firmly buckled, but his cock is now obvious, pushing into your ass. It makes you squirm, hot and bothered beneath him.

“Jimin,” you moan, rutting your hips against cushions.

Chuckling, Jimin lowers his lips to your skin. “What, baby?” he asks, dragging the strap of your dress down your arm. “Do you want more?”

“Yes,” you whimper. Jimin presses gentle kisses to your ear, massaging the delicate skin with his tongue. Your thighs clench underneath him, hating how wet he can get you. All without touching, all without even eating you out. He can do this just by straddling you, by dry humping and kissing – you do not hate this fact about him. You only wish you could slam him into the couch and return the favor.

Jimin’s mouth curves into a smile. “Is my baby getting anxious?” he whispers, one hand sneaking beneath your dress. You gasp when he flicks over a nipple, playing with the bud until it hardens into his palm. Then, Jimin moves to the next, still kissing your neck and keeping you grinding into the couch.

You groan, arching your back and pressing your breasts into his hands. Jimin has wonderful, skilled fingers – something you have never failed before to appreciate. You cannot help but squirm underneath him, hips grappling for friction, your barely clothed crotch humping the fabric below. It is barely anything, but still, it is better than lying here drenched in your own arousal.

Jimin gently tugs your nipples before he retreats, rocking backwards as he sits on his heels. “Y/N,” he coos. When you glance over your shoulder, you see him remove his shirt. Jimin flexes before tossing this on the ground – always a show-off, even now. He grins at your expression. “What about a game?” Jimin suggests, seeing the drenched core of your panties.

Fuck, anything for him to touch you again. You narrow your eyes, attempting to appear in control. “What type of game?” you counter – as loftily as you can with your dress bunched around your waist. Jimin slides his hands to your ass, pushing your cheeks apart and massaging them gently. You nearly combust on the spot.

“I’ll ask you questions,” he says, arching a brow.

His cheeks are flushed, chest rising and falling and you realize he is more turned on than he lets on. Gaze darting down, you see Jimin’s cock strain against the tight fabric of his jeans. Judging by that, he will not keep you waiting for long.

Seeing where you look, Jimin frowns. “I’ll ask the questions,” he repeats, lightly smacking your ass. “When you answer, I’ll reward you.”

“Sounds… fun,” you say with zero conviction.

Jimin grins. “Alright, first question.” Adjusting himself, he unbuckles his belt and pulls the leather through loops. “Should we have two sinks in our bathroom, or one?”

Rolling your eyes, you attempt to shift underneath him. “Two, duh.”

The corners of his mouth drop. “You don’t want to share?” Jimin whines.

“I think there will be enough sharing without us fighting over toothpaste stains, thanks.”

“Hm.” Jimin considers for a moment, then shrugs. “Good enough, here’s your reward.”

Dropping his belt on the ground, Jimin pulls your dress overhead. You let him, wriggling until the fabric joins his t-shirt and belt on the floor. You are left naked except for your panties, breasts pressed into the fabric of the couch in twin, hardened peaks.

“Is that it?” You rub your butt against his crotch. Jimin’s gaze darkens. “You’re not even going to touch me?”

“Not so fast,” he says, spreading your legs and dragging two fingers up the folds of your slit. Groaning, you press yourself into the palm of his hand. He keeps your panties on, although the material is flimsy, drenching his digits as they slip to either side.

“Next question,” he pants, tugging your panties sideways. “Do you want a cat or a dog?”

“Um...” You inhale, wriggling your hips – only to be rewarded with a sharp slap on your ass.

“Not until you answer!” Jimin sounds like he is grinning.

“Fine,” you huff, flopping still. “I want a cat. They’re fluffy and independent and just think how cute you’ll look when it deigns to sit on your lap.”

“Hm.” Jimin slips his thumb between your folds, rubbing a slow circle over your clit. You are so wet, you swear, grinding your hips against him in the hope of more friction. “Good.”

Abruptly, he removes his thumb from your clit – you do not protest for long, since he hooks both index fingers under your panties and tugs them down to your ankles. Jimin lifts himself up, removing them gently to toss to one side.

“Fuck,” he groans, when you are naked beneath him. “Turn over, baby, I want to see you.”

You oblige, shifting to press your butt to the couch. Keeping your gaze fixed on Jimin, you drop your legs to either side.

He swallows, hard. “Shit.”

You smile. “What are you waiting for?”

“Next question.” Jimin lowers himself to his stomach. His hands slide up your legs, pressing your knees to the couch. “Do you,” he pauses, blinking uncertainly. “Would you want… kids?”

You stop, staring at him with a lump in your throat. Jimin turns his head, pressing a gentle kiss to your knee. Feeling the sudden urge to see him when you say this, you grab his face and lift his lips to yours.

“Yes,” you whisper, kissing him.

Jimin opens his mouth, one hand fisting into your hair. He groans, your chests pressing together, hips grinding against him. When Jimin reaches downto frantically unzip his jeans, you are already there. Slapping his fingers aside, you yank his pants past his ass.

“Y/N!” Jimin laughs when you push these down with your feet.

“Shut up,” you say, kissing him again. “I want your pants off.”

“Which you can do,” he informs, helping you out, “through less creative maneuvers.”

“That’s not why you love me, though.”

“I love you because you can take my pants off with your feet?”

“Yep, that’s it.” You laugh when Jimin sloppily kisses your collarbone. Your fingers scramble for his boxers, removing the last article of clothing. “Ah,” you sigh when his cock springs free. His hard length slaps the skin of his stomach. “There it is.”

Jimin smirks, lowering himself to your body. “Where do you want me?” he murmurs, dragging his cock up your slit. “Like this? Fucked into the couch?”

You whimper when he removes himself from your folds, sinking his index finger into the warmth of your cunt. “Ah,” you groan, pushing up while he slides slowly in and out. Jimin’s thumb rubs your clit, smirking above you.

“Or, you can flip over,” he murmurs, opening your lips in a kiss. “And be fucked from behind. Or...” His breath hitches when you start to mouth down his jaw. “Against the wall? Or, spooning – just slip between your legs and fuck you like that?”

“Ah,” you groan. Your hands fumble with his waist, stroking his cock in your hands. “Maybe tomorrow morning, baby. I want to see you.”

Jimin nods into the crook of your neck, letting you guide him to your opening. Wrapping both legs around his waist, you nudge up against him. Jimin’s cock brushes your folds, teasing while you dig your hands into his hair.

“Jimin,” you groan. “Just put it in me, already, I wanna come on your dick.”

Jimin’s gaze darkens and he reaches between your legs. “Fuck,” he hisses, positioning himself to thrust quickly inside. You gasp, jolted into the couch by the force . Jimin pauses, brushing a kiss to your forehead and letting you adjust. “Is that – are you…?”

“Yes,” you groan, tipping your head back to the arm rest. “Fuck, yes, right there, Jimin.”

He smirks, pulling himself higher to re-position himself on his knees. Jimin’s hands find your ankles, lifting your legs to drape over his shoulders. “Is that good,” he murmurs, bending to push himself deeper inside.

“Mmph,” you say, the new angle allowing him further. “Yeah, Jimin, just like that.”

Jimin’s hips roll, letting you feel him in his entirety. He withdraws, hovering a moment before pushing into you slowly. You bite on his shoulder, letting him fill you – sometimes, there are no words which capture the feel of Jimin like this. It takes everything you have not to combust simultaneously, breaking apart to let him in at the seams.

You concentrate on the feeling him fill you and try your best to remain sane. Jimin grabs your ankle, turning his head to kiss skin before gently pushing inside you again and loosening a groan from your lips.

“Oh,” you moan, both arms clasped around his neck.

Jimin thrusts harder, kissing you roughly. His tongue finds yours, hips rutting against you while your hands pull his hair. Each thrust brings him deeper, closer as you bite down on your lip.

“Jimin,” you whimper. “Oh, ah, Jimin!”

He chuckles, pressing you harder into the couch. “Fuck,” he breathes, gathering you closer and fucking you faster, hitting that spot deep inside you. “Y/N, fuck.”

Hair falls into his gaze, dark and sweaty while his muscles bunch, keeping himself up. Jimin falls onto one elbow, other hand slipping between your legs to ease over your clit.

“Shit, Jimin,” you gasp, clutching him harder. His fingers are quick, bringing you close to the edge while he continues to fill you. It is difficult to keep still; you arch against him, urging him closer, deeper while grinding yourself on his cock.

Jimin reaches down, adjusting your hips and suddenly – fuck – he is everywhere. Deep inside you, on top of you, his lips mouthing up the edge of your jaw to whisper words in your ear. How he loves you, how he needs you, how he wants you. How you complete him, how you are him and you are saying it back, tugging strands of his hair with your fingers. When you come, shattering apart, it is Jimin’s name on your lips.

“Jimin,” you groan, collapsing back on the couch. He continues a few, frantic thrusts before coming inside – you feel him shudder, gasping your name when he half-collapses above you. Smiling, you press a kiss to his shoulder, rubbing his back before he manages to pull out. Grabbing a tissue from the end table, Jimin cleans you up before collapsing back down.

He sighs, turning his head to lazily connect your lips to his. “You want all that?” he asks softly, returning your earlier conversation. Looping your ankles over his ass, you let him pancake on top of you.

“Yeah,” you whisper, nearly bursting with happiness. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good.” Jimin smiles, interlocking your fingers with his. “Because it’s all coming. Just not in a bar.”

[ No Strings Master List ]

#jimin smut #bts smut #noonanet #kwriterskollection #bangtanarmynet #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin writing #bts writing

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wingsofanillyrian · 6 years

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Kingdoms and Crowns (Marecal)

@spegetty asked “ hey could you use the prompt “There’s no future for me without you.” for marecal PLeASe “ and OFC I SAID YES so please enjoy and send me more Red Queen prompts!

I should also mention that at this point in time I have not finished WS, so I apologize for any plot inconsistency :)

ACOTAR/TOG Masterlists

Cruel Prince Masterlist

Red Queen Masterlist (more to come!)

If I had it my way, I wouldn’t be here right now.

I hate these endless council sessions. They’ve become hunting grounds, each side out for the others blood. Its pointless. Dredging up past grievances does nothing to further anyone’s cause; it only adds fuel to the fire.

The weight of Silver gazes are nearly as oppressive as Silent Stone. They refuse to accept that Red blooded people sit at the same table they do, that our decisions have sway with the king. I sit straighter in my seat, meeting each House’s stare in turn. I refuse to let my unease show.

I watch the clock, its hands ticking merrily away. Two minutes until the battle begins.

“Why am I not surprised that his Majesty and House Samos are late yet again?”

I glance up at Farley, grateful for her arrival. The lack of Reds in the gathering hall had every one of my nerves on end. Farley and I are the only Red-blooded representatives that have a permanent seat at the negotiations table. The Scarlet Guard uniform she wears dares the king’s council to forget who sits among them.

“Probably because this happens every time.”

As soon as I’ve finished speaking, the arched wooden doors at the end of the room swing open, allowing Evangeline Samos to stride in. The sharp smile she cuts the Silver side of the table is more than enough to make them squirm. The armor she’s clothed herself in is as magnificent as it is deadly. Metallic scales flash across her torso as she stalks for me, giving a sly wave.

“Hello Mare,” she drawls, sliding into the empty seat beside me.

“You certainly enjoy making grand entrances, don’t you?” Although our alliance is uneasy, I’m glad it’s her next to me instead of a member of any other House. Evangeline I can tolerate for a little while at least.

A low, innocent laugh as she brushes her silver hair off her shoulder. “You know me so well.”

“Where’s the rest of your House?”

She smiles, letting everyone wait for her answer. Flicking her eyes around the table she says, “Father sends his regrets, but he won’t be able to attend. You’re stuck with little old me.” She shrugs, reclining with feline grace.

“I can’t say that upsets me.”

Attention snaps to the head of the table. Tiberias has managed to sneak in without anyone noticing. I curse myself for letting him catch me off guard.

Anabel Lerolan is a step behind her grandson, surveying those assembled with predatory intent. Tiberias’ black hair is shaggy and unkempt as if he couldn’t be bothered to comb it. The fitted suit he wears, black with red trim around the cuffs, does little to offset the shadows lingering under his eyes. I wonder if he’s been sleeping well.

Not that I care, I remind myself sharply.

The others fall over themselves, standing and offering a greeting to their king. Everyone except Farley and I, that is. We remain seated, a decision that Anabel notes with a glare.

“Now then, let’s get this underway, shall we?” Tiberias gives a tight smile before taking his seat. My eyes dip to where the top button of his shirt is undone, revealing a sliver of the toned chest I know lies beneath. Once, I was free to run my fingertips over his warm skin whenever I pleased. The memory of knobby white scars and hard muscle makes my hands tingle.

Farley elbows my side, giving me a hard look. I tear my eyes away from the king and pull my thoughts back to this room. I brace myself for another endless day filled with talks of taxes and basic human rights for Reds- something that should already be accepted.

My head fills with static as soon as Anabel begins reading through the day’s agenda. Usually I can focus enough to participate, but today I’m lost in the way Tiberias’ mouth curves when he speaks. I don’t tune back into the conversation until Farley slams her hand on the table.

“Our goal isn’t to overthrow the entire Silver monarchy.” I stifle a cough at the boldfaced lie. She cuts a glare at me before continuing, “We want Reds and Silvers to live peacefully as equals. We’ve already seen it work in Piedmont-“

The hall erupts as everyone speaks at once. My gaze flicks to where Cal- no, Tiberias- sits at the head of the long, narrow table. His eyes are locked on me, waiting for my reaction. Instinct demands I look anywhere but at him. I do the opposite, standing my ground until he eventually breaks the stare.

One voice rises above the others, commanding attention. “I think I’ve found a solution that suits all our interests,” the king says, rising from his seat. The noise Evangeline makes informs me that Tiberias is speaking directly at me, whether he realizes it or not.

“I always keep the needs of my people close to my heart.” This time, I don’t hold in my noise of disgust. Farley nods in agreement. Tiberias continues as if he hasn’t heard me. “Which is why I’ve decided that, effective immediately, my betrothal to Evangeline will end immediately.”

“Finally,” Evangeline mutters, grinning wickedly. No one spares her a glance; they all know how much she loathed the decision. Her heart lies elsewhere, anyway. For perhaps the first time, I truly envy the magnetron. With any luck, she may be able to follow her wishes and be with the one she loves.

Anabel’s bronze eyes flash with fury. Clearly, she was not included in his plotting. “And whom, pray tell, do you suggest you wed?”

Dread fills my stomach. I already know what he’ll say, but I pray he has the good sense not to. My pulse hammers as Tiberias looks around the room, the picture of confidence. He meets everyone’s eyes—except mine.

“Mare will be my queen.”

The world falls out from under my feet.

No one says a single word, not even his wicked grandmother. They must think it’s some sick joke. I think it is too.

A long time ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to agree. Back when I was foolish and blind, nothing but a lovesick puppy. I would have followed Cal to the ends of the earth if he’d asked.

But that was then. This is now.

I hone the sparks of my anger into a single bolt, internally directing it at him. Slowly, I turn to him, eyes blazing. He fidgets nervously with the thin metal bracelet at his wrist. I let the uneasy quiet seep into his bones before murmuring, “You want to repeat that, Calore?”

He clears his throat, squirming like an ant under my magnifying glass. “It would be a much better match politically-“

The dagger leaves my hand faster than anyone can process, slicing along his cheekbone. Tiberias’ startled cry echoes in the silent room, hand jerking to the shallow wound. Electricity crackles on my skin as the royal guard rushes me.

They are instantly stopped by the hand their king holds up. “Wait.”

My eyes track the thin line of silver trailing down his jaw. It drips onto the table, nearly in sync with my pulse. I absently remember a time years ago, when Kilorn fell and cut his chin open on a stone by the river. He’d bled buckets, and I had panicked. Don’t worry, he’d told me. Facial wounds bleed a lot.

“Mare?”

Tiberias’ confused whisper jerks me from the memory. My chair scrapes against the white marble as I push back from the table. “How’s that for politics?”

Anabel’s demands for my head follow me out of the room and into the hall beyond. My abrupt departure seems to have pierced her shock.

How dare he?

A political match. That’s what he called a potential marriage between us, in front of all those people. Though he cast me aside months ago, the pain of this most recent betrayal festers like an infected wound. How he has the audacity to act like I mean absolutely nothing to him, I have no idea.

And to completely blindside me with the announcement. He hadn’t even posed it as a question; he just assumed I’d agree. Assumed I was still young and naïve.

He was dead wrong.

I quicken my pace as footsteps echo behind me. “Mare, wait! Please, let me speak.”

I whirl around, nearly causing him to crash into me. “I have no interest in anything you have to say,” I spit out, lip curling. “You have no right to speak to me anymore, Tiberias.”

“I thought it’s what you would have wanted-“

“So you thought it would be perfectly okay to decide my entire life for me?” My voice rises, along with my emotions. “Who gave you the damned right? In what world did you ever think that I would agree to a betrothal to you without ever discussing it? After all I’ve suffered, everything I’ve endured, why would I want that choice ripped from my hands?”

His face sags. “There was a time you would’ve leapt for joy if I proposed.”

“We said never again, Tiberias. That night was to be the last of it.” My stomach flips as the memory of that stolen night comes flooding back. I do my best to reign in my temper, steadying my voice. “You’re just a spoiled child and I’m the shiny toy you just can’t live without.”

He flinches, my insult cutting deep. “That’s not true,” he whispers, but the pain etched in the lines of his face says otherwise. “I love you.”

My hands tremble as I curl them into fists so tight my knuckles turn white. “Liar. I gave you a choice. Me or the crown. I think you’ve made your decision quite clear. It’s as simple as that.”

“It’s not that simple, can’t you see?” The temperature rises a few degrees as he draws nearer, tears pricking his eyes. I almost believe they’re real. “There’s no future for me without you.”

The part of me that is still foolishly in love with him strains towards those words, lapping them up like honey. The wiser part of me knows that Calore men have an outstanding track record for hurting the ones they claim to love.

I should walk away. But I am desperate for answers, if only so I can finally let this chapter of my life turn to ash. My resolve weakens, tears blurring my vision. I drop my gaze to the floor, praying he won’t notice.

“Then how could you cast what we have aside so easily?”

Tiberias’ toes edge into my line of sight. “Why did you make me choose, Mare?” When he reaches up to brush his thumb over my jaw, I don’t stop him. I cherish the affection even though I know I should push him away. “Why can’t I have both?”

My eyes rise to the silver streak on his cheek. The blood that divides us. The blood of nobles.

“That’s why,” I whisper, smiling sadly. “No one would ever accept a Red queen and a Silver king. The Scarlet Guard fights for equality, but I think we both know that won’t ever happen- not completely. You could call me your queen, but all it would ever be is a title. I’d never be your true equal. And… I can’t keep living a lie. I won’t waste my entire life pretending to be happy when I’m not.”

Cal’s lip trembles, and I know he’s fighting to keep himself from falling apart. I draw a wavering breath and continue, “So you can’t have both. You have to choose- and whatever you decide will be final. I won’t put myself through this again.”

“And what if I can’t decide?”

Any hope I have is lost. I was a fool to think he still cared for me at all. “Then I’ll decide for you.” He grabs my wrist before I can turn away, a question in his eyes. My breath catches in my throat.

His lips meet mine in a feverous, needy kiss. I fist my hands in the black silk of his shirt, desperate for more. I melt against him, the curves of our bodies fitting together perfectly.

The sweep of his tongue over mine tells me he truly does still love me and he’ll never leave. His fingers digging into the flesh of my hips tell me he never wants to be apart again. The saltwater on my cheeks tells him I never want him to let me go. I thread my fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, closer, closer. For a moment, I lose myself in him. I can imagine that it’s just the two of us and that’s all there will ever be. No war, no blood feud, no one to come between us.

Then the brush of metal against my brow mocks me, jarring me back to reality. It reminds me why I cannot give myself to him. We can never exist in tandem, his crown and I. Our chests heave as I break the kiss, lips tingling. I step from his embrace, watching his hands curl around my ghost. His bronze eyes shimmer with hurt.

“Have you decided?”

The brittle silence fills the space with dread. Each second he doesn’t speak drives another nail into what’s left of my heart. His mouth gapes open, then closes again. I should have known this was coming.

“Give me until tomorrow to think.” His fingers brush my arm. “I need to sort out my thoughts-“

“Save it.” I shove him away, letting the sparks gathering in my palms burn against his chest. Furious with both him and myself, I quickly put as much distance between us as I can.

A thin blue line of flame stretches across the hall, halting me in my tracks. My lightning rises in response to the challenge. “Cal.”

“Always one for drama.” I want to kiss that damned smirk in his voice away. “Can you at least wait to storm off until I’ve finished talking?”

“Fine.” I cross my arms but refuse to look at him.

“What I was going to say,” he starts quietly, extinguishing the flame now that he’s confident I won’t flee, “was that I need time to decide how to tell my council that I want to step down.”

I glance back at him. “Step down?”

Tiberias gently grasps my hand, tugging until I face him fully. “It’s always been you, Mare. I was a fool to let you slip away. Now I know that I can’t live without you. Since you left, I can’t sleep, I barely eat. I wake up reaching for you every morning. When I think about the future, you’re always there.”

“And your crown?”

With light, careful fingers, he takes it from his head and admires the intricate handiwork. It is beautiful, not even I can deny that. Thin ropes of shimmering copper and strong iron twist over each other to form a thick woven band. Much more ornate than the raw iron one he wore when he was first crowned. His lips twitch in the faintest of smiles before he flicks his wrist, igniting a white-hot flame. The crown hisses and pops, turning a searing red.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, watching molten beads of metal drip to the floor, where they sizzle against the plush carpet like eggs in a frying pan.

“It’s just a useless hunk of metal.” He shrugs. “I’d rather have you.”

My mind is a whirlwind. I don’t know what to think. I’ve waited forever to hear him say those exact words, played the scenario out a million times in my head. I’d fold into his arms, sobbing because I was finally enough, he chose me, he chose me, he chose me. I’d kiss him again and again, determined to never let him slip away.

It hits me then. I’ve been using Cal’s betrayal as an excuse to cover up what I know is the truth. I cannot continue to pretend that it was solely his choice that keeps us apart. He alone cannot bear the blame.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” Hurt and confusion war in Cal’s beautiful face. The face that haunted my dreams for months, just out of reach. My chest feels hollow.

“I can’t do this- us.” I allow myself the small comfort of touching three fingers to the back of his hand. For once, he is cold. “Who will rule if you step down, Cal? Another Silver noble will step up to take your place and we’ll be right back where we started. Or worse, we’ll lose what little progress we’ve made. We can’t be together, no matter how much we want to be.”

He shakes his head, desperately clasping my hand. “No. Please, no. We can figure it out. I don’t have to do it right away, we can dissolve the monarchy and put a real government in place-“

“That could take years. Time we don’t have. My people are suffering- I have to do something tangible to help.” Gently, I remove my hand from his vicelike grip.

“And we aren’t right for each other. We both may burn, but for different reasons. Fire and lighting are made to destroy. They cannot coexist in a peaceful world.” With every word, I shatter a bit more. As much as I want to engulf myself in the warmth of his arms, I know it’s the wrong choice.

I almost lose my nerve when his Majesty, King Tiberias Calore VII, rightful Flame of the North, falls to his knees, tangles his fingers in my pants and begs. “Mare, please. I love you. I’m willing to give up everything I was meant for, turn my life around for you.”

I shake my head, tears splashing to the carpet. I know that there is no coming back from this. Once I walk away, I turn the page on this chapter of my life. I turn my back on the truest love anyone has ever been privileged to receive. If I do this, I leave Cal behind forever.

“Get up, Tiberias. Kings don’t kneel.”

@queenlannisterofthesevenkindoms @allthestarswecansee @drowningarchangel @wolffrising @photofeesh @maddieimhot @sierrakmalian65 @livy1195 @devitameatball @stellalanelovesyou @trashy-not-sassy @sunsummoner @lightword-g @oooohkinky @dressedindustandshadows @tntwme @elide-lochan-salvaterre @dreams-of-feysand @choosemarecal @awesomethreedragons @coolbooklover1234 @nxyatr @charactercreationgirl

#red queen #rq #glass sword #gs #kings cage #kc #war storm #ws #red queen fanfic #mare barrow #cal calore #tiberias calore #marecal #marecal fanfiction #evangeline samos #scarlet guard #victoria aveyard

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no-longer-an-alley-cat · 5 years

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‘“Asexual” Isn’t Who I Am’: The Politics of Asexuality

by Matt Dawson, Susie Scott, and Liz McDonnell

Comedic commentary that might verge on insightful by me.

Join me as I try and fucking deal with this particular hangup I have

Arright, so basically these folks are reacting to other folks who say that asexuality is the fucking cats pajamas and is going to do everything from redefining relationships to destroying neoliberalism.

Basically, they’re saying that this is telling asexual people how they ought to be, and not actually looking at what it is and how asexual people actually are. In fact, they think asexual people are a very diverse bunch and you can’t make general claims about their politicalness. Which is fair.

Anyway, they’re going to look at the politics of asexual people, and they’re doing this in an interesting way where they are committed to studying the world from the participant’s perspective. This is interesting because, generally speaking, it is impossible for a researcher to entirely remove themselves from an interpretation, because they’re human, and that’s not how humans work. It’s particularly interesting if this means they’re just going to take their participant’s word as gospel, because folks have this nasty habit of lying to researchers.

So, working through past literature now.

They got a good handle on the different parts of the spectrum though, nice, nice.

And critique essentialism, all to the good.

Then they’re saying that the establishment of asexuality as legitimate relied vision of an asexual person is the ‘gold star’ asexual (yikes yikes yikes) cause that sectioned off some people who you could still intervene with, so the social dominance of sex in society is unchallenged. This negates the ‘radical potential’ of sexuality which is to suggest the FUCKING WILD NOTION that maybe it’s okay for anyone to not want sex. Like, maybe sex could just be a thing, and not a prerequisite of being normal or intimate???

Anyway, the idea that it could suggest this buck wild idea basically spawned a bunch of articles expecting asexuality to pretty much fix everything wrong with society. We’re questioning mainstream culture, we’re rethinking intimacy, we’re desexualising identity, we’re radical (in the political sense of the word) just by existing. Also just “fundamentally anarchist” because we reclaim agency over our body by not wanting to have sex? Dunno about that one, but I might be down for an A tattoo in ace colours.

But our three musketeers say these are a bunch of claims just pulled out of a collective ass, there’s not data whatsoever. Also, all that stuff talks about ‘asexuality’ like it’s some distinct entity (like how folks talk about capitalism but good) and not a thing that people have. So there’s no discussion of how other aspects of people have (race, gender, class, disability etc) interact with asexuality. And of course they do, people are people.

And they want to see some real resistance, alright? Some proper political action and mobalisation, not just thinking radically. Or, I guess, living in a way that resists norms? Or maybe that counts as taking a political position. I guess we’ll have to wait because now it’s time for METHODOLOGY.

So right off the bat we’re talking qualitative. Interviews and a diary. Data from a study originally looking at asexual identity formation and the construction of intimate relationships, but they figure they had enough to do a little article on the politics of it too. And like they said before, they’re looking at what it is that their participants think they’re doing. They call themselves out a bit, saying that maybe their participants might not know if they’re being political, but I’m gonna add in here that this interview was probably advertised as being about the asexual identity. Folks were asked if they had ‘been an activist in the asexual community or in relation to asexual issues’ sure, but it wasn’t advertised as political so they might not be getting the political peeps!

AND ANOTHER THING (cause we’re into recruitment now), you’re not going to get the people like me. The people who care Very Much about their identity, but are also Very Scared to talk about it with pretty much everyone who hasn’t unlocked like sixth tier trust. And they don’t mention this, even while they’re patting themselves on the back for how many diverse identities they got (never mind that the sample is nearly 74% white, 76% younger than 29, and 54% had a university qualification). People who have the most issues are unlikely to be fitting into those categories, either.

But fuck it, let’s get to the analysis.

How central did the participants consider asexuality to be in their lives? You’ll be fucking astounded to know that it varied!!! Amazing, right? But mainly what they’re looking at is whether folks saw asexuality as a key factor marginalising them. (This is about where I started crying last time, but I’m channeling that into anger to try and keep it together so buckle the fuck up).

Our brave trio admits that they did “””””of course””””” find evidence of discrimination against asexual people, and say that they really don’t want to downplay it, but hey, most of the people they talked to didn’t experience it! They just talked about hearing about it! Like, NO SHIT MOTHERFUCKERS! YOU TALKED TO 50 FUCKING PEOPLE WHO WANTED TO TALK TO YOU! YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO FIND A TREND WITH THAT?? And also let’s not downplay what it can do to a person to hear about how others like them are threatened with rape, huh? Let’s maybe think about the effect of that, huh?

Like, yes, the participants who said that it’s not as bad as the history of oppression that homosexuality has are entirely valid. But the researchers who say multiple times that they don’t want to downplay the effect of discrimination and oppression and then ignore the instances they found in favour of talking about ways it could be worse are NOT.

And then they’re saying that it’s not significant to come out, because it’s ‘a lack’ and they cite a couple of participants who say they don’t come out on a regular basis and here is where we get to crux of my problem with their methodology. Because what they’re doing is they’re taking what these participants said and they’re going, ‘oh, yup, that must be why.’ And that’s all well and good, but if some rando I barely knew asked me why I didn’t come out to all an sundry I might also say something along the lines of ‘oh, well, you know, it’s not a huge deal, it’s not something the public needs to know.’ But Reader, it is a huge deal, at least for me. I’m fucking terrified of coming out to people. People LIE. We lie all the time, we tell people what we think they want to hear, and that means that there could very well be a reason I’m reading what these people said and hearing echoes of the tired old aphobic discourse.

Not saying that is what’s going on, just raising the possibility which they have yet to do.

Yeah, yeah, see here, heteroromantic asexual talking about how they realise their privilege and can pass as straight. Sound familiar? Maybe that is their experience. Maybe it’s what they think the interview wants to be their experience. WHO’S TO SAY?

Yeah, so they conclude that maybe asexuality isn’t very central in their participant’s lives, and we get the title quote of “asexual isn’t who I am. This is just what I am, not who I am as a person.” Which is interesting, because I was just reading another article where gay men said the same thing.

But they say this quotation shows that asexual can be a description of actions one doesn’t take rather than an aspect of a person which creates marginalisation and UM WHAT? You could just as easily say that ‘this is just what I am’ shows a deeper claiming of identity, making it a physical aspect of you which could actually lead to marginalisation. Hey, maybe the context of the quote makes it clear. Don’t know, though, BECAUSE THEY DON’T GIVE ANY.

And now we’re moving on to activism, which I don’t expect to make me as angry, but we’ll see. (Editor’s note: It did.)

Yeah, so there’s more of the drawing the line between how people would like recognition of asexuality and the activism necessary for the wider LGBT community, which, again, valid. But they say that this means that the people who say this feel less need to confront forms of discrimination, when the selfsame participant they are discussing explicitly outlined a need for better education.

APPARENTLY there was no suggestion that the educatory action people engaged in linked to a wider question of social change which, I mean, sure, had you not already called yourself out on participants maybe not being politically conscious I might allow. But you did, and what’s more, I bet you didn’t even fucking ask them if they saw it as social change. And since when was education not social change? How are folks supposed to know that it’s okay not to want sex if you don’t TELL THEM THROUGH THE EDUCATION SYSTEM???

And then they have the nerve the fucking audacity to say that while it is “of course” admirable, it doesn’t show a desire to challenge a social system. EDUCATION IS A SOCIAL SYSTEM, YOU ABSOLUTE WALNUTS.

Now, online activity

This is mainly about people’s attitudes to AVEN which I don’t really know anything about, but it’s people talking about how it feels to find a label and answers, which is some much needed wholesomeness. And I feel like people’s opinions on a particular organisation or website to use for community are much more valid to take at face value. Much less interpretation going on.

LGBT groups/politics. Oh dear.

“The relations between our participants and LGBT groups were complex and multifaceted” oh, I bet they were.

Again, they found more people talking about hearing others excluded rather than seeing them excluded themselves. Kinda idea that the political standpoints might be different, but they don’t really dwell on that, they just head on through to really ram home the idea that asexual people are all different and might not hold inherently queer political perspectives.

And finally, finally, the conclusion. People are different, political literature is wrong, asexuality is not a fucking cure all. Now, they outline a couple of responses to their argument that folks might take.

One: the idea that by being asexual, people have the potential to question society. They say this takes people out of their context, and that their way of looking at human action is better.

Two: a radical politics that hopes to transcend sexual society is the best/only way for asexuality to get social acceptance, never mind what the experiences of the participants say. They don’t want to say whether this is true or not, but say that sociologists should distinguish between arguing for the things they like and arguing that those things are what a certain group should do.

And now for my own conclusion. I know I have issues. I am very ‘sensitive’ around this topic. And, just to be clear, I don’t think there’s anything intrinsically radical in being asexual, either. I think it might inspire a person to take a radical bent on life, but that’s up to an individual.

But these folks, these silly sausages, in their eagerness to disagree with everyone fell over themselves to gleefully stab each other in the foot. They took an extremely shallow look at their data, not interrogating why people might be telling them these things at all. Additionally, they clearly didn’t want to find much evidence of social activism, and one can’t help but wonder if that is why their definition was so crushingly tight that it didn’t.

They got to an answer I agree with, but boy howdy did they make a mess doing it.

#i'm gonna have to write a proper review on this #i sunk so much time in

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desertdragon · 3 years

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Had a sudden reminder listening to the first ED for the anime adaptation again but I think subconsciously part of me was influenced to automatically take 'Hydaelyn's Blessing' as evil and easily corruptible because telekinesis in From The New World is constantly being nicknamed Divine Power, God's Gift etc. and even when it's not called that explicitly it's described with a sacred reverence and divine terribleness when in use and by those who witness it (especially the race oppressed by the protagonists society who live under constant fear of it for generations- it's worse in the book, even this equation the protagonists society gives telekinesis to godhood reflects their arrogance which bites them in the ass) and I was a young teenager when I experienced that epic for the first time while also trying 1984 and getting into Brave New World*

So like I was already accustomed to thinking anything that comes from supposed "divine" influence is going to have a harmful catch and even if it doesn't have one inherently then there will be people who corrupt it (or manufacture the myth of it) and via the nature of its divine otherness from the natural world (I say this influenced from a Christian/Catholic dominated society like the US), the consequence of that corruption will be far more catastrophic than the worst humanity can do on its own devices, and I already have a personal distrust of divinity as it is

When I saw people easily taken by the prospect of how great and cool Hydaelyn is and how she must be on the WoL's side and is of course a good force in the world I just couldn't follow that from the start, my gut reaction was there's no way a divine power that can do anything won't have its secrets and agendas; how can a divine being existing on a separate plane and perspective from humankind by default ever truly comprehend a human point of view, human boundaries, and human feelings? So Vaste's story ended up in the direction it did without me giving it hard thought- it was like breathing

Vaste has this same distrust deeply engraved into her being and conscious, for she's had to pay the price of being caught in a God's sights, and the consequence of her own actions thereafter which all contribute to her guilt and anger, thinking things like Why Me? (this question followed by immediate guilt knowing it then would've happened to someone else**) or What If I Made A Different Choice That Day? and so on; her situation is her own crucifixion first by the random and unpredictable whimsy of a God, then by her feelings of powerlessness

Divinity then being passed to her by the way her body changed, by the way others began to view her and harness her as a solution to their issues or to fulfill their own jingoism and self satisfaction/desires, did nothing but fuel this negative feedback loop on her self esteem, she internalized and perpetuated her own dehumanization in a sense, and constant comparisons to or treatment reminiscent of godhood I imagine didn't help her process or try to forget how Hydaelyn violated her the moment she was changed into Her champion- it'd be like being put on level with your rapist/abuser and being praised for that where that reputation only worsens the fact that no one will believe you if you tell them what happened

Divinity is scary to her, her goal is very much about looking at a broken system and having the audacity to unite likeminded people to break their own oppression under that system, as much as it is trying to find justice in holding the untouchable power that violated her so to accountability

Also give Broken Apple/Wareta Ringo a listen (here's the lyrics) and have another link to the From the New World novel as well because you can never have too many IMO and it's the definitive version of the story

* (I was into dystopian fiction like most other teenagers back in my day but From The New World/Shin Sekai Yori fueled me into going to the hard hitters like Brave New World & 1984 as well as Battle Royale where the dystopia is more grounded in parallels to real world oppression/racial/class divides than YA of the time- think the only YA of that type I read was Hunger Games and even that was unconventional to the norm/more grounded in its own way, I also grew up reading Orwell's Animal Farm thanks to my dad's book collection)

** The ability she had to settle for pushing her predicament onto someone else like her original plans for Gan became something she's capable of at her lowest point, the moment when she felt hopeless through and through truly preferring the oblivion of a real death to life and to me does count as one of her evil actions purely because she understood, even in her unjust suffering, the consequences and weight her position brings and the horrors another would face in her stead so in her weakness wanted the easy way out rather than confronting the problem herself- all a conversation they've had and which I want to write

#hc

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airmoss · 7 years

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Listen..

I really don’t like serious discourse. I’m not the biggest fan of call out culture.

I’m someone who wants to understand where other people come from, and then base my decision on the kind of person they are. I forgive when mistakes are made. People need to learn what they do is wrong, and how to improve.

I try not to use violence, or be cruel, or get angry. Yes, trauma can get the best of me, but I want to show compassion towards people who don’t understand the bad mistakes they make.

NOW.

I’d like to make something very clear

There is a BIG difference between someone who makes a very bad mistake, VS someone who IS JUST PURELY BAD AND EVIL.

I am Christian, and the question of “is violence right?” comes up. A lot.

Let me tell you something, if you go to any pastor and ask this question, if they tell you yes, they are wrong. If they tell you no, they are also wrong.

The answer depends. Fuck. Look at the bible. You got them 10 commandments and I swear to heck one of them says “do not murder”. So why is it that God deliberately commands his people to go and kill those that stand against him?

((you think about that))

Now I wonder why the rise in transphobia is really bothering me.

Listen, @smstransformers @tilallareimagined especially are going through a lot of hatred and I’m genuinely disgusted.

More and more, Trans people in my community are murdered and kidnapped all the time. Today I met a two spirited person that had 7 of their trans friends disappear, die etc within this year alone.

I’m done. I don’t want to watch my family get killed and murdered by these toxic transphobes.

Yes. I am kind. I give compassion. I want to understand, and I want to educate those who don’t understand what being Trans is like because let’s be real I’ve been in that situation and learning about what Trans is and the whole notion of it can be very intimidating.

I am also a fierce warrior. I intend to protect my community, and my family no matter where they may be in the world (that’s right. Trans people. You’re my children now).

I’d be careful. I don’t tolerate transphobia, racism, antisemitism , homophobia, sexism, etc.

You all disgust me that you have the audacity to pick on people that haven’t even graduated high school.

I am an mentally ill. I am Asian. I am a trans Christian ADULT.

More importantly, I am a solder. I am a warrior that is here to protect my community.

To those who show this kind of blunt hatred with no regard or decent respect for human lives that don’t replicate your own, get the FUCK out of my blog NOW.

It’s not for you, and a place like this will never be here for you.

I am forgiving, but don’t fucking waste my time spewing hate all over my community with 0 remorse or guilt.

You can come back once you realize your sins and vow to never spread that kind of unethical nonsense.

okay.

--inhales deeply--

--waits four seconds--

--exhales deeply--

I don’t think people understand what it’s like to watch people you know and love disappear and die mysteriously due to the discrimination and oppression.

Tl;Dr - To ALL YOU transphobic, racist, , homophobic, sexist (etc) people. God bless your soul becuase with the way you are headed, judgement will be served and it will be hot and it will melt you away the same way your stomach acid eats away at everything that it touches.

#i willl delete this later tbh #i just needed to vent #yes i am kind and gracioud #do not test me #transphobia #its not really discourse #its my response to all the discourse thats been happening.

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sethshead · 4 years

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But this also presumes that there is some kind of Platonic perfection to which we must unproblematically aspire. There is the lingering but important question of disagreement; identity does not fully contain humanity, and there are many of us who are women, and/or trans, and/or people of colour who have good faith arguments against dominant strategic paradigms, or dominant cultures, norms, and rules. Time and again, I speak to people of my background in the whisper filled shadows of corners and corridors, quietly fretting about “getting it wrong” or being accused of collaboration or being a sell-out for voicing such criticisms. Even when such whispers have the audacity to become a loud conversation (behind locked doors) they rarely grow into public debates– too many of us fear we’re alone.

It’s been more than six years since Cross first expressed her concerns over the increasingly doctrinaire attitude towards social justice commentary from social justice activists. In the intervening time, demands to adhere to the latest, randomly fluctuating jargon and dogma have only grown stronger within those spaces while seeping out into the general cultural discourse as well. This need for conformity does little to dismantle oppression but much to diminish justice movements’ ability to self-interrogate, self-correct, and grow. And so in a postmodern age of information and discursive bubbles, the influence justice becomes purely formalist and fails to alter the core structural disparities that perpetuate inequality.

While Said recognized the potential for "nativism" among the colonized, he continued to play on a noble savage trope. By defining his nativism as a traumatic mirror response to the colonizer and not a universal salient that preexisted subjugation every bit as organic and rooted as it is for the imperialist, he whitewashed the history of his own people.

Likewise, Cross posits that toxicity in feminist and queer online spaces is brought on by patriarchal neoliberalism, not by the fact that toxic people exist anywhere, and that a critical mass of the abusive and manipulative will co-opt and derail any movement, tempting members to seek catharsis by stabbing in the back their own neighbors and allies.

Patriarchy, white supremacy, etc., are not so much characterized by who they empower as by what they allow the empowered to get away with. The problem is, for a certain group, an excess of freedoms and a lack of constraints. In such an environment, the worst, the most selfish and opportunistic, will thrive the most to the detriment of all others, even their coethnics or cogendered. But in a subculture similarly lacking internal checks and balances - especially when this is on account of a belief in the inherent nobility of its marginalized members - this kakistocratic effect is intensified, if limited in overall impact. Assigning blame to the dominant group for such malevolent influence does nothing to address a movement’s internal weaknesses, nor does it disempower the narcissists, the damaged, the self-seeking and malicious from rising to power within the given subculture. Expecting activism to engage, to energize the inherent goodness within the awakened oppressed is no less a liberal individualist ignorance of systemic flaws than what Cross critiques in social media corporation-friendly linkbait.

To revise the old saying of economists: there are bad people, but it is bad incentives that abet them. Rather than focus on altering people’s voluntarily actions, we might find it more effective to minimize the damage they can cause, or give them an opportunity to reconsider interactions rooted in the heat of the moment, when they are most manipulable by mob and elite dynamics.

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princessofbadassery · 7 years

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The headache above my left eye is officially named after the guy I was talking to today who said “I don’t think you understand that when you make straight cis white guys your enemy you’re making ME your enemy and that hurts”

Like, I was literally talking to him about how exhausting it is to be a queer person and have my and my friends’ humanity called into question every fucking day, and he had the audacity to say that I was calling HIS humanity into question by saying bad stuff about straight cis white maleness as an institution and about individual straight cis white guys. He literally said “When you dismantle those institutions, you’re also making me disappear”.

“I’ve seen you place greater moral value on people because they’re of color, or they’re gay, or they’re trans. You’re just as bad as the people who hate you.” ??????!!!!!!! People who have had different experiences than straight white cis guys??? Have things to say that haven’t been listened to before??? And celebrities and people on TV who are being celebrated who are of color, or gay, or trans??? Represent groups that haven’t been in the national or global spotlight before???? New contributions that are finally, FINALLY getting some platforms are valuable???? ESPECIALLY when they’re not full of the racism, cissexism and heterosexism that tend to make their homes in white straight cis minds because our cultural narrative has been, guess what, dominated by white straight cis voices for hundreds of years!!!!

What do I have to do to get you to realize that it’s not about erasing individual privileged people? What do I have to do to get you to realize that it’s about getting them (and, yeah, sometimes “them” is you) to scoot the fuck over so the rest of us can get a seat at the table?

There’s a BIG FUCKING DIFFERENCE between members of oppressed groups expressing frustrations about hegemonic privileged groups and saying you don’t think a group of people deserves basic rights and freedoms. Someone please make me stop adopting assholes and attempting to My Fair Lady them.

Also, and I’m angry I even have to say this, but aphobes and exclusionists, don’t touch this post. You’re not affiliated with me, I’m not making your point, I’m not on your side, ace people are part of the community and I’m not talking about them here, please leave.

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imherebecauseyourehere · 5 years

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𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙵𝚄𝙻 𝙰𝚂𝙺 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴 OPEN/ACCEPTING ON SINDAY ONLY

acherys said: Tristia, herd conformity, counterproductive pride.

TRISTITIA - A time my muse was overcome with needless self-pity.

💫—There’s no room in his vernacular for self-pity. He was a force of momentum from the beginning, on. He confessed to profound shame at having to beg for opportunities to avenge his pride after being defeated by a race that was reported to be “inferior” to his kind. He considered his position as the sole survivor of so many battles to be a wretched thing, and permitted no excuse or distraction to divide his attention from proving the worth of either himself, or the Human race. ...the latter being a staggering possibility, based on everything he was taught to believe. But he never pitied himself.

He had no pity for himself, when Adiane lashed out at him in rebuke for his audacity to survive when Thymilph had not. Critically wounded and barely fit to stand, he endured the waves of her unbridled ire as he understood that she acted from a state of incurable grief. A grief that he would know, too. Even after, he took responsibility for his Generals’ deaths, and embraced every opportunity that he could sink his claws into, that would teach, strengthen, or prove his merit, somehow.

Self-pity is for those who are content to sit still. That's just not the type of being that Viral is.

HERD CONFORMITY - A time my muse followed orders without question.

💫—As he proclaimed, he was the Commander of the Far Eastern Division of the Human Eradication Army -- and following orders was the meat and potatoes of the job. Viral was a resolute, energetic soldier who relished in his achievements. He had a customized Ganmen of a very advanced and unique design, and he quite flaunted his combat prowess. Viral was dedicated to his leaders and his place within the Beastman regime. There weren’t many he took orders from, essentially the Supreme Generals and the Spiral King, himself - but Viral did not question those few in the slightest.

...until Kamina showed up on the surface one day, and threw his entire reality ass-over-end. Viral made a good effort to keep chasing the values and beliefs instilled into him from his origins - forward, but eventually... the time would come when he would not only disobey his leader -- but he outright questioned the Spiral King, too, to the man’s face. Absolute madness.

COUNTERPRODUCTIVE PRIDE - A time my muse held themselves back for the sake of keeping an image.

💫— Being arrested in the middle of a wasteland desert was not exactly a plan. But he’d run amok as long as he could, protecting the Human lives below the surface, who feared and hated the idea of being forced to live under another tyrannical watch.

Viral hadn’t forgotten the weight of the Spiral King’s throne upon the capital city, and though the Humans had taken Teppelin for their own, renamed and rebranded it, it seemed that the soil itself only knew tyranny - so all that could grow from it was oppression.

Enki slept at last, lost somewhere between earth and an unending sky. He hoped it would be a restful place, beneath sand, lost to time, where no one could harvest his worn and weary metal bones for any more war.

The ugly irony of Human law was made even uglier by the death sentence crowned upon his head, in the form of steel restraints around his wrists. A brow, as pale as the arid view, lifted like a criminal in a noose, left to hang there by the neck in query.

“’Ohhh? Sentenced to death? How do you plan to do that?”

They hadn’t really figured it out. It was foolishness on every part. On his, for a rebellion that he knew wouldn’t survive the adamant willpower of Human civilization; and it was foolishness on their part, for believing that some words on a page meant a single damn thing outside of their safe little boxes, constructed from the purloined carcasses of his old reality.

The restraints around his wrists were laughable; the bars on his cage (they called it “jail”, and Viral thought that the Spiral King’s executions were more merciful than this.) would be malleable in his hands. And the Human children who had incarcerated him (cubs, at most; he’d first seen them with Kamina and the others) were too young to be in charge of other lives -- did they even comprehend their own?

But Viral didn’t test any of it. Any of them. He had made his point to Simon, through a brief, holographic exchange. And for the time being, he would wait. He didn’t really know what the next step ought to be -- only that it was sick at the roots, all around him, too familiar for him to feel the end of the Spiral King’s reign. He wasn’t an enemy to the Human race. He wasn’t an ally to all Beastmen. There was a light that he was looking for, and he didn’t care what form it took - what shape it belonged to. ...only that it would feel like it was truly alive, and this time -- even with hands as stained and vicious as his, he would protect it.

#acherys #.┖🎆┚—ғɪʀɪɴɢ sᴘɪʀᴀʟ ᴄᴀɴᴏɴs;#.┖✉️┚—ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ɪɴᴛᴇʀғᴀᴄᴇ;#Sinday Edition;#//I topped it off with a teeny drabble at the end there #HOPE THAT'S OK #The tea was just really good at the moment

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scientists-and-stars · 7 years

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On Fascists, Complicity, and Internet Trolls (and what you can do about them)

So. I got a message today from a hate-mongering, fascist nazi bringing up how we are both libras and Slytherins, as if I was supposed to see them as more ‘human’ and ‘relatable’ because of that. They were trying to lure me into a sense of false security before mentioning that we’re on opposite sides beyond those few things we have in common. They wanted me to respond: they wanted me to direct my anger at them so that they could turn it right back on me and attack me after making themselves appear more human and therefore harder to ignore.

And this got me to thinking, about neo-nazis and blocking people on social media and other such things. And before I knew it, I wrote this piece. So here you go.

Luckily, I’m too smart or maybe just too done with all of this shit to fall for the little trick the previously mentioned nazi tried on me. I immediately reported and blocked their ass, just like I did when my uncle refused to stop blatantly disrespecting me and trying to start shit with me and my friends. Like I did when a dozen college bros catcalled and shouted at me repeatedly from their golf carts on campus. Without a word.

Listen- education and awareness and speaking up are all vitally important, but there also comes a point where the only thing you can do is ignore them.

Don’t give them the satisfaction of letting them get to you. Let their rage fuel you and then move on with your fucking life, because you have better things to worry about that their bullshit.

As someone who’s an idealist, I know that little spark of valiant hope that says you can change their minds or go down trying. But as a skeptic, I also know that this is usually not the case.

However, on the flip side, I’m not saying unfriend every single conservative relative and never talk to anyone who disagrees with you, because that is absolutely not the right answer. Like almost every issue in life, there’s no black-and-white answer to this issue. ‘Pick your battles’ is a statement that comes to mind, but even that is not the entirely correct mindset because you shouldn’t necessarily look at every conversation with your conservative family members or online people as a battle. But what is correct, in my belief, is that you should never assume everything is cut and dry, and that you shouldn’t engage in pointless arguments with people who were never going to listen to you anyway.

But let’s look at the other side of the coin, shall we?

I am a white person. Therefore, I have a responsibility as a person with a privilege and as an ally, and in order to uphold that, I have to have uncomfortable conversations sometimes.

I have to educate my parents who don’t fully understand the ways things have changed. I have speak up when my uncle says something blatantly racist, even if I’m terrified to and I don’t want to start a fight and how will I know what to say and- the excuses go on and on. But in the end, it’s. not. about. me. People are literally being murdered, and I have the audacity to make this about me? Fuck that. I’m done letting my excuses and my anxiety stop me from being the advocate I should be (and often claim to be).

If I’ve learned anything from being raised Christian, it’s that if you say you’re one thing but you don’t live like it every single day, even when it’s hard and you don’t want to- you’re lying to yourself and everyone around you. This doesn’t mean you can’t make mistakes- hell no. Mistakes are to be expected. But if you don’t truly believe what you say you do, it’ll show in your life.

If you aren’t fully committed to furthering the equality of all people in every way you can, it’ll be obvious because you almost definitely aren’t acting like it. If you think you’re committed but you’re reading this and thinking ‘shit, maybe I’m not as committed as I thought?’, then you’re the reason I wrote this. Because I’m in the same place. As I’m reading this I’m realizing that I haven’t always practiced what I’ve preached, and that I need to reevaluate my commitment and start living it more unashamedly. This is no time for shyness or politeness.

This is all-out warfare and if I’m being complicit in any way and not fighting on the side of justice and humanity, I’m fighting against it, whether I like it or not.

You might be thinking that I just listed off two completely opposite ways of responding, and I understand if you are. It’s really, really freaking hard to navigate the line between speaking up and knowing when to move on and I can’t give you an all-defining answer because every situation is different. The only thing I can say with certainty is that you should always ask yourself these questions: “am I responding out of fleeting anger or am I thinking my responses through and being the better person, even if it sucks?”, “am I living out the values that I believe in, even when it’s uncomfortable for me?”, and “am I being a good ally/advocate to the best of my ability for those who don’t have the same privileges I do?”.

Meditate over the answers and don’t ever rush into a fight just for the sake of arguing. I believe there’s nothing wrong with ignoring your uncle’s rude comments on your Facebook posts as long as you aren’t being complicit in real life and you’ve already done your best to peacefully speak your mind and educate him (that said, please report trolls if you see them bullying or harassing someone else or if they are truly harassing you!).

In conclusion; nazis are bad, complicity is counterproductive, and nothing is black-and-white. Now go out there and start backing up your beliefs with actions. Donate, protest, volunteer, contact your representatives, educate your family members and friends, protect those you see being oppressed or harassed for who they are, and most of all Do. Not. Stay. Silent. Because none of us have time to be scared or complicit when real life oppression and battles are being fought.

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travelingmuslim · 7 years

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Muslim Travel Ban 3.0: What You Need to Know

Travel Ban 3.0: What You Need to Know

Last week, the U.S. Supreme Court agreed to allow portions of President Trump’s travel ban, otherwise known as the “Muslim Ban,” to go into effect.

The original Muslim ban, passed on January 27, sparked massive protests across the world and faced numerous legal challenges. President Trump then revoked this executive order and issued a revised version on March 16. This executive order continued to be blocked by federal courts, which viewed it as religious discrimination.

Now, the Supreme Court, which is the highest federal court in the US, has decided to leave parts of the Muslim ban in place until the justices hear arguments later this fall. As of Thursday, June 29, travelers from six Muslim-majority countries (Sudan, Syria, Iran, Libya, Somalia, and Yemen) are no longer allowed to enter the US for the next 90 days unless they can prove a “bona fide relationship” (close relative) in the US. Parents, spouses, siblings, and children count as close relatives, but grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins do not. Some travelers with certain business ties will be allowed entry, as well as travelers who already have a valid visa.

All refugees are also being denied entry into the US for 120 days if they do not have a “bona fide relationship” with a person or entity in the US.

The Trump administration is claiming this as a victory for America’s national security, as the policy allegedly will protect the US from terrorists. However, in reality, it holds Muslims from those six countries and all refugees collectively responsible for the actions of a few. The administration is playing right into ISIS’ narrative that Muslims are at war with the West and that Muslim values are anti-American.

On the contrary, the vast majority of Muslims in the West live peacefully, enjoy their rights and freedoms, and want nothing to do with terror groups.

The travel ban is based on fear, not facts. All 19 people who orchestrated the 9/11 attacks, which were used as basis for the ban, entered the United States legally on temporary visas. They were not refugees and they were not from any of the six countries currently banned. In addition, not a single person from the six banned countries killed a single American in a terrorist attack in the US since at least 1975, according to a Cato Institute study. Finally, the chance of being killed in a terror attack by a refugee, someone fleeing violence and persecution, is one in 3.6 billion.

Many believe the Trump administration’s actions are rooted deeply in xenophobia and Islamophobia and deliver on Trump’s campaign promise of a “total and complete shutdown of Muslims entering the United States.”

The requirement for a “bona fide relationship” is arbitrary, confusing, and severely harmful for refugees, many of whom don’t know anyone in the U.S. This is heartbreaking, as they are the very people who need entry the most. Refugees are fleeing a war in Yemen, the brutality of ISIS in Syria, famines, and unthinkable oppression; they are terminally ill patients who need urgent medical care. They are human beings. A 120 day ban puts them at risk for not being able to enter the country before their security clearances expire and having to begin the resettlement process all over again, which could take years.

There is also the risk that the Muslim travel ban will open the door to other policies that are rooted in religious intolerance and discrimination.

As American Muslims, we are tired of constantly being the scapegoats. We do not understand why or how we’ve come to live in a time when the president of the United States has the audacity to ban innocent people based on their religion and get away with it. It is infuriating and heartbreaking. Our communities are being torn apart, families are being separated, and those who live in the six banned countries are unable to reunite with their loved ones here in the US. We are dealing with the unprecedented normalization of discrimination in America but we will continue to keep our heads up and resist.

With all of the uncertainty around the ban, we’ve prepared a list of frequently asked questions that may help. If you’re traveling to the US, be sure to exercise caution and do your research. (Sources: ProPublica, HuffPost, and NBC)

How long will this travel ban last?

Right now, the ban limits travel for 90 days from the six Muslim-majority countries and suspends the nation’s refugee program for 120 days. But the Trump administration can lengthen these time periods.

What if I already have a visa?

Visas that have already been approved should not be revoked.

What if I’m coming as a tourist from one of these six countries and don’t have close family in the US?

If you don’t already have a visa and don’t have family in the US that meets the “bona fide relationship” criteria, you will not be allowed to enter. According to the Trump administration, “close family” is defined as a parent (including parent-in-law), spouse, fiancé, child, adult son or daughter, son-in-law, daughter-in-law, sibling, whether whole or half. This includes step relationships. “Close family” does not include grandparents, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, cousins, brothers-laws and sisters-in-law, and any other “extended” family members.

What if I’m coming as a tourist but am not from one of the six banned countries?

It is our expectation that all Muslims or people who appear to be Muslim may face discriminatory questions at the border. Even American citizens may be detained.

Muhammad Ali Jr., the son of boxing legend Muhammad Ali, was detained twice after the first Muslim Ban was introduced. He is not from those six designated Muslim countries that are part of the ban — but he is a Muslim. Even his mother, Muhammad Ali’s former wife, Khalilah Camacho-Ali, had to produce photos with Muhammad Ali for her to be released.

How broad is Customs and Border Protection’s search authority?

According to federal statutes, regulations and court decisions, Customs and Border Protection (CBP) officers have the authority to inspect, without a warrant, any person trying to gain entry into the country and their belongings. CBP can also question individuals about their citizenship or immigration status and ask for documents that prove admissibility into the country.

Does CBP’s search authority cover electronic devices like smartphones and laptops?

Yes. CBP refers to several statutes and regulations in justifying its authority to examine “computers, disks, drives, tapes, mobile phones and other communication devices, cameras, music and other media players, and any other electronic or digital devices.”

With a supervisor’s sign-off, CBP officers can also seize an electronic device — or a copy of the information on the device — “for a brief, reasonable period of time to perform a thorough border search.” Such seizures typically shouldn’t exceed five days, although officers can apply for extensions in up to one-week increments, according to CBP policy. If a review of the device and its contents does not turn up probable cause for seizing it, CBP says it will destroy the copied information and return the device to its owner.

Am I legally required to disclose the password for my electronic device or social media, if CBP asks for it?

That’s still an unsettled question, according to Liza Goitein, co-director of the Liberty and National Security Program at the Brennan Center for Justice. “Until it becomes clear that it’s illegal to do that, they’re going to continue to ask,” she said.

Travelers who refuse to give up passwords could also be detained for longer periods and have their bags searched more intrusively. Foreign visitors could be turned away at the border, and green card holders could be questioned and challenged about their continued legal status.

What if I refuse to hand over my smartphone to be searched?

“Asserting your rights at the border is risky,” said Margo Schlanger, who used to run Homeland Security’s Civil Rights and Civil Liberties Division.

If you’re not a citizen, CBP can block you from coming into the country for years. And that won’t necessarily stop agents from searching the phone anyway.

If you are American, refusing the search can lead to a legal gray area. CBP agents have the right to search your phone, but their code of conduct says they may not physically force you to hand over your phone. If you refuse a search, they can keep you at the border for hours, but eventually they have to let you in.

How can I protect my digital information?

Consider which devices you absolutely need to travel with, and which ones you can leave at home. Setting a strong password and encrypting your devices are helpful in protecting your data, but you may still lose access to your devices for undefined periods should border officials decide to seize and examine their contents.

Another option is to leave all of your devices behind and carry a travel-only phone free of most personal information. However, even this approach carries risks. “We also flag the reality that if you go to extreme measures to protect your data at the border, that itself may raise suspicion with border agents,” according to Sophia Cope, a staff attorney at the Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF). “It’s so hard to tell what a single border agent is going to do.”

The EFF has released an updated guide to data protection options here.

Can I record my interaction with CBP officials?

Individuals on public land are allowed to record and photograph CBP operations so long as their actions do not hinder traffic, according to CBP. However, the agency prohibits recording and photography in locations with special security and privacy concerns, including some parts of international airports and other secure port areas.

Does CBP’s power to stop and question people extend beyond the border and ports of entry?

Yes. Federal statutes and regulations empower CBP to conduct warrantless searches for people travelling illegally from another country in any “railway car, aircraft, conveyance, or vehicle” within 100 air miles from “any external boundary” of the country. About two-thirds of the U.S. population live in this zone, including the residents of New York City, Los Angeles, Chicago, Philadelphia and Houston, according to the ACLU.

As a result, CBP currently operates 35 checkpoints, where they can stop and question motorists traveling in the U.S. about their immigration status and make “quick observations of what is in plain view” in the vehicle without a warrant, according to the agency. Even at a checkpoint, however, border officials cannot search a vehicle’s contents or its occupants unless they have probable cause of wrongdoing, the agency says. Failing that, CBP officials can ask motorists to allow them to conduct a search, but travelers are not obligated to give consent.

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