#you mean i only get that privilege while im in the closet? you mean i have to hide an aspect of myself to be treated the same as a cis man? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

technowoah · 3 years

Text

Taunt

It only takes one time to realize you fucked up.

- ANON REQUESTED!

- WILBUR X FEM! READER BLURB

PROMPTS!

50) "Fuck off... I mean it"

24) "Get in the car" "..." "please get in the car"

⚠︎ angst to fluff, swearing, based on the song Taunt by Lovejoy ❤🐈 its short btw yall

[Updated 3 hours after upload I messed up the prompts sorry yall now it fixed]

She was always asking if he was alright. He always lied to her just to get her off his back for the night, but it was his fault that he wanted her to move in. He has to deal with that all of the time, it was her fault anyways. She made him upset, she made him not alright. She didn't know that. She constantly complained about things that didn't even concern her, she dodged their relationship making it more about her than them.

It was tiring to him. Constantly providing, trying to tie a broken knot, but he didnt let that get in the way of his career, or his friends. There's another issue, he never talked to his friends about her. She accused him of not being proud of their relationship and that became a problem that never got resolved.

Did anyone ever say "no" to her? Well if no one did, he would be the first one to do so. Fuck that.

He listened, and listened, but nothing kept this relationship together.

Wilbur talked to the three people chatting on his discord through his headphones as a soft LED lights flowed through the room. These nights were simple because she didnt have to see him when he decides to stream, he basically has his time set out for himself without trouble. He wasn't ecstatic, he felt horrible, but the facadè was there.

Her on the other hand wasnt happy either. She never got attention from him, and of course she could get moody from time to time like every other human being, but she always took it out on him. Who else was gonna be there for her? He acted like her cared, she knew he was lying. His "caring" consisted of humming and him responding like a default character in a video game. He didn't care, he acted like he never did. She needed that attention and he knew damn well she did.

She wasnt asking for much, at least to her it did feel like it. She knew when she was wrong, but she didn't want to admit it when they were both in the wrong too. They dont get each other, she didnt know why he asked her to move in when he didn't want anything to do with her. Ever since he moved her in he kept her in check like a child, she hated and loved that at the same time. Its true that she wanted her own way, she did what she wanted and gave her attention to whoever she wanted her attention to be. She thought that was fine, but apparently she dosent give any effort to the relationship.

Rolling her eyes at the thought she decided to leave the dishes in the sink dirty. She thought about leaving and finding someone who will get her, yes Wilbur listened to her, but there was no effort. When he's drunk and tries to "figure out what makes her brain tick" ends up in more distaster.

Lying in the couch her mind began to wonder, he always said that she could get away with anything. She always took it as a taunt. Everytime it was brought up. He called it "pretty privilege" and he always taunts her saying she abuses that power.

Her jaw clenched as she recalled those memories. Summoning the courage she brought herself up onto her feet and rushed to their shared bedroom. Taking a deep breath she opened their closet and started pulling her things off of hangers, not caring if she made a mess. She tossed her clothes onto the messy bed that they didn't bother to make this morning.

Bringing a small backpack out from underneath the bed she tried shoving most of her clothes into a bag for a night. In total frustration she emptied the bag and only backed necessities that she would need for the night.

She was tired of him and he was tired of her so she was doing both of them a favor. She made her way out of the door grabbing a coat and sliding on some simple shoes. Shooting a quick text to a close friend letting them know she's coming over. Her friend wasn't that close, but she decided to walk. As she locked the door to their shared apartment she debated texting Wilbur. She didnt want to, but she didnt want him to freak the fuck out because she wasnt home.

( Wilbur )

Me: Ill be back for the rest of my stuff tmrw.

[Read]

She closed her phone and started on her night time journey down the street trying to let everything from the past few weeks go with the cool wind.

Him on the other hand stayed silent. He had just finished his stream and had gotten a text saying that she'll be back for the rest of her things. This was inevitable, one of them had to leave, but to him it didnt seem right. He didn't want her to leave. Something in his heart was making him chase her back, the same thing in his heart that moved her into his apartment in the first place. Maybe it was love, maybe he wanted to persevere and have someone in his life. Something in his mind was telling him that he let go of something special.

Wilbue thought about it as he shut everything off and went to go grab his belongings, before rushing out the door to try and find her. Sadly to his discovery, she turned off her location. He finally made it to his car and started driving towards his house to see if she was around there.

He couldn't call a friend because she never introduced her friends to him. She did that on purpose because of him not doing the same. As he drove down the not so busy streets of Brighton he thought if he could get to know her, pull emotions and feelings out of her and see the real her. And if he cant do that? Who knows what will happen.

He remembers this face she always pulled when he always said "Im alright." She scrunched up her nose in annoyance and he always took it as a taunt because he couldn't figure out the real meaning. They were both going at this the wrong way, he dosent know anything about her and maybe thats the problem, but she needs to calm down as well. She needs to start paying attention to both of them instead of herself.

He was seated at a stoplight until he saw a figure on the sidewalk walking past him. The person looked shocked then kept walking, but even faster this time. He rolled down the window to see it was Y/n walking. Wilbur ran the red light and found a place to turn the car around to follow her. He drove a couple of feet in front of her before putting his hazard lights on and stepping out of the car to confront her.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Wilbur said while getting our of his car.

"Im getting away from you. And what are you doing here?" She said.

"Well I could ask you the same thing. Its not safe out here alone." He calmed down a little. Wilbur's main goal was to get her back home so they can have a civilized talk. He didn't want to be out here.

"Oh? Ive been fine for the past fifteen minutes." She sasser back.

"That dosent mean its not safe!" He exclaimed.

She stayed quiet so that gave Wilbur an opportunity to speak.

"See, I want us to go home so we can have a civilized talk without feeling defensive. I want to get to know you, I know you're my girlfriend and yes, it was my mistake rushing things. Im not putting the blame all on myself either." He finished and she stayed quiet with her arms crossed infront of her chest.

"Are you cold-?"

"Fuck off...I mean it." She said while trying to pass hin on the street.

He stood in her way and he kept doing that every time she tried to get around him. Wilbur saw that she was getting annoyed at his actions. Wilbur held her by both of her biceps trying to hold her still so he could talk.

"You're being childish!"

"Fucking listen to me! You cant just keep walking away from us! From me! This is not healthy!" Wilbur yelled. He let go if her and surprisingly she stayed there.

"Get in the car." He ordered but she stayed silent. "Please get in the car."

She turns around gets in the passenger seat if Wilbur's car. He sighed a sigh if relief and followed her lead. They both got settled into the car and he didn't move. He wasn't going to drive unless she talked to him. After a minute if silence she spoke up.

"I know its- its both of our faults. And i have some things I need to work on. I cant just run away. Also your thoughts of me need to be rearranged, but I need to give you all of me. At leat 50 percent so we can start somewhere. But Im sorry." She said while she looked down at her lap maybe in embarrassment.

In the end they both wanted to fix themselves. In the end they wanted eachother. And they can both see that.

He leaned over the armrest and gave her a kiss on her cheek. She turned to him with a surprise look on her face, like this was the most affection he gave her, because it was true. She grabbed his hand that rested on the armrest too as he started to drive towards their home together.

As the nightly drive continues on and now shes drifting off in the passenger seat as In Love With An E-girl plays softly. She's left too tired to talk with Wilbur and be in touch with her emotions right now, but she'll do it for the both of them this time.

#mcyt blurb #mcyt angst #mcyt fluff #mcyt x reader #mcyt headcanons #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot headcanons #wilbur soot blurb #wilbur x reader #irl wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot angst #mcyt x you #mcyt imagines #mcyt x y/n #wilbur soot x you

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maschotch · 3 years

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Not people saying you’re mysogonistic for not liking jj 💀💀 I don’t love jj and I’m a woman.......I dunno how that adds up. Hate it when people say that about female characters who are written by sexist men even tho they don’t realize plenty of women don’t like that character BECAUSE she was clearly written by a man. I don’t even personally dislike jj, but I definitely don’t care for her all that much because the writers just kinda....drop the ball with her (tbh if they went with the closeted lesbian storyline or gave her any sort of real character development outside of torturing her then maybe she would be one of my favs)

I also love that you bring up the occasional bigotry of the team. For me, it’s definitely more reflecting the writers’ values then the characters, like they’re projecting. If the writers weren’t so bigoted maybe they could have shown Morgan growing out of his sexism (instead of dumping it in there that hotch is when there’s no proof of it????). Hotch luckily doesn’t really have moments after The Tribe where he says the dumb shit that he did there, but I wish they could have given him development in the episode? Like maybe understand that imperialism is real and these people are actually still affected by it (and it’s promoted by the very government he works for). That would have been a super interesting development for him out of all characters to have.

Maybe have an episode where Emily recognizes her privilege? Idk she never gave me entitled vibes but she did kind of get the job rather easily because of her connections. Maybe have it drive some tension with people like Morgan who literally had to fight tooth and nail (as a black man too) to get to where she is.

But no. The writers on this show just love their bigotry too much 🤪🤪

yeah.. and again i feel bad for hating a character just because the writers are shit, but honestly i dont think i wouldve liked her anyway. i dislike the very core of her character because its solely founded on the emphasis of their ignorance. i can project and rewrite all i want to at least make her bearable or somewhat coherent, but at face value? she has that mean humor that makes me uncomfortable, she’s quick to get annoyed/frustrated which is just not something i ever wanna be around, her hypocritical displays of empathy rub me the wrong way, and i think she treats her friends/loved ones like shit. theres not a single thing i like about her character.

there are definitely times when the writers’ bigotry shines through some of the other characters—in more than easily dismissible dialogue. as much as i love hotch, his extreme view of justice and promotion of an authoritarian government is something that is fine in a show as a fictionalized fantasy of a benevolent government protected/implemented by morally upstanding law enforcement. but thats so fucking far from reality that its practically inapplicable. again, this is copaganda, so all this is expected to some extent. their faith in the criminal justice system is why they have these jobs lmao its kinda hard to ignore that. but while im throwing jj under the bus i figured i should elaborate on hotch’s very real flaws stemming from the same root. jj’s not the only one with some less-than-stellar traits based on problematic values

it is fun to work around it a little bit and maybe give some reasoning that makes their ideals a little more understandable: derek’s father was a cop who died in front of him, of course he’s gonna glorify law enforcement at least a little. this was the job best suited for emily that she had a foot in the door for through her mother. but at some point ya gotta just accept the copaganda for what it is and suspend disbelief that any of these characters would actually pursue this line of work. its a show about fbi agents. theres gonna be some dumb shit. comes with the territory. but theres a limit to how much im willing to ignore for the sake of casual media consumption. i tend to just avoid the episodes that focus on that kind of stuff, but jj’s constant presence is a painful reminder of the kind of show im watching and why criminal minds is a guilty pleasure of mine

#i think i got off topic from what you were talking about ajdjkajx but i wanted to point out the pervading biases interwoven through the show #idk jj just always makes me think of these things #any time she does something annoying like making fun of reid its a glaring reminder of the values of the show #asks #criminal minds really is an exception for me. i dont watch many other cop shows—theyre not that interesting to me #not worth the inevitable propaganda anyway #but cm has SUCH good characters with intense relationships #and theres something about the overall pacing of the show that makes it so easy to watch #i doubt its worth it tbh but its still so enjoyable.. its addicting #close my eyes to the bullshit and focusing on the family dynamics and everything else that makes the show great

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soulvomit · 3 years

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stuff with gender anguish about not fitting in with today’s current gender constructions

From another post I made: I need to talk about 20th century gender norms at some point as a living breathing 20th century fossil and how different it was. To most straight people, being gender non conforming meant gay, trans was on the far end of the gay spectrum, and gay was associated with being socially Not Normal at a time when you had to be Normal to get a white collar job. (The whole Normalhood thing im gonna talk about is VERY connected to mid-late 20th century construction of the white middle class.) Apropos of gender specifically... I’m not sure how 90s/00s genderfluid/genderqueer map to NB, or whether they do. It’s a big reason I am weird about IDing as NB - because it seems to mean something else than my particular understanding of my identity as it was formed in the 1990s. (Another thing is my social world being more people over 45 at this point and also I’m in a hetero relationship.) Part of 90s GQ stuff was that you could identify as a man part time, a woman part time, you could contain multitudes. “Woman-identified person with a male side” was a legit identity within that, so was “man-identified person with a female side.” You could be one person in the streets and another in the sheets. You could be several people in the sheets, especially if you were aligned with kinky culture. (And for a long time... I was.) There was a greater sense in the 90s and early 00s in genderqueerness culture that you could be GQ for no other reason than wanting to be and it wasn’t assumed to be bundled with physical dysphoria or even desire to change your public social identity. Some spaces - like West Coast geek culture and goth culture - had enough flexibility baked in that we didn’t really need to go to LGBTQ culture to explore our identities, and there was a whole geek queer sensibility that was evolving alongside of the broader LGBTQ culture that was definitely its own... thing. And while people *say* that NB doesn’t mean any one particular thing or any of these things, that’s not always the message I get when visible NBs on TV/in film are almost always at present one very specific image or “type” of person, and that doesn’t resemble me. NB representation on TV amounts to presenting NB as a third gender with very specific codified behaviors (androgynous AFAB person who binds and has body dysphoria). The message I get is that whatever my experience is, is better described some other way. Also the discourse around relationships with NBs is that a relationship with an NB is necessarily a queer relationship yet having been in relationships in and out of LGBTQ culture, I’m not really sure how to distinguish “a queer relationship.” My relationship is non-traditional in lots of ways and we’re both gender non-conforming in lots of ways though it doesn’t parse to most people because it’s along the lines of stuff that shouldn’t have ever been gendered in the first place. What my partner does not ever question however is his actual gender identity. The thing is, actually publicly identifying as anything but a woman would create weird problems in my life in terms of social dynamics, and other stuff, and probably an unpredictable series of ripple effects downstream. But - that... just means I’m closeted, right? And closeted doesn’t mean your identity doesn’t exist or isn’t as unreal as someone who isn’t? And what if - as a “shapeshifter” - my relationship to myself within my relationship *is* part of that shapeshifting? One of the things is that I’m in a heterosexual relationship. My relationship *is* one of my few spots where I’m happy in my skin, let alone happy in the world and I have no complaints with how I’m perceived in this relationship, and part of it is that practically every assumption about my gender is true, or has been true at some point, including the fact that I’m fine with being seen as a woman in the context of my relationship. It’s in other spaces besides the intimate, that gender stuff makes my skin crawl. My deep interior gender identity is “pixels floating in the ether, which can assume any shape or form.” My gender identity among other people in non sexual friend spaces is “friend.” My partner identifies as a cis het man. I don’t feel like my relationship has any special quality that’s different from queer relationships I’ve been in, other than identities people have. If my partner doesn’t feel our relationship is queer then I don’t feel it is, either... though it’s not exactly *traditional.* I don’t feel like our relationship is different from our hetero neighbors’ relationships regardless of whatever history I have. I have no way of knowing what my ostensibly-female ostensibly-heterosexual neighbors’ interior identities really are, or what their history is. And because we’re monogamous, it just never ever comes up. Our social world is about half queer and half not so nothing has changed. After decades of only dating people who had LGBTQ identities, and having a particular social world, now I’m with a cis het man from that same social world and nothing really has changed about the shape of my life. I’ve moved between different spaces my entire life, sometimes I perceived myself as a boy in a girl’s body, but sometimes I didn’t, and don’t. And gender is one of the spaces in which I feel like a chameleon. There seem to be a ton of gender expression based communities that disappeared since the 90s that either disappeared or were erased from discourse and that makes this weirder/harder to talk about. Another thing is that a lot of the discourse around pronouns (if pushed I’ll say I’m she/they but I am literally comfortable in anything, depending upon context) makes me really uncomfortable. Even in LGBTQ spaces it makes me uncomfortable. There’s the me that my friends know, and some of my family knows, and it’s a big enough world to contain that part of me at this point. I would rather not put my identity under a microscope in any space that matters. It’s weird but I wish I could just be “they” in the work, creative, etc, spaces, without the loading of what “they” means. I wish it meant nothing about the people who love me, or who I love, or how I love, or how I live my life, besides what pronoun I use. But it doesn’t mean nothing. That is why I hope more cis identified people will actually identify as they in the public sphere. There are plenty of spaces in the public sphere that I don’t think should be gendered at ALL. My wanting to be a “they” is in some ways more about wanting public anonymity and having formed my sense of self - at a tender time - online, than about my gender identity. Which means I’d be potentially appropriating “they” from people for whom it IS a deep identity, and yet... haven’t I spent half of my blog talking about how I’m not exactly the gender identity I advertise?? Haven’t I spent a long time up to now advocating for “they?” Isn’t feeling like a they, evidence that I’m a they? And the thing is, this is such a YMMV issue and the problem is that EVERYONE has competing access needs with EVERYONE ELSE. Anything one queer person wants or needs seems to oppress some other queer person, and it sucks. But sometimes I wonder if I even need to just recognize how cis het passing my life is and acknowledge my privilege. The thing is though at that point... is it how much oppression we’ve experienced or are currently experiencing, that alone makes our identity? That’s as silly an idea as saying I’m less of a Jew because I haven’t personally experienced a hate crime. And yes there’s a lot to shared oppression experiences forming group identities, but I’m not talking about group identity. I’m talking about personal feelings of identity.

#My chest stopped bothering me after my reduction #like - the relief was profound and being a size where I could go toward any expression I wanted based on a change of clothes - was enough

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ladynoirelf · 3 years

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Dark Crystal Tik-Tok challenge: Calling s/o the wrong name.

Deet to Rian:

Deet was writing up her midterm paper comparing Stonewood and Grottons weapons for her elective history class. Thanks to Rian and Ordon, Deet had tons of research material to work with thanks to Ordon’s collection and Rian’s expertise. Though she was having a bit of trouble remembering what a specific sword was used for. She also made a mental note to call up Amri and see if he could send her a picture of his family’s old bombs that they used. She called to her boyfriend:

“Amri! I-I mean Rian”!

“Amri”!?

Oh crud.

Rian walked out in robe, pink facial mask on and his hair tucked under a towel.

“Of all the names to call, you call Amri? Your EX”?!

“Im so sorry”.

“Amr-Does Amri sounds like Rian? D-Do I look like an egotistical grottan with a bad haircut who makes horrible fashion choices ”?

“Hey”!

“Oh don't defend him Deethra, short or long just pick man”!

Deet stifled the growing lump of a laugh in her throat. “He was on my mind, I meant to call your name-”.

“Why was he on your mind? Why are you thinking about your ex-boyfriend when you have all this”?! Rian circled his hand around himself.

“I need help with my paper”. Deet giggled, finding humor in her boyfriend’s reaction.

“No you know what, get an F”.

“Huh”?!

“Yeah, you want to hurt your boyfriend’s feelings, you get privileges taken away. No more help, no more access to the family weaponry, you want help you get Amri”. With a final humph and quick tightening of his robe, he left Deet alone cackling on the bed.

Rian to Deet:

After a successful date, Deet recommended that they grab some burgers and fries from Wimpy.

Deet was driving despite Rian’s gentle protest, but the young Grottan loved using the car since it took to roads so well compared to a Grottan vehicle that was more suited for the paved sirt of her hometown. The problem was that Deets turns were quite harsh and sharp as if she was still trying to trek through the caves roads.

Rian held on to the coat handle for dear life as Deet skidded the car into the parking lot, nearly knocking over one of the trashcans by the outdoor seatings.

“For the love of Thra! Mira you're gonna kill us”! Rian screeched just as Deet spiraled to park perfectly.

“Who”? Deet put the car in park, brows raised in question.

“Huh”?

“D-Did you just call me by your ex-girlfriend's name”?

Did he? He was too terrified for his life to even comprehend what he was saying.

“Did I”?

“Yeah, did my driving make you think of her”? Deet grinned leaning in close to a flustered Rian, who was clutching his thumping heart.

“Probably, she drove crazy like you. Though she didn't have an excuse she just liked giving me a scare”.

“Awww, you’re still going to introduce me to her right? She sounds fun”. Grinned Deet, grabbing her purse from the back seat.

“Oh yeah, she’ll love you”. Rian breathed, shakingly getting out of the car.

His legs were so wobbly Deet had to help him inside the restaurant.

Brea to Kylan:

Brea was on her phone while Kylan was at the foot of the bed folding their laundry.

As she scrolled through her phone, she got an email from her friendly ex, Rek’yr. Apparently, he had tickets to a museum benefactor gala. He was going to go with his plus one but apparently, they had to cancel. So Rek’yr decided to offer the two tickets for her and Kylan to use. Delighted by an evening out, Brea immediately accepted the offer.

“Rek’yr what are you doing on Friday”?

“...”

“A-Are you...Were you addressing me”?

Brea slowly looked up from her phone, mortified as she realized her error. Kylan looked at her, a mix of confusion and hurt on his face.

“... I am so sorry”.

“I-Its fine, i guess. I mean...It was a mistake right”?

“Yeah”. Brea’s lips quivered, tear bubbles forming in the corner of her eyes. Kylan cooed, pulling her into his arms he rubbed her back as she began to cry.

“Shhh, it's okay Brea, I know it was a mistake”.

“I-I-Im so sorry”. She wailed, clutching Kylan’s snotty shirt.

“There is nothing to be sorry for Princess”. Kylan sweetly assured, kissing her temple as she continued to cry in shame.

Completely forgetting about the tickets.

Kylan to Brea:

As much as Kylan was getting used to Brea’s family members randomly coming over to their apartment, It was a hassle when one of her sisters just came over randomly. The latest ‘visitor’ was Brea’s second older sister, Tavra. Who apparently stopped by to drop off some leftovers she thought he and Brea might like then left in a hurry.

So when he heard the door open, he assumed it was Tavra coming back for something.

“Did you forget something Katavra”?

“Excuse me, Ka-who”?

Kylan looked from his book to his girlfriend's confused frown. Brea pushed her sunglasses over her eyes, hands on her hip and amber eyes narrowed.

“Who is Katavra”?

“W-Wha”?

“You heard me”. Brea sauntered over, her intimidating demeanor forcing Kylan to scramble to the side of the couch. “Who is Katavara”?

“Is this a trick question or are you having fun with me”?

“Kylan, do I look like I'm having fun with you”. Brea leaned over, caging Kylan with her petite body. “I'll ask again.Who.Is.Katavra”?

“...Your sister”. Kylan warily answered.

Brea blinked, irritation morphing into realization. Her mouth opened in an “oh”.

“You mean Tavra”?

“Did you forget your sister’s name”?

“Well I mean, no one calls her Katavra so...Yeah I forgot her name. Sorry larva”.

“For the love of Thra woman”.

Mothria to Gurjin:

The best thing about being chosen to dance in the Sog community’s up-and-coming festival was that Mothria had an excuse to ditch Pop-Pa’s excruciating farmwork. To replace it with an excruciating hour of practice, though it's not all bad. It was nice to spend time with Naia, as both of them were partnered up to dance the part of the maiden. Although, having your ex-boyfriend as the head director can be quite awkward. Thankfully, Geal was very professional and only talked to her when needed.

Unfortunately, when Mothria got home after a long rehearsal her greeting was a little off.

“Geal I'm home, wanna get take out”?

“The FUCK you just call”?

Mothria stiffened as Gurjin stomped over to the foyer, arms crossed and eyes burning with anger.

“Did I call you Gael by accident”?

“Yeah, you did”.

“I messed up bad huh”?

“Mm-hm”.

“Couch tonight”?

“I'll get it set up for you”.

Mothria didn't move as Gurjin’s locs hit her snout as he swiftly turned to march to the linen closet.

“I love you”. She called.

“Love you too, but you're still on the couch tonight”.

Gurjin to Mothria:

If there was one thing Gurjin liked doing, it was messing with Mothria when was in a pissed mood. Not to pissed that would kick him out the loft, but pissed enough to at least get kicked out of the room for thirty minutes to an hour.

And he cooked up the perfect way to agitate his love moth even more.

His ‘victim’ was sitting at the kitchen island on her phone probably venting to his twin. With natural born charm, Gurjin slid to Mothria’s side wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“Hey, Lovemoth, why so sad”?

“Oh, just dealing with family drama Gur-Gur”. She sighed, leaning into his touch “Not to be a brat but can you cuddle me later. We can watch whatever I just want snuggles”.

“Of course, Resha”.

Gurjin bursted out laughing as he was roughly shoved on his rump.

“I freaking hate you”! Mothria growled, stomping their shared bedroom after gently punching Gurjin below the belt.

“OOF”! Gurjin guffawed as he clutched his gentiles “M-Mothy what about cuddles and movies”? “You're banned from cuddles and movies! I'm going over to Naia’s”!

“Can I come”?

“NOOOOO, people who call me by ‘Resha’ don't get my love”!

The fuming Mothria stepped over her still laughing boyfriend who was now rolling on the floor. Grabbing her purse and keys.

“Love you”! Gurjin wheezed, tears in his eyes.

“Eat sog”! Screamed Mothria, slamming the apartment door. Leaving a chukaling Gurjin on his own for the next few hours.

#stonegrot #royalmelody #deet x rian #rian x deet #brea x kylan #kylan x brea #kylan #brea #Rian #deet #Deethra #gurjin #mothria #oc x canon #Dark Crystal #dark crystal age of resistance #dark crystal books #dark crystal novel #ladynoirelf

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ladynestaarcheron · 4 years

Note

yay im glad that you’re asking for prompts!!! i’d love one where ava or ollie see their parents sleeping in the same bed and how they will react pretty pls 🥺 (i love how awkward nicky was when it was him who found them and i’m curious to see how the other two would react haha)

consider me always asking for prompts!!

hope you like this one!! (btw, this is obviously lpg-verse, but really i think anyone can figure out this prompt without being intimately familiar with that fic.)

---

Being four is so much better than being three. It’s only been a month, and already Ollie can say this with confidence.

There are things you just know when you’re four. Like how to tie laces without any help from Mummy at all. And all the letters. And how to count all the way up, as high as numbers go, if you want to.

And there’s just so much more you’re allowed to do! Like flying, even when Appa is gone and it’s raining so Mummy doesn’t want to stand outside. Only you have to promise you’re not going to go any higher than that branch over there. And when you bake with your aunt, you can crack the eggs. She can even show you how to do it with one hand, if you’d like.

The best part of being four, Ollie knows, is that you get to make your own decisions. All the time. You can pick your clothes right out of the closet and you can even choose mis-matching socks if you want! You can choose what to eat for lunch, and what kind of jam you’d like on your toast, and sometimes you can even choose to not have any carrots at dinner at all.

Being four means you’re big, and being big means you have independence. Independence means taking care of yourself.

Mummy and Appa still live with them, as he and his brother and sister are always quick to clarify when they share this. And they still cook and walk with them to nursery and help them take off their swimsuits when they’re too wet and stick to their skin. Independence doesn’t mean you’re alone. But it does mean you have to make your bed in the morning because with privileges come responsibilities.

Ollie likes some responsibilities. Like feeding Bugsy the caterpillar. That’s his favorite responsibility. Or taking all the plates off the table and giving them to Appa to wash. He likes that one because he’s the only one who does because Ava and Nicky haven’t yet learned not to run when they’re holding cutlery.

But some responsibilities aren’t any fun at all. Washing the mud off his boots is one of the worst of them. Or picking up toys even when he wasn’t the one who threw them around like that, but Nicky’s got a fever now so he has to do it.

Privileges are always good, though. Like staying up all night for Starfall. Or getting to keep Bugsy even while Mummy still won’t let Nicky get a dog. And the newest privilege they each got has got to be the biggest and the best. Their own room.

It’s only in the Velaris house. In the Sugar Valley house, they still all share a room. Ollie likes that room, and he likes talking to Ava and Nicky at night after Mummy thinks they’ve all fallen asleep, but he loves choosing whatever color he likes for the walls and picking which of his toys go on his bed and which go in the playroom. Plus, when it’s just him in his room, Ava never makes him let her hold Bugsy.

There are some—well. They aren’t really bad things. Just things he doesn’t like so much.

Like in Sugar Valley, if he has a bad dream, and he wakes up, he doesn’t feel scared anymore. Because Ava and Nicky are right there. But in Velaris, he wakes up and he’s all alone.

And now Ollie is at a crossroads, like Mummy is when she wants to stay home and read a book but he and his siblings really want to go play in the park. Mummy has to decide what will make her happier—doing what she wants to do or doing what they want to do, which will make her happy because she loves them so much.

Mummy always chooses going to the park.

Ollie swallows, pulling his blanket tighter around him. He looks over at his nightstand to see Bugsy curled up in his favorite corner of the aquarium. That makes him feel a little better, a little less alone…but he’s still a little scared.

He doesn’t need to wake Mummy up. He just needs…to see her. Bugsy’s little, so it makes him feel a little better, and Mummy’s bigger, so that’ll make him feel a lot better.

So he’s just—he’s just going to go to her room and see her and he’ll go right back to his own bed and he’ll be fine.

Oh, but he hates walking through the hallway at night! The shadows always look like they’re reaching out to grab him. Uncle Az told him shadows are nothing to be scared of, but that’s easy for him to say. Uncle Az is just as big and strong as Appa is. They never have to be scared of anything.

Four’s big, but not that big.

Ollie takes a deep breath at his doorway. He’s just going to run clean across, right to Mummy’s door, and then run right back. That’s all he’ll need to do. He’ll count to four, for good luck.

Ollie holds his fists tightly together, and begins to count. “One…two…three…four.”

On the last number, he dashes, as fast as he can, right to Mummy’s room. He doesn’t wait any time as he pushes open the door and steps in—one look is all he needs, then he’ll feel better and run right back—

But he doesn’t see Mummy.

Someone else is already there.

Someone with black wings big enough to cover the whole bed.

“Ollie?” Appa says, sitting up. “What’s wrong?”

Lying on the bed beside him, Mummy begins to stir. She turns over and sits up, too, when she sees him.

“Come here, angel,” she says. “What’s wrong? Are you coughing?”

Did…why is Appa here? In Mummy’s bed? Has he had a bad dream, too?

“Cassian, something’s wrong,” Mummy says, voice low.

Appa is in front of him immediately, picking him up and bringing him to Mummy’s bed. “Can you hear me, Ollie?”

Wordlessly, Ollie nods.

“He’s breathing fine,” Mummy whispers. “I don’t know…Ollie, what’s wrong?”

Ollie stares at the both of them, bad dream forgotten. “Why is Appa in your bed, Mummy?”

Mummy’s face is normally a lot whiter than his or Ava’s or Nicky’s and especially Appa’s, but now she turns pink all over. Appa bites his lip hard.

“S-sometimes,” she says, still very pink, “sometimes Mummies and Appas sleep in the same room.”

Ollie frowns. “Why?” Only triplets sleep in the same room. And they don’t do that when they grow up. That’s the whole point of the Velaris house.

Mummy’s mouth goes very thin, so Appa speaks instead. “Well, you know, Ollie, Aunt Feyre and Uncle Rhys sleep in the same room.”

That’s true, at least. But…

“But they’re married.”

Mummy stands up. “I…Ollie, did something happen? Did you…were you feeling unwell?”

“I had a bad dream,” he says. He looks at Appa. “Did you have a bad dream, Appa? And now you came to sleep with Mummy?”

Appa smiles at him. “That’s exactly right.”

“All right,” Mummy says. She still hasn’t changed back to white! Maybe she has a fever like Nicky did. “I can take you back to bed now, Ollie.”

“I will,” Appa says, still smiling. “Give Mummy a kiss, Ollie.”

He does, putting a hand on her face as he does so. She feels a little warm, but not like Nicky did. Probably not a fever.

Appa carries him back to his room—he doesn’t even notice the shadows, Ollie thinks, envious. And he doesn’t stop smiling the whole time he tucks him into bed.

“Hey, little lieutenant,” Appa says, which is his special nickname for him. “Can I ask you something secret?”

Ollie squirms in his bed. He’s so much better at secret-keeping than Ava or Nicky. “Yes.”

“What would you think if Mummy and I did get married?”

Ollie blinks. “In Velaris or in Sugar Valley?”

Appa chuckles. “Well, Mummy still has work to do in both places.”

“Why do you want to marry Mummy?”

“Because I love her and all of you.” He taps his nose.

Ollie yawns. “That’s good,” he says.

Appa laughs. “You think it’s a good idea?”

It’s hard to talk when it’s late at night and Appa tucks you in for the second time, but Ollie manages it. “Yeah,” he says.

Being four means you know things. Like you know sometimes Appa tells you he wants to marry Mummy because he loves you, but that can’t be true, because he loved you all before. So you know the real reason is he just wants to keep sleeping in her bed, even when he doesn’t have any bad dreams at all. But that’s all right. It’s better for Ollie, anyway, if they’re both in the same room. They’ll always be together…and they’ll always be with him and Ava and Nicky.

Even when he’s five.

#asks #anon #nessian #acotar ficlet #fic prompt #like pristine glass #this was fun!!#don't think i've ever written from the perspective of a child before #how'd i do?

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gvf-imagine · 4 years

Text

Part 2

A/N: as always feedback is welcome! I hope you all enjoy it ❣️also if you would like to be added to the tag list just message me

Tag list: @karrotkate @satingrass-maidensfair @justacollegestudentyay @love-philautia @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair

Word count: 3206

———————————————————————

It had been a week since the festival show with Greta Van Fleet, you found yourself listening to their songs on a daily basis and every once in a while you smile absentmindedly as thoughts of them ran through your head. That night with the boys ended with passion and insight. After having that moment with them in that field of lush grass they went back to their bus and you went back to yours feeling like a whole new chapter of your life had begun and you knew for a fact that would not be the last time you'd see them. You truly liked all of them, Josh made you laugh, Danny made you feel safe, Jake made you feel reckless and free, and Sammy brought you a certain aspect of self-involved peace. They all had great qualities about them that made them special to you in the short time that you were with them. They left an impression and you couldn't help but wonder if you'd left one on them.

Unfortunately the alcohol that swirled in your veins caused you to stumble into a sleepy stupor and by the time you woke up , hazzy, with a migraine, your tour bus was already long gone from Los Angeles and headed back home. You cursed yourself for not getting at least one of their numbers before going your separate ways. In the week since, you had been spending your time with yourself mostly. Lounging around your apartment, catching up on sleep and some of your favorite netflix series. Now it was friday morning and you had just woken up, not by choice but rather from the sound of some ungodly loud construction worker who was jack hammering the pavement like it owed him money. The sun was up, the birds were chirping, it was another typical day in your small town. Immediately upon waking your body craved caffeine, you hadn't drank at all last night so the headache slamming in your brain was surely due to the lack of said caffeine in your bloodstream. Nothing a quick cup of coffee couldn’t fix. In your ever flattering attire of jogging pants and a tank top, you moved down the hall to your kitchen, the sun shining through your windows and warming your skin like a gentle hello.

As the coffee brews you look at your phone, no messages or calls, which is not unusual as you don't have many friends or family still in the area. You open your instagram page with a flick of your thumb and you can't stop the smile that paints its way across your face when you see you had four new followers, Josh , Sam, Jake, and Danny had all found their way to your account, you followed them all back instantly and spent the next half an hour sipping your coffee and going through their photos. Four such gorgeous men literally at your fingertips, you were smiling so much your cheeks began to hurt. When you took a sip of your coffee and were met with a cold liquid you decided that was enough phone time for now, now it was time for a nice hot shower.

Throughout your shower you absolutely could NOT take your mind off the boys. Josh’s smile filled your mind as water cascaded down your body, relaxing your muscles and awakening your mind. What a beautiful man he is, so gentle and enticing, you licked your lips thinking about him.

The skin on your fingertips began to prune, it was time to get out. You wrapped a warm towel around your body and walked back into your room to get dressed for the day. You settled on a simple outfit, a high waisted jean skirt, with a yellow collared shirt and black knee high stockings. You were doing your makeup when you heard your phone chime in the bathroom, you smack your lips in the mirror, evenly spreading the matte,nude color across your moist lips. You shoot yourself a smile and go to get your phone.

Josh_gvf: “hey girl, miss me?”

You laugh , elated that one of them got in contact with you. That must have meant that he was thinking about you, it was good to know you weren't the only one that recognized the connection you felt.

Y: “hey Josh, how'd you know?” You write back perhaps a bit too quickly. You were not ashamed to seem eager, you were eager.

Josh_gvf: “I got a feeling ;) so guess what?” His response comes even quicker than yours.

Y:”what??” originally you had put three question marks but erased one as it seemed too overzealous.

Josh_gvf: “were playing in detroit tonight, nothing huge, just a bar show but we'd love it if you would come…..to the show mean” You could almost hear his flirtatious tone in your head, he would have shot you a wink as well. God a show sounded wonderful, honestly fuck the show, seeing the boys sounded wonderful.

Josh_gvf: “of course we would come pick you up, your town is on the way anyways” he sends another message.

Y: “of course! I’d love to come, what time?” you reply, your heartbeat was quickening in your chest and butterfly wings tickled the sides of your stomach. You were so excited!

Josh_gvf: “we’ll pick you up around 6 ok? Wear something cute, I need eye candy while im up on stage” more flirtation, god you loved it, you craved it you craved him. His words settled over you, like the warm welcome of an old friend, or that feeling you get when you hear a song you haven't heard in years.

Y: “sounds good and I’ll try my hardest not to disappoint ;)” you write back, you also send him your address.

Six o’clock was not very far away, only a few hours now. You wondered if you should change your outfit and you decide to find something a bit more tantalizing.

You dig through your dressers and rummage around in your closet until you've got the perfect outfit put together:

You looked over yourself in the mirror, happy with your creation, your outfit on, your hair was done and so was your makeup, just a few squirts of perfume and you’d be ready to go.

You were so excited to see them it almost confused you. Why do you like them so much , honestly, you didn’t know them that well even. You couldn’t help it , being around them felt right in every way.

———————————————————

You heard two horn beeps come from outside your apartment. You scramble to the window and see a stretch limo below you, a smiling Danny Wagner hanging out of the sun roof. You practically squeal , grab your phone and run down stairs. When you open the door the boys pile out of the limo to greet you.

“Oh baby” josh winces upon seeing your outfit. His face looked as if though you looked so good it hurt him.

“Enough eye candy?” You question gesturing to yourself.

“You look gorgeous” Sam says grabbing your hand and leading you into a limo.

“Wow you guys get limo rides to your shows? Man My manager just gives me 5 bucks for gas” you joke. Jake laughs loudly as he climbs in the seat next to you.

“It’s good to see you again (y/n)” Jake chimes with a glistening smile, as he rakes his fingers over his head and through his hair. As he moved you caught a whiff of his cologne , it was sweet and very subtle not at all the scent you thought he’d go with.

As the limo begins to move your eyes move to josh who was already looking at you with a hind of mischief on his face. You wondered what he was thinking about.

“You want a drink love?” He asked. Hearing him call you love made your knees weak. His voice was so enticing , like melted chocolate. You wondered if he tasted like melted chocolate too. That satire thought escapes your mind through your mouth as you say “yeah I’d love a drink” you answer, clearing dirty thoughts from your head.

“Southern and seven right?” He asks holding up a bottle of southern comfort.

“Yeah!” You chime , happy he remembered your drink.

“Good because I bought this just for you, girl” josh informs. Your cheeks are blushing and you know it, you can feel the tingling burn on your face.

“Aw you made her blush” Sam comments running his index finger gently down your cheek. Josh looks over to you as he pours your drink. His eyes scan your face , lingering a bit on your lips. He looked at you with hunger as if you were sitting there naked and waiting for his touch. That image sent chills down your spine, he winks at you as he hands you your drink. Suddenly your throat feels dry so you chug the drink with an exasperated sigh when you finish.

“Jesus” Danny says with a chuckle.

“Get her another one” Sam speaks taking your empty glass from you and handing it back to josh. You heard a lighter spark to your right , Jake was lighting a blunt.

Oh that’s why he was being so quiet.

His lips rest around the end and he inhales watching the cherry burn as the smoke slips into his mouth, brushing over her succulent rose lips. He looks at you and smiles as he holds the smoke in then passes you the blunt as he releases.

You take two hits making “O’s” with the smoke as you exhale with a giggle.

“I can do that too” Danny says excitedly, you pass him the blunt and he gives it a try.

“Hmmm no. You can’t” josh states , all of you laugh at Danny’s sad attempt.

“You’ll get it one day” Sam chimes with a smile.

The limo was full of smoke now, you looked around at the boys through the hazy fog. Everyone is quiet now , you sipping your drink and watching the world pass by put the window. The alcohol and the weed were begging to take affect. The alcohol warmed your body while the weed pulled your mind into alleviation... a lusty combination. You were so calm in this moment , you knew this was exactly where you belonged, it just felt right and you hadn’t had the privilege to get that sense of fleeing very many times in your life.

———————————————————

Jakes hand reaches for you, offering his help as you step out of the limo, you accept and thank him. The sun still hung in the sky, blinding the earth unapologetically. The sunshine felt good casted over your skin, with your head still swimming in an elegant haze.

Josh grabs your waist and pulls you closer to him , his hand stays at your hips as you all walk through the door.

“I’m glad you’re hear, love” he coos in your ear before gently kissing your ear lobe. Your knees buckle causing you to wobble slightly, Josh tightens his grip on you and smiles

“Oh she likes it she likes it” he purrs with a wink.

Yeah. you loved it. You wanted more of him, you couldn’t stand the sexual tension anymore, you wanted to feel him and taste him , to know him in that way.

The bar was packed with people , you were sort of surprised. Josh said this wasn’t going to be a big show but it looked pretty big to you, there were people everywhere. Danny hops on the stage and begins tending to his drum set ,making small changes in its position.

“We gotta go on wish us luck” Sam chimes giving you a side hug.

“You don’t need luck Sammy, you guys are the best” you reply before he and Jake join Danny on stage. Josh plays with a piece of your hair , twirling it around his finger looking at you.

“I’m singing for you tonight girly” he whispers , his voice slick with liquor.

His hand trails down your cheek gently as he just looks at you. Seconds later he winks and joins his brothers on stage taking the microphone in his hand. Already the audience was forming and cheering for the boys. You found yourself right in front of the stage, a mass of people on either side of you and the smell of alcohol and smoke hung in the air.

Josh introduced the guys before Jake started to play the opening for ‘when the curtain falls’. A chorus of cheers and motion erupting from the crowd. Josh’s voice was all you could hear, the freeing sound of his bluesy rasp send vibrations through the building. His voice flooded from his mouth and filled the air like bright red fireworks exploding in the sky. He was so talented. The sound of Jakes guitar slices through you like a lightening bolt of sound and energy. Danny’s drums pounded into the crowd, his strong, muscular arms in control of it all. The sound of sam’s bass flooded over you like huge purple waves of calming spirit. He played that bass like it was all he knew how to do, like it was part of him. Song after song the boys held this vitality and vigor and the crowd was eating it up. Josh walked off to the side of the stage for a second before returning with something behind his back. Arms were reaching for him as he walked to the edge of the stage , his eyes meet yours and he brings a rose out from behind him and reaches to hand it to you

You can hear the jealous gasps of girls around you. You smile up at him before he brings the microphone to his lips once more and continues singing. You smell the rose and feel those familiar butterflies in your stomach again. You were in awe, these boys had such raw talent and capability. You know a band is good when they make a bar show feel like a sold out arena. enjoying the music you moved with the crowd , the songs taking control of your body and mind , you forget there’s people around you, you are thrown into a world of your own. You don’t open your eyes again until josh announces that the show was over and offers his thanks and goodbyes to the crowd.

Josh jumps off the stage in immediately walks to you.

“Come here” he utters his hands grab your face before he presses his lips to yours. You are caught off guard but you let him do it, you wanted this just as much as he did. You didn’t know what had gotten into him , perhaps the adrenaline from a wonderful show.

His tongue licks your bottom lip asking for permission before you open your mouth and let his tongue slip in, deepening the kiss and the passion. His hand was now behind your head and wrapped around your waist pulling you further into him. A small moan escapes your lips unintentionally but you couldn’t help it. He balls your hair in his fist as he continues to kiss you.

When he lets you go your face is flushed and his chest is rising and falling with desire. The rest of the night was spent drowning in liquor.

Eventually bar time came around and it was time to get back in the limo. You all stumbled in, you got in first then josh sat on your left and Danny on your right Jake and Sam sat in the seats across from you.

When the limo pulled up to your apartment you sighed sad to leave.

Danny put his arm around you and gave you a hug wishing you a good nights sleep. Sam and Jake did the same , Josh got out and walked to your door to help you out.

He smiles as he walks you to your porch.

“Let me see your phone” he says reaching for it in your pocket. You pull it out and hand it to him happily. He presses a few buttons before handing it back to you.

“There now you have my number “ he says flashing you a smirk.

“Awesome, I’ll text you in a little while to make sure you guys got home ok, give my number to the other guys too ok?” You chime as his hand grabs yours.

“I will” he promises before kissing you on the cheek.

“Thank you for coming tonight” he adds, his voice was softer now.

“Of course it was super fun and you guys did great” you reply. Josh looks back at the limo.

“We should hangout sometime just me and you yeah? We can go to dinner this Saturday if you want, would you like that?” He offers.

“Yeah that sounds great Josh!” You beam. Josh lifts your hand to his lips kissing it gently, looking you in the eye.

“Goodnight (y/n)” he coos

“Goodnight josh” you smile. He winks as he gets back in the limo , you wave until the car is out of sight.

———————————————————

In the week that passed you had gotten in touch with all of the boys , josh did as you asked and gave them all your number, you talked to at least one of them every day.

Tonight was your big date with josh and you were so excited. You found the perfect outfit and couldn’t wait for him to see you in it.

Just then your phone vibrates, you pick it up and look at the message.

Josh: hey girlie , I hate this but I have to cancel our date tonight ... something came up I’m so sorry , I really wanted to see you but I can’t get out of this, I’ll make it up to you though I promise

Your heart sinks as you read the message, you felt upset for josh and hoped everything was ok but at the same time you were really sad that you couldn’t go out with him now.

Y: oh no I hope everything is ok Josh, no worries we will hangout some other time ❣️

You set your phone down and walk to your room to change out of your new outfit. You grab jogging pants and an old ‘quiet riot’ t shirt and head to your living room to spend an uneventful night on the couch.

Hours later you’re scrolling through Instagram. When a post josh is tagged catches your eye. You look at the date and see it was posted one hour ago. It was a picture of him and some girl at a mini golf course. You deflate when you read the caption.

“Fun night with Joshy❣️”

“Something came up huh josh...” you say to yourself with disappointment.

You look at the girls name ‘Andrea hartnet ’.

You flip to your messaging and click on Danny’s name.

Y: hey Danny, does josh know anyone named Andrea?

A few seconds pass before he responded

D: yeah that’s his ex, why?

—————————————————-

To be continued

#greta van fleet #gvf #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #gvf imagine #greta van fleet imagine #josh gvf #danny gvf #sam gvf #jake gvf #gimmie shelter

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spohkh · 4 years

Note

GOOD AFTERNOON I HAVE A VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION! Please tell me how Dean and Cas would have been if they were raising baby Jack! Also do you think Claire would have babysat for her little brother sometimes if their dads were on a hunt?

HELLO SARAH thank u for this ask that was designed to drive me, specifically, ins*ne ❤️

i feel like... okay. oh this is going to be SO rambling i apologize in advance.

but ok so we KNOW for a fact that dean is a dad like he is just A DAD it is so integral to his being. he's caring and attentive and isn't afraid of the fact that kids can be gross or annoying because he recognizes that they are KIDS and need patience and care. so i feel like at first dean would just take over the bulk of the care for jack bc its just natural for him at this point. (IM THINKING ABOUT HIM BOUNCING THAT BABY IN WHATEVER EP THAT WAS AND ITS MAKING ME WANT TO CRY. HE IS SO GOOD WITH KIDS HES MEANT TO HAVE KIDS HES SO FULL OF LOVE!!!!) and cas ALWAYS looks to dean first when it comes to learning How To Be Human™ so he'd be watching what dean does to emulate him. i imagine theres a lot of "no no no--you need to support his head like THIS", and, "oh that means he's hungry here this is how you should hold the bottle", at the start of their care for him

GOD WASNT DEAN ALSO HUMMING A ZEPPELIN SONG TO THAT BABY HE WAS BOUNCING IN WHATEVER EPISODE THAT WAS (PLEASE SOMEONE DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT EPISODE IM TALKING ABOUT) HRRGHRGRGHGH LED ZEPPELIN LULLABIES BUT BETTER THAN THAT--BETTER THAN DEAN HUMMING HARD ROCK LULLABIES TO BABY JACK--CAS BEING LIKE OH YEAH THATS GREAT AND CASSSSSS HUMMNING HARD ROCK LULLABIIEISSS TO BABY JACKKKKK I AM GOING SUPERSONIC.

ALSO its important to rmmbr that jack ISNT fully human so there will be things that only cas will be able to take care of. my fuckng god they really are the perfect pair to care for jack oh god im getting emotional. i have no idea what those angel-specific needs would BE.... like god when jack is especially fussy and his unchecked powers start to come out dean is like okie doke time to tap in the angel husband i cannae handle getting laserbeamed by my infant son rn 😌✌🏼 and cas is like honestly id rather deal with jack trying to suplex me into the fuckng wall than change his diaper. quite simply i must admit you humans are kinda nasty at times god bless. but yeah jack would have ALL of his needs addressed thanks to having a human dad and an angel dad which i think is so key!! and is smth that they did kind of have in the show but due to um fukcng EVERYTHING else going on i felt like his human side was kinda neglected and wasnt developed as much as it couldve/shouldve been, which led to, yknow, a lot of dangerous misunderstandings. jack certainly needs and deserves to have his WHOLE self nurtured and recognized.

also wow itd be so nice to have an eldritch interdimensional being who technically doesnt need sleep as your co-parent bc dean can get ALLLLL he blissful sleep he needs while cas takes care of the nighttime baby needs! UGH perfect

AND YES. OF COURSE CLAIRE WOULD BABYSIT JACK. GOD IF EVER THERE WERE A GIRL DESERVING OF A YOUNGER SIBLING. she has older sister syndrome ANYWAY. also shes dean kin so i think itd be REALLY funny if dean is like are you SURE youre okay to take care of him? remember hes a nephilim like he has powers it can be really dangerous when he gets too worked up. actually forget it we'll call rowena or something i dont want you to get hurt. and claire is like dad. for real. just fuck off and go kill the werewolves or whatev i got this. and when they get back from the hunt they come back and jack is like fast asleep beside claire, who is ofc completely fine, and deans like did nothing happen??? claires like WHO do you think youre talking to of course its all fine he was a perfect angel (snicker snicker) because he likes ME. like jack goes down so easy for claire hes just always so calm and happy with her, never fusses, dean is like WHAT gives like not wanting to admit hes a little jealous that jack has never tried to laserbeam HER and shes like what can i say? sibling privilege. we have an understanding :) like father like daughter shes just a natural caregiver. dean is so proud. cas is so proud. they are so happy. oh my god. they love their kids so much.

in conclusion. dean and cas would be the most loving parents a baby nephilim could hope for. just today MY dad said to me that parents never want their kids to experience the pain that they have experienced themselves. he said that bc i was upset he wouldnt teach me how to change the light fixture in my closet bc there was a live wire and he didnt want me to get shocked like he has in the past BUT THE SAME PRINCIPLE APPLIES where, i feel like ESPECIALLY for dean, they would do their utmost to raise jack (AND claire) with the care that was so lacking from their own childhood experiences.

dean certainly tried with sam and did a good job, but he was a kid himself then and wasnt fully equipped to provide all the emotional support a child needs. now, as an adult in a supportive, committed relationship, dean will have the chance to REALLY devote himself in the way he was always meant to.

and cas...well... whats more human than caring for your child? everyday his love deepens--his love for dean, his love for their little house, his love for the honeybees and the clouds in the sky. all things he was never meant to have any feelings for, he just loves and loves and loves more because of the little life he has with dean and claire and now his little baby. everyday he becomes more himself because of his love for his family, and he pours all of that back into them. he is just so adoring. he listens to every sound jack makes with keen attention, committing every nonsensical syllable to memory, because its all important. he wants to make sure jack knows how loved he is and how recognized he is and how appreciated he is, just for existing. he wants jack to feel seen and known, in the ways he never was by his own father.

the way dean and cas are with baby jack is that they try. fundamentally thats what its all about. just trying. because u love so much. thank u

#not me writing a fuckng nonsensical dossier..... SCREAM #this dont make no sense luv x SORRY.....#i love you the universe #anyhoo...well..heres...whatever this is LOL THANNKS SARAH LOVE U SORRY U WAITED 3 DAYS FOR WHATEVER THIS IS JGFDKGHFDKGAGF #castielswift #ask

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star-anise · 6 years

Note

do you have any sources on the claims you made? im always willing to change my stance if you have legitimate backing for it haha

So first, I’m sorry for blowing up at you the way that I did. I’m not proud that I reacted in such a kneejerk, aggressive fashion. Thank you for being open to hearing what I have to say. I’m sorry for mistaking you for a TERF, and I’m sorry my response has caused other people to direct their own hostility towards you.

So, here’s the thing. “You can’t call bi women femmes” is pretty intrinsically a radfem thing to say, and I am deeply opposed to letting radfems tell me what to do. I’m trying to write this during a weekend packed with childcare and work. I’ll try to hit all the high notes.

The one thing I am having trouble finding is the longass post I talked about in my reply, that was a history of butch/femme relationships in lesbian bars, which had frequent biphobic asides and talked about “the lesbophobic myth of the bi-rejecting lesbian”; the friend who reblogged it without reading it thoroughly has deleted it, and I can’t find it on any of the tags she remembers looking at around that time. If anyone can find it, I’ll put up a link.

As far as possible, I’m linking to really widely accessible sources, because you shouldn’t intrinsically trust a random post on Tumblr as secret privileged knowledge. People have talked about this at length in reputable publications that your local library either has, or can get through interlibrary loan; you can look up any of the people here, read their work, and decide for yourself. This is a narrative of perspectives, and while I obviously have a perspective, many people disagree with me. At the end of the day, the only reason I need for calling bi women femmes is that You Are Not The Boss Of Me. There is no centralized authority on LGBT+ word usage, nor do I think there should be. Hopefully this post will give you a better sense of what the arguments are, and how to evaluate peoples’ claims in the future.

I looked up “butch” and “femme” with my library’s subscription to the Oxford English Dictionary because that’s where you find the most evidence of etymology and early use, and found:

“Femme” is the French word for “woman”. It’s been a loanword in English for about 200 years, and in the late 19th century in America it was just a slangy word for “women”, as in, “There were lots of femmes there for the boys to dance with”

“Butch” has been used in American English to mean a tough, masculine man since the late 19th century; in the 1930s and 1940s it came to apply to a short masculine haircut, and shortly thereafter, a woman who wore such a haircut. It’s still used as a nickname for masculine cis guys–my godfather’s name is Martin, but his family calls him Butch. By the 1960s in Britain, “butch” was slang for the penetrating partner of a pair of gay men.

Butch/femme as a dichotomy for women arose specifically in the American lesbian bar scene around, enh, about the 1940s, to enh, about the 1960s. Closet-keys has a pretty extensive butch/femme history reader. This scene was predominantly working-class women, and many spaces in it were predominantly for women of colour. This was a time when “lesbian” literally meant anyone who identified as a woman, and who was sexually or romantically interested in other women. A lot of the women in these spaces were closeted in the rest of their lives, and outside of their safe spaces, they had to dress normatively, were financially dependent on husbands, etc. Both modern lesbians, and modern bisexual women, can see themselves represented in this historical period.

These spaces cross-pollinated heavily with ball culture and drag culture, and were largely about working-class POC creating spaces where they could explore different gender expressions, gender as a construct and a performance, and engage in a variety of relationships. Butch/femme was a binary, but it worked as well as most binaries to do with sex and gender do, which is to say, it broke down a lot, despite the best efforts of people to enforce it. It became used by people of many different genders and orientations whose common denominator was the need for safety and discretion. “Butch” and “femme” were words with meanings, not owners.

Lesbianism as distinct from bisexuality comes from the second wave of feminism, which began in, enh, the 1960s, until about, enh, maybe the 1980s, maybe never by the way Tumblr is going. “Radical” feminism means not just that this is a new and more exciting form of feminism compared to the early 20th century suffrage movement; as one self-identified radfem professor of mine liked to tell us every single lecture, it shares an etymology with the word “root”, meaning that sex discrimination is at the root of all oppression.

Radical feminism blossomed among college-educated women, which also meant, predominantly white, middle- or upper-class women whose first sexual encounters with women happened at elite all-girls schools or universities. Most of these women broke open the field of “women’s studies” and the leading lights of radical feminism often achieved careers as prominent scholars and tenured professors.

Radical feminism established itself as counter to “The Patriarchy”, and one of the things many early radfems believed was, all men were the enemy. All men perpetuated patriarchy and were damaging to women. So the logical decision was for women to withdraw from men in all manner and circumstances–financially, legally, politically, socially, and sexually. “Political lesbianism” wasn’t united by its sexual desire for women; many of its members were asexual, or heterosexual women who decided to live celibate lives. This was because associating with men in any form was essentially aiding and abetting the enemy.

Look, I’ll just literally quote Wikipedia quoting an influential early lesbian separatist/radical feminist commune: “The Furies recommended that Lesbian Separatists relate “only (with) women who cut their ties to male privilege” and suggest that “as long as women still benefit from heterosexuality, receive its privileges and security, they will at some point have to betray their sisters, especially Lesbian sisters who do not receive those benefits”“

This cross-pollinated with the average experience of WLW undergraduates, who were attending school at a time when women weren’t expected to have academic careers; college for women was primarily seen as a place to meet eligible men to eventually marry. So there were definitely women who had relationships with other women, but then, partly due to the pressure of economic reality and heteronormativity, married men. This led to the phrase LUG, or “lesbian until graduation”, which is the kind of thing that still got flung at me in the 00s as an openly bisexual undergrad. Calling someone a LUG was basically an invitation to fight.

The assumption was that women who marry men when they’re 22, or women who don’t stay in the feminist academic sphere, end up betraying their ideals and failing to have solidarity with their sisters. Which seriously erases the many contributions of bi, het, and ace women to feminism and queer liberation. For one, I want to point to Brenda Howard, the bisexual woman who worked to turn Pride from the spontaneous riots in 1969 to the nationwide organized protests and parades that began in 1970 and continue to this day. She spent the majority of her life to a male partner, but that didn’t diminish her contribution to the LGBT+ community.

Lesbian separatists, and radical feminists, hated Butch/Femme terminology. They felt it was a replication of unnecessarily heteronormative ideals. Butch/femme existed in an LGBT+ context, where gays, lesbians, bisexuals, and transgender people understood themselves to have more in common with each other than with, say, cis feminists who just hated men more than they loved women.

The other main stream of feminist thought at the time was Liberal Feminism, which was like, “What if we can change society without totally rejecting men?” and had prominent figures like Gloria Steinem, who ran Ms magazine. Even today, you’ll hear radfems railing against “libfems” and I’m like, my good women, liberal feminism got replaced thirty years ago. Please update your internal schema of “the enemy”

Lesbian separatism was… plagued by infighting. To maintain a “woman-only” space, they had to kick out trans women (thus, TERFs), women who slept with men (thus, biphobia), women who enjoyed kinky sex or pornography or engaged in sex work (thus, SWERFS) and they really struggled to raise their male children in a way that was… um… anti-oppressive. (I’m biased; I know people who were raised in lesbian separatist communes and did not have great childhoods.) At the same time, they had other members they very much wanted to keep, even though their behaviour deviated from the expected program, so you ended up with spectacles like Andrea Dworkin self-identifying as a lesbian despite being deeply in love with and married to a self-identified gay man for twenty years, despite beng famous for the theory that no woman could ever have consensual sex with a man, because all she could ever do was acquiesce to her own rape.

There’s a reason radical feminism stopped being a major part of the public discourse, and also a reason why it survives today: While its proponents became increasingly obsolete, they were respected scholars and tenured university professors. This meant people like Camille Paglia and Mary Daly, despite their transphobia and racism, were considered important people to read and guaranteed jobs educating young people who had probably just moved into a space where they could meet other LGBT people for the very first time. So a lot of modern LGBT people (including me) were educated by radical feminist professors or assigned radical feminist books to read in class.

The person I want to point to as a great exemplar is Alison Bechdel, a white woman who discovered she was a lesbian in college, was educated in the second-wave feminist tradition, but also identified as a butch and made art about the butch/femme dichotomy’s persistence and fluidity. You can see part of that tension in her comic; she knows the official lesbian establishment frowns on butch/femme divisions, but it’s relevant to her lived experience.

What actually replaced radical feminism was not liberal feminism, but intersectional feminism and the “Third Wave”. Black radical feminists, like Audre Lorde, bell hooks, and Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw, pointed out that many white radical feminists were ignoring race as a possible cause of oppression, and failing to notice how their experiences differed from Black womens’. Which led to a proliferation of feminists talking about other oppressions they faced: Disabled feminists, Latina feminists, queer feminists, working-class feminists. It became clear that even if you eliminated the gender binary from society, there was still a lot of bad shit that you had to unlearn–and also, a lot of oppression that still happened in lesbian separatist spaces.

I’ve talked before about how working in women-only second-wave spaces really destroyed my faith in them and reinforced my belief in intersectional feminism

Meanwhile, back in the broader queer community, “queer” stuck as a label because how people identified was really fluid. Part of it is that you learn by experience, and sometimes the only way to know if something works for you is to try it out, and part of it is that, as society changed, a lot more people became able to take on new identities without as much fear. So for example, you have people like Pat Califia, who identified as a lesbian in the 70s and 80s, found far more in common with gay leather daddies than sex-negative lesbians, and these days identifies as a bisexual trans man.

Another reason radical feminists hate the word “queer”, by the way, is queer theory, which wants to go beyond the concept of men oppressing women, or straights oppressing gays, but to question this entire system we’ve built, of sex, and gender, and orientation. It talks about “queering” things to mean “to deviate from heteronormativity” more than “to be homosexual”. A man who is married to a woman, who stays at home and raises their children while she works, is viewed as “queer” inasmuch as he deviates from heteronormativity, and is discriminated against for it.

So, I love queer theory, but I will agree that it can be infuriating to hear somebody say that as a single (cis het) man he is “queer” in the same way being a trans lesbian of colour is “queer”, and get very upset and precious about being told they’re not actually the same thing. I think that actually, “queer as a slur” originated as the kind of thing you want to scream when listening to too much academic bloviating, like, “This is a slur! Don’t reclaim it if it didn’t originally apply to you! It’s like poor white people trying to call themselves the n-word!” so you should make sure you are speaking about a group actually discriminated against before calling them “queer”. On the other hand, queer theory is where the theory of “toxic masculinity” came from and we realized that we don’t have to eliminate all men from the universe to reduce gender violence; if we actually pay attention to the pressures that make men so shitty, we can reduce or reverse-engineer them and encourage them to be better, less sexist, men.

But since radfems and queer theorists are basically mortal enemies in academia, radical feminists quite welcomed the “queer as a slur” phenomenon as a way to silence and exclude people they wanted silenced and excluded, because frankly until that came along they’ve been losing the culture wars.

This is kind of bad news for lesbians who just want to float off to a happy land of only loving women and not getting sexually harrassed by men. As it turns out, you can’t just turn on your lesbianism and opt out of living in society. Society will follow you wherever you go. If you want to end men saying gross things to lesbians, you can’t just defend lesbianism as meaning “don’t hit on me”; you have to end men saying gross things to all women, including bi and other queer women. And if you do want a lesbian-only space, you either have to accept that you will have to exclude and discriminate against some people, including members of your community whose identities or partners change in the future, or accept that the cost of not being a TERF and a biphobe is putting up with people in your space whose desires don’t always resemble yours.

Good god, this got extensive and I’ve been writing for two hours.

So here’s the other thing.

My girlfriend is a femme bi woman. She’s married to a man.

She’s also married to two women.

And dating a man.

And dating me (a woman).

When you throw monogamy out the window, it becomes EVEN MORE obvious that “being married to a man” does not exclude a woman from participation in the queer community as a queer woman, a woman whose presentation is relevant in WLW contexts. Like, this woman is in more relationships with women at the moment than some lesbians on this site have been in for their entire lives.

You can start out with really clear-cut ideas about “THIS is what my life is gonna be like” but then your best friend’s sexual orientation changes, or your lover starts to transition, and things in real life are so much messier than they look when you’re planning your future. It’s easy to be cruel, exclusionary, or dismissive to people you don’t know; it’s a lot harder when it’s people you have real relationships with.

And my married-to-a-man girlfriend? Uses “butch” and “femme” for reasons very relevant to her queerness and often fairly unique to femme bi women, like, “I was out with my husband and looking pretty femme, so I guess they didn’t clock me as a queer” or “I was the least butch person there, so they didn’t expect me to be the only one who uses power tools.” Being a femme bi woman is a lot about invisibility, which is worth talking about as a queer experience instead of being assumed to exclude us from the queer community.

#cherryhearrts #staranise original #answered asks #ranting in bisexual #lgbt discourse #terf shit #exclusionist shit #radfem shit #apologies to my girlfriend for not including carole queen in this post #she just didn't fit baby

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800-dick-pics · 5 years

Text

i hate how this site and everywhere fuckin else is always like: theres nothing unique about women who only are attracted to women!!! all wlw have the same culture!!! like stop telling me im being a big mean dyke bc i dont fancy you trying to speak over lesbians about lesbian specific issues/experiences while calling us all reggressive n rude

theres a reason (lesbophobia) why most of my current group is lesbians, its almost like were being alienated by the way the "community" treats us and are tired of being constantly assumed to be rude/aggressive/untrustworthy/regressive and just generally seen in a negative light

ive had to many gbtq friends whove said hurtful things about lesbianism to my fucking face, ive had a coworker who isnt a lesbian call me a dykey queer to my face and ment it as a "compliment", i have and still am being sexually harassed by a white bi woman whos a manager in my store and it wasnt until i called her out for racist/anti black lesbophobia that she started being hella gross to me, oh lets not forget all the gbtq ppl who silenced about talking about my experiences from being abused and r*ped as a closeted lesbian, oh also do we wanna talk about like how under reported and undocumented lesbians abuse/r*pes/assault/ipv/homelessness stats are bc ppl think that were "immune" to men and homophobic violence

like too many of yall just like to silence, berate and get off on abusing us bc youve been tricked into think we have some sort of privilege you dont

#dont rebloop #me #personal #vent #im just tired of ppl thinking and projecting their lesbophobia on to me #im ughh ????#ppl dont take lesbophobia seriously and it shows

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nnq · 5 years

Text

types of gays: dr3 edition

shuichi

bi king

makes trans gay emo moodboards on tumblr despite not even having a boyfriend

never posts selfies on his social medias because hes self conscious, its all overedited photos of him holding a cigarette up to a gray sky or a cup of black coffee or some goth shit

when he eventually does post a selfie he gets a bunch of thirst follows from straight girls n twink chasers alike

rantaro

the guy in your high school you were like 90% sure was gay but also seemed too attractive to be so

snap stories always full of random people you've never seen before and a billion different food aesthetic pics, travels too much cuz their family is rich

listens to those white gay artists and cries over carly rae jepson being a 'gay icon' when drunk to the point where its obnoxious but its forgivable because hes hot

kaito

claims hes masc4masc after repressing his homosexuality for years, falls in love with a twink and has an existential crisis

somewhat transphobic out of ignorance

also somewhat homophobic

used to do coke

closeted from his friends

assumes hes the top when in relationship with said twink, goes through enother crisis upon discovering he's a switch. he vagues about it for weeks on his insta selfies

kokichi

said twink

"im not gay, im a faggot"

flamboyant gay by day tumblr funnyman by night. mutuals with shuichi probably.

will call you slurs without your permission and will share your trauma openly while youre still around

super sexy but not worth the effort

brags about sugaring in the past but is physically disgusted by older men

claims theyve been arrested for public nudity, but it was actually just shoplifting 800$ of makeup from sephora

korekiyo

weird guy who's in all your advanced college classes, probably gets really excited when talking about their multiple snakes or taruntulas or something and will get super offended when the other person responds negatively and will tell them to kill themselves but in fancy words

mentally ill bitches rise up

will casually bring up their past drug addictions and trauma after like a week of knowing you because theyre and introvert and don't have friends

probably a sex fiend

listens to the front bottoms and has string lights in their room

will suck your dick in a public restroom and then tells you that he doesnt want to see you anymore

gonta

bimbo

friend of one of your homophobic rich friends

OK think of the tension between one gay and another gay who know that each other is gay and kind of hot but none of their friends know that theyre gay

actually very sweet guy but you will NEVER know that because your whore ass decided to have a one night stand with them after only you get piss drunk and you've been avoiding them ever since

he deserves better than you and you know it. hes never going to love you.

kiibo

nerdy enough in high school that it isn't obvious if theyre a twink or just a super awkward straight guy. its pondered once and then never comes up again.

grindr with really unflattering photos, cant give head

parents were too supportive of him growing up before he even had the chance to come out and now he bitches about them to anyone who will listen, not realizing the privilege of All That

probably kind of racist

never plans meet ups in advance, will ask to come over and show up 20 minutes later slightly stoned and get offended when they get told to fuck off

only friends with girls, probably is scared of dogs

ryoma

the best friend gay

can pass as straight, not super involved with politics or anything

rehab centers/AAA. no I will not explain myself the druggies will know what I mean

you will slowly fall in love with him and theres nothing you can do about it other than lean into it and hope that this years in the making unrrequited crush doesnt absolutely destroy you. I also won't explain this.

the bad boy with a kind heart trope hits real different.

makes smoking look sexy, and he considers it his greatest flaw and constantly is trying to knock the habit.

probably repressed but if he got drunk it would come out.

#danganronpa v3 #i had... how you say...... a very tasty and needed glass a wine before writing this. and.#i am absolutely right about every part of this and i know it. fuck you.#drugs/#f slur/#oumota #kokichi #kaito momota #shuichi saihara #korekiyo #ryoma hoshi #kiibo #gonta gokuhara

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fixaidea · 6 years

Text

Paris, 1840

It was in the early days of the year 1840 when Monsieur Nicolas Barré, a young, moderately successful novelist fell in with Augustin Perrault and his group of friends. Perrault, done with University, was pursuing a career in journalism and met M. Barré for work related reasons. The working relationship quickly turned into friendship (a quick and easy thing with the young journalist), and soon enough, over a shared glass of wine, Perrault invited him to meet up with the rest of his closest friends.

‘I must say’ Nicolas huffed, clinking his glass against Perrault’s ‘Whatever you told your friends about me, they better lower their expectations. Sure I’m a delight, a true treat to have around’ he winked ‘But political I am not. Not nearly as much as you are.’

Perrault waved his hand in airy dismissal.

‘Never fear. You are no monarchist, and that is all they need. Clavier is more hands-on when it comes to politics but the rest like to hold such issues at arm’s length. No one will begrudge you for not keeping a pet guillotine in your backyard.’

Nicolas chuckled and refilled their glasses.

‘So you’re telling me buying a closetful of red caps to impress them was a waste? Ah well. Now, we are men of the pen, you and I, even if we employ our words quite differently. How about the rest? All writers?’

‘Alain Clavier certainly is, he’s a playwright. Well, in theory at least. In reality he’s a true Renaissance man, doing all things Theatre. Manager, designer, stand-in actor, all of it. René Giraud is an engineer, or rather, currently an assistant to one, Yves Belarbre is a painter. A portraitist, but he has some novel ideas about painting dreams, you’ll see.’

After a couple of more glasses Perrault announced that he still had some obligations to attend to. Just as they were about to part, he turned to Nicolas.

‘I must warn you about one of my friends though, Giraud. He has some peculiar habits, but the one that most concerns you is that he’s rather picky about who gets to touch him. He’s going to allow a handshake, but do not attempt anything more. If he takes a shine to you, he will come to you in his own time.’

Nicolas smiled and nodded, although he did not understand why he needed such a warning – certainly he was affectionate, but nowhere near as much as Perrault, pawning at random strangers was usually not the first thing on his mind. Surely keeping his hands off of one would not be much of a hardship. His nonchalance regarding the matter lasted exactly until the moment of meeting the man in question. René Giraud was on the shorter end of average height, thin and tired looking and, at least in Nicolas’ humble opinion, utterly adorable. He had fluffy, white-blond hair and big, pensive blue eyes.

They did not get to talk too much that first day – as Nicolas later learned this was not simply because Perrault and his friend Alain Clavier dominated every single conversation they took part in, but also because of Giraud’s own quiet nature. Still, all through the evening Nicolas kept sneaking glances at the man and, to his immense satisfaction, found himself being watched in turn. Just before the company disbanded for the night, Giraud sidled up to him. He cocked his head to the side and spoke, eyes fixed on the floor:

‘What do you call a medical-minded dog?’

Caught off guard, Nicolas scratched his beard.

‘I have no idea. What indeed?’

‘Un physi-chien*’

Nicolas blinked. For a moment he was not sure if he truly heard what he did, but René was watching him expectantly out of the corner of his eye. Nicolas’ big body began to shake and soon he was howling with laughter. Giraud, proud of his work, bounced on his heels and smiled, blushing with joy. Nicolas raised his hand to clap him on the back, but caught himself in time and hastily showed his fist into his pocket.

He wiped off his tears. That was it. He needed to win his René-touching privileges as soon as possible.

***

It was the end of May, but the weather resembled the worst of August and Nicolas was painfully stuck. Again. His serialised novel was running out of pre-written chapters at an alarming rate, he needed to catch up with it and soon. He could practically feel his editor breathing down his neck. He was sating at a blank page. In fact, he had been doing just that for the last half an hour, but the words stubbornly refused to manifest. With a deep sigh of defeat he donned his lightest coat and hat. If inspiration would not come on its own, the best he could do was to try and seek it out. After a brief consideration he headed to the Louvre.

He regretted his decision to leave the flat the moment he stepped out of his building. The streets were scorching hot, vibrating above the cobblestones. Dust filled the air and the sun was so blinding, that without the straw hat to protect his eyes, Nicolas doubted he would be able to see a thing. Still, he steeled himself and faced the inferno of the city.

He was richly rewarded for his effort – the inside of the museum was shady and blessedly cool. Few people took the effort or had the time to drag themselves here at his hour, so it was also mostly deserted. He sighed again, this time in relief, and was about to zone out and let himself get lost in the centuries of art surrounding him, when out of the corner of his eye he spotted a familiar mop of blond hair. René Giraud was sitting on a bench, an open notebook in his hands, though when Nicolas stepped closer he noticed he was staring at his feet rather than at the pages. He started when Nicolas greeted him.

‘Ah, hello there, Monsieur Barré! I mean. Nicolas.’

Nicolas smiled and plopped down beside him. He was pleased René was finally gave up on the formal ‘you’ with him, even if he still called him by his surname sometimes.

‘You must be quite the patron of arts to cross the city on such a wretched day just to look at pictures! Or are you, like me, in need of inspiration for something?’

‘Neither, I’m afraid’ René answered. He kept his gaze on his notebook. When they first met Nicolas wondered if he did this because he did not like him or was especially flustered in his presence, but had since come to learn that this was simply something he did with everyone. Avert his eyes or, remembering that you ought to look people in the eye, fix his unblinking gaze upon you.

‘I am here exactly because the day is wretched’ René went on ‘My quarters are unbearable and so are the streets. Everything seems to be so much more intense in this horrible weather. The people are loud and irritable and they stink. I stink, the horses stink, I can barely see, everything is bleached white by the sun, even the sky. It’s either white or that unsettling shade of lilac.’

‘Lilac? I never noticed that.’

‘It is though. A pale lilac. I find it deeply disturbing. Here though…’ he looked up ‘Here it’s cool and quiet and the smells are subdued. I like this place.’

‘Still, it must be boring to just sit here. Walk with me?’

Nicolas thought of offering his hand as they got up, but René was on his feet before him. They wandered the halls in silence for a while. Nicolas knew his friend was not exactly loquacious, but he wondered if this silence was stretching too far. Testing the waters, next time he spotted a particularly interesting painting he stopped before it and quietly started to explain what he knew about it. With others, he tried to guess what the artist might have meant, making up stories on the spot, one wilder and more colourful than the rest. René mostly kept quiet, but seemed to be enjoying himself none the less. Every now and then he inserted his own small remarks or chuckled lightly at Nicolas’ jokes. Encouraged by this, Nicolas was gaining momentum, spinning one astounding, ridiculous tale after the other, compensating for the low voice he kept with sweeping gestures and exaggerated expressions. Soon René was pressing his hand against his mouth, his whole body shaking with the laughter he desperately fought to hold in.

And then he froze.

His smile faltered and slowly disappeared as something behind Nicolas caught his eyes. Nicolas turned, following his gaze.

They were standing in front of a large painting. The canvas was populated by a crowd of figures, faces and bodies contorted by the pain of grief. In the centre, a male figure, a warrior, cradling the body of his fallen companion, face twisted into a mask of anguish.

‘Achilles and Patroclus.’ René whispered.

Nicolas nodded. He waited for his friend to turn away and move on, but he seemed to be hypnotised by the painting. They stood there in silence for a long while, before René finally spoke again.

‘I envy him, in a way.’

‘Who? I cannot for the life of me think of a single enviable character in that story.’

‘Patroclus. How much Achilles loved him, unashamed. He was no dirty little secret.’

It took the both of them a moment to fully realise what he just said. René, scrambling to save face, blushing so fiercely it was visible even in the dim light of the museum, and rushed to continue:

‘I-I mean it’s a touching story no matter how you look at it, I mean, anyone would be grateful for such loyalty from a friend…’

Nicolas took a deep breath and, momentarily forgetting himself, laid a hand on René’s arm. The little engineer froze. Nicolas quickly released him.

‘I understand.’

René peered up at him from under his curls.

‘Do you? Truly?’

Blood was rushing into Nicolas’ face and he suddenly felt very light and somehow detached from his body, as if he was watching the conversation from afar. Still, his friend laid his soul bare before him, if only on accident, he had to know he was not alone.

‘I do. I understand what you meant.’

René kept his big eyes fixed on him for a moment then slowly, so slowly, reached out and laid his hand on his arm. Nicolas’ heart leapt to his throat – carefully he raised his own had and covered René’s with it. They held the connection for a second before René stepped back. He cleared his throat.

‘I must be going now, I have some plans I need to double check. Thank you for this afternoon.’

‘My pleasure’ said Nicolas, eyes fixed on his toes ‘See you back at our café?’

‘Yes. Yes, certainly.’

***

Nicolas wondered if things will change between them and indeed, there was a small but noticable shift in their interactions. Nothing dramatic – unlike Augustin, Nicolas still was not allowed to just walk up to René and cuddle him. Though of course he never tried. Still, at least René would now touch him every now and then. Nothing too personal or overly familiar, rather he simply did not go out of his way anymore to avoid contact. Nicolas tried a little bit of flirting but as the engineer did not respond – or even seemed to notice his attempts – he soon ceased.

It was now July, and Nicolas was in the middle of revising his latest chapter (or more precisely re-arranging the bookshelves while thinking very hard about how he should be revising said chapter) when the knock came. He left the bookshelf somewhat begrudgingly – he was hard at work, creating, how dare people hinder his genius! – and went to answer it, grumbling all the way. He schooled his features into what he hoped was a polite but slightly haughty expression and he opened the door.

The corridor was empty.

Nicolas rolled his eyes – was the half a minute it took him to get to the door truly too long a wait for his visitor? He was about to retreat when he noticed a sheet of paper at his feet. A message then? A prank? A strongly worded appeal from his editor? It turned out to be neither. It was a poem. It was not written in pen, but in letters carefully cut out from a newspaper and glued to a sheet.

TO THE LOVE I DARE NOT NAME

FROM THE SHADOWS I SING YOUR PRAISES SCRAMBLING IN VAIN FOR THE RIGHT PHRASES YOU ARE ROUND AND WARM LIKE THE SUN IN JUNE THE COPPER OF YOUR HAIR IS THE CAUSE OF MY DESPAIRE

HAVE MERCY ON ME, O MUSE

He read it – and read it again. And again. It seemed to be a sincere if terrible love poem. Nicolas tugged at his beard. Was this dedicated to him? The mention of the subject’s bodily proportions and hair colour suggested so, but he was still uncertain. Humming lightly, he folded up the paper and got back to work. He resolved to show the strange little letter to his friends and thought nothing of it for the rest of the day.

When he did in fact pull the sheet out on their next get-together, the reaction of the group was, in the mildest possible terms, explosive. Alain ripped the letter out of his hand and studied it for several minutes, muttering to himself all the way through, before he was forced to relinquish it to a nagging Augustin, and then to Yves. René, reserved as ever, did not attempt to grab for the page, but followed the proceedings with eager eyes.

‘Well then’ Nicolas said ‘What do you gentlemen make of it?’

‘Why, my dear fellow’ said Augustin, leaning back in his seat ‘It is quite obvious. You have a secret admirer!’

Nicolas propped his chin on his hand and laughed.

‘Well, there’s no debating I’m a right catch, any lady would agree I’m sure, but don’t you think it more likely that this would be a nervous amateur trying to show his work off? Maybe try and get a foot in the door of publishing through me?’

Yves waved a hand with a little huff of dismissal.

‘Quite unlikely. If this were a poet interested in getting his name known, surely he would have included just that: his name! No my dear, this is quite obviously a love-stricken if unusually daring and forward lady!’

‘A true little firebrand!’ Alain exclaimed.

René remained quiet. Nicolas searched his face with a slight flicker of hope for any sign that he might be the one behind it, but then dismissed the idea. He could not picture him resigning himself to such bold a move.

‘All right then’ he said, folding up the sheet ‘I suppose my best bet now is to wait and see.’

And see he did. The very next day, about the same time, the knock sounded again. Nicolas, hard at work on his novel (he was cleaning his windows), took some time to answer, so the mysterious visitor was long gone by the time he got to the door. In her – his? wake he left an elegant box of high-end pralines. Nicolas inspected the gift for a message, but found none.

Well then. This certainly seemed to underline the ‘secret admirer’ theory, opposed to the ‘hopeful amateur poet’. Smiling to himself, Nicolas plopped a piece into his mouth and retreated. Excitement was starting to bubble up in his belly – who could this be? Sure, he had his secret hopes for a certain engineer, but with all his loveable qualities, René just did not look like the type for grand romantic gestures. Who else then? Nicolas made a list of all the ladies and gentlemen he knew, but found it entirely unhelpful. He had half a mind to drop everything and go seek out Augustin, even though they were not meant to meet up that day, but decided against it. The group regularly met on Tuesday and Friday nights, sometimes on weekends, and it was only Wednesday. Let’s not rush anything, let’s wait and see what happens next!

Thursday brought him a nice set of steel-tipped pens, complete with ink, all tied up with a bow. Now Nicolas was all but crawling out of his skin with excitement and resolved to catch the person responsible in the act.

On Friday he was fully expecting the knock, but he made a fatal mistake. The weather turned damp and cold, so Nicolas decided to make himself a cup of tea as he waited. The problem was only that his visitor was a full hour early compared to the previous days, so he had a kettle full of boiling water in his hands when the knock came, and by the time he managed to carefully put it down without spilling any of it on himself, his mysterious suitor was gone again. In their wake they left a bouquet.

Nicolas snatched it up and inspected it excitedly. It was a nicely arranged collection of reds, blues and yellows. On a whim, Nicolas quickly averted his eyes. He was keen to find out what message might be coded in there in the flirty language of flowers, but he wanted to decipher it in the presence of his friends. He placed the bouquet in a vase and resolved not to look at it for the rest of the day.

It was an excruciating exercise in temperance and patience and he came close to failing several times, sneaking glances at it every now and then, but miraculously he persisted. Still, it felt like the longest day of his life. He tried to proceed with his writing, but his thought kept floating back to the mysterious gifts and the sound of footsteps fading in the hallway.

When the clock finally struck five he practically flew out the door and did not stop until he reached their café, the Poule Rouge. René was already there, nursing a cup of coffee at his usual seat. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Nicolas flung himself down beside him. He looked up – only be greeted by a mass of flowers shown in his face.

‘From your admirer?’ he asked around the clump of vegetation.

‘I’m assuming yes!’ said Nicolas, leaning in close ‘What do you think?’

René regarded him solemnly for a long moment, then looked down.

‘I think it’s pretty. It has happy colours. I think whoever gave it to you wanted you to be happy.’

Nicolas could feel his lips stretch into a grin. He was about to answer but Alain’s booming voice cut him off. The man entered with Yves on one arm, Augustin on the other. Nicolas held up the bouquet like a trophy.

‘Well, well, well’ said Alain as he slid into the seat across Nicolas and pressed a cup of wine into his hands ‘What have we here?’

The three newcomers – all experts in courtship and all the delicacies it involved – pulled the bouquet into the middle of the table and began to pour over it. Nicolas watched in excitement, but his enthusiasm began to falter as their faces fell. After a couple of minutes they sat back and exchanged some deeply confused glances.

Yves scratched the back of his head.

‘Well this… All right, let’s see. The good news is the cornflower, which means wealth and fortune, the yellow rose, which stands for joy and friendship and the blue iris for faith and hope. But we also have marigold for jealousy and yellow carnation for disappointment and rejection. Also red poppies which mean consolation. So. There’s that.’

Alain propped his chin on his hand.

‘It might not mean anything at all.’

‘No no no, let’s not give up on this so quickly’ said Augustin ‘The lady went out of her way to play this intricate game, surely there must be some sort of message in there. So what do we have? Wealth, friendship or joy, consolation, hope or faith but also jealousy and either disappointment or rejection. This to me speaks of someone who was for some reason disappointed in you, but who values your friendship more than her pride and has hope in repairing your relations. It’s simple!’

‘I don’t think that’s it, not at all’ Yves objected ‘Look at this closely! The poppies and the yellow carnations out-weight the rest – to me, that says the sender has been disappointed to the degree she wants to now part ways. She includes the rose, the iris and the cornflower as a reminder to why she started this game to begin with, but does not wish to continue.’

A heavy lump settled into Nicolas’ throat. Still, he tried to hide his disappointment, so he arranged his features into a smile and laughed.

‘Well, I suppose we shall see about that. We’ll find out if she truly wishes to quit before long – tomorrow at the latest. If the gifts cease I can assume the lady truly meant it and lost interest.’

Soon the topic was changed as Augustin brought up a play he was interested in seeing and the rest of the evening was spent with amicable chatter, though René excused himself early. He had not spoken a single word all evening and after a quick round of goodbyes he hurried away without explanation. As he retreated Nicolas could have sworn he had seen him rubbing at his face.

Nicolas for his part was crestfallen. The presence and chatter of his friends took away the edge of the blow but he was sad to see this interesting affaire come to an end. Not to mention he had no idea what he did wrong to put off his secret admirer this much. With one last sigh he downed his wine. Ah, well. It was nice while it lasted.

The next day he all but managed to put his disappointment out of his mind, though a shard of it was still lodged in his heart like a persistent thorn. He tried to concentrate on his work, failed, tried again, failed, gave up and went for a walk. He went all the way to the Jardin de Luxembourg in hopes of clearing his mind. He was in great need of that – he wrote himself into a corner and had no idea how to rescue his own heroine. Sadly the fragrant air of the park failed to deliver any flashes of inspiration, so with a heavy heart he returned to his flat.

He was almost through the door when a flash of red caught his eye.

A red rose was lying on his threshold. Nicolas carefully picked it up and turned it over in his hand. There was a note attached to it, composed in the same manner the very first poem was, of letters and words cut out from a newspaper.

I HAD NO IDEA FLOWERS MEANT THINGS. THIS IS WHAT I MEANT.

Nicolas stood there, rooted to the threshold for a long time, grinning.

Now he was almost certain of his mysterious admirer’s identity, but still, he was curious about the reactions of his friends. When he entered the tavern the company gathered that night he held aloft the flower like a banner of victory.

‘Confess, gentlemen’ he said ‘Which one of you tattled?’

The rest looked back at him with wide, all-too innocent eyes.

‘What makes you accuse us so?’ Alain asked in the high-pitched, affronted voice of a man who had carried the gossip over half of Paris already. Nicolas showed him the rose and the letter attached.

‘That doesn’t prove anything’ Yves muttered, though he too was reluctant to meet his eyes ‘Your lady may have learned of her mistake independent of our conversation yesterday.’

‘But in such short a notice? Gentlemen, if not someone you passed the news on to, I’m forced to believe it might be one of you!’

Yves and Alain protested loudly, Augustin did not comment, merely shook his head with an amused grin. René, Nicolas noted with some cautious hope, was beet red and refused to move his gaze from his drink.

***

The next week went by without further communication from his suitor. Nicolas was beginning to fear he might have scared him (…or maybe her) away. He was close to despair when finally, on a rather wet, gloomy Saturday the tell-tale knock sounded again. Nicolas raced to catch him, but as usual, his visitor was quicker. He left a letter behind, this time written in ink but in all capital letters so Nicolas still could not recognise the handwriting.

DEAREST,

MEET ME AT THE PÈRE-LACHAISE, AT THÉODORE GÉRICAULT’S TOMB, ONE O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON.

This time he did not wait for the agree-upon get-together, he flagged down a coach and raced all the way to Augustin’s lodgings. Luckily he found the man at home and, upon being let in, quickly pushed the letter into his hands.

‘Look at this!’

Contrary to his exuberant enthusiasm so far, Augustin frowned and scratched his head.

‘This could be very good or very bad news. All through this little adventure I had a feeling that all this is way too daring, shameless even, for a lady.’

Nicolas did not wish to draw unneeded attention to the fact that he was quite all right with the mysterious suitor being a man, so he merely hummed his agreement.

‘Still’ he said ‘What’s the worst that might happen?’

Augustin raised an eyebrow.

‘You could be ridiculed at best, robbed or even killed at worst. You will be in the middle of a graveyard. Secluded, with plenty of places for the members of a gang to hide.’

This gave Nicolas a pause.

‘None the less’ he finally said ‘I want to know who is behind this.’

‘At least permit me to go with you!’

Now it was Nicolas’ turn to frown and tug at his bear.

‘A kind offer, but I must decline. Actually…‘ he took a deep breath ‘I have a good idea who this might be, and in case I’m right, I do not want to compromise this person.’

Augustin chuckled lightly and swatted his arm.

‘A true gentleman! Very well then, but promise to be careful!’

Nicolas smiled and pressed his hand.

‘I promise!’

***

The graveyard was all but deserted – Nicolas came across a couple of elderly ladies, the sort that is a permanent fixture of cemeteries all over the world, but none of them paid any attention to him. Though he did ask for directions at the gate it still took him a long time to find Géricault’s grave in the dense labyrinth of tombs. When he finally did he found the scene deserted. Not a single sound, except for the distant murmur of the city beyond the graveyard’s walls. His stomach fell. Was all this an elaborate prank? All this for nothing? And the culprit would not even stick around to witness his humiliation?

He dejectedly kicked a pebble and was about to leave when there – just there behind the edge of the massive block of the monument – he spotter the rim of a top hat. In two quick strides he rounded the tomb.

René Giraud was standing there hunched over, dressed in his best dress coat and shiniest shoes. When Nicolas came to stand in front of him he made an attempt to raise his head and look him in the eye but the task proved too much for him. The rose clenched in his hand was trembling. He wordlessly held it out.

Warm fondness bubbled up in Nicolas’ chest. He yearned to pull René into a hug and never let him go again, but he knew better than to grab him without his consent. He took the professed rose and opened his arms. René shuffled closer, fisted Nicolas’ vest and hid his face in his chest. Slowly, carefully Nicolas completed the embrace. He took off his friend’s hat, set it and the rose aside and gently ran his fingers through his hair. René was trembling from head to toe – Nicolas could only imagine how much courage it must have taken him to go through with this plan. This courage evidently carried him to this point and no further. He looked ready to collapse on the spot. Nicolas held him tighter and began to rock him slowly, continuing to pet his hair.

They stood there for a long while, locked together in an embrace, gently swaying from side to side. Nicolas nuzzled René’s hair. The heart fluttering against his chest started to calm down a bit. Eventually René snuggled against him and spoke up.

‘I’m sorry about the first bouquet.’

‘Don’t be. I think it was beautiful, artificially assigned meanings be damned.’

René giggled and pulled back just enough to be able to rub the back of his neck. Not daring to initiate any other contact just yet, Nicolas quickly nuzzled his nose. René took a deep, shaky breath, latched on to Nicolas’ lapels and pecked him on the lips. Before Nicolas could react he ducked his head again.

Still carefully, as to not scare him away, Nicolas slid a finger under his chin. René allowed this and obediently tilted his head up at Nicolas’ gentle push. Emboldened, Nicolas cupped his cheeks and pressed their foreheads together. After a small pause he tilted his head to the side and kissed him. René’s lips were velvety soft and a little wet – he was clumsily pushing back against Nicolas, evidently unsure of what he was supposed to do. Nicolas slid his hands down onto his shoulders and moved on to kiss a line along his smooth cheeks and jaw. They broke apart, stepped back a bit – and dissolved in a fit of nervous giggles. Nicolas tried to stop but the laughter only intensified, relieved and yet slightly hysterical. Face burning, stomach flipping, Nicolas wiped at his wet eyes and swept René back into a tight embrace. René flung himself into his arms without hesitation. Nicolas smacked one more big, sloppy kiss on his cheek.

‘Sweet René’ he murmured ‘My sweet René.’

*un chien = a dog

#writers on tumblr #mm romance #writeblr #lgbt fiction #historical fiction #fixa writes #rené giraud #nicolas barré

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alilaro · 6 years

Text

. reasons im not apart of the twilight “fandom” anymore :

long post. the rest is under the cut →

this is dumb, but im just kind of realizing i dont have to prove myself to any fandom. im not in some little clique where I have to know everyone and vice versa. I don't have to draw characters I hate to "stay relevant".

Gods, I've spent so long thinking my self-worth was linked to how much I could produce to this hivemind of people. The notes, the likes, the reblogs. But... I dont know any of those people.

I know who my friends are and what matters to me is them and my followers. Not some collection of 3k people that I'm supposed to feel 'unified' with because of one vague common interest -- but they're strangers! I dont know or care about them -- and I dont have to!

I dont mean that negatively I just mean its true! A fandom isnt like a community or a family, its just strangers until you decide to make some of them more than that.

Its just that... my god... I've spent so long worrying about what people think of me, what they say about me behind their backs. All these people I tried to impress, put on a show for and act a certain way to maintain a social status -- but none of it was real! It was always fake. Pretending to smile and collaborating with people I disliked despite the anxiety and self-loathing it made me feel, that I was happy and enjoying myself, and that the fandom was this niche part of the internet where everyone knows eachother and we all are a family--- but it was always some stupid game. I put of a facade to hide the lies and the shame and the gut-wrenching depression, because "no one likes a downer, arin."

What I'm trying to say is that... fandom life is not for me. I have anxiety, being in this fandom makes me paranoid and nauseous---and while some people thrive, I don't. Its toxic for me and my mental health.

I don't want to be apart of the fandom anymore. I don't want to be associated with the series anymore---I hate it. I literally loathe Twilight as a series so much, same as its horrible author. I have multiple histories involving forced catholic religious worship growing up, and later involvement with a cult. It’s too personal and I know the kind of bullshit “holier-than-thou” hypocrisy that Meyer slips into her narrative because I lived it and I fucking hate it. I dont want to reblog content just because I feel pressured to.

I shouldnt have to silence myself and hide my opinions because they're unpopular and I might be hated. Seeing me or my friends being vagued because of something so petty as not liking certain characters. The raw never-ending paranoia of 'what if they dont like me' 'are they going to make others hate me' 'when am I going to get a callout post.' And I realize I spent all this time trying to get people to like me that I realize some of these people would never return the thought, to worry if they were ever good enough for me.

This is not to shit on the fandom. This is a very personal problem. I've been here since 2011 now and I can't keep playing this game.

My art is my art. I love what I've made the Volturi into like they were my own creations -- and so obviously I am not going to stop uploading them. But I think its also important to differentiate that I am not in the fandom, nor am I a fan. I may have been once, but for my own health I'm cutting my ties.

On a more personal level: my dad almost went to hospital last night and it caused me to have a meltdown, and so ive just been awake all last night thinking about things. And I realized something.

I tried to like the cullens for a long time but it just reminds me of being in the closet and all the fear and guilt and shame I felt at the time. Liking the Volturi for me is escapism. It always has been that way.

I was only 13 and it was like my link to things that were out of the norm and a community of people were different. No one said it out loud but there was always this silent solidarity with fans I knew that we were “different” (ie non cishet) and it was scary. But things like gender and sexuality made sense there. You weren’t yelled at for doing things to spite canon—because there was never enough given to these side characters that it would matter. You could add whatever and project whatever you wanted onto these characters and for the most part it was accepted.

And then having to come back to friends at school and pretend everything was okay was harmful and damning. Twilight was literally my entire puberty, the transition from child to adult, and the similarities linking my interest with the Volturi is locked tight in my soul. I remember even petty things like seeing my straight friends obsessing over Cullen boys and me having to pretend to agree every time wasn't nice.

I know it’s not really that deep, but the Cullens and seeing it on my dash and people forcing it on me, it feels like some kind of metaphor for be being in the closet again. To conform, to change. To me, the Volturi is a personal metaphor for my growth and straying from normality that was being straight and cisgendered.

And its been many years since then but the ideology is so deeply ingrained within me that even at 22 I can’t just unroot that.

And this is all on me. I get that. I know this isn’t the universal experience for everyone that liked Twilight, but it is my experience, and that matters for something.

I just... want to do my own thing. Without people yelling at me about canon or my headcanons being gross or wrong or ugly. Its tiring. I’m tired. I just need a break.

I hope this makes some notion of sense? Im going through a lot of things at the moment and finding out who I am and what I want in the process. And while the fandom has brought me the privilege of meeting and befriending some of the most absolutely wonderful people I've ever met, its also brought me spite and jealousy and rage, and it just feels like im drowning in it.

Its not personal. And you will barely any notice a change in my posts after this, if any. I will still upload and reblog like usual but now hopefully with more confidence and a scar thats begun healing.

I just wanted to clear the air and let yall know where I am right now.

Hope yall have a wonderful day. 🌸🌸

#the volturi was something i got into behind peoples backs because i was embarrassed and hated myself for it #again the metaphors write themselves #i know this is like taking it way too deep but twilight is an important part of my childhood and life and it means a lot to me in many ways #personal

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