#being an american and being black is so dumb | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loveshotzz · 10 months

Text

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap one/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Welcome To The Neighborhood

—> chapter two

summary: There’s a Bandit on the loose.

wc: 3.6k

warnings: 18+ series for eventual smut, 12 year age gap, reader is 30 and Steve is 42 otherwise none for this first installment :) it’s a meet cute baby.

author’s note: Here it is! chapter one of this little slow burn series with your painfully hot and confusing older!neighbor!widower!steve. This story will take place over the course of one summer, told in mostly blurbs of your chance encounters and run in’s with Steve. This series will have lots of pining, flirting, mild angst and eventual smut. Most chapters will range from 1-2k each except for a few. I hope you guys like reading about these two as much as I liked writing it & I hope to see you back next Wednesday! 🥹♥️

Series Masterlist // Playlist // The tune:

End of May —

Highways and state lines blur together like the buzzing of cicadas into busy Chicago streets. A fresh start. A new life. No plan - that was the promise you made to yourself ten years ago almost down to the date.

The excitement outweighs the embarrassment of how long it takes you to parallel park the Uhaul when you find that one in a million spot in front of your new home. Your hands are numb from the constant battle between the wind and your steering wheel. The breeze from the lake testing your strength for the last hour of your drive. The machine creaks loudly when you slam it into park, your legs wobbling like jello when your converse hit the pavement and out of your truck.

The city hits your ears like the humidity on your skin. The exposed parts of your thighs stick together when the thick air wraps around you like an unwanted blanket. Taking a deep breath, exhaust stings your lungs. Far away from the only place you’d ever known, it’s comforting the feeling that washes over you. You didn’t come here with an agenda. A fresh start with nothing to lose. You came here just to be you.

It seems like everyone is on their way to do something, going somewhere they have to be. They brush past you without even a glance in your direction, air pods buried deep in their ears caught up in their own little world. The sounds of dogs barking mingle with cars honking and loud conversations from patio bars the next block over. The city is alive with summer hanging fresh in the air.

The trees that line both sides of your street are lush and green from the moisture. They drape over phone lines, weeping under the heat of the sun. Bumper to bumper cars from all kinds of walks of life make the one way street even smaller. Mini gardens in front of mismatched houses only inches apart. This was your new home.

The three story townhouse is covered in dark green wooden paneling, the floors split up into separate apartments, and you managed to bag the top floor with protruding bay windows. Dumb luck mixed with being on craigslist minutes after they posted, you found the one mom and pop place in the city that fit your budget.

The chipped black metal gate that blocks off the front steps lands at your waist, and runs as a property line against an even nicer house next to yours. One that looks like it belongs to someone, not rented out to a bunch of someones. The bright red brick looks new, and the dark wood steps and patio freshly stained. An oriental rug that matches the house has chew toys with missing limbs littering the front entrance. A porch swing faces you and it sways gently with the wind. Your eyes catch the silhouette of someone on the other side of the stained glass in the middle of the thick mahogany door, and it reminds you to stop being so nosy.

Keys dangling in your hand, you take your first steps through the gate. The metal groans loudly before slamming closed behind you. You jog up the less polished, salt worn steps to your front door and the faint sound of a deep voice catches your ears from next door as you jiggle the lock open. Crossing through the threshold of the entryway you’re not surprised when there’s no reprieve to the heat, but disappointed just the same as you pull at our tank top that starts clinging to your skin. You eye the narrow staircase that curves up leading to your apartment, immediately regretting doing this alone.

It takes you less time to unload than it did to load up, at least that's what you tell yourself as you round to the back of the open trailer. Sweat is slick against your skin and you thank yourself for keeping the previous owner's couch even if you thought it was an ugly shade of green.You stare pointedly at the four heaviest boxes left and you swear they mock you while you try to catch your breath from pushing your mattress to your room. The words ‘winter clothes’ scribbled sloppily in bright red marker make your face twist up.

“God dammit,”you breathe out running the back of your hand across your forehead trying to rally. Your A/C was already in the window and the cool air inside becomes your motivation.

You aren’t expecting the abrupt shove forward or the feeling of paws on your butt, sharp nails digging into the soft material of your shorts. Then you hear it, his voice.

“Bandit! Bandit - no! Down!”

Your hands hit the metal of the trailer stopping your fall under the weight of what you’re now realizing is an over excited fully grown German Shepherd. Pink tongue out with spit flying everywhere, you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you when you turn around and he starts sniffing all over with a tail that wags a mile a minute. High pitched whines leave him when he realizes how much he wants you to play, but he accepts the scratches you offer behind his ears just the same. Body wiggling while also trying to stay still.

“Hi buddy!” you coo, your voice instantly slipping into the embarrassing one you only use for animals.

That’s when you see him.

He has a few years on you, that part is obvious with the pepper that spots the sides of his honey colored hair and the scruff that lines his sharp jaw, but it only makes him look better. His broad shoulders are wrapped up tight in a white undershirt, the thick cotton telling you it was the kind that cost more than your phone bill. The black shorts he wears have a hem high enough to almost be inappropriate when you swear you see the outline of what’s underneath. The Nike swoosh near the slit at the top of his hairy thighs. His shoes match the color of his shorts, the On Cloud symbol etched on the side flashes in the light. Two hundred dollars on just his feet.

The trained muscles in his arm flex when he runs a hand through his hair, catching the stray that flops over his forehead when he comes to a halt in front of you. The bright red leash clutched in his fist matches the color of his cheeks. Big hazel eyes meet yours after lingering on your curves a little too long, making you realize you’re showing off just as much skin as him. Clearing your throat, you tug at the bottom of your yoga shorts, willing them to grow just an inch longer with cheeks burning and not because of the sun.

“Sorry, I have a bad habit of getting him excited before I leash him up. I swear he’s friendly, are you okay? He didn’t scratch you or anything right?”

You’re too distracted by his hands to comprehend his words, tendons moving under taut skin as he hooks Bandit’s hardness. The heat, the move, and the man all getting the best of you.

“Hey -“

His voice brings you back to reality, his brows furrowing over perfect features when he looks at you with genuine concern.

“Yes! Sorry, I’m fine. Honestly! I love dogs. The move in the heat, I think, I think it’s just getting to me.” You smile doing your best to calm the worried look on his face, and you swear you see him flush deeper because of it.

It’s his turn to clear his throat, left hand flexing like he’s looking for a ring that isn’t there. The skin is a lighter shade than the rest of him like there used to be. There’s a beat and an awkward silence before he finally notices the mostly empty trailer behind you.

“Looks like you’re almost done though, top floor?” He questions rocking on his heels a little, pointing over his shoulder to your window. Your A/C is already dripping water onto the pavement.

“Yeah! You live in the building?” Please say yes.

“Me? No.” He coughs a little uncomfortable, while you fight to stop the disappointment from showing on your face. “I umm, I actually live next door.” He winces, almost like he’s embarrassed.

“Anyway, sorry about Bandit. Your boyfriend is probably wondering where you’re at.” You don’t miss the way he assumes with a secret hope he’s wrong hidden behind the mossy greens of his eyes.

“Probably,” you pause, ego boosting when you see him squirm, “If I had one.” You giggle and you hate the way your hips twist a little.

That’s when he does it, he smiles, with all of his teeth. It’s just as blinding as it is contagious, and it makes your skin tingle, giddiness dripping from your limbs. It’s short lived though, like pieces of a puzzle clicking together you watch it disappear. It’s replaced by the same concern from before only with a new layer of disbelief.

“Wait, honey, who’s helping you move in then?” He looks at you stunned like he can’t fathom the answer he knows you're gonna give.

“The same person that drove here - me.” You grin a little proud with your chin pushed up and it makes his lips twitch, the same smile from before itching to come back.

“Let me at least help with these last few.” He peeks behind you, eyes scanning over your messy writing, “They look like they might be heavy.”

He teases you just enough to earn a roll of your eyes, but the grin on your face makes him huff out a relieved laugh. Nerves like a first date twist in his gut when he sees the way you look at him from under your lashes.

“I mean, if you insist…?” you trail off, fishing for his name.

“Steve, sorry! It's Steve, Steve Harrington.” He runs one of his big hands through his hair again, a nervous tell of his you pick up on instantly, before offering it out for you to take.

“I don’t think I caught that, can you repeat your name one more time for me?” Biting your lip into a smile, he narrows his eyes playfully, cheeks blooming, flustered from your words.

Sliding your hand into his, it disappears completely when he wraps his fingers around yours. The softness of his palm is warm like the sun that beat down on you all day and it sends electric currents running through your veins, heart thumping loudly in your chest and you wonder if he can hear the way he can hear it. Minutes pass before either of you make the first move to let go, or at least that’s what it feels like. It’s not until Bandit whines at your feet that Steve finally caves.

“Let me go put him back inside real quick, it’s still a little too hot out anyway and I’ll help you bring the last of this up, tough girl.” He winks with the kind of casualness that makes you question whether you saw it at all and you have to hold in the sigh that begs to slip past your lips.

“I’ll be waiting,” your voice cracks, your confidence slowly disappearing like the sun behind the hazed skyline.

You try to cover it up by swooping down to give Bandit a kiss between the eyes. Only it backfires, making it worse when you realize how weirdly personal that was to do to someone else’s dog, despite the more than pleased wag of his tail.

“That - that was, oh god. I don’t know why I kissed your dog like I knew him. Or you. I’m - I’m sorry.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, embarrassment rolling off of you in waves.

It’s not until you hear his laugh, and god is it pretty too, that you finally look up.

“It’s understandable, he’s a handsome guy.” Steve smirks with flirty eyes and it makes you dizzy.

You can’t stop your giggle, the back of your hand doing little to hide your smile from him. Butterflies breaking from cocoons in your stomach as you watch him walk away to that big house right next to yours.

“What exactly do you have in these boxes?” Steve grunts as he follows you up the narrow staircase with two in tow despite your multiple warnings.

“Winter coats, sweaters, maybe some boots...” you trail off trying to think, your disorganization more than evident when you open up your front door to even more boxes and bags spread out in disarray.

“You packed your coats and your boots in the same box?” His voice is muffled behind cardboard as the cool air hits, sending goosebumps across sweat-kissed skin. The low hum does something to dull your nerves when you work up the courage to turn around and finally face him.

“Maybe! Who knows, I’ll find out tonight when I open it.”

He huffs out a breathy laugh as his broad shoulders almost brush the sides of your door frame. Stepping one expensive sneaker in front of the other into your more than humble apartment, there’s a fleeting moment of regret about taking him up on his offer when your eyes dart around the mess.

“Where am I puttin’ this boss?” His eyes meet yours from around the side of the boxes, playfulness filling the greens and browns like before.

The muscles in his arm flex when he re-establishes his hold on the box, the sleeves of his shirt getting tighter and the whites of his knuckles start to show. The simple brown leather band of his watch strains, and it makes your throat dry up.

“Ummm.” You shake your head, willing your brain to regain its normal function as you start a clumsy walk towards the direction of your bedroom. “We can put them in my -“

Your shoe hits something hard and you don’t have enough time to realize what’s happening until you're already on the ground. Palms flat against the scratched wooden floor and a sharp pain in your ankle. The culprit, an already half opened box labeled KITCHEN you must’ve left in the hallway when you got distracted by something else.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Steve sets the boxes down, pushing them against the wall and out of the way raking his hand through his hair again, it must be a stressed habit too.

“Yeah, yeah, my ego is a little bruised but I think I’m gonna survive.” You try to smile, but only end up wincing when you go to push yourself up.

“Here, let's get you on the couch, let me take a look.” He doesn’t wait for your reply, both of his hands coming out to you in an offering. Stubbornness losing for once, you take them.

He lifts you up like you’re weightless, moving you around with ease as he tucks you into his side. His fingers wrap around the curve of your hip to steady you. He’s warm, the pine of his body wash mixing with the spice of his cologne and it surrounds you in a strong hold. It's a short trip to your couch, his abs moving with each step, and you secretly wish it took just a little longer.

He’s gentle when he untangles himself from you. Soft palms on your elbows to hold your balance as you sit down. There’s a hint of his aftershave that hits your nose as your muscles melt into the softness of the cushions, the day quickly catching up to you. Eyelids going droopy.

“Sitting was a mistake Steve,” you groan with a light stretch of your limbs, and another subtle wince.

“Well good thing you conned me into helping you with the last of your boxes then.” He waits a second before meeting your eyes as he pulls one of your many boxes over to sit on, his lips twisting up when he sees the way you scoff.

“Conned you?! You practically begged me to let you help.” Your head bobs with attitude dripping from each word and it makes him grin. He nods furrowing his brows like he’s hearing you, but despite the limited time you’ve spent with him you knew whatever he was about to say was just going to egg you on more.

“I mean, if that’s what you need to tell yourself sweetheart. I remember it a little differently.” He can’t hold in his laugh when you roll your eyes hard at him trying to ignore the newest nickname.

His knees brush against yours when he finally takes his seat, the hem of his shorts rising higher, running tight against the muscle of his thigh. The cinnamon hair that covers his legs tickles you while the sun hits your bay window with just the right light to reveal an expanse of freckles and moles you didn’t see before under his five o’clock shadow and across the bridge of his nose. God, he’s handsome.

His eyes catch yours like he can hear your thoughts, and for a moment you wonder if he actually can.

“Do you mind?” The teasing edge is gone, his eyes a little more soft when the tips of his fingers tap against your leg.

Your voice is lost in the shift in energy, static filling in the air between you when you shake your head ‘no’.’’ His touch is feather light when his fingers wrap gingerly around your ankle bringing your foot to his lap. He makes quick work of your laces, using extra care when he pulls off your shoe. The pad of his thumb rubs over the bruising bone and you notice the way he licks his lips.

“Does this hurt?” He applies a little bit of pressure to the spot just below your calf, his gaze making you nervous as he gauges your reactions.

“No,” it comes out a little breathless and he exhales deep through his nose because of it.

“How about here?” He does the same thing as before, only this time closer to your heel and you wince. “There it is,” he hums to himself, rubbing soothing circles as an apology.

“Like on a pain scale of one to ten, I’d give it a three and a half or four” you tell him, when really you’re too proud to admit it’s actually a five.

“Three and a half? You can’t use that. Solid number only,” he scoffs meeting your eyes from under his lashes, the forest inside them turning black.

“I actually think I can do whatever I want,” you laugh incredulously, your toes wiggling under black socks in his lap.

“I guess it is your house, I stand corrected.” Steve admits defeat with an exaggerated sigh before showing you his teeth in a wide grin, his thumb still rubbing circles because it never actually stopped. “Do you have an ice pack?”

Your finger drums against your bottom lip as you think about everything you had packed, his eyes fixated on the way you lightly pull it down with each tap.

“I don’t remember and if I’m being completely honest I don’t think so.” You look sheepish when you admit your lack of first aid supplies to him.

He chuckles lightly, hot breath fanning against your skin with a shake of his head.

“I think I have one, I’ll grab it and bring those other two boxes up. Keep your foot elevated for me tonight tough girl. Unpack your chaos tomorrow.” He mocks the way your jaw drops at his teasing.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were tryin’ to take care of me Steve.” The joke is innocent, at least that’s what you thought.

Something clicks behind his eyes, the warmth draining from his smile when it falls. His brows furrow and he won’t look at you anymore, his thumb stops rubbing those circles, and your foot is placed gently back on the ground. He’s standing up faster than you can catch your breath, faster than you can comprehend. The energy shifts to something distant and the warm summer is replaced with frigid winter. He clears his throat with glassy eyes scratching the back of his neck, and you have no idea what you did.

“Hey I’m sorry if I -“

He cuts you off before you can finish.

“You didn’t do anything, It’s me - look, I’m just gonna go get those things. I’ll leave it at your door, please just elevate your foot. You should be okay by tomorrow.” He doesn’t let you respond, long legs taking him out of your place and leaving you to wonder what you did wrong.

Your head lulls against the back of the couch, staring fixated on the old popcorn ceiling of your living room for what feels like twenty minutes as you replay everything back. Over analyzing his tones and body language coming up empty every time. This was going to drive you crazy.

There’s three raps on your front door, one coming down hard followed by two quick knocks. When you stand up this time, it hurts less, more true to the pain level you gave him as you slightly hobble to answer.

When you open it, your two boxes are stacked where he promised. A dark blue ice pack with a yellow sticky note that says:

beta’d by @superblysubpar 💕 (also made the cute post it for me 🥹)

dividers by @newlips 💗

chapter two

#my wrtitng #all i really want is you series #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington slow burn #steve harrington fanfiction #older!steve #steve harrington x y/n

1K notes · View notes

undreaming-fanfiction · 1 year

Text

Someone is eager to see Mafia Mamma and that someone is me. So anyway.

When a twenty-two year old Steve Harrington gets the call, he isn't in the best spot in his life. Sure, he survived all the Upside Down crap, but his parents finally had enough of his so-called trauma ("the earthquake was bad, Steven, but you can't let that influence your life forever! It's like you're not even trying!"). He didn't get to college and his love life is abysmal, but hey, at least he does something useful now - he's training to be a paramedic and he lives in a small, old flat, regularly calling Robin and his gaggle of kids and hanging out with Eddie whenever possible. So maybe it's not the best spot in life, but it's his.

Well, apparently his great-uncle that his mother never really talked about died and asked that Steve takes over the family business in his will. Family business that is in Italy. Cool.

Look, Steve likes first aid, saving lives and all that, but, after the second shared joint with Eddie, admits he's curious. No one said it has to be forever, but maybe it would help him to try something else for a change. Eddie absolutely approves, squeezes Steve's shoulder, but - a little sadly, it seems to Steve - admits he's going to miss the only person who went through all the shit and stuck around. He even jokes he'll hide in Steve's suitcase and will go to Italy with him. "You know, somewhere far away from the Satanist rep. Well, Vatican is there so that's not ideal, but maybe with no murders and levitation this time, I'd just pass as the weird American?" And without thinking, Steve blurts out: "Come with me."

They land in Italy with almost nothing, Eddie with a beat up backpack and his guitar ("not even death or other fucked up dimensions will us part, Steve!"), Steve with a sports bag full of clothes and graduation pics of his kids plus Robin and Nancy, and his trusted hair spray. He really, really wanted to take his spiked bat, but apparently that would be a hazard on the plane. Go figure.

And of course, the "family business" is full of black suits, guns, rapid Italian threats and on top of that, the other families know that the old head of the family is gone and they smell the blood in the water. Especially when the new leader is barely an adult who looks more like a model than a criminal. And his friend who looks like a criminal? That one looks more like a petty thief or vandal than an actual mafia member. Now is their time to strike.

Turns out, that wasn't the best idea. Not when the doe-eyed metalhead grabs the nearest chair and smashes it repeatedly over the assailant's head while yelling "I-DID-NOT-SURVIVE-BEING-CHEWED-ON-TO-DIE-TO-A-FUCKING-BULLET-YOU-MOTHERFUCKER!" while the new boss reaches for the nearest lamp and, like a bloody ninja, renders three assassins unconscious, then setting down the bloodied rod (goodbye, lamp shade and light bulb) and tells his advisor that he wants a baseball bat, a hammer and a bunch of nails. For...reasons.

They gradually settle in. Steve excels in keeping his family in line by adopting his best mom pose, hands on hips, while sternly uttering "What did we say about excessive violence, Francesco? Hm? If you start there, what do you do when you need to escalate? Why do you start with the worst? And they call me dumb." When his bodyguard cocks his gun and asks who called him dumb and where do they live, Eddie snorts into his coffee. (also Steve later apologizes to Francesco for calling him dumb, but also adds that rules are made to be followed, especially those that save a lot of blood and pain)

As for Eddie, without the academic pressure he becomes and unstoppable language student. He's like a sponge, being semi-fluent while Steve struggles with basic phrases. They study together and Eddie begins feeling more confident, takes up more languages and slowly starts functioning as Steve's interpreter and teacher in one. Also a bit more, when they have to evade another assassination attempt and Steve finds himself laying on top of Eddie, on the ground where he pulled him to save him from a nasty punch, and no one comments on it when they get up a few seconds too late, their lips and faces red.

Eventually Steve becomes fluent as well and that's when Eddie experiences the best time of his life - when they walk together in a market, bodyguards giving them just a little bit of privacy, and someone spits on the ground behind them - "stupid American." But before Eddie can react, Steve throws a bitchy look at the offender and says in perfect Italian: "and you look like a poorly shaved goat, yet I'm not judging."

Eddie howls in laughter and nudges Steve's side. "Careful, Stevie. I might think you don't need a teacher anymore."

Steve wraps his arm around Eddie's waist. In here, surrounded by the bodyguards and his family, he can finally do that. "Maybe not. But I'll always need a boyfriend. Wanna apply?"

#steddie au #steddie drabble #steddie mafia au #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things drabble #the movie is an action comedy so of course mafia is a serious and cruel organization #but we deserve some silly AUs and you have one right here

430 notes · View notes

fruitbasketball · 22 days

Note

lol Caitlin has used her platform to shine a light on all the black women who pioneered the sport, and actually done so by name, unlike Paige who made a vague statement one time and has never spoken up again

and idk where you get she’s entitled, it seems like all she’s ever wanted to do is win a championship which is what every player in college wants to do. she doesn’t seem remotely concerned with personal accolades, unlike other programs overly concerned with their player being NPOY despite not actually earning it

oh rightttt like that time they asked her on national television if race played a factor in the media’s treatment of her versus their treatment of angel reese and she… didn’t answer the question, right?

or the time that sheryl swoopes (one of those black women who pioneered the sport) was being attacked by her fans, and caitlin blocked everyone on twitter reminding her that her fans are racist? she did a great job shining a light on black women then!

i just feel like we watched different espys speeches, because i remember a 19 year old paige bueckers getting on national television, recognizing that she’s a white woman in a black led sport, and NAME DROPPING black women who deserved/deserve media attention, like maya moore and odyssey alexander, as well as speaking out against police brutality by mentioning breonna taylor.

and maybe we’re a little new to this and we don’t know ball, but if you’ve been following women’s college basketball for the past 4 years, you would know that instance is not a one off, because paige has been speaking out for the black community for years.

what y’all aren’t realizing is that racism is not just calling her teammates slurs or saying she hates black people or shit like that - it’s a refusal to acknowledge that racism exists in the first place.

and don’t play fucking dumb. by entitled i mean the whole “im caitlin clark give me that whistle”. fuck outta here w that ‘npoy but hasn’t earned it’. lisa bluder consistently touts that she has “the best player in the country” or “in the world”. i know that’s a dig at geno, so let’s get one thing fucking straight: paige is the best player in america. and when you have 11 fucking rings, you have every right to get up on a presser and say that. you might not think so, because your very narrow minded view of the game probably cleared the rest of the stat sheet except for points. paige came back from a fucking acl tear and she’s still a first team all american, and she’s a wade and naismith trophy finalist. she fills the stat sheet in every single thing except turnovers and personal fouls, and she does it on ridiculous efficiency. she makes her teammates better, and dawn staley herself has said she’s the most elite player to ever play the game.

do not piss me off with this bullshit

#wbb #wcbb #uconn wbb #uconn #uconn huskies #paige bueckers #caitlin clark #iowa wbb #iowa hawkeyes #ask

68 notes · View notes

the-cat-and-the-birdie · 7 months

Note

Kinda sick of the racism from nonblacks (i say nonblacks because it ain't just the whites tho it's mainly them!) in the spiderverse fandom because why does black ppl centering themselves in fiction (you know cuz we never can have ANYTHING) bother them so much??

"Hobie would choose a white girl over you" "why does miles have to be with someone black" "why does he always have to have a black reader" like Ummmm DO Y'ALL NOT HEAR HOW DUMB AND IGNORANT YOU SOUND?

We gotta gatekeep the black characters in this fandom until ppl know how to act right and stop getting besides themselves

PREACH!!!!!! CAUSE LIKE -- People out here are really disturbed that they *checks notes* were reminded black people exist? black people being found specifically attractive in a way whiteness is CONSTANTLY.

Anti-Blackness, Hobie, & The Black!Reader -

[A SHORT rant about people who have an issue with Black!Readers]

I ALWAYS find it where when people beef with Black people who want to date other Black people.

Because it's 100% racism.

If you think that a Black person dating only Black people is wrong - Anti-blackness is probably the root.

Just kidding it is the root its literally the only solution and explanation hehehe

Because as a trans person - when someone says they're T4T, everyone is fine with that.

Cis people can understand that they will never understand the trans experience, and that trans people may be attracted and want relationships with people who can understand on a personal level.

But when a Black Person say they're 'Black4Black' suddenly that's wrong?? We can't do that??

It's like non-whites cannot grasp that anti-black racism is a very VERY specific experience that we deal with all our lives and we may want partners that can not only support us but relate too. Partners we don't have to explain race shit too.

No- blackness is an experience that HAS to be available to them. Black people's experiences, minds and bodies HAVE to be available for there consumption or we're in the wrong.

We are either there to be consumed (like Hobie is) or ignored (like the Black!Reader is).

All my life I've seen the default OC and default reader be a white person. Readers that don't speak AAVE, that show no attempt at culture outside the 'normal' heteronormative American family.

And suddenly we try to change that for ourselves and that's not cool.

Also - people who say that about Hobie are just outright uneducated.

Hobie is from 1978.

Racial Discrimination in the UK was outlawed in 1965. Regardless of whether you think he's 16 or 19 - Hobie Brown grew up under racial segregation from ages 3-6.

He grew up seeing it - experiencing racism. Living with and being raised by and surrounded by a community of older black people who lived under segregation.

And even after the bill - Racist attitudes would still be surrounding him realistically speaking.

HE'S NOT FROM NOW.

Acting like Hobie has no opinions on that, or experiences, or coping mechanisms or TRAUMA from that - is fucked up.

That's black trauma LOOK AT IT.

So YEAH, A guy who grew up under segregation and a police state would have trauma from it.

But they (racists) wanna sidestep that.

They'll talk all day about Hobie's police related trauma - but not the race thing......okay. Okay, no it's fine. I'm fine.

The idea that Hobie might have unsavory experiences with race makes them uncomfortable. The idea that Hobie would seek out Black Spaces to GET AWAY from white people - makes them foam at the mouth.

Not all white people are racist - but a white person can never understand anti-black racism from a personal view the way Hobie or I or you do.

That's just a fact.

But the idea that there's a special outlet we alone understand about Hobie, and connect with him through, they dislike that.

Anti-Blackness. It's everywhere.

YOINK!! I'M TAKING HOBIE BACK TO THE ANCESTORS. LETS GO.

#spiderman #atsv #spider man #marvel #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spider punk #spiderpunk #Racism #anti-blackness #hobie x black!reader #hobie brown x black!reader #hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #atsv analysis #antiblackness #discrimination

160 notes · View notes

omgthatdress · 1 year

Text

Oh my god I hate Mattel so much.

They took the American Girl brand and gave it a lobotomy.

I was going to make a very very very very bad joke about one of the 90s girls getting an eating disorder after watching Britney Spears, BUT DECIDED AGAINST IT because eating disorders are something you don’t joke about, BUT. HERE’S THE THING.

Here’s the thing. Being a tween-to-teen-age girl in the late 90s early 2000s was BULLSHIT. You had 16-year-old Britney Spears singing “Hit me baby one more time” in her Lolita schoolgirl miniskirt and crop top showing off her perfectly flat abs, and then you went to school and had abstinence-only sex ed mandated by the evangelical right wing who gave out purity rings and told you that only sluts had sex before marriage. And then there was the issue of being a fat girl trying to find jeans that met her school’s dress code the days of low-rise jeans and belly button rings.

I ended up adoring Linkin Park because their music gave voice to the rage that I had inside of me because of all that. I wore men’s pants from Hot Topic not only because I thought they were cool, but they actually fucking fit and they covered my ass crack. I wore black because I didn’t fit in to the ultra-skinny, ultra cool kid Abercrombie aesthetic. And THAT is what growing up in the 90s and coming of age in the 2000s was like.

“Nicki Hoffman is a nine going on ten year old girl living in Seattle, Washington just before the year 2000 (the turn of the millennium). She is six minutes older than her fraternal twin sister, Isabel, but one inch shorter. Nicki prefers grunge, ska music, rock, alternative, and skating; she is the "grunge" to Isabel's glitter. She does not like eating raw fish and sushi; her father teases that they can's spell "finicky" without Nicki. She likes sour candy--the more sour, the better. She's known to be shy, to the point Isabel points this out; she initially doesn't have other friends than Isabel. She's very anxious about the Y2K problem and the risks and worries that have been circulating, so Isabel and her create a list to take her mind off her worries of things to do before New Year's.Her favorite color is purple, her favorite animal is a dog (she adopts her puppy, Blossom, as a Hanukkah gift), her favorite band is No Doubt, and her favorite show is The Powerpuff Girls (her favorite character being Blossom). She likes to snack on Wild Berry Pop tarts. She does not like her middle name, Pearl.The family is interfaith and celebrates both Hanukkah and Christmas. “

It’s a sterilized and dumbed-down version of growing up in the 90s, one where they only real problem facing girls is the y2k bug. It’s about the aesthetic but not the experience. Honestly the girls of today deserve to see that their moms had it difficult, too, and that the pressure to grow up incredibly quickly and be beautiful and flawless and instantly become a woman is nothing new, now it’s just on TikTok instead of MTV.

It’s the trap of nostalgia. Just because you were younger and not as aware of the issues going on in the world doesn’t mean the world was better.

472 notes · View notes

nekropsii · 3 days

Note

You are truly the strongest HS fan out here. Respect o7

Hope your askbox is normal soon king

I will be truthful, I have genuinely not gotten nearly as much flack as other creators have for pointing out the same thing. It’s just that most other creators, when discussing this, have committed the grievous crime of being openly Black… And feeling the effects of that harassment way more, because it tends to hit them like a freight train. So many people checking their tone, shooting their criticism down because they’re openly upset about it and reacting to their harassment, playing dumb, et cetera.

Apparently, so I’ve noticed, people seem to perceive me as white and therefore not having had any connection to any Black person or community at any point in my life… Which is a double-edged sword, because that seems to make a lot more people willing to listen to what I have to say, and also gives some people immediate leeway to ignore the things I am saying, or even accuse me of being “the real racist” for just recognizing that racism is present in the first place.

Hi. I am Native American. I am mixed race. My stepfather since before I was conscious to adulthood was a Black man. I live and grew up in the Bible Belt, in a very racially diverse city. I have known and loved many other people of color. We are brothers in arms. I have known nothing but love, kindness, and acceptance in their communities, and Black kids were the first and fastest ones to accept my Queer identity and help fight for me without question when others refused to respect it. I’ve been the victim of racism, and I’ve also been expected to ignore racism, depending on how I’m perceived in the moment.

I think I have a far more complex relationship with race than a lot of people seem to perceive of me, judging by some cute little comments I’ve received.

How dare anyone respond to someone pointing out racism by throwing all the gotchas they can think of at them without even bothering to do any self reflection as to why they’re so hellbent on ignoring their points? Why? Just for their own personal momentary comfort? That’s far whiter than saying that a known Anti-Black Racist did another Anti-Black Racism when he practically ran through the Wikipedia article for Anti-Black Stereotypes as his inspiration for a character while actively being in a phase of his life where he was casually dropping the N-Word.

I think the most ironic thing is how people will jump to calling me white. For what? What triggers that? They don’t even realize that they’re doing a funny little Blood Quantum check. That, like, Turbo Racism. Calling me white is not only not true, it’s a tool of Genocide. Very cute. Very quirky.

#lord have mercy.#homestuck #cw racism #nekro.sms

48 notes · View notes

ca-suffit · 2 months

Text

This antiblack campaign the fandom just tried to kick up again (to avoid talking about the real issue with Nalyra) reveals how powerless they're starting to truly feel now.

They don't have many users left to vilify so they're putting people on blocklists who are brand new (I was here 3 days lol) or not even really in the fandom. That looks goofy and desperate but then it keeps going. DMing strangers to say "the truth" isn't about racism and "talk to me if you really want to know about anything." Everyone's reblogging those blocklist posts now and adding large commentary suddenly, when before they often fully sat it out. They're doing this in a group to look like they have larger numbers and are "revealing" there's a "big secret bullying problem"....except nobody believes them. Because there's plenty of accounts who are out here saying this shit straight to their faces and they pretend we all don't exist. All of this group has to manufacture drama solely because they just don't want to talk about harmful shit they actually do.

Neil has to make an antiblack statement she made suddenly be about antisemitism towards her, Nalyra's antiblackness is "actually" fans upset about shipping and "what's REALLY coming" in S2, showmey0urfangs is always happy to show up with her dumb screencaps and villain monologue nobody asked for so she can make her everlasting outrage about popular black fics and "feminized" Louis sound deeper than it is, Virginia suddenly cries about IRL issues and wants to leave the fandom because she wants to distract from the Nalyra receipts, Keybearer accused another black fan of trolling people and getting accounts suspended on twitter in 2023 when a Marius fan eventually confessed to it and his eternal shame for that means now every black fan except him is a bully (despite nobody talking about this ever anymore except him), chicalepidopterare mocks a black fan for blocking her "because I thought we were supposed to talk about racism" and then poorly tries to frame any retaliation against her to look like bullying ("see, they're misogynistic, they're bullying my art, they're mean for disliking these ships!").

To quote Claudia here, "You must think me an idiot." And the big cherry on top is also how none of these losers can stand to hear any mention of race....in the fandom of the show that nonstop talks about race. They're using very basic (and meant in a gentle, loving way) teasing of Jacob as proof that black fans are racist against Jacob too, black fans hate Jacob's white wife. People hate Lestat for being white too (what?). They can write crap meta all day about Lestat letting Louis "rape" him and only white victims (Lestat) being real victims to the evil black and brown "true" manipulators (Claudia, Louis, Armand) but gentle teasing from black fans about Jacob's haircut is the real racism. Okay lol. Care to tell us again why you think Delainey's Claudia looks "less innocent" now then? This 3D chess you think you're playing isn't playing how you think for anyone else.

I also notice that afaik there's not a single black American in this group. Idek if there's many Americans of any kind in the group. It's been a lot of shaming to black Americans specifically though, again from the show that's focused on black Americans....by people who aren't black Americans.

"There's people pretending to be black so it's okay to keep hating this whole group." It's not enough you already nonstop shit on black fans as it is, now you have to try to angle it as if none of this could be authentic in the first place. Vile behavior. For what? Tumblr isn't even a platform that pays you for whatever clout you have, so really what is the point here. In a small ass fandom on top of it. Some of you have pretty grown kids too, this is extra sad. It makes all the jumping through hoops to coddle Lestat's behavior make sense though, if you're the same kind of person yourself. Anyway, maybe you don't actually know everything because race exists in the real world beyond how Anne Rice wrote about it in her useless books! You make books written by a racist white woman your whole personality and guess what your outlook on life is going to be.

It's been really pathetic to especially watch any fans of color move more to this extreme bullying side as time has gone on. It will never pay off to promote white fandom ideals. These accounts you're trying to cuddle up to aren't even that big. The fandom outside of the tags actually has much more popular posts, supporters, and fics...although that's also half of what this all is actually about, fic numbers. Again, these are grown adults obsessing over this. We could have a whole different fandom if this group didn't exist and keep wanting to gatekeep everything and be the only people who get praise about anything.

It's no surprise that people who worship Anne Rice have major ego problems themselves. It's been fucked up to deal with but the good thing now is that big egos have big collapses eventually and that's what we're starting to see happening now. People are sick of you and able to see through your basic ass manipulation techniques. People just want to have a fandom, they're not here to worship fans who want to be dictators. Nobody is here for your fragility, losers.

#fandom racism #iwtv fandom #amc iwtv #iwtv #interview with the vampire

72 notes · View notes

moorishflower · 1 year

Note

Hob, drunkenly going into raptures about the magnificence of Dream and Dream’s abilities and forms and the sheer enthusiastic wonder of getting to experience his attention in all its shapes.

Matthew, his unimpressed corvid drinking buddy: only you could make being a monsterfucker for the boss sound holy.

Hob: it’s a calling!

Matthew: it’s thirst. Calm down, chucklefuck.

Funnily enough, if Hob had been told by some enterprising young soul a hundred years ago that his best drinking buddy would one day be a large raven with an American accent, he wouldn't have thought it the strangest thing he'd ever heard. Then again, about a hundred years ago (or so -- he's really, fantastically, marvelously pissed, and remembering dates is the furthest thing from his mind) he'd been quite into LSD, and so there hasn't been a lot of things since then that have struck him as odd.

Perhaps all the acid had done something to his brain. Rewired some vital part of him that's never quite slipped back into place. He remembers, when he was young, having a fairly healthy respect for monsters, having believed wholeheartedly in the devil, and nixies, and all manner of fey creatures, and wanting no part of them.

Or maybe it's just Dream. Dream, whose skin glows like the moon in October, Dream whose teeth are straight and white and sometimes sharp as knives, Dream whose nails are the glossy black umbra of the sea at midnight, Dream, Dream, Dream.

He hums a few bars of the song -- whenever I want you, all I have to do is dream -- and Matthew, who is also truly, incredibly pissed, dips his beak into his glass of Jose Cuervo. Hob has to trust that he's not going to drink himself into liver failure -- can birds get liver failure? -- because anything smaller than a pint glass renders it too difficult for Matthew to drink at all.

"You're singing," Matthew says, and Hob hums a few more notes, sliding tunefully into the words, his voice thick with drink and thick with an accent that only comes out when he's in his cups, or when he's in Dream.

"Dream, dream, dream," he croons, "I can make you mine, taste your lips of wine, any time…night or day…"

"Aw, Christ."

Hob shuffles his pack of cigarettes closer to Matthew, a peace offering. "S…S'not. You know. S'not like that."

Matthew tilts his head, blearily watching the approaching fags. "Then what's it like? Loverboy? You dumb sap."

"He's just perfect." Hob fumbles a cigarette from the pack, holds it up, conciliatory, for Matthew to take into his beak. Then comes the monumental task of locating the lighter, which it takes Hob several seconds of restless patting to realize is in his pocket. Actually working the lighter takes almost no effort -- it's such a memorized motion. Between World Wars one and two, he reckons he's smoked more than any single living human on the planet.

Matthew doesn't inhale. He hasn't got the cheeks for it. Instead he just sort of…lets the smoke infuse him, like trying to sage a new apartment.

"Perfect," Matthew says, only slightly muffled by the cigarette. "Yeah, but you just fuck. You don't have to work with him."

"We don't just fuck." This seems, to Hob's light-blurred senses, the most heinous of simplifications. "We're. I love him. And he's so, so good to me. C'mere. Matthew. Come here." He ducks his head down, intending to tell Matthew a secret -- there's no one else in the flat to hear, but it's the principle of the thing. Matthew, obligingly, tips up his head, smoke wreathing him like a tiny dragon.

"D'you know," Hob says, "that he's. That he can change how he looks."

"I mean. One of his names is Lord Shaper. So I guess…"

"And do you know…" Hob pauses, losing himself briefly in reminiscence. If he twists just right, he can still feel the subtle throb of bruises on his hips, on his thighs. "Do you know how many. How many hands you can fit on a body at once."

"What the fuck."

"A lot," Hob sighs. "A lot. An'. An' him at the center of it all. Shining like a lighthouse. Over the sea. Like, like the sun through ah. Stained glass. At the, what's it called."

"Church?"

"Bigger. More."

"Cathedral."

"Yeah. That."

Matthew eyes him with blatant disrespect. "You're one of those," he says, and Hob tilts his glass to try and get a look into the bottom, measuring if there's enough cider left for a mouthful, or if he needs to open a new bottle. He's got some lovely lavender-infused cider somewhere around the place.

"One of," he says, and Matthew fluffs his feathers out so densely that he looks like a large, black cottonball.

"One of those monsterfucker people. Gets off on tentacles and shit."

"Tentacles," Hob says, affronted. "There's never been any tentacles."

"Have you asked?"

Hob's not entirely sure what to say to this. He hasn't asked. He hasn't thought about it, because up until a few months ago, all of his sexual encounters had been of the decidedly human variety. Dream has laid out a feast of possibilities for him, and so far Hob has been content to eat what's been offered up. Dream sees him, after all -- when they're in his realm, in the Dreaming, it's so easy for him to skim the surface of Hob's sleeping wants and let them shape him. More than once, Hob has had to tell his lover that no, Dream doesn't have to be seven foot tall with a cock to match, doesn't have to have breasts as soft and pale as featherdown. That most of the time, what Hob wants more than anything is just him. His centennial stranger. Less strange, now, even considering the dozens of handprints that litter Hob's thighs.

"D'you think." He swallows. "D'you think he'd be keen on it?"

"I'm not gonna have this. This conversation with you, dude."

"You started it. You bloody well have to finish it. Tentacles, Matthew."

"Fuck. I mean. Maybe? He's fuckin' smitten with you. You know the. The Dreaming's had more heat waves in the past two months. Than it has in the past thousand years."

Hob's not listening to the, admittedly fascinating, weather report. He's contemplating the inside of his glass, no longer thinking about cider, but about Dream. Again. Always. Dream.

Dream coming into his bedroom at night, something he's gotten into the habit of doing lately, appearing at the window and slinking under the sheets as smooth and slippery as an eel. Dream cool against his back, the notches of his ribcage pressing indents into Hob's torso, a hand skating down the tender skin of his side. Imagines, in the curve of his pint glass, how the light would cast on Dream's skin with just the moon shining through the window, how it might make him look wet and shiny as a darting silver fish, or one of those deep sea creatures, nudibranches dainty and ghostlike where no sun ever touches.

He imagines what it would feel like for that cool and vaguely slippery touch to split, to wind around his legs in sodden tendrils, pulling him open, hefting him up with barely any effort. How Dream could plaster himself to Hob's back, and at the same time there'd be a riotous movement across his front, half a dozen limbs soft and pale as lilies sliding through his chest hair, curling around his throat, how he'd open his mouth and let them rest on his tongue, and he'd taste the sea on them, salt-sweet and alive…

"Hob?"

"Fuck," Matthew says again. "Boss. Boss man. Hi. Hiiiii."

Hob looks up at Dream, who has, true to form, appeared in front of the window, a few glints of golden sand falling in psychedelic little swirls from his shoulders, vanishing before they ever hit the ground. He's looking back and forth between Hob and Matthew, taking in the two glasses, the five empty bottles of cider, the half-empty bottle of Cuervo.

"I am…interrupting," he says, and Hob realizes that if Dream leaves, right this moment, he may very well die. So he holds out his arm, making a vague come here motion that somehow Dream interprets correctly. When he presses himself against Hob's side, it feels like some missing piece of him has finally been returned.

"We were drinking," Matthew says, and Dream nods slowly.

"I see. And everything is…fine?"

"Fine! Dandy!" Matthew sounds like he would rather be anywhere but here, but also, his drink and his cigarette are here, and so he's stuck. Hob hums softly, pushes his face into Dream's side, between coat and grey tee. Here, he feels the bumps of each individual rib with his lips, rubs his cheek back and forth against cotton that was pulled whole cloth from the ether, having never known loom or field. He's gotten to the point that everything feels smeared and bright and lovely, and he's in love, and it's grand. He plants a smacking, open-mouthed kiss to Dream's side, and feels the man shiver underneath him like a twitching horse.

"You were daydreaming."

"Mhm," Hob says.

"About me."

"Mhm."

"Oh my God," Matthew croaks.

"I see." A kiss simply isn't enough. Hob puts his mouth back to where it belongs, along the slide of that stark ribcage, and touches his tongue to the cotton. He can feel all the lovely flesh underneath, but there's something almost as good about the barrier, and how the wet fabric moves against Dream's skin. "You are very drunk."

"Take me to bed then," he murmurs. "I've got. Ideas."

There's a quiet huff above him, and then Hob is being removed from his most comfortable position, which he protests at first, but stops when he realizes that Dream is pulling him up from sitting, and then neatly and carefully picking him up. It is, quite possibly, one of the sexiest things Dream has ever done. He struggles to comprehend the lean, neatly corded arms actually lifting him -- he's got to be about eighteen stone, give or take -- but trying to think about it for too long makes sparklers go off behind his eyes, and so he stops.

"Please return to your drinking."

"I fuckin' intend to. Jesus."

"You may…wish to stay here. In the Waking. For a time."

"Boss, please."

There's a low, rolling chuckle, not quite a laugh, that has Hob tilting up his head to mouth insistently along the shelf of Dream's jaw. Licking the curve of his chin is like touching his tongue to a battery, a sharp and pleasant buzz.

"Ideas," he reminds, and Dream bends his head down, and gently kisses Hob's forehead.

"Yes. Tell me of them. And we shall sleep."

"Matthew had just. A brilliant. Ah. Concept. Thought. Tentacles."

Dream huffs against the crown of his head, and Hob is vaguely aware that he is being carried, out of the sitting room and down the hall to his bedroom, the familiar, comforting smell of it, his clothes, his bed, his deodorant and cologne. Tobacco and woodsmoke and vetiver.

"You will have to show me, lover." He's laid down without fanfare into the embrace of his own clean sheets, and Dream crawls alongside him, tucking neatly along his front, butting his head up underneath Hob's jaw. "Sleep, Hob. I will wait there for you."

"You'd better," Hob mutters. His eyes are already heavy, and all the light in the room has gone spotty and haloed with blurry arcs of color. "Lots of ideas. Love. Love you. Christ, I love you."

He feels another rumble against his throat, gentle laughter, and Hob, feeling like he's quite come out ahead of this particular drinking session, closes his eyes and lets the Dreaming claim him.

#the sandman #the sandman fic #dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dream/hob #dream of the endless/hob gadling #my fic #ask response

635 notes · View notes

teruthecreator · 10 months

Text

(tw for racism, pedophilia, transphobia, child impregnation mention)

yeah idk why y'all read this

i was originally going to just post this and have some tags with my reasonings, but i realized that opens me up to too much bullshit from people who may think i'm being unnecessarily mean or whatever. so i'm going to explain exactly why the screenshots above are something i hold issue with.

firstly, and i just want to get this out of the way, this post is not intended to be a hit piece against the creator. i've seen how she reacts to any mild-mannered or slightly joking criticism, so i know this post is probably going to not land well. but it isn't my intention to make her mad or anything--she's writing a piece of content for the internet, which means she is just as open to criticism as any other poster. and what i intend to go into in this post is criticism. i'm allowed to do this, as that is the nature of the internet. people are allowed to critique whatever they please, and if you don't want critique then you shouldn't post. simple as!

i am also making no attempts to posit myself as better than the creator. i'm not doing this for clout or moral superiority or any of that dumb shit. i simply want to discuss something that's been bothering me for a bit, while simultaneously warning people who haven't read this yet (who may be sensitive to the issues above) to steer clear. if things like casual racism or transphobia aren't properly tagged, then readers who are affected by such things run a risk reading this! same goes with people who are triggered by lewd content involving minors. i wanna make sure people are getting a more critical scope of this work than what has been hoisted up by others.

okay, now that i've gotten that out of the way, i'm going to get into my points.

firstly, the subtle and not-so-subtle racism throughout this fic, especially in relation to serizawa. i'm white, so there is only so much i can speak on without trampling over the words of other fans of color, but some of this feels so blatant it's odd it hasn't been noted earlier. it's important to note before i go into it that serizawa is specifically written as half-black half-japanese for this fic, in case the screenshots don't make it abundantly clear. but there are just too many moments of casual racism in this fic. i'm not talking about the plot point of serizawa being bullied as a kid for being mixed; i'm not mixed, so i can't speak on the accuracy there but it is well-known that black people face a lot of racism in japan. i'm talking about how it seems everyone else has these racist moments that aren't acknowledged by serizawa or the narration as being bad.

reigen hypothesizing over serizawa's exact ethnic background is just strange. yes he's a fairly observant guy (he has to be, with his job), but there is no canonical evidence to suggest he would immediately jump to theorizing whether serizawa is american or not. and the way it's posed in that first quote--"he has darker skin and the kind of hair texture that would likely indicate African ancestry"--is not great. that's an extremely inappropriate way to bring up someone's race. i don't think most people would stare at someone and be like "hmmm well your nose shape and hair texture would suggest you're of this race". it's racial essentialization that is only slightly covered up by the excuse of "oh he tweets in english". there are some other smaller moments of questionable wording, like calling serizawa's afro "sloppy" when it isnt (which btw there's another issue with the creator only referring to an afro as a "fro". it's a hairstyle; you're allowed to use the actual name of it). even if reigen cuts his hair in canon, he never states it's because serizawa's afro looks sloppy. (also there's something to be said about the casual racism baked into making your employee cut his natural hairstyle for a job, as that is a very real issue many black people face when wearing their natural hair or even protective styles in the workplace.)

i'm especially bothered by toichiro's very casual racist remarks. toichiro in this fic is a general bother of mine (most of which can be boiled down to "he would not fucking say that"), but the way she chooses to characterize him in relation to serizawa feels gross. calling a black man a slave should be a very obvious red flag, but also saying serizawa (again, as a black man) has a "brutal masculine appeal" is also extremely stereotypical and racist. and really there is just no need for it; toichiro's actions in canon prove how shitty of a guy he is without the need for him to be racist (along with other things i'll get to in a bit). as my girlfriend put it: he doesn't need to be a member of the fucking kkk to show he's a bad guy.

there's also, again, the very casual racist remark of calling serizawa a "dog". i don't care if that isn't the intent; when you are writing a character of color you need to be aware of your wording, even in insults (unless she intended to make tsuchiya racist, which i don't think she did).

secondly, the eugenics/child pregnancy bit. it is surreal to even have to write this, but i seriously do not understand the purpose of either of these bits in the story. they are so minor yet so jarring you can't help but wonder why they're there. once again, i do not think you need to have toichiro doing esper eugenics just to prove he is an evil guy. he has nuance, and by making him casually reference child pregnancy (like that isn't an INSANE thing to say) reduces that nuance to nothing. that's the only reason i could see why that bit was included: to make toichiro look worse. but, even still, the author is running the risk of potentially triggering victims of csa or people who don't want to see that by not properly tagging the mention of it (or, at the very least, warning readers in the intro notes). the only other explanation for it would maybe be shock factor??? but that's a pretty shitty thing to use for shock factor, if i'm honest. also the fact that the esper eugenics was referenced again in a more recent chapter just has me very disturbed and confused. there isn't a canonical explanation for why we see less espers who are women than espers who are men, but that doesn't mean we need to jump to fucking Eugenics. it's weird!

thirdly (and this is probably one of my biggest problems and the main reason i wanted to make this post), the weirdly lewd/sexual language shou uses constantly, along with referring to reigen as a pedo or a creep at several points. frankly, i think it's pretty fucking gross for someone in their near-40's to be writing a 12-year-old talking so casually about sex like that's normal. which, i'm sorry, but it's not. yes, teens know about sex and like to joke about lewd shit. but a 12-year-old is not about to make references to a grown man's virginity. 12-year-olds draw dicks on their desk bc they think it's funny. 12-year-olds say the word "buttfuck" because it has the words "butt" and "fuck" in it, and those are the two funniest words on earth to a kid that age. i literally do not understand the purpose of having shou be so lewd all the time. for one, it doesn't make sense for his character. shou is shown time and time again to be extremely mature for his age, but that maturity extends to shit like assembling a counter-terrorism unit and extending a hand to his father to allow him to try again. and even then he's still just as naive as any other kid his age! the omake where he's telling his guys to go to the "far right corner" based on ritsu’s advice proves that he still has plenty of blindspots that are indicative of his age. leaning into this raunchy, lewd version of shou is just weird. and, again, i think it is made a bit weirder given the author's age!!! not ageshaming or whatever--i'm 23 and i write fanfic, clearly i cannot judge there--but it is just extremely inappropriate in my opinion. also having shou be more versed in sextalk than serizawa is odd too and speaks to a larger issue of serizawa's infantilzation throughout this fic, but that's something i can get into in another post if people want an explanation.

also, the way she constantly calls reigen a creep and even has him being accused of being a pedophile during the twitter cancellation is extremely inappropriate when, again, there is NO CANONICAL BASIS FOR THIS! everyone just calls him a fraud and a scammer during separation arc; there is never a reference to reigen being seen as a pedophile in that arc. and, yes, while there are versions of mob psycho where reigen is very clearly written as a creep (looking very specifically at the netflix adaptation), that doesn't mean it's good. honestly, the creep mentions all just feel like really poor jokes that do not land in the slightest.

finally, the transphobia (aka WHY IS SHIMAZAKI A CHASER). i literally do not know what else to say other than: why? why is this a thing? why is he a chaser? what is the purpose of this? is it a joke? i feel like it's supposed to be, but seeing as the author is cis i don't think that's a joke she should really be making. it not only comes out of left field, but it's just kind of a weird thing to ascribe to a character for no reason. not to mention, it's uncomfortable! trans women deal with enough creepy antics from cis men in real life--why must they be accosted by this guy too? it's just weird and uncomfortable.

i wanna round out this post by saying, once again, that i'm not trying to attack anyone with this post. but i do hope people come away from this with a new perspective on this work, and maybe think twice before recommending it uncritically to someone. to the author specifically, i hope you can read my post without rage or indignance blinding you. i might be a little blunt or rude in parts, but it's only because i'm passionate and i don't mince my words when it comes to things i'm passionate about. to the readers, understand i am not judging you for reading this fic without noticing these things. your own life experiences will give you certain blindspots and there's nothing wrong with that. i have plenty of blindspots of my own! it's what makes us human.

there is more i could say, but this post is long enough. i ask that if you come to me in my inbox or in dms about this that you treat me with respect, as i will do that for you. writing something like this took a lot out of me, as i'm usually not so open about my opinion on shit like this.

have a good day :-)

#mp100 #side quest #yeah this is all from <- that fic btw #ive been sitting on this for about a week or so bc ive been nervous abt posting something like this #i dont want people to think im making a callout post just to call shit out #im doing this bc i dont want people to get triggered by this content and because i want fans to be more critical of the content they consum #media literacy is something A LOT of fandoms struggle with and it leads to things being praised uncritically #i simply want people to have perspective when going into a thing #anyways uh. goodbye <3 #edit: took the tw tags off bc tumblr was suppressing the post bc of it #so PLEASE heed the warning at the top if u have specific triggers and things

148 notes · View notes

zoobus · 1 year

Text

I apologize in advance because I'm taking a tag way too seriously and this isn't even YA novel navalgazing, this is literally about a series written for 3rd graders.

I'm realizing "fucked up that the moral of this story was" is a minor trigger for me. It drives me insane in a way obviously unequal to whatever the original context is. But this is my blog so.

The American Girl series was not a moral-driven set of stories! They weren't Animorphs or anything but they were absolutely a kid's introduction to the intrinsic unfairness of life and a solid chunk of the stories ended with the """"moral"""" of the main character left to uncomfortably ponder why something so clearly not right could be allowed to continue before they clunkily skipped to the next story like the previous didn't happen.

I used to own several sets and I skimmed through a few before selling them some years back. The sudden harsh reality of whatever historical ills going on were part of the appeal! It was fucked up and scary and that's why they were good (to an elementary schooler to be clear, these aren't good books)

Like the "moral" of Nellie's story was that it was fucked up to be a child factory worker. It was fucked up that her response to "oh your hair is so pretty, you should grow it longer" was to recount the time she witnessed one of her elementary age coworker get scalped by one of the child labor machines. It was fucked up that she's 8 with PTSD. Of course Nellie got a happy end but like... abused little puppies getting cleaned up and spoiled is a popular media trope. It's not a lesson. Even though it works out for her, you're still left with the knowledge that the girl who's hair was ripped off her skull and untold number of fingerless kids were not adopted by Samantha's rich grandpa.

I'm rarely comfortable saying there's one specific point that a story is objectively going for and you're a fool if you don't see it, but I do think the American Girl series was intentional in showcasing period-specific suffering might have looked like in a way a little kid could conceptualize. And it worked! For example:

Molly, the WW2 American Girl (AG). Her family takes in a little Bri'ish girl and Molly's soooo excited wow imagine having a fancy English girl in your own house. She is irritated when the 9yo lass is very quiet and not into being her doll. After weeks of molly snipping at her, British girl goes off like sorry I'm not fucking prancing around you dumb bitch but I'm not here as a foreign exchange student, I'm here because my house got bombed and my friends and family are probably fucking dead

Samantha, the Victorian AG. We already know Nellie who, as explained before, had a very different life than the wealthy Samantha. But Samantha also had a black nanny she adored up until she disappears without warning. After a lot of snooping, she uncovers that nanny had a baby! So of course she sneaks out at night to find the little man for herself🤫

Her mischievous giggling starts to get more nervous as she gets closer to nanny's address. It's getting dirtier and shittier and there's only black people around and they're openly gawking but not approaching. People live here? Nanny lives here? With a baby? She eventually finds her and the baby who is cute but Samantha is left at the end like. Hm. So. I guess my life is not universal? Much to think about. There's no happy resolution to this. Nanny never returns, segregation continues.

Last one, Addy, the escaped slave (apparently a controversial opinion, but I liked Addy). The other stories take a bit to get to wham aspect, but with her? Right from the start we have Overseer catch Addy slacking while picking cotton. She's just not debugging fast enough. This grown adult man, so infuriated an eight year old child isn't picking cotton tobacco fast enough, forces her to eat one of the fat, green worms she missed. They describe Addy holding back tears, the worm bursting in her mouth, the bitter taste, the humiliation. I feel like this was the first time I like...*got* slavery. You learn about it in school, sure, but owning people, beating people, it sounded bad but unconnected to anything I knew. Like maybe it's because at the time of reading, I too was a daydreamy 8yo black girl, making it hit a little too close. How could anyone do that and feel justified? Or feel nothing at all? An adult made a little kid eat a bug and it didn't hurt his conscious? This guy probably goes to church and doesn't even remember this. He doesn't think he needs forgiveness. This is nothing to him. This is normal. He died thinking he did nothing wrong, probably. Those were my thoughts then. Very good.

These aren't morals. Of course you shouldn't expect a refugee to perform for their host family. Of course you shouldn't make a child eat a worm. Child labor is bad. Didactic American Girl was not.

#niche effortposts #American girl #if i had to say they went for a particular lesson it might be #8yo girls have been surviving the most insane shit since the dawn of time. we're not saying it was good. it was horrible.#nevertheless many made it out alive. believe in yourself👍

460 notes · View notes

softstraykidshours · 1 year

Text

~skz & their reaction when you call them from a police station~

pairing: ot8 stray kids x gn!reader

genre: fluff, headcanon

length: 746

warnings: getting arrested, jail, profanity

chan

he’s going to come and immediately pick you up. he seems super sweet and defensive while he’s filling out the paperwork, letting everyone know that he “has no clue how this happened” and that “there must be some sort of misunderstanding.” but, the second you leave the police station he’s going full dad mode and low key lecturing you. like “should we talk about why you got arrested?” you’re going to be hearing about it for the entire drive home and then for the next few days as well. he’s so protective that he doesn’t want your reputation damaged, but he also isn’t going to tolerate delinquent behavior.

minho

you wouldn’t have to explain anything, literally just tell him you got arrested, and he will just show up and bail you out. he will end up finding out why you were arrested in the first place because you blurt it out on the way home. he’ll just be driving peacefully in silence, not at all worried about why he had to go to the police station at 3 am, but you can’t take it anymore so you spill everything.

changbin

he low key speeds the whole way over to pick you up, because he wants to see you in jail. he thinks it’s so funny that you got arrested, because it’s over something ridiculously stupid. he's laughing his head off the entire time in the police station. it takes you reminding him you how horrible and gross jail cells are to get him to shut up for even five seconds.

hyunjin

hopefully your cell mates are nice, because picking you up from jail is a whole event for him, so you better not expect efficiency. he’s going to be putting on one of his most expensive fits and will most definitely be keeping his sunglasses on the whole time (even though it’s middle of the night). he’ll make sure to pay your bail with a metal american express black card and will act so disappointed the whole time. like you’re the one who went to jail, but somehow this whole situation ended up being about him.

jisung

you’re not calling him from the police station, because he’s most definitely there with you. you two are always doing dumb shit together and getting in trouble for it. you’re constantly relying on chan to bail you out. at least half of the time, he will just leave you there for the night, because he’s so sick of dealing with your antics. you’re there so much that the two of you have like a “personal routine for jail.” the guards are low key your friends and hang out with you on the nights chan leaves you there to “think about what you’ve done”.

felix

he is so scared of the jail in general that he won’t go. like he loves you so much, and he doesn’t want to leave you there, but he can’t bring himself to go. so, instead, he will pay chan to pick you up for him. he will try and play it tough when you get back in a macho “have you learned your lesson” kind of way, but he cracks so easily and ends up cuddling you, talking the whole time about how traumatic that must have been for you.

seungmin

he will show up when you call, but he’s going to be taking his sweet ass time to fill out the bail paperwork. you’re so embarrassed that you got arrested, and he will be playing it up the whole time. like he’s taking selfies with you on the way out, while you’re pouting about it. when he finally gets you to the car, he’s loudly saying something like “you’re welcome for picking you up from jail” so that everyone around you can hear. is definitely going to be giving you shit about it for weeks.

jeongin

this is a regular event for you two. he just doesn’t acknowledge consequences for actions, and you like to see what you can get away with, so the two of you are constantly getting arrested for stupid shit. but, one of you is always the “designated responsible person,” so when one of you inevitably gets arrested for doing something dumb, there is always someone to bail you out. at this point, it’s a very quick process and only a minor inconvenience for your nightly shenanigans when one of you gets arrested.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #bang chan imagines #lee know imagines #changbin imagines #hyunjin imagines #han jisung imagines #felix imagines #seungmin imagines #jeongin imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids #gn reader #stray kids headcanons #headcanons #mine #soft stray kids hours #q: painting with hyunjin

625 notes · View notes