#just with a fucked sense of bodily autonomy

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

Sometimes I wonder if it would've fucked me up less or worse if it had been a more 24/7 thing

#why yes i got triggered on tungle dot com #please don't take this as me sayin i ever wanted it to be it's just. wonderin if bein alone n ignored 90% of the time did more damage #probably not though cause i think that was more or less doll's experience n he's. not rly doin that great #at least i managed to retain some level of independence #prob made me feel even more worthless but. at least i figured out how to function in the world on my own pretty fast #just with a fucked sense of bodily autonomy #fuckkkckck i was so pleasantly sedated for a bit why do i always manage to do this #somethin about the way he's with doll fucks me up cause it's like he thinks it's a perfectly acceptable n healthy dynamic #like does he actually think he's just a dom instead of the abusive prick he really is? or is he just pretendin to avoid any accountability? #uggfhhhhh fucking gross #i've had to explain the basic definition of free informed consent to doll & silk so many times but i think they've finally grasped it #probably no use tryin with val. he just doesn't care. the only thing that matters is if he can do it & any potential consequences (to him) #i really really wish he'd just. fucking drop dead. but nooo no permadeath in the headspace so tough shit. never gonna be free. #spdrvent

[miabrown007]

a minute of silence to my skills to estimate how long a project is ever going to take

#my google calendar and Carl bot (and my friends) have been kind enough to inform me today was the estimated posting date of heist au #suffice to say that is not happening #it would have been rad to make a habit out of the co-occurrence of starting a new job and starting to post a finished WIP but alas #that will not be happening for a while longer #I have no idea when will I find the time for writing between two jobs and the big bang but. we'll work something out. #but hey it's good to give your projects breathing space so your brain can do the work in the background and solve the problems for you #I'll probably need to go back and revamp the whole last chapter I've been working on #but I'm still too sick and jet lagged and sick to be thinking about that so I'll consume some more media in the meantime #and complain about how bad the fic I'm listening to is. like god it's supposed to be so romantic and cute and he's literally #depriving her bodily autonomy and her friends support him I want to leave a strongly worded comment so bad #I will not be doing that but god it's so awful I should have stopped listening to this fic long ago. so that's a lesson learned. #put the fucking fic down there's plenty of stuff that's going to be better #hot take I sure no one saw coming sometimes things that are popular are actually bad #anyway have some stream of fucking consciousness /ref to another fic I'm fighting hard to keep discontinued #I know I won't like it why is this so hard #heist au should have been posted today based on maths btw. maths I did wrong for the first time which means it should have been posted #a year ago really #not like I have the proper structure to do a heist au daily #but it would have been fun to post the first chapter on the exact day it takes place. idk just for flavour #does all this make any sense? hardly. this is a diary entry and my two braincells are firing random thoughts at each other #that's fine though. it's all fine. here have some popcorn to go with all this nonsense 🍿🍿🍿 <3 #(and also all the drama in the new shadow and bone season. ugh it's so good I love Wesper SO. MUCH. or just Waylan. and Nikolai. #he's my blorbo assigned at first relevant information. relavant information: he's my friend's blorbo #but gods he's so my type it's scary. of course I'll have him as my blorbo. of course of course! #*puts him on a shelf next to Adrien Draco and Hunter* #*steps back to think before putting Waylan there too and sitting Zuko on the far end* #war crimes look so good on them :3 #miaing #heist au

[crossbackpoke-check]

what are ur thoughts on the winners room trope?

ooooo okay surface level analysis: i like winner’s room fics :)

etwas tieferes: i think it’s cool that it’s (afaik) unique to hockey fandom and i enjoy the way it integrates a lot of unspoken rules in hockey with desire/makes them a physical/tangible reality… also the narrative potentials/world-building it opens up can be fun because there’s not really a set of rules for the “winner’s room” trope. are there in-universe rules? who gets chosen? who’s exempt? who gets to pick? where’s it going down? is it the entire room or one guy? what if your (ex)boyfriend is on another team? does somebody need to be taught a lesson or do you need to remind someone who got traded you still love them? also, most important, winner’s room gives you the chance to put two random-ass guys you saw interact for 0.002 seconds and went “hmmm. interesting” about into a Situation and i love that

#yeah buddy!! i love answering questions!!! unironically i have so many opinions!!!! #refraining from putting this in the main text but had to go: yeah who doesn’t love a good g*ngb*ng #it also doesn’t just have to be a bunch of dudes fucking though per always: i think winner’s room fics can bring up interesting dialogues #about the idea of bodily autonomy and self-sacrifice or sacrifice in sports #every fic can utilize a trope their own way so you might have lighter versions or heavier versions and #tw: sa #dub-con/CNC elements which. given the truth of SA and abuse in hockey it’s valuable to have tools to explore and i feel like i need to #address that when i talk about this? obvi dead dove do not eat for some fics re:winner’s room but i think a lot of them do talk about #control and power to some extent if you were to do a deep literary analysis. which we don’t need to. sometimes it’s enough to read a fic one #time because you liked the main pairing and didn’t know SHIT about the flyers and then come back to it years later and absolutely lose your #goddamn mind about the fact that actually you DID know about travis konecny before you thought you did and at one point there were all these #guys that you now know and love who were just like. random fuckers in the sides of the fic. i tend to do that a lot bc i will read for #nearly everything (if i love u. i will read your works even if i don’t know anything about the fandom and also i am always willing to jump #on new ships) so also tangentially i think winner’s room fics are a lot of fun because you can see a lot of different interactions between a #lot of guys like not only is it this guy and this guy but also this guy and that guy and these two interacting around the sacrifice etc etc #tangled web many layers und so weiter. not sure if any of that makes sense but also i’m gonna tag for mentions of sa/wjc/hockey canada stuff #i don’t even really know if winner’s room functions as well even in other sports bc of the Team Identity in hockey & cultural context #liv in the replies #winner’s room can be layered with SO many other kinks and tropes and aus and also just like. i like it & that’s probably all i needed to say #also obvi re: rules for trope there aren’t ever any there’s just some popular variations and we can kinda see some of those forming #but i’m not even sure if winner’s room has its own tag on the archive? i’d have to check i know i have a few saved in my bookmarks at least #OH also if you made it this far. wasn’t sure if this was like a ‘do u got recs’ or a ‘what’s your moral stance’ or ‘hey is this something ur #into’ so. good faith good vibes y’all and if this wasn’t what u meant please elaborate the question i do love answering things #ty for the ask!!!! #for the record i do watch hockey like the leonardo dicaprio pointing meme finding milliseconds of interaction to go HAHA GAY NARRATIVE about

[blissfali]

ok its luke blissfali rant time i havent yet read the book but the movie for my sisters keeper has the shittest god awful ending ive ever seen. the moral dilemma it sets up between the characters and just the situation as a whole is stupidly interesting but they completely fumble the bag in the last 30 minutes. the way they present anna as this independent pre teen who absolutely the viewer can see is capable of being able to decide if she wants to donate or not and then in the court room shes barely acknowledged unless its an emotional cut to her face after each line, and then shes just kinda there is really fucking stupid. i hate how the built up this really good plot about bodily autonomy and making really difficult decisions as a parent and then they throw it out the window like "hahha it wasnt really about anna having a choice afterall it was all her sister who wanted to die". like way to go setting up this message that you can make your own choices and then completely tboning it in the final 20 minutes. they completely disregard the importance of anna being able to choose whether she wants to donate in lieu of this stupid fucking plot twist that completely trainwrecks the plot. its like a big fuck you to anyone who was genuinely invested in how they were going to handle this situation where no one is 100% at fault.

#tw suicide #tw cancer #ask to tag #Like i always forget why i love and hate this movie and then i watch the ending and im like oh yeah thats why #they completely remove any sense of character they give anna #its completely disheartening and its such a jarring flip from the focus on annas life to the focus on kates decisions #its just so fucking maddening #apparently the ending of the book isnt any better and im just saying like you had two different chances and you completely fumbled it both #times #i just think it couldve been so much better #to me a better ending wouldve been anna seeing throuygh her decision not to donate and kate succumbing to her cancer #where even though it hurts like hell for her parents and her family its ultimately not their decision + they have another whole kid to #worry about #but noooo #lets completely remove anna's say in the situation #which is idiotically ironic for a movie dedicated to bodily autonomy #Fucking christ man

[pale-fairytales]

I don't really like to get political but I feel a need to talk about this;

It's so funny. It's so funny to me that the people pushing for KOSA also criticize other countries who do the exact same shit (i.e., China, which from what I've heard (and correct me if I'm wrong please) censors a lot of things) and hate their guts. The fact that they're pushing for censorship directly violates one of the amendments of the constitution (which is free speech) and it baffles me that they think this is okay. But hey these are also the same people that won't do anything about gun violence or school shootings and who want to take away bodily autonomy and gay/trans rights so why am I even surprised.

For the love of god, if you can, help stop KOSA. Not just for fandom purposes, but for the fact that it impacts people who want to transition, people who want/need abortions, it impacts a way that human beings can seek out human contact in an increasingly lonely world where things are growing bleak. Not only that, but the people who are suffering from genocide (8 FUCKING GENOCIDES IN THE WORLD BTW) may not be able to get help or get the word out about their condition if a big chunk of the world can't access the content that helps said people.

And I'm sorry, but if you really cared about children's safety, you a) would do more about school shootings, b) would fix issues that put children in danger (shockingly hunger/malnutrition is still an issue in the U.S.A. just not in the same way as in a war-torn country), c) would fix the foster-care/adoption system, and d) teach parents to have some common fucking sense not to have 5-year-olds on the internet watching age-inappropriate stuff (like 5 year olds listening to Sexxy Red or Ice Spice)

Censorship is bad. It's bad because it can genuinely put lives at risk. If you're for the KOSA bill, don't pretend like it's because you care. You don't care about people—you just want to control them. Just like the people you and its instigators hate so much.

#serious post #kosa act #kosa bill #stop kosa #kosa #us politics #politics #kiwi rants #kiwi vents

[arashi-no-saxlphone]

Asuka's fundamental misunderstanding of personhood and the value of identity is one of the most fucking compelling things about him when you think about him - he has such poor self-esteem that he doesn't even understand his own identity or value so it makes so much sense that he's constantly fucking up everyone around him when it comes to their identity and bodily autonomy. He mentions at one point that he never felt in control of his life and never really made his own decisions - he didn't even want to become a scientist but felt pushed into it. He doesn't understand the emotions of others, he cares only about "reality" because that's what his whole life has been - reality, logic, the "correct" answer. So when Aria gets sick, he cryofreezes her. When she says she doesn't want to miss out on time with Frederick, he makes him immortal. When the Gears are planned to he used as weapons, he figures "Oh I'll make Aria into a command gear - won't matter if she gets to be woth Frederick, right?" basically RIGHT after a drama CD shows us that she values her own person immensely and who she is - she says that to Frederick. Then, when he tries to bring her back by creating the Jack-O Valentine unit, he's likely kind of perplexed by the fact that she's developed her own personality! Hell, he's probably baffled at the fact that Frederick seems to treat her like Jack-O and not Aria, but fuck me man, Frederick probably does that because he fucking remembers what Aria taught him about identity!! And after! Al of this! Asuka! Goes to the moon! And CLONES HIMSELF TO TRY AND UNDERSTAND IDENTITY AND WHO HE IS!!! HE FIGHTS BATTLE DATA OF ALL THESE PEOPLE TO TRY AND SEE IF HE CAN UNDERSTAND WHY EVERYTHING THAT MATTERS TO THEM MATTERS SO MUCH TO THEM! I am so sick. Do you get it? This man is so twisted but he isn't EVIL! He's just a little fucked up, and I think that all this is why he loves Frederick so much - this is the man who is everything he wants to be. He's sure of himself: he's the "find a way or make one" guy! Asuka spends so much time trying to quantify and understand the one thing that can't be measured with his understanding of "reality:" Humanity and love and emotions. BUT HE'S TRYING SO FUCKING HARD TO LEARN. You gotta see my vision you gotta see it I feel so fucking bad for this man.

#sairambles #guilty gear #asuka r kreutz #sol badguy #Frederick bulsara #aria hale #jack o valentine #asuka r sharp #can't do the pound sign cause it just makes another tag LOL #ugh I'm sorry I was thinking about being a real person and identity and it made like #30 pieces about Asuka and Aria and Jack-O slide into place like a jimmy neutron brain blast

[odesofmeddea]

forever obsessed with the samdean conjoined twins submotif reiterated throughout and through the means of visualization, symbolism, and text; there's this sheer panic of bodily separation (‘you two are never seeing each other again’ - while shackled in one chain in one cell on one bed; ‘we're in separate rooms?’; banging at the physical and unbodied barriers between them like wild dogs) that bleeds into violence and zeal of the two homogeneous moieties gluing back into one entity, however incongruous and transgressive. transgressive in the sense that this codependency defies expectancy of societal normativity and operates solely in a scope of self- and mutual necessity that turns grotesque, asocial: no, i will not bury my brother's body, says dean, no, i will not burn my brother's body and will preserve it in a casket til he comes back to me, says sam - the idea of flesh rot appears as a wraithlike afterthought irrelevant to their mental corporeal knot. it is also riot against reality. grave will not eat him. death will not take him. demons won't hold us apart. the only association of completeness is related to each other, whether marital, spiritual, or consanguineal, because ultimately the denial, or absence, of any distinction between those is their fusion into synonymity - they are the namesakes of their married grandparents, they were subjected to the embarrassingly blatant realization of being soulmates, ‘i shall be your little brother’ says siren, comingling familial with erotic; ecclesially nuptial, too - spewing oath-confessions in a church. any revolt from either of the halvings against this ingrownness or an attempt for autonomy is stifled by the other until one brother-extremity swallows, subjugates the opposing one, and the pair turns into oneness again: sammy cannot have his own life and his own body and his own sexuality unless it is curated by dean but so is dean cannot have his own thoughts and his own experiences and motifs unless sam is the prime participator, prime confidant, or the object of. there is a dialogue in season iii where sam tells dean that if he cannot save him from death then he has to become dean. if i can't have you through you then i'll have you in me. he resorts to absorption of dean's persona into seity in his denial of separation just because (‘there ain't no me if there ain't no you’). it is a deeply abusive, cannibalistic, intrusive concept that also implies the smothering, terrifying totality of love and all its manifestations both subtle and extreme. it is painful and yet it is not improper because it is sought and anticipated and relished like a final homecoming (‘sam is the age he was when dean died’, ‘like he's been waiting for dean for years...and in a lot of ways he has’). it also happens to be fucking deranged.

#wincest #samdean #spn thoughts

[gallusrostromegalus]

ok so re: sternritter i gotta ask, whats the plan for my girl gigi? she's a horrible awful gremlin baby but i cannot help but love her immortal tgirl swag.

also, are there any sternritter who got incredibly underused in the story that you've significantly rewritten so far?

As it stands, Gigi gets to live, but she is going to have to sit through a VERY unpleasant lecture about how yes, Gender is Fake, Political Organizations are Fake, and to an extent the 'Line' between living and dead is fake but Bodily Autonomy and Informed Consent are VERY, VERY REAL and you will *fucking* respect them because the Gotei-13 is the home of monsters.

For better or for worse, the person she's getting the lecture from is Tama Nikuya

---

Tama: Sure, you're a Monster too, Miss Gewelle -that's why I like you so much and am even extending you this offer- but I promise there are much worse things serving in the Guard than were dreamt of in your philosophy. Horrors, artificial and natural alike, well within the comprehension of your intellect regardless of gender, but no less awful. Worse, perhaps, because you understand what's going to happen if you put one drop of blood out of line-

Gigi, twitching: Urrgh!

Tama: Don't gurgle at me in that tone! Tama: You do understand, don't you?

(warning for body horror, parasitism, mind/body control, discussions of violence, transphobia and abuse under the cut) (Bleach is a pretty dark series and the Fic is E-rated accordingly)

Gigi, shaking her head as much as she can: Nglk!

Tama: What part don't you understand?

Gigi: Thzzg-? ThhZomg-!?

Tama, head cocked sideways, squinting as she tries to make sense of what Gigi is saying: 'the zog-'? The Zombie? Oh for fucks sake Gigi, we're well past that.

Gigi: Bugh-? Haaauuuu?

Tama: Alright alright, if it will help. The Zombie relies on some of your blood reaching my brain, or replacing a large portion of my own blood with yours, through which you exert your reiki, and thus control my body, right?

Gigi, Blinking Slowly: ... Gigi: Haugh- Haugh gid you vigure thad oud??

Tama, taking a deep, disappointed sigh: Babygirl, it's not that hard. That's very basic Spiritual Dominion magic. Don't get me wrong, you're very good at it and the sheer number of targets you can control is really impressive but as far as techniques go, it's not terribly complex or hard to counter.

Tama, Gestuting at where Gigi is awkwardly kneeling on the floor, paralyzed: Take the thing you've got- that's an enhanced strain of Ophiocordyceps unilateralis- you've heard of Cordyceps, I'm sure- that I've worked with to function inside humans- REAL pain in the ass by the way, Humans are insanely immune to infection and parasitism compared to most organisms-

Akon, holding an extremely large laser gun, not currently cocked but still at the ready: This is your requested reminder to stay on topic, Sir.

Tama: What? Oh, thanks- but Cordyceps is fun because instead of bothering to control the half-assed mess that is a mammal's neural system, it straight-up structurally takes over the large muscle groups! Just suppress the autoimmune response enough by giving the fungus an antihistamine release function too, and that sucker can crawl into every major support structure you have in under a week!

Akon: Yeah, I'm not sure 'Fun' is the right word here.

Tama: Don't knock it until you've tried it!

Akon, debating becoming the server technician for the 9th again: I'll take your word for it, Sir.

Tama, poking Gigi's arm just below where a long spire of the fungus is sprouting out of her shoulder, one of several growing out of her body and impacting her ability to move, including speaking: I'd say you're about 40% Fungus by weight right now, mostly your skeletal muscles, and those do what I say, which is why you're sitting down and listening while I try to change your mind. Tama, giving Gigi an encouraging thumbs up: -And why you still have a mind for me to change! Tama, giving Gigi a comforting pat on the shoulder next to the fungal spire: I have a lot of faith in your ability to make the right choices when presented with all the information, Miss Gewelle. If I thought I had to change your mind for you, I'd have pulled out the Hypomyces lactifluorum!

Gigi, watching Akon visibly shudder behind Tama: ...uhh. Gigi: Bugh. The Zomgee..?

Tama: Oh, right, The Zombie. Yes, yes- Reiki Domination is pretty tough to resist, especially from someone in your spiritual weight class, but, ah- Well, you've run into two big problems here Gigi.

Tama, sitting down on the floor next to Gigi: First problem is the use of blood as an infection mechanism. Tama, cheerfully, as though giving constructive criticism in an introductory art class: Honestly? Not a bad choice! Blood-bourne infections are some of the hardest to resist, and Forigen Reiki is a PAIN to purge from the bloodstream unless you flush the entire system. Most people, as you have seen, are doomed!

Tama, wincing: ...But I'm not most people. Tama, pondering: ... Come to think of it "People" might be a more correct term for what I am, but my situation is pretty radically different from "most" people!

Gigi, still defiant: Whad- Whaddafug ARE yu?

Tama, gesturing to indicate the situation is about as clear as mud, or morphology-based taxonomy: I- Well. It's long and not really all that funny story, but I got stuck on the wrong side of a a version of the Kodoku Bug Thunderdome curse- you know, the inside- for over eight hundred years with a whole mess of Hollows, Obake, and other nasty things and I went to some pretty extreme measures to survive. Tama, with a sad sigh: To make a long story short- I don't have blood anymore. Or a brain. Tama, frowning in contemplation: ...Or I'm ALL brain, it sort of depends on your definition of 'brain'-

Akon: Topic, Sir.

Tama: Thanks Akon! -But from my perspective, your blood is just another snack with a little bit of Reiki spice on top! Which brings me to your other problem.

Tama: You hit hard Gigi! Real hard! And you really should be proud of the degree of concentration you have! But like I said, the Gotei-13 is the home of monsters, and there wasn't exactly a burger joint or an opportunity to farm inside the Kodoku. ...I survived because I kind of literally ate things like you for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

[There is a long moment of silence as Gigi processes that statement, it's earlier compainion statement about what Gigi's blood was like for Tama, and the general implication of those on Gigi's circumstances]

Gigi: ...Gid I daste gud?

Tama, ears flicking up to listen better: What's that?

Gigi: Uck! Gigi, wide eyed with terror but somehow this situation has not ended in catastrophe yet, and she might be riding the adrenaline as far as it will go: ...Gid I datse good?

Tama: HAH!

Akon, turning around because he can't face this at 7AM without coffee: NO!!

Tama, teasing: Yes, you do taste very good, or at least the aperitif of blood you threw in the thing I use as a face did!

Gigi, giggling a bit in fear like a Hyena: Oh! Dhad'z Good! Gigi, stopping as the rest of the sentence catches up with her: Waid. Gigi: Whad Do you MEANg, 'ting you uze az a fage'? Gigi, with increasing horror: Whag- Whag ARE You?

Tama, giving Gigi a light, encouraging punch in the shoulder: You're a smart girl Gigi! You can figure it out if you put your mind to it! Tama, counting off the datapoints on her paw-pads: I don't have blood, or a brain, I lived underground with nothing but corpses to eat for a few centuries and my go-to restraint method is a parasitic...

Gigi, a horrible new world of possibilities opening to her like the lid coming off a tub of very expired sour cream: ...Mu-Mushgroom?

Tama, giving her two thumbs up: You got it! Tama: "Mushroom" is probably more specific than you intended, but you're not wrong! The part of me standing here lecturing you is more or less the organ I use for sex and sometimes paperwork!

Akon: Speaking of, the division W-2's still need to go out-

Tama: Akon, we're in the middle of an apocalypse. If the council tries to make everyone pay taxes on time this year, the Old Man won't have the chance to burn the government chambers down before the peasants do it for him. Chillax.

Tama, returning her attention to Gigi: It's probably why I'm so cheerful and down to party too! You know. Because I'm a *Fungi*!

Gigi, staring blankly: ...

Tama, wilting a bit: -A. Fun? Guy? A Fungi?

Gigi, starting to cry big, ugly genuine tears: Uh-uh-uuuuuhhhnnn...

Tama, trying to console Gigi with a hug that definitely makes things worse: ...You're right it'd probably be funnier if you didn't have a parasitic fungus rapidly taking over your person and forcing you to sit still and listen to a genuine freak of science tell you about Cannibalism. Tama, giving Gigi a little shake of encouragement: But you see how this makes my point, right? This isn't very fun for you, is it?

Gigi, suddenly locking up like a badly taxidermied fox: ...

Tama, staring blankly: ..? Tama, ears slowly rising as understanding dawns on her face: Oh?

Gigi, face rapidly alternating vivid shades of pink and white as her emotions battle for dominance, before settling on 'Scaroused': -Uh...

Tama, delighted: OH!

Akon, enraged: OH. MY GOD.

Tama, pointing at him and hissing: You are the LAST person who gets to kinkshame anyone young man! Tama, pointing back at Gigi: At least SHE knows how to have fun!

Akon: I'm gonna transfer to the Ninth and never, ever leave the server room again.

Tama: If you think you can withstand the emotional toil of leaving the mass spectrometer in my hands, be my guest.

Akon: :(

Gigi: Uh?

Tama: He's spiritually bonded to a particularly finicky piece of lab equipment that hates me, like how some tween girls become spiritually bonded to giant murderous equines, which also tend to hate me. Don't worry about it. Tama: Back on topic, this does explain a few things. You DO understand that your feelings about this situation are unusual and given that most humans and their spiritually powerful derivatives experience pain and fear from having their autonomy restricted and bodies invaded by parasites, How do you think being made into a Zombie feels for other people?

Gigi: ...Bahd?

Tama, nodding enthusiastically and making her ears flop in agreement: That's right! Bad! Tama, settling down a bit more to explain things carefully to Gigi: See, the thing is- even monsters like us need to get along with other people. Tama: I know a lot, but nowhere near enough to enjoy the benefits of civilization all on my own- I don't know how to fix a toilet, or fill out grant applications or stand in the same room as the mass spectrometer without breaking it, so it's really, really good I've got people Akon over there, who like me, who can, and more importantly are willing to do those things for me!

Gigi, annoyed: Gyou woulgnd AVV to-

Tama: hang on, hang on-

[Tama pokes a few points on Gigi's face and throat, using Reiki to disconnect some of the Cordyceps parasite, then pulls the spire that was developing under Gigi's tongue out. It's much larger than it looked, and makes Gigi's throat wiggle as she removes it.]

Tama: Oh hell, that shouldn't have been there. How were you even talking around that thing girl?

[Tama tosses the fungal spire aside and offers Gigi a water bottle. Gigi takes a few sips before nodding and Tama puts it away.

Tama: Okay, try again-

Gigi: Ugh- You wouldn't HAVE to get along with tall, drak and grumpy back there if he was a zombie!

Tama, disappointed: ... Tama, taking another deep sigh: ...Okay, let's say I zombify Akon-

[Akon cocks and aims the Laer Gun, which whines ominously as it charges]

Tama: WHICH I AM NOT GOING TO DO FOR REASONS I'M ABOUT TO ELABORATE ON, PUT THAT DOWN-

[Akon turns off and lowers the lazer gun, still glaring.]

Tama: Thank you. Tama: I know you're still getting used to how most people have conversations, but that was a normal way to discuss a theoretical scenario and not me about to turn you into a Zombie. Do you understand?

Akon: ...Ues, Sir.

Tama: He used to work for an Evil Clown, don't worry about it- Alright, Let's say I was a micromanaging-type moron, and I decided to zombify Akon instead of just getting along with him. I'd lose all his expertise immediately. No more functioning mass spectrometer or bathrooms.

Gigi, haughty: Mine do.

Tama: Pardon?

Gigi: My zombies keep. most of their skills and personality. At least the ones I make out of corpses. Gigi: Akon could still fix the mass-thingie and if you zombify the Grant Committee you don't even have to ASK for funding.

Tama, intrigued: ...Do they? That's good to know, I'll want to hear more about that later-but that still supports my point.

Tama: Alright, HYPOTHETICALLY I Zombify Akon, and the Grant Committee- well now, the person who's choosing when the mass spectrometer gets fixed and who gets grant money I don't need is ME, and I already have WAY too much work to do, I don't have initiative to spare for them! I got stuff I want to do! I can't micromanage everyone, everywhere all the time! Tama: It's literally easier, more efficient and frankly, way, WAY less stressful to just get along with people and live in a society than to try to DIY one out of corpses.

Gigi: ...I guess.

Tama: So that's my question Gigi. Tama: Are you capable of respecting people's bodily autonomy and personal space to get along with them?

Gigi, frowning and biting her lip: ...

Akon: That doesn't sound like a 'Yes'.

Gigi: It's not though. It's not less stressful to just get along with people. Gigi: That's- That's WHY I learned how to make zombies in the first place. I'd. I'd TRY to get along, dammit! But any time I let people make choices, they chose to get up my ass about my name, or cut off all my hair, or send me off to 'camp', or beat the shit out of me, or- or lock me in the mausoleum and leave me to starve instead of just call me my name or admit they had a daughter- Gigi: ... Gigi: So it was- Gigi: -It was easier with bodies. Gigi: Bodies don't insist you're a boy or call you a freak or take you to a 'private institution' to 'help you get better' where they strap electric paddles to your head and run a million volts through you- Gigi: Dead people are SO MUCH EASIER to get along with! They don't think you're a creep! They don't think at all! Gigi: I mean, why should I-? Why should I try to get along with people who have already made up their minds that they're never, ever gonna get along with me??

Akon: ... Akon: ...I mean, you are kind of a creep-

Tama: -AKON!

Akon: Hang on I'm not done! You are a bit of a creep, but it's not the girl thing, it's the zombie thing!

Gigi: Oh, just because you're scared of a dead body-!

Akon: GIRLIE I'VE BEEN DISSECTING CORPSES SINCE BEFORE I COULD TALK I AIN'T FUCKIN' SCARED AND I AIN'T DISAGREEING WITH YOU- YEAH. IT IS EASIER TO TALK TO A CORPSE THAN A PERSON. I SPENT PRETTY MUCH ALL MY ADOLESCENCE IN THE 12TH DIVISION'S MORGUE BECAUSE TALKIN' TO LIVE PEOPLE SCARED THE FUCK OUTTA ME!!

Gigi: WIMP! YOU HAVE NO IDEA-

Akon: NO, I THINK I FUCKIN' DO! Akon: YOU KNOW WHERE URAHARA HIRED ME OUT OF? Akon: PRISON. Akon: I GOT THROWN IN PRISON WHEN I STILL HAD ALL MY BABY TEETH, *JUST* BECAUSE I WAS SO CURIOUS ABOUT BODIES. JUST BECAUSE I MADE PEOPLE UNCOMFORTABLE! PRISON-PRISON! THE MAGGOT'S NEST, WHERE THEY KEEP WAR CRIMINALS AND WORSE! Akon: YEAH, TALKIN' TO LIVE PEOPLE SCARED THE SHIT OUTTA ME, BECAUSE THE LAST TIME I TALKED TO SOMEONE, I LITERALLY GOT SENT TO HELL!

Gigi: -!

Akon: Captain Nikuya is RIGHT, the Gotei-13 is the home of Monsters- and the twelfth has got some of the most freakish and frightening ones of the whole guard! Akon: But I'll take the self-vivisecting, species-transgressing, only-barely-human Monsters any day of the week over the maggot's nest because we're all shamelessly, gloriously monstrous together, and the ONE damn rule of the monster's ball is to ASK before you fuck around with someone's stuff, especially their body. Akon: Not "Don't mess with someone's body", Not "Don't be weird", Not "try to be normal". It's "Be freaks and monsters, but also friends."

Akon: God help me if Nemuri ever finds out, but that's why Mayuri is still in that flask. Most of us have a pretty good idea how to isolate his consciousness again, but they way he- I'd have killed him the week after he took over if I had any idea how.

Akon: That's the rule Gigi. No violating anyone's right to live as they are. Akon: That's the difference between a monster- someone people are scared of just for being how they are- and the kind of FILTH that needs to be scrubbed off the earth. Akon: Do you understand Gigi? Nobody gives a shit if you're a girl on purpose or whatever- Fuck, I can think of a few colleagues who'd put themselves on a list for you to reanimate them when they die no matter how much of them actually comes back. It's overwritin' people's minds and controlling bodies BY FORCE. Akon, putting down the gun and patting his coat for his cigarettes: If I understood you right, that's more or less what people tried to do to you, isn't it? Tell you how to act, who you were, by whatever means necessary?

Gigi: ...fuck you.

Akon: Fuck me yourself, you coward.

Gigi: ... Gigi: So what am I supposed to do when someone gets up in my face again? Smile and play nice? Roll over so they can kick my guts out?

Tama: Oh, no- If they violate the "Don't mess with other people's autonomy" rule, all bets are off! That's why when you tried to murder me and Akon a few minutes ago, I was right to infect you with a parasitic fungus to protect myself and stop you! Tama: In fact, the sooner and harder you react to that shit, the less people will try to cross that line, so if anyone tries to fuck with you, you absolutely can and should make an example of them!

Akon, holding up his cigarette to ask if it's alright, and wating for Tama's nod: -If anyone tried that shit with me I'd absolutely turn them into a living educational exhibit on why people need to have skin, but genuinely? Nobody in soul society gives a shit what's in your pants unless they're your doc or fuckin' you.

Gigi, rolling her eyes: Sure, sure-

Tama, laughing: No! Really! It was a surprise for me too.

Gigi: You're lying to me.

Tama, shrugging: Okay, don't believe me, believe your eyes- Tama, ticking people off on her paw-pads: You saw the peacock earlier, he's a seated officer and Baldy is his Husband. Tama: Their boss is the most rampantly bisexual slut I've ever had the pleasure of meeting and the primary load-bearing member of the captainacy polycule-

Akon, starting to giggle: -Yeah I bet he can bear a lot of loads-

Tama, casually plucking off another fungal spire to half-heartedly throw at him: Oh, and the guy who had this job before me IS pregnant with his second child!

Gigi, incredulous: ...The guy with the stupid hat that looks like off-brand Shaggy from Scooby-Doo? That looks more a beer belly.

[Akon: Loud, Snorting Laughter]

Tama: Okay, you're right, it looks more like a beer gut than a baby right now, but PLEASE don't tell him that- He's in the weepy mood swings phase right now, and won't get his sense of humor back until the third trimester. Tama: We' re all placing bets on when Baby Kegger is gonna be born if you want in on the action.

Gigi, Biting her lip and grimacing: I- I don't-

Tama, taking Gigi's hand: -You know firsthand how weird my body is. I'm not properly male or female- I've got at least 21,837 sexes within me because of the insane way I have to metabolically regulate my body. Tama, shrugging: I'm just female in conversation because language hasn't evolved the 12th-dimensional pronouns I'd need yet. But when I brought this up at a meeting, the only question I got from the old man was if my uniform would need altering. Tama: I mean. It did, but that's because I'm 4'6" and i get all my clothes in the children's section, but I'm still amused that that was the captain-general's polite way of asking if I'd need any accomodations.

Gigi: ...Promise it'll be okay?

Tama: I don't know how the war is going to turn out, but if you help us and stop making zombies, I promise I'll do everything I can to make it okay.

[Gigi manages a weak smile]

Akon, wheezing, and doing a terrible Scooby-Doo impresson: Ruh-roh! Rhe Rexperiments Breached Containment, And Raggy's rust Whadder broke!

[Gigi, snorting and giggling in spite of everything}

Tama: See? Now you're laughing. When was the last time a Zombie made you laugh?

Gigi, sniffling a bit as she giggles: ...never.

Tama: So, are you ready to give an alliance a shot?

Gigi: I- I guess?

Tama: You guess? I can't go to the captain-general with a mere hypothesis.

Gigi: ...Yes. Yes, I'm ready.

Tama, grinning: So you're going to be a good girl and keep your bodily fluids to yourself unless asked?

Gigi, turning bright pink: Y-yes!

Tama: Yes, what?

Gigi, going even redder: Yes, sir!

Tama, patting her head and releasing the hold on the Cordyceps, at least for now: ...Very good girl.

Akon, rolling his eyes: Uuuugh....

Tama, helping Gigi up: Hey! You know damn well that positive re-enforcement-

Akon, hefting his Lazer-Gun back onto his shoulder: -is an important part of interpersonal communication, reward the behavior you want to see yeah, yeah-

[Akon is about to turn to leave when a thought occurs to him and he stops and glares at Gigi]

Akon: ...You DO hit like a fuckin' truck.

Gigi, blushing and twirling her hair: Well, I mean-

Akon, pointing accusingly at Tama: I KNEW IT! YOU'RE NOT RECRUITING HER FOR THE WAR, YOU'RE RECRUITING HER FOR THE SHINIGAMI WOMEN'S ASSOCIATION INTRAMURAL CRICKET TEAM!!

Gigi: -the what?

Tama: And what if I am? It doesn't matter to you- The Shinigami Men's Association couldn't keep their wickets up if their lives depended on it!

Akon: -Call me when Matsumoto-taicho can bat out of the pitch!

Tama: Yeah, the fact that Rangiku and Hiyori both suck at it and you STILL lost by 203 points to us is not actually helping your case here.

Gigi: Is. Is cricket a sport?

Akon: SPORT? Cricket is an entire EVENT! It's a Way of Life! It's the philosphical ideal of-

Tama: Yes. Tama: It's a very silly sport, and his team sucks at it.

Gigi: Ooh! If we all live through this, I can be a cheerleader!

Tama, causing problems on purpose: Yeah!

Akon, sputtering with fury: I- That's- CRICKET DOESN'T HAVE CHEERLEADERS!!

Gigi, pouting with her index fingers pressed together, rocking her hips: -But I wanted to cheer for YOU Mr. Akon!

Akon, freezing like a deer in front of an oncoming 18-wheeler: -! Akon, turning ever-so-slightly-pinkish about the ears: ...I'll think about it.

Gigi, grabbing onto Akon's arm: Yay! Gigi, hanging off Akon and babbling: What are the team colors? Do you think like Majorette uniforms are cuter or something more like a miniskirt and halter-top?

Tama, letting them get a bit ahead of her as she dials the main camp: Anyone on the horn? It's Nikuya.

Nanao, on the other end of the communicator: Status report?

Tama: Good news! I've eliminated an enemy, found us an ally AND a new batter for the team if we all live to see spring training.

#AEIWAM #an elephant is warm and mushy #bleach #bleach fanfic #giselle gewelle #Tama Nikuya #Bleach Akon #Help I ship Gigi and Akon now #mind the warnings #long post under the cut

[icyrambles]

y'know i love idw1. it is by far my favourite continuity purely because it has the balls to actually do some weird fucked up shit with those robots but one of my forever gripes with the series was how they handled the combiners.

also spoilers for idw1 (not massive but enough that i should warn ya if you haven't read through the series)

not in the sense that i hate combiners or combination but mostly just because i think it's weird that they never tackle the horror of being a combiner. it's never really touched on that most of the combiners were forced together and that combining has a permanent effect on a cybertronian's mind.

sure you've got prowl but idw is written so that the reader is meant to hate prowl, or at the very least dislike him, so you're automatically geared to not give a fuck if he's suffering a little bit. and his relationship with the constructicons is never really given the screentime it probably should've gotten so we never get to hear their opinions on being forcibly fused with an autobot's mind. (clearly they don't seem to mind it at the very least but i have a hard time believing that they just magically were okay with suddenly being part of a gestalt)

first aid literally shows up on cybertron with five other guys that he's only vaguely familiar with and starscream just decides that they're "good enough" and forces them into a gestalt. and then we literally never get to see if first aid gave a fuck about this whole situation. hell one of his gestalt members, rook, literally gets killed in lost light and first aid just, doesn't care, and neither do any of his gestalt mates. they're just like, "eh, moving on"

fucking hell, sunstreaker, ironhide, mirage, and motherfucking optimus prime get put into a gestalt with prowl and the most they have to say is "wow prowl you're really fucked up" and that's it. do they just all have to deal with the consequences of being a combiner. optimus never seems to bring it up ever again and neither does sunstreaker, even when they're in the same place together.

the combaticons seem to be rather fucked up about the whole thing, but that's not because being in a combiner team fucked them up, it's more because they combined with a fucking corpse and sharing a mind with a brain dead swindle seriously sucked ass.

like think about the effect of combination for a quick second.

a mech is forced to share everything about themself, from memories, to thoughts and emotions with another group of mecha (up to five depending on the combiner) and they just, don't get a fucking choice in it. idw talks a lot about bodily autonomy, what with the themes of functionalism and cold constructed mechs but they don't seem to apply the same emotion to the combiners. they're just a plot tool to be throw around when the writers needed a big bad to face or a defender against some type of higher force

combiners are only scary because they're big and angry and difficult to control but the real fear should be focused on the existential horror of having a character whose mind is forcibly fused together with another group of people

#transformers #maccadam #icy writes #like seriously what the fuck were the writers thinking when they just swept that shit under the rug #that's fucking writing gold right there #oh well #i suppose that i'll have to do it myself

[secularprolifeconspectus]

Debunk of the "fetus is a parasite" argument

bad pro-abort argument: "prenatal humans are in a parasitic relationship to their pregnant host so abortion is self-defense"

This ideological framework for pregnancy requires sooo much equivocation it's unbearable.

*exasperated sigh* but let's break it down:

1) let's start by acknowledging how dehumanizing it is to posit that pregnant people/mothers are just hosts to parasites. And the sheer misogyny of framing a healthy, ordinary function of the fertile female body as a medical ailment. Females are not inherently diseased! The fuck!

2) the parastic posit assumes that the female body does not want to be pregnant and actively fights pregnancy, but that makes no sense considering the mechanisms that female bodies have deliberately evolved to encourage, stabilize, and sustain reproduction. That is not parasitic.

3a) the self-defense posit implies that the prenate is an aggressor that uses force to violate their mother. But this requires that the prenate have power over the situation. A prenate has no volition & also isn't an agent in pregnancy. A baby shouldn't be held to adult standards.

3b) I've recently seen a the rebuttal that "a sleepwalker also doesn't have volition", and that is true, but a sleepwalker is an agent who exerts power if they actively commit assault. Again, false equivalence. A baby's existence is passive, not an aggression, and not a threat.

4a) another implication of these posits is that the prenate is invasive. This is predicated upon that the location of a human (in this case, the womb — where else does a prenate belong?) has an impact on their moral status, meanwhile dismissing place of origin and safe shelter.

4b) The complaint is then that female bodies are not merely "locations" or "shelters"; this is an oversimplistic extrapolation. The pregnant female body is an individual person & home to another person simultaneously. That is dynamic self-other transcendence, not objectification!

5) "the fetus is a parasite" is a thinly-veiled dehumanization strategy as outlined in stage 4 of The Ten Stages of Genocide. By equating prenatal humans to vermin & disease, such as parasitic infections, the normal revulsion against the "eradication" of human beings is overcome.

6a) the parasitic pregnancy framework is a fetal non-personhood argument pretending to be a bodily autonomy argument. On a gut level we know it's cruel injustice to deliberately harm a helpless child, so we must construe either "child", "helpless", or "harm" as false in abortion.

The parasitic frame does all 3. If the prenate is a parasite, then she is not a child, she is not helpess, & she can't be harmed. The argument is that something about being a fetus justifies her extermination; that autonomy takes precedence over dependence is just pretense.

6b) This logic often reduces down to "the fetus is a parasite so it's parasitic; the fetus is parasitic so it's a parasite", which is invalid circular reasoning AND founded in unsound premises. It's discrimination against an entire class of human beings for their age & ability.

Fetuses are not parasitic. Fetuses are not potential people. Fetuses are existing people. Preborn humans are powerless people. Elective abortion is abuse of power. Abortion is predatory. Abortion is a human rights violation. Abortion is mass genocide.

Abortion is literal murder.

Deconstruction of the bodily autonomy argument. Refutation of the right to refuse argument. Construction of fetal personhood.

#abbreviation #hide #pro life #anti abortion #prenatal justice

[glacierclear]

im sorry i need to dump all my thoughts about ada x leon somewhere for personal fulfillment reasons,

big disclaimer: resident evil canon/lore is inconsistent and my feelings/thoughts on all this is NOT me stating it as fact. It's 99% speculation and me interpreting context. I'm just having fun!

it's really wild that i started my resident evil experience hating Ada. I did not understand her character and the way she's portrayed is very inconsistent and confusing (probably on purpose) and, like many others, I assumed the choices she made and the pain she inflicted on others was malicious and intentional.

But something clicked recently,,,I understand now that she didn't choose this life. She doesn't WANT to be a spy. She doesn't WANT to be a mercenary. Everything she was and everything she had was taken and stripped from her. She doesn't even have a real name anymore. I think seeing the small insight of her backstory in the biohazard manga really put all the pieces together and brain blasted me with understanding. Her entire character (to me, at least!) revolves around survival and self-preservation. She is a SELFISH character, not because of ego or power, but because of a LACK of power. She no longer has autonomy over her life in a way that matters and so the only thing left for her is to stay alive.

And I just think that ties so beautifully with Leon's struggles. Both of them being forced into this life where they have to live and die at the hands of the people who control them. And, listen...listen...it's overdramatic as fuck and a VERY idealistic/romanticized interpretation of their relationship, but honestly it makes me hella emotional thinking about Leon potentially being one of the few things in life Ada wants to live for other than herself. Him being the only person in the entire series who has ever shown her genuine, selfless kindness and care,,, and the fact that her circumstance and the trappings of her life forced her to betray him and she has to live with that guilt and has to come to terms with the fact that she will never genuinely connect with people because who even is she anymore? She has no sense of self.

And her entire campaign in RE6 resonates me in such a weirdly poignant and impactful way. RE6 has some WONKED UP writing and it's so silly and stupid; but I think if it was tweaked a little bit it would be a genuinely moving story about a woman losing her agency and bodily autonomy to a violent man who wants to own her and her fighting with his fabricated, demented vision of her. It's a manifestation of his greed and possession...and then she kills her clone and immediately after she sees Leon again and his first immediate instinct is to protect her and sacrifice himself again for her and throw himself into MORE bullets for her even after the betrayal of RE2 ........ and then after that she finally snaps and FINALLY chooses to fight for HER morals and HER justice by killing Simmons' bioweapon.

Like, listen, I hate the trope of "woman traumatized being saved by a man" in most cases, but something about the way I see Leon and Ada just makes SENSE man.

The fact that she specifically goes out of her way COUNTLESS times to protect him and save him and none of it is enough to get him to forgive her. None of it will ever be enough but she keeps trying anyways. Like, damn, his entire mission is Spain is only possible because Ada saved his ass like...four times??? And you can make reasonable arguments that she doesn't care about him he's only important for her mission, and to be honest I think that interpretation is also valid, but for me personally I just think she cares about him so much but it's in his best interest to continue believing she doesn't care.

And I just want them to be happy. But it will probably never work out between them, just due to everything...they can't escape their lives. They're both kept alive by two opposing morality systems. Leon's guilt and unyielding need to fight for truth and innocence and to protect everyone he's lost and everyone who depends on him. And Ada to hold onto herself and what whittling remains of self-identity and independence she still has when it was all taken from her, even to the point of someone making a damn clone out of her.

Man I just love them so much I'M SO EMOTIONAL!!!!!!!

#shut up glacier

[whatbigotspost]

Been thinking about how I've heard/read a bit of discourse percolating recently that's advocating for queer/lefty people to move away from words that Christofacsist type fundies weaponize against us like "normal" or "lady."

I am almost always going to be on the side of people who are counter culture, "freaks," "weirdos," whatever...I have been called these things in the cruelest of ways as long as I can remember, typically alongside homophobic, misogynistic, ableist, and fatphobic slurs. In my home growing up, the role of "lady" was pushed on me with so much sexism. Being relegated to the space of "weird girl" by 3rd grade by my peers traumatized me AND it put me in a position to end up making lifelong, incredibly important, foundational, and supportive friendships that saved me.

AND

I also have no interest in letting said Christofacsist type fundies or the equally as bad (but pretending not to be) mainstream republicans or centrists define what these words mean for the rest of all time. If I want to own the word "lady" and define it by the opposite of what "ladylike" meant when I was growing up, I'm going to. My version of "lady" will be fat, queer, ADHD riddled, full of anxiety, fairly unfeminine, and "ugly," but also kind, community oriented, collectivist, expansive, and nebulous. And I don't think that the word “normal” is so irredeemable or specific enough to the fundie usage that I just want to abandon it either.

This is a situation where I think a both/and approach is needed. I’m not gonna use normal like they do AND I’m going to redefine normal as what I know it to be: someone who respects others’ basics humanity, dignity, and bodily autonomy, someone who believes in helping others and general kindness, someone who doesn’t abuse or harm, someone who has the common sense to at a bare minimum, acknowledge how the axis of oppression like racism, transphobia, homophobia, antisemitism, ableism, classism, etc., are harming those who are cast as "other."

It's not fucking NORMAL to push policies that make other people's identities illegal. It's not fucking NORMAL to personally benefit from other's suffering. It's not fucking NORMAL to agree with White Supremacists.

#language

[annabelle--cane]

at the risk of sounding Really Bad and with the caveat that I mean this in the most pro vaccine pro taking Covid extremely seriously way possible. I think conflating mental health/personal hobbies and habits with physical health and wellness in the time of a literal plague is actually part of why we are where we are. The example of opting out of treating a broken bone that you used is the perfect metaphor because that’s something that mostly effects the person with the broken bone. But if you’re treating every goddamn thing a person can do like it’s potentially viral it makes it easy to sound reasonable to advocate for a lot of vigilance against individual choice. Is this totally off base? do I sound like a reactionary dipshit conspiracy theorist right now? Just… there’s something here right??

even if that isn't the total root cause, I definitely think you're onto something. covid is literally a deadly and disabling viral disease, so the logic of "your actions regarding this impact others" makes total sense, but I think a lot of people took that language and framework and just ran with it, hoping that alluding to a deadly and disabling viral disease would lend credence to their arguments about mental health and personal decisions.

for example, I am constantly thinking about this take I saw on a post about drug decrim in december 2021. it's so special and dear to my heart, it makes no fucking sense at all. the only copy of the screenshot I still have saved is just the tail end of it and it has my annotations, so bear with me.

first, just for a moment, I love the complete breakdown of internal logic. we need to end the stigma around drug abuse but I think using heroin is exactly like being anti-vaxx. we should decriminalize all drugs but you'd have to be craaaazay to think that legalizing them is okay. wait until this person learns that some addiction treatment programs include prescribing opioids as a harm reduction measure.

second, using heroin is in no way like being anti-vaxx oh my god, and this person just can't tell. they are explicitly applying viral disease logic to mental illness* and choices about individual bodily autonomy. I don't want to minimize the pain and distress that can come from having a loved one with a substance use disorder, but in no world is it the same thing as refusing to go to cvs a few times to get a free vaccine against, once again, a deadly and disabling viral disease. groundbreaking leftist take: drug use makes you a hazard and drain on society and honestlyyyy you should think about the consequences of your actions before choosing to become an addict :/

I don't have screenshot for this next example, but I've also seen this language and mindset particularly come up a lot in discussions about "bimboism," makeup, and cosmetic surgery. I've seen several discussion threads where a woman finally just says "look, I'm adult, I've thought about this, I've interrogated myself, and ultimately I still want to do it and I can do what I want with my body" and the comeback to usually is "are you stupid? this isn't just about you, you're a member of a society who inherently expresses your ideology through your choices. the personal is political, stop being so individualistic. what will young girls think when they see you in a miniskirt calling yourself a slut?"

again, the final point that's meant to win the argument is that your choices about your body aren't fundamentally your own but Society's, because other people can look at your body and have feelings about it, they may even want to emulate it. for an added bonus, this one doesn't just use viral disease logic, but also borrows heavily and directly from the really basic conservative idea that women are less people and more living mannequins that you can dress up and use to show off the ideals of your social group. you can't wear that, men might see you and think you're a hussy and then it'll be your fault when they harass other women, little girls might see you and copy you like mindless drones.

*obligatory asides that plenty of people can recreationally use substances without being addicted and they're also fine + I know that classifying addiction as a mental illness is a hotly debated topic, especially in antipsych contexts, but that's a whole different can of worms to the topic at hand.

#answered #anons #id in alt text

[ramshackledtrickster]

Tuning in on the family stuff with Miguel. Are we even sure that he used to have a family in his own dimension? Because the way he talked about his past made it sound like he might’ve not even had that. So either he might’ve had a family before and experienced twice the loss. Or did he just have a very shitty life, which made it easier for him to go somewhere where he has someone to personally love & care for. Also, when he left his dimension, wouldn’t that mean things went down the pits there?

Maybe !! Again, there’s tons of possibilities since the backstory is so vague so far, and you’re hitting all the right possible marks

I personally subscribe to him having a family before (or at least having Gabriella before), since it makes more sense for his choice to jump worlds that way since that want is so so so much more potent if he had experienced that positive experience before.

Under the cut, mentions of domestic abuse, neglect, suicidality, getting drugged

His life really is. Shitty. In the comics. He lacked a lot of stability growing up, his step-father being verbally and physically abusive while his mother was traumatized as a result (but coped with it unhealthily by later on neglecting Miguel, and projecting her hatred for his real father (Tyler Stone, Alchemax CEO) onto him growing up. His brother became completely jealous of him and tried to kill him, his love life is tumultuous and he has had outbursts that cost him that which he regrets deeply, and a lot of his own bodily autonomy was taken away from him at work since his spider-man origins revolve around Tyler drugging him with an extremely addictive substance (Rapture) that he could only get out through a gene splicer machine (and his co worker tried to kill him using spider DNA in that process). He is frequently shown as being suicidal and had a pretty in depth fantasy with that… it’s really hard to read and shocking tbh

So it makes total sense why he would jump at the opportunity to find somewhere where everything is better— even more so, if Gabriella was basically his only ray of sunshine in his own world, lost her, and would do anything to get back to her.

Maybe in his dimension, everything turned out for the worse too. His family dead (yeah his mom gets a redemption but gets killed off in a poorly done way— ,maybe Gabriel died too, or they ended on such bad terms they just never see each other again), partner dead, and the one person he had consistent positive connection to (his daughter) is dead or gone… he’ll, maybe his reputation as Spider-Man has take a turn for the worst and he can’t take being public enemy number one anymore. It would be hard to resist the temptation to go elsewhere, and part of it being to give himself a second chance and redeem himself since he fucked up a lot of his relationships himself. He’s remorseful, and heavily driven by guilt, and painfully aware of his shortcomings and his toxic traits that he has internalized over the years.

So yeah personally I can see your takes as being an ‘all the above’ type thing in my interpretation based on the comics :))

I guess my personal summation of it is,, no family (anymore— dead or cut off), but had one and wanted to hold onto that with Gabriella, his choice was absolutely influenced by his personal trauma and upbringing and guilt complex, and maybe he left his dimension since he felt he had nothing left to lose. Maybe during the period he left his own dimension, things stayed relatively/negatively the same? Since it’s a universe run by Alchemax (in the comics) and maybe he started feeling helpless since there’s not enough that could be done to stop it, and he lost so much motivation over time despite wishing he could do more to change it?

#across the spider verse spoilers #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spoilers #child abuse cw #suicidal cw #drugging cw #ask to tag

[johannestevans]

Rescue Dogs

Do you like traumatised young men with no sense of agency or bodily autonomy? Of course you do.

Do you enjoy a narrative where the once-chosen one has to live with not being chosen anymore, not being important anymore, no longer being the hero everybody wants and needs? Do you enjoy a narrative where, having been chewed up and spit out by their destiny, that ex-hero wonders if they should ever have been a hero at all?

Do you like the idea of the aforementioned mentally unstable young man stalking his ex-PE teacher, who he tried desperately to get to fuck him at school, but never would? Do you like the idea of that ex-teacher, lonely and isolated and miserable and more than a bit self-loathing, finally giving in and actually fucking him?

Do you like reading about abuse victims trying to come to terms with everything that's been done to them? The ways in which they've been failed - and the ways in which their instinct is to fail others? Do you like seeing characters who are utterly fucked up by being CSA victims, but are trying their best anyway?

Do you like when one member of an honestly fucked up and unbalanced relationship is trying desperately to convince his more vulnerable partner to seek help? Go to therapy? Realise that he deserves better?

Do you like it when men identify just a bit too much with abused dogs?

If the answer to any or all of the above is yes, I think you might really like my serial, Rescue Dogs, which is about all that shit and more, and you can read it online for free!

Rescue Dogs

Rated E, M/M. Cecil Hobbes finally gets Valorous King to try a new adventure: therapy. Cecil Hobbes, an ex-PE teacher disgraced and looked down on in his hometown, has a new partner: Sir Valorous King, a knight of the realm, once a child of prophecy, and Cecil’s stalker. A few months into their relationship, Cecil finally convinces Valorous to see a therapist, on the condition that Cecil attend one himself.

Read on Ao3 (free) / / Read on Medium (paid) / / Read on WorldAnvil (free)

Want to give it a try?

First chapter is here:

It wasn’t accurate to say that Cecil Hobbes had never lived with someone in his house before. Of course he had – he’d never been married in his life, and by definition none of his relationships really lasted more than two or three years, but he’d had lads in his house, over the years, here and there.

For a few months at a time, he’d had old army mates stay in the house while they got back on their feet and found a job elsewhere; he’d had lads whose families had kicked them out, or who couldn’t make up money for rent on their own flats.

And he usually had dogs, tended to have at least one, sometimes two or three.

Cecil was a man who liked to be on his own, but to be on his own didn’t mean that he needed to be the only person around. He’d grown up in a crowded house as a young lad, a lot of his older brothers still around – then they’d all gotten jobs, Randall and Vic had died, and suddenly it had just been him in the house with his mum and dad, and it’d been… Odd.

In the army, though, you were never on your own even if you were on your own, and it was the same once he was teaching.

But he’d never—

It was his house.

He’d bought it, took out the mortgage as soon as he’d started teaching in Lashton, and he’d put all his savings into it to make sure he could fucking pay off the thing – which was why he had no money now, yeah, but also meant he had a house to come back to once he was out of the nick. Even when there were people in his house, seventeen-year-olds he’d fucked twice and then let sleep in the spare room while they were studying for their exams, or old mates he’d served with who were knocking on doors all around until someone hired them, they were guests, whether they stayed for three weeks or a year and a half.

Valorous King, with whom Cecil Hobbes was recently involved, invited himself into Cecil’s house like it belonged to him too.

The first time he’d come in, it’d had been after drugging Cecil with a poisoned cigarette and knocking him out – the intention had been to make him dinner, dose him with some sort of souped-up magical Viagra, and make sure that Cecil fucked him.

He’d gotten distracted, though, by the state of Cecil’s house. Cecil’s house, which since he’d come back from the nick had gotten messier and dirtier because he didn’t have many friends any longer and he didn’t bring anyone he fucked home with him: he’d come in, seen it was filthy, seen there were bottles and cans and fag packets everywhere, seen there were piled up dirty dishes, dirty clothes, and like he was a born fucking housewife, he’d just started cleaning it all up.

Cecil had woken up groggy and out of it to a cooked dinner waiting for him in the oven, and his very own infamous stalker telling him he’d done his washing and put out all his bins.

It’d been months since then.

Cecil’s house was cleaner that it had been since he’d fucking bought it, all of his clothes clean and pressed and put away, all of his fucking documents and records organised and put into file boxes.

He’d always been quite a neat guy, depression notwithstanding, and he didn’t actually have all that many possessions in the house, but Valorous took cleanliness and neatness to the extreme.

He kept having arguments with the dog.

“Ruby!” said Valorous, and Cecil looked up from the paper, watching as Valorous came into the house either from work or the gym – he smelt of sweat and heat and his skin was shiny with it, and Cecil’s hands twitched with the urge to pull him up the stairs to fuck him while he was still tired, lick the sweat off his chest.

Ruby had been chained up in a yard for the first two years of her life, was intermittently shouted at and beaten by the family she’d come from, was terrified of kids and other dogs. She didn’t know what to make of Valorous King – she needed a calm, easygoing hand, not a fucking neurotic little prick.

“Why’s your toy on the floor?” Valorous asked, brandishing a squeaky carrot. Ruby was stood on her feet with her head forward, her big brown eyes doleful as she looked up at him, and she nervously wagged her tail. “It goes in here.”

Valorous put the toy in the labelled box – he’d bought her a set of three kids’ toy troughs, split into squeaky toys and plushes, balls, and chew toys. Cecil had only bought her a set of three to see what she liked – Valorous bought her new toys all the time. As soon as he put the carrot in its box, he frowned, getting to his knees and swapping toys between the boxes, putting them where they were supposed to be.

Ruby stayed on her feet, watching him cautiously, and then slowly came forward, reached into a box, and took the carrot out.

“Are you playing with it?” Valorous asked sternly.

“She still doesn’t really get how to play with toys, kid,” said Cecil quietly. “She just likes to hold them.”

Valorous reached out, and it was funny, watching them be nervous of each other – Valorous was careful about holding the carrot by the corner, staying away from Ruby’s mouth.

Ruby dropped the carrot and left it in his hand.

Valorous gave it one squeak, smiling when Ruby’s ears tipped up and her mouth opened in more of a smile, and then he threw it – Ruby watched it sail across the room, politely baffled, and then looked back into the box.

“No, no, Ruby, we’re playing with the carrot,” said Valorous.

Ruby picked up a toy scarecrow and looked at him hopefully.

“Ruby, get the—”

“Good girl, Rubes,” said Cecil, and watched the way her face lit up, her tail wagging a little bit more, her ears perking up even more. She still didn’t wag her tail like another dog might, but they’d get there.

She wasn’t pissing on the floor inside anymore, had mostly grasped that she had to go outside for that, although she still didn’t ask enough for Cecil’s liking, so he was taking her out several more times a day than she really needed – the third or fourth time she’d pissed on the floor in the kitchen Valorous had burst into tears out of sheer frustration, and Cecil had sent him back to bed to keep him from making her even more nervous than she was.

 She’d kept trying to lick his face as he’d scrubbed the tile after, her whole body shaking, neither of them having any fucking idea what to do with each other.

Valorous looked back at Cecil, his face pinched.

“Take the scarecrow,” he said.

“But she won’t chase it.”

“So don’t throw it. Just take it and hold it out to her.”

When Valorous did, Ruby mouthed at the scarecrow’s head, chewing on the corner of it, looked mostly down but kept glancing up at Valorous’ face. Valorous squeaked the toy, and she jumped, but then took the scarecrow by the head and tugged it back, taking it back to her bed and lying down.

“She looks so sad all the time,” complained Valorous, going to pick up the carrot and putting it in its box.

“She isn’t,” said Cecil, and got to his feet, dropping the paper aside. “She’s being rehabilitated, lad. She’s not gonna act like a normal dog for a while – may be that she never does. It’s not her fault.”

“I’m not saying it is! Just— Doesn’t it make you feel bad? Looking at her? And she’s… sad?”

“Broken?”

“She’s not broken,” Valorous snapped.

“No,” Cecil agreed, not smiling but feeling the urge. “Come upstairs, I want to choke you while I fuck you.”

* * *

Cecil worked in a gym three or four days a week – recently, it had been four days more often than it was three, and now and then he even worked five. It was taking time, what with the reputation he had around Lashton at this point, but it wasn’t exactly a big fancy gym where people really gave a fuck who or what he was, and no matter how much some of them disliked him, he was good at training, good at fighting, good at what he did.

Sometimes, people came in and sneered and asked if he was that nonce, and he shrugged and said, “People call me that, don’t mean it’s true,” and put them to work if they didn’t walk out immediately.

Then they’d hear him working with other guys, pushing them hard, and they’d change their tune a bit, ask him for notes.

Valorous King, though, was a cop. He mostly worked murders and violent crime, and despite what an active little fuck he was, he did a lot of his work within the office – he collated data and evidence, put his freaky, analytical mind to contradicting statements and marked them out.

Cecil was fully aware that when Valorous King did interrogations, he got results – he was also aware that when he’d joined up, a sort of shudder had gone through the fucking population, because everyone knew who Valorous King was, and of all the pigs they could go head-to-head with, they didn’t want one like him.

The lad was fucking feral, and everyone could tell that just to look at him, just to talk to him, but when he stood right across from someone and bored holes into them with their eyes, they talked before they even fucking meant to.

He was a celebrity, of course. Sir Valorous King was a knight of the realm, had been since he was a teenager – he’d killed dragons, griffins, wyverns, led armies into battle, fought duels, jousted, had championed arenas across the country and abroad.

The lad had been on the fucking postal stamps in 2015.

“Do you think I should be in an institution?” he demanded when Cecil walked in the door.

Cecil took this in, unzipping his jacket and hanging it up – Ruby didn’t come to greet him because Valorous was sitting on the floor in her bed, and she was laying over his lap, her big blunt head rested on his belly, but her tail wagged as Cecil came closer.

“No,” he said, coming to crouch on the floor, and Ruby leaned forward for Cecil to scratch her big cheeks, but she kept her body in Valorous’ lap, not wanting to let him get up, not knowing when she’d get to sit with him again if she did. “Who told you you should be?”

“Sergeant Stark says I’m a hazard,” said Valorous. “That I’m unstable. That I shouldn’t be around the public.”

“David Stark? He used to beat the shit out of his daughters, and two out of three of them had eating disorders at school. I wouldn’t base your fucking persona on his recommendations. What did you do?”

“Told a witness that she was being a cunt.”

“… Alright,” said Cecil. “Starting to see his point.”

“She was being a cunt. Her daughter’s in hospital, and all she’s fucking talking about is how it’s her daughter’s fault for wearing this fucking dress or going out at night, or what fucking ever.”

“I’m not an expert on police procedure, lad, but I’m pretty sure regardless you can’t go around calling witnesses cunts.”

He leaned forward, burying his face in the top of Ruby’s head, squeezing her, and Cecil kept a careful eye on her body language, making sure she wasn’t stiffening up or uncomfortable, but she was surprisingly okay with being held and hugged, and Valorous never did it for too long even though he wasn’t too great with dogs.

“Of course,” said Cecil, “you knew that. You knew he’d react like that, that no one would think it was justified.”

Valorous shrugged.

“You want to take the dog for a walk?”

“Do we have to muzzle her?”

“Yeah,” said Cecil. “If we don’t muzzle her and she bites another dog, we’ll have to put her down. Besides, the muzzle is good – people see that she has a muzzle on and they keep their dogs away from her.”

“But she doesn’t bite them unless they get too close,” said Valorous. “It’s not like she runs up to other dogs to bite them – she keeps herself to herself, she only bites out of self-defence.”

“Yeah, but she’s a big dog,” said Cecil slowly. “She’s stronger than most of the other dogs, big, she has strong jaws. She can do a lot of damage that a chihuahua couldn’t.”

“I don’t like how people look at her,” said Valorous. “They look at her like she’s a bad dog, because she’s got a muzzle on.”

“She doesn’t know that,” said Cecil. “She doesn’t give a fuck – she’s a dog, she doesn’t know if anyone’s judging her. All she knows is that she’s allowed to go for walks and exercise, and she’ll be happier with no other dogs anywhere near her.”

Ruby was looking between them, but she didn’t twig what was happening until Cecil went over and took her muzzle off the hook, and then she skittered off of Valorous’ lap and rushed to sit at Cecil’s feet, her tail wagging hard.

Valorous stayed sitting in the dog bed, bringing his knees up to his chest and looking very small, and watched Cecil slide the muzzle onto Ruby’s face.

* * *

It was three in the morning when Cecil woke up, bleary-eyed and not really with it. He didn’t move immediately, just watched Valorous on his feet beside the bed, rifling through Cecil’s end table and collecting what he found there – cigarette packets were dropped into a little plastic bag, Cecil’s long-expired passport was placed aside, bottles of lube and sensation gel and tubes of chapstick and a tin of chest rub were lined up on the bed.

“Jesus, lad. You got OCD?” asked Cecil.

“You’re awake?” asked Valorous, not looking away as he pulled out two empty boxes of paracetamol, flattening them and then tossing them into the bag with the cigarette packets. “You want a cup of tea?”

“I’m not awake,” muttered Cecil, raising his chin and yawning, rubbing at his eye. “Get back in bed, fuck.”

“What’s OCD stand for again?”

“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder,” said Cecil, lifting the blanket up, and Valorous slid underneath on his belly, pressing right up against Cecil’s body, sliding one of his knees in between Cecil’s thighs – it was fucking freezing, and Cecil clucked his tongue, wondering how long the little prick had been out of bed.

“You think I have it?”

He wasn’t even offended, obviously. He was barely paying attention, his eyes defocused, the hand that wasn’t settled freezing cold between their chests on the pillow, his fingers tapping against the fabric.

“Could be,” murmured Cecil. “S’not like I’m an expert. How long you been awake?”

“Dunno.”

“You sleep at all?”

“Sure.”

“How long?”

“Dunno.”

Fuck, but it was creepy when he was like this, barely awake and moving through life in a fucking haze, not really with it – listening but the way that a robot or an enchantment could listen, to follow basic instructions but not really get that you were talking to him, really talking to him.

He’d already cleaned out most of the rest of Cecil’s house, had scrubbed the living room and the kitchen and the bathroom and the spare room from top to bottom, had torn up the fucking carpet in the living room and rolled out a new one, bought new curtains. Everything in Cecil’s house was clean, freshly laundered, free of stains, organised, except the bedroom.

He glanced down at Valorous’ hands, trying to get an idea of how wet or rubbed raw they were, but they didn’t look too bad – he hadn’t been scrubbing anything before he started in the bedroom, or at least, it didn’t seem like it.

The lad must’ve been like this, at school.

Cecil recalled moments in PE classes where he’d come in and be uncomfortably quiet and intense, moments where he scared the everloving shit out of the students that had brains in their heads, and didn’t so much as intimidate the stupid ones until after he snapped and looked ready to beat them up, but he’d still be a little bitchy, a little snappy, still alive.

That had been once he’d been at school, though – maybe in the dormitories at St Idloes, he’d been like that, or at home with the other Kings.

Cecil had never really talked much to Maybeetle, who’d been the pastoral care expert, or the dormitory matrons, and while he’d talked once or twice to the school counsellors as much as he’d done his best to avoid it, they’d never talked about Valorous King, only about other shit in passing, sometimes other students.

And he’d never gotten the impression that any of the other teachers at Idloes understood King as well as Cecil did himself, saw him for what he was – they either thought he was some sort of glorious fucking hero ordained by the king regent, or they thought he was troubled and they were scared to have him in their classroom.

Cecil reached up and put his hand in Valorous’ hair, pulling hard, and Valorous blinked a few times, leaning back into Cecil’s hand and looking at him askance, his lips parting.

“Huh?”

“You have a nightmare?” asked Cecil, and studied the slight darkening of Valorous’ features, the shadow that came into his eyes.

He had blue eyes, obviously, had to be a blue-eyed boy – they seemed normal enough from far away, but once you were up close with him like this, you could see it wasn’t a natural colour, that it was too pure and lacked the texture of colour that an iris was meant to have. It was a crystalline blue, looked more like water than the inside of someone’s eye. There was a note in his medical record at school that his eyes had changed colour from a magical incident, probably the one that laid him up in Camelot that first time, for those months of recovery.

“Mm,” said Valorous, and shrugged his shoulders, but he looked awake now, glancing around the room and shifting closer, straddling Cecil’s thigh and putting his hands on Cecil’s chest, pressing on the flesh, his thumbs sliding over his sternum. “I dreamt that I ate your heart.”

“Oh, right,” said Cecil, unenthused. “Prophetic, do you think?”

“I don’t have prophetic dreams,” said Valorous, with a sort of blunt certainty.

How long had Valorous King been the favourite pet of the king regent?

Since he was thirteen or something, thereabouts, and Myrddin had kept Valorous under his hand, on and off, until he was twenty-four, Cecil thought – when he’d been at school, he’d go off to Camelot for lessons and extra tutelage for weeks at a time, to compete in tournaments and championships, and once he’d finished school he’d been in the army, although never as part of the rank and file.

He’d been in with some of the battle mages, Cecil was aware, for a little while, but mostly he’d be off in splinter groups or commanding smaller units, or he’d be the face on a battle to scare the shit out of whatever poor, ready-to-slaughter cavalcade of sacrifices was ready ahead of them.

No matter what he was doing, it had been with Myrddin Wyllt’s personal attention, until he’d gotten some new student – Cecil had read about her in the papers the last few years, some alchemist necromancer, impossible to photograph without a sort of haze distorting the picture – and lost interest in his old favourite.

He hadn’t asked questions about it, but he assumed that the break-up had come after that, and that was when Valorous had come back to Lashton, thought to be a copper.  

He suppressed his smile, recalling when Myrddin had taken Cecil’s face in his hands and stared deep into his eyes, had told him he had no destiny to speak of unless he chose to make one of himself, and that he had no Sight. He’d only been a lad himself, eighteen or so. It was part of the reason, Cecil supposed, that Myrddin had picked him out of the line-up to use as a fucktoy instead of any of the other soldiers – because he meant nothing to nobody and never would.

Of course, there wasn’t any such thing as someone who had no destiny: even men like Cecil Hobbes had futures, in a literal sense. Knowing Myrddin Wyllt, it could well have been that he fucked Cecil knowing that one day he’d take up one of Myrddin’s leftover protegés – except that neither Cecil nor Valorous would ever have fucked the other were it not for Myrddin in the first place.

Cecil considered himself a man somewhat intolerant of prophecy and future-divining, if not outright allergic.

“That’s for the best,” he murmured. “Of all the hearts you could eat, you’d not want a smoker’s.”

“I’ve eaten hearts before,” said Valorous.

“Still beating?”

“Mm.”

“In the arena?”

“Yeah, but not people’s hearts, not other knights,” he clarified. That was good – thinking about the arena woke him up completely, and he was wide awake now, sitting in Cecil’s lap, his arse resting on his thighs, his expression focused, concentrated, a little severe. Frightening, obviously, but that was Valorous King for you. “A drake’s heart, once, and a chimera’s. I bit into the heart of a mist wolf, and it was half vapour in my hands, and when I bit into it, it really was like biting through thick, thick air. Outside of the arena, not really, but there was a skirmish at Victim’s Peak, and I duelled their company captain. I bit into his heart once he was dead – I didn’t… I never planned to. I didn’t mean to, I mean. The whole thing is kind of a blur, actually, I remember putting him on the ground, and then I just remember snatches – his heart set my mouth on fire when I bit into it, the same way popping candy does, you know when you feel that sharp thrill from it?”

“Victim’s Peak is deadland, Valorous,” said Cecil. “Whose fucking army were you fighting?”

“It’s not deadland,” said Valorous, looking confused, but then his brow furrowed, his lips pressed together. “Fuck,” he said. “Is it? That would explain why I went like I did. I tore through all of them after their captain like they were made of paper – they had to wash me off with a hose before I could go inside.”

“It was deadland when I was there,” said Cecil quietly, gently squeezing his waist.

“It probably still was,” Valorous said now. “Do revenants taste like popping candy?”

“If they do, I doubt anyone’s written it down.”

Valorous looked at Cecil very seriously, all of a sudden, and asked – demanded, really – “When did you first get raped?”

“Uh,” said Cecil, “I was seven. My dad came home drunk, very drunk. He’d made me fondle him before that, suck him off a few times, but that was when he first buggered me.”

“What about your mum?”

“She never touched me.”

“No, I mean… Why didn’t she stop him?”

“She wasn’t really in any position to stop him any more than I was, lad,” murmured Cecil. “The woman was a nervous wreck, and she drank to cope, same as he did.”

“Same as he did?” Valorous repeated, looking abruptly angry. “What, like, he raped you as a coping mechanism?”

“Dunno that I’d put it like that,” said Cecil. “He was a veteran, all his friends had died in the war the first time around, then his first and second wives both died. First one died of cancer, but the second one was gangraped and murdered, that was in the fifties.”

“What war?” demanded Valorous, suddenly petulant, and it made Cecil laugh. Ignoring him, he went on, “You don’t mean World War 2.”

“I do,” said Cecil.

“How fucking old are you?”

“Me, I’m fifty-four,” said Cecil. Valorous opened his mouth, and Cecil said, “He was forty-nine when he got my mother pregnant.”

“How old was she?”

“Twenty-something.”

“Ugh.” Valorous said, making a face, and Cecil laughed again, demonstratively grinding his cock up against his arse. “This is different. You can’t get me pregnant.”

“Don’t worry, baby, we can keep trying.” He filed away the flutter of Valorous’ lips and the slight widening of his eyes in the back of his head, committing that expression to memory, to come back to later. “He was always drunk when he fucked me. Had to be – would sob after, sometimes, cry his fucking eyes out, say he was sorry, that he’d never do it again, that he’d kill himself. He never did – and he whored me out later, which isn’t typically what someone does when they’re really fucking sorry.”

“You’re so calm about it,” said Valorous quietly, staring down at him, very serious, lips pressed together. “I couldn’t be calm about something like that. Am I the first person you’ve told?”

Cecil shook his head. “I went to a group in prison.”

“Group therapy?” asked Valorous, wrinkling his nose, and Cecil stroked his hands over the back of his arse.

“Not really – it wasn’t that structured, it was just a talking group that happened to be run by a counsellor. Most of ‘em were rapists, sex pests, convicted nonces. I remember one lad got upset when I said I only ever fucked legal boys, asked if he thought it made me better than him, and I said, yeah, mate. ‘Course I do.”

Valorous was used to being able to make people uncomfortable, especially by asking questions like this, and Cecil could see he was a little uncertain and uncomfortable with just how comfortable Cecil was, how unbothered he was talking about it, answering questions.

“You never raped any kids?” asked Valorous.

“Nah,” said Cecil quietly. “When I was still a kid myself, I fucked other kids – started when I was twelve, fumbled about with lads my age. Once I was in the army, I fucked a few of the sixteen-year-olds who joined up, but I tried to skew older.”

“But you’d rather fuck actual kids?” demanded Valorous, his voice hard and brittle in a way that made Cecil’s stomach do an anxious flip, even though he had no business feeling fucking anxious about anything.

“Young teens make my cock hard, sure,” he said. “Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. But I can look at a boy and think about what he’d feel like without turning him into a sex toy, breaking him open. A lad like that is a human fucking being, believe it or not.”

“Me?”

“You? Are you a human being?”

“Would you have fucked me? When I was eleven?”

“I didn’t fuck you when you were eleven, despite having pretty easy access,” said Cecil, arching an eyebrow. “I think that answers that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re offended?”

“Maybe I am,” said Valorous. “I wasn’t a sexy enough child?”

“Sexy enough to wank over, maybe,” said Cecil, shrugging. “Not sexy enough to become a rapist over.”

Valorous’ hard eyes turned gooey, and Cecil felt even more sick, although this time it was worry for the state of Valorous’ fucking head instead of self-loathing. “You wanked over me?” he asked, voice agonisingly soft.

“Not when you were eleven, no. Later, sure. When you were fifteen and started bending over and displaying your hole for me like an aspiring child bride. Did you ever think about what would have happened, if I’d actually fucked you? What it would have felt like to be fucking your PE teacher? Not the sex, lad, not my cock barely fitting in your teenage arse, the way I’d’ve made it hurt, but the secrecy of it. The fear. Knowing I could get you expelled, ruin your life, threaten to take anything I felt like away from you if you ever stopped pleasing me.”

“I was pursuing you,” said Valorous, and Cecil stroked his hands over the muscled globes of his arse, squeezing slightly. “I was a fucking celebrity – I was a hero, the king regent’s own. If I’d asked his majesty to kill you, he would have.”

“That’s what you thought at the time,” said Cecil. “You didn’t know me and him knew each other.”

Valorous’ expression faltered, his lip shifting as he bit his lip.

“And, lad, fuck Myrddin – I had my own reputation for safeguarding as a teacher. If I’d gone to your dorm head and said I was seriously concerned about sexual abuse, he’d’ve been on it like a car bonnet, had you transferred somewhere else, put you in therapy.”

“I would have said that you were the one abusing me,” said Valorous.

“Maybe they’d have believed you,” said Cecil, shrugging. “But I doubt it. Even before you lasered in on any man who’d let you suck his cock in the vicinity, I was known for reporting abuse and keeping an eye out for that.”

“Do you wish you’d done it?”

“No.”

“No?” asked Valorous, and leaned forward in Cecil’s lap, looking down at him. “You never think about it? I was smaller then – bet I would have been tight. You’d have been the first man inside me, first man to fuck me. Open me up. I’d be shaped for you my whole life.”

“Very hot, sure,” said Cecil lowly, aware that his voice was gruff with sex, that his cock was half hard. “But I’d have been the nonce fucking a fifteen-year-old student, knowing what I was taking from you.”

“But I fucked other people, so you wouldn’t have been tak—"

“Valorous,” said Cecil. “I’ve had enough of this, now. I’m fucked in the head, lad, we both are. We want things, need things, that in’t right, not for anyone. The difference being that when you want to scrub something until your fingers bleed, you don’t ruin anyone’s fucking lives forever. Raping a fifteen-year-old, on the other hand, tends to have that effect.”

“It wouldn’t have ruined my life,” said Valorous. “It would’ve been better. I wouldn’t have fucked all them other men, if you’d just fucked me. You would have looked after me better, wouldn’t you? You would have been nice, you would have treated me the way you treat me now. You’re fixing me, aren’t you? Making me better?”

Something in Cecil’s chest felt raw and open and wrecked at the way he said it, the way his eyes were open and vulnerable and wanting, and Cecil wanted to be sick, wanted to scream, wanted to shove Valorous off him, wanted to wrap him in a blanket and put him back to bed, wanted to strangle Myrddin Wyllt with his bare hands.

“Is that what I’m doing?” he asked in a very low voice, aware of the hoarseness in it. “Fixing you?”

“I’m better,” said Valorous, almost defensive. “No one else ever tried to make me better.”

Was he better?

Cecil didn’t think so. Every day he saw Valorous King, he seemed even crazier than he had the day before, but then, he had no fucking idea what he felt like.

“If I’m making you better,” said Cecil, “why don’t you take me up on therapy?”

He’d suggested it before. Half a dozen times, he’d suggested it, that the lad go and see someone actually qualified to have a look in his fucked-up head and try to fix it up a bit. As with every other time before, he scrunched up his nose and his lips and his face, and glared down at him.

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because I’m not qualified to fucking fix you,” said Cecil. “I rescue dogs, not knights.”

“If therapy’s so good, why don’t you go?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Well, nor do I! I won’t go unless you go.”

“You’ll see a therapist if I see a therapist?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine, okay. I’ll go.”

Valorous’ mouth dropped open. “What?”

“I’ll go see a therapist, in’t no skin off my back, s’not like I haven’t done it before. If it means you’ll go, I’ll go too.”

Valorous was looking at him in the devastated, indignant way that he looked at Cecil when Cecil managed to pin him on the floor or get a punch in when they were sparring – Valorous was a lot stronger, faster, smarter, and younger than Cecil was, so he shouldn’t be able to, and he always took personal offence when Cecil managed it.

“But—”

“Going back on your word, lad?”

Valorous set his jaw. “Fine,” he said venomously, and then, in the same spiteful tone, “You can fuck me now.”

“Oh, can I?” asked Cecil, and put his hand around his throat, listening to the way he choked and grinning at the sound. 

* * *

It had to be angels.

Faeries didn’t much believe in the concept of mental illness, not to mention the fact that the concept of therapy to most of them was a bit like going up to a stranger and giving him your name – it was weakening yourself to no imaginable benefit, making yourself vulnerable by giving away your secrets, giving away means to control or overpower you.

But it had to be angels – it had to be people that were guaranteed, as a matter of course, not to trust the king regent anymore than they would anyone else, people who wouldn’t be intimidated by him, people who weren’t vulnerable.

Cecil didn’t kid himself – if Myrddin Wyllt realised Valorous King was getting therapised and took it upon himself to go into his notes or eavesdrop on his sessions, that would be precisely what he would do. Trying to inure the process from Myrddin spying on it would be pointless and stupid to try, and would in fact only encourage him to do so when before he might not have been interested – the really important thing was that when Valorous talked about him, talked about the king regent, whoever he was talking to treated both Valorous and Myrddin as if they were people, not demigods, and acted accordingly.

The last thing Cecil wanted was to put Valorous on a couch, finally have him open himself up a bit, look internal, and say something critical about Myrddin Wyllt or the crown, and be shut down by some fucking royalist who couldn’t stand to hear it.

“Are you taking on new patients at the moment?” he asked quietly.

“You want to make appointments for two people,” said the doctor, looking down at him. Doctor Majok was a tall, slim man with a shaved head – he wore round glasses and a green cardigan over his shirt and tie. He’d been in the waiting room when Cecil had come in, and as his receptionist went over something on the computer with someone else, he’d gestured for Cecil to follow him into his office.

“You a telepath?” asked Cecil guardedly.

“No,” said Majok. “My sisters are, if that’s a concern for you.”

“In’t a concern. Just asking.”

“Paulette Fields told me that a man had been looking for two places as new patients, with concurrent appointments,” said Majok, picking up a teapot and gesturing with it, and Cecil gave a stout nod of his head. “You would be Cecil Hobbes?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you any experience with therapy or counselling before now, Mr Hobbes?”

“Yeah,” said Cecil quietly. “After I was discharged from the army, I had to do some screening sessions with a psych to make sure an injury in my hip wasn’t psychosomatic, but it turned out to be magical damage to one of the nerves. And when I was inside, I was court-ordered to talk through anger management strategies, as well as going to a support group for sex abuse survivors.” He said it through almost gritted teeth, feeling like he was burning himself saying it, but he knew that being honest now was better than being found out later.

Majok nodded seriously, not looking deterred as he passed him a cup of tea.

“And what are you looking for from therapy?”

“I’ve been trying to get the lad I’m sleeping with to come, and he won’t go unless I go,” said Cecil honestly, keeping Majok’s gaze and not breaking it. Majok looked mildly surprised, his eyebrows raising, but he didn’t look angry or disgusted, which was good. “He needs it, I think, because I’m not qualified to… And it’s not like I can’t benefit from it. But I’m here ‘cause he needs to go, and this is the only way I could get him to agree.”

“This is why you want appointments at the same time?” asked Majok. He exuded an incredibly calm, collected air, and Cecil felt himself let out a breath, wondering if it was contagious for mundane reasons or magical ones. “So that you can ensure he goes?”

“Nah, he’ll— He’s told me he’ll go, he wouldn’t back out on his word now he’s said it,” said Cecil. “But if we go at different times, he’ll spy on my sessions while I’m here.”

Majok blinked.

“He— Look, I suppose Paulette Fields in’t the only person who called you. I bet Karen whatever the fuck also let you know we were looking, and that angel counsellor at the hospital, too.”

Majok didn’t say anything, his expression completely blank.

“I was his PE teacher, at school,” said Cecil. “Then last year he was stalking me, and he still does. Stalk me. Follows me around, goes through my phone, goes through records of me. It’s pretty much a guarantee that he’s gonna try to go through your records for his own notes and mine – but if we go at different times, he will listen in on my sessions, and I don’t want that to be the point of this. I want him to focus on his sessions.”

Majok took a sip of his tea, taking this in.

“And I’m a paedophile,” added Cecil, figuring he might as well shove the knife all the way in, while he was at it. “Non-offending, don’t rape kids, don’t look at child porn, none of that. But I’m attracted to kids, teenagers. Just in case that’s a deal-breaker.”

“Is that why you were worried I was a telepath?” asked Majok, and Cecil pressed his lips together.

“Common courtesy, in’t it? S’not like you want that dropped into your head.”

“Distressing thoughts and urges are my profession, Mr Hobbes,” said Majok, almost gently. “I’m not here to judge the thoughts in your head – my purpose is to help you heal from old wounds, to better live with what’s in your head, and arm you with tools to cope with those distressing thoughts and urges.”

“Yeah, well,” said Cecil. “Most therapists don’t want a nonce sitting on their couch, profession or not.”

“Has that stopped you from seeing out professional help before?” asked Majok, sharp as a scalpel. His eyes were so dark behind his glasses they were almost black – it was a very calming colour, Cecil found. “The knowledge that the stigma of your condition might make some offices turn you away?”

“When I was younger, sure,” said Cecil. “But I’ve read up on it. Trauma, paedophilia, sex offences. A lot of it, I read the, uh, literature. Stopped looking, while I was a teacher, because I knew if I did go to someone and got reported, I’d be liable to lose my job.”

“You don’t teach anymore?”

“I got put in the nick for GBH,” said Cecil. “Can’t teach after that – I work in a gym now.”

“And your partner?”

“It’s Valorous King,” said Cecil, and watched Majok’s face. His eyes really widened now, the colour seeming a tiny bit lighter with more light on it, but still very dark, and his eyebrows went right up, his forehead wrinkling.

“Ah,” he said. “I see.”

“If you can’t take us, if you had any recommendations for—”

“We can take you,” Majok interrupted him. “If you’re comfortable, you and I can take sessions together – and we can arrange for Sir Valorous to take an appointment with one of my sisters, if the two of you call us at the same time.”

Cecil stood there for a second. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” said Majok.

An uncomfortable pit formed at the base of Cecil’s stomach, and as Majok stared at him, he drank more of the tea, even though it was hot.

“Why don’t we get some intake forms for you and Sir Valorous?” asked Majok reasonably.

“Yeah,” said Cecil, trying to ignore the roiling nausea inside him. “Why don’t we?”

“Are you frightened?” asked Majok.

“Scared shitless.”

Majok nodded his head, picking up a pen and passing it over with a form, still calm, still on an even keel. “It’s understandable to feel frightened,” he said, “and not at all uncommon. Anxiety unites almost every patient, whether they’re starting therapy for the first time or returning.”

Cecil stared down at the intake form, slowly nodded his head, and filled in his name.

#musings #original fiction #writers on tumblr #fiction #snarry #< if you've read my abandoned-until-JKR-dies fanfic Chasing Ghosts #or like my other snarry dynamics #i am fairly certain you will enjoy the vibe between valorous king and cecil hobbes

[glass--beach]

my personal idea of how this album works as a metaphor is keyed on the idea of discovering oneself as transgendered increasingly in time. it's probably keyed through my own experience but all art is, basically. so,

starting with coelacanth, a song named after a creature widely known as a living fossil, ie focusing on the notion of an old animal. a dying animal. the song feels lethargic throughout and mellow. "the ghost rots away through the embrace of its own gaze" something already dead rots further, further, by the way of its self perception. coelacanth is about the body as a condemning routine.

motions is about the machine-like experience of trying to feel better and find direction while stuck in the prism of other people's gaze. "motions", as in trying to move, but without a particular direction.

slip under the door is about seeking escape. i know this feeling much too well... it's pure rage and anger at realizing of not being afforded any bodily autonomy.

guitar song is about writing about these things. struggling to delineate one's experiences while feeling a burning need to express them nonetheless.

rare animal is the key to the whole album posed as a question. it's at once self acceptance, seeing oneself as a rare beast, the idea of the romantic relationship here is just a metaphor about one's relationship with gender: the song asks, is it really ok to be so attached to something that gives you nothing but a meandering sense of emptiness? DB cooper's case here is being used as a way to talk about a "previous self" disappearing. it's trying to use the image of transness as deviant to the purpose of being admonishing, something dangerous and that the wider public is unable to understand, and then trying to answer to that by saying "ok. and? i know what happened to DB cooper. he got away with the ransom." which is to say that it's underlining that the presupposed 'deviancy' is fine. not being understood by everyone is fine; you can be a rare animal if you want to be.

cul-de-sac is self-reflection; it's about interpreting one's past and trying to understand why it took so long to figure out what was figured out in rare animal. and it turns out: it's the culture of normativity that the cul-de-sac, as the idyllic american suburb ideal represents as a whole. it's a symbol of the Nuclear Family. it's also interesting to not that a cul-de-sac is topographically a dead end. it doesn't change. it does not move.

whalefall is probably the one i'm less sure about how to fit in this whole interpretation of the album... but i feel like it's specifically about, in this key about the album as a whole Transgender Metaphor, a song about being denied the resources one might need for transitioning.

puppy is about the frustration of having to negotiate your existence through the terms of other people's sense of normalcy. you have to be a puppy to be accepted; you have to stay between the bars and service the people who almost mockingly and most definitely cruelly get to decide whereas your existence is ok or not.

the killer functions as a counterpart to puppy, where the killer is specifically about what happens when you don't comply by the rules of normalcy, and are treated like an animal to be hunted. so in a way it's specifically about the idea of how society operates on this fucked up notion of policing as a necessary corrective element within it.

the CIA then is about the way us trans people have to deal with our intimacy and privacy is seen as non-existent for the sake of someone's "innocent" curiosity and desire to objectify an entire person.

200 follows the CIA but on a positive note. it's about finding comfort and privacy through someone else, be it a specific individual or through community. 'autocannibal' i think might be a reference to conflicted feelings regarding finding a venue for sexuality that involves self-acceptance of one's body or somesuch? like it reminds me when i was really early on in my own journey as a trans person i was afraid of finding other people with my kind of body attractive and of being a chaser as a trans person.

commatose is what made me realize about this whole key of understanding the album. commatose is a play on comatose and comma as a feeling of lethargy and separation, but i think specifically the sense of separation is something deeply desired. the perspective the song has is specifically about feeling lethargic and needing something new: desiring a plastic death. plastic death is underlined as being specifically about plasticity, the ability for something to change and adapt, and death. which to me says that this album was about one thing: death as a means to change. the caterpillar dies, the butterfly lives.

abyss angel is about coming out. it's about being treated with supposed sympathy and empathy by someone who also makes no effort to actually understand you. it's also about understanding how it might be strange to see someone change so radically, and knowing that it doesn't excuse being mistreated because of it. it's also about finding repose in the abyss, being ok with changing, being something different from what you were before.

ok that was much longer than i expected. i hope it's not too weird seeing this huge ask in your inbox! i'm just sort of sending this as a kind of message in a bottle to show you my interpretation of your text. regardless of whether it's correct or not (i don't think such a thing exists in art) i hope you get something about reading this, whatever it is. thank you for making this album!

wow this is a really cool interpretation! i agree there is not a “correct” one and it’s been very interesting to see what others gather from it. i actually used to love to try to create narratives out of albums - i have a theory now that many well sequenced albums unintentionally recreate the monomyth & ours is intentionally the monomyth… this is what james joyce does to the brain… i think that this sort of idea of a journey into the unknown (in this case, an internal rather than external unknown) followed the reconciliation of two worlds does speak to a kind of transgender experience. “abyss angel” is this reconciliation of two contradictory realities, an expression of love & hate at once “i want to hurt you so bad” - i think that that does speak to the feeling of coming out. at least in my experience. i love what you’ve found in the music here and while it does speak much to what we had intended i love how the narrative being conveyed can vary to much person to person but everybody seems to get the emotional story the same. thank you for letting me be weird and pretentious about this.

#asks