#my response to this isn't just about Houses (that's a chunk of it) but also about loc itself

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

Wrt localization, I can understand wanting to change let's say a joke if the context of the joke would be lost on people due to play on the language. But when someone changes the content of a story and characterization to the point where it's a completely different experience and then they have the audacity to say "have respect for the localizers. You support gg" or some nonsense in response to criticism, it's really disingenuous.

Not sure if you saw when I mentioned it before, but yeah. There are times when they have to make cultural changes (Pokemon did it with food to make more sense to the western audience!), change jokes that won't land in translation, etc. Those are reasonable changes that have to be made or the audience will just be confused/uninterested/disconnected.

Sometimes there are also jokes that in different cultures would be deemed inappropriate (like the sex joke aimed at Edelgard in the middle of the night - that makes sense that it was removed because western culture would've been largely uncomfortable with it). Age differences also account for this, in that what's seen as appropriate to a teen audience in JP is not necessarily considered appropriate in the west.

My viewpoint toward localization is that it should only be that. Everything else should be a faithful translation as much as is able, i.e. doesn't alter the message given in the original script. It doesn't matter if the content is from Japan, if it's a JRPG or what have you. If it was of French origin, I'd still say the same thing: that the messages and narrative of the French originating story should be handled faithfully and should be telling the same story/characterizations/etc to all audiences in any location.

Obviously in translation you can't make everything one to one or the sentences would sound off and/or broken. That's why you reword things to have the sentences structurally accurate in the translated language. Doing that, however, should not involve changing the meaning behind the sentence or trying to sell a different narrative. Doing that becomes a different story, even if only in bits and pieces. When a story nudges really fuckin' hard trying to tell you something that's wrong is right or that something right is wrong, but that narrative is only added into a loc and didn't already exist, it's a disrespect toward the writers and their original intention.

Even if, yes, the writers were very bias toward Edelgard (which they were as that was, again, confirmed in an interview), it didn't come at the cost of other characters. It didn't come at the cost of Rhea being worse, Dimitri being worse, or Claude being worse. It didn't come at the cost of her allies all being disgusted by their enemies that they were invading. They loved Edelgard when they were writing her, but they didn't make that cloud how they treated other characters (and while yes, the Nabateans get largely ignored in favor of focusing on Edelgard and such, it's not at the cost of their characterization or to make them seem worse).

Even if the loc heaps praise upon praise toward Edelgard and that doesn't harm the original intent, it's what they do to other characters that disrespects the original content. It would be like if they took FE10/RD and had Ike (who was actually just and a good person) spouting nonsense about Micaiah that just wasn't true, hyping up his allies to kill her because she Must Die.

Personally, I'm no Micaiah fan. She was one of my most hated characters in the franchise until Edelgard (and Berandetta) showed up. I still am not fond of Micaiah and she's still pretty low on the rung for me. That said, I would not enjoy a narrative where Ike wrongfully labeled her and her allies and provided his people (and the Laguz Alliance by extension) a false narrative about her. If those things about her were true I wouldn't care, but they wouldn't be. Why does that not work for Ike? Because it's not who he is as a character to say those things, and thus if he did, it means something is off.

The original has some ??? points about Edelgard that favor her/lift her up, but again, it's not doing harm to other characters. Yeah, we get the whole "they are the enemy" stuff from her side, but like... that's the point. If you team up with her, you're on her side and are seeing the story through her perspective, which makes her enemies, well, the enemies. They're viewed in a bad light on that one route.

But when you actually come into contact with the characters in question? It's not as bad as she makes it out to be. She, as the protagonist of her own story, makes other named characters and their ways of living sound very bad because she views them negatively, but we don't actually see what she claims if we personally come into contact with those characters.

What the loc does is have her say those things, understandably from her side, but then trash the characters' very characterization and personality to match her and her/her allies' opinions of them. The characters reflect her views with no pushback whatsoever, when it should be that the pushback is how those characters she talks about behave.

There should be a dissonance between her thoughts about them and who they truly are. It should make you question, "is this really right?". You should feel bad when you kill genuinely good people (like Sylvain. You shouldn't feel like he's some trash scumbag, but feel upset about his death and find yourself questioning why he had to die - not cheering for his death).

Point being, the loc changed that stuff because ??? I guess they wanted Edelgard to shine at her very absolute brightest, and the only way to do that was to harp on all the characters who opposed her. I don't understand why they would do that tbh (like I know the intent, i.e. making her look good, but I don't know why they went to such lengths to vilify her enemies and not just say hey, maybe she's wrong about these people but I'm still going to fight for her, if fighting for her is what you decided to do. The one idea I have is the final paragraphs of this post).

It just makes it feel a lot like purist culture, where if you've sided with her than they can't possibly let her be actually bad and do bad things. You've sided with her, so she simply cannot be a villain! It makes the loc team seem afraid of a concept of siding with the villains, feeling the need to change it because it's BaD to play a game/route where you do that. It feels like it's portraying the idea that if you do bad things in a video game, you condone those bad things irl.

Whether that was their thought process or not, that's exactly what it comes off as, and that since they loved Edelgard they couldn't portray her poorly unless there was no other option. In the times they do finally portray her poorly via other characters, there's always pushback in some form, like someone defending her, giving her the benefit of the doubt after everything she'd already done and still intended to do, or being sad about fighting/killing her. In the original that was still there, but the loc just added to it - just by doing a whole lot of damage to other characters in the process.

Meanwhile with Rhea, there's always negative pushback. If she does something good, there's a negative thought following her good actions. Obviously there isn't space for that to happen literally every single time, but when possible it's there. Again, this is another thing the loc amped up, and I can only guess it's because she's the head of the Church (and churches are viewed as the enemy in most JPRGs) and the main person Edelgard opposes (with no acknowledgement from the loc team, about why that is, being a bad thing).

It's like, the one time there's a game where the Church isn't actually the enemy, they... made it so that the loc reflected that the Church is still actually the enemy. Churches being the enemy are so common that it was intentionally used in the original script as a red herring. You think they're gonna be the big bads because they always are in JRPGs.

The point of that was meant to fulfill itself as a red herring, making you focus on them and scrutinize everything they said and did even heavier than you would anyone else. It makes everything Edelgard does get swept under the rug and causes the player not to notice until it's fastballed at you. That's why you end up fighting her and not the Church except if you're specifically on her route.

That was lost in loc, of course, and it got so overwhelmingly popular in the west (which I do believe is a reason they did it to begin with, i.e. made the Church the baddies by western viewpoint because the west apparently eats that shit right up) that Hopes catered most strongly toward the western audience, making the Church the big bads (who... don't even do anything wrong whatsoever in this game and hardly even exist to do so, but I can only guess they got largely ignored because they were so hated, and less positive interaction with them meant less worry of killing innocent people/more not caring about them as the enemy) of two routes out of three; not because that was the original script's intent, but because they just went with what was popular even if it went against their home game's intention. I was pretty unsurprised to find out this went over very badly with JP players.

In other words the loc was so widely understood as the true canon/intent of the story (despite its vast and drastic changes) that Hopes was crafted around the loc more than it was the original script. The loc of Houses altered so much that it changed the perception of the audience consuming it, so whether the JP writers are aware that that's why the game was consumed the way it was or not, they just knew a chunk of the western audience loved Edelgard and hated Rhea.

When I play a game I want the same story and experience that everyone has playing it. I don't want to understand it differently than it's meant to be understood and was understood in the region it was created in. If it's a dark and mature themed game, it should stay that way. It western audiences can't handle that, then the game shouldn't be played by them whether it comes out in the west or not.

If you can't handle the content of a video game, you shouldn't play it, plain and simple. No amount of "oh but I like this portion of it!" changes the overall narrative that you can't handle and/or don't like (and you wouldn't know you like a part of it if you didn't play it at all, which you did play it despite knowing it's largely not for you. If you didn't know but play it and find out, you put it down and move on). The game's messages should not be altered to fit purists or baby the players. If it needs to be edited that strongly to work in the west, my feeling on it is that it should not be released in the west.

If it is released, the story should not be altered to baby its audience. If people do play it despite that and can't handle it, it's their responsibility to stop playing it and not bitch at the people who released it (in any region) or bitch at the loc team for not changing anything (i.e. bitching that the loc team didn't change creative aspects of the story to fulfill another region's agenda).

Why does that happen though? Capitalism, quite frankly. Companies prefer the money added to their coffers than to keep the originality of a creative piece of art. They'll follow any political agenda that's popular, any social media agenda that's popular, etc, even if it means changing creativity.

They want the most people possible to purchase it, so if more people will buy the product, even if it means sullying the creative work of the original writers, they'll do it. That may not be true worldwide, but it absolutely is with many western companies. If the narrative of a game doesn't fit what western culture agrees with, they'll change it to make it so that western culture agrees with it (re: the Church).

Localization shouldn't exist to change a work of art/to change any media form for the sake of just releasing it in another region for the profit, but it does happen; hence why I prefer translation to loc. Over the years I've grown to hate western localization more and more.

If localizers have to work that badly to change what already exists (including changing the intent of the creator(s)), I have zero respect for their "efforts" for trying to alter a story and possibly even pursue a particular agenda (because we play games to have fun and enjoy something, not to have irl agendas thrown back in our faces).

Translators who go through loops upon loops to make sure the story stays as intact as possible with only changes of necessity are the ones I respect. Translating things to keep the meaning of a story is a lot more difficult and trying than just going "well how about we just completely change this and then we don't even have to think about how to work it out".

Also, there's a difference between pursuing an agenda or writing something to fix a glaring issue like racism. If there are aspects of a media that got changed in the west to eliminate racism (which is often, especially in Japan from my understanding based on other media I consume, done because of ignorance and not genuinely harmful intent), that's understandable.

That alone shouldn't alter a whole story though, and if it has to because the racism or whatever it is is that bad, then the work should simply not be released in the west! Simple as that! If it's that bad, why support those things by changing them to sound nicer/better and let the original product still generate revenue?

Now, is all localization this bad? No. Is Houses' localization bad enough that it changed an entire region's perception on the contents of the game? Yes. That's a no no for me.

I respect localization that does its best to keep the same story and change what won't work in another region (including what may be deemed unacceptable in said region or really toes a line of general regional discomfort).

I do not respect localization that sticks in the team's own biases or tries to push any kind of agenda to appeal to certain people. If a piece of creative media is created without the intention to push any kind of agenda, it should remain that way and not suddenly have things added to it for that purpose.

I respect creative media. I don't respect capitalism and changing content to cater to a specific subset of an audience, including the staff's own.

#DCB Ask #my response to this isn't just about Houses (that's a chunk of it) but also about loc itself #if I ever made a book or even just an eBook that got translated #I would NOT want what happened to Houses happening to my writing #personally I'd just straight up ask it to be removed and unavailable in that region unless/until #the people behind translating/localizing it fixed it to fit the narrative I set for my /own/ writing #if there were consumers from another region who got a different story entirely from the region I released it in #there's something wrong that happened between regions and unfortunately most ppl don't realize that #most ppl will assume whatever is in the loc was the author's intent #which means anything that looks bad in that region now reflects on me as the author #and it's even worse if it causes controversy. for example like the stuff we get in Hopes #the amount of underlying racism. I haven't seen the entire JP script but like #at this point I don't know if my concerns should be aimed at the localizers or the original writers #I wouldn't want that for my own writing. I wouldn't want people questioning ME based on loc changes #when I view in depth how I feel abt smth I prefer to put myself in the situation #and figure out how I'd feel about it. that's why with Houses I don't find it acceptable #it's not something I'd want to happen to my own writing. look at how Edelgard is viewed now overall #she's the most controversial character surrounded by negativity that FE has ever seen #despite having a character borderline identical to her in the past in one of the most beloved and acclaimed titles #and most of that is... bc of the loc :(

[jen-with-a-pen]

ALL TIED UP - FOUR

Previous ⊹ Series

summary: A look into the House of Sigma Beta Theta (ΣBΘ). Annoyed with the vague hinting at the party on Friday, Steve confronts Clint and stands up for once– and it only slightly backfires.

pairings: Art Student!Frat Brother!Steve Rogers x Film Student!Sorority Sister!Reader

word count: 1386

warnings: cursing, food mention, meeting the rest of the brothers, dudebro Clint, fuckboy Tony, singling out/exclusion, power dynamics, Steve's just trying to make it through the day man

a/n: we get to meet the rest of the fraternity! so sorry it's been a while. the holidays, seasonal depression, and work happened and i didn't really have the motivation to write for steve again until recently. hope yall like it ❤ p.s. thank you all SO SO much again on the continuing love for filthy impetuous souls. it means the world ❤

This chapter was not beta'd by anyone else. All mistakes in this chapter are my own.

gif by @paliaphrodite | additional graphics + dividers by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist | all tied up masterlist Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥ Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Last Wednesday.

Dribbles of cereal milk splash onto the kitchen table as Steve switches between eating breakfast, drafting a perfect-but-also-not-too-perfect text to his barista, and reading the newspaper. The newspaper thing makes him feel like an old fucking geezer, but it reminds him of mornings with his Ma back home. He misses her.

He makes a mental note to call her this weekend. 

Munching on another spoonful, he nearly chokes at the sound of slow, calculated footsteps descending the stairs. Normally he’s the only one home on Wednesday mornings. Normally he can sit in comfortable silence in the kitchen without needing to sneak around the fucking house. However, this specific Wednesday morning was not normal– all the guys were hungover from the party the night before. Upon realization, Steve reluctantly swallows the half-chewed gob of Cheerios. It lands in his stomach like a rock as he frantically looks about the scene on the table; he can’t decide fast enough whether to hide the newspaper, or his phone– or himself– before whomever is around the corner sees him outside his bedroom, outside his element. 

Tony Stark is the first to stride into the kitchen. Jet-black hair slicked back with yesterday's pomade complimented by a face riddled with stubble. He’s a mismatched mess of a worn Yankees jersey, khakis, and the newest Nikes, all of which are covered by the stench of luxury cologne and seven types of vodka. Even with designer sunglasses on, he winces at the fluorescent kitchen lights while dragging his feet straight to the coffee pot. 

"’Sup, Rogers." 

As far as they are into the semester, it’s the first time Tony directly acknowledges Steve in a way that isn't sarcastic or followed by a snooty comment under his breath. Steve quietly tips his chin to Tony out of politeness. From his perch at the kitchen table, he watches Tony pour a mug of coffee before slyly taking a mini Fireball out of his shirt pocket, dumping it into the hot liquid. He stirs his concoction with a finger, tasting it with a faint grimace before sipping. 

To each their own, Steve thinks. 

"Are you really reading the fuckin' newspaper, old timer?" Tony remarks behind his mug. Last night’s party and lack of proper hydration makes his voice raspy, deeper than usual. Steve shrugs, nodding with a faint 'yeah' in response. Steve sips his protein shake.

Tony sniffs a laugh. "Soon enough, you'll be on it." 

Another slurp. 

"What?" Steve chokes, a chunk of unmixed protein powder lodging itself in his esophagus.

"Hm. Nothin'." 

“No, what did you–”

"Whoa! Sure is a party in here," Clint Barton jokes upon entering the kitchen, following in Tony's footsteps to the coffee maker. Compared to Tony, Clint takes his hangovers in full stride. It figures, too; the guy is a kinesiology-finance major with a nutritionist-business major of a girlfriend. Eyes full of light and mischief, hair already stylishly spiked even though he just rolled out of bed, he’s already in his usual workout shirt and sweatpants. Clint whistles to himself, taking a large tub of protein powder off the top of the fridge before fixing a shaker of protein coffee. Tony steps out of the way to the other side of the kitchen to lean against the stove, watching, lurking. 

"Not until you got here, Clint," Steve attempts. Clint doesn't turn around until he's shaking his protein shaker. Loudly. 

"You say sumn'?" He asks, smirking when Steve begins to shake his head and go back to his phone. 

"Steven, I kid, I kid.”

Steve gives a tight-lipped smile, looking down at his soggy Cheerios. The knot in his chest tightens. The milk smells sour.

“Hey, Steve.”

Steve looks up, locking eyes with Clint. He swallows, hands gripping the newspaper and crumpling the comics section– his favorite. 

“You have fun last night?” Clint asks, dropping more powdered supplements into his shaker. 

“Y-Yeah, it was fun.” 

“You see any cute honeys you like?” Clint waggles his brow. 

Steve’s face burns. His eyes dart to Tony, who’s hiding a knowing smirk behind his coffee mug. 

“I think, yeah,” he shrugs. 

Clint laughs, lips morphing into a knowing, dark grin. “Well if you think they were cute last night, just wait ‘til Friday. You’ll believe it, then.”

Another vague nod to Friday. Steve’s brow furrows, leaning forward in his chair. “What do you mean by that?” 

Clint blinks, surprised at the confrontation, and sets his shaker down on the counter before approaching the kitchen table, hands slamming into the wood. Steve’s cereal sloshes, splashing a bit onto the screen of his phone. 

“You wanna ask me that again, Steven?” Clint hisses with a challenging smirk. “Go ahead, y’know I can’t hear real well. I didn’t hear ya the first time.” He leans in with a hand cupped to his ear and a mocking face. “What’s that? Huh?”

“Nothin’,” Steve mumbles. 

“Sorry, what?”

“Nothing.” Steve’s knuckles are white.

“Sorry! Come again?” Clint’s smirk grows wider the further he leans in. 

Steve stands abruptly, slamming his own palms onto the table. “I said–!”

“You said what?”

Steve and Clint turn to the direction of Bucky’s voice as it drifts into the kitchen before he and Sam do. Hands pocketed, brow raised, ponytail bobbing, Bucky looks sternly between Steve and Clint. Sam mirrors him with the ghost of a smirk on his lips. Steve straightens instantly; Clint follows suit, stretching a hand out to Sam to exchange high fives. Steve’s eye twitches.

“Hm?” Bucky questions, stopping in the middle of the kitchen. He looks from Tony– who just nurses his coffee, checking stocks on his phone– to Clint– who lifts his hands in defense, acting confused– and finally to Steve– who sets his jaw, trying his best to level his breathing and frustration. 

Steve swallows, gritting his teeth. “I didn’t say anything.” He tries to keep his tone level, convincing. Bucky nods, gaze shifting to Clint. 

“Nothin’, boss, y’know me.” Clint’s lips twitch along with his brow. 

Bucky’s eyes dart between them before he turns back to Sam, who leans against the fridge with crossed arms. Steve locks eyes with him for a second longer before he turns to Bucky and shrugs. The moment hangs in the air, silent and tense, like every other time all five of them are alone in the same room. Steve’s always the one that feels the tension, though. 

“As you were,” Bucky concludes. The kitchen reverts back to normal as everyone resumes the start to their days. Steve stands idly by, looking down at his milk-coated paper and phone, his breakfast soggy and ruined. He sighs and begins to clean up. Before he leaves the kitchen, Bucky grabs his arm, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Forgot to ask. You inviting anyone?” 

Steve responds with a confused look.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “To the party, Stevie,” he clarifies, flashing a smile differing from his usual, knowing smirk. 

Steve hesitates, looking to Sam then back to Bucky. “Kinda, yeah,” he shrugs. All eyes are on him and the kitchen stills once again. Bucky’s brow rockets up his forehead.

“Yeah? Who?”

Steve’s Adam's apple bobs. “Uh, just–just a friend. From class.”

“But who?” Bucky’s grip on Steve’s arm tightens. 

“She’s just a–” Steve immediately bites his tongue. It's too late. 

“She? You have a she-friend?” Clint asks incredulously. Even Tony looks at Steve from behind his lowered sunglasses. All eyes are on the blond whose eyes dart around helplessly. 

“I–Wh–She’s just a friend from class, that’s it,” Steve defends, heat pooling in his cheeks as he stares pointedly into Bucky’s cool blues. Bucky holds him for a second more before releasing his arm, dusting off Steve’s shoulders, smiling. 

“We’ll make sure to give her a real warm welcome, then,” Bucky winks. 

Unnerved, Steve quickly makes his way out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room while mixed conversations from the kitchen chase after him. He doesn’t bother listening. Once he enters his room, he triple checks the locks on the door before slouching into his secondhand office chair. Popping in earbuds, he hits play on the album he fell asleep to the night prior as his fingers fly over his phone’s keyboard, coming to a stop when the adrenaline does. 

He reads over the text, chewing his lip, and hits send.

Hey, it’s Steve

who?

Meathead.

oh i know just wanted to hear u say it

Don’t you mean see it?

damn. got me there

nice first attempt at texting btw. solid 8/10, good introduction

8/10??

What can a guy do to earn a 10/10?

hmm

come by the cafe later and try a new drink i made ;)

Deal.

#All Tied Up #All Tied Up Series #Big Red Bow Series #Steve Rogers POV #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers #modern steve rogers #artist steve rogers #college!au #modern!au #steve rogers series #slowburn #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #fic #jen writes #chris evans characters #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans series #captain america x reader #fluff #angst

[zoobus]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Its 10 p.m. Do You Know Where Your Terrasen Heir Is?

Celaena Sardothian has succeeded; she won the assassins' competition and is now working as the King's Champion. Well. On face value, she is, anyway. Dorian is beginning to understand that being heir to his father's throne is going to require him finding and using his backbone, and Chaol...is having like six different morality and loyalty crises and is smart enough to put puzzle peices together but not secure enough in himself to make good choices. Basically, our three POV characters in this book are starting to lose the comfort of their facades and positions and are going to have to figure out where they stand in a world of shifting geopolitics and magic that was supposed to have disappeared ten years ago. Let's talk Crown of Midnight.

This is you SPOILER WARNING. Below the break there will be SPOILERS. Be warned.

So there were things I absolutely adored about this book, and a couple of things I fully yelled down the internet to friends about because WTAF??? And I continue to be absolutely floored that SJM moved FROM the Throne of Glass Series TO A Court of Thorns and Roses, because TOG shows competence and an understanding of how to effectively meld character and geopolitics to move the plot along and ACOTAR...has the specialist Bat Boy ever. But this post isn't to slam ACOTAR, it's to hype Crown of Midnight.

Possibly my favorite early reveal in this book is that Celaena has been staging the deaths of everyone the King sends her to kill before getting them out of Adarlan and pulling appropriate-ish heads and other body parts from charnel houses to "prove" her kills. The amount I adore "Professional Assassin Refuses to Kill on Demand" is high, and Celaena taking what should be her blood money for murdering people on demand but is actually her reward to herself for not killing people and going ham on pretty clothes, shoes, books, and jewelry is just A+. The layers there are just incredible. Celaena is positively reinforcing her hella risky but morally right choice with stuff that makes her happy. But from the King's perspective or anyone who doesn't know she's not killing willy nilly, it just reinforces the murder Barbie aesthetic; she looks hella competent at the murder but sufficiently airheaded in other areas and nobody suspects her of being smart enough to be pulling a subterfuge. I adore this, and I also adore that Celaena can be, as Jake Peralta says, two things. She's allowed to be HELLA scary competent in the assassin business but she can also like pretty dresses and sparkly shoes. Murder Barbies are wonderful, is what I'm saying.

This gets a little complicated when Celaena tries to bring the sister of her heart and the man she loves into her little personal rebellion against the King's Champion role. Chaol is absolutely horrified because by the time she tells him, he's head over heels in love and his nightmare is the King ordering him to kill Celaena. Nehemia interprets this as Celaena being rebellion-curious, which for a seriously good-sized chunk of this book she is vehemently not. Nehemia calls her selfish and a coward, and this really does a number on their friendship, especially after rumors that the lost heir of Terrasen, Aelin Galathynius, is making waves and setting up a rebellion.

On top of ALL THAT is Celaena's next target: Archer Finn. She knows Archer from back in her days as Adarlan's Assassin, and from minute goddamn one, this man is more trouble than he's worth. He is WHINY, he wants his MONEY, he wants more TIME...Honestly by the second time he's bitching and moaning about the conditions under which Celaena is willing to smuggle him out rather than straight up murder him, I was ROOTING for her to kill him. Once it turns out he was actually tied up with the rebels and was responsible for Chaol's kidnapping and Nehemia's death (put a pin in that, we're going to come back to it), I was extremely ready for her to stick a knife in his squishy spots.

Chaol also managed to slide down my list of favorite characters this book, because the man is HOPELESSLY tangled in duty, suspicion, love, and a total inability to recognize that some things cannot be rationalized away into being ok. He's been falling for Celaena since book 1, but it seriously does not take long after they finally do sleep together for their relative positions as Captain of the Royal Guard and King's Champions (officially) and lapsed heir of Anielle and missing heir of Terrasen (unofficially) absolutely fuck up their entire relationship. The fall is helped along by Archer kidnapping Chaol to orchestrate Nehemia's death, but then Chaol goes full-on Captain on Celaena afterwards and has been keeping secrets from her in the meantime, so the trust they had is well and truly shattered. Although that doesn't actually stop Celaena from handing Chaol the information he needs to put it together that she is Aelin Galathynius, so apparently she still trusts him that far.

Between the interpersonal stuff, Celaena is still working on figuring out wyrdmarks and the tomb below the palace. She gets bare minimum help from Elena and Mort (everyone's favorite magic doorknocker with an attitude problem), but eventually she does sort them out enough to be able to open portals and work spells, with absolutely terrifying results. It also reveals to both Dorian and Chaol that Celaena is at least part fae, but she cannot take her fae form in Adarlan thanks to the King's use of wyrdkeys to muffle all magic except his own...and Dorian's.

Poor Dorian has just the worst time in this book. He finds out he has hella powerful, extremely uncontrolled magic, and spends the whole rest of the book panicking because nobody can teach him how to either control or hide it, and he is convinced (rightly so) that his father will murder him if it becomes known that he has magic. Luckily, Celaena is on his side there, and murders Baba Yellowlegs (*deep sigh* put a pin in this one too, we'll come back to it) to prevent the secret from being sold to the highest bidder.

Overall, the messiness of the interpersonal relationships in this book is absolutely delightful. People make mistakes, mistakes have consequences, and emotions are messy and complex in ways that affect both the characters and the geopolitical plot aspects of the book. It was also just REALLY fun to read through and watch everything go to hell in a handbasket in a way that felt motivated and deeply connected to the worldbuilding.

That said, this book was not flawless, and there were two key things that I really had problems with: Baba Yellowlegs and Nehemia's death. Baba Yellowlegs is objectively the first instance in the Maas-verse of what becomes a habit for this author that drives me up the goddamn wall. I have no issue with allusion to the mythology of our world in fantasy novels. And Baba Yellowlegs, in defense of this allusion, is built into the worldbuilding of TOG far more effectively than the Seraphim and Myrmidons of ACOTAR. But there seems to be a pattern of Slavic mythology being used only for evil characters that I don't love, especially when Slavic mythology tends to be significantly deeply nuanced and multifaceted. I do not love that all of that nuance and complexity and the sense of ambiguity in general is collapsed in favor of "evil witch in the woods with bigass yellow chicken legs." And this is pretty consistent in the Maas-verse, so while I might have been willing to let this slide on its own, it's representative of a pattern I'm not a fan of in SJM books in general. Also...THE LEGS WERE ON THE COTTAGE. Something about "Baba Yellowlegs" was just viscerally irritating to me and I hate it.

The other issue I took with this book is that it full-on fridged the single female POC character. And frankly it's not even subtle. Nehemia full-on asks Elena about it, and makes the decision to die specifically to galvanize Celaena into action. I genuinely hate that Nehemia self-fridges here. Fridging is, as Red from OSP says, "such a Fuck You to a character." Like, I was here for the Celaena and Nehemia start a rebellion show, but noooooooooooo, apparently that was less interesting than Celaena adding ANOTHER dead friend to her heart. This also full-on killed the racial diversity in the book, so we're back to an all-white cast, and that just adds a bad taste to an already bad trope. That said, I'm objectively less mad about this than I was at the fridging in Battle Ground, even if it does take the ONE female friendship that I was so enjoying and wreck it.

Oh, and I can't forget to mention Fleetfoot, the goodest girl ever. I absolutely adore that Celaena has a pupper, and Fleetfoot just adds a lovely human element to Celaena. There didn't have to be a dog, but I adore that there is one. And not gonna lie, I had basically the same reaction to Chaol leaping through the bigass demon portal that I did when my sister yote herself off our deck to stop our dog from trying to make friends with a moose: A combination of "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE YOU THINKING????" and "Obviously we save the dog, it's family".

So overall, I am thoroughly enjoying the Throne of Glass series, and I shall be continuing my SJM reads.

#crown of midnight #sarah j maas #sjm #sjm books #throne of glass #books and reading #books #books and novels #books & libraries #book recommendations

[sailforvalinor]

So I'm curious, dear friend. What are your three favorite stories? Off the top of your head, you don't have to think too hard. Any genre, or medium by the way. I think I have a guess of what these could be, but I wanna hear from you. :)

Oooh, now there's a difficult question.

Of course, I have to give credit where credit is due and say the Bible, as it was authored by the greatest storyteller of them all (wink wink) and anything else I could mention here is going to be pale imitation. But since that almost feels like cheating, I'm going to name three others.

Narnia was the first one to come to mind--it was I think the story that first ignited my love of fantasy, and I seem to find something new in it every time I return to it. You want to talk about a story that aged well, THIS is one of them. I'm going to group LOTR in here too, even though they obviously are very different stories, they house themselves in the same place in my heart, and LOTR is also responsible for my love of epic fantasy.

I have to also mention Harry Potter. It's really in-fashion to bash on it lately, of course, but it truly is rare to find a story that balances having a world that is both detailed and well-crafted WHILE being completely immersive. The reader doesn't ever get bogged-down in the details of the worldbuilding--you're always given just the right amount where you're left wanting more. The characters are just so enchanting, even if they're flawed in some ways, and you want to be friends with them.

And lastly, of course, Kingdom Hearts. It's hard to articulate just why I love this story so much--I think it's less that the story is actually good (though I'm not saying it isn't, the plot of KH is MUCH better than people give it credit for) than it is that this series is just so dang good at communicating theme. You'd be hard-pressed to find another series that blends both childlike wonder and teenage angst perfectly and serves it to you like a shot of espresso. I think it's also that I have a lot of childhood memories wrapped up in the series--@himbohobbit24 and I spent a good chunk of our lives passing the PS3 remote back and forth while sitting on our living room carpet playing these games.

#thanks so much for the ask!!!!! #this was fun

[bigwishes]

If it is still possible, I wish to become Thor, but actual god sized.

[WARNING: FLASHING LIGHTS AT END OF POST]

hmmm that is an incredibly tall order and to just hand a guy godhood isn't too fair in my opinion but, I'm always one for a compromise, people should definitely get what they come for but sometimes they need to take a bit more of a proactive route to get there themselves. so here's the deal buddy, Ill make you an aspect of Thor, you wont be the man himself but you'll have his power running through your body and they way you look know wont do at all, we need to bleach that hair, grow it all the way out and give you a nice chunk of facial hair, there we go, really starting to look like the man himself but lets beef you out a bit, pack some muscle on you. Can't have the aspect of Thor walking around as skin and bones now can we.

I've also gone ahead and given you super strength and some lightning power, well right now you could probably make the lights in your house flicker but they'll get stronger with time trust me. So here's how this is going to work, I've made you a sexy hot aspect of the god himself, but you want godhood? you need to earn it buddy. Get people to worship you, the more worship you get the bigger you'll get. 60 years ago it would have been hard to pull this off but you're living in the golden age of social media kid, make an Instagram, post thirst traps any compliments or follows Ill count towards people worshiping you. You're about 6ft tall now but every 100k followers will add another 1ft to your height, another 60 pounds of muscle and will definitely make your power grow, you'll be able to summon lightning from your hands in no time at all. Of course, an aspect hasn't walked the earth in a while and with you here all of a sudden some old monsters are going to start coming out of the wood work, I hope you get your follower count up real soon because I give it a week before forgotten Norse monsters start coming out of the ocean to try and take your power for themselves. Hey man, I don't make the rules, gods or well aspects have responsibilities to uphold, did you really think it was just going to be laying around worshipping yourself?

#male transformation #muscle transformation #muscle #reality change #male tf #god transformation

[highlifeboat]

First off, my heart was broken with the "Swap!Mel telling Alcina not to baby her" bit, please tell me they talk things out and get their happy vibes back. :( Second - I now really wanna hear about Mia and the wife from Crimson Snow. You may have given me a new ship and need to know this XD

Always gotta throw in a little angsty family drama, no matter the AU.

I feel like, eventually, Alcina is going to question Melony's sudden disdain for getting babied. Her daughter is just kind of coasting and sullen since it stopped, and it's worrying. With all the strange vibes between her kids, too, there has to be some suspicion that something happened.

She has a little private meeting with Mel and pushes the subject more, reminding Mel she can be trusted and all that. Mel, despite having every right to throw Max under the bus, goes with the half truth of "I've just heard.. people say some things about me." and how it made her think on how much time she spends around Alcina. She doesn't like being seen as a baby, or weak, or anything like that since she's arguable just as capable as her siblings. But when Alcina asks her if she's sure she doesn't want to be babied anymore she doesn't have a real answer.

Mel still likes the extra attention, and the kisses and hugs, and general motherly love, but she also feels like she should get some independence and responsibility. Alcina tells her they'll work to find a nice balance that makes Mel happy, and if Alcina ever goes too much either way to simply tell her. She's going to miss her baby moth and constant cuddling and whatever, but she won't deny Mel's want to have her own life.

A little bitter sweet, but they hug it out after and get back into their good vibes, even if it isn't the same as before.

AS FOR THE SECOND THING--

Listen, okay, so... Ideas are limited at the moment, but bare with me.

Main backstory isn't fully important right now, but the short version is Mia gets relocated to whatever snowy undisclosed town Crimson Snow takes place in. Gets a note from the neighbour across the road as an invite for dinner, say "fuck it" because she's tired of being lonely post-Ethan dying and losing everything (again). Ends up in Scary Ex's house, who quickly realizes Mia is NOT her ex boyf. Hilarity ensues, Mia makes friends with a demon woman, enter gay lady kisses. Y'know, classic tale pfff.

I will supply a little bit of headcanons, because that's the only way I can explain ideas coherently pfff.

The reason the Ex doesn't kill Mia on the spot, is because Mia still takes her up on the dinner offer/is actually civil despite... everything

Like, my girl saw the spaghetti on the table and said "I know this is awkward, but I brought wine and I feel like it's rude if I just leave."

Ex is initially confused, but after realizing Mark(the game MC/Ex Boyf) isn't showing up/moved, agrees.

This is heavily reliant on the idea that the Scary Ex only kills Mark in-game because he's running/hiding from her, and because Mia doesn't the Ex is chill.

A good chunk of dinner is Ex venting about how "I put all this effort into the holiday and he doesn't even bother to tell me he's MOVING?" and Mia nodding along and saying stuff like "Sounds like he was a loser honestly. You deserve better."

In terms of general relationship, lowkey they be cute

Ex drags Mia dress shopping all the time, for both of them

Mia always be complimenting her. On her dresses, and make up, and cooking, just showers this woman with compliments.

Ex has accidentally scared the shit out of Mia in the middle of the night before. More than once.

They do living room karaoke.

Mia might have a thing for women with sharp teeth and long nails.

The Ex is lowkey ecstatic to just be in a relationship with someone who doesn't call her crazy

Mia casually dropping how she used to be possessed too, except it wasn't by choice and now she's forever infected with sentient fungus.

Scary Ex being like "That explains a lot actually." and then never bringing it up again

Basic idea is: Local Himbo falls in love with Horror Beyond Human Comprehension

#asks #coleblackblood #swap au #Resident Evil/Crimson Snow

[believerindaydreams]

@theoremproved I hope I'm not overstepping, I just. Couldn't resist writing a little post-canon AU snippet for your fic, on Gallifrey.

You've made the Doctor and the Master such partners...not just "need you in my life for snarking and hate sex" but like ...actual partners. Never ran across that before. It offers so many possibilities!

anyway here's some words

"I can still hear her," the Doctor says, resting on a hay pile with his eyes shut. "You know that, don't you?"

He would, the Master reflects, know it considerably better if they were using more than words. With the loss of his TARDIS, all the Doctor's telepathic shields had snapped on instinctively, and two days later he's yet to lower them even in exhausted sleep. They have not touched each other since escaping the Citadel, clenched hands giving way to the smooth silky freedom of nighttime winds.

The words are in the Master's mouth, that given the opportunity he could readily verify whether the Doctor is sensing a genuine psionic signal or succumbing to wishful thinking. Not so many lifetimes ago he would have already insisted on deciding the point, so that they could make further decisions based on the stern necessities of fact.

Age may not have taught either of them wisdom, but at least one of them has experimented with patience. "I'll make tea."

"In the ruins of the House?" The Doctor's unseeing gesture is grandiose and careless, his fingers coming perilously close to a rusted saw-toothed blade of some description. The Master removes it from harm's way, carefully hanging the rawhide loop over his own shoulder. Better to have even so minor a weapon as this than none at all. "And even in its glory days, the table never boasted triangular tea bags."

More properly this is the ruins of an outlying barn and not the house proper, but in his present mood the Doctor would call that quibbling. "It wouldn't now, either. Lapsang souchong is better brewed loose."

"Really? That's clever. However will you manage that?"

"Other persons in this cosmos also possess pockets." If the Doctor can't bring himself to anything closer, words are still a vast improvement on yesterday's tortured silence. Muteness has never become him, and especially not this incarnation with his deft way of employing words like perfectly honed knives.

Almost sufficient to talk them out of trouble in the Capitol. Almost.

The Master piles up fallen chunks of wood and wisps of hay, sets it alight by sparking the near-exhausted battery pack of a melted staser. There's little chance of the fire being seen- the taboo on leaving the Capitol is deep and profound- but he arranges it to give off as little smoke as possible. It isn't beyond possibility that the Shobogans will be offered some sort of reward for capturing them.

If that happens, he will have no qualms about self defense. Hunters should always be prepared to become the hunted.

It has taken the better part of the day, for a jury-rigged atmospheric condenser to provide sufficient water. Half an hour to get that water properly hot. Five and a half minutes to brew, in two cups fashioned from a shattered bucket.

"It's ready."

This would all have been a great deal of needless trouble, he thinks, if the Doctor refuses to get up.

"No, I don't want to-" and is that a mental response or a physical complaint? "But I'll try to muster up some cheer. You didn't cause anything like this fuss about your own ship."

It is perhaps because, the Master doesn't say, I know what happened and the coral heart beats quietly next to mine; whereas yours is being taken to pieces and plumbed for secrets as no time ship has ever been dishonored.

If they must be separate a while, he can be glad the Doctor won't have caught this particular underlying thought.

"Tea," he says simply.

The Doctor sits up suddenly, brushes hay out of his curls, and gulps down his share without a pause for breath.

"You know, that is rather better. I suppose we'll have to start making a plan and such this time, won't we? A pity. I always have more fun improvising on the spot."

"I'll finish my tea first," the Master says, unruffled. They are not going to take on the Citadel's rage without several good plans, and preferably better weapons than one ancient farming implement.

"There's something to do before that, even."

"Oh?"

The Doctor leans in and kisses him, his mouth hot and flavoured with smoke; and all the day's efforts are, in the Master's opinion, thoroughly repaid.

#fourth doctor

[creek-cryptid-deluxe]

Life update I guess? Sure.

So I've just reached 3 weeks at L's. Let's check in on how everyone is doing, shall we?

Well, at home, Dad is still actively battling the kids. (I say kids but they are 18 & 19 so...) Dad has a strict policy about not washing dishes that aren't his. In the first 1.5 weeks I was gone, the kids did dishes twice. Then The Spawn whined at my dad, demanding to know why they were the only ones responsible for dishes. He flat out told them that he isn't as nice as I am, that he doesn't clean up after other people, that he has handwashed every dish he uses, and that if they don't like it maybe they shouldn't have taken me for granted and been so disrespectful. She decided the best way to handle that was a game of chicken in which almost every dish was dirty but they refused to do them to see if Dad would break, as I have in the past. After a couple days of that, Dad simply told them that the moment he saw a bug due to them being lazy slobs, they would be invoiced for the pest control bill. Yesterday he told me that he is putting his foot down and demanding they do them because it's starting to smell.

He also finally realized why the water bill has basically quadrupled since The Bf moved in. Both of those doofuses turn on the shower, then go back and forth between the bathroom & their room for about 20 mins before actually getting in for their 30 min shower. They each shower 2-4 times a day. When he saw this happen the other day, he sat them down and asked if they realized that for every minute the shower is on, 2.5 gallons of water is used and that until they are actively ready to step into the shower, it shouldn't be turned on.

The Spawn has also told him that she 'doesn't understand why Mom won't even say hi to her'. Dad told her that for health reasons I needed a break from everything, which isn't untrue. I did say that I'd happily explain it to her... in person. With witnesses so that my words aren't twisted to fit the always popular "Mom is an abusive monster" narrative she likes to spin. Truth is that any time things don't go her way, she lashes out at me & heaps verbal abuse on me alongside saying extremely cruel things and I'm not doing that anymore.

Updates about me personally... I'm obviously still at L's house. But the situation has shifted a bit. I've known L for about 7 or 8 years & we've always gotten along fantastically. Apparently he had been harboring a crush during a significant chunk of that and we are now an item. He told me last night, in a very heartfelt speech, that I've become a permanent fixture of the household, he can't imagine me not being here now, and that he & the kids' lives are better for having me around. Not gonna lie, I teared up a bit. So I live here now and we are slowly moving all my crap in.

The kids... well the oldest 2 come to me to talk about things they don't want to talk to their parents about & homework help & when they have spats among themselves. They are all 3 super receptive to my instilling manners and better habits (such as cleaning up after themselves). The middle kiddo has severe dyslexia & has fallen in love with my fountain pen, so we made a deal that I will get her a journal & fountain pen if she uses them to practice handwriting. She agreed but only if I make her a handwriting sheet for reference because my handwriting is pretty. I also instituted a "cleaning day" the night before they go back to their moms' houses wherein they clean their rooms & bathroom (the girls share a room so the middle kid handles their bedroom while the youngest handles the playroom). They all took to it fantastically. The middle kiddo even went so far as to make the girls' beds in a fancy way, then make them AGAIN before school the next morning. They were all so proud of themselves. They've told their dad that they like me because I speak to them in the same way I speak to everyone else & they feel heard, like their opinions and stuff matter, when they talk to me, & I only yell when they are loud and I need their attention & I don't jump to conclusions about their fights, don't get mad, and frequently just sit down and talk to them about why what they did was uncool and help them figure out what should be done next time.

I'm absolutely delighted to be a part of this family now. I've loved those kids since I met them. Really L & the kids are why I stayed friends with his second ex wife for so long despite her being terrible.

I can tell that I'm less stressed & happier because in 2 weeks I've regained 6 lbs of the nearly 20 lbs that I lost in the last month I was at home.

#life updates with Dr. M #Life with L

[knickynoo]

You elaborated on why Summer of '82 is your least favorite episode, can you elaborate on why Sweet Lorraine is your second least favorite? (I hated both of them btw, I'm just curious about your thoughts)

Honestly, for a lot of the same reasons. I mean, it doesn't leave me with as bad of a taste in my mouth as "Summer of '82" obviously, because the situation isn't as severe, but it's still just not an enjoyable one for me.

I don't have a problem with the premise as a whole--Alex forming a friendship with someone significantly older than him. There is a lot of value and great things to gain from intergenerational friendships (obviously, lol, shout out to Doc and Marty). And Alex is a particularly good candidate for such a friendship, seeing as he's, ya know, already so much like a middle aged man trapped in a teenager's body. So, him finding a bond with a 40-year-old woman who shares his hobbies and interests makes sense.

I guess I'm just not a fan of the way Lorraine handles the friendship. (And like. I get that that's the point. I understand that there would be no episode otherwise, so my complaints are technically dumb, but still.) It becomes pretty clear early on that Alex has a big crush on her. She's pretty much everything he wants in a girl but can't find among his own peers, PLUS remember how often Alex has been told growing up how mature he is. So, with his proper judgement all clouded up by love, he doesn't actually see the weirdness in pursuing Lorraine and thinks he has a shot with her.

Lorraine doesn't help the situation. Not that I think older friends should "talk down" to people younger than them, but in a friendship like theirs--ESPECIALLY when said younger person has a huge crush on them--boundaries must absolutely be set. Which...does not happen. And so it's strange to watch this 40 year old woman going ice skating and dancing with 17-year-old Alex and having him over to her house etc. There are no lines drawn at all, which leads to that scene where Alex actually tries to kiss her, and Lorraine doesn't immediately put a stop to it. She moves in to kiss back before pausing and pulling away. (I think she tells him, "It's not the time" which is also, um, not the response to have?? That sort of implies there may be a time later??) And yeah, Alex is smart enough that he should be aware that how he's acting isn't appropriate either, but I sort of give him a pass considering the really mixed signals he's been getting from her up until that point--right before the attempted kiss, she was rubbing his feet and the whole atmosphere was super bizarre so...kid was mad confused. And as I said in my "Summer of '82" post and a dozen of other times in the past, Alex really has no clue sometimes how to navigate relationships with others or properly read a social situation. He's an expert on the stock market and a master at chess and a literal genius, but he's also barely able to function around other humans lol.

Steven and Elyse are really the stars of the ep, since they're both very uncomfortable with the relationship and are the ones to take action to put an end to it. But it literally takes them sitting Lorraine down and saying, You spending all this time with our teenage son is Very Weird and we would like it to stop, for Lorraine to finally set those boundaries (which, at that point, involved basically cutting contact with Alex entirely).

Again, I know a huge chunk of the episode revolves around the weirdness of it all, and Steven and Elyse are good parents for stepping in, but it's at the very bottom of the list for me.

Thanks for the ask!

#asks #family ties #alex p keaton #apk #''Summer of '82'' and ''Sweet Lorraine'' kind of make me think of that Doofenshmirtz meme #like: if i had a nickel for every time a FT plot centered on an older woman being weird and inappropriate with Alex I'd have two nickels #which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice #poor Alex

[gripes-withthesun]

So, I usually write poetry by hand in a notebook and only digitise it if I need to post it or submit somewhere. I was typing one out right now to try my luck once more with a magazine and I was really struck by how much that poem means to me. How intensely it captures a topic close to my heart that I'm never gonna get over. And I realised every time I "submit" one of these poems to a publication and get rejected it isn't just about "maybe I didn't match the style that they were going for", it's also like. Really hard. To put something that personal out there. And face rejection after rejection. Because when we make any art we really flay ourselves open, huh? We really put really very vulnerable parts of ourselves out there... and then wait for some stranger to inevitably tell us it wasn't good enough.

Idk what it is, but making submissions will always be an extremely harrowing process for me. No matter how many well-meaning advice posts I go through, it's always gonna be a process that leaves me with no energy left afterwards because of the amount of emotional and social labour it requires of me. And I hate that I have to keep doing it anyway, that if I let the rejections get to me "too much" I end up sounding spoiled or entitled but all I actually feel is tired and exhausted and spent.

I hate that if I cut out the middle man and self-publish I have to do a bunch of marketing or maintain a "social media presence" for it to amount to anything.

When you're a bright eyed poet in high school they never really warn you about the burnout of the process of trying to put yourself out there even a little bit. Every time I feel like I'm cutting chunks off of myself to send the best of my stuff out there and it's going down the drain. I guess you could argue that maybe I'm just not good enough and I could always just improve but tbh I actually genuinely, in a material Real sense, do not know how one is supposed to keep bouncing back from it. How one is supposed to have enough of themselves left at the end of it to keep going.

I do not believe that the system of publication we have arrived at is at all conducive to encouraging poetic talent. And somewhere, I do hold a lot of these same magazines and competitions and definitely the publishing houses (yes even the indie ones) responsible for how intimidating they make the whole process, especially so to neurodivergent poets.

Anyway, I'm gonna have to act like it doesn't actually matter all that much and keep trudging on lest I should come off as a spoiled brat so that's what I'm gonna do but. Well, it's my blog so I can vent here at least.

#writeblr #everything actually does feel way more prose dominated nowadays anyway #my fantasy is that someday I'm gonna earn enough from other jobs that I do my own magazine #which is nd friendly and easy to submit to and doesn't suck your soul dry just trying to prove its own self-importance #but also i'm starting to think I'm too disabled to be able to hold a proper job ever so that's gonna remain a fantasy #vent #ok to rb if it resonates with you tho

[notasocialismjoke]

t-break: day 2, somehow

wrote up all of yesterday's at once, instead gonna add to this as a draft throughout the day and post before going to sleep (if i remember to)

head still feels foggy. not quite in the same way as yesterday? depersonalization isn't as bad at least. i've also been really badly dehydrated as a result of how much weed i'd been having so i've been guzzling water. idk what effect it's having.

already extended my k-safe's timer until tomorrow evening so i'm forced off until then i guess.

idk if i'll still keep it up past then. this is my second t-break attempt since starting this blog and i was going to post a log for the last one and didn't bc i figured i'd get to day 3 and then false alarm! t-break cancelled! maybe actually making posts about it will help me commit, idk.

had a dream last night - the shed in my backyard had been extended into a full house. at another point there was a dragon i was fighting? in the sky, and for some reason it had to assemble at the start of the fight??? and i tried to kill it before it attached its front legs so the fight would be easier because it coildn't fly as fast????? idfk

having trouble eating, probably not helped by the fact that i'm using phentermine for adhd at the moment and it's an anorectic lol

no idea if it's weed related or not but for the life of me i can't get to the right fucking temperature. always just too hot and i'm sweating or just too cold and i'm chilly.

cravings are stronger today than yesterday. extended my k-safe's timer by a day in response, so now it opens tomorrow night. too fuckin scared to lock it longer than that.

fucking adding to it through out the day lol ALREADY WROTE THAT DUMBASS. case in point: memory's still pretty fucked, brain's still too foggy.

i also stopped drinking coffee about a week ago and thank fuck, no withdrawals that i can discern (furious wood-knocking). anytime in the past i've stopped caffeine i've gotten brutal migraines and nausea, probably the worst kind of drug withdrawal i've had.

the thing that really... messes with me? scares me? is that i've seen a bunch of people repeat that while a good chunk of the brain fog should clear up within a few weeks, it takes months for it to go away it's entirety and... just the thought that it will take half a year or longer? and i don't know how much of this i'm going to have to feel until then?

i added another day to my k-safe. as in it's at two days now, this isn't just me forgetting that i mentioned it already again. it now opens monday night (today being saturday.)

might skip my adhd meds tomorrow, see if it makes eating any easier

...not sure i feel like this is definitely going to end prematurely? probably will but like... it doesn't feel like a forgone conclusion

saw a new video was up in a youtube series i'm watching (brickcrafts's lego city) and managed to correctly guess that i'd missed a video bc it had been too long since i last remembered seeing one and, fuck me that's a little bit of hope.

[favoniuscodex]

ataraxia. - ch. 4 [ diluc x reader ]

ch. 4 - adjustment pairing: diluc x gn!reader warnings: mention of injuries, mentions of murder, mentions of familial passing. not beta read. words: ~2.2k words fic masterlist [ prev ] - [ next ]

chapter summary: you're not used to company and diluc is awkward. but hey, things are beginning to become normal, right?

a/n: mmm. slow burn. begrudging allies. not much happens in this chapter, but i promise things will speed up soon. :)

for the four days diluc is bedridden, two of which he is able to actually walk around miniscule amounts, the rocking chair in the guest room becomes your dining chair and your lap serves as your dinner table. sure, it's slightly messy, but even diluc, who you can tell likely isn't the one for conversation normally, enjoys your company. despite the walls he puts up, he is still able to hold a conversation.

however, for all the information you reveal about yourself, you learn little about diluc. when you talk about your farm, he's more knowledgeable than the average townsperson, which leads you to believe he grew up near agriculture. however, his formal method of speaking steers you away from such conclusions, unable to pinpoint where exactly the overlap between a farming background and a background of what seems to be an elite overlap.

you are mostly the one talking to him. it doesn't take a genius to realize that he isn't a fan of small talk and would rather just sit in silence, but you wish to know exactly who is taking up the spare bedroom in your house. like a hardboiled egg, diluc fails to crack upon the impact of your words. instead, he expertly maneuvers his way out of any question you might throw at him.

if only he could have maneuvered his way out of the fatui, you think bitterly, irritated with the entire situation at hand. if diluc hadn't gotten himself injured, then you wouldn't be the one dealing with a guilty conscience if you threw him out. curse your parents for instilling basic human morals in you.

however, apart from dropping off books, accompanying him to the bathroom (where you wait outside respectfully, of course), and serving him breakfast and lunch, you don't interact with diluc very often. you find that he's easy to ignore.

once he starts walking, of course, that's a different story. the redhead is tall and his hair is a brilliant vermillion. it sticks out against the soft green grasses like a sore thumb and shines in the light. even in the comfort of your cottage, it stands out against the dull decor, fading paint, and worn furniture. diluc's crutches click against the floor with each step he takes and his presence is no longer quiet.

he's the type to always stay moving, even if his body says otherwise.

once he's comfortable with walking again, diluc interrupts you as you start making dinner. despite sharing the same house, the two of you scarcely speak with nor acknowledge each other out of meal times, so the sudden noise of his voice causes you to jolt in shock.

"may i help you cook?" diluc asks. after you get over your initial scare, you realize that his words didn't sound like much of a question. the words are more of a formality than anything and you realize that he will not let this go until you say yes. which, of course, you don't, because you're not allowed to let some stranger come into your house and order you around, even if it would ease your workload.

"go sit back down," you urge and you hear diluc sigh as he realizes that you aren't going to budge either. despite your order, he lingers, the corners of his lips twitching with annoyance. of course he's not going to budge either, you think. asshole.

so, in response to his stubbornness, you decide to throw it back in his face.

"are you saying my cooking is bad?" you challenge and diluc's eyes widen as his uninjured foot shifts backwards slightly. despite his balancing act on crutches, diluc still manages to take a step back at your challenging tone.

"what? no. i'm not," diluc backtracks his words and you feel slightly bad at the way he sounds on edge, but you weren't about to have this borderline stranger interrupt your cooking when he needed to rest.

"then go sit down." you say and diluc, surprisingly, folds and walks over to the dining table where he once lay just a few days ago. you glance over as he sits down in a chair and he stares at you, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in the chair. you pause your cooking and stare back. unlike usual, diluc is the one to break the silence.

"why did you save me?" diluc's question is abrupt. you swirl the wooden spoon in the pot in front of you while attempting to think of an answer.

"dead bodies are a pain to deal with," you respond as you take the spoon out of the dish and tap it on the side to remove any excess liquid. diluc lets out a soft huff of amusement at your words, yet that fails to ease the current resentment you hold towards him.

"is that all?" diluc asks. you look over at him once more with raised eyebrows as you drop the spoon into the small pile of the day's dirty dishes.

"do you not believe me?" you say, yet your voice lacks the embittered tone from earlier. you can't blame diluc if he doesn't. you barely believe anything he says to begin with.

"i am just curious as to your answer," diluc says. you can tell it pains him to watch you prepare dinner without any assistance from him whatsoever, yet he can leave his heroics for another time.

if you were being honest, you didn't quite know the answer to his question yourself. sure, you could pull a half-baked lie out of your ass about how you could 'never let someone suffer' if you saw them in the condition he had been in. it would be honorable to have such notions, but you had never been the type to play hero. after life had handed you such an awful fate, you could take what semblance of normalcy you could get.

and yet, you had thrown it all away on a rainy day to save a man you had never interacted with before. you had thrown away your safety. if the fatui were to find the two of you, your throat would be slashed and your body would never be found. you would die not the death of a hero, but the death of a fool.

you look back down at the pot of food in front of you, watching as the soup boils and bubbles within. why had you saved diluc? on that fateful stormy day, why had your roughened heart softened to let in a man who seemed to be more trouble than he was worth? you weren't honorable. you would never be. you couldn't be.

the timer you had set earlier, mechanically ticking away next to the heated pot, dings, signaling the dish's completion. it snaps you out of your thoughts and you blink as you remember where you are. wordlessly, you extinguish the fire that fuels the stove and take a step back, allowing the soup to cool.

"when i find the answer," you say slowly, voice far softer. "i'll be sure to let you know."

---

the air has a light breeze to it, making the typical morning chill just a bit fiercer than usual. you slip on a coat for that reason and depart your bedroom. you glance at the closed door to the spare room. by now, it was no longer an extra bedroom. rather, diluc would be its sole occupier for the next several months.

today marks ten days since diluc made his rather unceremonious arrival to your doorstep. it also marks the first day since the two of you came to an agreement about diluc's living situation for the foreseeable future. you had agreed, like a damned fool, to let him stay for the next several months. worst of all, you had offered.

the conversation had been short. the redhead had offered to pay rent. you declined. the redhead then insisted on paying rent. you declined once more, albeit more harshly. the two of you came to a begrudging agreement. you wanted nothing in return, while diluc wanted to reward your hospitality. therefore, you two had decided that diluc would pay for groceries

you provided him with the ideal hiding place. a worn down little farm was no fit for a man of his status. you still weren't sure who he was, but claymore wielders weren't exactly those born into unaffluent conditions. it was a peculiar choice of weapon, therefore typically only used by those who could afford both the training and the heaping chunks of metal that claymores required.

plus, his manners were impeccable, aside from his insistence on trying to repay his weird debt to you or whatever he told himself. to you, diluc owed you nothing. as long as you made it out of this situation alive, you wouldn't care. and if you didn't live? who cares? you would be dead.

it's not like there was anyone to cry over the death of the little isolated farmer in the fields of fontaine.

you snap out of your daze as diluc's door creeps open. he wears the only spare outfit you had that would fit him. an old, blank white shirt. he wears the pants he arrived in, albeit with the leg cropped severely on one side to accommodate for his cast that now traverses the entire expanse of his leg.

it's rather ugly, if you say so yourself.

"i'll pick you up clothes the next time i head to the market," you blurt and diluc stares at you, still half-asleep and struggling to comprehend your words.

"good morning to you too," he responds, completely unenthused. you stare unapologetically at him. you probably should have greeted him, yet it's too late to backtrack.

"there's food in the pantry," you tell him, before walking to the hall closet and taking out your worn work boots. "i will be off the premises today. if somebody finds you, you're the only one that lives here. got it?"

diluc nods and you walk down the hall, entering the kitchen once more. you sit down at the dining table, perched sideways on one of its chairs and shimmy on your shoes. diluc follows after you and hovers, watching from the hallway entrance as you get ready to leave.

diluc parts his lips as if he wants to say something, yet can't figure out the words. you let out a sigh as you decide to indulge him, even though you don't really care about whatever he has to say to you. if it was important, he would say it.

"what?" you ask, standing up and smoothing out the fabric of your pants.

"could i request something additional from the grocery?" diluc asks and you look at him blankly.

"you're the one paying for the groceries," you remind him. "so, uh, yeah."

diluc glances away from you, cheeks flushing slightly. "i would appreciate if you could pick up some grape juice."

"grape juice?" you ask, slowly. an odd request from a man who is ripped to the high heavens, yet you have realized that diluc himself is an odd man. stoic and reserved, yet odd nonetheless. "sure. got a brand preference?"

diluc's vermillion gaze snaps upward to meet your eyes, who look at him with absolute disinterest. somehow, this seems to calm his slight embarrassment at asking for such a childish beverage.

"dawn winery, if they sell it," diluc responds before glancing over once more.

"dawn winery?" you echo and diluc looks slightly nervous at your interrogation. "isn't that like... super expensive?"

"oh," diluc responds. "i can afford it."

you stare at him. maybe you should have charged him rent if he can afford that overpriced, not very good grape juice.

"got it," you confirm, still slightly weirded out by his awkwardness over the whole thing. "anything else?" you shuffle over to the doorway and glance back over your shoulder, patting your coat pocket to ensure the bag of mora was tucked in your pocket.

diluc clears his throat.

"return safe, okay?" his order is softly spoken. you nod.

"i'll try," you say and slip out of the door. it was just a simple grocery run. if anything was going to threaten your safety, it would be staying in the house with diluc. after all, the fatui couldn't accuse you of anything if you weren't caught in the house alongside him.

for a man who had multiple broken bones, diluc was rather worried about people that weren't him. you didn't quite understand it but, despite the way his righteousness and self-sacrificial attitude bothered you, you found yourself admiring it. such a personality would result in statues being made of him, should his heroism actually be vocalized.

yet somehow, the honorable prince that diluc was a few steps (and non-broken bones) was somehow relying on the humble farmer for survival. you only hope it won't bite him in the ass.

but, most of all, you only hope that you won't grow attached.

tag list (send an ask to be added!): @quixoticmirror @fishyfish-y @just-some-stars @karlitaburrito @lotsoffandomstoimagine @zhowongli @yakus-yakult @beanst0ck @nonniechan

#diluc x reader #genshin impact x reader #diluc #genshin impact #//ataraxia #axia's writing

[thelastranger]

I was thinking about @twofoursixohjuan's post about the aftermath of the battle at Limmat and some ideas about the aftermath of returning the Andomal popped into my head. There'd definitely be an impact on the Herons coming back to Hallasholm with the Andomal and they'd cope in different ways.

Hal takes a "quick" detour almost every day on his way back to Karina's house to pass by the Andomal grove. He doesn't get close, but it's reassuring to see the guards around it. (The detour takes an extra 30 minutes on his walk. Karina pretends not to notice when Hal walks in late for dinner)

Edvin refuses to talk about the Andomal pinot blank. He'll talk about the year in exile openly and make vague mentions to the Andomal or even go see it on occasion, especially if the other Herons are around, but he never talks about the Andomal directly.

Lydia also tends to never mention the Andomal. It's just another chunk of amber, albeit a pretty one, to her but the amber ball indirectly caused all the stress and trauma (she's seen Ulf stay up waayyy later than his watch shift and she KNOWS that wasn't the case before the trip) to her friends. It may be a source of local pride, but Lydia could care less. She'll visit it when egged on, but Lydia couldn't care less.

Stefan helps Stig make a to-go bag with all the useful supplies one could need. Stig tends to carry his around, though he did moreso right after they arrived back in Hallasholm. It bothers Stig that his main response is to get ready to leave; it makes him feel too much like his father. Stefan places several to-go bags around Hallasholm in hidden places. He's ready to leave at a moment's notice. He also takes a more irreverant approach to the Andomal. Other Herons will ignore it or treat it with seirousness, but Stefan decides that the Andomal is on the same ego level as Tursgurd and thus needs to be taken down a notch.

Ulf becomes a light sleeper, but he doesn't get up and move when he hears noises. He'll lay there in complete silence, tensed up. Whoever has night watch after Ulf gets lucky because he'll always take an extra 15 minutes or so at the end of his shift just to prolong his watch Caffeine has become his best friend, but Edvin's been slowly restricting Ulf's intake in hope that it helps him sleep more.

Wulf surreptitiously collects all the information and stories he can about the Andomal. He's formed a few half-baked theories about it, but Wulf isn't telling anyone those.

If there is any way to steal the Andomal, no matter how ridiculous, Jesper has thought of it and has thought of a semi-plausible counter plan that could be put into place by the Herons. Hal may be the main plan man, but Jesper knows that the best thieves are the ones who are prepared and the best guards expect the worst.

Ingvar is the only Heron to come out of the year of exile with a semi-positive outlook towards the Andomal. All the Herons are proud of the fact that they got it back, but only Ingvar continues to take pride in the Andomal as a local artifact and point of pride. It's a victory trophy to him. After all they went through to get back the Andomal, why shouldn't Ingvar celebrate it?

#Brotherband #Brotherband Chronicles #The Herons #Slight trauma coming back

[shedobewritingalittle]

Not A Team: Part 2- New World Order

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The Reader gives a speech at the opening of Steve’s exhibit and has a talk with Sam following his speech.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER, talks of death, talks of mental illness, feelings of isolation

Read Part One here

Listen to the playlist inspired by the series here

Y/N felt like coming here today was a mistake.

Her stomach tossed and turned like a stormy sea, threatening to send her breakfast all over Rhodey's shiny shoes. She was second guessing everything. Was her dress nice enough? Rhodey had told her she looked great, but she hadn't worn a dress since Steve's funeral-Oh God, what if he was lying to her? No, he wouldn't lie to her-but what if he felt bad? Jesus, dd her shoes look stupid? Maybe she shouldn't have worn heels-but then she always wore heels with dresses and if she wore flats that would look childish. Did her speech sound coherent? Fuck, what if she messes up. Would they think she was doing it on purpose out of retribution for what Steve did? No, they didn't know what Steve did, what he had done to her. What if-

"Hey, hey. What's wrong? You look like you're going to blow chunks." Rhodey cuts through her thoughts like a hot knife through butter. He puts his hand on her back, "Breathe, Y/N."

"Maybe this a bad idea, Rhodey. I mean they have Sam. I think Sam can handle this." She stumbles over her words, trying to calm herself down. Her heart was racing a hundred miles a minute and she swore her hands were shaking,

"You're going to be okay, but you need to relax. I've read and reread your speech a dozen times. It's perfect." Rhodey tries to soothe her, his hand rubbing her back. Y/N squeezes her eyes shut, working on slowing her breathing. In through her nose and out through her mouth.

"Hey pretty lady, I was wondering where the exhibit is. I'm supposed to be giving a speech there today." A voice calls out, sending Y/N's eyes flying open. She turns on her heels, being greeted by the sight of Sam walking towards them, holding the leather case that carries the shield. Y/N can feel the tension melting out of her shoulders as a smile spreads across her nervous face.

"Rhodey, I think they might be letting anyone speak here today." Y/N teases, the anxiousness slipping away, releasing its hold on her. Rhodey chuckles, shaking his head at his friend's antics. She hadn't seen Sam since the days following Steve's funeral and right now, he's a welcome sight. Sam rests his hand over his heart, feigning hurt as he gets closer.

"You wound me, woman." Sam jokes, smiling right back at her. They embrace, her arms wrapping around his neck as his go around her waist, "I missed you, kid."

"I've missed you too, Sammy." She murmurs back, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. They pull away and Sam smiles at her, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. Rhodey clears his throat, gently touching Y/N's upper arm.

"Hey I need to go talk to some people, alright?" Rhodey announces, almost as if he is asking permission. Y/N just smiles and nods, the smile staying on her face until he walks away from the two.

"How are you feeling, Y/N?" Sam questions, to which Y/N sighs, looking down at her shoes.  She stays quiet for a moment, feeling his eyes on her.

"You want the truth or you want me to tell you what I tell Rhodey?" She replies, looking back at him. Y/N shifts from one foot to another, glad they were far from the crowd that was gathering. He gives her a look, giving her an answer without opening his mouth. She sighs again, twisting her wedding ring around her finger.

"I don't sleep, not really. I get maybe an hour a night if I am lucky. I-The house is filled with boxes that I can't unpack because-" Her voice cracks, her chest rising and falling quickly. She bites the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to not cry, "I thought that leaving the apartment would make him go away, but it didn't."

"Well Steve was always stubborn." Sam responds, making a laugh bubble out of her throat before she could stop it. There was an "I'm sorry" buried in the joke and Y/N knew it, but decided to only focus on the joke.

-

The stage looked daunting.

She forced herself up those steps, the person who had introduced her still had his hand outstretched towards her. Y/N wondered if she could make a run for it. Sure people will be mad at her, but she won't be forcing herself through this. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, the clapping nothing but a ringing in her ears. For a moment, her eyes landed on the giant banner of her husband, a lump forming in her throat. He was watching over her, his face emotionless as his eyes seemingly followed her every step. Cameras flashed as she stood on the stage, striding over to the podium. Once she stood in front of it, a hush fell over the crowd.

Y/N Rogers had saved thousands of lives. She was an Avenger and had faced countless foes. Hell, her wedding had more people in attendance than this event, but she still felt sick to her stomach. Y/N gave them all a smile as she forced herself to calm down, swallowing hard before speaking.

"To say that Steve Rogers was a special man is putting lightly. He was a hero that many of us, myself included, aspired to be one day. And while many of you only knew him as Captain America, I was among the lucky few that got to know him just as Steve Rogers. Now I could stand up here and tell you about every battle he won, how valiantly he fought-but everyone else is going to do that. Hell, you can read about it in the exhibit." Y/N chuckles, blinking away the tears in her eyes as the crowd laughs.

Y/N finds Rhodey and Sam in the crowd, both of them giving her smiles of encouragement. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the diamond on her wedding ring sparkling in the light. It's the first time she's worn it in a while, but it felt almost right to wear it. Once again, she's pretending like Steve didn't leave her. No, Y/N is ignoring that completely, almost blissfully. These people only know Steve as Captain America, as a god-damned American hero. She isn't going to tarnish that, won't ruin his legacy. And regardless of what Steve did to her, she is still in love with him and she wants to talk about the man she fell in love with, not the one that hurt her. Y/N inhales and exhales shakily before continuing.

"Steve was so much more than just Captain America. He was my best friend and my husband. He was the type of man to pick up flowers for you just because. The type of man to tell you that you looked really pretty even though you were covered in dirt and ash. He would let me go on and on about things that didn't even matter, but with the way he paid attention you would think that I was telling him the secrets of the world. Steve loved staying in and having movie marathons-he-he had a list he'd carry with him to write down things he needed to learn about. Before we dated, he would text me randomly, asking me why Jar Jar Binks is hated so much or asking me to explain what emojis are. He never quite got the hang gof the latter." A laugh comes out of Y/N's mouth, the crowd following suit. There was a smile on her face, a warmth spreading in her chest.

"He's the man I'll be in love with until the day I die, but then I'll fall in love all over again because I'll be able to see him again. Steve was the sweetest, kindest man I've ever met and while I will always wish we had more time together, I was lucky to have him as long as I did. We were all lucky to have him." Y/N pauses again, her throat constricting with emotion, "Even though he's gone, Steve lived a long life-a life longer than some of us get and I am happy that so many different facets of his life is going to be explored and shared with so many people. I hope you all enjoy the exhibit. Thank you."

The applause that followed was almost thunderous. Y/N smiled as her heart slammed against her ribcage, cameras flashing as she made her way off the stage. She was glad it was finally over as she moved to stand next to Rhodey and Sam. Sam kissed her cheek before he climbed up the stairs to the stage. Rhodey rubbed her back, telling her quietly that she did great. She just nodded in response, her eyes on her friend, watching as Sam leaned the shield against the plexiglass podium.

"Thank you Y/N for making my job a lot harder." Sam teases, causing everyone to chuckle. Y/N smiles right back at him, shaking her head as her friend carries on, "Steve represented the best in all of us. Courageous, righteous, hopeful. And he mastered poising stoically. "

Sam's a natural at this, standing up there like its nothing. And while Y/N should be focused on the speech, her eyes keep drifting down to the shield at his feet.

"The world has been forever changed. A few months ago, billions of people reappeared after five years away, sending the world into turmoil. We need new heroes. Ones suited for the times we're in. Symbols...are nothing without the women and men that give them meaning. And this thing," Sam chuckles, picking up the shield, "I don't know if there's ever been a greater symbol. But it's more about the man who propped it up and he's gone. So, today we honor Steve's legacy, but also, we look to the future. So thank you, Captain America. But this belongs to you."

Y/N feels sick to her stomach as she watches Sam hand the shield off. Her chest feels tight and she-she can't be here. There's a ringing on her ears and she can't breathe. Y/N pushes through the crowd, not bothering with pleasantries as she does it. A dozen emotions rack her body, causing her hands to start to heat up. She forces it down, deep down as she walks into an empty bathroom, locking the door behind her.

Sam gave away the shield.

He gave it away.

Like it was nothing.

And she wants to scream, wants to cry, but it won't come out. Y/N won't let it, not now when she is still in public. She walks over to the sinks, her hands gripping the counter. Her eyes are rimmed with red, eyes all watery. Her red painted lips press into a thin line as she forces herself to not cry, practically glaring at her reflection. What did her therapist tell her to do? Ah yes, breath in and out. In and out.

This was all too much way too soon. She couldn't handle this. She was being bombarded with memories and emotions already and now Sam giving the shield away? She felt like she was going to lose it. A part of her felt like she was overreacting. overthinking this whole situation. And maybe she was. Y/N did that from time to time. Tony had told her she was an expert of making mountains out of molehills. Maybe Sam just didn't want to be Captain America, didn't want to shoulder that burden. That was understandable. It was a shitty, shitty job-one that Sam didn't ask for. He shouldn't be forced to take on the mantle of Captain America, not when the previous owner had tossed it away so carelessly.

Yet, the bigger part of her was incredibly upset. Angry at the fact that Sam handed off the shield to be shelved in a museum. Overwhelmed by the amount of Steve that was everywhere. Confused over the multitudes of feeling that were swarming her body.

And there was nothing she could do about any of them. She just had to grin and bear it, just like she's been doing since Steve decided he much rather spend an entire lifetime with a woman he knew for a few months. So Y/N collected herself, blinked away her tears, and left the bathroom. Her feet had a mind of their own, carrying her towards the one place she didn't want to be.

The exhibit.

Steve's image is plastered on every single surface, telling the details of every part of his life. Scrawny Steve, bootcamp Steve, darling icon of patriotism during the war Steve, frozen Steve, Battle of Manhattan Steve, cartoon Steve punching Hitler, Steve during Sokovia, Steve on the run. Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve. He covers every single square inch, which makes sense because this is his exhibit. And while Y/N knows she should just turn on her heel and not put herself through it, she throws caution to the wall. She's already incredibly upset, so she might as well pour gallons and gallons of salt and lemon juice into that open wound.  So she forces herself deeper into the exhibit, running straight into the very last man she wants to see at this moment.

"You know I wasn't expecting to find you here." Sam tells her as soon as her foot enters the next room. She keeps her mouth shut, so he adds "Rhodey is looking for you."

"You know on his right sleeve of his suits, right near his wrist, he had my initials stitched. He told me he wanted to carry a piece of me into every mission, into every fight." Y/N announces as she looks at a picture of Steve on a mission, most likely taken by Natasha. Sam sighs, walking over to her, wanting her to see his point of view.

"Look I know you're upset-" He starts, but is immediately cut off by a dry chuckle slipping out of Y/N's mouth as she walks around the room. She wants to lay in to him, wants to give him a piece of her mind.

"Oh I am far past the point of being "just upset", Wilson. It wasn't yours to give away. I-I don't care if you didn't want the mantle, but..." Her angry words trail off once she realizes what part of the exhibit she has reached, her face dropping.

Y/N stops in front of a part of the exhibit labeled 'Two Heroes United'. Her eyes roam over the pictures of her and Steve's wedding and the pictures taken throughout the duration of their relationship, so much more than what the file Rhodey had left detailed. So many smiles, so much happiness filling each and every picture. Her facade is cracking, chipping away as she forces herself to study every picture, studying their faces over and over, trying to see if there was something she had missed, if-if there was something she could have said or done to hold onto him a little longer. If there was something hidden behind his smile, behind his touches, they don't reveal themselves in the photographs.

She's just a footnote in his life, a blurb at the end of a long story. A tool to make him look like an all-American family man. Bucky and Sam had much larger parts of the exhibit dedicated to their roles in Steve's life and who they are outside of being Steve's friends. Y/N-well Y/N gets this, a paragraph saying that she was on the team and then married Steve. She is just haphazardly tacked onto the story of his life, a cute story to make people feel all warm inside. He got his happily ever after, they'll say-or they'll whisper to one another God she was so lucky to have him. They won't ask if she got her happily ever after or if she feels lucky now.

Sam got to hand off the shield, got to throw away the title of Captain America. He gets to keep on living his life after this, but Y/N-Y/N will always be Steve's wife. And it doesn't matter how many people she saved or what she did with her time on earth, she will only be know for being the wife of the man who abandoned her. Y/N's tied to him for eternity, stuck loving a man who decided to love someone else.

And then, just like that, something inside of her just snaps. Her facade fully crumbles, leaving her unable to mask what she's going through.  Y/N's eyes fill up with tears and she's unable to blink them away before they spill over the edge, sending tears rolling down her cheeks. And as she stood there, crying in the middle of the exhibit dedicated to Steven Grant Rogers, a depressing epiphany popped into her mind.

The shield was the last part of Steve that she had that wasn't tainted in some way, a piece of him that she could still bear to see. And Sam had just given it away, leaving her with nothing but memories that would haunt her.

-

"I watched your speech. You did really good, Y/N." Her therapist praises, giving her a soft smile. Y/N nods, twisting her wedding ring on her finger. She had decided to start wearing it again, even though her feelings about Steve were still conflicted. While a part of her thought that this meant she was healing, Y/N knew it was more likely tied to the fact that Sam had given up the shield.

"It-It felt good." Y/N replies, shifting in her seat. She had thought it was a subtle movement, but Dr. Raynor gave her a look. After a few months of court-ordered appointments, the therapist knew Y/N all too well and she sure as hell knew when Y/N wasn't telling the truth.

"Something is upsetting you. What happened?" The doctor questions, clicking her pen. Y/N dreaded the noise. It meant a longer session, more bandaids being ripped off in order to force the wounds into the light. It would mean she would return to her home a little colder, a little emptier.

"Nothing happened. It-I had a good day. A good week." Y/N tries to reassure her, even going as far as to give her what she thought was a honest smile. Dr. Raynor held up her pad of paper, making a show of slowly bring the pen down to the paper. Y/N's smile falls and she looks down at her hands, letting out a small sigh.

"He-Sam gave away the shield. He gave it away like it was nothing." The ex-hero announces, feeling like a scolded child. Raynor lowers her pen and paper, settling back into her seat.

"And you feel like he shouldn't have?"

"No. No, Steve-Steve chose him. Steve gave him the shield because he knew that Sam was good, that Sam could handle it. And-And Sam just gave it away." Y/N stammers, picking at a thread that was hanging off her shirt.

"You know, I think that is the first time you have said his name aloud." Raynor mentions, causing Y/N to stop her movements. The thread is caught between her fingers, pulled taut. The doctor continues, "You always refer to Steve as 'he' or 'him' or 'my husband'. You never say his name."

"I don't think I was ready to be around...Steve. Not that much." Y/N tries to shift the focus, shame filling her, her face feeling hot. She knows she has her reasons not to say his name, but she still felt terrible about not being able to say his name.

"But you still spoke at the opening of his exhibit. I'm sure everyone would more than understand why you couldn't. So why did you decide on speaking?" The therapist asks, taking down a couple notes of her pad of paper. Y/N stays silent for a moment, letting go of the thread to start twisting her ring again.

"I-I don't know. Rhodey asked me and I-I guess I thought I could do it. And the speech wasn't bad I just-I wasn't expecting Sam to give away the shield." Y/N responds, her voice soft. She feels so small, sitting here on this charcoal grey couch. Y/N almost felt...stupid for being so angry at Sam. It wasn't his fault at all and as Y/N said everything out loud, she felt like such an asshole.

"If you would've known that Sam wanted to give the shield away, would you have stopped him?" Dr. Raynor replies, leaning forward slightly as she takes a few notes. Y/N feels herself sinking into the couch.

"I don't know. I-I wish he would have just told me so that we could've talked about it." She answers, looking out of the window. Dark grey clouds filled the sky, blocking out a lot of the sunlight that wanted to shine down on the city. Y/N didn't know if she would have actually forced him to keep the shield. That wasn't on him to have hold on to hat chunk of vibranium. It was wrong for Steve to have thrown that all on Sam. What would be the alternative? For her to keep the shield? Y/N highly doubted that the United States government would allow that.

-

Y/N was watering her garden when her phone started to ring in her back pocket. She quickly moves to shut off the water hose before she slips the phone about her pocket. Sam's name and picture appears on her screen, making uneasiness fill her stomach. Y/N exhales through her noise loudly before answering it, holding the phone against her ears.

"Have you seen the news?" Sam asks, not even letting her get a single syllable out.

"No, I've been outside-What's going on, Sam?" Y/N questions, making her way to the house. Something was definitely wrong. Sam never called her unless it was for emergencies. if they did communicate, it was mainly through texting. Her heartbeat started to race, as did her thoughts. A million different scenarios filled her head, each one worse than the last.

"You need to turn on the news right now." Sam replies as she opens the back door, quickly crossing the kitchen and walking into the living room. Her hands are almost shaking as she picks up the remote, turning the television on. Luckily for her, the last thing she had been watching was the news. Unluckily for her, she was greeted with a man holding the shield-Steve's shield, dressed in what looked like an off-brand, shitty version of the Captain America suit.

Anger filled her body. It had been four days tops since Sam handled off the shield and already, they had found their 'new Captain America'. The man in question was smiling smugly in the ill-fitting suit, waving at the camera, holding onto his shield tightly. God, Y/N wanted to beat the shit of the man and every single person who had okayed this. She could only hear bits and pieces of the speech as the news replayed it, but even that bullshit was too much for her to handle. She muted the television, tossing the remote on the couch.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?" Y/N exclaims, her hands getting warm. The Avenger was unable to get to anything articulate as rage filled her. She quickly put the phone on speaker, setting the device down just in case her hands caught flame.

"I know. I know. It's fucking bullshit." Sam replies, sighing. Y/N paced in front of the television, trying to calm herself down before she burned a hole through her rug. On the screen, the fake Cap was talking about something, a saccharine smile spread across his face. Y/N wanted to take that God damn shield and smash his teeth in.

"That asshole has my husband's fucking shield. They-He isn't supposed to be Captain America, okay? It's just not-It's not theirs to give away." Y/N's voice cracks towards the end, tears filling her eyes. While she wasn't Steve's number one fan, she hated that they had already chose someone to take up his title. If Sam wasn't going to be Captain America, then no one should be Captain America.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I wouldn't have given away the shield if I would've known...I'm sorry." Sam murmurs over the phone. Y/N covers her face with her almost glowing hands as she tries to control her breathing, not able to respond to Sam’s apologies. Her sadness and anger quickly shifted into something else. 

Something inside of her switched on, something that she hadn't felt in a long time, not since she was a hero, back when she was an Avenger.

Y/N wanted to go to work.

------

Not A Team taglist (if you would like to be added to the taglist please let me know!)

@lady-elena-adeline​ @simonedk​ @hersilencedscreams​ @rqmanoff​

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers #chris evans x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #tfatws #tfatws spoilers

[gentleoverdrive]

(126/?) We don't go down without a fight.

I preface this whole wall-o-text that you're about to read by clarifying that I am (currently) just a writer, proofreader, editor, and ghost-writer. I am also a musician, composer and (semi-)retired audio recording engineer, but that's got nothing to do with anything written down below. ---- I am not an industry insider nor an authority of any sort other than the fact that I hold degrees as musical composer and audio recording engineer (so any musical digressions you read from me at least have a smidgen of common sense on it... if I am lucid enough at least), I'm an avid audiophile, a lifelong bibliophile, and enjoy the occasional movie and tv show. Let's get this show on the road, then!

---- (Mostly) white nerd culture is just basically a huge chunk of the mainstream at this point, isn't it? Like, there's a point to be made that, from the mid 90's until like the early 2010's, it had taken grasp of a sector of popular culture, but it was still on the fringes... but at some point during the mid/late 00's, it basically became mainstream. ---- But something that I can't help but to keep wondering about: Did it take over the mainstream or did it willingly get co-opted into the mainstream? I keep wondering about this because, during my first business trip to Japan as a recording engineer at age 21-22 (literally turned 22 while working on a recording session, yay), realizing that most anime are basically fancy advertisements that are expected to operate at a loss and get someone/something to sponsor them to recoup fucked me up something fierce. ---- Like take into account: Code Geass (who was about to finish its first season the week following me landing in Haneda Airport) basically fucking lucked out into getting sponsored by Pizza Hut and getting the overseas response it did, like it wasn't a "sure thing" kinda thing. Like sure, Death Note got absolutely fuck-off huge in the same period of time absolutely everywhere, so people were like "Heck yeah! Gimme them anti-heroes/villain protags!", but it could've just as easily fell flat on its face. ---- And why did I go in that tangent about anime? Fuck, I dunno, I'm still nervous about tomorrow (another big show tomorrow!). Seriously, though: Like I know the house of mouse (probably the biggest purveyor of white mainstream-friendly nerd culture right now) has "machines" in place to prevent shit to go off rails to an extent, but people are gonna get fatigue at some point. ---- It happened to the Simpsons in the late 90's/early 00's, and when things cement themselves as the "establishment" for long enough, people turn on it. Like sure, since the pandemic came and went, they got a little bit of wiggle room, but I sure as fuck hope that creatives start pitching other stuff, because sooner or later, people are gonna get fucking sick of hot people in spandex. Just sayin'. See ya' tomorrow!

#diary #daily life of an old shithead #machine head reference #bloodstone and diamonds >>> every other machine head record #you can't change my mind #butt metal at its finest #butt rock #butt butt butt butt #mcu #dceu #dc films #nerd culture #white nerd culture I guess #anime / manga #i don't see anime suffering from as bad a blowback when the general public gets sick of superhero shit #other than maybe my hero academia #but fuck that manga #it's been going for 8 years already and has worse pacing problems than demon slayer (and demon slayer was a fucking mess!) #I was going to write something mean about star wars but episode 9 is way meaner than anything I could ever write about it #heyoooo