#they’ve been there my whole life and are free to just go nuts over time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lexwritess · 3 years

Text

Taken [P.P]

Inspired by this tiktok

Pairings- Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader, Steve Rogers x platonic!reader, Steve Rogers x Daughter!Reader

warnings- abuse, abduction, fighting, mentions of blood, fighting, swearing, angst, scars

Word count: 2825

a/n: in this fic tony, nat, and steve are still alive and here. may is dead :( sorry it just fit in better like that.

Italics are translations

“Have you see anyone yet?” You hear Tony ask through your ear piece.

“No not yet...I’m going to peek behind this building.” You reply. You were currently on a mission with Tony, Wanda, Sam, Steve, and Peter. Steve and Tony usually don’t allow you and Peter do go on missions together because your first instinct is to always protect each other, and Tony knows how overprotective Peter is. But they decided that they needed both of your abilities to complete today’s mission.

“Okay be careful, you’re getting pretty close to the unit.” You hear Natasha.

You were investigating an old HYDRA unit. Even though HYDRA has been destroyed, you and the team think there are still people trying follow through with their plans.

You move from the Pilar you were hiding behind and just as you take the first footstep bullets start flying your way.

You use your powers and create a force field around your body as your eyes turn from Y/E/C to your signature neon green.

You created green energy orbs with your hands and shot them at the attackers.

“There’s people now guys. I’m west from the unit, lots more people are coming out so please hurry.” You breathe out.

They started getting close enough that you needed to go to hand-to-hand combat.

Two were coming at you at the same time. You gave one a swift punch to the head, your arm glowing green in the process giving you extra strength. The other one was coming behind you but before they could do anything you grabbed his arm and flipped him over your head.

More men started rushing towards you and you weren’t sure you could hold them off much longer.

“Guys there’s about 30 agents here now!” You say frantically into your mic.

“We’re coming, just hold them off a little longer you got this!” Steve encourages.

“Y/n, be careful please.” You hear Peter’s wavering voice.

“Don’t worry.” You pause ducking into a split from an agents hit, punching him in the nuts.

You flip back up from the ground and get back to a fight stance.

One comes at you shooting a gun. You quickly from a force shield and run towards the guy. You jump onto his back and climb up onto his shoulders. You make him spin around while his gun is firing, shooting all the men surrounding you.

You jump off his back and start firing your energy orbs wherever you can. The amount of agents surrounding you now is getting over whelming.

There’s about 6 men trying to fight you up close. Your trying to battle them out but some of them are laying some good hits on you.

You feel a sharp sting, you can quite identify what caused it. Just as you go to look, 4 of the agents have been knocked down.

You check your surrounds to see what caused the men to fall and see caps shield. You smile and let a breath out knowing you have a little extra help now.

“Thanks cap!” You shout over to him. He nods with a smile and runs over to you and starts fighting by your side.

“Where’s everyone else?” You ask while knocking an agent out.

“They’re coming. We got stuck at one of the buildings.” He replies knocking down one of the last agents. You know it won’t be the last one but you have some time to cool off for a while.

You nod and pace around, catching your breath. You look down and an agent lets out a groan and moves a little. You give him a quick kick and he’s out again.

“Hey did you see this?” You hear Steve ask.

You turn around and see him holding a used syringe.

You get nervous and start to think maybe they was the pinch you felt earlier while fighting.

“Steve check my neck and see if there’s anything.” You ask.

He walks over to you and tilts your head up to exam your neck.

“Shit...Y/N/N.” Steve sighs.

“Okay, it’s nothing to worry about Nothing’s happening.” You shrug.

“Yeah yet.” Steve turns away.

Steve is very protective over you. He’s basically your father. He found you hiding during the battle of New York. You had a pretty traumatic life. Getting abducted by HYDRA at the age of 4, getting powers due to the experiments, your parents dying, but hey now Captain America basically raised you and you’re an Avenger dating a boy with spider powers.

You look around once again and see more agents coming your way. You tap Steve and tell him to get ready.

In the other direction you see the rest of your team coming. Now you might actually be able to get into the unit.

Everyone has attackers swarming them you can barley see each other. You find it suspicious that they keep eyeing you though. But before you can finish your thought a pistol came to your head and you blacked out.

You woke up in an unfamiliar room. You’re surrounded by grey walls and strange tech equipment.

You groan out in pain. Your whole body aches and you can feel your head pounding.

You go to get up, but you’re body is restricted.

You look and see you’re body is tied up to the cold metal seat. You try to use your powers to break free, but you are left to see you’re powers aren’t working anymore.

“What the hell?” You mutter to yourself, wondering why and how your powers abruptly stopped working.

“Hello Miss Y/L/N...” A cold voice rang throughout your ears.

Your head shot up to see who it was. The man was tall with dark grey hair. He was wearing a suit and the other two people behind him were as well.

“Who are you?” You grunt out, struggling against your restraints. Damn maybe you shouldn’t of skipped out on training last week.

“Well if you must know, we are the remaining members of HYDRA. We and a couple more people have joined again to finally carry out our plans.” The one in the middle tells you. You assume he’s the leader.

“Why did you take me? Out of everyone else?” You ask them.

The man raises an eyebrow at you and then smirks. “You, dear Y/n, are one of the most important people on the team. They all care for you so deeply it’s disgusting. And quite frankly we aren’t finished with you.” The man hunches over so his eyes can meet yours.

You scrunch your nose up as he inches close to your face.

“You have something of ours.” The man tells you.

“I don’t have anything.” You say.

“Liar!” The man yells and strikes you in the face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You shout at the man, blood trickling from your nose into your mouth.

The man scowls at you and says something in German. Another man walks over with a knife in his hand.

He was younger then the man, he looked to be about 30.

The men all discuss while glancing at you every couple seconds. You try to hear what they’re saying but it’s all German.

You glance around the room and see there’s a camera in the corner. The light is blinking so that means they’ve been recording your whole interaction.

The younger man kneels beside you and places the blade on your arm.

“Where is our Grün serum?” The man persists.

“I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You cry.

“Tu es.” The gray hair man mumbles and you feel the blade sink into your skin.

You scream out in pain. The pain never resides, you wanted to see what he was carving but the sight of your mangled skin would freak you out even more.

“I didn’t take anything!” You weep.

You start yelling in agony again when the man starts carving on a new section of skin.

“PETER!” You scream out, maybe just a little bit of hope if he was still around he’d hear your screams.

At the Avengers compound

“PETER!” They hear your painful screams through the monitor.

Peter breaks into a sob. Hearing you yell for him and he’s not able to save you kills him.

“Shut it off I can’t watch anymore.” Steve says and looks away.

“I wish we could, but we need to see if they say anything.” Sam says trying to remain calm.

“Did you find the location yet?” Tony asks Natasha.

“Almost, five more minutes.” She responds.

The team looks at the monitor as the man comes to eye level with the camera.

“If you want your girl back you must surrender to us. For now she’s hydras property.”

And with that the monitor went static.

“I’m leaving.” Peter stands up.

“Kid you can’t leave. We gotta strategize first. You can’t leave without the team.” Tony demands.

“I don’t care!” Peter shouts.

“She is being tortured and she doesn’t have her powers! Without them she’s just a teenage girl, she’s going to die!” Peter grits his teeth in anger and starts to exit.

Wanda uses her powers and drags him back to his seat.

He huffs and slouches into his seat, tears brimming his eyes.

“Did you at least find where they’re keeping her?” Peter asks, his voice tired and raspy.

“No, I thought I was close but the coordinates are false.” Natasha replies, defeated.

“Then why are we here! I’m so tired of your stupid plans! We never follow them anyway. Y/n is going to die! Die! Do you not understand what that means?” Peter starts screaming and crying as the team starts rushing towards his side.

“Peter it’s okay, we’re going to find-.” Peter cuts Sam off.

“It’s not okay!” Peter’s voice cracks. “I keep losing everyone I care about. My parents, uncle Ben, and now May...I can’t lose Y/n.” Peter walks out of the room, he needs air.

“He’s not wrong Tony.” Steve says, the tears in his eyes threatening to spill.

“Go talk to him. Calm him down, I’ll figure something out.” Tony says and Steve exits.

Steve walks out to the balcony where Peter stands.

“Hey queens.” Steve says softly to Peter.

“Hey.” Peter says, his voice just above a whisper.

“Listen I know exactly how you feel. She’s my kid! I’m mean I know not actually but she might as well be...I want to get up and go after he just as much as you do. I don’t think they moved locations. I believe they’re still at the facility.” Steve explains.

Peter takes a glance at Steve. He nods his head, after cooling off he realizes there should probably be a plan. He still would rather leave though.

“So that’s exactly what we’re doing.” Steve stands up straight getting ready to go.

“W-what? Seriously?” Peter asks with wide eyes.

“Yeah, kid cmon get your suit on.” Steve motions for him to go and Peter immediately starts walking with him.

“Mr. Stark is going to kill me.” Peter breathes out.

Peter and Steve were in a car that Steve “borrowed.” He didn’t want to be tracked down.

“It’ll fine. He’ll understand...eventually.” Steve huffs.

“So what made you change your mind?” Peter breaks the silence.

Steve bites his lip while thinking.

“Y-you I guess.” Steve let’s put a breathy laugh.

“Seeing how determined you were just reminded me I can’t just sit here. I’ve never been on to just sit and wait. And this weekends Father’s Day... I would always make sure she’s happy that day because I know how it can be not having your dad.”Steve pauses.

“You can join to of you want.” Steve smiles.

“O-okay yeah.” Peter smiles back, but on the inside he wants to cry, he’s never had someone offer him something like that before.

At The HYDRA Unit

You feel awful. Your whole body aches, your skin burns, you can feel the cuts on your arms are infected.

Looking down at your arm you see the man carved “HYDRAS PROPERTY.”

You feel dirty, you’re tired, and maybe even getting sick. You don’t know what they injected you with or what they’re planing to do but it’s really taking a toll on your mental and physical health. The abuse doesn’t make what’s going on in your body any better.

“I just want to go home.” You cry out, your voice broken.

“You can’t...you are the final step.” The man gets inches away from your face.

You get fed up and spit in his face.

“Curva dracului! Damn you whore!”The man shouts and cracks you across the face.

Maybe you shouldn’t of done that, but damn it was worth it.

You can’t help but laugh. You’re used to the beatings and you’re delirious at this point

“You think this is funny?” The man sneers at you.

“Hilarious.” You reply.

Before the man can do anything, a loud crash was heard.

The man glared at you before running towards the source of the noise.

A couple seconds later you hear bangs and grunts, you’re assuming it’s a fight.

A little bit of you hopes it’s Peter.

You see a man blasted across the wall and a red-suited figure follow.

“Spider-Man!” You say with the the first genuine smile in a long time.

“Hold on Y/n I’ll be right there!” Peter shouts and webs up another agent.

Peter comes over and unties you. Once your finally free you pull Peter into a bone crushing embrace.

“I missed you so much.” You mumble against his chest.

“I missed you.” He says while caressing your head.

“Cmon guys we gotta go before anyone else comes after us.” Steve urges.

Peter picks you up and runs back outside towards the car.

“Okay go!” Peter tells Steve.

“Seatbelts.” Steve says.

“There’s people literally shooting at us and you’re waiting till we put our seatbelts on?” Peter complains.

Steve doesn’t say anything and Peter rolls his eyes.

“Alright there go!” Peter yells.

And with that Steve slams on the gas and leaves the facility.

“I know I’ve already asked you this but are you sure you’re okay?” Peter asks you. It’s been a week since your rescue and he’s still treating you like your glass.

“Yes Peter I’m perfect.” You smile and kiss him sweetly.

Bruce and Tony worked together so you finally got your powers back.

You feel a lot better now that you’re back home with everyone you love, but you can’t help me bothered by the scaring of HYDRAS PROPERTY on your arm. Will you actually always be apart of them?

“Y/n, I know somethings on your mind...what’s up?” Peter asks concerned.

“Nothing...just look.” You pull your sleeve up and show him the healing scars.

“Baby listen to me...you’re not apart of them. You’re apart of the avengers and they can’t control you anymore. I won’t let them get you ever again i promise.” Peter pulls you into his warm embrace.

“Thank you so much Peter...I love you.” You whisper.

“You love me?” Peter whispers back.

“Yeah I do, I love you a lot Pete.” You smile.

“I love you too, Y/n.” Peter smiles back and kisses you passionately.

You giggle and pull away.

“Alright let’s focus on today.” You say.

“Do you think Steve will be happy about his gift?” You question Peter.

It’s Father’s Day and since Steve has always treated you like his own daughter, you got adoption papers to make it official.

“Of course! He’s going to love it!” Peter reassures you.

“Hey Steve!” You walk into the living room where him Natasha, and Bucky are sitting.

“Hey Y/N/N, are you and Peter ready for lunch?” He asks you while patting a seat beside him for you to sit.

“Yeah we’re ready, but before we go I got you a gift actually.” You smile.

“You didn’t have to get me a gift.” Steve smiles back.

“Well I did so here.” You let out a shaky breath and handed him the papers.

“If you want, I got the adoption papers so you could legally be my guardian. I know it’s a little difficult when I get into trouble at school and they need to see my ‘parent’ and you always the one that comes. You’re the one that’s always there when I need a parental figure, so thank you. Happy Father’s Day, Steve. I love you.”

“Y/n...” Steve pauses which kind of scared you.

“Of course I’ll be your dad. What do I have to do! Just sign?” Steve says with the biggest grin.

“Yeah, yeah just right there and it’ll be official.”

Steve signs the paper and stands up.

“Alright celebratory lunch! C’mon official daughter. And Peter you come too.” Steve grabs you and Peters arms as you walk out the door.

*Bonus*

“Nat, are you...are you crying?” Bucky asks Natasha.

“It was a sweet moment! If you ever tell anyone I’ll kill you.”

Tag list

@bubblicious-trashcan

@caswinchester2000

#bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #marvel #peter parker #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter Parker smut #peter Parker angst #steve rogers x daughter!reader #dad!steve rogers #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers

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johnkrrasinski · 3 years

Text

𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜

Chapter 2: bad was the blood

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader

Word Count: 4,376

Summary: blessed with telepathic abilities since birth, you were captured by HYDRA and turned into one of their weapons to kill. after the blip, you were pardoned by the government and you were obliged to check up with dr. raynor everyday which you had no clue would lead you to the one soul you’d been waiting for.

Warnings: SMUT!! (18+) angst, mentions of anxiety, nightmares, murders.

A/N: this series is dedicated to the lovely @ohmickeyhenry who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for trusting me with your story. i sincerely hope you like it.

It had been a week since you and Bucky reunited and ever since that night, you and him were practically inseparable. Your bedroom was next to his and each night, he always came to yours to catch up on things and some nights, your conversation would go so deep that he would find himself waking up in your bed when the sun rises. He’d always leave your bed slowly to go into his room so that he wouldn’t wake you.

Each night he sleeps next to you, his nightmare became less intense. They still haunted him but they were vague, it was as if the faces of his victims become blurry and the echoes become whispers. One night, Bucky came back home from a small mission late and by the time he arrived at the compound, you were already asleep. Bucky knew the passcode to your door so he could let himself in anytime. He typed in those numbers and slowly opened the door and he smiled at the view of you sleeping peacefully. He would watch you sleep all night if he could, but he was exhausted and so were you, so he left you alone to rest.

Beads of sweat rolled down your skin as the cold air sent shivers down your spine. You watched the emotions in Natasha’s eyes vanished, as if her soul left her body and that’s left was the vessel. Sam, Tony and Bruce stood there like statues, waiting for your order. They had one thing in common with Natasha and that was the void of emotion. You felt a sense of pride in turning the Avengers into lifeless soldiers. They were at your mercy, you could command them to destroy the entire world with only a whisper.

Then you felt a cold grip on your arm, “Y/N… Why are you doing this?” Those steel blue eyes held so much pain in them as if he had just been betrayed by the person he trusted the most. “Stop this now! This isn’t you.” Bucky pleaded.

“Stand back soldier, or you are next.”

“No, I won’t let you do this to our friends.”

“Stand back. I will not ask you once again,” you warned him without a hint of uncertainty.

“Stop this, now or I will.” Bucky opposed.

“Very well,” with merely a glare, you activated the soldier you once knew. Years ago in the cold bunker of Hydra, ready to murder with a single order.

“готов подчиниться.”

You watched his blue eyes turned to ice, imitating his infamous name. You smirked and leaned close to his ear, “welcome back, soldier.”

You thrashed your body in your sheets and woke up with a loud scream. You thought you were doing well but the nightmare returned. You were doing what you dreaded again to your friends, the people you considered your family now. You sat up in your bed and sobbed until you heard Bucky opened your door with a concerned gaze. “Y/N, are you okay…?” He didn’t hesitate in running to you and sat next to you on your bed.

“I didn’t mean to, I- I never meant to hurt anyone…” You sobbed against Bucky’s chest as he wrapped his arm around you. His flesh arm held your head close to where his heart was beating and he tried to calm you down by stroking your hair and shushed you. He didn't know what you meant by that and he had many questions to ask but he understood better than anyone that in this state, integrating you would only cause more damage, so he let you cry it all out and comfort you in every way he could.

“It’s okay, y/n. I’m here, it’s going to be okay.”

You cried as you laid on Bucky’s chest until exhaustion took you over. You didn’t remember when you both began to drift away but as Bucky was sleeping, he saw visions of you doing heinous things to people, innocent souls who were held against their wills. He heard their screams and their pleas, but they weren’t looking at him, they were looking at… Her. Bucky had never seen her gaze so cold. Then he was transported into another scene… The place where HYDRA used to store him. It was one of the Russian Armed Forces, Vasily Karpov who was in charge of him during his Winter Soldier years.

Bucky remembered every second he spent trapped in the chair as he was given his orders. But this time, it was her strapped on that chair, screaming in agony. He watched him spelling out the activation words, they were different than his but just as effective. Bucky tried to reach her out, wanting to punch all those men and get her out of there but somehow his feet were stuck in place.

As the last word was uttered, he watched the woman he had slowly fallen in love with disappeared, replaced by a soulless soldier who was ready to kill anything that stood in her way. Bucky woke up to faint echoes of his name being called, “Bucky…” And slowly, he began to come back to life, and he saw her face, still the woman he knew, not the soldier in his dream, looming over him. “Did you see it?”

Bucky instantly sat up as he stared at her, “you were one of the winter soldiers. You were there.”

You nodded, “I was… They never referred to me as the winter soldier, however, I was treated just the same as you were. I had the same purpose as you.”

“How come you never told me?” His gaze was soft, he didn’t sound disappointed or betrayed, he just sounded… Worried.

“I couldn’t… I just didn’t know where to begin. I didn’t want to ruin what we had so I figured, if I left you first, I wouldn’t have to hurt you too and I was afraid that if you found out, you’d never look at me the same.”

“Sweetheart, we are both haunted by the same things. I’d never hate you for what you did. Don’t you think I didn’t have the same fears before? We’ll get through this together, I promise.” He held your face in his hands, the contrast of temperature in both of his hands was somehow soothing you, reminding you that he was once just as peccable as you were.

“But I don’t trust myself, Bucky. Someone could find the book and if they say the words, I could hurt people again… I could hurt you too. And I don’t know if I would ever come back.”

“I won’t let that happen, I promise you. I couldn’t trust my own mind too until I went to Wakanda and they fixed me. They removed the winter soldier program and now I’m free.”

“Is that… Possible?”

“Yes, I’ll explain everything in the morning but, right now, we need to rest.”

“Okay…” you were feeling rather drowsy, not only physically but emotionally too. It was never easy to unravel such shame and remorse.

Bucky laid back and opened his arm for you to sneak under it. You placed your head on his chest, feeling safe and sound being so close to him. Bucky’s fingers tangled with your hair as he kissed your forehead. “Promise you’ll be here when I wake up?”

“I promise,” he whispered.

The sound of his steady heartbeat lulled you to sleep.

The next morning, Bucky and you had breakfast together. It was early, the dawn had just begun, and some of the Avengers were out for a run or still asleep. You and Bucky had some alone time in the kitchen and you were thankful for the brief moment of solitude.

“So, what I said last night…” Bucky initiated the conversation as he put his coffee mug on the table. “I really think our best option is to go to Wakanda, y/n. They’ve got the best medical equipment, the people are extremely smart, they’ll take care of you. Just like they took care of me.”

“What makes you think they want to treat me, Buck? I mean, they took you in because the king and Steve made an agreement, but they have no idea who I am and even if they do, they don’t owe me anything.”

“The Wakandans may be resourceful and independent, but they are generous people too. I’ll call Ayo and sort everything out. They can spare me a few more favours.”

“If they agree to treat me, I only wanna go if you go too. I don’t wanna be alone in a country I’ve never been to before, Buck. I’m not familiar with their culture, I don’t speak their language, I don’t wanna fuck it up, you know?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there with you every step of the way. I promise.”

“Why are you so good to me?”

“Because you’re the only good thing that happened to me in the past seventy years.”

You never believed in butterflies, but you swore in that moment, the whole damn zoo went nuts. Bucky had a way to make you feel loved and cherished, and you were falling fast. You just hoped that he’d be there to catch you.

The sincerity in his eyes made you smile like you never had before. Looking back, the only times you had ever genuinely smiled was because of Bucky. His texts, his face, his touches, they were your newfound grace. Bucky told you that you were the only good thing that happened to him in the past seventy years, but so was he to you. Was it possible for two fucked up people who had done heinous things to find such love? You could only hope that nothing would come in the way of that.

Wakanda was a breath of fresh air. Figuratively and literally. You loved New York, no matter what, it would always be your home. However, Wakanda could definitely give New York a run for its money. The air was free out of pollutions from vehicles, everywhere you look, the landscape was filled with scenic greenery and not to mention the futuristic architectures yet deeply rooted in their culture. The people were welcoming and kind, yet they were not to be crossed over.

When you and Bucky first landed, the king himself, T’Challa with Okoye and Ayo by his sides welcomed you. It was intimidating to be in their presence, yet you were fascinated by how graceful they were. You were hoping that your anxiety wouldn’t make you do something dumb or stupid in front of them so as soon as you were out of the quinjet that Sam was flying, you bowed in front of the king. “We don’t do that here…” T’Challa declared.

You swore you could pass out from embarrassment. Bucky chuckled when you straightened your pose. T’Challa shook hands with Bucky like they were old friends, so did he with Sam. Bucky had been communicating with Ayo regarding your visit today so he didn’t have to explain why you were there anymore. They led you to Shuri’s lab where the miracle occurs.

When she saw you, she was nothing like you expected. She was younger than you but she seemed so ahead of you. She seemed so ahead of everyone in the room. She was bright and had an effervescent personality. The lab was unlike anything you’d ever seen, even Tony’s lab in the compound wasn’t as swanky as this one. Shuri’s lab had equipment you didn't even know existed.

She greeted you both, “welcome back Sergeant Barnes, and who’s your girlfriend?” her bluntness caught you off guard.

“Princess, this is y/n and y/n this is Princess Shuri. King T’challa’s younger sister. She was the one who fixed me eight years ago.”

“Hi Princess, it’s an honour.” You shook her hands.

“Welcome. Now let’s get you comfortable so we can take a look inside your brain, yeah?”

Now here you were, sitting in front of a burning yule log, the fire illuminated your face in the dead of the night. Ayo was standing across you, watching you with her spear ready but she trusted you, regardless. Bucky sat next to you, close enough to reassure you that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you or anyone.

“It’s gonna work, y/n. I promise.”

“What if it doesn’t? How will you bring me back?”

“Shuri would know what to do. I was sceptical of my own mind too at first, but I turned out fine. Better, even. You’re in good hands.”

“If she comes back, and you can’t stop her, promise me you’ll put her out, even if it kills me.”

“Y/N…” He looked wounded, how could he possibly do such a thing to the woman he loved?

“James! I can’t hurt anyone else anymore, and worse, if I hurt you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

He nodded, though his heart was saying otherwise. “Okay, I promise.”

The tears in your eyes crawled down your cheeks and he held you close in the hut you’d been sharing with him. He kissed your hair like he would when he comforted you. The hut was simple and far away from the modern life you were used to in the compound or in New York, but you loved the tranquillity and simplicity of it. Some nights where Bucky and you would lie together, warming each other up, wearing nothing but customary clothes, you’d quietly think, you could get used to this. The simple life, with Bucky. Just you and him, and the rest of the world fade into the background. You wondered, could you still have it? That life? Or was it just wishful thinking? Right now, you could only hope that you’d be released from the demons of your past, that still lived in your head.

“I’ll be here, doll.” Bucky whispered and held your hand until the very last second.

“I won’t let you hurt anyone, Y/N. We successfully removed the winter soldier programs from James’ mind like rotten fur, you have nothing to worry.”

You nodded, “okay Ayo… I’m ready.”

You inhaled and stared at your own feet. The soil seemed like a great distraction at that moment. You wished you could hold Bucky’s hand but you didn’t want to look like a scared little baby. Then you heard it, Ayo’s assured voice spelling out the first codeword and the tension in your body rose. You trembled from the cold air, preparing yourself for the worst to happen as she uttered the next one. With each word, the fear in your veins amplified, thinking that any second now you were going to be a passenger in your own body and the demon that lived within you was going to take over.

But as Ayo uttered the last word, you were still there. You remembered your name, you remember where you were, you remembered the people around you and why you were there. You didn’t feel paralyzed, but rather alive. Freed from chains. You couldn’t believe it, you were never one to believe in miracles but that night, you did.

“You’re free, y/n.” Ayo smile like a proud mother.

“I’m free…” You repeated her words as if you were trying to convince yourself that it’s true.

She nodded, and you looked at Bucky who couldn’t hold himself back from wrapping his arms around you as he kissed your temple. “Oh, baby….” You could hear the genuine happiness in his voice and the shape of his lips forming a smile against you.

“You are both free,” Ayo declared.

You looked into his blue eyes that were gleaming with joy and love for only you. In that moment, you wished you had your phone with you so you could capture the priceless look on his face. You knew he was happy for you, however, you felt like you were celebrating his happiness instead. Maybe that’s what true love really is, celebrating each other’s happiness.

He grabbed your face and kissed you so deeply, taking your breath away. You could taste the saltiness of your tears cascaded down to your lips, but it was okay because you could feel Bucky’s soft lips against yours too and it was all you needed.

You held hands with Bucky, walking down to your shared hut, never wanting to untangle yourself from each other. Each night in Wakanda was an entire voyage itself. The scintillating stars in the sky and the quietness was paradise. You could see why Bucky adored Wakanda so much, everything about this country is perfect.

You laid on Bucky’s chest, playing with his dog tag. Even while sleeping, he never took it off. “I can’t believe I’m finally free…” you whispered.

Bucky looked down at you, “believe it doll, you deserve it.”

You sat up and leaned on your elbow, looking at him, “Thank you for getting me here and for being with me through it all. You’re amazing, Bucky.”

“No, doll, that is you. You’re one of the strongest people I know and I admire that.” Bucky sat up and he stared into your eyes as he strokes your cheek with his thumb.

In that moment, there was a sudden urge to have him in a way you hadn’t had. You didn’t care about anything else, you just needed to feel every inch of him, and you needed him to feel every inch of you. You slammed your lips onto his, taking Bucky by surprise yet he leaned into it. Bucky grabbed your arse, pushing your body closer to him, despite the nonexistent gap between you. Bucky licked your bottom lip, and you took his cue as parting them, allowing his tongue to take over your mouth.

You stopped for a second to gasp for air, and you closed your eyes, letting Bucky take the wheel. Bucky moved his flesh hand to your hair, holding a fistful of it to your face in place. Then when he felt like he needed more, Bucky moved his hands to your thighs, lifting you onto his thighs, then he shifted his body around so that he was on top of you and you were lying on the pillow.

Bucky was still kissing you until he started moving his kisses down to your chin, then to your jaw then to your neck, the spot that he knew would elicit a sound of you. Bucky might’ve been over a hundred years old and he hadn’t been intimate with anyone since 1945 but he still remembered how he used to make a woman scream for his name and he wasn’t going to waste that talent.

Bucky lifted the hem of the tank top you were sleeping in and you raised your hands to make it easier for him to get rid of it. This was the first time Bucky had seen you naked, you were always sleeping in clothes next to him, whether it’s a tank top and super short shorts, you were always covered. But now, you were all bare and you were slightly nervous because you hadn’t let anyone see you like this since you were captured by HYDRA.

Chills ran down your spine from the crisp air, but it was also because of the way Bucky was ogling you. You could see how dilated his pupils are, overshadowing the blue. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he breathed.

Bucky continued his lecherous act, kissing down your chest then to your right nipple, swirling his tongue around like a lollipop while his other hand toyed with your left breast. You arched your back as you shut your eyes, letting him do whatever he wanted to you. You whimpered, needing more of him. “Bucky…”

He wanted to taste more of you so he trailed kisses down your stomach, waking up the butterflies inside until he was breathing to your core. Even in the darkness, he could see how your wetness glistens. He wrapped his arms in each of your thighs and spread them apart for him to dive in. He could tell you were feeling a little shy but he made sure to make you feel otherwise by kissing the insides of your thighs, telling you, “I bet you taste real sweet, darling…”

His words made you open your eyes and looked down at him, between your things. He smirked mischievously at your reaction. Then he dipped into your core, licking a stripe up to your clit, making you moan out his name. The way his stubble burnt your delicate flesh made you want to close your thighs however, Bucky held them firmly in place. He savoured every drop, devouring you like a famished man. Your thighs trembled around him and you bit your lip trying to surpass the moans. The slurping sounds that he made were sinful.

Then he shoved two of his fingers inside you, scissoring you open for him. You gasped, the intrusion shocked you, causing you to open your eyes and look down at his act. “Oh God, Buck, I’m fucking close…”

He dipped down again, savouring more juices flowing out of you. “Shh, I know doll, let go. I got you.” He continued his assault on your cunt until you felt the bubble in your belly exploded, making you see stars. You had forgotten the pleasure of chasing your orgasm until Bucky reminded you. Bucky swallowed every drop you released, not wanting to waste anything. He stayed there until you had nothing more to give.

Bucky rose from between your thighs, kissing you passionately and you could taste yourself on his tongue. It was so fucking debauched yet you fucking loved it. You wrap your arms around his neck and run your hands through his hair, messing it up and he looked so fucking sexy.

“I want you Bucky, please fill me up,” you pleaded in between makeout.

“You want this doll? You want me?” He knew what you desired, he just wanted to make sure one last time before you go all the way so you wouldn’t regret it in the morning.“

“Yes Bucky, I want all of you… Only you.”

“I got you, sweetheart.” Bucky grabbed your hands and put them above your head. He pulled back to take off his pants, freeing his cock out of his boxer. To say Bucky was packing light would be a massive lie. He was long and thick, not to mention he was painfully hard. You really didn’t expect it. You had thought about it and you guessed he was more on the lengthy side yet, he seemed to surprise you more and more every time.

Bucky saw the way you stared at it and he smirked at your reaction. “Like what you see, doll?” He stroked the shaft, getting it ready to plunge into you.

You bit your lip as your chest heaved at the licentious scene, “can I taste it?”

Bucky scoffed and shook his head while still stroking himself, “not tonight, doll. But I’ll hold your word.” He crawled back up to your body and you spread your legs apart to make room for him, you maintained eye contact as he held both of your hands that were still above your head. You could feel the nudge of the tip of his cock on your bud, making your toes curl, “are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes…” you practically whined. “Please, take me.”

Without a second thought, Bucky pushed himself inside you, slowly yet you could feel every inch of him stretching your walls open and you threw your head back, the friction caused your head to spin. You cried out his name as you tightened your grip on his hands, needing to hold onto something.

Bucky grunted when he was fully inside and he took a moment to hide his face in your neck, “ah, fucking hell, doll. You feel amazing.”

“Move Bucky, please…” you pleaded after you adjusted to him being inside you.

Bucky began to move slowly, started with shallow thrusts, pulling back a bit then pushed it back inside. When you didn’t show any signs of resistance, he began to pick up the pace and it made your moans grow louder. “Oh, fuck…” you cursed due to the sensation. “Faster, Buck…”

Your wish is Bucky’s command, he did as you asked and he was enjoying more and more of it. You lifted your legs higher on his waist, locking them there for dear life. You wailed as his cock impaled you, forgetting that there were probably kids sleeping around your hut but you were too clouded with pleasure to worry about that. The onslaught caused you to clench around him and your coil tightened. Knowing you won’t last much longer, Bucky detached his flesh hand from yours and moved it down to your clit, rubbing it in circles over and over again and you plummeted into bliss, electricity ran through your veins as you hit your peak, releasing yourself all over him.

Bucky kept thrusting, seeing the way your face contorted in satisfaction because of him and how your walls tightened around him threw him off the edge, causing him to reach his own orgasm. He spilt himself inside you, finishing with shallow thrusts until every drop was stored. “Ah, fuck…” He groaned.

Bucky laid on top of you while still staying inside you. You loved the intimacy of being this close to him, honestly, you wouldn’t mind staying in this position until dawn. Both of you tried to gain control over your breathing as you were completely spent. Once he regained composure, he pulled himself out of you and laid next to you.

“That was…”

“Fucking amazing? Yeah…” Bucky completed that sentence as he held you in his arms and kissed your forehead.

“You were amazing, doll.” He continued.

“I haven’t had sex since… Well, since as long as I can remember.”

“Me too, doll. You are my first since everything that happened.”

“You are mine, too.”

For a few seconds, you just stared at each other lovingly with satisfaction plastered all over your faces. You relished in each others’ warmth, despite the hut reeking of sweat and smell of sex, you found comfort in each other, putting both of you to sleep.

tags; @ohmickeyhenry @suitofvibraniumarmor @themaddies-obx @beminetokeep @bluemoon-icecream-blog @bluemoon-icecream @harprs @thefridgeismybestie @abitofeverythingg @wolfonthemoonwatchestvshows @julimelodi @bookscoffeandotherstuff @tanyaherondale @artisancowbells @ferxaniti @intothesoul @hallecarey1 @buckybarnesplumwhore @thefallenbibliophilequote @andiyholly @emizla @capxwinter @jevans2 @alwaysreadingimagineschick @swtltlmrvlgrl @extremelyblackandwhite

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan series #sebastian stan one shot #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan angst #sebastian stan fluff

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sarahjtv · 3 years

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BNHA Chapter 318 Quick Spoiler Analysis: Lost and Found

Ok, I think I need a few days to process everything that’s happened during this chapter and I might make a longer analysis for this chapter later, but holy shit when I tell you I ascended, I ASCENDED! That page of Deku thinking about his classmates with a genuinely big smile on Shoto’s face and the last pages of Bakugo straight-up watered my crops, cleared my skin, expended my lifespan, and sent my soul into the great unknown for a bit. I screamed happy sounds last night. With that in mind, some very quick thoughts today:

Hooray for overseas Pro Heroes coming over to help Japan! This means that Deku and Co. will have more allies on their side and Deku doesn’t have to take care of everything. I hope and pray he listens to Endeavor and get some freaking sleep.

I’ve heard people mention that Endeavor’s been treating Deku like an adopted son lately and I can see it. It’s almost like he’s trying to become the good father he wasn’t with his own children. Like he’s making it up with Deku this time as the son figure. I kinda like it actually. It’s good character growth for Endeavor.

The panel of the OFA Holders trying to get Deku to rest is a parallel to the chapter where we go into Shigaraki’s psyche and we see his family trying to grab him and stop him too. Of course, both Deku and Shigaraki ignore the spirits and just move on with Shigaraki moving towards AFO and Deku moving onto the next villain to beat. I really like it when Horikoshi parallels these two characters and their symbolism. I actually just like it in general when it’s done right.

It’s clear that the OFA Holders feel like that maybe they pushed Deku too far with their words and motivations. But, this is ultimately what Deku wants. For better or worse, he chose the path of a hero and he’s bent on getting to the finish line. Though it’s interesting that the 2nd Holder is the only one who thinks that Deku pushing himself so hard is the right thing to do. I don’t think the 2nd Holder is being malicious in saying this. I think there’s something to his character and backstory that molded his reasonings. I mean, Deku really is the only one who can do this, but he does need help. If Deku can get some help then he can finally rest and fight properly instead of exhausting himself to death.

God, it’s upsetting to see Deku actually being feared by people despite saving them. Just the way Deku looks alone is scary enough. The kid doesn’t remotely look like a hero anymore. He’s not the hero who’s presence can put everyone at ease right now. Deku’s strayed so far away from his original origins. The main thing staying there is his want to save people.

And as all these burdens are on his shoulders, the most important thought in his head are his classmate’s smiles. Everyone is smiling from Ochaco to Shoto who’s pure, rare smile will remain in my head rent free for the rest of eternity 💙. Deku wants a world where there’s peace and smiles even if he has to suffer for that. Throughout everything, he’s never forgotten about his friends and their happiness. I really do love this kid, guys.

As Deku’s facing this other assassin, Dictator (who’s Quirk is similar to Shinso’s except the people he’s controlling are conscious), Deku looks so, so tired. He’s thinking of ways to save all these controlled civilians while being attacked by them, but he’s just standing there exhaustingly. There’s a small panel of his eye and it looks so tired. I know I keep saying that, but he is. There’s a small flicker of light in his eye too. I looks to me like it’s going to go out at any moment really. Deku needs to get a proper meal and sleep before he collapses in on himself.

AND NOW WE GET TO KATSUKI BAKUGO!!! HOLY SHIT WE HAVEN’T SEEN THIS DUDE IN SINCE LATE LAST YEAR AND HE’S BACK AND HE’S SO BEAUTIFUL 😭💥🧡 The internet’s still going nuts about him I can tell. He blasts Dictator with an AP Shot and Deku sees him with some life back in his eyes. Bakugo then pulls out his phone and tells someone “Guys, I found him”! Which means that Bakugo wasn’t the only one searching for Deku!!! Please tell me who else joined him, Horikoshi! I’m betting on Shoto, Ochaco, and maybe Iida, Momo, and Kirishima since they helped Deku rescue Bakugo back in Kamino (which is where Bakugo actually found Deku ironically enough; right in Ground Zero where the All Might statue is).

Also, the 2nd Holder mentioned before “But if there is someone who could make Midoriya Izuku whole at the moment, that would be…” and then we go right into the big Bakugo panel! BKDK’s rise 🧡💚!!! But seriously, this is amazing. These two really do complete each other not just as rivals, but as friends. And it’s great how this goes to show how much Bakugo’s grown from the beginning. This kid who wanted absolutely nothing to do with Deku at the beginning became one of the people actively looking for him and even found Deku first. Bakugo’s character development truly is one of the best in the series.

And this would be a great time for Bakugo and Deku to finally have that talk they’ve been needing to have for a long, long time now. I almost hope that the other kids don’t reunite with Deku next chapter because I really want that talk if they didn’t have it back at Central Hospital. A glimpse of the other kids would be good and I’d love to see Shoto again, but I NEED THAT ANGSTY TALK! I wonder if we’re going to have a roll reversal here too: Bakugo lends out a helping hand towards Deku and asks him to rest, but Deku ignores Bakugo’s hand and turns away and leaves again instead. That would absolutely kill me. Just as much as the All Might angst we got last week. If that happens then the turns really will have tabled. I will cry again for a week straight. I would still thank Horikoshi for his masterful storytelling though. I would also cry if Deku does take Bakugo’s hand though. God, there are so many feels to these two characters it’s wonderful. I need Chapter 319 like yesterday.

But unfortunately, we won’t get that for a while. Horikoshi is taking a break next week and so is the anime on July 3rd I think. So, we’re going to have a dry spell for a week straight my MHA friends. I’m honestly ok with this though. For me, the new OP and ED and Horikoshi sketch will tide me over with their bangers (I hope) and Horikoshi needs as many breaks as he can get. He’s been drawing and writing pure 🔥 this arc and I want him to get some much deserved rest. Especially after Berserk’s Kentaro Miura’s passing and JJK’s Gege Akutami taking his month long break. Hey, Jump? Please give your mangaka better schedules. I hate seeing them so exhausted. Anyway, enjoy your break, King 👑!

Me reading Horikoshi’s last few arcs:

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all-things-are-nothing-to-me · 3 years

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Burn The Bread Book: Industrial Communism Will Not Liberate You

The True Cost of Bread

For years I've watched a man drive his pick-up truck into the forest around me and cut down all the trees that aren't legally protected. So, every tree that isn't a pine or an oak. The moment a carob or olive or hawthorn or mastic or strawberry tree grows big enough to burn, he cuts it down and drags it away for firewood. He even fells trees I planted, while smiling and waving at me like he’s doing me a favor. I glare at him silently but don’t say a word, knowing he has the full power of the state behind him.

He uses the wood to fuel his traditional bakery which has several large outdoor ovens. The much-loved industrial product he produces is bread; a product that has rapidly replaced all the native food-bearing plants of the area as they’ve been cut down to make room for wheat fields.

The villagers are proud of the bakery because it attracts visitors from all over the island and thus creates further opportunities for them to earn profit. The local bureaucracy; the democratically-elected village council, gives the baker free reign to do as he pleases since so many livelihoods depend on his bakery.

Because the baker cuts everything down as soon as it reaches human height, the trees never get big enough to fruit, so they don't spread their seeds and grow new trees. The forest slowly dwindles to nothing but pine trees and can no longer sustain most animal life. The climate dries, the soil erodes, the air grows stagnant and depleted of oxygen. All that’s left in the few remaining forests that haven’t been bulldozed to grow more wheat is a sterile pine desert.

The baker will soon no doubt lobby the village council to allow him to harvest the pine trees too, otherwise the all-important bakery will cease to be operational when he runs out of legal trees to fell.

In just a few years, all the fruits, nuts and berries that sustained the people in the area for millennia are wiped out and replaced with a consumer product that is made from a single grain crop. A thriving ecosystem has been replaced with a wheat monoculture that could collapse at any moment and take the lives of everyone it feeds with it.

It’s worth noting that the baker, like most people in my village, and in fact most people on the island, considers himself a communist. The village has a “communist party” clubhouse and they always elect “communist” local leaders and vote for “communist” politicians in the national elections.

Any anarchist worth their salt has no tolerance for these faux-communists, or “tankies” and their brand of collectivist-capitalism because they cling to money, states and rulers and really only embrace Stalinist politics because of the promise of cushy government jobs for them or their relatives.

The Stalinist politicians openly buy votes by promising jobs in the public service to their supporters. A job in the public service here is a guaranteed free ride for life for you and your family, with the salaries multiple times higher than private sector salaries and benefits out of the wazoo - including multiple pensions. They get a full pension for each gov sector they worked in, and the more connected civil servants are rotated through jobs in multiple sectors in the last few months leading up to their retirement to ensure the maximum pay-out possible.

I’m confident anyone reading this knows Stalinism is designed to enrich the bureaucrat class and give them complete control over the state’s citizens. No anarchist sees that shit as communism. But in a “real” communist society; an “anarcho-communist” society where money, state and class have been abolished, the local baker would presumably still bake that bread, and since it would be offered freely to everyone far and wide, he'd need to bake a lot more of it and thus need more wood. More forest would be razed to keep the bread production going. Everyone living in the village and anyone passing through, and people in faraway cities will expect to have as much gourmet bread on their plates as they desire. More bakeries would need to pop up on the mountain as demand rises for delicious bread in the cities below, with the rural population working hard and doing their duty to feed the hungry urban population.

Over the years, I’ve put a lot of thought into envisioning how the workers seizing the means of production would end the environmental devastation this bread production brings to the mountain. I struggle to see any scenario where communism would stop the devastation being wrought on the ecosystem. The forests would continue to be razed to ensure production won’t slow down.

Free bread for everyone today means no bread (or any food) for anyone tomorrow as the top-soil washes away, the climate warms, the wildlife goes extinct, and the whole mountain rapidly turns to desert. It’s inevitable that soon even wheat will cease to grow in the fields surrounding the village.

Regardless of the economic system in place, the villagers being able to consume as many fresh loaves of baked bread as they can carry means all the forests in driving distance of the village are eviscerated, eventually all the fields become barren, the crops fail, and everyone starves. This is already well on its way to happening, and switching to a communist mode of production would do nothing to allay this inevitability.

“How would you feed people then, genius?” I hear you scoff. The answer is simple; tried and tested for millennia. I wouldn’t feed people. People would feed themselves instead of expecting others to labor to feed them; an entitlement that arose with industrial civilization. People would be inclined to protect the forests instead of bulldozing them for the supposed convenience of industrial food production if they picked their food directly from those forests everyday.

They’d protect the forests with their very lives because they’d need the food that grows in the forests to survive without industrial farms, bakeries and factories outsourcing food production and then hiding the ecocide they cause just out of sight of the villages and their carefully manicured streets.

Bread and other industrial products alienate us from our ecosystem and cause us to stop caring about how our food is produced, so long as it’s there in the store when we want to eat it. Putting food production back into the control of the individual is the only way to preserve the ecosystem. Direct food is the only anarchist mode of production. When other people are tasked with growing your food, they will take shortcuts because the food isn’t going into their own mouths or the mouths of their loved ones. Food harvesting needs to go back to being a way of life for every able-bodied person, rather than something industrial farm workers are tasked with to serve an elite class of privileged office workers who are completely disconnected from the food chain.

All over the world, complex centuries-old polyculture food-forests that sustained countless lives for generations are destroyed by the arrogance of industrial production, replaced for a short while by a wheat or corn monoculture so people can pick up their bread down the street from their home or workplace instead of muddying their feet to gather food from the wild as their ancestors did. This convenience seems like “progress” to civilized people, at least until the destructive industrial agriculture process renders the wheat fields infertile and farms all over the world are turned into a vast uninhabitable dust bowl. A sustainable way of life that kept us alive and thriving for centuries has been tossed aside in favor of a short-lived attempt at industrial convenience that has already proven itself a horrible failure; bringing us and every other lifeform to the verge of extinction.

Industry is not sustainable. Industrial systems are all destructive. Communism, capitalism, fascism, they’re all founded on ecocide. The authority of the baker is upheld over everything else because domesticated people would rather consume “free” industrial bread for a few years than unlearn their destructive consumerist habits. If we are to survive these times of devastating ecological collapse, humans need to go back to fostering vast food forests as our ancestors did for millennia; producing and gathering our own food without destroying the very ecosystem that gives us life in the name of luxury and convenience.

"The People's" Authority: How “Anarcho-Communism” is Authority-Forming

If someone kept cutting down all the trees to bake bread, the people who depend on the forest to survive would of course have to intervene to stop the loggers from destroying the forest and thus killing their way of life.

This happens in rainforests today where indigenous people who have been let down by the state gleefully issuing licenses to corporate loggers, and turning a blind eye to illegal logging, instead take matters into their own hands and shut down the loggers using force.

They put their lives on the line to do this, and a lot of them are killed by the loggers who value their profits over the lives of indigenous people. They know if they don’t act to stop the loggers, the forests they call their home will be decimated and their way of life will have been destroyed forever. They’ll be forced into the cramped cities and have to labor all day everyday to buy the bread and beef that stripped their forests bare.

So how would an anarcho-communist society deal with someone who cuts down all the trees to bake bread? In an anarcho-communist society, everyone will be environmentally conscious and consume sustainably, right...? No. Not if you’re engaging in any kind of critical thinking.

Loggers can only destroy forests at the current explosive rate if the society imbues them with authority. If they have no authority, there's nothing stopping others from using force to end their pillaging of our natural resources. Without the authority of civilization behind them, the loggers have incredibly diminished power and no real motive to risk their lives to fell trees.

Anarcho-communism is an industrial ideology based around the notion of seizing the means of production and then running the factories, saw mills, oil rigs, mines and power plants democratically. Industrial civilization is an incredibly totalitarian authority that is nevertheless upheld by “anarcho”-communist theory, even though anarchists supposedly oppose all forms of authority.

In an industrial communist society, much like in a capitalist society, logging is necessary to further the industrial production the society is built around. As long as production drives the system, trees will have to be felled for all kinds of reasons: from lumber and paper production to making way for crops and cattle.

So, logging is highly valued by the people that uphold the industrial society, and in a real world scenario, these “anarcho” communists would have to take measures to protect loggers from repercussions from a small, uncivilized minority – the indigenous inhabitants of the forest. These measures are, by any definition, an authority. A monopoly on violence. A state in everything but name.

But since the loggers are providing this valued service to good, decent, reasoned, educated, domesticated, egalitarian, democratic, civilized anarcho-communists in big shiny cities who are accustomed to a litany of luxury consumer products being delivered to their doors everyday… Decidedly authoritarian methods will need to be taken to ensure the anarcho-loggers can do their anarcho-work without facing retaliation from the “primmie” forest dwellers. These methods can easily be justified in the ancom’s mind; there’s nothing an ancom loves more than to “justify” authority with their mighty reasoned logic™️.

So when faced with the conundrum that the anarcho-communist city needs lumber, paper, corn and meat, and the only thing standing in the way of production is a few indigenous tribes, the ancom will put their anarcho-Spock ears on and declare: “the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few”. Just as capitalist and socialist states today violently suppress the indigenous people who take action to shut down logging and mining operations that quash their way of life, the anarcho-industrialist will send a red-and-black army in to escort their red-and-black bulldozers and discipline anyone that interferes with the will of “the people”.

The indigenous inhabitants of course won’t give a shit that their forests are being felled by communists rather than by capitalists. They won’t give a shit that the bulldozers are now owned collectively or that the land they’ve lived on for millennia has now been designated as belonging to “the people” (the civilized voting majority) instead of to the state or to capital.

The forest that nurtures the indigenous people and their children is still being decimated to maintain the destructive lifestyles of apathetic city-dwellers. Their lives are still being ended because to civilized people, they’re a backwards, regressive minority standing in the way of progress... Damaging the revolution, inhibiting the growth of their glorious egalitarian civilization. The educated, “progressive” majority outvote them. Anyway, everyone who has spoken to a red anarchist knows primmies are dirty reactionary ableists who want to stop us from building wheelchair and drug factories, right?

Civilized people always have pushed the notion that the “common good” or the good of the many will always outweigh the needs of individuals or small groups of people, ever since Aristotle, in his "The Aim of Man” wrote:

"The good of the state is of greater and more fundamental importance both to attain and to preserve. The securing of one individual's good is cause for rejoicing, but to secure the good of a nation or of a city-state is nobler and more divine." Communism is even more adamant in this “the will of the majority is paramount” shtick, going as far as to declare the industrial-worker class as the only voice that matters, with everyone needing to become part of the worker class in order to abolish class differences.

This logic is why the USSR, China and other communist experiments forced collectivization on self-sufficient indigenous peoples and then slaughtered them when they inevitably resisted. If people won’t consent to being displaced from their ancestral lands to work on the industrial farms and factories that fuel the destruction of their homes, they’re branded “kulaks” and “counter-revolutionaries” and “reactionaries” and are systemically genocided, usually by destroying their food sources.

Industrial goods are valued by industrial society over the forest and its inhabitants because domesticated people want to eat bread and microwaved pizza and the real cost of those products (environmental destruction) is of no real concern to industrial society beyond empty gestures like an occasional “save the rainforests” or “go vegan” banner.

The inhabitants of the forests and their strange foreign culture are too far removed from the busy cities for the average urbanites to involve themselves in their plight. Even the civilized rural people who live around the forests are forever striving to urbanize their villages in the unending quest for upwards mobility. In my experience, they’ll happily trade every tree in sight for a gourmet bakery, Apple Store or coffee-shop so they can feel as civilized as the people in the big cities who tend to look down on them for being “hillbillies” or “country bumpkins”.

“The people in the big cities of Sao Paulo and Rio, they want us to live on picking Brazil nuts,” a farmer says. “That doesn’t put anyone’s kid in college.” (From RollingStone.com.)

The settler-farmers who are burning what’s left of the Amazon rainforest to the ground say they’re doing it for their children... To make the cash to pay for their children to be educated and get good jobs in the city. It shouldn’t be controversial for me to say civilized people value their civilized life and will always put their civilized needs before the needs of uncivilized others.

Civilized people can relate to their civilized neighbours who have the same struggles as them: paying their bills, educating their kids, buying good insurance, washing their car, deciding where to go on vacation, renovating their kitchens, choosing the next Netflix show to binge watch... So it’s not surprising that they’ll do everything they can to prop up civilized people and kick down the uncivilized people who stand in the way of their quest for ever-increasing industrial comforts.

I can already see the denial stage setting in on some of your faces as I type: “But us anarcho-communists aren’t like capitalists, we’re good caring people. Humane people. We’ll make industry green, we’ll manage the forests in a sustainable manner using direct democracy, unions, unicorns and equality!”

Why would anyone swallow that crock of shit? Why would thoroughly domesticated people used to all the comforts of destructive industrial civilization suddenly decide to forgo those comforts because of democracy? Why would 7.7 billion people suddenly change how they live because anarcho-communism has been declared? How would ancom civilization make industry “green” when it’s clearly demonstrable that all industry is destructive to the environment and to wild people, and modelling a society on an industrial system has had disastrous results throughout history, regardless of what the attached ideology was named?

All controlled mass-society, including every historical experiment at building a communist society has created authority; bodies of people that hold power over others. That power grows over time and takes the “communist” society further and further away from its revolutionary origins. Every indication is that authority would continue to be manifested with industrial anarcho-communism. There is no evidence that anarcho-communism would avert authority when it’s so dependent on destructive, exploitative, alienating, domesticating industry and the control and domination of a global population of workers.

All Industrial Goods Free for All People: A Recipe for Disaster

In communism everything is free for the taking and resources are often treated as if they're infinite. If you decide you need something, you take it from the communal store. Kropotkin said no one has the right to judge how much an individual needs, except the individuals themselves.

Since most reds hold that resources should be allocated according to “need”, decisions would need to be made to determine who in the community has “need” of the biggest shares of resources.

I know most ancoms, like Kropotkin, claim every individual will just take whatever they “need” (want) from communal stores, but I'm going to cry foul on that because it's really not practical in an industrial society. Resources aren't infinite and no one is going to spend their life doing gruelling manual labor and then just give everything they produce away to some random stranger who shows up at the communal store with a dumpster truck and says "I need your community's entire monthly output of goods today, so load it up". For some reason ancoms think assholes would cease to exist in a communist society. Why would anyone work their asses off, wasting their life away doing menial manual labor just to watch some shitlord drive away with everything they produced because he announced he “needed” it?

“But as woke anarcho-communists in an advanced fully-automated luxury communist society, labor will in fact be quite limited and fun because we can divide duties between all our comrades! And profit will no longer be a concern since everything we make will be given to anyone that wants it free of charge, so we don’t need to worry about marketing our products and that will further minimize the amount of labor we’ll do, giving us ample leisure time to enjoy the fruits of our production!”

For the purposes of cold-hearted mockery, I’m slightly paraphrasing an ancom who responded to an early draft of this piece. What fantasy realm are ancoms living in where all the massive problems posed by industrial production (including the ongoing extinction of near-every lifeform on Earth) will evaporate when you remove profit and marketing from the equation?

I keep saying this in my writing but here I go again: In an industrial society that aims to give everyone in the world equal access to consumer goods, industry does not decrease; it increases. If everyone in the world suddenly has free and equal access to the mountains of wasteful shit that Western consumers consider necessary to life, not only would production need to massively increase, but we would run out of resources to exploit much more rapidly.

That’s assuming anyone would even want to work in the mines and factories in a supposedly equal society if they no longer had guns to their heads. Why would anyone go back down into that mine once their chains are broken? Does anyone honestly think those Congolese kids give a shit if you have a new phone every year? Should they really be expected to sacrifice themselves for your entitlement? So you can continue to live in luxury with all your little conveniences?

In a real world implementation of industrial communism, communities will no doubt quickly impose limits on what can be taken from communal stores after a few people take way more than they have any right to and other people go without as a result, despite them laboring for hours a day to produce those goods. Kropotkin might insist we’ll all be happy toiling away all day to make this consumerist shit just to give it away to random strangers, but he was a privileged scholar who never had to work a day in his life, so what do you expect?

Industrial society right now is fed by the ceaseless labor of billions of exploited people in the Global South. People are forced to toil in mines from childhood to procure the materials that other people (also including children) then assemble into consumer goods in factories, all for starvation wages. This is debilitating, dangerous work that leaves the people who do it sucked of their youth after a few years.

Anyway, let’s play along with communist mythology for a bit to get to my next point. In an ideal communist society (where I guess minerals are somehow found equally all across the planet and not overwhelmingly located in the Global South as in the real world), outsourced labor would presumably go away because communists would never exploit workers in distant lands (who ever heard of an imperialist communist, right? Right??) So instead production would need to be localized, and then the goods would be distributed according to need.

For resources to be allocated according to need, you'll have some kind of deciding body in place to judge what each person's needs are; what resources each person should be given.

There are lots of factors to take into consideration when deciding someone’s “needs”, like how far they live from work, how far they live from the store, how many calories they burn doing the labor they do, the size of their family, their dietary restrictions, disabilities they might have, their particular metabolism, how many parties they throw, how many friends they have and thus might invite to the parties, their religious and cultural practices, the size of their house, the size of their garden, the type of insulation their house has and how quickly it loses heat, the fuel efficiency of their car... I could list hundreds more things but I’ll stop myself.

Giving bureaucrats this power will no doubt mean certain favored groups / individuals will be rewarded and less desirable groups / individuals will be neglected, or even punished. This is the nature of authority. You’ll need a body of full-time bureaucrats to collect all this data and measure how it should determine your share of the pie, and those bureaucrats are going to have biases. If a computer does it, the programmer will have biases. And you'd still need bureaucrats to collect the data and feed it to the computer. Then they could easily feed incorrect or selective data to the computer because of their biases.

It's always felt like a recipe for corruption and exploitation to me for a bureaucracy to determine someone’s worth... Which is probably why Kropotkin stipulated that everyone should be able to just take whatever they themselves decide they need from the stores.

Of course, the real solution would be to not base your proposed utopian society on industrial production in the first place... Promising industrial production will be unlimited because everyone will voluntarily agree to work real hard in the factories and mines and slaughterhouses and the goods will be distributed to everyone everywhere somehow while maintaining a sustainable ecological green solarpunk paradise just makes you a smug fucking liar. No different than a grinning politician promising to give us freedom, liberty and prosperity if we vote for him.

The only red anarchist tendency that made a modicum of practical sense in my mind was anarcho-collectivism, because at least the workers would receive the direct value of their labor hours instead of having external bodies decide how much value / worth to assign to them as a person.

If you're going to spend your life toiling in a factory or farm to produce goods for other people, would you really want a bureaucrat or a committee or even a direct voter body deciding how much you deserve for that labor, while giving someone who does the same job (or a much easier job) more than you because of potentially biased reasons?

Regardless, anarcho-collectivism still only really values the workers who are most willing to submit to the factory grind and put in the most hours. Anarcho-collectivism still holds ecodical industry and luxuries for cityfolk up above all life on the planet... So that 19th century ideology isn’t going to save you either. Throw it right in the trash with the bread book because this “reform-industrial-society” charade isn’t helping when the planet is on fire.

If industrial communism were actually implemented in the real world, you can be relatively certain that some kind of authority would need to be put in place to prevent bad actors from showing up at the store and taking a community’s entire monthly production. People would need to police the store and judge whether someone is worthy of taking as much as they’re taking. They’d need to become authorities, upholders of law and order. Purveyors of “justice”.

Let’s be clear now because I know a lot of red anarchists are going to try to “justify” this authority as being “necessary for the good of society” as they will do. Policing who can take food and how much they can take is a clear authority. Not a “justified” authority, because such a thing simply does not exist.

And this store-policing is not the anarchist tactic of “direct action” either, let’s make that clear right now, because it’s a frightenly common misunderstanding with red anarchists. Creating a police force has nothing to do with direct action.

Direct action is an isolated use of force unconnected to institutional systems of power. People who engage in direct action are not appealing to a higher authority for legitimacy. Their action is not legitimized by anyone and they receive no protection or reward from an authority as they take the action. There’s no monopoly on violence being granted to them by an authority, so there’s nothing to guarantee their safety from retaliation if the action fails or succeeds.

There’s no institutional power-imbalance being created when someone takes direct action against an authority. The authority already created the power imbalance, and your direct action is a form of defense to shield you, your ecosystem or your community from that imbalance.

Direct action is an entirely anarchist tactic, but pinning badges on people, officiating them, and giving them the authority (and the monopoly on violence) to police a store and withhold food and products from certain people for whatever reason has nothing to do with anarchy. Building a hierarchy like this has nothing to do with anarchy.

Police officers and judges (authorities) ruling over a communal store is authoritarian. An officiated police force is a completely different thing from the isolated use of force by a lone actor or a small group of actors to preserve life and combat authority (direct action).

Creating a police force, even if it’s formed of volunteers, even if they were elected, even if they make decisions collectively, even if their uniforms are red and black, even if the officers placed on duty are regularly rotated, is authoritarian by any definition. There are no anarchist cops. An “anarchist cop” couldn’t be a bigger oxymoron.

Here’s an example of direct action: me punching a logger who is cutting down my favorite tree. This action is completely removed from structural systems of authority because I have no authority or structural power behind me. There’s nothing legitimizing my use of force or giving me a monopoly on violence. My use of force doesn’t extend beyond my own two fists. Since assault is illegal, and his logging is legal, the logger has the full authority of the law behind him, so any action I take to oppose that authority is punching up. It’s fighting to curve a gross power imbalance. It’s anarchy.

In this civilized world, I could be severely punished by law enforcement for using force to stop his desecration of a forest. As the state gave him his logging permit, he has authority over the forest and every life that depends on the forest to survive. He punches down every time he fells a tree. He is the full embodiment of archy. If I choose to stand in his way, there’s no state behind me, no court, no police force. Me physically stopping a logger from felling trees is an isolated use of force to strike back at a system of authority. The logger destroys life for profit, and if I take action to stop him because I don’t want to see the forest become a barren desert, I don’t become a state or any kind of authority based on that decision to fight back.

Forming a police squad and a bureaucracy to patrol and govern an officiated communal store, appointing authorities to sit and judge how much each individual deserves to eat, on the other hand, creates legitimized systems of power and an institutional monopoly on violence. It creates a state, or at the very least a proto-state that will later develop into a full-blown state as the bureaucracy grows.

The German philosopher Max Weber defined the state as a monopoly on the legitimate use of physical force. State violence, whether it’s committed on behalf of the state by a politician, a judge, a cop or a logger, is always a legitimate force. Any violence the state does is immediately “justified” simply by virtue of it being dispensed by a legitimate state actor who is doing it for the good of the state and its authority.

A logger with an official permit to slice up a forest is thus fully justified in the eyes of society to do as much harm to the forest as is deemed necessary by the authorities who granted the permit.

A state exists wherever an authority can authorize and legitimize violence. There is no way for an anarchist to “justify” a coercive, authoritarian institution such as a police force that will no doubt be biased against minority groups and lead to the accumulation of power by the dominant group, and abuses of power by the people doing the policing. Even if minority groups are involved in the police force, the majority group will still oppress their groups.

A society that mass-produces goods and distributes them in communal stores will manifest itself as a state, regardless of Kropotkin’s insistences that everyone will work voluntarily and then take whatever they want from the stores. There’s no practical scenario where industrial labor is truly voluntary. There’s no practical scenario on this Earth of rapidly diminishing returns where “free” stores won’t need to be policed to deny unlimited goods to individuals and groups who the governing body decides are less worthy of the fruits of their labor.

Anarcho-communism simply isn’t revolutionary as long as we are depleting all our resources in the name of industrial civilization; something anarcho-communism demands as an industrial, work-based ideology that revolves around civilizing the land and its inhabitants in order to extract resources and labor. There’s nothing revolutionary about continuing the global ecocide under the guise of democracy. Every anarchist should understand the difference between isolated force and authority, but very few self-identifying social anarchists seem interested in this and are content prating on about “justified authority”, debating “how an anarcho-communist police force could work” and excitedly discussing Chomsky’s latest speech telling them to vote for a lesser-evil neoliberal politician.

I know I sound bitter, but I’ve been disillusioned with the majority of red anarchists I come into contact with for years now and they only seem to get worse as industrial society plods on and the sands and seas climb further up our necks.

Anarcho-communism is not the solution to fighting authority, it’s simply a skin-deep re-brand of authority. A sparkly new paint job. There’s a reason so many ancoms strive to “justify” authority. They don’t actually care about reaching for anarchy.

Is Communism Always Authority-Forming?

In my mind, communism can only work outside of industrial mass society. A small community gathering or growing supplies and freely sharing them with the rest of the community. Each community trading with other small communities. Marx and Engels ironically dubbed this hunter-gatherer form of society that had long existed in human history as “primitive communism” and suggested it was inferior to their advanced industrial communism that valued the factory and centralized city life above all else.

Mass industry requires mass agriculture, mass labor, mass transport, mass resource extraction, mass construction, mass policing, mass military... Mass society and will only lead right back to capitalism and statism because it's so unwieldy and authority forming. Any communist tendency built around industrial exploitation is going to create all kinds of fucked up hierarchies and just lead us right back to the apocalyptic status quo.

Most communists I’ve talked to about this are unable to accept that some people will still act like assholes if capitalism collapses, which I’d probably find endearing if these people weren’t such giant assholes themselves; calling me a privileged reactionary for daring to suggest their blessed ideology might have some flawed logic. They insist everyone will cease being selfish assholes once capitalism is done away with because “assholes are only assholes as long as capitalism pits them against each other.”

Even if we wake up one morning and marketing, consumer culture and wealth are all done away with, we still have generations of indoctrination in authoritarian behavior to contend with. That doesn't go away overnight. But even without consumer culture to guide them, people are still completely capable of being assholes. Going back to before mass-society even existed, people would murder each other and take their stuff. They'd raid each other's settlements, they'd steal their children, they'd fight over territory and cultural differences. These aren't things that were invented by capitalism and they won’t go away just because communism is declared.

People aren't inherently just or unjust. Humanity is not good or bad. Every person is an individual, each with different experiences, motivations, traumas. Communism expects everyone to be altruistic. Capitalism expects everyone to act out of greed and self preservation. Neither is true because both are ideologically driven worldviews that attempt to define human nature in order to instruct us how to behave by instilling us with their morals. People are greedy, people are generous, people are kind, people are mean-spirited. Every person in the world is all of these things and more. People are not defined by one single personality trait their entire lives.

I’m haunted by every shitty thing I’ve ever done and I’m sure I’ll do more shitty things yet, despite my best intentions. No one is above making mistakes. Mutual aid is a great thing, but it needs to be earned. There are people in our lives that we trust and people we can’t stand to be around. Not everyone is deserving of the products of our labor. Some people in the world will always try to exploit you, even if they already have everything their hearts could possibly desire. Some people will be kind to you no matter how big an asshole you are.

I’ve been accused by communists of being cynical, of being “regressive” and “counter-revolutionary” because I don’t buy into the communist notion that humans are inherently good and they just need the right industrial system to bring that good out of them.

Any society where I’m expected to just sit back and watch as a logger destroys my ecosystem because he’s serving the “greater good” isn’t a society I want any part of. I value my autonomy over the desires of traumatized workers pushing buttons for 8 hours a day in a city far-removed from me. I’d rather take the logger’s chainsaw away than fiddle my thumbs as he takes everything I know, and to hell with whatever bureaucratic process enshrined him with the right to decimate the forest to give bread to the workers. Fuck the workers and their bread and their fully-automated luxury communism and their divine democratic rights.

There’s simply no reason to believe exploitative assholes will go away if communism is ever enacted.

There’s a man I know who constantly exploits me for my labor, and I always go along with it. He dangles a carrot on a stick in front of me every time; promising that after I help him, he’ll hook me up to his well so I can have free water for my trees. For years he’s made this promise.

I’ve spent countless hours doing dangerous work for this guy with no reward. He always disappears after I do the work without giving me what he promised. Then the next week he wakes me up again at 6am on a Saturday by honking his horn, apologizes for not getting around to hooking me up to the well yet, saying he was too busy or in the hospital or had a family emergency, promises he’ll do it this week, and then I’m hanging off a cliff or a roof repairing pipes for him all day while he barks orders at me.

I do it because I’m a fucking pushover who can’t say no to people due to my ridiculous kind nature. But whenever I ask him for anything, I’m met with a blank stare, an abrupt subject change or a sorry excuse. I was stranded a two hour walk down the mountain last week when my car broke down, and he drove right around me and didn’t even slow down. When I saw him later, he swore on his life that he didn’t see me because the sun was in his eyes. I nodded and shrugged.

Communism wouldn’t stop this lying dipshit from exploiting me; he’d still need someone to fix his leaky pipes, start up his diesel generator, saw off the upper branches of his olive trees and climb shoddy makeshift structures for him regardless of the economic system in place. He’d still give me a sob story about his painful ulcer and I’d still do the hard work to spare him the pain of doing it himself. He wouldn’t stop being an exploitative asshole just because democracy is installed in the workplace. He wouldn’t start practising mutual aid when he goes to great lengths to avoid all work and shames other people into doing it for him.

Red anarchists throw every insult in the book at me when I voice my doubts about their wistful ideologies; condemning me for being critical of the amazing breadman Kropotkin or their “green industry” tsar Professor Bookchin... It’s hard to give my perspective as an indigenous anarchist to these people who are so hostile to any worldview that doesn’t validate their luxurious industrial lifestyle and their driving desire to make that lifestyle more democratic in order to receive a bigger share of the pie.

Between the shouts of “reactionary lifestylist” and “dirty primmie” they lobby at me, I try to explain my perspective to them. I see suffering in the world and I want to make sense of it. I’m not satisfied just handwaving it away and clinging to fanciful utopian ideologies designed to energize European factory workers from the 1800s. I don’t believe red-industry will cure society of all its ills and free humans from their chains.

The warehouse I’ve worked in for more than a decade will not become magically liberating if I’m given the power of democracy. It’ll still be a miserable fucking place filled with toxic pesticides that are slowly killing me.

Some ancoms will no doubt unironically reply to this piece with reasoning that just amounts to "no, actually, anarcho-communist industry will be a utopia because Kropotkin said so". They’ll quote a bunch of literature to me that is nothing but empty promises by long-dead European philosophers for industrial egalitarianism. I’ve really run out of patience for that line of thinking. It’s no different than a 7 year old trying to win an argument by insisting “because my dad said so”... But when it comes down to it, that’s all most reds can do. Quote their heroes and cling to the hope that they’ll be proven right some day. That hope is what keeps them going as their miserable civilized lives burn the world up. “All our suffering will end once we have democracy in the workplace”. Those poor, deluded, hope-filled souls.

Everything I know tells me industry cannot be made "green" any more than capitalism can be made ethical. All agricultural industrial society in history has resulted in ecocide and eventually collapse. When you extract resources, burn fuel, manufacture goods and distribute them to millions or billions of people, you do real irreversible harm to ecosystems and human lives. Ancoms are not magical beings that can somehow escape the consequences of this because they're supposedly "good" and “egalitarian”.

If anarcho-communism were ever attempted, half the "nuances" it has will be thrown out for being fantastic, half-baked and impossible to implement in an industrial mass-society. Compromises will be made to make the system functional. A lot of things have been claimed about communism, but whenever its been attempted in real life models, almost none of those claims have come to fruition and they never will because:

a) Resources aren't infinite.

b) Industrial output has a high 'hidden' cost, and most importantly:

c) Work isn't voluntary.

No matter how much you swear you’ll make labor democratic, no one is working because they really want to. They’re working because the system requires them to work to survive. No amount of democracy will stop the system from asserting its authority on everyone inside its suffocating walls. Abolishing the borders between territories will do nothing if industrial civilization continues to box us in and starve us if we dare to resist its rule. If we can’t escape civilization, the whole world is nothing more than one big prison.

Civilized people labor to create consumer goods because the system gives them no other option if they want to survive. The only way people will continue to toil in the factories and warehouses in "a communist society" is if they are forced to by the system. No free hunter gatherer will voluntarily give up their freedom to stand at an assembly line pushing buttons so other people can have Corn Flakes, weedkiller and AAA batteries. It's something that needs to be forced on humans by domestication and the joined threat of violence and starvation that props up the industrial system.

Industry is a clear authority and anarcho-communist theory is completely oblivious to that. Anarcho-communism is nothing more than an attempt to reform the tyranny of civilization to give it a sly smile. It’s the anarchist version of Barack Obama promising change but just delivering more of the same and expecting you to celebrate it.

Seize the Means of Destruction! (And fucking burn it to the ground…)

Ancoms insist “people would choose to produce only what is needed” in an anarcho-communist society. That word; "needed" is really useless. Anyone can define anything as being "needed", but almost none of the things defined as such are actually needed. This is why industrial communism isn't really compatible with anarchy: anything and everything will be defined as "needed" by domesticated people, no matter how authority-forming the things are. If it means they get to keep consuming, anarcho-consumers would happily define everything from pesticides to slaughterhouses to automobile plants as “needed”. This is the power of democracy. Whatever narrative the collective adopts becomes the official, approved narrative and anyone questioning it will be seen as subversive and dangerous and a threat to order and common decency.

This "needed industry" argument is a lot like the "justified authority" argument a lot of red “anarchists” keep making to uphold every shitty authority they cling to all the way up to the state, prisons and the police.

Usually they’ll just rename these authorities “the commune”, “the social re-integration facility” and “the peacekeepers” and be satisfied that they’ve come up with a real change. It's meaningless. Domesticated people will not allow themselves to see past the carefully manufactured alienating world they’ve inherited. Very few civilized people are willing to risk losing what they perceive as the great comforts imbibed to them by industrial civilization.

Even if they recognize how strangling these “comforts” actually are to them and everything else on the planet, instead of rejecting them outright, they draw up elaborate plans to reform the way those “comforts” are produced and dispersed. Most of these plans, when deconstructed and debullshitted, ultimately amount to little more than slapping the word “anarcho” in front of everything and trusting it’ll be all good because it’s anarchized now.

People thrived without industry and agriculture for millennia. Civilization has led to the extinction of near everything on the planet. 99.9% of industrial goods are not "needed" by humanity, they're wanted.

Ancoms aren't going to suddenly decide to give up their phones, Doritos and washing machines when they find out they're environmentally destructive. They'll just rubber-stamp all the things they want as "needed", “eco-friendly”, “sustainable” or “green” and call it a day. And we’ll be expected to keep working our miserable jobs and like it because now they’re anarcho-jobs in an anarcho-society with anarcho-exploitation and anarcho-masters.

Keeping people in the mines and factories building those consumer goods that "the people" decide they "need" will require massive authority that will be just another iteration of capitalism in all but name. Just like “communist” Russia and “communist” China and “communist” North Korea. Not a trace of communism will survive once industrial civilization is done grinding everything up. There’s nothing about “anarcho-communism” that will spare it from the same fate. Claiming to be anti-authority rings hollow when you cling to authoritarian industrial civilization, workerism and all the other authorities ancoms at large decide are “justified”.

A bureaucracy will always be instilled in an organized mass-society and this is why industrial communism isn't tenable. It’s why every time industrial communism has been attempted, it has simply been manifested as a perverse collective-capitalism with even more centralized power than regular-flavor capitalism. The bureaucracy will quickly morph into a state, and by definition the society will no longer be communist. But of course, it’ll keep calling itself “communist” and ensure the distinction between capitalism and communism remains paper-thin so people won’t be able to envision a better world than the brutal industrial wasteland we’ve all been born into.

Any system that allocates resources and polices people is functionally a state, regardless of what it brands itself as.

All implementations of industrial society have failed to liberate people, instead making their lives more and more miserable with each stage of industrialism, and to claim that attaching “anarcho” to the front of an industrial system will make a difference is absolutely fucking ridiculous.

Communism has never succeeded at liberating us historically and will not suddenly succeed just because you promise you’re better than other communists and you and all your super-libertarian ancom comrades will pick up cans of paint and make all the chimney stacks bright green.

Authoritarian behavior will only ever be repeated if society is structured around authoritarian institutions like industrialism and democracy. Both Marx and Kropotkin’s communism are centred around these institutions because their ideologies require that people be controlled by bureaucracy. Whether it be decentralized democratic bureaucracy or centralized party bureaucracy is irrelevant. The result is the same: Authority and control.

Without this bureaucracy, the society would descend into anarchy. Yes, wonderful, amazing, freeing anarchy. The very thing every red fears most because it would mean they’d no longer get to forcibly structure society and people around their sacred ideology and force their authority and morality on them. Domesticated people sit trapped in sterile little boxes, fed a steady drip of pesticide and high-fructose corn syrup as they labor, consume, consume, consume and then die.

This isn’t life. This isn’t anarchy. This is a waking nightmare, a depraved hell-world that has all of us thoroughly brainwashed into thinking it acceptable. Branding it “communist” or “libertarian socialist” or “democratic” or “egalitarian” or “decentralized” or “anarcho-communist” will not end the nightmare. It will not stop the planet-wide ecocide civilization has wrought on all living things. The means of destruction being controlled by industrial workers instead of industrial bosses will not stop the ecocide.

Seizing the factories and making them democratically managed as all reds yearn to do won’t do anything to save us from violence, misery, alienation and eventual extinction.

The only way to destroy authority is to burn industry to the ground before it devours every last lifeform on the planet.

The only chance we have to survive what’s coming in the next few years as our ecosystems are collapsing all around us is to tear down every factory and close every port and slice up every road until civilization is in ruins.

But in all honesty, we’re not going to do that. We’re going to watch television and sip iced tea and we’re going to wait for the end. I’m going to keep watching in silence as the local bread man fells the last remaining wilderness.

Maybe the planet will recover somewhat in a few millennia and maybe the next lifeform that evolves will have more sense than the desertmakers. This is the last hope I cling to.

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incorrectlumityquotes · 3 years

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FULL REVIEWS: “Adventures in the Elements”

So you guys already know the whole story of how the episode aired in another country and all that jazz and I’ll be honest I’m totally one of those people who decided to watch it anyway.

It was an Amity episode! The temptation was too great.

I’m going to do a fave five episode list after I’m done with these reviews so I don’t want to spoil it but this episode is probably going to be number one or two. I almost didn’t have to watch the episode to review. That’s how often I’ve watched this one.

I’ve already said how much I love the cold openings for this show. Not only do they set up the start of the plot, but they also have some of the best jokes in the episode.

“Hey, freeloaders!” If I ever have kids, that’s how I’ll greet them whenever I enter a room.

Luz is excited to start Hexside but Eda is more excited about her latest batch of human garbage. She dreaming of all the cool things she’ll get to do until she remembers that she has to meet Amity to get her Azura book back. Nice of Luz to lend her the book for four or five episodes. Big brain no count right now.

Luz meets up with Amity and we get the best kind of prize: a surprise. The twins are back! According to Amity, they’ve been trying to make up for what happened in Lost in Language. It’s good to know that the twins know the difference between humiliating your sister and almost getting her killed. Hooray for values I guess.

Another reason I really like this scene is because we get to see Amity really try her best to be friendly to Luz. She’s been antagonistic in every previous episode, so this is the first time we see her try to be friendly to Luz. We get to see Friendly Amity and Friendly Amity is more...protective than I expected her to be.

“Edric, Emira! Stop bothering her.”

Her raised brow and tone of voice also tells me that she was NOT expecting Luz to enroll in Hexside for the next semester. She’s really putting effort to be nice and helpful to Luz. I don’t think I’m wording it right, but I hope you get what I mean. Since Luz made the first move to making their relationship better Amity feels like she would do the same. Sorry, baby girl but that’s a slippery slope that you’re about to slide off in a few episodes. ;)

Amity the one who has to tell Luz that classes at her level require a placement exam and mastery of two spells and Luz remembers that we haven’t done a lot of magic learning in a show about learning magic.

Luz confronts Eda about it, but Eda doesn’t really care until Luz takes advantage of her pride. Eda decides it’s time for magic boot camp and that idea sets off King’s B-plot. Eda takes Luz to The Knee!

So powerful, it defeated John Cena. See if you were a wrestling fan you would have found that hilarious.

According to Eda, early witches came to the knee to develop their magic due to its strong natural magical energy. It’s times like this that remind you that everyone is living on a giant corpse. For kids!

But they’re not alone. The Slitherbeast also lives in the knee, but it won’t mess with you until the third act. And there’s also...

“I’m trying to beat Ed and Em’s highest score on the exam.”

We get more insight into Amity and the Twins. Even though we saw that in Lost in Language the twins were troublemakers who cut class, Amity still has to train to match their score. So Amity has to really work hard to get to the top while the twins (who before this had always given Amity a hard time) are naturally very talented. This actually explains so much about Amity’s freak-out back in Covention. I’m guessing that Amity doesn’t think that’s fair but it’s the hand she’s stuck with.

Luz continues to use the laziest plot device in all of fiction and lies about knowing powerful spells. Luz sees Amity training with a cool wand and Eda does this:

Even the twins have concerns.

Eda’s training does remind me of some philosophy I’ve been studying. What I took from the scene is that Eda does believe that magic should be wild and natural. It’s why she tells Luz to study rocks and eat snow (stay AWAY from the yellow snow). She’s trying to tell Luz that magic comes from the island. It comes from nature. Like The Force from STAR WARS. It flows freely from nature; that’s why she calls it wild magic.

Eda definitely prefers it over using Amity’s “wack training wand.” She probably sees things like that and The Emperor’s coven system as ridged, manufactured and other words that mean fake. Even the wand looks like it’s battery powered.

Luz, however, is still an impatient kid. She wants to listen to Eda, but her lessons seem odd and Amity’s training looks more like what she was expecting. So Luz pulls another lazy plot device that I’m surprised they don’t more in a show with Eda in it: stealing.

Meanwhile in the B-plot, King wants to do his own boot camp but has no one to do it with. Except Hooty but he says nuts to that noise. King uses Eda’s potion to bring the toys to life. Unfortunately for him, King gets more Chucky than Toy Story.

Luz steals Amity’s book and training wand and can do magic! Eda catches her and they get into a little argument before Luz launches a fireball and hits the only other creature that has been introduced on The Knee. What are the odds?

The Slitherbeast gets so pissed he grabs Eda and the twins. Amity decides to try to go help them and traps Luz in a barrier.

“You’ll only get hurt.”

Amity is angry with Luz for taking her stuff and putting her siblings in danger, but she’s still putting the effort to be nicer to Luz. Even so this is were we first see the seeds of her crush. It’s not a full blown crush yet but there is a change in her behavior. It’s starting but it’s so small even Amity hasn’t noticed yet.

The B-plot has some of my favorite Hooty moments that really made me laugh out loud.

Back to the main plot (that I don’t have shots of. Come on, Owl House wikia) Luz is stuck in the barrier Amity put up an notices that the stars make the shape of the light glyph. Luz figures out that magic in The Boiling Isles comes from nature because here magic is nature. Since magic can not come from her, it has to come from the island. Even the snowflakes are all tiny individual ice glyphs.

Luz uses her newfound knowledge with Amity to free Eda and the twins and put the Slitherbeast to sleep.

And the episode ending is just...just great.

“I’ll be haunted by my actions forever. Hoot.”

FINAL SCORE: 5 - Loved it.

This is my favorite episode so far. I really want to finish watching all the other episodes before I decide if this is my favorite ever but it’s up there. Like top three. We get worldbuilding, character building, jokes, lore, Amity, Hooty, Twins. It’s fun and meaningful. The revelation that magic comes from the island is something that I know is going to mean a lot to the main plot later but we’ll have to wait and see.

The B-plot here is one of my favorites because I just love Hooty and his weirdness. Every choice they make with him is hilarious. And after this we really get into the lumity zone. Stick around.

#the owl house #my works #full review #full reviews

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kipscorner · 3 years

Text

Headernotes:

- THIS IS A LONG POST! - Anything in Parenthesis, feel free to change or remove - Feel free to change pronouns to match - Thank you for reblogging and using! <3

“(Name), can you explain again what we're doing?”

We're kicking off our fun, old-fashioned family Christmas by heading out into the country in the old front-wheel drive sleigh...to embrace the majesty of the winter landscape...and select that most important of Christmas symbols.”

“We're not driving all the way here so you can get one of those stupid ties with the Santa Clauses on it, are we?”

“Some jackass is riding my tail.”

“(Name)! Don't provoke them!”

“Burn some dust here. Eat my rubber.”

“Eat my road grit, liver lips!”

“(Name), stop it! I don't want to spend the holidays dead!”

“Will you just take it easy, (Name)? I'm in complete control.”

“(Name), we're stuck under a truck!”

“Do you think I don't know that?”

“For Christ sake, I didn't do this on purpose!”

“My toes are numb.”

“I can't feel my leg.”

“(Name), that thing wouldn't fit in our yard.”

“It's not going in our yard, (Name). It's going in our living room.”

“She'll see it later, (Name). Her eyes are frozen.”

“Hey, (Name)! Where do you think you're gonna put a tree that big?”

“You've got a lot of nerve talking to me like that.”

“I wasn't talking to you.”

“It looks great. A little full. A lot of sap.”

“Did I tell you I talked to my mother?”

“They've decided they're coming for Christmas too.”

“You're forgetting how difficult it's gonna be having everybody in the house.”

“(Name), they're family. They're not strangers off the street.”

“Yeah. And about my mother accusing your mother of buying cheap hot dogs. And your mother accusing my mother of waxing her upper lip.”

“I want to have Christmas here in our house. It means a lot to me. All my life I've wanted to have a big family Christmas.”

“The question is, what will you do with that bonus? Gonna blow it on yourself, I hope.”

“Oh, my God, you're putting in a pool.”

“Layman's terms. None of that inside bullshit jargon nobody understands.”

“Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas. Kiss my ass. Kiss his ass. Kiss your ass.Happy Hanukkah.”

“Wouldn't be the Christmas shopping season if stores were less hooter--Hotter than they are.”

“You have your coat on.”

“There is a nip in the air though.”

“Can I take something out for you?”

“'Tis the season to be merry.”

“Folks! Folks! Folks! Merry Christmas!”

“Look at how big you've gotten!”

“They're not sleeping in my room. I'm gonna go crazy.”

“We're gonna have the best-looking house in town.”

“Come on, unravel these. You have to check every bulb. Got a little knot here. You work on that. I'll get the other box.”

“Would it be indecent to ask the grandparents to stay at a hotel?”

“We're all making sacrifices, (Name).”

“Well, I don't know what to say except it's Christmas and we're all in misery.”

“And why is the carpet all wet, (Name)?”

I don't know, (Name)!”

“I hope nobody I know drives by and sees me standing in the yard, staring at the house in my pajamas.”

“Talk about pissing your money away.”

“Let's get in where it's warm.”

“Now, look, if you need any help...give me a holler. I'll be asleep.”

“Where the hell is that cold coming from?”

“I want to take off these clothes, sit with a glass of wine and kiss your body.”

“Are you out here for a reason, or are you just avoiding the family?”

“Do you honestly think I would check thousands of lights if the extension cord wasn't plugged in?”

“You deserve a home like this to spend Christmas in.”

“You taught me everything I know about exterior illumination.”

“I hope this adds to your enjoyment of the holidays.”

“You got a kiss for me?”

“Better take a rain check on that. (pronouns) got a lip fungus they ain't identified yet.”

“We named him that because he's got this sinus condition.”

“You pet him and he'll love you till the day you die.”

“If I woke up with my head sewn to the carpet, I wouldn't be more surprised then I am right now.”

“After that long drive, we could use a little private time together.”

“(Name), help me get some hot chocolate. It's cold.”

“A little tree water ain't gonna hurt him. Before we left, he drank a half a quart of Pennzoil. Boy, when he lifted his leg the next morning…”

“It's a crying shame the older kids couldn't make it.”

“She's got these big horns growing right out above her ears. Yeah, she's ugly as sin, but a sweet gal. And a hell of a good cook.”

“Can I refill your eggnog? Get you something to eat? Drive you out to nowhere and leave you for dead?”

“Oh, that there? That's an RV.”

“Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm in the middle of an important call. Get me somebody. Anybody. And get me somebody while I wait.”

“We're gonna fly down the hill with this stuff.”

“You know that metal plate in my head? I had to have it replaced because every time (Name) revved up the microwave...I'd piss my pants and forget who I was for a half-hour or so.”

“Nothing like waiting till the last minute, huh?”

“What are you doing up, sweetheart?”

“You shouldn't use that word.”

“I don't think he should be nervous and you shouldn't be either. Because if you're good, Santa knows it. If you believe in him and you believe in your mom and you believe in your...Your dad. If you've been good all year round, Santa is gonna bring you something.”

“Well, I happen to know for a fact that Santa Claus is real. And in the next couple of days… somehow I'm gonna prove it to you.”

“It's good you came to stay with us.”

“I think you'd better go back to bed now.”

“Aren't you having any breakfast?”

“Oh, the silent majesty of a winter's morn. The clean, cool chill of the holiday air.

And an asshole in his bathrobe emptying a chemical toilet into my sewer.”

“It's a sewer. If it fills with gas, I pity the person who lights a match near it.”

“Merry Christmas. Shitter was full!”

“In seven years he couldn't find a job?”

“(Name) and I want to help you give the kids a nice Christmas.”

“This isn't charity. It's family.”

“If you don't tell me what they want, I'll go out and get it on my own.”

“Is your house on fire, (Name)?”

“No, those are Christmas lights.”

“Don't throw me down, (Name).”

“Oh, that was fun. I love riding in cars.”

“Oh, dear. Did I break wind?”

“You shouldn't have brought presents.”

“This box is meowing.”

“(Name)? (pronoun) passed away 30 years ago.”

“They want you to say grace. The blessing!”

“I told you we put it in too early.”

“I heard on the news that a pilot spotted Santa's sled on its way from New York.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, (Name)?”

“If he keeps it up, it will be his last Christmas.”

“Look what you've done to my tree!”

“It was an ugly tree, anyway.”

“I'm sorry if I've been a little short with everyone lately.”

“...I didn't have enough in my account to cover the check.”

“I can't swim, (Name).”

“(Name), that's the gift that keeps on giving the whole year.”

“If this isn't the biggest punch in the face I ever got. Goddamn it!”

“I wanna look him straight in the eye and tell him what a cheap, lying, no good, rotten, four-flushing low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed ignorant, bloodsucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless ignorant, bloodsucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless heartless, fat-assed, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is! Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where's the Tylenol?”

“He's got that crazed look in his eye.”

“Turn that thing off and get in the house!”

“Aren't you a bit sorry we didn't get a Christmas tree?”

“Well, where you gonna find a tree at this hour on Christmas Eve?”

“Could you just keep it in mind the next time you go berserk?”

“I didn't go berserk. I simply solved a problem.”

“You couldn't hear a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerin plant.”

“I'm gonna catch it in the coat and smack it with the hammer.”

“I'm going in with him.”

“You just march right over there and slug that creep in the face.”

“I can't just attack someone.”

“Where do you think you're going? Nobody's leaving. Nobody's walking out on this family Christmas. No, no. We're all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm

holiday emergency here.”

“We're gonna press on, and we're gonna have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fuckin’ Kaye.”

“And when Santa squeezes his ass down that chimney tonight he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nut house.”

“Worse? How could they get any worse? Take a look around you, (Name). We're at the threshold of hell!”

“You losing your temper with the whole family only makes things worse.”

“Are you gonna recite The Night Before Christmas?”

“No. It's your house. It's your Christmas.”

“You about ready to do some kissing?”

“I'm sorry. This is our family's first kidnapping.”

“I'll be more than happy to take the rap on this.”

“If you wanna come in, you are gonna have to break down the goddamn door!”

“Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!”

“I did something I shouldn't have, and these people called me on it.”

“It's Santa Claus!”

“She thinks she sees Santa.”

“No, it's the Christmas star. And that's all that matters tonight. Not bonuses or gifts or turkeys or trees. See, kids...it means something different to everybody. Now I know what it means to me.”

“That ain't the frigging Christmas star. It's a light on the sewage treatment plant.”

“Merry Christmas, honey.”

#Christmas Meme #christmas inbox meme #christmas vacation #national lampoons christmas vacation #sentence starters

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passivenovember · 3 years

Text

If Snow Loves the Trees and Fields.

Billy's job at Willowbrook Elementary is the only reason he puts up with this weather at all.

His hatred for winter, a season which hardly existed when he taught in the Valley, morphs and becomes something violent on the first Monday after Christmas break.

He wakes up feeling like his toes have gone missing, frozen black and blue with the cold, and after his phone tells him it's below zero outside, with wind-chill, his heart stops beating.

Hawkins is -10 degrees, to be precise.

And it leaves him feeling like that's gotta be illegal, or. He could for sure call all the scientists on Earth and have a law passed that clarifies: those born and raised in a Southern climate get a free pass on days when Hell is actively freezing over.

But it's not snowing today. And all the ice on the street has been scraped into terrible, disgusting drifts that block his driveway, and Hopper would immediately call bullshit. All, gonna have to suck it up if you wanna live here, buttercup.

So Billy decides to be an adult, or whatever. He spends another five minutes on his phone definitely not stalking his ex Instagram before rolling out of bed to get dressed.

And, like.

Even his underwear drawer is stiff from the cold so Billy decides to bundle the fuck up--a trick he learned from Max last fall, during the coldest year Indiana had ever seen. He manages to stack five layers in total; one pretty pink thermal set just brushing his his skin and a button down shirt to stave off the goosebumps. A sweater and jeans for professionalism. One Grateful Dead hoodie, because it makes him feel like he's not a total sell out, and a thick winter coat, sent special from the snow capped mountains of California this Christmas.

It still smells like his mom's pikake lei perfume.

Billy tries not to think about that, of home, on a day when he'd give his left nut for a ray of sunshine.

Instead, he spends ten minutes filling his thermos with coffee. Boiling the rice milk more than once so it'll stay warm on the ride across town. He sticks his pinky under the lip after his third go, and fuck that shit is so hot it will burn his mouth tomorrow, before checking the weather app again for closures.

Hoping against hope that something has changed in the last five minutes.

Of course, nothing has.

The superintendent believes that everyone in Hawkins is somehow used to temperatures that makes their eyelids freeze shut in the thirty second walk to the car in the morning. Billy jams a knit cap on his head and seriously considers calling in.

A last ditch effort to quell the rising fury in his veins, that like.

He's gonna have to scrape his windows, and freeze his dick off, and deal with the neighbor.

The one who looks like he doesn't mind the cold so much because he carries the sun with him, fucking asshole.

People shouldn't be wandering the streets when their eyelids could freeze shut, right?

Billy checks his phone one more time, frowning at a text from Joyce to pick up some coffee on your way in, and tosses his bag over his shoulder before he can change his mind.

It's so much worse than expected.

Billy's lungs seize up on his second intake of fresh air because no one should be huffing sulfur or gaseous ice or whatever the fuck this shit is first thing in the morning. On a Monday. The first one after Christmas break, and.

"God damn, holy shit, holy shit," Billy bounces the whole way to the Camaro, breath coming in short, comical bursts of steam that make his nose run. He swipes dramatically at his face, struggling to get his keys into the lock while balancing his thermos on one arm and his messenger bag on the other.

Billy's in the middle of forcing the door open, its hinges are frozen solid with ice goddammit, when Steve fucking Harrington appears like a cloud on the wind.

"Howdy neighbor," Steve says. Like they're cowboys in a shitty film from the 1970s. The wind kicks a lock of brown hair into Harrington's face and he shivers. "Wow, it's really blowing out here, huh?"

Midwesterner's love doing that.

Pointing out the obvious.

Billy grumbles a response, flinging his car door open and jamming the keys into the ignition.

Steve's saying something.

Talking like always, about his cat or maybe the beer they keep saying they'll have together, and generally Billy puts up with it but not today. He isn't going to freeze to death for a pair of legs.

The Camaro roars to life, clearly pissed at having to work on such a disgusting day, and. Alright. Letting your car "warm up," is something so Midwestern Billy can't even talk about it.

It takes him all of two minutes to scrape his windows, electing to carve holes in each wall of ice rather than clear the whole thing. The metal handle of the scraper Max got him feels like the ninth circle of hell against the peachy skin of his fingers.

He should've bought some mittens.

Joyce is always saying he needs mittens, he should've asked for some--

Billy tosses the scraper into his back seat and climbs in, slamming the door shut behind him and cranking the heat up to high. Steve's watching from next to the fence in a fucking pea coat, and a scarf with care bears on it and.

Nothing else.

Fucking asshole.

Steve waves at him, like; hey I'm talking to you. Frantically, like the mouse Mr. Bane caught last week is important.

But Billy's too busy trying to back out of the driveway with five layers of shit restricting his movement. He cranks the music up and cautiously pulls onto the street. Nice and smooth like he's seen Steve do effortlessly, even with three inches of ice on the ground. Fucking asshole.

Billy makes it halfway before he hits something.

The wind kicks hair into his face as he assesses the damage.

"You should've scraped your driveway last night." Steve says helpfully.

He's got a cigarette hanging from his lips, stark in contrast to the weird home made scarf he's got folded around his neck. Billy tries not to think about Steve's lips as he makes his way to the back of the Camaro to see that, yup.

Of course.

His baby is stuck in the snow. Billy kicks the tire. Like that'll fix anything.

"That's not gonna fix anything." Steve says, leaning against the fence.

"Jesus, fuck. I know, Steve." Billy scrubs a hand across his face, gesturing to the Care Bear scarf. "Why the hell are you wearing that thing, you look like a fruit."

"I am a fruit."

"Well you look like the whole goddamn bowl, pretty boy." Billy digs around for a cigarette. "My kindergarteners don't even fuck with the Care Bears enough to own scarves." Billy squints, assessing Steve from head to toe, delighting in the awkward squirm of his limbs. He clicks his tongue, disappointed. "Couldn't look any fruiter if you tried."

Steve shrugs his shoulders, like. Don't yell at me, this isn't my fault.

And okay.

He's cute.

Billy gets struck by that every time he sees the guy, all over again, like. His profile is perfect. Sharp nose, pretty eyes. Thick lips.

Steve holds out a cigarette.

Billy takes it.

"One of my residents made it for me. He's learning how to flat pattern." Harrington says shyly. "Well, he made it for his grand daughter, but. It turned out worse than he expected so I offered to take it."

Billy squints. "The fuck does that mean?"

"Just means I was trying to be nice--"

"No, the." Billy grins in spite of himself. "The flat patterning, what's that?"

Steve shrugs again. "I'm not sure, I think it's like. A sewing term. Or something." A pretty blush the color of Steve's scarf spreads across the bridge of his nose. It looks like strawberry ice cream and Billy.

Has to look away.

"My mom sews," Billy says gruffy. "I've never heard her say that."

"Well, maybe she drapes?"

Billy squints again. "What?"

"Draping. That's another thing people do--"

Billy stamps the cigarette out and kicks his tire again. Steve jolts, like. Billy tried to kick him or something, which just makes the situation worse.

"God, they should've cancelled classes." Billy states. Well, screams, to no one in particular. "Who wants to go to work in the snow, who fucking. Likes this white bullshit?"

Steve leans against the fence and looks thoughtful. "I love the snow."

"You're not helping."

"You asked."

"No, I didn't." Billy shoots back. He digs his cellphone out and shakes his head. "Why are you still here, Harrington? Don't you have old people to take care of?"

Steve chuckles again. Light, like Christmas bells. "Don't you have screaming brats to teach?"

"My car's kinda stuck in the snow, you fucking dick." Billy's so focused on trying to order a lyft that he doesn't waste time on pleasantries. He expects that to be the end of it, when the wind picks up and he swears again, but. Steve just moves closer.

"Let me drive you." Steve says.

And.

The moment sort of hangs there.

In the two years that Billy's lived next to the guy, they've never hung out. Never house sat for each other, never spoken outside the occasional could you make sure your idiot friends don't block my driveway, and empty promises to grab a beer sometime.

So the offer catches him off guard.

Billy glances up from his phone, confused, to find Steve looking everywhere but at him. Harrington's shifting his weight, like. He's fucking nervous, or something.

Or maybe hoping Billy will say no because he's just being polite.

Billy glares.

Of course he's just being neighborly. Charitable. That's what Midwestern assholes do.

Billy waves his phone in the air, like, "I'm ordering a lyft." And it comes out sharper. More aggressive than he means it too, but Steve doesn't seem to notice.

"Just ride with me, it's on the way."

Billy points at the screen. "Jason will be here in ten minutes."

"What's Jason got that I don't have?" Harington quips, and.

Billy just wants shit to go back to normal. He shakes his head again, "Nah, 's okay, pretty boy. Thanks anyway." Before turning back to his phone like he's got important shit to worry about.

Steve stands.

Stares.

Waits, for longer than is necessary, before clearing his throat. "Okay, well. Happy first day back." He says.

And if Billy didn’t know any better he'd say Steve sounds almost.

Disappointed.

When Billy gets off of work that night the snow is gone from his driveway.

Billy still has bad days.

They always start before dawn. With the claws of his nightmare leaving scratches down the lining of his throat. It's like Billy's carrying an anchor around his neck, or his veins are filled with playdough the color of the sun on those afternoons. He feels lazy and sluggish and like if someone looks at him for too long he'll break. Snap and crackle, like an open flame against fresh skin.

Billy still has bad days but they don't come unless he's been slipping for a while. Like forgetting to take his medication, or not writing his letter every night before bed.

The one to Neil, that his therapist says will help him work through the last of the road blocks that stand in the way of, "ultimate healing."

Billy used to think it was horseshit.

But Neil. Everything that happened, everything that still happens--when Billy goes home for Christmas, or when Susan calls and he can hear the slur of hate on the other end of the line--is standing in the way of something.

There are so many letters.

So much he wants to say.

Written on anything Billy can find, like. Napkins and the backs of take out menus--old drawings that the kids send home with him after Art class on Fridays.

The pages are kept in a binder.

His therapist says it's important to decorate the binder with, like. Stuff that makes him feel good. Words and phrases, stickers, pictures of the people he loves and drawings of all his favorite things. The folder is supposed to act as a visual reminder of the blanket of love that surrounds him, or something.

Melvalds only had brown folders when he went to pick his up, so.

The folder is brown. Disgusting.

And so far the only decorations he's been able to stomach are one of those fancy stickers from Redbubble that depicts his favorite episode of Daria, and a picture of him and Maxine with underwear on their heads.

Billy thinks it could be sad to some people.

That a poor, little abused boy only has two things in life that protect him from the shadow which falls with the setting sun, but it's the truth. Life is hard and fucked up. Billy has trouble letting people close, letting people in, so he sticks with the basics. The tried and true.

Maxine and his gravity bong.

Billy Hargrove is a simple man.

So it's two weeks after Steve shovels his driveway and Billy tells his therapist, like. "This fucking guy just. Did something nice for me."

And she clearly wonders what's wrong with him. "Did you say thank you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," Billy tries not to get defensive about shit these days, because. It's only a hop-skip-and a jump from defensiveness to downright aggression and Megan, his well meaning shrink, doesn't deserve that even on her most annoying days.

His leg bounces under the table, thwacking against its mahogany edge loud enough that Megan can hear it over the fucking phone, so she says, "Billy. Stop."

Because they have a deal about nervous ticks.

Billy is supposed to say his safe word when he starts to feel anxious, but.

He fucking hates that shit. Hates being babied. Hates feeling like he's a goddamn basket case that needs to be rooted in reality when his trauma rears its ugly head. Billy smiles, the whole thing falling flat against his face. "I'm stopping."

Megan sighs. "Why haven't you thanked Steve for his act of kindness?"

"Because, like." Billy's shaking his leg again. Softer this time; it's a secret. "How do I know he isn't trying to, fucking. Get information out of me. Or out me to the community, or. Make fun of the way I'm a grown man who can't shovel his own driveway after a snowstorm--"

"I think you're internalizing your fears, Billy."

"Yeah, no shit." He snaps. Billy feels bad for half a second but then she's giggling, like she always does, which makes him feel less like the big bad wolf and more like one of the three little pigs. The guy with the straw, maybe?

Billy sighs, scrubbing at his face. "What does that even mean?"

Megan makes a noise on the other end of the line, like. In the six months that Billy's been in therapy he should've learned this by now.

Dude's got a short attention span, sue him.

And, sure enough. "Twice a week we meet over the phone and you don't know that internalizing your fears means you're trying to write the ending to a story you haven't even read yet?"

"Like, uh," Billy says intelligently. "What's that shit you're always saying? About seeing a book on the shelf and--"

"Guessing the ending. Yup, that's right." Megan sounds pleased. Billy ignores the bloom of happiness in his chest, because like. He doesn't really deserve it. She doesn't give him time to dwell, though. "Steve did something nice for you. Maybe he has suspicious intent--"

Billy sucks in a breath, like.

Dramatic. Loud enough that Megan snorts and says, "Hold on, you're jumping to conclusions again."

Billy really fucking.

Hates how perceptive she can be.

Megan keeps talking and Billy listens, because he pays her after all. "If you're really worried that his intentions are cloudy, do something nice for him in return."

"Something nice," Billy repeats. Like he's never heard of such a concept. "Something nice, like. Buy him flowers?"

Megan snorts. "Do you want to buy him flowers?"

"No, why would you think that?"

"Because you--" His therapist sighs. Billy embraces the feeling it gives him, yanking her chain a little bit. "Listen. I don't know this Steve person, and I've never heard you talk about him beyond this beer you're supposed to have together, like. Never. But has he ever given you a reason to think he's out to hurt you?"

Billy thinks back over two years and a million one-dimensional interactions.

Steve never loses his temper.

Not when Billy calls to have the cars that block his driveway towed, not when Billy bitches about the daisy bushes shedding into his yard in the fall, and Steve always picks up Mr. Bane's cat shit from Billy's front porch when the Gremlin actually goes outside.

Always with a smile and a sweet little, I think Mr. B likes you.

And, like.

It was pretty nice of Steve to offer Billy a ride that morning.

And shovel his driveway after work, just because he knew Billy probably wouldn't do it.

The whole thing, it. Fills Billy with something he can't quite express, a warmth he only ever feels when Max calls a dozen times to remind him to eat dinner when he sends a few intense messages.

Megan takes his silence, as always, like a breakthrough.

"So," She says, clearly satisfied. "Same time next week?"

Billy spends three days waiting for Steve to make it easy for him.

Because Harrington's a home owner, and there's always something, right? A problem he needs help with, like. A leaky pipe that needs fixed, a cup of sugar for a recipe that he didn't account for, ghosts in the attic. Typical HOA bullshit.

Billy stares out his window at the lovely split level next door and decides he'll take anything, do anything, to get this fucking anchor of guilt off his back for the whole driveway situation. The opportunity never presents itself.

The ducks never fall in a row.

Steve just leaves the house every morning, same time as Billy, same as always, with a gentle Howdy neighbor. And a smile tugging at his pretty pink lips, hair perfect and windswept because he's a fucking asshole and it only takes two days.

Forty-eight hours before Billy's hatching a plan to pay Harrington back and inventing problems to solve, like some sort of demonic Bob the Builder.

He calls Max on Thursday and comes up with a list. Something tangible, like breaking Steve's garage window with a ski ball. Or trapping Mr. Bane in a sweater and pretending like he's gone missing so Steve will have to round up a search party, but.

Billy knows Megan would call that instigating, antagonizing, and causing trouble, which Billy's trying not to do anymore.

So he brings up flowers again, because.

Fuck it--maybe he's wanted to see Steve behind a bouquet of Lilies of the Valley for months now.

And Max goes all soft.

And quiet, too, before whispering, "I'm really proud of you, you know? For getting better."

Then suddenly Billy can't breathe because there's a lump in his throat.

Because he is trying to get better. To live honestly, to lead with love--whatever hippie-dippie bullshit Megan is always spoon feeding him, so.

With Max's blessing, Billy's about to, like. Knock on Steve's door with a plate of pot brownies and a shitty thanks for being a decent human card when Mr. Bane leaves a dead bird on Billy's porch, the third one in a month, and Billy hatches an idea.

Steve's front door is yellow.

Like. Sunshine yellow. Valley girl yellow.

Which Billy used to think was charming but now thinks is kind of annoying, when coupled with Steve's perpetually sunny disposition. And okay. Maybe it sort of pokes and prods at that piece of him that's always missing home.

Maybe it makes him a little bit sad, like. He'll never really feel at peace anywhere else.

But before Billy can dwell on it, or raise his fist to knock on the door, Steve's opening it and preparing to step through. He's using his foot to stop Mr. Bane from running out into the yard so he doesn't see Billy right away, which.

Also means he's going somewhere.

Which inherently means Billy's caught him at a bad time. Billy holds the paper bag closer to his chest and feels the words bubbling up before he can practice his breathing, or. Stop them. Because this is his third biggest fear after arguments and spiders.

"I've caught you at a bad time, I'm sorry, I'll just come back la--"

Steve breaks out into a grin so big. So bright, that it rivals anything Billy's ever seen before.

"Howdy, neighbor!" Steve says.

And Billy shifts nervously from one foot to the other, like. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, it's not a--"

"Because I can come back later." Billy nods, already turning on his heel to escape, and like. Fly into the sun. "Or not at all. I can just mail it to you, that's. Yeah, I'll just stick it in the post or something."

Steve grabs his elbow.

Billy looks at the hand on his elbow, and down at Steve’s feet. There aren’t any shoes or anything, so.

Billy's overreacting.

Fuck. He swallows, raising his eyes with caution to see Steve smiling again. Even wider than before, if that's possible.

Harrington licks his lips. "Whatcha got there?" He says, nodding to the bag, and Steve.

He's wearing glasses today.

Billy feels like someone hit him on the back of the head with a ski ball. Steve looks so soft, in white stripped overalls and a green sweater, that Billy doesn't know whether to fluff him like a pillow or fucking.

Punch him in the face.

Billy holds out the paper bag. "It's for you."

Steve looks at him strangely but he's still smiling, which.

Is good.

Billy thinks it's good but then he knows its good when Steve giggles. "I gathered that. What is it?"

"It's a, uh. You know." Billy tries. "You know one of those things? Where it's, like, a thing but you aren't supposed to know what it is?"

Steve blinks at him, cheeks turning pink like they always do. "A surprise?"

"That's the one." Billy snaps his fingers, like. Ah-ha. Except it isn't a surprise, it's just. "It's a way to say thanks. For the whole," Billy concludes, gesturing vaguely to their front lawns, to. "The driveway."

Steve blushes even harder. "You didn't have to get me a present--"

"It's not a present."

"That was just me trying to be nice." Steve leans against the door jam, eyes searching. "It doesn't call for a--"

"It's not a present." Billy says again. Steve doesn't look like he believes him, so Billy, like. Shoves the paper bag to his chest. "Look, open it now or don't. Fucking, throw it away for all I care, it's fine."

Billy turns on his heel because fuck this.

Fuck trying to pay back nice with nice and fuck Steve for starting this whole debacle to begin with. Billy makes it down one step and then Steve is laughing so hard he can't stand up straight.

Which just makes Billy feel worse, because.

"You're laughing." Billy gapes. "I bring you a present to say thanks for not being an asshole, and you're laughing."

Steve doesn't answer, he just.

Keeps on laughing, and okay.

This is Billy's third greatest fear. After abandonment and fighting. Fists covered in blood--his or someone else's, it doesn't matter. He frowns, turning to leave again when Steve straightens and coughs once into the palm of his hand.

"Thought it wasn't a present," Steve quips, and he's looking at Billy with, like. Sparkly eyes. He shrugs. "I'm not sure what it means."

Billy doesn't get it. "It doesn't have to mean anything--"

"No, like." Steve peers into the bag again, clearly holding back tears. "Why did you get me a bag of dead mice?"

"You can get them at the pet store." Billy says, because. You can, alright? He fiddles with the sleeves of his winter coat. "They're for Mr. Bane."

Steve just stares at him, eyes twinkling like two polished diamonds in his head.

And he's not saying anything, or. Laughing anymore, he's just. Watching Billy fall to pieces on his walkway as he tries to defend himself.

Billy focuses on the clouds that inch across the sky. "Mr. Bane, he's. He's always catching shit, like. Dead shit and leaving it on my porch. I just thought if he wants to eat dead things I can just. Buy him a pack or whatever. Like a normal person."

Steve grins. "You know they do that because they think you can't feed yourself."

Billy wrinkles his nose. "Well I fucking appreciate it, but I don't want to eat dead mice and birds and shit."

Steve chuckles once before staring again.

Like he's memorizing Billy's face, or like. They're having a competition that Billy doesn't know about.

Billy gestures to the bag again. "Would you just accept it, Steve? Please?"

Harrington looks down at the mice in his hands and nods slowly, like the decision is really requiring some thought.

Billy feels stupid.

This was so fucking stupid--

"Sure, Billy." Harrington says. Soft, and. Sweet. "No one's ever given me such a thoughtful gift before, so. Thank you."

And Billy feels like the tin man getting oil on his joints after a year of rusting in the forest, when Steve accepts his weird ass gesture. He nods, mouth lapsing into a thin, unamused line. "Okay, then. See ya 'round," Billy says.

And then he's turning, and.

Leaving.

Before Steve can say anything else.

The clouds inch like caterpillars across the bright winter sky and Steve's walkway seems so much longer on the journey home.

#harringrove #i'm sorry aaaaah #I wanted to post the first chapter here too #because I'm fucking proud of this one alright #and I feel like I need a little fluff #and maybe you need a lil fluff too #cmon man #let me fluff you like a pillow bro

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earthlyemily · 3 years

Text

I’m struggling so much financially and honestly just wanted to vent somewhere. I’ve always lived in poverty and I think in my whole life I’ve had maybe 2 years where I didn’t have to stress about money and not be able to buy groceries or pay rent or be put into collections for not being able to make payments etc and that was when I was in college. For at least the past 5 years I’ve been struggling but I never talk about it. I don’t even know where to start haha I don’t even know what it’s like to not stress financially and be in debt. I’ll just start with the first things that come to mind with what I’m owing maybe. So it’s Dec. 23 and rent was due yesterday because we moved into this small suite attached to someone’s house on Nov. 22. It’s $1200 which is so expensive, but also the average price for BC if not even cheaper for a one-bedroom with a yard, utilities included. and no first and last, no pet deposits, etc because this is just short them for 4 months until the end of March because i reached out and asked and they said yes.

After 1 month I already remember why we went into the trailer almost 2 years ago and it’s literally because we can’t afford any other lifestyle. I think that’s the difference between us and some people that live in trailers, vans, etc. like we lived in a mouse & mouse shit infested trailer for 6 months breathing in their feces and urine and having it all over all our belongings. i literally had to take my whole life to the dump and we officially have no food storage because they ruined it all. there were at least 50-60 mice because a few birth cycles happened in the ceiling. I could write a whole post about my experience of living with field mice, but now isn’t the time so for rent, i only had $600 yesterday so that’s what I gave them. thank goodness they were okay with me asking for a few more days to make the other half. but I don’t even know when that’s going to be :(

my etsy shop veganveins has been doing so bad lately for more than one reason, most of my orders are just postcards and stickers, and while I’m grateful for them, that $1-3 profit isn’t going to keep my business going. and it’s so hard for me to work lately. the wifi doesn’t work sometimes for hours and I always get distracted by shawn and the dogs working from home in a small space. I need to get better at my time management. I got up at 8:30 today which is actually early for me so I’m proud of myself. I’m chronically ill and I really need to go get a blood test and see what’s happening because I haven’t gotten one since being diagnosed with graves disease again 1.5 years ago. anyways. i switched to a print on demand method this year for veganveins for some shirts and sweaters because i couldn’t afford to keep ordering shirts in bulk, and it’s honestly been so, so expensive and i barely make any profit. I’m currently owing my t-shirt printer $999 on one invoice (it was originally $2196 so I’ve at least paid half of it) but that was 2 weeks ago and I still need to pay it. Mario, my t-shirt printer has been with me since I started veganveins and I’m so grateful he gives me extensions on paying the invoices. every other t-shirt printer I’ve ever asked has said no. in addition to the $999 there’s going to be another $2200 invoice I’ll be receiving this week for my last order. I think because of the holidays he’s going to give me some time to pay off that too, but the problem is when I have outstanding invoices he doesn’t print new orders for me. He’s closed now until Jan. 4 so I just need to somehow make that much before then.

btw I don’t have a credit card ($8500 all used on veganveins and it got put into collections last march) and I had a fully used $5000 line of credit but I got a debt consolidation loan for $16,000 1 month ago and my payment for that is $167 a month. it fully paid off and closed my credit card and line of credit + $3000 overdraft which is nice. but now I don’t have any extra money except for what comes in. my credit is only 640 which is really bad in canada so I won’t get approved for a new credit card or loan until I build that up, which is going to be a few months of regular payments. so for regular payments, the $167 for the loan is due on Dec. 27. Yesterday the trailer loan which is literally unliveable from what the mice did until we renovate it came out for $260, that’s how much I pay once a month for it on the 22nd. I didn’t have $260 in my account so it got rejected and I got charged a $48 NSF fee. omg if anyone is reading this long i’m shook. i’m genuinely just writing this for myself to process my feelings and in case anyone was curious about my financial situation here you go haha. maybe some of you can relate, maybe some can’t. anyways. so now I somehow have to get $260 in my account for that for when they try to take it out again in the next few days.

another payment that was supposed to come out yesterday but hasn’t, but I’m sure will come out today is our truck loan. they deferred it for 8 months because of covid which was so nice, but we started paying it again 2 months ago. for both those months I called and made my payment a later date and that helped, but there’s barely any service here so when I called 4 times yesterday to try and change the date the payment comes out, I was on hold for 20-30 mins then my phone would disconnect and hang up. so that’s $586 and it will come out today, I have $0.46 in my account right now so it will get rejected and I’ll get charged another $48 NSF fee. this is why being poor always costs more and the banks are always harsher on those who don’t have money. today I’ll try calling again to see if I can ask for it to come out on a different day like january 10 instead, so I can first have time to pay rent and the trailer and also our $190 truck insurance which got rejected from my account 3 days ago, which was another $48 NSF fee. oh and something else i’m so stressed about is CIBC is going to put me into collections on December 28 if I don’t pay $1000, $700 of which is purely their fees. I have a $300 overdraft which they said i have to cover by then and the $700 is literally their $48 fees added up over the past 3 months. I got a text from them today saying my account is over and it’s because an amnesty international $11 monthly donation came out and obvi there’s no money in there, so that’s another $48 they charged. they’ve already given me a month to pay it and don’t want to wait any longer :(

I owe everyone in my family money, my sister $1650, my mom $700 and my brother also lent me $700. none of my siblings have money either and my mom definitely doesn’t so I hate that i had to borrow that much, and it’s literally been months. thankfully they’re so patient but i can’t wait to not owe them that

omg and i can’t even think about the amount of money shawn’s grandma has lent us. she’s genuinely the only reason we haven’t been completely homeless. but it’s a lot. like i don’t even want to say the number on here. she let us use it from her line of credit over the years and we’ve been slowly paying her back, but she lets us go months at a time without making a payment which i honestly hate doing, but have no choice. i’ve felt a lot of shame and guilt about this, but I also know that she genuinely would rather help us than see us suffer.

so i’m gonna talk about a big reason I’m broke this month especially - saving a pig named buster. his rescue cost me $1850 out of pocket that I didn’t have. but otherwise he was going to be killed in 2 days, he was my baby and I loved him so I had to do it. I somehow made $1350 that went towards it but I’m still owing $500, which I just asked for an extension for today until the new year. i’m not really supposed to talk about it but everything I’ve ever posted here has stayed here, so that cost was literally just from me buying the pig off the farmer. myself along with everyone else ive talked to is disgusted that he charged that much, but he wasnt budging and if that’s what it was going to take, of course I’m going to do it. I wouldn’t think twice about doing it for my dogs and Buster was smarter and more affectionate than them. i love him and I’m so happy he was saved. a non-profit organization transported him to a sanctuary and it was my biggest wish come true and the happiest moment I’ve had all year. my eyes are literally tearing up haha i love him so much. i could write a whole post about his neglect but basically he hasn’t had fresh water in weeks, he was only being fed handfuls of mixed nuts, he was constantly dirty in a muddy enclosure with an electric fence that he was always getting shocked on. he never got true love or affection except for when I gave him it. i posted an instagram story about him and asked people to message me and that i needed help, 2 people donated $111 and $120 each, and 2 other people donated $15 and $12. Someone also e-transferred me $20. These 4 donations equaled almost $300 ($277) and I was so grateful for those people wanting to help me help buster. if anyone else wants to help me with the cost of his rescue i still do need help and would appreciate it so much. this feels really weird and vulnerable for me to do and i’m sorry if anyone is annoyed by this post, I just genuinely am struggling and figured if someone does have extra and wants to help, there isn’t harm in that. but i do feel guilty for asking because i know there are so many other people struggling out there that need even more help than i do :(

i haven’t talked about it publically but i guess I will now, this farmer that I bought buster off of is the owner of the organic vegetable farm i was living and working at this past spring and summer. we worked really hard all summer to be able to stay there and park for free in the winter, but this past fall he told us no one was allowed to stay at the farm anymore, including us, so we had to find a new place to bring our 14ft trailer in to live. so that was an unexpected bummer and if we had known we wouldn’t be allowed staying there anymore (despite doing the labour of $1200 a month for free harvesting organic kale, for an off-grid spot he told us was worth $350 a month to park) we wouldn’t have driven 8 hours with the trailer and we would have stayed in the snow in northern BC and sucked it up and lived on the land we got the opportunity to rent this fall. Donna, the woman who is renting the land to us has been the biggest blessing in my life this year. I love her so much. Basically, she’s letting us live on 170 acres for $600 a month. letting us do whatever we want on the land (building a cabin, setting up rainwater catchment systems, having a solar passive greenhouse and a huge garden) LIKE WHAT. we could even open a farm sanctuary if we had money, i wanted to so bad but obviously that dream didn’t even come close to being reality. opportunities like this literally don’t exist in canada, especially not in BC. i cant even process my gratitude, i cry everytime i think about it. when we go back in the spring it’s going to be the beginning of the rest of our life :) i want to rescue so many senior dogs. everything we’ve always wanted to do we’ll be able to do, assuming we have money haha. but i want to have an organic farm and grow veggies to donate to families in need, especially since we live on stolen indiginious land and I see how the goverment actively restricts their access to fresh healthy produce. but anyways by then it was too dangerous to drive 8 hours back hauling a trailer in the snow and it was just easier to stay in the okanagan until the spring. i know the farmer probably doesn’t realize this and he’s also probably struggling financially but not being able to stay at the farm for the winter months we worked for, and buying buster for that price is a big reason I’m in the financial stress I am now so I figured i’d talk about it.

anyways. i think this is long enough and i think anyone reading this gets the point, i’m drowning in debt, my small business is almost costing me more to run and i’m not making nearly enough profit to live, the past few months ive been living off grid (not by choice) and just focused literally on surviving and not freezing and getting water etc and not having service or internet has affected me negatively. there’s internet now in the suite I’m in, it works really good in the morning and not as well at night, like for example tumblr doesn’t work past 5 pm for me to post photos. but ive been in a bad sleep schedule since i got here that i need to change. im sick and i need to heal myself. tomorrow i’ll set my alarm for 7:30. hopefully i make some money today. i got a social media managing job and it will end up being $1000 a month once i do the 3+ hours a day of work which im already feeling like i barely have time for my own basic life tasks. but i can do this.

if anyone reading this wants to help me out a bit, my paypal email is [email protected] or http://www.paypal.com/paypalme/veganveins

and my e-transfer email is [email protected] i have auto deposit so you won’t have to ask a question :)

this is my first time in 7 years i’ve made a post like this or asked for help. i won’t do it again but figured i have nothing to lose. if you read up to here i love you a lot and thank you so much for being here <3

#personal #finances #broke #poor #vegan #small business owner #graves disease #saving animals #off grid #I wonder if anyone will even read this all #debt #life update lol #p

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wormstacheangel · 3 years

Note

Since your last post implied it I would love to know about your AU recommendations ❤ I am obsessed too!! Thanks in advance 🙏🏻

hello! I hope you don’t mind if I just make a basic list of some of the AU stories I have read or want to read. Not in any order I just went through my bookmarks on AO3 :) Also I need to read more...Under the cut because it got too long!

Angel's Wild (not gonna lie this is my favorite fic. I have read this almost a dozen times now)

Summary: But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels.

Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right?

That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.

Checked Out

Summary: Castiel Novak can think of many writers who would not be welcome under the roof of Heaven’s Gate library, where he is the librarian: Ayn Rand ranks highly (no explanation needed), as does Charles Dickens (he hasn’t forgiven Charles for the month he lost to The Pickwick Papers). And, of course, Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester, local author and obvious a-hole, who is entirely too handsome to be true and who is clearly totally lacking in profundity, intelligence, sincerity, and self-awareness. Unfortunately, though, Dean’s been invited to do a book signing at Heaven’s Gate - and Castiel’s about to be confronted by some unexpected feelings when he finally meets Dean for the first time.

A Ghost Story

Summary: Castiel Novak has haunted his family's estate for 150 years, awaiting the return of his lost love. Upon their reunion, Dean Winchester learns of his past reincarnation. After the night of Castiel's resurrection, the two try to find out why they've been given a second chance. The answers may be hidden in the forgotten memories of Dean's former life - but sometimes the truth is better left buried.

Patient Love

Summary: Castiel Novak is 27 when he suddenly loses his twin brother Jimmy, and his whole world turns to ashes. How do you deal with losing half of yourself when your whole life always revolved around the two of you, like yin and yang and black and white? How do you deal with a broken soul and old demons looming over you with no one to hold you back anymore?

After 10 years as a Navy Special Warfare Operator and more than a dozen deployments in both Afghanistan and Iraq, a battlefield injury forces 28-year-old Chief Petty Officer Dean Winchester to chose between being stuck behind a desk for the rest of his career or going back to civil life. When he learns about his friend Jimmy’s death, Dean makes his way back to Kansas with his heart in his throat and broken pieces at his feet.

Things are already complicated and painful enough as it is, but when former lovers Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak meet again after 10 years of radio silence and a galaxy of wounds and scars solidly standing between them, it feels like both a curse and a blessing has been placed on them both. Is there any hope in putting back their broken pieces together after a decade, and how do you deal with grief and broken dreams?

The Unbroken

Summary: Dean’s life had been made of running. He ran from a curse that had desolated his life ever since he was a child — whenever he got hurt, he turned into a goddamn human-torch, killing everyone around him — and he ran from himself and his own self-loathing.

But managing all that at the end of a world full of Croats lurking around every corner was easier said than done.

Until a mysterious man with tousled dark hair paired with blue eyes as clear as the sky during a hot summer’s day stopped him from free falling, literally. In one fell swoop, the stranger had not only saved his life but also calmed the wildfire threatening to burn everything in its wake.

There was something about Castiel that made Dean want to stop running but also hid something darker — something Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on. And between soft, pillowy lips and feather-like fingerprints, Cas could very well shatter Dean’s world and maybe help save the whole world in return.

While You Were Sleeping

Summary: A Destiel version of While You Were Sleeping! Castiel is alone and floundering. He has a crush on one of the passengers who passes through his subway station every morning. When the man gets pushed onto the tracks, Cas saves him. But when they get to the hospital there's a mix up and Cas finds himself engaged to a complete stranger. Enter, the rest of the family, including big brother Dean. How will Cas navigate the relationship with his supposed future in-laws? What will he do when Sam finally wakes up? And why can't he stop thinking about Dean?

Purgatory, director's cut

Summary: this doesn’t have a summary but it is dean and cas in purgatory and it’s soooo cool! I promise it’s amazing and worth the read!

Basic Lessons in First Aid, Magical or Otherwise

Summary: Most people probably wouldn’t take the naked, heavily wounded man they found in an alley home with them. Most people probably wouldn’t also offer that man a place to stay and become his best friend after realizing he’s suffering from an intense case of post-traumatic retrograde amnesia. Most people probably wouldn’t then risk almost everything they know to save said man, and maybe save the world in the process.

But then again, Dean Winchester, RN (with a specialty in supernatural care), has never been like most people. He may not have a magical bone in his body, unlike his brother Sam, but he’ll do whatever it takes to help. Even if Castiel has questionable opinions about Star Trek.

What Greater Gift

Summary: Story idea: The most wanted woman in town has announced that she’ll only marry the one who can open her front door with the key around her cat’s neck. Many men try to hunt the cat down, chase and trap it, but to no avail, the cat is simply too quick, smart and clever, and always finds a way to evade and avoid them. You are the first one to figure out the obvious: Do not chase the cat. The cat is befriendable. Get the cat to trust you, to genuinely enjoy your company, and you can hang out with the cat. You may eventually be allowed to touch the cat. The cat will freely let you take the key.

From a prompt found on Tumblr. Saw this and I couldn't resist a Destiel AU, and I've been wanting to write Witch!Cas for ages.

I know when you go down all your darkest roads

Summary: Dean and Castiel go undercover as a couple going through therapy, in order to catch a monster that specifically targets couples dealing with issues, feeding on their distress, anger, and pain.

They end up going through a lot more than a case, unfolding feelings left untold for so long, discovering parts of each other they never intended to uncover.

But will the feelings raging inside them be enough to bring their walls down?

A Fish Out of Water

Summary: To tie up the loose ends of a hunt, Dean is forced to go undercover and visit Brock Pleasure Ranch, a horrifying establishment that markets its inhabitants to people with ‘monstrous’ tastes.

It should have been a simple thing, to persuade a mer to give him a few scales for a spell. All part of the usual Winchester byline: saving people, hunting things.

But Castiel is far less of a ‘thing’ than Dean expected. He might not be human, but he’s definitely a person. And that means he needs saving, too.

The Way to a Man’s Heart is Through Chlamydia

Summary: Dean doesn't expect to see his one night stand again, but then again he also doesn't expect to find out he has an STD. Sometimes life is hilarious like that.

Just as lost as I

Summary: Dean's been in love with Castiel for centuries. He keeps it buried, never letting himself get too close, but when Castiel goes missing he doesn't hesitate. He's going to find him if it’s the last thing he ever does.

Love Bites

Summary: Cas Novak graduated with a 4.0 in Mathematics, but not even Naomi Novak’s money could help him at job interviews. Anxious and dissatisfied with life, at nearly thirty he’s still washing dishes in the back of his best friend Hannah’s café.Until one night when his cat drags an injured bat into his apartment.

Dean may be a vampire, but he’s not an asshole (well, not much.) He feels like he owes the awkward guy for rescuing him from the cat’s clutches, so he sets about changing Cas's life.

A silly story about families who aren’t quite what they seem, fake boyfriends, and falling in love with someone who’s never, technically, met you.

The Bad Cop, Worse Cop Adventures of Freckles and Feathers

Summary: Miami. A place with beaches, babes, palm trees, and a growing drug-fueled crime organization. To help combat the drugs littering the streets, Captain Singer puts together a Tactical Narcotics Team composed of Miami's two finest and fearless officers. Charming casanova Dean Winchester has fought tooth and nail, rising through the ranks for this position. Trench coat toting Castiel Novak knows more hand-to-hand combative techniques than he does people skills. Between Dean's big mouth and Castiel's take-no-shit attitude, their introductory meeting ends on a less than stellar note and a couple of hard to shake nicknames.

After six months of partnership, the nicknames have stuck and so has the sexual tension. When a murder in the middle of the night launches their biggest lead on a cleverly evasive drug lord, Dean is shocked to find Sam at the center of it. Sam comes clean with his involvement and Charlie, their witness, seeks revenge against the man responsible for killing her friend. As the stakes rise higher so do Dean’s feelings putting everything in jeopardy. Is a cop with everything to prove, a cop with everything to lose, one computer hacker witness, and a damn good ADA enough to save the day?

The Care and Feeding of Castiel

Summary: Dean’s quiet time in the bunker is interrupted by some stranger-than-usual behavior from his angel. Oh, and feathers...there are a lot of those, too.

First Gentleman Wanted

Summary: President of the United States Castiel Novak is popular, charismatic, and knee-deep in campaigning for a second term. He’d be the ideal candidate if it weren’t for the fact that he hasn’t dated once while in political office. With his opponent’s relentless PR team calling him incapable of emotional commitment, Castiel’s staff decides to remedy the situation by finding their boss a fake, picture-perfect boyfriend. And when Dean Winchester enters the scene, he and Cas become America’s new favorite couple, except they’ve got a whole lot of history between them and complicated feelings to resolve.

The Graveyard Shift

Summary: Dean’s favourite coffee shop, The Graveyard Shift, is only open after the sun goes down. Which is perfect for him, because that’s exactly when he craves coffee the most while doing the overnight at the fire hall. The coffee shop’s owner is pretty perfect too, but it’s kind of a bummer that Dean never gets to see Cas during the day. In a world where the supernatural live more or less in peace with the rest of humanity, it’s a little impolite to ask Cas just what he really is - or what his dark past entails.

The Path of Fireflies

Summary: After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years.

The Five People You Meet in Heaven

Summary: Heaven is white.Well. Isn’t that fucking stereotypical.-Dean isn’t really sure how he got here. Or even why he’s here. And hell, for all the times the Winchesters have died, he thinks he ought to know the drill by now. But what he doesn’t know is when most folks go, they find something different.

There’s a system God put in place. That when you’re gone (for good), there are a couple things you gotta do first. There are five people waiting for you.

They are the five people you meet in heaven.

Doing this made me realize I need to read more longer fics. I usually just read the short ficlets on tumblr but I need to broaden my horizon and read more. But yes! These are the AU’s currently in my bookmarks. Hope you find one to enjoy :)

#fic rec #answering the q's #lalisfandoms

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fondnesses · 3 years

Text

roscoe’s notebook post

A while back I said I was going to write a post about the way I use notebooks for writing projects. This is the first of several posts about Writing Process I’ve been tossing around in my drafts for a little while as a result of conversations with friends, so bear with me.

I. Love. Notebooks. I genuinely would have to deeply overhaul my whole Process of writing anything on the longer side if I were to go paperless; I find physical paper pretty invaluable when I’m outlining, brainstorming, and researching, and I still probably write ¼-⅓ of all my actual content on paper first. (That proportion used to be a lot higher, but I’ve gotten better at being productive on a computer in recent years, which is great.) I’m a very visual person, so notebooks really help me visualize my ideas, story structure, etc. It’s very helpful to be able to use arrows and diagrams and physically strike things through, and the tactility is really soothing to me. If I show people my notebooks or talk about them, I often get a response like “this is so organized”, which is sort of true, but I have to stress that it’s “organization for a disorganized mind”; I can’t misplace ideas or notes if it all goes into the same physical object, vs. electronic notes, which are much more, like “Did I say that in a voice memo? PM it to myself on Discord? Leave it in a desktop sticky note? Write it directly into the Google Doc? Who knows! It’s lost to time!”. It’s very much an ADHD management strategy.

It helps that I’m a very neophyte stationery hobbyist and appreciate any excuse I have to use my pens, but I also will go off at any opportunity about how helpful I find them for writing projects, which is why I decided to just make a post about it. Right now I mostly use them for (fan and original) fiction projects, but I used a notebook for a very similar purpose when I was working on my undergrad thesis, and I have a slightly different but equally necessary-to-me approach to notebooks I use at work.

My typical structure for a notebook that’s devoted to one project only looks like this:

I always leave the first couple pages blank so I can go back and retroactively index bujo-style. I don’t always actually do the index, because sometimes I get too lazy, but I like having those blank pages there to give me the option. I also usually put epigraphs/inspo quotes on the first page.

After that, there’s often (but not always, I’ll talk about it) a couple pages at the start where I’m frantically jotting down loose brainstorming ideas before they've coagulated into a story structure. Just, like, vomiting into the void.

Stemming out of that, I usually write out about like 5-10 pages of outline-style notes in chronological order, laying out all the main story beats and charting out the story trajectory. This will inevitably get revised and rewritten many times, but I find the process of writing these wide-angle synopses really useful for dislodging ideas, making connections re: thematic threads, etc. from my brain.

I’ll devote a couple pages after that to specific things like "sex scene brainstorming", "random scene ideas/minor details that don't have a clear place in the outline right now but I'll turn to for inspo later" [this is what I refer to as “bits” in one of the later photos], "page where I just outline the Motifs And Themes", "research notes", "to-do list", "stuff to check on a second pass", "things to put in the a/n and AO3 tags", etc.--the specifics vary with the story.

Then, I skip ahead to approx. halfway through the notebook and cordon off the rest of the pages to be “free writing” space, AKA writing of actual content rather than planning, with the expectation there will be no internal organization and I’ll transcribe to laptop as I go. Writing on paper feels less binding than typing something on a computer; it’s like a little secret kept with myself, and it doesn’t need to go anywhere or be seen by anyone if I decide I don’t like it. Setting aside pages in the back half of the notebook means that, as more things come up re: planning, I can go back and add those in the rest of the pages that were intentionally left blank. This is how I avoid (for the most part) having the whole thing be a jumbled mess where there’s no separation between the notes and the actual story writing; I learned this the hard way via the first notebook I’ll show you in a second. I’ve recently gotten really into using Muji sticky note tabs to label any pages/sections of particular import that don't want to have to refer back to in the index and would rather just flip to instantly.

I do use notebooks that aren’t specific to any one project, but those are much less organized and less worth sharing.

Before I look at more recent stuff, here are some selections from my notebook for the project that got me into writing longfic, my Golden Kamuy canon divergence AU (with apologies for the bad photos, my phone’s camera is trash). I worked on this from Sept 2018-July 2019. It was a learning experience in a lot of ways, and notebook utilization was one of those. I’ve always used notebooks for keeping track of writing projects, as I said earlier, but before this it was largely without much organization or structure; just total chaos. Having a physical notebook became really important for this project because it was a sprawling multichapter story with rotating POVs and a lot of historical research. I also learned a lot about what not to do with a notebook, personally, or at least things that don’t work so well (for me). This was a college ruled spiral-bound Decomposition Book, for the record.

By the time I bought a notebook for it I already had a (very basic) plot outline in mind, so I wasn’t doing that very initial ground-zero brainstorming in here; I was copying out of my phone’s notes app, basically, and then going from there.

This is one of the first pages in this notebook; I wanted to visualize the relationship web between the four central characters in the story in terms of how they feel about one another. The two colours correspond to the POV characters (Sugimoto in orange, Ogata in pink), and I used this colour-coding throughout the notebook with highlighters, etc. to keep track of information that was more relevant to one character than the other. Tsurumi and Yuusaku aren’t POV characters, but they’re prominent in the story and their presence impacts the central relationship between Sugimoto and Ogata, and it was helpful to me to map out the emotional ecosystem, as it were.

(There are coffee stains all over this, because I wrote the vast majority of the story in coffee shops because I didn’t want to be around my roommates, lol. This is part of why I never do fiction writing in notebooks that are too nice, I get neurotic about needing to keep them tidy. I can’t use ones that are too shit though, either, so it’s a bit of a narrow window. I’ll talk more about brands and paper quality etc. later.)

As you can see, this is the first page of many I set aside specifically for jotting down different pieces of historical information relevant to my story. It’s about fictional characters who are members of an army division that existed in real life, and both the canon and my fic involve a high level of attention to detail with regards to which divisions were present for which battles, etc., as well as general historical details specific to the Russo-Japanese War setting--what did people eat in the trenches? What did they do to fill time? How did they get through the winter? What did third party observers have to say about the conditions? What were the specs of their weaponry (particularly important because one of the POV characters is a sniper and gun nut)? I did a lot of reading (and watching of antique gun collector Youtube videos... the things I do for love, eh), and it came in handy so many times, because it turns out it’s much easier to write trench warfare slice of life if you have factual details to pull from when you don’t know what to do with a scene! Imagine that!

This is the first of three “grid outlines” I made; this is a way I sometimes like to visualize a story outline all on one page, with the columns representing chapters and the squares within the columns representing sections/scenes within the chapters. As you can see, early on I was hoping to get this done in five or even FOUR chapters (whatmakesyouhaha.mp3), with POV switches happening internally within the chapters. This proved to be unwieldy for many reasons, so I revised the outline:

Here I’d come to terms with the fact this story was going to have a lot more chapters than I’d planned, and I rearranged things so that it would happen in ten, with each chapter belonging to only one POV character. This also needed revising later, and in the end the story looked a bit more like this (though it did in fact end up being twelve chapters, but only because Chapter Ten was like, 12k, and needed to be split in two chunks):

I must have remembered to bring my fineliners to the coffee shop this time, lol, because as you can see it’s properly colour-coded this time. This outline was made when I was already four posted chapters into the fic, which hopefully gives you a sense of the way in which I am sort of a planner and a pantser; I can’t get into a longer project without an outline, but the outline inevitably changes many times throughout writing and I often end up with a finished product that looks pretty different from what I was intending. My creative M.O. as always is Do The Maximum! Amount! Of! Work! Possible!

This is what a “free writing” page looks like, for me. In this notebook I didn’t set aside any specific spaces for free writing so it’s strewn throughout the notebook in a really disorganized way and I was constantly flipping through looking for bits I’d written and forgotten to transcribe, and I decided to be more organized in future as a result of that. If something’s crossed through, that means I transcribed it. As you can see, they’re often small sections, sometimes just a coupled decontextualized sentences. About 3/4 of what I write in a notebook makes it into the story, I’d say; some of it never goes anywhere, and that’s OK. I have less of an issue killing my darlings if they never make it off the paper page.

A very brief, top-down chapter outline, where the goal was not to get too bogged down in details and just to visualize the beats and pin down what they’re trying to accomplish. Chapters for this fic typically ran about 6k, and five or six scenes per chapter was pretty common, so the average scene length was about 1-1.25k words/scene. IDK why I called it storyboarding when I didn’t make drawings. (Margin numbers are to keep track of word count, since I was using a daily word count tracker while writing this.)

This page was, as titled, for keeping track of the various balls in the air when I was about 2/3-3/4 of the way through the story and really feeling the pressure with regards to tying up the various loose ends. This was... a struggle. I hadn’t ever written anything longish (this fic ended up just under 70k) that had an action plot before, let alone a canon divergence scenario where I had to engage with and explain away various canon plot elements so I could maintain the audience’s suspension of disbelief.

Now, I mentioned earlier that I learned various “things not to do” with my notebooks while working on that project. One of those lessons I learned is to be more realistic when assessing how big a project is likely to get, not least because I RAN OUT OF PAGES around the chapter 9-10 mark. In my defense though, that’s because I’d never written anything even half this long! But I know better now, and try not to be in denial. Finishing the notebook early was a way bigger problem than I’d anticipated, and was part of the reason the last few chapters took several grueling months to finish. The issue was that I needed to be able to use a notebook to maintain my workflow--attempting to do it only on a computer was dismal--but it seemed silly to start a notebook of a similar size to the one I’d finished (80pg, approximately B5 dimensions) when there was no way it would need that much space, especially since the reference pages, like the historical notes, didn’t need to be transcribed over. I was also pretty broke at the time and didn’t want to spend money unnecessarily, lol. I tried to get by using a Moleskine Cahier for a month or so because I had one lying around, but it was horrid; it was too small to be used comfortably, it wasn’t spiral-bound so it wouldn’t lay flat, the ghosting is terrible and I hate the way Moleskine paper feels, etc. Eventually I caved and went to Muji and bought a 30ish page A5 with closer to lay-flat binding, and I finished the story in there. I would take a comparative pic for you of the relative notebook sizes and include some of the scene staging diagrams, etc. I put in there, but I can’t find it :(

So I learned that specs really do matter, and it’s okay to be picky if the pickiness is going to make the difference between actually using a notebook or not. Things that are important to me in my notebooks:

Ruling (gotta have ruling, I can suffer through grid but blank or dot is a no-go)

Size (I can’t use anything smaller than at least a medium-large notebook, I find it claustrophobic and get miserly about page space)

Binding (twin ring is my preference because it looks and feels better than a classic spiral but has the same comfort of use with regards to bending the pages back to suit workspace size and laying flat with ease)

Paper quality and colour (I don’t like anything too slippery/smooth or with too much visible ghosting, and I strongly prefer an off-white paper to bleached paper--part of why I don’t use Decomposition Books anymore, the paper is scratchy and it’s too damn bleached!)

Pagecount relative to size of project

Portability (in non-COVID times; anything bigger than a B5 wouldn’t fit in the satchel I used to bring to work at my old job), etc.

But everyone’s taste is different in this respect, and the only way to figure out what works for you is through trial and error, I’m afraid. I also suspect I’m more neurotic and particular about the sensory experience of using a notebook than most people are, but I yam what I yam.

Now to talk about the notebooks for my current projects, where I’ve refined my approach somewhat. I’ve included less photos for these because they’re ongoing WIPs I don’t want to spoil completely, but I’ve tried to include some outline-type stuff to give you an idea.

My big bang fic is in the very ugly twin ring notebook on the right; I got it at a dollar store by my house because I needed something to work in and didn’t want to wait for an online order, but it’s been very serviceable for my needs. The paper isn’t even bad. The bigger notebook (B5) is my Sangcheng fic.

I wanted something with a lot of pages for this, because I knew it was going to be a long story, and for some reason the fact it’s smaller than my usual preference doesn’t bug me (I think it’s an A5?); it just fits this story, somehow. I’m not sure exactly how many sheets are in here but I’d guess about 150.

Because this notebook has upwards of 100 sheets, I made a lot of use of sticky-note tabs to label high-priority pages. The colour coding of these doesn’t mean anything, it was just whichever ones I had at hand at any given moment. These are those tabs from Muji I mentioned, I’m really obsessed with them--the shape makes them so much less obtrusive and more practical than conventional squares/rectangles OR flag shapes, IME.

My big bang story is nonlinear, so, similarly to what I did with colour coding for the two POVs for my GK fic, this story has two main colours corresponding to whether a given section takes place in the “before” or the “after” portions of the timeline, with blue as “after”, yellow as “before”. This is what the most current version of the outline looks like in there:

If you squint, you can see the alphanumeric notes in the top right of each section entry; I gave them each a code like “A3″ or “B5″ corresponding to their position in the story sequence (so, it goes A1, B1, A2, B2, etc., through to B9 and then the epilogue). [Unintentional that this schema overlaps with notebook size labeling and so is kind of confusing in the context of this post.] At first I was just keeping track of the sections via the highlighted titles, but it got confusing because I’d write down “Wedding” or “Yiling” in my notes and then refer to the notes later like “but there are multiple marriages?? and multiple scenes in Yiling??”. Stuff gets struck through with a straight line if it’s been written in a more-or-less complete form and crossed out with a squiggly line if it’s been cut from the outline or made redundant.

As I said earlier, I started out all the initial brainstorming for my Sangcheng fic in its notebook, instead of brainstorming it in someone’s DMs/my notes app/a voice memo/etc. and then transcribing it into the notebook in a somewhat more organized fashion, which is how my stories usually start out. Because of this, the first five-ish pages are basically just stream of consciousness rambling where I was trying to jot down every disconnected thought I had about the story concept. I don’t have photos for that because it’s too spoilerific for later developments in the fic, but I can show you some of the stages the outlines went through, once I was able to corral those initial notes into a story structure:

All the chapters in this fic have their own highlighter colour, so when I started trying to make sense of my initial brainstorm notes I just went through and highlighted stuff in the colour of the chapter it would make the most sense for, and then transcribed things more-or-less in chronological order into the relevant chapter outline. I later ended up rewriting all the chapter outlines AGAIN to refine them and divide them internally by the individual scenes, which makes them a lot more legible and less wall-of-text-y. They look like this now, with about four sheets per chapter:

Because this fic is on the longer side, I have some pages that are just for keeping track of other story elements, like this, where I refer back to whatever the fuck the “themes” are supposed to be whenever I forget what this fic is about:

It’s all about the visionboarding... Anyway, that’s most of what I have to offer, since most of these two notebooks is Forbidden Content.

With regards to brands/supplies, I really like this Kokuyo Campus Wide notebook that I’m writing Sangcheng in, it’s pretty perfect for me. I also like the B5 Muji twin rings, but those only come in 30 sheets, so I wouldn’t use it for anything above a ~20k project. The B5 Maruman Spiral Note 6.5mm ruled/80 sheet is another good one, though I wish it was twin ring instead of spiral. As you can tell, I like Japanese stationery brands because it’s easier to find decent paper quality and minimalist design without shelling out $$ than it is with American/European brands, at least IME. I like Rollbahns too. But honestly, I can usually find pretty serviceable random notebooks that aren’t brand-name from Asian dollar stores; it’s really not something where you need to shell out tons of money.

#notebooks #writing #idk how to tag this!

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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Like Wind At Sea

Conrad x Fliss (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Man Of Medan)

Warnings: Swearing, !SPOILERS!

Genre: Fluff, A tiny bit of Angst

Summary: Conrad stays in French Polynesia after the events of the game, a force beyond his control forcing him to stay. A feeling he can’t explain keeping him tied to the place. It’s not the place per-se, more like a soul and mind that endured similar torment. Takes a while for him to admit it to himself though. Typical Conrad.

Requested by Anon (we both know who you are XD) Sorry to be getting to your request so late! You know I couldn’t wait to write this fic though! Thank you so much for being my first and only ConFliss request so far, means a lot to me! Please enjoy! Love, Vy ❤

He has just gotten off the phone with Julia. She calls him every other day to check if he’s still alive and functional - as functional as a mildly unstable alcoholic could be. Not that she’d ever outright say that’s why she’s calling him but he sees it, hears it loud and clear in the tone she uses - the same tone people use to talk a child away from a tantrum or calm them down once they’ve already started one. There’s also the subliminal ‘get your ass on a plane and fly back home’ during every phone call, but he pretends it’s so subtle he doesn’t catch it. Julia never points it out specifically, so he gets away with it.

His sister has every right to worry. It’s been approximately a month since they survived the horrors out on that ghost ship. ‘Survived’ in the most minimal sense of the word - half of their minds are still stuck there, healing the wounds that place left on them. Each person’s healing differently - Julia and Alex seek comfort in one another, the events having brought them closer than ever. Brad has thrown himself head-first in his studies, giving them all his focus and time so the memories can’t haunt him. Fliss has not been seen on land since then. She goes out at sea on her own or with tourist groups, never taking them for long trips or trips far from land - never in the direction of the ghost ship. And Conrad is stuck in a cycle that will kill him eventually. Minimal eating, overdrinking and oversleeping. He barely sees the light of day. He lives in a cheap, rundown motel, leaving his room only in the morning to make his way to the docks to ask about Fliss. He would never admit to himself that he is looking for her per-se. The way he sees it - he’s looking for closure. She’s the only person he feels he could discuss what happened with but he can’t explain why.

Just one conversation, and he’ll be on his way.

When he doesn’t find her - as expected - he goes back to the motel, passing by a liquor store on the way and obtaining his fix for the day. He knocks himself out until further notice. Said further notice is late into the afternoon/early evening when he finally stumbles into the small restaurant near the shore where he always takes a seat by the windows - his gaze always fixated on the docks. Always expecting to see her in the distance. He has a feeling he’ll recognize her no matter how far away she is. His eyes could always find her.

But he only needs them to find her this once, give him closure, and let him go on his way home to his sister and parents. He is so convinced she’ll free him from the invisible chains keeping him here, he has contemplated borrowing a boat to go search for her out on open water but managed to talk himself out of it every time.

“Give it up, son.“ One of the fishermen told him one day when he performed his usual routine of showing up at the docks to ask for her. He has been looking more and more homeless with each passing day, the fishermen and boat captains witnessing this ‘golden‘ boy crumbling under the pressure of the trauma.

“I can’t.“ He replied, eyes searching for the Duke, knowing damn well there was no way he could find it. He believed what he said - he still believes it - he feels trapped and has established that he will stay that way until she frees him.

“You can’t or you don’t want to?“ The fisherman’s question shook him up, sobering him up from the foggy state he has imprisoner himself in. That one question felt like a slap across the face and a punch to the gut simultaneously.

He didn’t buy liquor on his way back that day.

Dropping the phone on the bed he hops in the shower, a sense of excitement keeping his heart beating faster this morning. His tone surprised Julia - he sounded so alive, lively, enthusiastic. Almost like the Conrad she knew prior to those horrors. Sure, every time he called he masked how he truly felt using his sarcasm, humor and Conrad-ness, but Julia saw right through it. Today, on the other hand, it was genuine. Not an act. Hopeful is how she’d describe him.

And he has what to be hopeful for.

Yesterday, one of the older captains actually had something useful to tell him: A female captain reported her return in the next two days. This sent Conrad’s heart racing and mind haywire. He was practically counting the hours, he barely even slept a wink last night. He thought his patience had thickened after a month of waiting but now that she is so soon to return he realizes his patience has only been worn thinner and thinner. The alcohol masked it well though. Now that he’s sober, however, he’s got all the impatient symptoms: bouncing leg, tapping foot, cracking knuckles, muttering to himself etc.

The captain didn’t know a time to tell him for her arrival. That didn’t pose a problem for Conrad though. He is prepared to sit out by the docks all day and that’s exactly what he’s gonna do. He’s been lacking sunlight too, so it’s a win-win situation for him.

He stopped for a quick breakfast in the restaurant - sat in his usual seat, his gaze ten times as focused and sharpened at the boats dancing on the tiny waves, making a plan to rush out of the restaurant the second he laid eyes on the Duke. After the first breakfast he has had in a month he went to sit with the captains and fishermen, all of which poked at him for more details either about his relation to Fliss or about what had happened. The whole town heard of it, some believed it, some didn’t, others questioned it. Conrad knows better than to tell them what happened, or what DIDN’T happen. He knows they’ll peg him for a nut-job with no further discussion.

That was all hours ago, he has lost track of time and despises the idea of checking his wristwatch to see how much of his life he has wasted on the docks. The sun’s setting, so that’s gotta be some indication.

With his mind travelling the oceans and seas in search of her, he’s rather startled to feel a hand on his shoulder. He turns to see the fisherman that tried to set him ‘straight’ a few weeks ago. “Let’s grab a bite to eat, son. Maybe a drink to go with it.” When Conrad shakes his head in the response, the man sighs, “You really can’t give her up, can you?”

“I don’t want to.“ The words automatically leave his lips, like a truth he’s been dying to speak out loud. A smile appears on his face at the sound of what he said. He knows it’s authentic, no matter how automatic it was.

The man chuckles and pats his shoulder. There is an abrupt but odd pause however, Conrad can see the astonishment in the his eyes as they travel to the sunset. “Maybe it’ll be worth it in the end, after all.” He points ahead, causing Conrad’s head to snap back in the direction it was originally facing. A boat, a familiar one, is approaching.

The man steps away right in time for Conrad to jump to his feet, his heart pounding like it did this morning. It’s not an illusion or a hallucination, he’s fucking done with those. It’s real and it’s her.

The time it takes for the boat to reach the docks is killing him, he has to restrain the urge to swim to her and give her a hug. No, that could earn him a slap to the face. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time - but he still wants that hug.

She on the other hand is baffled to say the least. She has grown wary of her own eyes and now she isn’t sure if she can trust them with what they’re seeing. Conrad. The man who was supposed to be long gone from her life is standing in front of her, a smug smile playing at his lips as if to convince her it’s really him. To say her heart dropped at the sight of him would be an understatement. It’s certainly a shock and a surprise but far from unpleasant. She only now realizes how much she’s missed having him around even if they haven’t known each other for long. She can say with 100% certainty that she has never met, nor will she ever meet a person like Conrad.

And not that she’d admit it, but he has a special place in her heart.

“Aren’t I glad to see you!“ He’s the first to speak up, as expected. To his surprise, she’s the one to initiate the hug though. A more than welcome surprise.

“I could easily say the same.“ She mumbles in the crook of his neck, fighting her instinct to hold onto him for a long time and forcing her arms to free him, “But what are you doing here?“ A very reasonable question on her part, one he doesn’t have an answer to. “And why do you look like you just left that boat after years spent on it?”

“Don’t even joke about that.“ He scolds her playfully, causing her to roll her eyes - playing the ‘unbothered‘ card, much like him.

“Answer my question. Both of them.“ She fixates his gaze on hers with a strict glare, not allowing him to look elsewhere. Which seems to have backfired cause he can’t utter a word. She shakes her head, “I guess a drink will unknot your tongue.“ She waves him over, hopping back into the Duke.

He follows without needing to be told twice, “No drinks, thank you. My liver already hates me enough.”

“Your eyebags do too.“ She points out, taking a seat.

He scoffs though he can’t correct her. Who knew oversleeping could cause eyebags too? He sits down opposite her, mind overheating in search of what to say. “So....about that night...”

“It was a nightmare.” Fliss cuts him off, “One I’d like to forget.“

Her words sound familiar to him. He almost laughs when he recalls saying the exact two sentences, word-for-word to Julia over the phone.

“But you can’t.“ He says firmly. “Drop the act, Fliss. I’ve seen it before. No, I’ve DONE it before. You’re not fooling the master of ‘I don’t give a fuck’. If I’m still troubled by it, you are too.“

Frustration is clawing at her, her thoughts contradicting each other. “You’re right, I can’t. But I don’t wanna talk about it either.”

“Ok then, what do you want to talk about?“ He’s not to keen on talking about it either, he was using that as a front. All along, closure is the last thing he’s needed. Company - her company - is the answer.

“What’s ahead. How we’ll let it go, you know? That cheesy shit like the sunshine after the storm.“ She motions to the Duke and the open water, “This is mine. What’s yours?“

He stops to think for a moment, but for some reason he feels obligated to deliver a reply quickly so he automatically blurts out: “First I plan on going back home. I’ve been planning to do that, but I wanted to see you, talk to you first.”

She feels a pang in her chest. Missing. She’s already missing him again at the very thought of him leaving. She tries to brush it off, call it ridiculous, but it refuses to leave her so she pushes onward, ignoring it to the best of her ability. “So you’re leaving soon?”

The logical thing to say here would be ‘Yes’, but he feels like the word has been removed from his vocabulary at the moment. He can’t say it. It’s not what he wants anymore. Or is it? “I mean, that was the original plan but...” he rubs the back of his neck nervously, “I’m not so sure anymore. I guess it depends...” He trails off, his voice dying down - a rare occurrence. He’s never had this happen to him around any woman ever. He’s a ladies man, and look at him now, timid you could call him.

“Depends on what?“ A feeling worse, more ridiculous than missing him - the hope of him sticking around takes firm hold of her. She knows she should know better, but hell, it’s not time for pride at the moment.

Their eyes meet. “If you’d like company or not.“

His response sends a wave of relief over her, stealing a smile that turns into a laugh from her. “I’d typically say no, but...”

“But my charm has finally knocked you out cold, huh?“ He smirks in his cocky, really-Conrad way.

“That comparison still makes no sense.“ She stands up looking at the sun’s last rays but at the moment it feels more like a sunrise - a new beginning - or it’s the true sunshine after the storm she’s been looking for. “Now, let’s discuss terms over dinner cause I’m starving.“

He chuckles, offering her his hand, which she gladly takes as they start walking down the dock back to the beach. “Terms? You really know how to take the fun out of it.”

She rolls her eyes, stopping to give him a brief kiss on the cheek before quickening her pace, dragging a star-struck Conrad behind her. “That shut you up.” She shoots him a smirk over her shoulder.

It really has shut him up. All he can do is grin at her in awe, mesmerized by how she flipped his life on its ass in such a short amount of time. A month of misery has been erased and turned to bliss in less than thirty minutes.

A phenomenon that he’d like to call - like wind at sea. He’s a sailboat, she’s the wind. She decides his path, he abides. And they’ll sail in harmony together, healing one another, and healing themselves in the process. Just the two of them: Mr. Golden Playboy and Miss No-Nonsense.

If anyone has ever doubted the accuracy of the phrase ‘Opposites attract’, if this doesn’t kill any and all doubt, I don’t know what will.

@chairtiger

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

On This Night and in This Light (3/3)

Emma Swan knows she’s pretty good at what she does.

Helping the magically afflicted and affected find jobs in this realm isn’t the most glamorous thing in the world, and, sure, there’s a lot of paperwork, but she figures she’s helping people and that’s the important thing. It’s structured. Calm, even.

Until. It’s always until.

Killian Jones shows up with his stupid smirk and his tendency to lean against the door frame in Emma’s office and his distinct lack of magic. Or knowledge of what they’re really doing at Mills Personnel. Everything kind of goes off the rails after that.

—-

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 6.5K of magic and eventual happily ever after

AN: There’s some magic here. Some kissing. Some curses. And happily ever after, of course. Thanks for reading along with this little distraction from the legitimate stress of the real world. You guys are all an absolute delight.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || Or start from the top

—-

“Are you good?” Tilting her head up to meet Killian’s vaguely crinkled forehead and passably confused expression, Emma almost regrets the question she didn’t plan on asking. That’s the problem with him. And them, at least in the abstract sense.

Words tumble out of her without much thought to their meaning or collective, if not slightly metaphorical, weight. Defenses she’s spent a lifetime cultivating feel as if they’ve crumbled at her feet, which is impressive since she’s laying down, but the metaphor still checks out and Emma keeps asking questions.

Without being wholly afraid of the answers she’ll get.

“Be more specific,” Killian murmurs, and her heart does something stupid. Skips a beat. Sparks her magic. Threatens to leave her glowing in the tangle of sheets she’s absolutely stolen in the middle of the night.

“Just—I mean with everything.” Nosing at her cheek, Emma can practically hear Killian’s smile. “‘Fraid that’s not any more specific, my love. But if we’re going to speak in the abstract before coffee—” “—Oh, we should make coffee.” He kisses her cheek, that time. “Then I am exceptionally good.” “Pretty vast adverb.”

“Well, you asked a very broad question. But I stand by my answer, particularly when you’re not wearing any clothing. Why, am I giving off not-good vibes?” “Maybe lame ones if you keep using the word vibe in actual conversation. I just—I don’t know, wanted to make sure, I guess. Working for Mills isn’t exactly the height of luxury and it can be a weird place, and I...we never really looked at apartments for you, because we can do that if you want to, but—” Stumbling over the words, Emma wishes her hands were free. She’d like to wave them around. Use them as a distraction to whatever has settled on her face and in the pit of her stomach, and this wasn’t really the plan. Granted, the plan occurred while she was overly exhausted and reeling a bit from rather large emotional realizations, but telling him the truth about absolutely everything is suddenly a bit more daunting in the light of day.

And they haven’t even had coffee yet.

Killian’s hand moves. Faster than Emma’s entirely ready for, his fingers brush a strand of wayward hair away from her eyes and then he’s kissing the bridge of her nose and pulling her against his chest and—

“This was not my plan. In some great expectation for my life, I’m not sure I could have ever imagined this is what it’d be like. But,” Killian adds, as soon as Emma’s magic shifts into something far closer to dread, “if all of this ended with your freakishly cold feet waking me up every morning, then I can’t be very upset about it.”

Swooning pre-coffee can’t be advisable. Emma’s heart doesn’t care. It flips and flops and does that possible explosion thing again, and she’s a little concerned the force of her smile will have adverse effects on the paint in her bedroom.

“You don’t think Mills is weird?” “Do you?” Emma shakes her head. “Nah, no questions for questions. This is—” “—An inquiry?” Her shoulders slump. Under the blankets, and she’s really got a shit ton of blankets. “I don’t know, Swan. Mills is...a place, a job. One where you work, and that’s mostly why I’m interested in continuing to work there. Should I not be thinking that?” The last few words come with a bit of understandable concern and maybe a hint of frustration, and she should have said something earlier.

It’s very frustrating to realize how much smarter the part-time cricket is than Emma.

She hopes he’s enjoying his job, too.

“My feet aren’t really that cold.”

Killian scoffs. “I promise, they are like little ice cubes attached to your legs.” “Lucky you’re here to provide external heat, then.”

Burrowing her face closer to the crook of his neck, Emma gives herself a moment to relish in that warmth, like he’s some sort of personal sun or a battery or another bit of science she doesn’t understand and David always likes to say that science is just explained magic. Emma wonders if it works the other way, too.

Magic is something that simply hasn’t been explained yet. No rational reasoning, or anything except the kind of gut feeling that can change everything.

“I am,” Killian says, and it probably isn’t meant to sound like a promise. “Are you good?” Dots of light appear behind Emma’s eyelids every time she blinks, trying to come up with an answer that won’t send him running and she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he runs. Energy prickles at the tips of her fingers, curling around either one of her wrists and lingering in the slight bend of her left elbow because at some point her left palm has flattened itself against Killian’s stomach. “Mills can be kind of weird,” Emma mutters, trying to pick her words more carefully now. “And that’s...there’s a reason for that, and a reason I started working there and—” A phone starts vibrating.

Loudly enough that it also immediately falls from the nightstand it was charging on, and keeps buzzing around on the floor. Killian sighs.

“Hold that thought.”

Emma wishes she could. But her hands are already back underneath the blankets, and she’s all too aware of how bright they’ve gone in the last few seconds and the state of Killian’s shoulders make it obvious he’s not all that pleased with whatever he’s being told. “Yeah, yeah, I can—I mean, it’s like twenty blocks the wrong way, but—God, yes, Scarlet. I can come back for a few minutes.”

He doesn’t bother to plug the phone back in, and for like a solid half second Emma gets distracted by the lack of clothes before her eyes fly up and Killian’s sighing again and the weight in the pit of her stomach grows.

“Coffee later?” Emma blinks. “Sure. Is everything ok?” “No idea, just that Scarlet said he had to talk to me and it couldn’t wait and—” Killian shrugs, fingers finding the back of his neck. “I probably won’t be that late, but if Regina asks—” “—I’ll tell her.” Something tugs at the back of her mind, a warning Emma can’t place, but she can sense a lie with almost startling accuracy and she knows Killian isn’t lying to her. She just can’t figure out why Will would lie to him.

Halloween’s not her favorite day.

People assume all magical and mythical creatures thrive on this one day of the year, but more often than not Emma finds that it’s just another busy day when those same magical and mythical creatures come out of the metaphorical woodwork in droves to get jobs. And sure, some of the rumors are true. There are certain times when the fabric between realms can be a bit more flimsy than usual. Both midnights, for example. Eleven-eleven’s another big one. So, teenage girls had that one right, at least.

And yeah, ok, Halloween also means Regina bakes half a dozen apple pies for the whole office, but when the whole office is already overrun by inquiring applicants, Emma can’t find it in herself to be very excited for a dessert she only kind of likes.

She’d never admit that to Regina.

Self-preservation instincts, and all that.

Plus, days like this are always cold. Fraught with that certain nip in the air, and leaves that crunch under Emma’s boots. Only to also get stuck to the bottom of Emma’s boots, and she has to twist her wrist to get rid of her leaf-based trail on her way to her paperwork-covered desk.

The same one David’s leaning against.

“You tell him yet?”

She missed one leaf. Figures. Emma never even went trick-or-treating as a kid. Halloween’s a sham. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” “Sure you don’t. It’s dumb that you haven’t yet.” “Voice your opinion a little louder, please.” “Nothing is going to happen,” David says, but Emma barely hears over the sound of sudden and complete disagreement that scratches its way from the depths of her soul. Maybe Halloween makes her a little maudlin, actually. She can’t believe she didn’t get to tell him. “It hasn’t yet.” “Why are you jinxing things like that?” “There is no such thing as jinx, and c’mon, if you guys can get through today with a hundred magically unemployed people, then sky’s the limit.” “Not even clever.” David shakes his head. “You’re impressed and swayed, I know it. Plus it’s not like you’re a bad witch or anything.” “I’m sorry, a bad witch?” “Yeah, you know. None of your intentions, even when lying to the guy you’re stupid into—” “—Opinions keep coming fast and furious, don’t they?” “Because he’s right,” Ruby calls, twisting around desks to involve herself in a conversation Emma doesn’t want to participate in anymore. “You really didn’t tell him yet? That’s nuts. And you’re a good person, Em. With a very good looking face. Who wouldn’t want to make out with that? Ad nauseum.” “I’m going to be honest, using a word that sounds like nauseous isn’t helping your case much,” Emma says. “And I’m going to tell him. I am, just—things got crazy this morning.” Ruby howls. With laughter. Drawing more than a few curious stares, and rather pointed glare from Regina’s direction. David pales noticeably. “Did they?” Ruby presses. “How crazy are we talking and was it also vaguely acrobatic, because I feel like Jones could move if he had to, but that’s strictly theorizing on my part, so—” Sentences without end are quickly becoming Emma’s least favorite thing. Only slightly edging out ringing phones. The one on her desk lights up, which doesn’t happen very often, but she can’t imagine the light is supposed to be green.

David’s talking. She’s dimly aware of it — the soft hum that sounds more like Charlie Brown’s teacher than any of the human characteristics Emma is certain they both have, and that’s another quasi-Halloween reference. Rocks appear to have landed rather forcefully in her stomach, and that’s what she gets for optimism.

“Swan,” Killian breathes, as soon as she pulls the phone to her ear. “Swan, Emma listen to me, you can’t—” Seriously, the lack of sentence structure is becoming intolerable. Killian grunts, the sound turning into a gasp almost immediately and a few shouted no, no, no leave them alone and Emma doesn’t remember standing.

Only that she’s knocked her chair over in the process.

“Is this Ms. Swan?” a new voice Emma almost recognizes asks. “Because it seems I’ve got something of yours, while you have something I’m particularly interested in. Let’s make a little exchange, shall we?”

It’s disappointing that her mouth goes dry. Emma assumes that’s because she’s all but panting, bent awkwardly over her desk while her eyes scan the room for something or someone and—it clicks. The voice.

“Zelena. This is Zelena, isn't it?” Both David and Ruby make matching noises of disbelief, but the buzzing is back and Regina is moving and the line’s gone dead anyway. “She’s not supposed to be here,” Regina says with enough calm that it grates on every single one of Emma’s already-fraying nerves, “magical control sent her back to Oz.” Emma can’t cope with this. Any of it. All she wanted was to drink coffee with her decidedly human and very normal, if not ridiculously attractive boyfriend and they’ve never actually used relationship qualifiers.

That’s disappointing.

“Right, right, yeah, ok, of course” Emma mumbles, and she doesn’t bother to fix her chair. “Happy fucking Halloween, I guess.”

It takes her all of five minutes and one person dressed in costume to realize that running is absolutely and completely pointless.

Emma’s a goddamn witch.

And it’s raining.

Drops slide down her temples, drip down the back of her neck and work under her jacket because she never even got the chance to take her jacket off. Which is something of an exceptionally small miracle now, but she’s already cold and she’s always so fucking cold and—

He called her Emma.

He called her—

“My love,” she whispers, entirely to herself and that part isn’t really true. Shadows hover just outside the edge of her vision, what Emma knows are her friends waiting for instructions or a plan, and she’s got to come up with a plan and she doesn’t know where Belle and Will live.

She doesn’t have to.

Reaching her hand back, Emma’s fingers lace through Regina’s, and her soft instruction of “all instinctual,” doesn’t get lost in the hum of the city or the bustle of a holiday that requires masks and chocolate-based gluttony. It takes root. In Emma’s mind, and those same pieces of her soul, finds the tiny bits of space between her stomach rocks and spreads out from there.

Warming her from the inside out.

She closes her eyes.

“What the fucking fuck?” Will shouts, Emma’s feet slamming into hardwood floor that was probably highlighted in this apartment listing. Eyes bugging, he’s plastered to the wall opposite her, and Emma’s pleasantly surprised to find he’s not gagged, but she also kind of figures it’s because Belle is and there’s something inherently villainous about allowing the love interest to make noise while their partner is being tortured.

By a woman wearing a pointed witch’s hat. “Kind of cliché, isn’t it?” Ruby muses, and Emma’s not surprised they’ve started their rescue mission with sarcasm. She also can’t respond. Her eyes are too busy trying to take in the scene.

Stacks of books litter the floor, half the living room furniture on its side as if it’s been knocked over in a fit of inevitably-magical rage, and Belle doesn’t look as scared as annoyed that she’s been bound in one of the few upright chairs. Emma’s heart stutters. Catching her breath is impossible, head on a swivel as she tries to find—

“Killian,” she exhales, and he’s not gagged either. No visible restraints keep him a few feet away from Will, but Emma can feel the magic rippling off him and it smells strongly of bitter lemons. Or expired key lime pie.

Neither of those things are inherently Halloween, or all that magical. But then Zelena’s turning slowly and the green splotches on her face ensure any attempts at passably funny metaphors or desperate attempts to maintain her sense of reality disappear.

“Huh,” David says, “that’s new, actually. We ever see anyone change color before?”

Regina clicks her tongue. “She’s not changing color. She’s giving in.” “To what, exactly?” “Jealousy. Isn’t that right, Zelena? Been the crux of the problem forever, hasn’t it?”

Emma’s head is spinning. She’s not moving. “Wait, wait, what the fuck is going on?” One side of Killian’s mouth tugs up, amusement in his gaze and that can’t possibly be right. “You are stuck to the wall, idiot!’ “Oh, Swan, you do know how to flatter a man.” “What is happening?” He can’t shrug, but Emma knows he tries and that should not be as charming as it is. Mary Margaret squeezes her hand. The one that’s almost neon. “Turns out Scarlet didn’t actually want to talk to me this morning. We definitely could have had coffee.” “Is that a euphemism for—” Ruby starts, only to snap her jaw closed when Regina gapes at her. Emma’s starting to lose feeling in her fingers.

And she sees the exact moment any sense of teasing and entirely false bravado leaves Killian. Lips going thin, his shoulders still don’t move, but Emma swears his fear reverberates through her and that’s not the emotion she was interested in sharing that morning. “You’ve got to get out of here, love. Now, it’s—” Zelena’s hand moves so quickly, it’s not much more than a passably-green blur. Nothing else comes out of Killian’s mouth. His jaw moves, working against a shield none of them can see, and Emma’s stomach is somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.

Even with all those rocks.

“How did you get back here?” Regina asks, stepping towards the front of their ragtag group. Fire bursts from her hands, flames that flicker up her forearms and draw another grunt out of Will. Whether it’s surprise or just the generic sound of being impressed, Emma’s not sure.

Bits of green cling to the end of Zelena’s mouth when she smiles. “Shall I start at the beginning, then?” “God yes, please,” Emma sighs.

Zelena doesn’t take her hat off. Really, she’s almost making it work for her. As far as costumes go, this one’s kind of basic, but there’s no cape or a broomstick and Emma’s never met a witch who was interested in flying a broom anywhere.

“Wanted to stay conspicuous, you understand,” Zelena says, “Draw too much attention to myself and—ah, well, that’s not what’s important now.” “What?” “Why you, Emma Swan. Obviously.” “This isn’t the beginning,” David mumbles, and both Emma and Regina shift before Zelena can so much as lift her chin. One of the windows on a different wall flies open, half a dozen pigeons descending on the living room and nipping at the ends of Zelena’s hair. They pull on the sides of her dress and peck at the green spots that are growing on her cheeks.

Whistling, Mary Margaret jerks her head and the pigeons fly away, looking a little like an avian synchronized swimming team. “Leave him alone.”

“Shit,” Ruby says, “that was impressive and aggressive. Ignore the rhyme.”

Emma tilts her head. “Slant rhyme, right? Can’t rhyme matching sounds.” Someone makes a noise — it comes from the general direction of Killian and Will, but it can’t be Killian and Emma wants it to be him anyway. Zelena doesn’t look very impressed with any of them. That’s fair, it’s probably frustrating to have your monologue interrupted so often.

“If you don’t mind,” she sneers, Emma waving her free hand like she’s capable of giving the bad guy permission to keep talking. “It had been quite some time since I’d been in this realm, and plenty of things had changed. More magic, a certain kind of power that hung in the air. Energy that could change the course of everything, strong enough that it could probably rewrite time itself if it wanted to. And I want it to.” “To what?” “Were you not listening? Rewrite time.”

Breathing out of her mouth is not attractive. It’s loud and makes Emma’s tongue feel larger than it actually is, especially when she has to keep using it to lick her lips. “That’s—that’s insane. You’re insane. You didn’t just want to get a normal job? I mean...you were at Mills. I saw you.” “Power of the Universe at my fingertips and you think I’d be satisfied with a normal job? No wonder you have no idea what you are. Which,” Zelena glances meaningfully at Killian, “means you, Emma Swan, are the reason I’m here.” “Speak English!” Zelena huffs. “I am. What I felt when I returned to this realm? It was you, my dear. Your power, your magic, your ability. And, yes, I could have given into the hum-drum existence of this place and the structure of Mills Personnel, but where exactly is the fun in that?”

Emma hopes she’s not expected to answer. She doesn’t have one. It’s entirely possible she’s going to snap several of Mary Margaret’s fingers in half.

“Anyway,” Zelena continues, “locating that power wasn’t easy, but Regina Mills’ ability to make things happen is legendary. Finding a person’s niche, that’s her greatest talent. And so I did come to Mills, looking for a position that would help me get the rest of the requirements.”

Ruby keeps shaking her head. Emma can’t seem to move. Or breathe. Her eyes keep darting back towards Killian, trying to make sure he’s breathing or reacting in a way that doesn’t threaten to make her cry. Nothing.

He’s plastered to a wall with magic, of course not.

“You see, a time spell is one of the more complex out there. Need all sorts of things in addition to the kind of magic that can fuel it. Which is what I wanted when I got to Mills. Hoped I could get placed in a hospital or something of the sort.”

On the increasingly small scale of things that surprise Emma, that somehow makes the cut. “You need, like, an IV drip or something?” “A baby,” Zelena replies easily, and Belle whimpers against the gag. “Pure of spirit, you understand. Other things too. Courage, wisdom, maybe a heart if I could get lucky—” “—An actual heart?” Will balks. “Spend a lot of time in Wonderland, did ya?” “I mean, she could probably get the heart in the hospital too if she wasn’t picky about her choices,” Ruby reasons, and this whole thing is absurd. Maybe that’s the theme for Halloween as a whole, though.

More of Zelena’s face is green.

“I had hoped I’d get someone competent who could help me. Or even the source of the power. Naturally,” she jerks her head in Killian’s direction, “I ended up with this sot. Who suggested working at a clinic or agreeing to something called an orderly position. Well, I knew he wouldn’t help me, but I did get something out of it. I knew you were there, Emma. And—” Zelena’s eyes rove towards Belle, and the hands collapsed over the front of her stomach. Realization crashes over Emma in waves, the rocks disappearing only to be replaced with a bone-deep chill that douses any bit of light in her. “So I do have a few options for you all now.” “What are you trying to fix?” “Hmm?” “Fix,” Emma repeats, “or change, I guess. I mean—that’s not how life works.” Zelena hums in what can only be passing interest and something almost like an agreement. “Seems unnecessary to tell you my whole plan, but when it works it won’t make much of a difference. I want to get rid of the girl. That nasty little thing that fell in Oz and ruined everything. Robbed me of my chance to prove myself, claimed there had to be good witches and bad witches and you’re absolutely right, Ms. Swan. That’s not how life works. Nothing is quite so cut and dry as all that.”

Words hang off the tip of her disgustingly dry tongue. Want to be said and proclaimed, and for all the mistakes Emma has made — good and bad, right and wrong, trusting and the opposite, she’s happy to find she’s not particularly interested in changing them.

Not if she ends up here.

Well, maybe not here—with her boyfriend, they’ll get to that eventually, magically silenced and Belle doing her best to glare daggers at the half-green witch who commandeered her living room, and Ruby’s teeth are definitely getting longer. But maybe here-adjacent. With people who care about her, who followed her without question or thought and the guy who is still somehow staring at Emma like he’s got every intention of keeping her feet warm.

Ad nauseum.

“I’m not really interested in anything you need.”

Disappointment flashes across Zelena’s face, only to immediately morph into something much closer to fury. “Hero types, always so sanctimonious. That’s why I said several options. It’s one now, but—” Flicking her wrist, Killian slides down the wall in what Emma knows isn’t actually slow motion. Still, the amount of time it takes for his knees to crash to the ground seems to last forever and Zelena doesn’t try to stop Emma from rushing forward.

Eventually, she’ll realize why.

“Regina discovered what I was trying to do,” Zelena explains, “my fault. Kept coming back to Mills, demanding better placement and as much as it pains me to admit she’s smart...well, she sent me back to Oz.” “So how are you here?” Mary Margaret demands.

Emma doesn’t need that answer, either. Halloween is a bullshit, overrated holiday. Pulling Killian close to her, he’s far too limp and impossibly silent, and Emma barely spends a moment thinking about either of those things before she’s kissing anywhere she can reach, mumbling apologies and half-explanations into his skin and—

“Ah, I’d be careful if I were you,” Zelena says, a soft lilt to her voice that rattles down Emma’s spine. “See, your option is to give me your magic, Ms. Swan. If you won’t do it willingly, I’ll take it by force.” “I don’t—”

Movement catches Emma’s attention, the soft flutter of fingers across her back and she has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. At first. All it takes is a few seconds, and that’s probably another sign. She hopes so. Tracing letters on her jacket, Killian’s eyes flutter shut like he’s exhausted and determined not to sleep and— “No,” Emma exhales, but Zelena’s smile looks victorious. It’s too late. They’re too late. And there’s nothing they can do to change that.

Slumping against her, Killian’s eyes don’t open again. His breathing evens out, and Emma supposes that’s something of a very twisted victory because he isn’t dead, but he’s even more obviously sleeping and sleeping curses are notoriously hard to break.

“Especially when they so often require a kiss,” Zelena grins. “True Love, and all that. So let me ask, Ms. Swan. Do you think what you and the plebe have is True Love and, more importantly, will you be willing to sacrifice your magic for it? Because the only way he’s waking up is with a kiss and the next time you kiss him, you’ll lose your magic.”

To suggest that it kind of all goes to shit after that is something of an understatement.

Light pours out of Emma, unsteady legs under her even as she juts her chin out. To her credit Zelena doesn’t back down. She stands there and she turns a bit more green, and magic is so goddamn weird. Emma’s also never been in a magic fight before.

Spending so long hiding that part of her — certain it was going to be the reason everyone left, the opportunity never really presented itself. Fighting for the sanctity of time itself and Killian’s consciousness seems as good a reason as any to flip the script, so to speak.

Heat races through Emma, wind swirling at her ankles as frames clatter to the ground. Shards of glass fly on the manufactured breeze, Mary Margaret darting towards Belle and David sprinting towards Will, and it’s something of a confidence boost when they’re both able to pull them away from the battle.

Although Emma can’t really believe she thought the word battle, even in her head.

“Not exactly the magical dominance you were bragging about, huh?” Emma quips, twirling a finger in the air. Bands of light circle Zelena’s calves, twist up her legs and turn her answering laugh into a gasp that also does dangerous things to Emma’s ego.

“I never—” Zelena grunts, twisting against bonds that don’t even flicker. “—You were the powerful one, I thought I made that blatantly obvious.” “I mean,” David shrugs.

Ruby nods. “She did kind of, Em. That’s true.” “Whose side are you on?” Emma snaps, but the retreat back to absurd is almost comforting in a familiar, banter-filled sort of way.

“Please,” Regina sighs. Her hands are on fire. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, and I know you claimed you didn’t have to tell Killian the truth before.” “Yeah, well, cat’s pretty much out of the bag on that front, don’t you think?” “Flew out on pigeon’s wings, I think.”

Laughter has no place in a moment when Zelena’s entire face has turned green, and her own fireballs are threatening at her palms, but Emma can’t help herself and maybe the dumbest thing she’s ever done was suggest Killian shouldn’t have worked at Mills. Or that she couldn’t be head over heels in love with him.

That helps, honestly.

“You’re not getting my magic,” Emma announces, all too sure she sounds as ridiculous as she feels. Heroic soliloquies are also overrated, it seems. “And you’re not getting Killian or—God, were we actually talking about Dorothy that whole time?” Zelena snarls. That must be the response.

“Well, you’re not getting her either. Sneaking back here on Halloween was dumb. Trying any of this was ridiculous and threatening Killian was the worst of all your ideas. Because—” Emma takes a step forward. Nothing shakes. If anything her knees almost lock out, the hair falling over her shoulders noticeably brighter than usual and Zelena recoils. Seriously, her confidence is through the roof. “Magical job placement might be boring, and it might have a shit ton of paperwork, but it’s also a chance to help people and that’s...that’s the point, isn’t it? Finding that sense of belonging? Giving a person a chance. Being able to—” “—Fall in love,” Mary Margaret cries, scrunching her nose when Regina and Ruby shush her. “I mean…that’s what it is, isn’t it? Love’s not a weapon. It makes Emma glow.” And that makes Emma curse. “Maybe we phrase it differently?”

“Maybe we worry about language once we actually defeat the witch, huh?” Regina challenges, and that seems like a legitimate plan.

Balls of fire fly through the air. Ricochet off Emma’s lights, and every window flies open as Mary Margaret calls upon not only pigeons but what look like several sparrows and a few nightingales if the sounds they’re making is any indication. Leaves swirl around the room, partially from the actual wind and also from whatever Emma is apparently capable of.

A lot more than she thought, honestly.

Warmth rises in her spine, sets her shoulders in a straight and determined line and she gives Will an appreciative smile when he pulls Killian out of the fray. Only to immediately jump back in, ducking and twisting and there’s a lot more cardio involved than she thought, but then a flash of magic nearly singes her ear and Emma’s thankful for her own agility.

She moves. Refuses to back down, ignoring the growing ache in her muscles and the weird popping thing her hip is doing. And Zelena starts to cower. In an especially villain-type of way.

Backing into the nearest wall, she stumbles over her feet as light tightens around her. It pins her arms to her side, curls around her ankles and guarantees she can’t run away when Emma stalks forward.

With a smile on her face.

Oz authorities appear at eleven-eleven, which seems to suggest it is somehow still morning and Emma cannot rationalize that at all.

They thank Emma for containing the fugitive, nod towards Regina and well—that’s that. Leaving the rest of them in a slightly singed apartment with pillows that somehow haven’t burst, and what feels like a distinct lack of oxygen.

“So,” Will drawls, “what do we do now?” He doesn’t have to look at Killian. The still-sleeping form is the far-more-attractive-than-an-elephant elephant in the room, draped across a couch that David had to lift on his own. One of his feet is hanging over the side. “True Love’s Kiss isn’t a real thing,” Emma whispers, but the words taste like ash on her tongue and Regina makes a very obnoxious noise.

“Dumb, dumb, dumb.” “Do you think I’ll lose my magic?” “Do you actually care?” Shaking her head, Emma doesn’t bother saying the words. Not when she knows they’re so obviously painted on her face and sudden realization is almost as annoying as not ending sentences. She knows what he was tracing on her back.

Maybe she is the idiot, actually.

And for a moment, Emma’s mind falters. Remembers that other moment, standing frozen as a different set of lights threatened to blind her and metal snapped around her wrists and she’d been so certain then. Never again. Nothing else would get through the defenses. No one else would know. No more mistakes.

This isn’t a mistake.

Careful to avoid the glass on the floor, Emma tiptoes forward and crouches next to Killian. She brushes her fingers over that scar on his cheek, the ends of lips that are somehow still tilted up into half a smirk and—

“God, just do it already,” Belle shouts.

That’s that, again.

Kissing at this angle isn’t particularly easy, and Emma’s knees aren’t particularly pleased with the amount of pressure she’s putting on them, but it does allow her to basically drape herself across Killian and that also makes it easier to get her hand under the hem of his shirt. And nothing else really happens.

No sharp inhale. No tilt of his head. Absolutely no sign of his tongue, which Emma has come to find herself almost obsessed with in the last few months. She doesn’t care. Doesn’t allow herself to stop, not when there’s a flicker of hope and all that want simmering between her ribs, mixing with her magic and how ridiculously in love she is and it’s annoying that she’s the one who gasps.

As soon as arms circle her waist.

Emma can’t really tumble when she’s above him, but the edge of the couch digs into her thighs and Killian’s doing an admirable job of trying to get her parallel to the rest of his body. Her fingers find his hair when he arches up, his own hand roving the expanse of her back before his arm curls tightly around her like he’s trying to make sure she’s still there. Leaning into her palm against his chin, Killian’s lips drag across the back of Emma’s wrist, sparking another round of magic and even more glowing. “Oh shit,” Emma mumbles, not able to pull herself away from Killian. Because of his arm. And...other reasons.

“Was that a response to me, or—” “—No, no, I just—well, there’s still magic. I’ve still got magic. And, uh, I’m a witch.” He laughs. Throws his head back and lets his body shake under her, which really isn’t helping Emma’s state of mind at all, but she’s admittedly preoccupied with the overall volume of the laugh and how wide his smile is. “Swan, Emma love, did you honestly think I didn’t know?”

She—

Has absolutely no idea what to do with that.

Ruby might fall over. Regina’s eyes bug, Mary Margaret using David to stay upright, Belle covers her mouth with her hand, Will cackling loud enough for the both of them.

“Did you,” Emma starts, but Belle and Will shake their heads and Killian’s tongue click is awfully put-upon for a guy who was just cursed.

He taps on her jaw until she’s able to look at him. And his stupid blue eyes. “I could feel it, love. Also you have a tendency to...glow. Which I'm assuming is a compliment, for me. Or us. There's an us, right?" She nods. Can't do much else. "And you’re not very subtle. Extra cinnamon in the cabinets, moving the remote so I don’t have to look for it. Working at a job placement agency that helps the magically afflicted. Plus there was paperwork. Was Freddie really a gold statue at one point?” “Yeah, but they un-statue’ed him with water from Lake Nostos. Not True Love’s Kiss.” “So we won, then?” “Competitive weirdo.” “Absolutely,” Killian nods. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I figured you’d get around to it at some point and then you were talking today and—” “—We’re not such shitty friends that we’d demand Killian show up back here before nine,” Will reasons. “Plus, it’s been kind of nice to have a free couch.”

Killian gags. “Did I say congratulations yet?” “We were busy.” “Wait, wait,” Emma sputters, and she’s going to go into cardiac arrest. Or magic overload. “So this whole time. You knew.” “Well, not the whole time,” Killian objects. “Most of it though, yeah.” “But you’re still here.” “Where else did you expect me to go? Aside from your apartment now that we’ve defeated the wicked witch? I’m assuming we defeated the wicked witch.” Emma nods. “Well, then I’ll apologize for drawing you into that, too. She was half the reason I started to suspect anything, honestly. Told Regina about her and the last thing I expected when I got here was to see her, or to have her demand I get you here. I tried to avoid that.” More nodding. More aching muscles and poorly performing hearts, and Emma wouldn’t mind if Killian traced several other sentiments into a variety of different areas, but they’ve got an audience and a pregnant lady and they never did get coffee. So, it makes sense to ignore that for a second. Or several.

“I love you,” she says instead. Shouts, really. “More than I realized I could and I—” Any other words get lost in the feel of Killian’s mouth on hers and the ability of his tongue to incite butterflies in her stomach, and she hardly hears him say I love you back. It doesn’t matter. She hears it on loop for the rest of the day, once they’re ushered unceremoniously out of Belle and Will’s apartment. Neither of them think much about getting coffee.

And she’s just on the cusp of sleep, eyelashes fluttering and blankets halfway to stolen when Emma hears something else. Pressed into that one spot below her ear.

“I’ve got no intention of leaving,” Killian whispers, “not because of the magic or the power that comes with it, only because I love you. A ridiculous amount, honestly.”

Sleep seems kind of pointless after that.

He decides to leave Mills, eventually.

“I don’t have magic,” Killian rationalizes, and Emma supposes that makes sense. “But I will need some help finding a job.”

Sliding a file with his name written in swirling script across her desk, he’s got the gall to smirk at her and Emma resists the urge to magic him into her chair. “Luckily I do have other skills, including a job offer—” “—If you’ve got a job offer, you don’t really need my help.” “Yeah, but you’re very pretty and I hear you’re real good at what you do.” “Which is?” “Moving in with me,” Killian says, which isn’t the last thing she expects but it still manages to catch her off guard. Lights erupt at the end of several strands of hair. “The reaction I was going for, absolutely.” “No, no, that’s—that’s dumb.” “Is it?” “I was going to ask you to move in with me. First.” “Competitive weirdo.” “I have an apartment,” Emma argues. “With laundry on site.” “Ah, yeah, that is a marker in the pro column. Plus, you’ll be there right?” “In my apartment? Yeah, probably,”

Pushing back on the chair he’d never really been sitting in, Killian leans across Emma’s desk. To kiss her. Hard. Magic flares in the air around them, causing bulbs to flicker and more than a few cries of get a room . “What I’m trying to do,” Killian mumbles. “If you’re asking me to move in, Swan, I’m going to accept.” “Make it sound less like a warning next time.”

He chuckles against her mouth, either ignoring the desk that must be pressing into his stomach or not bothered by it at all, and Emma tries not to throw herself at him too quickly when he brings a whole box of recently-bought blankets with him.

“So you don’t get cold, love.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #on this night and in this light #MAGIC BATTLES #MORE KISSING #MAGIC BATTLES WHILE FLIRTING

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keyofjetwolf · 4 years

Text

Hi would you like some rage about She-Ra season 5?

If the answer is no, please don’t click below. For real. Really for real. I’m not looking to piss in anyone’s Cheerios. I think if you were satisfied (or better!) with the show, that’s fantastic and I envy you. As I have always said, love what you love. My opinion is mine and means precisely nothing beyond that. If you think you may be even a little bummed reading about how someone didn’t like it, skip this post and go on with your day, I promise you’re not missing anything worthwhile.

IN A SIMILAR VEIN: If -- before, during, or after reading -- you feel inclined to argue with me, I am begging you to please not. I cannot begin to tell you how much I don’t want to be argued with on this right now. I’m still extremely disappointed and cranky, and I’m not much in the mood to have a measured, reasoned debate about my feelings. Much as my opinion has no bearing on you, your opinion has no bearing on me, and as I’m giving you the option to opt out, I’d appreciate the same courtesy. If you want to write your own post on your own blog, go nuts! Just please leave me out of it. I PREFER TO BE CRANKY AT TELEVISION SHOWS THAN PEOPLE.

The rest of you, come on down. I don’t promise coherency, but I DO promise a lot of stuff said in all-caps!

---

Hello! Thank you for joining me! We watched the remaining few episodes of She-Ra last night! I hated them! Yaaay!

What did I hate? OH HO HO MANY THINGS FRIENDS MANY THINGS. It’s not just stuff from the final couple of episodes either, I want to clarify. It’s the entire final season, settling on last few episodes like the freshly fallen snow on your front lawn that some frat boys decide to pee their names into. By the time we’d gotten to these last episodes, there was really nothing left for me but confirmation of all the shit I’d come to hate. SO THANKS I GUESS FOR PROVING ME RIGHT

Which isn’t to say there was nothing to enjoy in the final episodes! There was!

5. She-Ra’s Triceps. GET BUFF GIRL. I LOVE how Adora and She-Ra look similar, but very much not identical. Adora’s no slouch when it comes to physical stuff, but they go the extra mile to show us how She-Ra is that much more. HOW RARELY DO YOU GET TO SEE A WOMAN WITH MUSCLES. I’ve been nothing but impressed by the ways the show drew the line between Adora and She-Ra, and however I felt about its handling of other elements, it didn’t let me down here.

4. Sometimes A Family Is A Twink, A Lizard, And Their Imp Baby. I don’t have further commentary on this, and I need none.

3. Welcome Home, Daddy. THIS WAS SO SPECTACULAR. Glimmer had, I would argue, the most realized arc in the story. It was so gratifying to see this as a culmination, not just of her own struggle with her magical power and ability to harness it, but her willingness to do what needs doing, however personally difficult. That was a stumbling point Angelica could never overcome, continually trying to micromanage and protect Glimmer rather than trusting her and recognizing her for the asset she was. Also though, more succinctly: YESSSS BITCH

2. A Shanty! THIS WHOLE SCENE WAS PERFECT NO NOTES. Just the right blend of silly and sincere, a genuine delight as even brainwashed Mermista had had enough of Sea Hawk’s shit, AND so much more clever than it seemed at first glance. THIS IS THE ONLY VALID HETEROSEXUAL RELATIONSHIP IN SHE-RA I AM NOT TAKING QUESTIONS AT THIS TIME

1. Shadow Weaver. SHADOW FUCKING WEAVER. What a complicated, fascinating character, bar none the most interesting in the entire series. I do think they pulled their punch right at the very end with her, but I AM capable of remembering I’m watching a kid’s show, so I can only get so disappointed about it. Mostly, she remained a beautifully morally complex character, and she was one of my greatest personal delights from beginning to end*.

(*) Boy did this show have one single solution for mommy issues though.

THAT WAS ABOUT IT. So let’s get to why we’re all really here, and that is MY SCREAMING OH MY GOD WHERE DO I BEGIN

Nah, I know exactly where to begin.

GLIMMER AND BO JESUS MCTRISKET I AM GOING TO EXPLODE AND SHOWER THE UNIVERSE IN THE SHRAPNEL OF MY HATE

WHY IS THIS HAPPENING

WHERE DID IT COME FROM

HOW CAN I SHOVE IT BACK IN THE HATEFUL SPEWHOLE THAT SIRED THIS BULLSHIT

WHY WHY IS THIS HERE WHY IS THIS IN MY FACE WHERE MY EYES HAVE TO SEE IT FUCK ME SIDEWAYS THIS IS THE MOST UNNECESSARY SHOEHORNED IN HET ROMANCE FUCK A DOODLE NONSENSE I HAVE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO BEAR WITNESS WHAT IS IT DOING IN THIS OTHERWISE EXPONENTIALLY GAY CARTOON

WERE YOU PANDERING TO THE STRAIGHTS

WHY ARE YOU PANDERING TO THE STRAIGHTS I ASSURE YOU WE ARE COVERED BOTH HISTORICALLY AND FICTIONALLY

ALSO NEED I REMIND YOU THAT YOU HAVE ALREADY ACHIEVED HETEROSEXUAL PERFECTION

NO MERMISTA NO WE ARE NOT ALL JUST LIKE OKAY WITH THIS

Oh my FUCKSTICKS, I could’ve rolled with so much more that angers/disappoints me about She-Ra’s ending if every single thing I feared about this hadn’t proved true.

AND. IT. WAS. SO. UNNECESSARY.

What exactly did pairing off Glimmer and Bo do for the story? For their characters? THIS IS THE PART THAT’S STABBING ME IN THE DELICATE WEBBING OF MY TOES. Because -- COME WITH ME A MOMENT SWEET ANGELS -- because I was under the impression that, oohhhh, I dunno, FRIENDSHIP WAS A HUGE FUCKING IMPORTANT PART OF THIS PASTEL HELLSCAPE

Is it, She-Ra? IS IT REALLY???? When not one but BOTH of your childhood friendship pairings end in romance? When you close out your five seasons with romantic relationships so painfully and specifically sown across the character landscape like an overzealous gardener turned loose on the world?

You know what you have at the end? DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID

THIS ISN’T A BEST FRIENDS SQUAD IT’S A DOUBLE DATE THAT NEVER MERCIFULLY ENDS

And again I ask, Why?? What was it about Glimmer and Bo’s relationship that needed them to become romantic? What was LACKING that this was the solution?

THIS IS WHAT MAKES ME LOSE MY GODDAMN SHITTING MIND I AM SO FUCKING DONE WITH THIS INSIPID MYOPIC TRASHBAG OF A CONCEPT

I believed She-Ra’s entire premise about friendship, I believed it wholeheartedly, and I’m so PISSED that at the close of day, narratively, it swept it all the bin. AND YES, YES IT DID, otherwise, WHY IS IT THERE. It serves no story-based need, it serves no character-based need, it has no NEED at all. So is it meant to be a “reward” to Bo and Glimmer for winning the war, as if their lifelong friendship were not reward enough? Is it meant to show they’ve walked through the flames and emerged with stronger, deeper bonds, because of course a relationship can only go SO deep without fucking. There’s no avenue to Romantic Relationship that doesn’t simultaneously point to something lacking in Platonic Relationship, AND I AM FURY PERSONIFIED

I am so tired of this. I’m SO TIRED of this.

And it didn’t need to be there. They didn’t even TRY to give us a good reason. That may be the part that makes me the angriest. Of COURSE they hook up romantically, of COURSE their platonic love would grow into “more”.

Fuck YOU, She-Ra. I thought you were better than that. YOU WERE SO CLOSE TO BETTER THAN THAT

THEN THERE WAS CATRA

I get it, I guess. I mean, I think it’s shittily written, but I GUESS. Honestly, end of day, I just don’t care about Catra enough to really get too angry about it, particularly when as I’m so fucking incendiary over something much more important to me. But it’s also the show’s greatest creative failure, and even if I HADN’T gotten angrier at other choices, it would’ve still cut its own legs out from under it.

Catra’s “redemption” was weak and sad and did a disservice to her and everyone involved. She started self-centered and shitty, and she ended just as self-centered and shitty, only we’re fine with that now. She learned nothing and changed nothing, but also nobody ever demanded it of her, so I can only lay so much at the character’s feet. The problem is ultimately creative, where I think Noelle Stevenson got lost in her own love of the character, and somewhere along the way forgot that if you take them out that far, you have to be willing to walk them the long road back. Compare to poor Glimmer, for fuck’s sake, whose greatest sin was being desperate enough to be manipulated by the character whose entire fucking DEAL is being THE manipulator. How much shit did she get for that? How long was she punished? Meanwhile Catra becomes THE Big Bad for a while, nearly unravels all of reality in a fit of supreme lesbian angst and self-pity, directly leads to the death of the planet’s ruling monarch who also happens to be GLITTER’S MUM and DIRECT FRIEND TO THE SHOW’S HEROES, but that’s fine, you did one sorta good thing one time and even though it was also wrapped in a thick film of self-pity and a final fuck-you at Adora, all is forgiven!

Speaking of, Adora suffers just as much from stunted growth. From the beginning, her thing was control, unable to free herself from the responsibility of everything and everyone. What did we have at the end? Adora as the only one who could save everything and everyone. Yeah, they kept asking what it was SHE wanted, BUT THEN SHE NEVER ACTUALLY GOT TO CHOOSE. NOT activating the failsafe wasn’t an option for her, and while she wound up not having to die to do it, even that wasn’t her choice in the end, it was Catra’s. (Don’t even get me started on her nth hour “You love me?” fuckery when it wasn’t once for one single second shown to be a question of such life-turning importance.)

All of which could be interesting! That Catra and Adora went through all this, came so far to wind up right where they started? AWESOME. LOVE IT. FUND IT. But really all that happens is nobody minds now that Catra’s a self-involved little shit and tee-hee another Best Friends Squad Mission being bullrushed by Adora within five minutes of ending the last one isn’t that funny?

I can’t even dig much enjoyment out of Adora and Catra as a trope subversion (if one of them was a male, their romantic involvement wouldn’t have even been a QUESTION), because the show lost its fucking mind with romantically pairing everybody off in the final five minutes. WHICH BRINGS ME RIGHT BACK TO MY PREVIOUS SCREAMING SO I’LL STOP THERE.

There was other stuff, of course. I think it was a TERRIBLE decision to spend the last season with the focus split between the two groups of rebels, and writing half the cast into brainwashing. I think the Nettossa and Spinnerella stuff was wasted and lacked any punch at all because the show for some reason or another couldn’t be bothered to let us spend any time with them to care. The waste of Scorpia and Mermista especially (to people named Jet Wolf who are me) was fucking CRIMINAL. Speaking of Scorpia, wouldn’t her showdown with Bo have been so much more poignant if they’d had really any kind of interaction before that moment to build from? (Sure, it’s Scorpia, so if you’re going to sell the lack of context with anyone it’s her, BUT ALSO.) Hey, remember Huntara? No? NEITHER DID THE SHOW.

All my details aside though, MY MANY MANY MANY DETAILS, what kills/rages me most about She-Ra was how so much potential from the first four seasons was just flushed away. Whether it was the creative team shooting itself in the foot or corporate pressure and rushing from Netflix, I don’t know. I don’t CARE. This is the show I was given, so this is the show I have, and that kind of fall after that kind of potential doesn’t just irritate me, it makes me SAD. I wouldn’t be this disappointed if I didn’t think it could have been -- WAS -- so much more.

Time will tell if I can separate out the final season from how much I loved those that came before it. I like to hope so, because I did love it intensely and loved whenever I got the chance to really dig in and talk about it.

WHATEVER ELSE I SUPPOSE I WILL ALWAYS HAVE THIS

Again please remember that I am not at present looking to argue or debate my feelings and opinions. I get to just be angry and disappointed, as a treat!

#jet wolf watches she ra #a novel by jet wolf #ANYWAY THAT'S ENOUGH ENERGY SPENT ON THIS CHILD'S CARTOON FOR ONE 24 HOUR PERIOD

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