Hi! I cannot tell you how much I love watching your reactions to the Untamed! It made my Mondays and Wednesdays a little bit brighter during a rough time. If youâre looking for a funny corner of fandom try looking up the channel TheStarFell on YouTube. They do a series called Untamed But Weird and it cracks me up every time! I highly recommend it! All the best!
Aw, thank you!Â
Iâm definitely giving Untamed But Weird a shot at some point, it gets recced a bunch. <333
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Rules: Post a GIF that represents you, but it canât be from a fandom mentioned in your header/bio; then tag some people thank for thet tag. I was tagged by @panpervinca
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
fic rec! 14K of gen fun-ness
Summary: Crowley deeply regretted agreeing to go to Anathemaâs cookout. Â He was irritated, uncomfortable, at witâs end, and to add insult to injury... he had no idea why. Â Youâd think after more than 6000 years, Crowley would have already been through every indignity a demonic snake could face! Â Unfortunately, youâd be wrong.
Comments: This is simply a fun read, Crowleyâs being grumpy and the Them being written wonderfuly as a cast of well-meaning, but kinda ridculous group of kids.
But honestly, I think what hit me the most was the implications in the last few paragraphs of the story. The idea that Crowleyâs first ever shed is a shine of a shift in Hell, and that heâs leading the charge. Itâs delightful enough that I really hope @notanightlight plays with that idea more.
7. âWhy are you aggressively stripping?â Batfamily please! Because if you make a fic with this funny, Iâll laugh, and if you make it dramatic I will be in awe! I hope youâre having fun!
please keep in mind that itâs been literal months since I have written anything but my original story, so iâm a little out of practice. anyways, hereâs some angst.
âShit,â Dick murmurs through his motorcycle helmet, even thoughbreathing is already starting to get hard. âShit. Shit. Fuck.â
Heâs jumping off his bike before he even fully stops, ripping off hishelmet and throwing it to the Cave floor. His fingers are shaking, but thatdoesnât stop him from clawing at the seams of his torn uniform. Everythingâsgetting blurry, and heâs dizzy.
âBruce!â Dick wheezes out. Prays heâs loud enough. He doesnât think so.He tries again just as he finally gets his gloves off. âBruce!â
Bruce is there in less time than it takes for Dick to fall to his assand start working at a boot. The tremblingâs getting worse, and Bruce is kindof just a black blur with a head. Itâd be funny if this was any other situation.He gets Dickâs other boot off much faster than Dick can, pushing away Dickâs shakingfingers to start on the one Dick had been working on.
Dick goes for his escrima sticks instead, and they clatter to theground.
âWhat happened?â Bruce asks, his voice low. Dick starts shovingfrantically at his uniform, canât get it off fast enough. Heâs not breathingright, though, and heâs not really in his right mind. Heâs too desperate to gethis uniform off, and Bruce has to ask again, âDick. You need to calm down andtell me what happened.â
âThey hadâsomething,â Dick tries to explain. âGas, I think. I had mymask, but my uniform was already ripped, and it got into the tears. God, it burns, Bruce. I needâI needââ
Dick canât finish what heâs saying, but luckily, Bruce starts helpingout of the suit quicker than before. The problem is that Dickâs suit is prettystreamlined. Less armor for quicker movements. It doesnât come off very easy.
The roar of another motorbike approaches, but Dick doesnât pay muchattention to it until it stops. Thereâs the clatter of a helmet hitting theground, and then Jasonâs voice, asking, âWoah, woah. Why are we helping Dickhead aggressively strip? And whatâs with theburns?â even as he moves to help Dick and Bruce.
A dry sob rips itself from Dickâs throat as Bruce and Jason finally get himout of his suit, because even out of the suit his skin just straight up burns.
âHelp me,â Bruce barks at Jason as he crouches down to grip Dickâs arm.Jason snaps something that Dick doesnât pay attention, but his little brotherstill grabs Dickâs other arm, and the two lift him and practically carry him tothe infirmary.
Dickâs pretty sure he loses consciousness a few times, because all heremembers after that is yelling and flashes of different family memberssurrounding him.
When he finally opens his eyes again, fully awake this time, the burningsensation has been somewhat numbed. Not completely gone, but dulled enough thatheâs not thinking through a frantic haze of pain anymore.
âDick,â Bruceâs voice calls out, cutting through the silence of theinfirmary. Dickâs eyelashes flutterâheâs exhaustedâbut he keeps his eyes on hisdad. Heâs no longer a blur anymore. Dick can see every detail of his face, anditâs relieving enough that tears prick at Dickâs eyes.
âBruce,â he whispers. He doesnât have enough of his voice for anythinglouder.
Bruceâs eyes search his face, looking for something, and Dick feels okayenough to send him a small smile.
âIâm okay,â Dick tells him quietly.
âYouâre not,â Bruce says. Heâs quiet, too.
Dick hums. âBetter than before. Alot better.â
Bruce doesnât say anything to that, but he does sigh slightly as he sitshimself down in a chair by Dickâs bedside and grabs his sonâs hand. Dick intertwinestheir fingers, and Bruce still says nothing. His eyes never leave Dick for morethan a few seconds.
He looks older than he should for a man in his forties. He looks olderthan he had this morning, and Dickhates that tonight, heâs the one to age his dad. Another kid almost died. Anoccupational hazard, Dick might tease any other night. A joke that Bruce neverlaughs at.
Dick probably shouldnât, either, honestly.
âYou okay?â Dick wonders after a little while. âYou seem kind of down.â
Bruceâs mouth twitches downward. Not a frown, but close. âYou almostdied.â
âMmm,â Dick hums again. âI mean besides that. Stuck on a case.â
Bruce stares at him for a long moment, and then he sighs, giving in alot quicker than Dick would have ever expected. âNot a case. Timâs sick withthe flu, I think. Iâve been worried.â
Dick blinks. âTimâs sick?â
Bruce grunts.
âDoes Alfred know?â
âAlfredâs with him now,â Bruce says with a sort of weary sigh. âAnd thenyou came home with gas burns. You got lucky.â
âMaybe,â Dick says. âOr maybe I was prepared enough to get myself out ofa situation before it killed me. Just like a certain someone taught me.â
Bruce sighs again. âWeâll talk about this in the morning. Youâreexhausted and you need sleep.â
âSo do you.â
âGo to sleep, Dick.â
Dick glares Bruce down. âI will when you do.â
They stare at each other for almost a whole minute, but Bruce must bemore tired and worried than Dick had thought, because Bruce gives in far tooeasily for someone who Dick has seen perch on the edge of a roof on a stakeoutfor literal hours without moving.
âFine.â Bruce moves to get up, but Dick squeezes his hand, stopping him.
âI love you,â Dick whispers. âThanks for being there tonight.â
Bruce squeezes back. âGood night, Dick. Iâll check on you in a fewhours.â
Dick smiles, a little lopsided, but still enthusiastic. âNight, Bruce.â
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@notanightlight  replied to your post âStop writing men as if modern Western toxic masculinity were the...â
Whoa, I agree that these are some of the nations most talked about when talking about Europe. But what do you mean, âAmerican white peopleâ by it? That totally depends on the part of the USA (assuming you just mean the USA) youâre talking about. The white people from the states in the area my mother came from are predominantly Swedish and Norwegian. The white people in the area I grew up in were mostly Irish, Polish, Slovakian, Czech, German, and Italian. That is massively oversimplified.
Well, thatâs the thing. âWhite peopleâ is a totally made-up oversimplified category. But being made up doesnât mean it isnât real. Whiteness is literally what happens when you take distinct European ethnicities and feed them all into a sociological meatgrinder.
Here is the actual explanation of this photograph, taken without exaggeration or embellishment directly from its item description by The Henry Ford Museum of American Innovation:
Melting Pot Ceremony at Ford English School, July 4, 1917Â
Graduates of Ford's English School wearing their "native dress" descend into a large pot labeled "The American Melting Pot." After going through a virtual smelting process, the immigrant's identity was boiled away, leaving a new citizen to emerge from the pot wearing American clothes and waving American flags. In an attempt to address the need to integrate growing numbers of foreign workers at Ford's Highland Park Plant, the company established the Ford English School in 1914. The school focused on training immigrants in the English language and providing civics lessons necessary to become US citizens. Ford's English School provided basic citizenship and language training for so many immigrants, that the US Naturalization Service counted graduation from the Ford English School as meeting most of the requirements needed to take the citizenship exam.Â
Whiteness as a culture, a force, an identity, is fundamentally based on the erasure of all other differences between white people. The degree to which someone can be considered âwhiteâ is, in many ways, the degree to which they have been assimilated into whiteness, which is not just about skin or hair colour.
So, to link back to the thing being discussed originally: Becoming American, or becoming white, for men, has meant leaving ethnic dress behind and putting on suits in muted colours. It has meant learning to carry themselves with a certain body language, to restrain their emotions in a certain way, to limit their body language, their expressiveness, their interest in arts or culture. This is why different groups--Irish, Russian, Armenian, Italian, Greek, or Latino--have been variously classified as âwhiteâ and ânot whiteâ over time, without actually changing that much physically; itâs about how much theyâre perceived to have assimilated.
When American media wants to depict a light-skinned man as âforeignâ, how do they mark him as foreign aside from giving him an accent? They make him too expressive, or too emotive; he makes too much physical contact, or his clothing is too nice or too colourful, or he cares about dance or music more than the American characters.Â
That is not to say American men, or white men, donât do things counter to the masculine stereotype. They do! Of course they do! And I applaud them for it! But they get socially punished for breaking out of their gendered roles.Â
A lot of my thoughts about masculinity lately were prompted by watching a performance by a professional Ukrainian dance company, whose men do get to wear colours and be bold and flamboyant and powerful and aesthetically focused. Iâve know boys who were part of the companyâs dance school, and I used to be amazed at the difference between them as your average softspoken Canadian nice white boy in English, and confident, self-possessed, brilliant performers when they talked about dance or spoke Ukrainian. It was the difference between an identity kept out of the meatgrinder of whiteness (Canadian authorities resisted Ukrainian immigrants for a long time, dubious that they would ever successfully assimilate into general Anglo whiteness) and the white identities they assimilated into to fit into society.
And yeah, some European traditions are the heart of whiteness, the people who pushed the ideals that got held up as the universal standard, and theyâre who gets talked about when we talk about âwestern culturesâ and âwestern valuesâ, but I do that honestly because this concept of âThe Westâ, of âwhiteâ, of âAmericanâ, of âEuropeanâ, has always been constructed to mean âthis ideal, and anyone who fits the demographic but not the ideal gets pushed aside.â