he's torn

Ok I just noticed something ELSE about the mileven reunion

Dustin and Lucas.

So most likely Mike wasn’t letting his friends in on his emotional turmoil. Obviously they knew he was upset about Eleven, but I don’t imagine he was having heart to hearts with them about the specifics his feelings.

Even looking at the scene in episode 2 when he talks to Will about it. You really get the impression that that was the first time he ever really talked about how he was feeling to anyone.

Probably a big part was that he thought he was crazy for still believing she was alive. They all saw her disintigrate. He didn’t want his friends to know how torn up he was. He couldn’t bear to hear them tell him that she was gone. So he didn’t talk about it with them.

So when she comes back and Mike runs to her, holds her like she’s his lifeline, practically in tears, Lucas and Dustin are just standing there, slackjawed. They had no idea. They knew that he had been crushing on her before she disappeared, but this is no crush. This is something deeper.

And suddenly the whole past year makes sense. They understand why he had been kind of a jerk over the last year, and finally, they don’t blame him.

self control (part 2) - steve harrington

Steve Harrington x Reader

part one

Warnings: inner conflict i guess??

Summary: You’re finding it harder and harder to resist Steve.

A/N: Part two ya’ll! I’m pretty proud of how this turned out. I know it’s A LOT shorter than part one but I think I like it like this. I appreciate everyone’s feedback and support - I love hearing from you guys! :D Keep telling me what you guys like or don’t like, I love it. 

Not my gif, credit to the owner

 

Originally posted by frayclary


Monday morning rolled around and you were still all torn up.

Steve had really screwed everything up, and despite the fact he called to apologize, you were still angry. You were angry at him for not controlling his temper, you were angry at Tommy for being such a jackass, but mostly you were angry at yourself for letting your guard down. You knew better than to let Steve in, to fall for him. Yet here you were, having spent the entire weekend thinking about him, and you felt like someone had ripped your whole body in half.

Keep reading

I’m sorry, I know D'art was a demogorgon and all and we really shouldn’t want him to survive, but seeing him lying there dying with a Three Musketeers wrapper by his head just made me so sad. Like he ignored his evil overlord’s orders and allowed the kids to pass, maybe they could’ve trained him to be on their side? And to not eat cats?

10-24-17 || Goretober Day 24- Infection

And sitting on that marble table is a chess set. And suddenly, there’s John. And he’s different. When you had parlay with him in the past, he was essentially a regular human man, but now he’s torn, and cracked, with rifts of— of black opal tearing down his face and body. And you can feel a faint heat coming off of him.

Dead Fandoms, Part 3

Read Part One of Dead Fandoms here. 

Read Part Two of Dead Fandoms here. 

Before we continue, I want to add the usual caveat that I actually don’t want to be right about these fandoms being dead. I like enthusiasm and energy and it’s a shame to see it vanish.


Mists of Avalon

Remember that period of time of about 15 years, where absolutely everybody read this book and was obsessed with it? It could not have been bigger, and the fandom was Anne Rice huge, overlapping for several years with USENET and the early World Wide Web…but it’s since petered out. 

Mists of Avalon’s popularity may be due to the most excellent case of hitting a demographic sweet spot ever. The book was a feminist retelling of the Arthurian Mythos where Morgan Le Fay is the main character, a pagan from matriarchal goddess religions who is fighting against encroaching Christianity and patriarchal forms of society coming in with it. Also, it made Lancelot bisexual and his conflict is how torn he is about his attraction to both Arthur and Guinevere.

Remember, this novel came out in 1983 – talk about being ahead of your time! If it came out today, the reaction from a certain corner would be something like “it is with a heavy heart that I inform you that tumblr is at it again.”

Man, demographically speaking, that’s called “nailing it.” It used to be one of the favorite books of the kind of person who’s bookshelf is dominated by fantasy novels about outspoken, fiery-tongued redheaded women, who dream of someday moving to Scotland, who love Enya music and Kate Bush, who sell homemade needlepoint stuff on etsy, who consider their religious beliefs neo-pagan or wicca, and who have like 15 cats, three of which are named Isis, Hypatia, and Morrigan.

This type of person is still with us, so why did this novel fade in popularity? There’s actually a single hideous reason: after her death around 2001, facts came out that Marion Zimmer Bradley abused her daughters sexually. Even when she was alive, she was known for defending and enabling a known child abuser, her husband, Walter Breen. To say people see your work differently after something like this is an understatement – especially if your identity is built around being a progressive and feminist author.


Robotech

I try to break up my sections on dead fandoms into three parts: first, I explain the property, then explain why it found a devoted audience, and finally, I explain why that fan devotion and community went away. Well, in the case of Robotech, I can do all three with a single sentence: it was the first boy pilot/giant robot Japanimation series that shot for an older, teenage audience to be widely released in the West. Robotech found an audience when it was the only true anime to be widely available, and lost it when became just another import anime show. In the days of Crunchyroll, it’s really hard to explain what made Robotech so special, because it means describing a different world.

Try to imagine what it was like in 1986 for Japanime fans: there were barely any video imports, and if you wanted a series, you usually had to trade tapes at your local basement club (they were so precious they couldn’t even be sold, only traded). If you were lucky, you were given a script to translate what you were watching. Robotech though, was on every day, usually after school. You want an action figure? Well, you could buy a Robotech Valkyrie or a Minmei figure at your local corner FAO Schwartz. 

However, the very strategy that led to it getting syndicated is the very reason it was later vilified by the purists who emerged when anime became a widespread cultural force: strictly speaking, there actually is no show called “Robotech.” Since Japanese shows tend to be short run, say, 50-60 episodes, it fell well under the 80-100 episode mark needed for syndication in the US. The producer of Harmony Gold, Carl Macek, had a solution: he’d cut three unrelated but similar looking series together into one, called “Robotech.” The shows looked very similar, had similar love triangles, used similar tropes, and even had little references to each other, so the fit was natural. It led to Robotech becoming a weekday afternoon staple with a strong fandom who called themselves “Protoculture Addicts.” There were conventions entirely devoted to Robotech. The supposed shower scene where Minmei was bare-breasted was the barely whispered stuff of pervert legend in pre-internet days. And the tie in novels, written with the entirely western/Harmony Gold conception of the series and which continued the story, were actually surprisingly readable.

The final nail in the coffin of Robotech fandom was the rise of Sailor Moon, Toonami, Dragonball, and yes, Pokemon (like MC Hammer’s role in popularizing hip hop, Pokemon is often written out of its role in creating an audience for the next wave of cartoon imports out of insecurity). Anime popularity in the West can be defined as not a continuing unbroken chain like scifi book fandom is, but as an unrelated series of waves, like multiple ancient ruins buried on top of each other (Robotech was the vanguard of the third wave, as Anime historians reckon); Robotech’s wave was subsumed by the next, which had different priorities and different “core texts.” Pikachu did what the Zentraedi and Invid couldn’t do: they destroyed the SDF-1.


Legion of Super-Heroes

Legion of Superheroes was comic set in the distant future that combined superheroes with space opera, with a visual aesthetic that can best be described as “Star Trek: the Motion Picture, if it was set in a disco.” 

I’ve heard wrestling described as “a soap opera for men.” If that’s the case, then Legion of Super-Heroes was a soap opera for nerds. The book is about attractive 20-somethings who seem to hook up all the time. As a result, it had a large female fanbase, which, I cannot stress enough, is incredibly unusual for this era in comics history. And if you have female fans, you get a lot of shipping and slashfic, and lots of speculation over which of the boy characters in the series is gay. The fanon answer is Element Lad, because he wore magenta-pink and never had a girlfriend. (Can’t argue with bulletproof logic like that.) In other words, it was a 1970s-80s fandom that felt much more “modern” than the more right-brained, bloodless, often anal scifi fandoms that existed around the same time, where letters pages were just nitpicking science errors by model train and elevator enthusiasts.

Legion Headquarters seemed to be a rabbit fuck den built around a supercomputer and Danger Room. Cosmic Boy dressed like Tim Curry in Rocky Horror. There’s one member, Duo Damsel, who can turn into two people, a power that, in the words of Legion writer Jim Shooter, was “useful for weird sex…and not much else.”

LSH was popular because the fans were insanely horny. This is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the thirstiest fandom of all time.  You might think I’m overselling this, but I really think that’s an under-analyzed part of how some kinds of fiction build a devoted fanbase.  

For example, a big reason for the success of Mass Effect is that everyone has a favorite girl or boy, and you have the option to romance them. Likewise, everyone who was a fan of Legion remembers having a crush. Sardonic Ultra Boy for some reason was a favorite among gay male nerds (aka the Robert Conrad Effect). Tall, blonde, amazonian telepath Saturn Girl, maybe the first female team leader in comics history, is for the guys with backbone who prefer Veronica over Betty. Shrinking Violet was a cute Audrey Hepburn type. And don’t forget Shadow Lass, who was a blue skinned alien babe with pointed ears and is heavily implied to have an accent (she was Aayla Secura before Aayla Secura was Aayla Secura). Light Lass was commonly believed to be “coded lesbian” because of a short haircut and her relationships with men didn’t work out. The point is, it’s one thing to read about the adventures of a superteam, and it implies a totally different level of mental and emotional involvement to read the adventures of your imaginary girlfriend/boyfriend.  

Now, I should point out that of all the fandoms I’ve examined here, LSH was maybe the smallest. Legion was never a top seller, but it was a favorite of the most devoted of fans who kept it alive all through the seventies and eighties with an energy and intensity disproportionate to their actual numbers. My gosh, were LSH fans devoted! Interlac and Legion Outpost were two Legion fanzines that are some of the most famous fanzines in comics history.

If nerd culture fandoms were drugs, Star Wars would be alcohol, Doctor Who would be weed, but Legion of Super-Heroes would be injecting heroin directly into your eyeballs. Maybe it is because the Legionnaires were nerdy, too: they played Dungeons and Dragons in their off time (an escape, no doubt, from their humdrum, mundane lives as galaxy-rescuing superheroes). There were sometimes call outs to Monty Python. Basically, the whole thing had a feel like the dorkily earnest skits or filk-singing at a con. Legion felt like it’s own fan series, guest starring Patton Oswalt and Felicia Day.

It helped that the boundary between fandom and professional was incredibly porous. For instance, pro-artist Dave Cockrum did covers for Legion fanzines. Former Legion APA members Todd and Mary Biernbaum got a chance to actually write Legion, where, with the gusto of former slashfic writers given the keys to canon, their major contribution was a subplot that explicitly made Element Lad gay. Mike Grell, a professional artist who got paid to work on the series, did vaguely porno-ish fan art. Again, it’s hard to tell where the pros started and the fandom ended; the inmates were running the asylum.

Mostly, Legion earned this devotion because it could reward it in a way no other comic could. Because Legion was not a wide market comic but was bought by a core audience, after a point, there were no self-contained one-and-done Legion stories. In fact, there weren’t even really arcs as we know it, which is why Legion always has problems getting reprinted in trade form. Legion was plotted like a daytime soap opera: there were always five different stories going on in every issue, and a comic involved cutting between them. Sure, like daytime soap operas, there’s never a beginning, just endless middles, so it was totally impossible for a newbie to jump on board…but soap operas know what they are doing: long term storytelling rewards a long term reader.

This brings me to today, where Legion is no longer being published by DC. There is no discussion about a movie or TV revival. This is amazing. Comics are a world where the tiniest nerd groups get pandered to: Micronauts, Weirdworld, Seeker 3000, and Rom have had revival series, for pete’s sake. It’s incredible there’s no discussion of a film or TV treatment, either; friggin Cyborg from New Teen Titans is getting a solo movie. 

Why did Legion stop being such a big deal? Where did the fandom that supported it dissolve to? One word: X-Men. Legion was incredibly ahead of its time. In the 60s and 70s, there were barely any “fan” comics, since superhero comics were like animation is today: mostly aimed at kids, with a minority of discerning adult/teen fans, and it was success among kids, not fans, that led to something being a top seller (hence, “fan favorites” in the 1970s, as surprising as it is to us today, often did not get a lot of work, like Don MacGregor or Barry Smith). But as newsstands started to push comics out, the fan audience started to get bigger and more important…everyone else started to catch up to the things that made Legion unique: most comics started to have attractive people who paired up into couples and/or love triangles, and featured extremely byzantine long term storytelling. If Legion of Super-Heroes is going to be remembered for anything, it’s for being the smaller scale “John the Baptist” to the phenomenon of X-Men, the ultimate “fan” comic.

The other thing that killed Legion, apart from Marvel’s Merry Mutants, that is, was the r-word: reboots. A reboot only works for some properties, but not others. You reboot something when you want to find something for a mass audience to respond to, like with Zorro, Batman, or Godzilla.

Legion, though, was not a comic for everybody, it was a fanboy/girl comic beloved by a niche who read it for continuing stories and minutiae (and to jack off, and in some cases, jill off). Rebooting a comic like that is a bad idea. You do not reboot something where the main way you engage with the property, the greatest strength, is the accumulated lore and history. Rebooting a property like that means losing the reason people like it, and unless it’s something with a wide audience, you only lose fans and won’t get anything in return for it. So for something like Legion (small fandom obsessed with long form plots and details, but unlike Trek, no name recognition) a reboot is the ultimate Achilles heel that shatters everything, a self-destruct button they kept hitting over and over and over until there was nothing at all left.


E. E. Smith’s Lensman Novels

The Lensman series is like Gil Evans’s jazz: it’s your grandparents’ favorite thing that you’ve never heard of. 

I mean, have you ever wondered exactly what scifi fandom talked about before the rise of the major core texts and cultural objects (Star Trek, Asimov, etc)? Well, it was this. Lensmen was the subject of fanfiction mailed in manilla envelopes during the 30s, 40s, and 50s (some of which are still around). If you’re from Boston, you might recognize that the two biggest and oldest scifi cons there going back to the 1940s, Boskone (Boscon, get it?) and Arisia, are references to the Lensman series. This series not only created space opera as we know it, but contributed two of the biggest visuals in scifi, the interstellar police drawn from different alien species, and space marines in power armor.

My favorite sign of how big this series was and how fans responded to it, was a great wedding held at Worldcon that duplicated Kimball Kinnison and Clarissa’s wedding on Klovia. This is adorable:

The basic story is pure good vs. evil: galactic civilization faces a crime and piracy wave of unprecedented proportions from technologically advanced pirates (the memory of Prohibition, where criminals had superior firearms and faster cars than the cops, was strong by the mid-1930s). A young officer, Kimball Kinnison (who speaks in a Stan Lee esque style of dialogue known as “mid-century American wiseass”), graduates the academy and is granted a Lens, an object from an ancient mystery civilization, who’s true purpose is unknown.

Lensman Kinnison discovers that the “crime wave” is actually a hostile invasion and assault by a totally alien culture that is based on hierarchy, intolerant of failure, and at the highest level, is ruled by horrifying nightmare things that breathe freezing poison gases. Along the way, he picks up allies, like van Buskirk, a variant human space marine from a heavy gravity planet who can do a standing jump of 20 feet in full space armor, Worsel, a telepathic dragon warrior scientist with the technical improvisation skills of MacGyver (who reads like the most sadistically minmaxed munchkinized RPG character of all time), and Nandreck, a psychologist from a Pluto-like planet of selfish cowards.

The scale of the conflict starts small, just skirmishes with pirates, but explodes to near apocalyptic dimensions. This series has space battles with millions of starships emerging from hyperspacial tubes to attack the ultragood Arisians, homeworld of the first intelligent race in the cosmos. By the end of the fourth book, there are mind battles where the reflected and parried mental beams leave hundreds of innocent bystanders dead. In the meantime we get evil Black Lensmen, the Hell Hole in Space, and superweapons like the Negasphere and the Sunbeam, where an entire solar system was turned into a vacuum tube.

It’s not hard to understand why Lensmen faded in importance. While the alien Lensmen had lively psychologies, Lensman Kimball Kinnison was not an interesting person, and that’s a problem when scifi starts to become more about characterization. The Lensman books, with their love of police and their sexism (it is an explicit plot point that the Lens is incompatible with female minds – in canon there are no female Lensmen) led to it being judged harshly by the New Wave writers of the 1960s, who viewed it all as borderline fascist military-scifi establishment hokum, and the reputation of the series never recovered from the spirit of that decade.


Prisoner of Zenda

Prisoner of Zenda is a novel about a roguish con-man who visits a postage-stamp, charmingly picturesque Central European kingdom with storybook castles, where he finds he looks just like the local king and is forced to pose as him in palace intrigues. It’s a swashbuckling story about mistaken identity, swordfighting, and intrigue, one part swashbuckler and one part dark political thriller.

The popularity of this book predates organized fandom as we know it, so I wonder if “fandom” is even the right word to use. All the same, it inspired fanatical dedication from readers. There was such a popular hunger for it that an entire library could be filled with nothing but rip-offs of Prisoner of Zenda. If you have a favorite writer who was active between 1900-1950, I guarantee he probably wrote at least one Prisoner of Zenda rip-off (which is nearly always the least-read book in his oeuvre). The only novel in the 20th Century that inspired more imitators was Sherlock Holmes. Robert Heinlein and Edmond “Planet Smasher” Hamilton wrote scifi updates of Prisoner of Zenda. Doctor Who lifted the plot wholesale for the Tom Baker era episode, “Androids of Tara,” Futurama did this exact plot too, and even Marvel Comics has its own copy of Ruritania, Doctor Doom’s Kingdom of Latveria. Even as late as the 1980s, every kids’ cartoon did a “Prisoner of Zenda” episode, one of the stock plots alongside “everyone gets hit by a shrink ray” and the Christmas Carol episode.

Prisoner of Zenda imitators were so numerous, that they even have their own Library of Congress sub-heading, of “Ruritanian Romance.” 

One major reason that Prisoner of Zenda fandom died off is that, between World War I and World War II, there was a brutal lack of sympathy for anything that seemed slightly German, and it seems the incredibly Central European Prisoner of Zenda was a casualty of this. Far and away, the largest immigrant group in the United States through the entire 19th Century were Germans, who were more numerous than Irish or Italians. There were entire cities in the Midwest that were two-thirds German-born or German-descent, who met in Biergartens and German community centers that now no longer exist.

Kurt Vonnegut wrote a lot about how the German-American world he grew up in vanished because of the prejudice of the World Wars, and that disappearance was so extensive that it was retroactive, like someone did a DC comic-style continuity reboot where it all never happened: Germans, despite being the largest immigrant group in US history, are left out of the immigrant story. The “Little Bohemias” and “Little Berlins” that were once everywhere no longer exist. There is no holiday dedicated to people of German ancestry in the US, the way the Irish have St. Patrick’s Day or Italians have Columbus Day (there is Von Steuben’s Day, dedicated to a general who fought with George Washington, but it’s a strictly Midwest thing most people outside the region have never heard of, like Sweetest Day). If you’re reading this and you’re an academic, and you’re not sure what to do your dissertation on, try writing about the German-American immigrant world of the 19th and 20th Centuries, because it’s a criminally under-researched topic.


A. Merritt

Pop quiz: who was the most popular and influential fantasy author during the 1930s and 40s? 

If you answered Tolkien or Robert E. Howard, you’re wrong - it was actually Abraham Merritt. He was the most popular writer of his age of the kind of fiction he did, and he’s since been mostly forgotten. Gary Gygax, creator of Dungeons and Dragons, has said that A. Merritt was his favorite fantasy and horror novelist.

Why did A. Merritt and his fandom go away, when at one point, he was THE fantasy author? Well, obviously one big answer was the 1960s counterculture, which brought different writers like Tolkien and Lovecraft to the forefront (by modern standards Lovecraft isn’t a fantasy author, but he was produced by the same early century genre-fluid effluvium that produced Merritt and the rest). The other answer is that A. Merritt was so totally a product of the weird occult speculation of his age that it’s hard to even imagine him clicking with audiences in other eras. His work is based on fringe weirdness that appealed to early 20th Century spiritualism and made sense at the time: reincarnation, racial memory, an obsession with lost race stories and the stone age, and weirdness like the 1920s belief that the Polar Arctic is the ancestral home of the Caucasian race. In other words, it’s impossible to explain Merritt without a ton of sentences that start with “well, people in the 1920s thought that…” That’s not a good sign when it comes to his universality. 


That’s it for now. Do you have any suggestions on a dead fandom, or do you keep one of these “dead” fandoms alive in your heart?

Shitty Knight running for president:

KNIGHT 2040: WHAT’S THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN?

Shitty Knight running for re-election:

KNIGHT 2044: WHAT ARE THE CHANCES OF THAT HAPPENING TWICE?

bodhirookisandorable  asked:

I'm hoping that it's Finn's hand reaching out (maybe to Rey, maybe to another person). I only watched it on my phone so I might of missed something that meant it was definitely KRs but I'm really hoping it's a big misdirect. It seems so much more in Finn's character to reach out for someone as well. It probably won't be bc they're ignoring Finn but you can hope right?

You know, I freaking can’t believe this just had me Google Kylo Ren in TLJ to have a closer look at his costume. I could think of few things I would want to do less today, but here we are.

Because you do make an interesting observation.



Here is the hand we see held out.

Black leather glove, black smooth sleeve and a non-patterned chest of the black shirt.

Okay, that would be Kylo right?

Or maybe not.

Here’s how Kylo looks just just before the cut to the outstretched hand.

And here is a larger view of his costume from EW

Please not that he has the same striped, layered sleeves as he had in TFA and his “overshirt” is a padded vest, the has vertical stitching across it.

So… even if he takes the vest off, unless he’s changed his clothes completely and now have a completely different shirt on, it can’t be him.


Finn on the other hand.

We unfortunately don’t see a lot of him, but here’s what we have


Now he doesn’t have a glove on his left hand, but while it is hard to tell with all the flash and light but he might have one on his right and we know that some First Order officers wears gloves. Funny how we apart from these very glaring shorts have nothing of Finn in FO uniform where we can see his hands. Even with the old promotional pic of him and Rose they are cut off at the chest.

Of course the code cylinders on Finn’s top vest aren’t in the picture with the hand, nor is the belt. But all Finn would have to do is take off the belt and vest - like maybe after a battle where it got torn and he don’t need it anymore anyway - and he would look exactly like the figure with the hand.


Considering all the falling, burning debris and everything, the shot with the hand and the shot with Kylo almost certainly comes from the same scene. But both of them also seems to belong in the “burning battle shots sequence” that we see Finn in. (That falling, burning debris again.)

So you know, I think you might be on to something. That the person with the hand could very well be Finn. 

Whoever it is, it sure as hell isn’t Kylo.

Draco was 11 the first time he met Harry Potter. Inside a robe shop before he even knew who the boy in ratty, oversized clothing even really was. Where he unknowingly enforced a stereotype that shaped that boys whole life. On a train where he followed his father’s rule and looked down on anyone deemed less than him. Where he felt the sharp sting of rejection for the first time.


Draco was 12 when he realizes his father might not always be right. That those he was always told were less and unworthy might not be as dirty and undeserving as he’d come to believe they were. When he had stuck a torn out page from a book in Hermione Granger’s cold, frozen hand, hoping that someone, anyone, would find it and put an end to the muggleborns being petrified.


Draco is 13 when he realizes the consequences of his words. When he was powerless to do anything but sit back and pretend that it was what he had wanted all along, that getting a hippogriff sentenced to death was something he was proud of. That getting a broken nose by a girl wasn’t something he deserved. Pretending that the hippogriff suddenly going missing wasn’t something he was grateful or happy for.


Draco was 14 when his life changed forever. When Cedric Diggory died and the Dark Lord was suddenly living in his home. When he had to watch a teacher show them unforgivables and found himself sickened to his core. When he met Viktor Krum and realized he wasn’t as straight as he was supposed to be. When he realized he didn’t have a choice about his future.


Draco was 15 when he realized his father was not someone he wanted to look up to, was not someone he wanted to be around. Was not someone he wanted to turn into. When he met his relatives who had been in prison his whole life, who were now also suddenly living in his house. When, for the first time, he was terrified to leave his room. When all he wanted was an out, but none came.


Draco was 16 when he had the dark mark branded into his arm forever. When he found that long sleeves were his new best friend. When he got tasted with an impossible job from the Dark Lord and he was guaranteed to fail. When Harry Potter slashed him open inside a bathroom and he threw up in the next morning when he had found himself awake and alive in the hospital wing.


Draco was 17 when he had lost hope. When he was forced to torture his classmates and attend death eater raids. When Harry Potter was missing and no one knew where he was or what he was doing. When that same boy was suddenly captured and brought to the Manor. Where he lied and watched the boy’s best friend get tortured. When he was almost killed in a fire until his rival saved him at the last minute. When Harry Potter killed the Dark Lord and there was a small flicker of hope in his heart.


Draco was 18 when things finally seemed to take a change for the better. When he was pardoned for his role in the war by the Savior. When he had made amends with Harry Potter. When he went back to Hogwarts to redo his final year. When he was left alone and he finally got the chance to breath. When suddenly found himself friends with Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley.


Draco was 19 when he finally felt at peace. With an acceptance letter for healer training and a promise of forever with Harry. When he had finally felt the sweet embrace of acceptance and love. When he knew that everything would be okay after all.

6

Patrick Kane talks about his hat trick and the first line (x)

Maybe, if I post every time this happens, abled people will stop thinking that this sort of thing is rare.

A while back I was sitting by the restaurant in Ikea and using my phone while I waited for Marvin to buy some things.

I was seated at one of four high-backed chairs arranged around a low coffee table. Across the table from me was a stranger, his young son sat in the chair to the right of me, and his daughter, who was about nine-years-old, sat on the floor at the coffee table. She was colouring and her brother was playing on a DS.

Their father stared at me while pretending he wasn’t. It’s pretty obvious when someone is watching you from eight feet away, though. I didn’t get angry vibes so I wasn’t concerned and just pointedly ignored him while catching Pidgey after Pidgey.

My phone had a semi-transparent, soft plastic case on it. I usually covered it with cute stickers. At that time, it had large words written in sharpie on the back that said, “It’s rude to stare”.

I was absorbed in my game when the stranger across from me laughed suddenly, loudly, and pointed me out to his daughter.

“Her phone says, ‘It’s rude to stare’,” he said.

He chuckled and looked at my face, expecting an explanation.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

I sighed.

“Oh, yeah. People stare at me a lot,” Just like you were, I thought. I waved my phone to show off the words. “So I wrote that on there. So, yeah.”

I went back to my game. Guy chuckled again.

“Really, people stare at you? Why?” He asked.

I looked up from my phone. I stared at him.

He stared back. I raised my eyebrows. He kept waiting for an answer.

I held up the butterfly-printed cane that had been leaning against my legs by way of explanation. “Sometimes I use a walker or wheelchair, too.”

“And people stare?” He pressed.

“Yep,” I said shortly.

“Wow. Well, you know, I think it’s probably because of their own personal fear.”

I seriously bristled at that. The tone was awful, really patronizing.

“Yeah. Seeing disabled people in public is a real shock. We remind people of their own mortality,” I said humourlessly, adding in some sarcastic laughter for good measure. I tried to signal my disinterest by lowering my head and leaning over my phone screen.

“Yeah-” he said, charging full speed ahead like he didn’t even need me for this conversation. He clearly had something to say all prepared.

"And you know, it’s funny. But I used to be scared of- people- people with disabilities,” he said, with a smile and lean-in, touching his fingertips together, making me want to punch his face.

I was in a bit of social shock. I just kept thinking, are you kidding me? This Ikea food court confession is happening right now, huh?

“Not physical disabilities, but mental disabilities.”

He was so smarmy, you guys. When he said that, I think my soul left my body. And I had no idea how to either respond or extricate myself reasonably. 

I hesitated, looked from this guy to his children, who were watching the exchange with awkward interest.

“Oh. Uh. Well, I’m autistic, so…” I let my words trail off. To this day I have no idea where that sentence would have gone.

“Oh. Oh! But I mean, you can’t tell,” he turned tomato red. “You’re so well-spoken and- I guess you could say that you have really overcome.”

As he was fumbling, I was giving him an exaggerated but sincerely felt grimace and an unimpressed "ehhh”.

At his pronouncement of my overcoming, I sat up straight and said, loudly and pissed enough that his children started looking worried, “Uh, yikes. No.”

Guy’s daughter looked like she would rather he did anything but continue talking, but that’s what he did. Like any allistic abled white dude worth his salt /s, he powered through, ignoring my obvious and projected displeasure.

“But, I mean. In school, it’s funny, because it ended up that most of my friends were handicapped. I guess I kind of protected them-” His voice took on an artificially soft, sticky quality. It was at this moment that I snapped.

“Okay. I’m going to cut you off there,” I said. I put my hand up. His tomato face spoiled.

“What? Why?” He seemed torn between expressing frustration and wanting to appear kind-hearted and open-minded in front of his children.

“Well. Uh. Ugh,“ I looked at his kids, wondering how harsh or how kind I should be. I hated that he put me in this spot. In that moment I hated him so much.

"Well, you’re saying a lot of stuff that non-disabled people think is nice to hear, but it’s not. It’s just- it’s just not.” I knew it was pointless to try to explain. My words were failing fast. He didn’t really care, anyway.

“I wouldn’t even be able to explain it to you,” I shrugged.

He gaped at me. Now he was angry. This wasn’t going how he had wanted it to.

“I know you’re coming from a good place. But it’s not nice. It’s just not… yeah.” I gripped the handle of my cane in one hand and my phone, Pokémon Go forgotten, in the other. I fought the urge to literally run away. I felt the surreal pressure of my behaviour being one of these kids’ formative disability-related experiences.

“Oh. Uh. Well. Okay. Sorry,” he said, embarrassed, not sorry. “And uh, thanks for saying that,” he said, trying to get me back. I looked away.

“I just-” he started. Even his children looked unhappily surprised that he was trying for that last word.

“I just want to say that you’re great.

I didn’t look at him. I smiled at his daughter, who smiled back out of habit, more confused than anything. His son looked down at his DS, secondhand embarrassment turning him red too.

“Hmm. Well, your kids seem nice,” I offered breezily.

After that, I moved away from the circle of green chairs and sat in an uncomfortably high stool in the corner. I hid there, head down, my hands shaking very slightly, feeling paranoid. Like I failed. And that my friends, is ableism.