mr. serious

Laura Moon is not your “iconic badass female character” at all, and I’d appreciate it if white women stopped pretending otherwise. 

I do think it’s important and necessary to portray female characters who are complex, flawed, selfish, dangerous, and even a bit villainous. I also think it’s crucial to represent female characters with mental illnesses properly. So yes, in that sense, Laura is written quite well. Her depression is not aestheticized or glorified in the slightest, nor is it fetishized for a male viewing audience. She’s not a typical wife to a male protagonist because she is dangerous, she is apathetic, she is both a liar and casually blunt, she is self-aware, and she is cynical. These are not typical traits for the love interests of male characters. I get that. 

But Laura is also meant to be a character you dislike, or, at the very least, one that you should have quite a difficult time empathizing with. Not only did she cheat on her husband - she cheated on him with his best friend, a man who also happened to be her best friend’s husband. Her selfish desires caused Shadow to get imprisoned, and she committed adultery while he was in prison because she lied to both Shadow and to herself when she said she could wait for him. She chose temporary relief over honesty. She treated Shadow apathetically, selfishly, and patronizingly, and in fact even after her death she continues to condescend to Shadow and expects him to be at her beck and call. She was callous and flippant with a god (Mr. Jacquel, AKA Anubis) and expected him to listen to her whims. Mr. Jacquel is a serious but compassionate person - if even someone like him is irritated by her actions, then you know that Laura is not a nice or good person at all. 

You don’t need to justify her behavior. You need to accept that she’s a selfish and bad person. If you truly want complicated and different female characters, you cannot spend time trying to prettify or justify their awful behavior. 

Audrey, who justifiably hates Laura, still cares for her because Laura, albeit her actions, was her best friend. It’s difficult to fully hate someone when you found out about their death and their adultery at the same time. But she has no qualms about letting Laura know what she truly thinks about her. And she’s right - Laura did not love Shadow. Laura did not treat him properly. Laura was selfish. Laura is still selfish. Laura thinks of nothing but herself, and it doesn’t matter that she’s depressed; depression does not excuse treating your loved ones like toys to play with or manipulate. 

The only reason any of you are justifying Laura’s behavior is because Shadow is black. The protagonist of the show is a black man, and that’s exactly why you think the show is only good now that Laura is on it. I’ve seen people say “well the show passes the Bechdel test because of Laura now”. Setting aside the sad reality that the Bechdel Test was created by a lesbian to measure lesbian representation (so the show doesn’t actually pass the test since there are currently no lesbian characters on it), there are actually interesting and unique female characters already. These same fans who are touting Laura Moon as the height of “revolutionary” female representation ignore Bilquis. 

If Shadow was a white man, he’d definitely get more sympathy from white fans. Conversely, if Laura was a black woman, she’d get villainized by the same people who are currently defending her. Or alternatively, if Shadow had cheated on Laura, he would be deemed persona non grata by these “Laura defense squad” type fans. Hell, if Shadow was a white man, white fans would not be saying that the show was “boring” until Laura came along - they’d hype it up from the get go. 

This show is incredibly important because the main character is a black man who isn’t reduced to stereotypes at all, and it’s important because it has many characters of color who are written well and aren’t typecast into boring roles. Laura Moon is not what makes this show great. Sure, she’s one example of the great writing behind the show precisely because she’s such a challenging character to figure out and analyze. But even her actress, Emily Browning, acknowledges that she is supposed to be a character you have a hard time liking or empathizing with. Do not excuse her actions or lessen the degree of hurt she caused. 

drabble; let me tell you bout my best friend

for @leiascully’s fic challenge “rest”

drabble; pg-13; msr origins (i.e. friendship); FLUFF; set season two, pre-abduction; Scully stays up a little too late solving a case with Mulder.

***


Even the solitary light from the fish tank feels a little risky, though his apartment passed so many of the gunmen’s bug sweeps he’s now pretty sure they just wanted to hang out. With a crappy pair of birdwatching binoculars anybody could look in and find them there. Sitting right next to the tank her face is cast in blue and shadows over and looks a little psychedelic. Watching her mouth move around hypersyllabic words like ileus and meconium is a lot like a day trip he took at Oxford. But at this time of night the world itself is also hazy and unreal; this is his time, his realm, the only part of day that brings him a little peace. Normally he spends this time alone. He finds her presence isn’t such a nuisance.

And it’s not as if anyone in the Bureau actually cares anymore. They have been declared Impotent and A Sad Sad Joke. How many times has he showed up in her lecture hall unkempt and uncaring, sporting his hair wild on purpose and miserable eyes, less purposeful but nevertheless useful? He likes upsetting her students, who have all heard plenty of stories about good old Spooky, respectable Dr. Scully’s maniac ex-partner. She would slice and dice and maim the dearly departed and try not to laugh as he hissed at anyone who stopped paying attention and dared looking his way.

When the shitstorm settles he consults her on cases and neglects Agent Krycek like a Christmas puppy. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with Agent Krycek; he’s a shoo in for S.A.C. of some bullshit unit that receives way more funding than the files ever did, what with his penchant for every-inch-of-both-cheeks ass kissing and the size of his biceps. Mulder will only get in his way. He figures he’s saving the kid some pain.

Anyway, Agent Krycek can’t look at macramed intestines and tell him if they appear to be the intricate work of a voodoo priestess. Scully can’t tell him that either, would die before saying such a thing, but it’s way more fun to try and make her.

They’ve been at it for three hours and Mulder is getting to the best part, using polaroids instead of his slides to illustrate – something about colorectal balloon animals in the 1970s – when he turns to find Scully gently tipping forward and nodding her head. Her eyes flutter shut and she slumps over.

He quickly catches her by grabbing her shoulder with one hand and using the other to cup her cheek. “Scully? Hey.” He taps her face twice. “Scully, are you okay?”

Her eyes snap open and she scrambles back into the couch, her wide eyed stare flitting around the room like a sightless moth. When she comes back to herself, she shoots him an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry Mulder,” she says, rubbing at a sore spot on her neck. She winces. “I must have fallen asleep.”

He stares at her oddly. Scully falls asleep anywhere anytime at the drop of a hat or her blood sugar, but she has never, ever done it mid-conversation. Not even that time he talked at her for a straight hour on his own by himself without noticing that she had started taking notes to formulate her responses.

His eyes fall on the clock and it hits him: its’s one o'clock in the goddamn morning. Scully has a new life now, classes to teach and dead bodies to harass and other, lesser units to appease, and she’s spending time with him like nothing has changed. When did he approach her with this case? He can’t remember, only because he hadn’t bothered keeping track. Before lunch, definitely, and they’d been together the entire time after. Scully is effectively splitting herself in two, her life with him and her life without him, and in this realm at this hour she is still his partner and the idea of her at Quantico is an empty threat when he sticks her with all the filing.

“You need to go to bed,” he gently chides, scooping up his polaroids and newspaper clippings and their mugs gone cold on the coffee table.

“Mmm, I think you’re right,” she says around a yawn, stretching and popping her limbs one by one. The sound makes him cringe. “I don’t know if my bed has ever sounded so appealing.”

He’s too caught in his own head to respond with an inappropriate zinger. He places the mugs in his sink, drops the photos back in their file.

“Take the couch,” he says distractedly, tugging on a doorknob. With much effort he’s able to strong arm his way through the tremendous clutter and cardboard-box war zone that is his bedroom without alerting her to how pathetic he is. He nearly breaks his neck slipping on a stack of vintage porno mags, but there in the middle of a decrepit bed frame rests exactly what he’s looking for: a sleeping bag and a stack of extra pillows .

With trademark focus he ignores her protestations and sets up his station, throwing down pillows that will support the weak spots in his spine and unrolling the bag like a good little camper.

“Mulder, seriously. There’s no need for this.” But she’s slurring and her body is so heavy she can’t stay upright. “ I can drive home just fine. Let me make myself some coffee. You’re being ridiculous. This is where you sleep.”

“Just go to bed, Scully,” he tells her. He repeats it when she says no. Time for bed Scully. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up early. And she eventually does fall asleep, succumbs to the mental exhaustion of arguing with him.

In a fashion that creeps him out a little he stares at her well into deep sleep, propped against the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. He feels tired just looking at her, the yearning to lie down calling to him a little more urgently than he’s used to.

Before he crawls into his bag he stands before her, looking into her slack and open face. It’s crazy and weird and definitely spooky. But this is driving him nuts. He leans down and slowly brushes an errant lock of hair out of her eye. Okay. Good.

Crawling into his bag he understands what’s bogging him down. Dana Scully is not living her double life as his partner, but as his friend. And somewhere along the line he became hers, too.

JOURNAL 3 BLACKLIGHT EDITION REVEALED! (Part 3)

Oh boy. This is it. The final stretch.

Keep reading

Reading List



I have received many requests for a reading list, so I will compose one here. I intend to update this post as I find/remember more good material. I’m doing it by author, because if the author is reliable, then their work as a whole usually is. There’s a lot of nonsense out there, and some of it’s really popular.

Take everything in every book with a grain of salt. I promise that every single book you read will have something in it that’s wrong.

Margot Adler: “Drawing Down the Moon” is the best history of Neo-Paganism I’ve been able to find. She has accurate information, and reveals some of the dirty secrets, including some of the things the early leaders (Gardner, Mathers, etc.) lied about. Good primer for the premise that everyone has something to teach, and everyone has a little bullshit to sift through.

Ted Andrews: I consider him quite reliable. I’ve read a couple. Worth looking into.

Paul Beyerl: He is a master herbalist who writes and teaches on the subject, and produced a “Compendium of Herbal Magick” which is quite good.

Raymond Buckland: Top name in Wiccan witchcraft.

Scott Cunningham: One of the major players in making Wiccan witchcraft accessible to the uninitiated. I consider him very reliable, though he is a bit fluffy. He glosses over the dark arts and labels psychoactive herbs as “poisonous” whether they are or not.

Even if Wiccan witchcraft isn’t what you’re looking for, “Wicca: A Guide To the Solitary Practitioner” and “Living Wicca” are still worth reading. His “Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs” is excellent. He also wrote on many other subjects.

Christian Day: I’ve only read “The Witches’ Book of the Dead”, and it was quite good. I’m inclined to say anyone who can teach dark arts well is probably reliable in general. 

Mrs. M Grieve: The serious herbalist should read “A Modern Herbal”. I have a hard copy, but they can be hard to find in good condition. PDF is widely available. Keep in mind that it’s half a century out of date, but most modern herbalists cite or quote her at least once in their own books. I’ve even seen at least one steal exact quotes from “A Modern Herbal” without credit.

Mrs. Grieve does not shy away from poisonous herbs, and expounds on their medicinal properties. Though I would not rely solely on any single text to try to learn to use such things. 

Judy Hall: “The Crystal Bible” is a lovely quick reference on crystal magic. It is concise and easy to read. If you need to be able to explain what a crystal is good for quickly, this is the book you need.

Judika Illes: “The Element Encyclopedia of 5,000 Spells” is my absolute favorite witchcraft book. Everyone should have it. Well researched, and the spells are excellent. I rarely use them as anything other than inspiration to write my own, but they’re grand. Please get this book.  

Dorothy Morrison: All I’ve read so far was “Everyday Magic” but it’s one of my favorites. Strongly recommend it. her advice on modernizing your craft and working with what’s available to you is indispensable.

Robert Simmons and Naisha Ahsian: “The Book of Stones” (the second edition is blue, look for that) is my favorite book on crystal magic. Very detailed and very thorough.

Tastes Like Love

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Three different sweet treats for a very sweet day.
Genre: Romance/fluff
Rating: T
Warnings: Swearings
1,925 words

Notes: So…it’s been too long…LMAO. I haven’t been happy with my writing lately and I can’t seem to put any ideas into words but last night I got this little idea and ran to write something before it escaped! It’s not much but at least it’s an update. Here’s the visual of the cookie I mentioned down there, if you want. Happy (belated) Valentine’s day y’all! <3 Enjoy!


It’s around 9 in the morning when the team finally lands at the Avengers facility, having flown an all night flight after a mission in a remote place in the globe. Everyone is just so tired and so damn sleepy that the usual formalities are forgotten and Steve settles for a late debrief, after they’re all rested and fed, at least.

All Bucky can think about is taking a shower and hitting the sheets.

He knows it’s Valentine’s Day and he knows that it’s likely that his doll would be anxiously waiting for him to come home, but the idea of a shower and a nap is just too appealing for him to pass away.

That is, until he finally arrives home.

Keep reading

Skin to Skin

Jughead Jones doesn’t know how the crimson crescents ended up on his palms.

Betty Cooper is clueless when it comes to the messages on her arms.

Soulmate AU where all the little marks and injuries belonging to Betty and Jughead start finding themselves on each other’s skin. 

A/N: I’m always a sucker for AUs! Hope you enjoy this!

Chapter i

Jughead Jones is almost done with an incredibly important meeting when it first happens.

Jason Baltimore, the editor of the Long Island Publishing House, is sitting across him, fiddling with a ballpoint pen as he addresses Jughead. They’ve been in this windowless room for about two hours now, and Jughead can’t help but curse whoever designed this building. Hidden away in the streets of Manhattan, this place took an arduous amount of effort to find, and the sort-of dingy exterior almost made Jughead do a one-eighty and turn back. Sure, this is the first publishing house that liked my book, but I’m sure I can find another. He’d thought, but he’d shaken his head and made his way in.

“Mr. Jones, are you listening?”

Jughead’s head snapped up, blue-green eyes meeting brown. “Sorry, yes, it’s just a bit stuffy here.” He said.

“Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Jones, but we’ll have to conduct the rest of our meeting here.” Mr. Baltimore says, visible sweat stains peeking out from under his armpits.

Jughead nodded and fiddled with his watch. “Yeah, that’s okay. I’ll manage.”

“So we’ve got two problems.” The blonde, slightly chubby man, says. “One, your name is Jughead.”

Jughead raises his hands defensively. “So what?”

“You’re going to risk ridiculing yourself. People will end up laughing at your name on the cover instead of noticing the title.”

“Or,” Jughead says, leaning forward, “I’ll take them by surprise. ’The Anatomy of a Murder’ will be all the more unique, considering the fact that its content is so serious.”

Mr. Baltimore mimics his movement, resting his elbows on the desk between them. “At the acquisitions meeting, this issue was brought up, Mr. Jones.”

“So I will convince them.” Jughead Jones was a stubborn man.

Mr. Baltimore wipes away a droplet of sweat. “Let’s say you don’t succeed. Would you, maybe, consider an alternative? I don’t suppose your real name is Jughead.

Oh, no. No way was ‘Forsythe Jones’ going to be put on the cover of his first book; there was a reason he preferred ‘Jughead’ over that ridiculous name. (Ironic, considering the fact the Jughead was pretty ridiculous, too.)

Jughead shakes his head. “Let’s just say my real name is worse.” He eyes the editor in front of him. “It looks fine on paychecks and insurance forms, but not on a novel.”

“Perhaps a pseudonym, then?”

Jughead sets his mouth into a thin line.

“No, then.” Mr. Baltimore says, gauging his reaction. “Mr. Jones, I advise you to think this over, and get back to me on Wednesday.”

He flips open his laptop. “Now, the next issue I want to discuss… well, it’s not an issue, but something I would like you to know…” He turns the laptop face towards Jughead. “You’re twenty two years old. You’re a senior at NYU. Probably the youngest among a huge community of authors.”

Jughead nods. “I’m well aware of that.”

“Mr. Jones, your style is unique, and your writing is brilliant, but generally, books by younger authors don’t tend to be as successful as others, and I hope you’re prepared for such a situation.”

Jughead bites his lip. “I know, Mr. Baltimore. I hardly expected this book to get picked up by a publisher in the first place, and I’m thankful to you, I am. But, I think that the masses will like it. I truly do.”

“I am hopeful, too, Mr. Jones- can I call you Jughead, by the way?”

“Sure.”

“I am hopeful too. Just preparing you. Moving on,” Mr. Baltimore says, fanning himself with Jughead’s manuscript. “Oh, for God’s sake- someone get the Air Conditioner working!” He yells after stalking to the door and sticking his head out.

Thank you, Jughead thinks, because he doesn’t feel too comfortable about the fact that his manuscript is now a makeshift fan. Plus, the need for fresh air is only increasing.

“Now,” Mr. Baltimore says, once he’s settled in his chair again, “You need to create accounts on social media, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr and Reddit if you want to discuss theories with your readers, and all the likes.”

Jughead internally groans at the Twitter and Instagram part, but he knows it’s necessary. The Tumblr and Reddit part he’s fine with, though. He’s been on those sites for years now.

“Could I borrow a pen?” Jughead asks. He needs a reminder, and writing on his forearm is a habit he’s had for many years. Once he Mr. Baltimore gives him one, he jots down a sentence onto his pale skin- Remember to succumb to the true giants of social media.

“And finally, Jughead, we’re assigning you an agent. Though you won’t need him as much if your book, well, doesn’t gain popularity, it’s still better to have one at hand. I’m giving you his number, shall I text it to you or will you write it down?”

Jughead’s phone is currently at a repair shop- it’s an iPhone 3, he’s been able to survive with that archaic thing for years now, but finding a store that actually fixed them was a huge task. But his screen had cracked badly, and Jughead has too many notes on it to buy another one without recovering stuff from this one.

“I’ll write it down.” He grabs the pen, once again, and etches the set of numbers Mr. Baltimore dictates to him.

“Well, Jughead, I’ll see you on Wednesday. This meeting was a pleasure, and I’m glad that I’ve decided to publish your book. But, think the name over.”

Jughead smiles, blushing ever so slightly. “Thank you, Mr. Baltimore.”

He grabs his bag and shrugs his leather jacket (courtesy JB) onto his shoulders and stands up. He has a shift at Barnes and Nobles’, and then a paper to write for his film study course, so he needs to hurry.

That’s when it happens. His palm suddenly stings, like it’s been cut, and Jughead winces with surprise. He opens his hands, palms up, looks at them, and sees that they’re bleeding. His fingernails have cut open the skin of his palm, and smears of blood marr the white skin.

Keep reading

LIGHTEN UP
  • Canada: Maybe it's you that needs to lighten up?
  • America: I'm sorry did you say "lighten up"?
  • Canada: Yes.
  • America: Oh, lighten up, OK. How about a little joke then? Knock, knock.
  • Canada: Who's there?
  • America: It's Mr. Serious USA who's so sick of being told to lighten up, especially by his brother Matthew, who said it on the day he left him for some ludicrous empire who was double his age and apparently more fun.
  • Canada: It's Mr. Serious USA who's so sick of being told to lighten up, especially by his brother Matthew, who said it on the day he left him for some ludicrous empire who was double his age and apparently more fun who?
Confessions
  • Harley: Mr J? Do you love me?
  • Joker: Of course Harls.
  • Harley: Do you love me cos I'm crazy? *grins* Just like you, Mr J?
  • Joker: *a serious expression* I don't love you because you're crazy just like me. I love you because you're insane, fearless and smart. Crazier, clever and more dauntless than I could ever be. You're better in all ways and that's why I love you.
  • Harley: *stunned silence*
  • And that was the time when the King of Gotham opened his heart and found someone in there, better than him. And this was his Queen.