madigoround

[madigoround]

the one in which mel finds a loophole

langdon x mel || rated: e || wc: 3.4k

The last thing Langdon was expecting the next morning after they woke up and made breakfast together was for Mel to put down her fork and say, “I think you should fuck me while I’m sleeping.”

Langdon choked, having just taken a sip of water. Mel looked at him in concern but he put his hand up, waving her off that he was fine. After a little bit when he was good he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You should fuck me while I’m sleeping,” Mel repeated, nudging her glasses up her nose.

read on ao3

[madigoround]

Don’t forget to workout your calves

[madigoround]

hating louise/brontë makes you a pick me ass bitch oh my god. we get it. you’re not like other girls. you’re so smart. you’re so cool. gag me fr.

[madigoround]

One thing I liked about the last season of You is how it revealed the way that public image plays into patriarchy and how patriarchy plays into public image.

Joe is seen as this perfect boyfriend for doing simple things like holding Kate's bag and uses that image - an image that he could have never built without his wife and her money - and he uses that as both shield and weapon and people agree because this is a white cis straight guy who would believe his marginalized victims over him? We should scrutinize them over looking at him because he is the feminist boyfriend, he's one half of a power couple and sure he's the less successful, less rich, less important part but he's the guy. And you know, he probably lets her be more successful than him. He's all humble and holds her bag. He's pretty. He's sexy. There's probably something wrong with the people who accuse him.

And in the end it's the fact that Louise shot his dick that makes his image crumble. It was foreshadowed that it would be his masculinity being put into question that would be his fall when he broke down during the interview but the fact that they did it so overtly really got me. Like yeah. That's all it came down to in the end.

[madigoround]

The amount of people on TikTok hating on season 5 because of the ending and hating the character Bronte is wild. People are really shaming her character and going as far as insulting the actress that plays her. I’ve literally seen them go on her socials and leave disgusting comments about how much she sucks and she “ruined the show”. Bronte annoyed me with certain choices she made and she’s a flawed character (which makes her more relatable!!), but it’s never that serious.

This is exactly why the end of the show is perfect. Not only does Joe get what he deserves, the audience gets read for filth. Y’all truly are the problem here. Leave that poor woman alone and stop shitting on female protagonists. There’s character criticism and then there’s purposely being dense and gross.

[madigoround]

you know-

no

Im not gonna shut up about it actually - you season 5 spoilers so if you're not insane and didn't consume that season at the speed of delirium scroll now

But season 1 and the way the story was told was truly a testament to the way Joe saw the world and the way he stole Beck's voice the entire time and THAT is why she came across as bland and boring and irresponsible and messy in the first season and why she was so unsympathetic to so many (not me but some of y'all know who you are) because she WAS Joe's trope and she only existed because he SAW her in season one - her light was only applicable when we saw it shine on him and he was so fucking good at making it seem like he was the only thing that drew out her radiance and creativity and fucking brilliance and everything else in her life diminished her, Joe diminished her and capitalized off her insecurities to do so. He championed breaking women down so he could try to be the one to "build them back up"

And the above being inherently untrue is why she haunts him so much because the reality is - Joe was the one who was absolutely nothing special without someone's light shining on him and Beck shone SO fucking bright

But then!!!!! Season fucking five!!!!!! We finally, FINALLY, see Beck through the light of someone who looked up to her!!! Who ACTUALLY saw her!!!! For her brilliance, for her kindness, for her light. We saw the fact that Guinevere Beck touched so many lives and she drew people in to the point where her impact stayed even when she wasn't aware of it.

Guinevere Beck is the perfect showcasing of a character who's light draws good people in to bask and bad people in to corrupt and/or diminish and capture. Joe wanted to capture her light and steal her intelligence - he never would've written in the first place if not for Beck and her creativity - he had to steal her voice to give himself one. Joe was a pro at playing feminist and him claiming to be Zelda to Beck's Fitzgerald is a PERFECT example because in THAT lies the most insane metaphor that Joe sees himself as the visionary and Beck as the one capitalizing off him - the way he accredits himself for Beck's essays about Peach, accredits himself for Beck's novel, accredits himself for all of Beck's success and beauty. Painting himself as the victim at every turn when in reality, Beck was always Zelda and Joe was always stealing from her the same way Fitzgerald stole from his wife.

And in the end, he's the one who lost anything interesting about him. Louise gave Beck back the most important thing, her voice, her writings, and she took away from Joe what never should've been his in the first place. No one will ever read his legacy because he doesn't deserve to have one, but EVERYONE will read Beck's and know the truth and THAT is the most glorious ending i could've hoped for

Season 4 was such a clusterfuck horror show of what happens when misogynistic men are so good at undermining women by convincing them they are feminist and season 5 was all about the power of women finally seeing the light and coming together to save each other and take back their voices

Joe stole from every single woman he came across AND the show being so starkly in his head even stole sense from the audience so to have the wrap up be a collective wake up and criticism of societies willingness to forgive and romanticize bad men made me shed several tears.

He lost his voice because nothing about it was his in the first place - he was NOTHING without all of those women

[madigoround]

YOU (2018-2025)

[madigoround]

STARTING TOMORROW

Scientists in weather and climate are live streaming for 100 hours to make their case to the American public.

They are live streaming, but engagement is necessary for it to work. SHARE THIS WITH PEOPLE, RECORD THE STREAM, POST CLIPS OF IT THAT ARE FUNNY, if you can tune in, PLEASE DO!

This is something that has to be heard by as many people as possible. Put it on in the background! See if you can get other people to watch it! Do whatever you can do support those who are trying to be supported! Anything and everything helps!

TUNE IN HERE

article I posted screenshots of here

[madigoround]

Most of the last season of you I was like what the hell is this there are so many loose ends so many different plot points but the last episode was really fantastic somehow it actually tied them together wonderfully

[madigoround]

oh no notes for me thanks i just wanted my post to be on this ugly ass dashboard next to yours

[madigoround]

jack abbot is such a wife guy through and through oh my god. even before him and samira get married, he leans into the domesticity and comfort of their partnership. when she starts staying over, he’s clearing out drawers for her, noting her skin and hair care products so he can get her stuff for his place.

(he isn’t sure how to give them to her, not sure how she’ll take it. is it presumptuous? during a particularly slow shift he familiarizes himself with sephora and ulta and eventually decides, fuck it, he’ll wake her up with breakfast and a bag of her things. the packages get delivered after he’s left for his shift and before he can intervene, she’s texting him a photo of the packages all ‘???’ and all he can say is ‘open them!’ and when he comes home she kisses him breathless just after he walks in the door.)

he still has that lingering anxiety about him being too old and her too beautiful, too accomplished, (too young), and so he stresses for a few weeks after he realizes he wants to propose before robby tells him he’s acting weird and threatens to have dana intervene. after that he comes back to himself but realizes the world of engagement rings has changed a lot since the last time he proposed.

(the pain of becoming a widower never really goes away. his therapist tells him the grief doesn’t get smaller, you just grow around it. he hates the thought of amy being a smaller part of his life, but when samira takes flowers to her grave on their anniversary, while jack is suffering through a night shift from hell, he thinks things might be okay.)

abbot decides he’ll need more than just google can provide (he almost has a pinterest induced migraine), and he asks the people he knows will know best.

dana first, to confirm he hasn’t lost his mind. dana blinks at him before laughing and saying ‘took you long enough to get here.’

then he asks mel king because he figures she’ll know what kind of ring samira might want and maybe how she wants to be proposed to? dr king is an unusually helpful resource, sending him a link to a pinterest board (fuck) that samira and her have apparently been diligently curating. she agrees no fanfare.

his army buddies know who she is before she meets them because he’s always saying samira this and mohan that. they all cheer when he says he’s proposing and that it’s about time.

he thinks he’s going to throw up but also that he’s never been more sure of anything in his life when he holds out the box in his palm, kneeling in the botanical gardens, the two of them hidden by the lushness of first spring’s bloom. she doesn’t say anything, staring at the ring, then at his face, then back at the ring. he knows he’s giving the speech he rehearsed a million times over.

(‘abbot i think you should pick a different prayer when a patient is crashing, that one sounds an awful lot like a proposal speech.’)

samira mohan’s hands shake while she lets him put the ring on her finger, because ‘jack i would’ve said yes a month into dating you.’

(‘aren’t you glad i bullied you into a videographer and photographer?’ jack can’t even bring himself to be annoyed at santos’ tone because now he forever has photo and video evidence that samira mohan said yes to marrying him.)

there’s not a dry eye during the ceremony, robby gives her away, and samira told him robby had cried so hard he’d been shaking when she’d asked. and it’s not an extravagant affair, because samira rolls her eyes when he asks her if she wants the dramatic ceremony.

(her dress is still breathtaking and jack’s coworkers see him cry for the first time.)

after they tie the knot, it really is unfortunate that he can’t (actually) use the ‘my wife said no’ excuse because he really just loves the way ‘my wife said’ sounds. not like that stops him anyways, because dana throws a pen at his head after the fifth, “my wife said no.” in response to her strict instructions to stop hanging around after his shifts are over.

it’s not as if much truly changes. samira terminates her lease and properly moves into jack’s place. she was the only one really using the kitchen, but now he’s spending his time off redoing the backsplash because he saw her looking at some picture on pinterest for just a little too long.

they adopt the dog she couldn’t stop looking wistfully at after going with mel and becca to the no-adoption-fee event.

(jack only pretends to think about it so she tries to persuade him. his facade lasts approximately thirty seconds into her kissing down his bare chest after they’ve come home before he caves and admits he was googling doggy daycares while trailing her in the shelter.)

they start doing double-date brunches with robby and collins in their backyard when shifts align and jack pointedly does not cry when he and samira open a gift bag containing the tiniest onesie he’s ever seen.

(samira had apparently noticed weeks before but kept the secret to herself aside from checking in on collins occasionally when she’d disappear to be sick in the bathrooms.)

he puts his first ring on a chain that he wears along with his dog tags. he makes his phone background a photo of samira the morning after the engagement (she’s got bedhead and her eyes are puffy from sleep but she’s smiling sleepily at the ring on her hand and jack thinks it should replace the Mona Lisa).

[madigoround]

tomorrow by amber larks, 2023, oil on canvas, 24 x 30 inches

[madigoround]

[madigoround]

[madigoround]

Oh. Oh wow. 😩🩵

[madigoround]

wc: 1.6k | rated: G | tags: Fluff, getting together, recovering Eddie Munson, they're in love

‧₊˚ ⋅

It’s Wayne’s idea first.

Eddie has to take talking again slowly, his throat ruined by the bats; some of it reconstructed and most of it heavily scarred. It’ll all return: talking and singing and silly voices. But only with time and patience.

But patience is not something that comes easy to Eddie Munson.

He seemed to take the ‘no talking’, ‘take it slow’, and ‘only do so much’ rules like it pained his soul. And they all realised quickly that asking Eddie questions to have him practise doesn't work because Eddie can never get his fully formed response out before the pain became too great. It became quickly apparent that no answer was better than something half-finished.

To help, he’d write long, sprawling journal entries, song lyrics and letters. Scratchy handwriting etched all over notebooks and loose pieces of paper, receipts, napkins and pill packets. Some he’d share, and others were squirrelled away, too honest in their pain and intensity.

But he still needed to practise; he needed to learn to speak again.

The doctors said keeping a catalogue of how he’s progressing would help with treatment; the more information available, the better they can help. To have something consistent to gauge Eddie’s ability to talk and to keep a note of the pain scale day to day or week to week. To see how far he has to go, but eventually, hopefully, to see how far he’s already come.

Dustin tries first with lines from Lord of the Rings. But the prose holds too many memories and, like the questions, too many opinions and connected tales he’s unable to voice.

Steve tries mundane stuff, like the back of the little hospital shampoo. But that quickly bores them both to tears and the idea is put away to never be spoken of again.

Robin tries asking him trivia – where do penguins live? Who was the first president? And that works for a few days, until they seem to step on some long-buried trigger, the demand too much like schoolwork, the unknown answers stinging too closely to past teachers' bitter berating of his academic failures. So trivia gets thrown out with the shampoo.

Then, one afternoon, Wayne walks in with the funnies pulled out and tucked under his arm. Spreading it out under his mug of freshly brewed coffee from home. The little grumpy Garfield looking up at Eddie from his hospital tray table.

‘I hate Mondays.’ Eddie rasps, a complex mix of frustration, relief and endearment on his face. Pain 7, words clear but slow, M most difficult because of the damage to his lower lip.

And so it goes: Garfield, pain, clearness and any details that might be important. Every day.

Steve can’t seem to let it go and becomes fixated. Garfield clearly being the answer to their problem. But more so, maybe, is the little smile the comic is able to get out of Eddie. Even on days where his pain is high and it really, really hurts him to talk, words coming near garbled, Garfield works. He talks even when he doesn’t want to, which makes him smile, small and quiet and pleased again. It’s progress.

Steve sees this, and Steve really can’t let it go. He’s a numbers guy, a bit of a stats lover – when he lets himself be honest and ignore the little voice in his head that says it’s embarrassing and he’s too dumb for all that. So he makes the chart anyway. Keeps note of when a new comic comes out and which ones Eddie’s already read. Finds old newspapers and clips the comic out of them, pilfering them from anyone who will let him – he's not above knocking on doors and asking. Not if it means Eddie might smile again, just like the very first time and so many times after.

He has a little chart for that too. A secret chart, just for him. It catalogues which lines made Eddie smile most, which made him outright laugh. Which he read when it was raining and he ached more. Which were the hardest to get out, that Steve wants him to try again one day, if just to hear him say it without the strain. Say it one day, hopefully pain-free.

Steve hopes Eddie can one day say them all with a smile and an ease, because seeing just a glimpse of it made something in Steve’s heart bright.

//

‘I’m sick of not being able to eat proper food.’ Eddie rasps, pouting. Steve is fiddling with Eddie's knuckles, drawing lines across his skin, over the dark hairs that sprout on his fingers. Steve tugs one, Eddie smiles. Cheeks dusting pink.

‘Two more weeks, then you’re released. As soon as possible after that, you come over and I make you lasagne; how about that?’ Steve says.

‘Like Garfield?’ Eddie asks, voice small, smile teasing. Steve watches him swallow, watching the scar on his neck move as he does. Steve’s fingers tingle; he wants to reach out and cup where he had to before, when they were in the upside down. Steve searching for that little bit of life, fingers slick with pooling blood. Once he’d found it, he’d ripped off his shirt and pressed it against Eddie’s neck. Steve wants to press against it now, just to feel the skin again, as it is now, raised and lumpy. But safe. Warm and dry with life.

‘Like Garfield.’ Steve smiles, his finger shifting between Eddie’s own, joints brushing, linking and locking. Almost holding hands.

//

Steve lays the table and lights a candle, smoothing his hands over his jeans and checking his hair in the reflection on the microwave again. He admitted to himself after the sixth time that it’s because he wants to look nice – make a good impression.

The doorbell goes at exactly 6pm. Steve doesn’t run, but he walks more quickly to the door than he thinks he ever has, pausing a moment to breathe and tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.

He opens the door and has to resist kissing Eddie right then and there. He tears his eyes away and waves at Wayne instead, who’s backing out of the drive in his truck.

Eddie’s using his new cane, shiny black with a silver handle. He’s wearing black Livi’s and a grey check flannel. His hair is curly and shiny as it falls over his ears but above his shoulders, trimmed shorter than Steve’s ever seen it. Steve doesn’t resist the urge to reach out and wrap his fingers around a strand, tugging lightly. (Steve knows it looks different because he read an article about curl care in the hospital waiting room. Which led to buying Eddie the nice shampoo and conditioner it recommended, partially as a welcome home gift, partially as another reason to be in the room with Eddie, with something new for them to talk about. And partially because Steve watched El try to brush Eddie’s hair for him. Steve having to look away whenever she caught a tangle, Eddie wincing, the halo of frizz around his head growing.) Steve’s fingers comb through easily, locks slipping between his knuckles.

Eddie looks at him with his big eyes and his lips slightly parted, eyelashes fluttering, and Steve has to resist kissing him all over again.

Wayne honks as he pulls off down the street. Eddie starts. Steve ushers him inside, through to the candlelit dining room table and napkins Joyce taught him to fold into swans.

‘Garfield’s favourite.’ He declares, laying the pan down between them, sauce oozing through bubbling cheese.

And Eddie’s eyes are big and brown and beautiful in the candlelight. He smiles up a him so big, Steve thinks his heart will jump right out of his chest.

He gets a little excited, serving Eddie almost a whole quarter of the dish. Handing it to him before realising, ‘Sorry, sorry, that’s way too much. Oh my god, you do not have to eat all of that.’

But Eddie smiles at him, licking some stray sauce off of his thumb. ‘S’fine, Stevie.’ And he digs in.

Steve watches Eddie, tearing a piece of garlic bread with his teeth. The movement of his jaw as he chews and swallows. The curl of his fingers around his fork.

He is here. He is beautiful.

Steve feels tears well behind his eyes. His knife clattering as it drops from his fingers. ‘Sorry, m’sorry.’ He sniffs, looking up at the ceiling and placing his fork down against the plate more quietly.

‘C’mere, Stevie.’ Eddie says gently.

Steve steps around the table, hunched and fevered, and he falls at Eddie’s feet. Knees hitting hardwood as his forehead collided with Eddie’s chest. Steve turns his head, his hair rustling against his ears, Eddie’s heartbeat coming next, solid and steady and perfect.

Steve lets his fingers crawl up Eddie’s arm, up to the scar at his throat. Holding it, palm against suture, fingers against jaw and tissue and skin.

‘You’re here.’ Steve says. Voice wet and desperate.

‘I’m here.’ Eddie whispers kindly. ‘I’m here, baby.’

And choked sob leaves Steve, wounded and animalistic, and Eddie almost died. Almost died in his arms, his hands covered in Eddie’s blood. Trying to keep his insides inside.

But he’s here, and he’s beautiful, and Steve wants Eddie to have everything he ever dreamed of, anything he didn't get time to dream of yet. Because he’s here, and he deserves it.

Eddie’s palm rests over his own, connected over his neck. The other cradling Steve’s cheek, swiping a tear away from below his lashes. Gently he pulls Steve closer, pulling him up and in.

Steve can’t resist it anymore; he can’t resist when Eddie’s so close.

He leans forward the same time Eddie does. Steve keeps his eyes open just to watch Eddie’s close; he looks blissed out and perfect. Steve lets their lips collide, dry and soft and sweet, his own eyes fluttering close. Then Eddie tilts, leaning into the hands on his neck, their noses brushing, and then there’s tongue and teeth, and Steve whines weakly, shuffling closer, chest to chest, between Eddie’s spread thighs. Exactly where he was meant to be. Meant to be here. Eddie’s here and they can be together, at last.

‧₊˚ ⋅

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[madigoround]

Season 2 of the Pitt should be 24 episodes long covering the chaos both night shift and day shift have to deal with during 4th of July weekend.

Open with Robby starting a shift with a packed waiting room, close with Robby starting a shift with a packed waiting room.

Hammer the audience over the head with that Sisyphean metaphor.