#also this excerpt is actually not as it seems!!

[corrosivebliss]

On Taryn Duarte - from someone who has yet to read the books

I saw some posts about the Cruel Prince and I subsequently fell down the Jude/Taryn rabbit hole. From what I've seen, Taryn gets the most hate from the fandom, even over the actual villains, which is pretty par for the course so I'm not surprised. But most of the excerpts and reasons I've seen come from her being very shallow and vain, and betraying Jude. Okay, that hate makes sense. BUT I am the diehard fan of hated female characters.

Prefacing this with the fact that I have not yet read the series yet, but I've seen multiple posts regarding the characters and have read excerpts and summaries, and the like.

I really hate the woman v woman that we're given so often in media and especially in ya, na, and a books. Those books usually giving the fmc one or two female friends to balance the waters, but they usually don't exist as more than appendages of the fmc.

Not sure if that's the case with the Cruel Prince, but Taryn's character seems to be the one-dimensional female foil, specifically with her overly feminine aesthetic and betrayal for the sake of romance. I think this is why I can't bring myself to actually read the books, because I know I'll hate seeing that.

Because of this I often find myself liking the "villainous" female characters as well when I find them to be anything but that, because I think they're also cool or I think that they suffer from a lack of nuanced writing (see Nesta Archeron). Jude is presented to be the villain, and I do like her and if she was the villain in another story I would also like her, but because she's still the character we're meant to root for she holds a weird place in my head since I'm not sure if Holly Black suffers from the crude idea of characterization and character relationships that is currently very prominent in fiction. I have heard that she gets a new LI apart from Locke, who she killed (yay! I love that), so it does seem to be looking up in terms of escaping the ya writing styles.

Therefore, in my head I will be holding the idea that Taryn is equally as masterminded as Jude and this is all a very elaborate ruse she's carefully cultivated since childhood and that she actually loves Jude very much. I am a sucker for tragic sisters.

[backslashdelta]

Microsoft Word I PROMISE you my reader will not be offended. In fact this is specifically what my reader requested.

[sunnieschaos]

A knight's rage

This is a scene I intended to put in the story, but it ended up going slightly different? somehow?

Lu Guang observed the king's ward as he did some paperwork. "Lu Guang?" Cheng Xiaoshi turned around in his chair to look at the knight with his head slightly tilted to the side. Lu Guang looked away from the prince and focused on the door again. He could see the way the other man just gave him a confused look before turning back to his desk and the documents stacked onto it. Lu Guang's gaze drifted back to dark hair, to the thin braid to the side of the ward's head, which ended in the short ponytail at the back of his head. He watched the way the prince's face scrunched up in focus. Lu Guang wondered why he decided to choose a knight, and why he had chosen him, of all the options he'd had. "Sir Lu Guang?" his lord turned to look at Lu Guang again. "Why do you keep staring at me?" Lu Guang's lips parted in surprise. He hadn't thought the slightly oblivious-looking man would have noticed. He should have known. Lu Guang continued to watch the way the prince's features scrunched up in confusion. "Lu Guang?" Lu Guang sighed, "it's nothing, your highness." Cheng Xiaoshi narrowed his eyes at him. "It's not nothing, sir Lu Guang, feel free to ask whatever has been on your mind. Your staring is starting to make me feel on edge." Lu Guang closed his eyes. "Why did you decide to choose a knight now, your highness?" Cheng Xiaoshi's lips parted in a silent 'ah' and he tilted his head in thought. "I suppose you have heard of the incident I was involved in?" "Incident?" Lu Guang questioned. "Ah, you didn't hear about it." Cheng Xiaoshi's words had been a statement more than a question. Lu Guang just watched him as he sighed and slumped over the desk. "So a few months ago," the prince started, pushing himself upright to look at the knight, "I had a minor disagreement with a noble who had been harassing the princess under the guise of courtship." Lu Guang nodded, continuing to observe the man in front of him. "This kind of blew up and he hated that I had stepped in and stabbed me. As a result, the king ordered me to choose a knight and you caught my attention." Lu Guang nodded, already wondering if he could get away with disposing of a noble.

[nebulouscoffee]

✄ what’s your editing process?

★ what was the scene you most wanted to write in "Who We Are" ? what was the hardest scene to write?

and

▵ pick a fic and I’ll tell you my favorite line -> for "Home"

Thank you so much!😊

✄ what’s your editing process? - answered here :)

★ what was the scene you most wanted to write in "Who We Are" ? what was the hardest scene to write? - I remember being so excited to write Ezri's joining, which ended up being a ton of fun- as well as this (not yet posted) fallout between Jadzia and Julian. Plus the climactic zhian'tara ritual! A scene that's been quite hard to write is one where Jadzia sort of snaps and is... actually very mean to Ezri (hard because it's tough to find the balance between painful and still in-character; in canon it was Garak, who can easily be cruel- but while I think Jadzia can be uncaring sometimes she isn't usually mean like that, so what would it take to push her? how can I make it convincing?) - and ofc that climactic zhian'tara ritual lol, because HOWWW can I capture the sheer madness of Jadzia Sans Dax But Not Quite Idaris hosting the spirit of Technically Now Dead Past Host Jadzia Dax. Nothing is good enough!! Nothing!!!

▵ pick a fic and I’ll tell you my favorite line -> for "Home" - omg Home :') can't believe it's been two whole years since I sat down and thought "well maybe I should try writing a fan fic" & then accidentally gave birth to a 100k word monster lmao. I haven't actually read this one since last December, so I'm not sure these are in fact my fav lines- but people seem to comment about this exchange between Kira and Garak a lot, and I do like it!

“Nilvi isn’t even a Cardassian fruit,” he said randomly.  Kira knew. It was Amlethi; plucked from their soils and grown on Cardassian worlds. Jiruoub berries were Amlethi too; yet they’d fed her three years in the Resistance. Korman weeds brought by Cardassian invaders now blanketed moba orchards, inexplicably helping the indigenous trees grow. Two of the seven spices in Seven-Spice Hasperat were Cardassian.  Years ago, Kira would’ve defiantly relished a five-spice version, shamed her peers who didn’t. Now, she just thinks they’ve all been through too much to punish themselves with bland hasperat. Maybe time couldn’t heal all wounds. But it could turn her hasperat from a political statement into lunch. “My father enjoyed it,” she remembered. “So did my mother.” Garak paused. “You’ve met her, you know.”

This digs into a lot of things I find fascinating about their dynamic, and what they might have in common despite being from opposite sides of an Occupation- but it's also an important character moment for both of them; a recognition of how much their lives have changed, their worlds have changed, they have changed. The nilvi fruit does have symbolic weight in this fic lol- it's the thing that starts off the whole series of unfortunate events, yes, but also when it's first mentioned in chapter one, it's via Garak reminiscing about it as a symbol of cultural pride, unity, and Cardassian wealth, and with casual nostalgia. Him saying this now is a display of how much the events of the fic have forced him to confront that nostalgia- now, the fruit has become a symbol of Cardassian greed, entitlement and violence (both on a larger, planetary scale, and a personal one). I also really wanted to write this moment of peaceful self-awareness for Kira- there are things she will never truly heal from, things she'll never forgive (a lot of which are quite literally personified in the man she's currently sipping springwine with) - but that doesn't mean they can't come to take on new significances. I remember I was thinking about how maize is a dietary staple in most African countries, and red and green chillies are so famously associated with various Asian cuisines- yet, neither of those things is native to those lands. Every country from Sudan to Sri Lanka is filled with tea stalls that are now a crucial part of the culture - but shai/chai never used to be made with tea leaves until those countries were colonised. This is not a "silver lining on the cloud" type thing, of course- quite the opposite; neither Bajor nor any real-world nations should ever have been colonised (& this is why I included that "inexplicably helping the indigenous trees grow" line- the exact sort of thing that would get paraded around as a defence of colonialism! Just like railways, languages, European architecture, fusion art, etc. Whether Cardassian activity was poisoning the soil or inadvertently helping something grow, it doesn't matter- it had no business being carried out in Bajoran territory.) But this is an aspect of occupations I hadn't seen explored all that much in ds9 fanworks; that inevitable intertwining of cultures- so I wanted to write more about it, and given I drew a lot of inspiration from stuff I see around me I'm always so pleasantly surprised by how many people responded to it, I'm very glad it resonated

[pertinax--loculos]

Some Snippets

In celebration of hitting 50k (whilst studying! Properly, this semester!) I thought I’d share some of my recent favourite lines from MTG (not in chronological order, cuz I make the rules):

A moment, blinding, as Gunther makes the decision and his future snaps into focus. A plume of fire, crumbling buildings, smoke curling around the ruins of a foundation. Embers and dust and decay drying his ears, choking his eyes, blinding his throat. Narrow, straight and true.

He's gonna tear Mystic River apart looking for Casimir.

And Ethos is going to let him.

*

The floor bucks beneath him and Ethos has to catch himself on the couch. Iron tang across his tongue. Blood and clamour and chaos. He blinks through the taste and the noise dominating his vision and catches a couple of curious looks from Gunther's men. He's not seeing now, he's seeing if except if has just become when and he realises Casimir's made a decision.

The futures of Barnes and his men truncate. Possibilities swept away until all that's left are certain, short lines stretching moments into the future. Minutes at most. Sparks flying desperate into the air, bright hot trails snuffed out by cold air.

There's ringing in his ears, and he's not sure if it's from now or from soon.

*

It's a specific future that sends him over the edge. A couple, maybe in their thirties, man and woman. The woman's quite an accomplished witch, and the man is alchemist. They're more concerned about how their relationship is going to go, though. They're talking about a spring wedding. The man's cancer will kill him in a month.

Ethos tells them platitudes, spilling from his mouth like oil, greasy and thick. They'll love each other forever. For the rest of their lives. He can't bring himself to touch the woman, to see how her future will crack and spiral after she loses the man. He wishes them well with bitter acid coating his tongue and throws back whatever's in the glass in his hand, trying to wash away the sensation.

*

[Kenzie] overcompensates for showing weakness, lifting her chin and slouching a little at the same time, trying to encompass confidence and insouciance at once. "Okay, sure, whatever. But someone did [hurt Ethos], right? And you knew about it?"

Casimir just looks at her. Kenzie sets her jaw and meets his gaze, steadfast and determined. She can play this game with the best of them. When you're used to staring into Ethos's strange and shifting eyes, everything else becomes child's play.

Or it should. But the longer she looks into Casimir's eyes, the less she sees. It's not her vision getting worse. If anything, it's getting better, clearer; like she can see deeper the longer their eyes stay locked. But the deeper she goes the emptier it becomes. She's reminded of the abyss; she sees a coldness and a distance and a lack, and something uncomfortable claws its way across her skin as she imagines that emptiness looking back into her.

She looks away. At the shelves, the bar, the furniture, anything; anything but the indescribable nothing of Casimir's eyes.

*

"Is it hard? Seeing what people are going to do, the mistakes they're going to make, and knowing you can't do anything about it?"

Ethos glances at him before looking down to fit his key into the lock. "Not really. I'm used to that. I can give them some advice, hopefully encourage them to make the better choice, but the future isn't set. Even if they do that something else might go wrong. No, it's not the mistakes or the lost potential that gets to me." He pushes the door open and rubs at the split between his eyebrows. "It's the ones that have no choice."

Casimir steps through the door, but doesn't make a move further into the apartment. "The only constant," he says. "Death."

Ethos drops his hand to look at him. "Right."

They're silent for a moment, still, suspended just across the threshold, Ethos's fingers curled around the edge of the door. His head hurts and his eyes ache and there's a constant, unchanging whine in his ears, but all of it dulls beneath the intensity of Casimir's gaze, the elemental surge and shift of his futures. Everything about him is dialled up to eleven, utterly unrestrained, no holds barred. He wipes Ethos's brain of every other thought and surrounds him with noise and movement that reaches into his mouth, his ears, his nose. Subsuming him, consuming him.

It should be suffocating.

It's not.

[musical-chick-13]

WIP WEDNESDAY

HELLO, it is that time again! Have one of the few sections of this that's vague enough not to be completely deranged.

A loud, aggravated sigh interrupts his latest spiral as he passes the entrance to the indoor garden, where River is currently laying on a lawn chair under artificial sunlight annotating a limited-edition copy of The Haunting of Hill House. “Are you okay?!?!” The glare she trains on him is sharp enough to cut glass, even from fifteen feet away. “Please don’t.” Despite the presence of the word “please,” this is clearly a demand, not a request. Though what the “don’t” is referring to, he couldn’t even begin to guess. “Don’t...ask if you’re okay.” “Don’t act like every single inconvenience is going to kill me. My ankle’s broken, I’m not in a coma.” “You made a noise, I thought—” She sighs again, quieter this time. “Doctor. I just dropped my pen. That’s all.” ...Ah.

[thelostboys87]

realising this is silly in hindsight but the way i kind of just assumed people would not be interested in the grief and death and caretaking and historical aspect of lover boy LOL happy to be proven wrong. going to be obnoxious on main now

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Canonical enshittification

This is the Facebook playbook: you lure in publishers by promising them a traffic funnel ("post excerpts and links and we'll show them to people, including people who never asked to see them"), and then the rug-pull: "Post everything here, don't link to your own site. Become a commodity supplier to our platform. Abandon all your own ways of making money. Become entirely subject to the whims of our recommendation system."

Next will be: "We block links to other sites because they might be malicious."

Then some kind of "pivot to video."

Probably not video (though who knows?) but some other feature that a major rival has, which Twitter will attempt to defraud its captive, commodified suppliers into financing an entry into.

In case you were wondering, yes, this is canonical enshittification. Lure in business customers (publishers) by offering surpluses (algorithmic recommendation and an ensuing traffic funnel). Lock them in (by capturing their audience and blocking interop and logged-out reading).

Then rug the publishers, clawing back all the surpluses you gave them and more, draining them of all available capital and any margins they have, until they die or bite the bullet and leave.

I would also give good odds on this leading to a revivification of the "Pay us tens of thousands of dollars a month for a platinum checkmark and we'll actually show what you post to the people who asked to see it."

That will be pitched as the answer to publishers' complaints about not wanting to turn themselves into commodity Twitter inputs. It will be priced at the same (or more) as the revenues publishers expect to lose from being commodified, making it a wash.

All of this seems to me to be an "unfair and deceptive business practice" under Sec 5 of the FTC Act.

If I sign up to follow you because I want to see what you post, and Twitter shadowbans your posts unless they are formatted to maximize your dependence on Twitter, they have deceived me, and are being unfair to you.

This is *very* analogous to the Net Neutrality debate, where a platform blocks or deprioritizes the things its users ask to see, based on whether the suppliers of those things are its competitors.

I've written about how an end-to-end principle for social media could be enforced under Sec 5 of the FTCA, how it would address this kind of sleazy practice, how it would be easy to administer, and wouldn't form a barrier to entry for new market entrants:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/10/e2e/#the-censors-pen

[oliviajdjarin]

Joel Miller: Stay Down

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: Joel thought he had grown accustomed to fear until he finds you covered in blood.

Excerpt: He swallowed, attempting to choose his words carefully. He had never been good with them, attributing his deficiency to a long line of likewise men before him. His brain poured for sonnets, poetry, prose that he had read in his insignificant time on this planet. Something to impress you, distract you, to take away that crestfallen look in your eye.

He couldn’t do it. He never would be. So, he used his mouth for something else.

Warnings: stitching of a wound, kissing, blood, blood loss, so much yearning, unestablished relationship, probably incorrect gun talk, Joel is scared of feelings.

A/N: This is me coping with the fact that we do not get more last of us in January. Also partially inspired by my favorite song maybe ever.

Pedro Masterlist

All my writing

Joel had found his hands becoming more and more susceptible to the cold as he got older.

They would crack and bleed, flaking dried skin within his decades-old gloves before November had even begun. This not only hurt like hell, but forced him to slow down and think about what he was doing to his body for once in his life. He had a harder time gripping the reins on a horse or fingering the trigger on a shotgun. Noticeably so. And living in a small town with a little brother foaming at the mouth to make old man jokes didn't help matters.

This is what led him to you.

He wouldn't call you a hoarder. Honestly, he would be the first to admit that you were one of the smartest people in Jackson. You had somehow become one of the most materialistically rich people in the town. You consistently managed to find the most randomly useful items on your patrols, things that people before the outbreak would never have even thought to miss.

Things like shoe insoles, ball point pens, Chapstick.

And luckily for him, lotion.

You never charged anyone for taking from what you had. Furthermore, you actively asked people if they needed anything. Even offering to scout around the area in search of specifics. Joel hadn't been around that kind of softness since...

Well, a long time.

This made him uncharacteristically nervous when he first approached your doorstep, but he knocked anyway. He had never in a million years expected to leave that house satisfied in more ways than one.

He blamed it on that stupid crinkle the skin underneath your eyes got whenever you smiled at him. He couldn't help but fall into your light.

This started a... friendship. Of sorts. He would come over when he needed you, and you would happily oblige. As time went on, the visits to yours became more and more frequent, frequent enough that the rest of the town seemed to be catching on. At least, that's what his brother had been hinting at through jabs and side comments.

"You smiled at me the other day, Joel," Tommy had said. "Actually smiled."

Joel responded with a gesture he was hoping Ellie would not pick up anytime soon.

Joel was...happy. Happy with the arrangement. He had a warm body – a fucking gorgeous warm body – to get his energy out with, and the woman inside the body seemingly had no issue with his lack of strings attached.

And yet, for some reason, this annoyed him.

There was some undetectable, bruised part of him that wanted you to…what exactly? Fight him on it? Confess your undying love for him? Pull him back into bed to cuddle?

There had to be either pheromones or crack cocaine in that honeyed floral perfume you always wore. You were beginning to drive him this insane. Unfortunately for him, the place he went when he was beginning to toe that line into insanity was always you.

Joel had checked the schedule posted in the main square, assigning every able-bodied person shifts of patrol. You had a shift earlier in the day, which usually kept you busy until noon. You would then shower, eat, and spend the rest of the afternoon doing whatever the hell you wanted.

Overtime, these mental gymnastics became muscle memory to Joel.

He huffed as he lugged his aching legs up your steps, their typical milk white now coated in an ugly muddy brown. Winter had begun, apparent by the puffs of Joel’s own breaths, and the snow in Jackson was trying desperately to keep up.

Joel balled his hands into fists as he planted both feet onto your porch, blowing into them quickly, before knocking three times. Spaced out enough, but not too much. He envisioned you smiling as you heard his signature knock, but cringed at himself internally, burying the thought instantly.

It fluttered back to the surface when he heard the pads of your footsteps somewhere in the house begin but extinguished itself when they dissipated.

He waited a few more seconds, the rational part of his brain saying that you must be in the middle of something, but the man part of his brain imagining you putting on your silky red robe he loved so much, only for him to take it off you so slowly it made his own fingers shake. He breathed in deep, the laundry detergent from his nylon coat mixed with the beginnings of December filling his nose, and cracked his neck while rocking back and forth on his heels.

His eyebrows came together when he heard another rustle, then nothing.

He knocked again.

Still, nothing,

He knew you were in there – he could hear you, clear as day, and he knew you could hear him – but for some reason, you weren’t coming to the door.

His much too weathered mind began to race, thinking of three possible explanations. One, you heard him knocking, and were ignoring him. Two, you somehow were not hearing him knock on the door. Or three, you for some reason were not able to get to the door.

Meaning, there was a possibility you weren’t alone in there, and not by choice.

“Y/N?” he asked loudly. “Y/N, are you in there?”

Nothing. A bit more rustling, maybe a slight groan, but nothing.

Joel’s fingers began to tingle, and it wasn’t from the cold. He knocked again, harder.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there,” he said loudly, “just…just tell me you’re okay.”

Silence.

He gripped the doorknob and jiggled it, hard enough for the wood to groan underneath his fingertips, but it was locked from the inside. He huffed, knocking again, his hot breaths now clouding his face. He felt an ache in his wrist.

He said your name one more time, hearing the beginnings of a voice he knew better than he should have muffled by the wood, and the door was flat in front of him before he could think twice.

He stomped his way inside, coating the ground with mud and snow, and his eyes darted around the familiar living room. His vision was tunneled, scrounging for the shape of you on the floor, draped over the couch, held at gunpoint. His heart pulsed in his ears.

You weren’t in the living room.

He stomped into the kitchen, the bathroom, the basement, nothing. All that was left was the bedroom.

There was no way in hell you were still asleep.

He practically sprinted to the room, preparing himself. He had seen what men did to women, the remnants of it anyway, and despite his state of denial, he could never in a million years handle the sight of you that way. In your own bed. In your own house. Likely one of your own friends.

He pulled open the door anyway, and was met with gold.

The room was dim except for the lamps you loved so dearly, spreading their warm, glowing, honeyed light across the room in streaks. He blinked his eyes to adjust, focusing in on your body on the bed. You were facing him, skin painted with similar golden streaks, highlighting the tears culminating under your eyes. You were sat crisscrossed, upper body totally bare, back slouched tightly, your body practically folded in on itself. Your right hand was pressed against your left shoulder blade, while your other was filled with wine-colored rags.

Blood-soaked rags.

His eyes met yours quickly, and despite their dampness, they still had that fucking crinkle.

You chuckled, your shoulders dropping up and down quickly as they always do.

“You know,” you said, voice curdled and tired, “if someone doesn’t answer the door, that’s usually them saying ‘leave me the hell alone.”

You chuckled again, this time finishing it off with a wince.

His hand slid slowly from the doorknob as he took a hesitant step towards you, his body tearing itself in half. One side begging to fold your body into him, bubbling you in a cocoon. The other, itching to tear whatever did this to you apart ligament by ligament.

Your eyes slowly drooped from humor to something like shame, like a kicked dog or a broken child, and he stepped forward again.

“Don’t,” you countered weakly. “Just…just don’t.”

You scooted away from him slightly, refusing to look at him, and applied more pressure to whatever was expelling that much blood from your shoulder. Pain was suddenly present in your face.

“You want me to leave?” he quickly countered.

You said nothing.

He walked to you, removing the hand you had pressed against your wound, and sucked in a quick breath.

“Probably the first time you’ve seen a revolver bullet in about twenty years, huh Joel?” you asked, chuckling once more.

He barely heard you.

You had gotten the bullet out, but it had sunken in deep. The skin around it was red and welting, so swollen that Joel had to guess you had already been working on it for at least an hour. He winced, imagining what kind of pain you were in, and the fact that you were dealing with it all yourself.

He swallowed grimly.

“Hand me that rag,” he said. He could tell how little strength you had left to fight him by how quickly the rag flopped into his hand.

He pressed it to the wound, and you hissed.

“Fuck Joel,” you whined, squeezing the covers of your bed so tightly your knuckles went white. He held his pressure, forcing himself to think straight.

He might as well have been feeling the pain in his own shoulder.

He finally eased his pressure, wiping away as much blood from the area as he could.

“You cleaned it pretty well,” he said softly, voice thick in his throat, so thick it was hard to speak. “But…it’s gonna need a stich or two.”

“Or seven,” you said, grabbing the first aid kit sat in the middle of the bed. You opened the bag with shaking hands, taking out the needle and thread. You attempted to begin threading the needle, but with your hands quaking so fiercely you only produced frustrated grunts and sighs. He moved to the front of the bed, the front of his body facing yours, and took the needle and thread from your hands, setting them to the side. He then held your hands in his, squeezing them slightly, before using one to tilt your chin up at him.

He sighed at the storm in your eyes.

“What happened?”

“Did you kick my fucking door down?”

“What happened?”

“I was stupid, that��s what happened.”

He sighed again. “You’ve never once been stupid.”

“Today I was.”

“How?”

“It’s how I always am.” Your voice cracked. “Thought I could pick some apples for Mrs. Lawrence down the street. She always talks about how much she loved that as a kid – a freshly picked apple. Went out too far. Felt a sudden burning in my shoulder and ended up having to take out six hunters all by myself. Six.”

A single tear dripped from your left eye, the gold from the lamps turning it to sunlight.

“I could’ve died. All for a fucking apple.”

You turned away from him again, and it took everything in him not to cup your face in his hands and turn you back to him. He had never seen you like this before. So… raw. Beaten. Trampled. Doused in self-hatred. He hated it.

And yet, he didn’t want to look away. He was slowly realizing that this was the part of you he had been desperate to see. Truth. Undercarriage. Weakness.

Human.

He swallowed, attempting to choose his words carefully. He had never been good with them, attributing his deficiency to a long line of likewise men before him. His brain poured for sonnets, poetry, prose that he had read in his insignificant time on this planet. Something to impress you, distract you, to take away that crestfallen look in your eye.

He couldn’t do it. He never would be. So, he used his mouth for something else.

Slowly, gentler than he ever had in his life, he brought his mouth to your cheekbone. You exhaled a prolonged breath, the heat of it cascading down the left side of his neck. It only prompted him to kiss you more, and more, and more. His lips traveling up into your hairline, across your forehead, down your nose, and finally onto your lips. His kiss there was tongueless, rather a soft press, and yet it meant more to him than any other one you had ever shared.

He could tell by your breathing that you agreed.

He pressed his forehead against yours, swallowing thickly. “I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t know…I don’t know what I would do if you did.”

Your stormy eyes turned into a sunrise, and Joel straightened his aching back to slowly remove his coat and boots. He placed them on the floor beside your bed, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. You watched him just the same, mouth propped open slightly.

He smirked as he set his things down. He then picked up the needle and thread while using his free hand to frame your face.

“I’ll be gentle,” he said, his thumb stroking your chin. “I promise.”

You nodded. “I know you will.”

His lips wanted to meet yours so badly it hurt, but he needed to stitch you. Quickly. For a wound as deep as the one you had, it should have been closed up hours ago.

He wouldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t.

He walked to the edge of the bed and turned you around, leaning you into him slightly to give your pretzeled back some support, and began.  

You were surprisingly unreactive when he first inserted the needle, taking it as delicately as he possibly could. It wasn’t until he began to tug the skin together that your body showed signs of pain.

“You’re going too slow,” you mumbled softly after he finished the second stitch. “Please go faster.”

His hands began to shake at your request. He didn’t blame you. Speed would make it hurt worse, but be over with quicker. He squeezed the top of your shoulder in response, threading the needle quickly and stitching over the center of the wound.

You let out a high-pitched whine, gripping onto the comforter at your side, and he couldn’t help but kiss the back of your neck.

He let your breathing steady, then stitched again, this time kissing your shoulder blade.

Another stitch, a kiss across your shoulders.

Another stitch, a kiss down your spine.

Another stitch, a kiss on your lower back.

After every stitch, he planted one. Something in him couldn’t help it.

He made his final stitch and cut the thread quickly, sealing it with a kiss on the side of your face. He tasted a mix of salty tears and heat from your skin. He watched your throat bobble as he moved away, finishing off the wound with a final cleaning. Alcohol and blood filled the air, along with undertones of sweat.

He had a feeling that last aroma came mostly from him.

He threw the needle and thread away into the small garbage can you kept near your bed before turning back to face you. You rested on the balls of your palms, leaning back to look at him as he walked back towards you. There was pain visible behind your eyes, he could see it, but they were coated in something else. Something somehow rawer than before.

“You should rest now,” he said, scruff evident in his voice from lack of use. He cleared it quickly. “You took a hell of a hit.”

You didn’t move. Joel moved to the first aid kit still sitting in the middle of the bed and used the (what had to be decades old) wet wipes on his hands. He tossed those as well, but you still hadn’t moved.

“There somethin’ on my face?”

You cracked a small smile. “Thank you, Joel,” you said quietly.

He hummed. “Don’t mention it.” He then leaned forward and scooped your body into his arms. You involuntarily rested against him, eyes fluttering already, but he set you down beneath your sheets and swiftly pulled them over you.

He laughed at your fight against your own exhaustion, pushing stray hairs away from your forehead. He pulled away from you, beginning to walk out of the room. A fierce grip pulled him backwards.

“Stay,” you mumbled weakly. “Please stay.”

He inhaled deeply. The sweet cocktail of your voice mixed with those words fucking inebriating him, so much so he was surprised he was still standing up straight. He felt physically winded.

He squeezed your hand. “I’ll be right back. Stay down.”

You smiled, loosening your grip, letting your hand fall back into the bed.

Joel walked quietly out of the room but would be the last to admit how he practically sprinted to your kitchen and scoured your cabinets like a man being chased. He found your pain meds, pouring two into his hand, and filling up a small glass of water. He gave a slow, silent jog back to your room.

He felt equally as winded when he caught the view of the setting sun between your windows, glazing over you like a statue in Rome he had once seen on a traveling magazine. The streaks of leftover tears were highlighted in the light, as well as a small crease in your brow.

That is what told him you were not quite yet out cold.

He brought the meds and water to you, tucking your hair behind your ear to alert you of his presence. You opened your eyes and practically inhaled the medicine before laying back down on your side.

Joel removed his shirt in a blink and tucked himself in behind you, ensuring your stitches were not firmly pressed against him, but pressed just enough to ease soreness. You curved into him perfectly, as he did to you. He wrapped his arm around your frame, taking your hands in his and massaging them gently.

You hummed. “Promise you’ll stay?”

He knew your voice like that better than any man in the world.

He pressed a final kiss to your shoulder. “I’m stayin.’”

Tag List: (if you would like to be added please let me know!)

@untitledarea @avengersfan25 @lexloon @daphne-turner @leeeesahhh

[suzukiblu]

Excerpt from the one where Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it.

(The read-more is definitely necessary, length-wise. I . . . got very into this idea and frankly this is barely a third of it so far, lol.)

"So, uh . . ." Kon says, skeptically eyeing the softly glowing rock in his hand. Metallo, like, threw it at his head. He has no idea why. "Is this supposed to do something or . . . ?"

"It's pink," Kara says leerily, staying very firmly back. Like, unexpectedly far back, in fact.

"Yeah, I'm not actually blind, thanks," Kon says, turning the rock over and squinting at it. It continues not to do anything, aside from the glowing thing.

"No, it's pink kryptonite," she stresses.

". . . it literally doesn't hurt at all, though?" Kon says. Though he probably should've figured it was some kind of kryptonite, given that Metallo had it and had apparently thought he could hurt him with it.

Seriously, though, his gloves are fingerless and he's got it right in his hand. It should be hurting him, if it's actually kryptonite.

"Pink kryptonite doesn't work like that," Kara says, edging a little farther back. They're floating a few hundred feet in the air right now, but from the way she's acting Kon's vaguely concerned that he might be about to explode or something. "It just affects our sexual . . . urges."

"Oh," Kon says, frowning in confusion. Weird, but . . . "Is that all?"

"I don't mean like it makes you horny, Kon, I mean like it makes you homosexual," Kara hisses, looking mortified. "And don't ask how I know, alright?!"

Kon . . . blinks.

"What the literal fuck?" he asks incredulously, just staring at her. "How does that even–are you telling me Metallo went and chucked gay kryptonite at me in the middle of a fight?"

"Yes!" Kara says, still clearly mortified. "So just–just stay over there with it until somebody shows up with a lead box, okay?! The effects will stop after we get it contained."

"Alright, alright. So then do you think the dude was flirting with me or is he just a fucking idiot?" Kon jokes, balancing the kryptonite on his index finger with his TTK. "Although I really don't think he'd be my type either way. Like, nothing against cyborgs in general, obviously, just the whole thing with him being a murderous supervillain who literally runs on kryptonite seems like it'd make us totally star-crossed. I want somebody I can actually commit to, you know?"

"Sure," Kara says, still eyeing the kryptonite with serious trepidation. It's really not helping Kon feel less like a time bomb, to be honest. Is there like some other side effect that he should be worrying about right now or something? Like, is he missing something here?

"You seem kinda high-strung about this," he observes, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Look, you'd have avoided it too if you'd dealt with it before!" she says protestingly. "So stay over there and definitely keep it away from Kal, I don't know if Jimmy ever really recovered from the last time."

"Oh, well, congrats to Jimmy, I guess," Kon says, since he can't really see a downside to scoring a one-night stand with Superman. Like, a downside for somebody who isn't literally his clone, he means. The clone thing would definitely make it weird.

Just it's also Clark, though, so he'd probably be the generous type in bed. Like, the sort to really take care of somebody. Be as gentle as happened to be appropriate but also be down if his partner maybe wanted it a little rough for whatever reason. And he'd definitely be able to go all night. Again, Kon isn't gonna go there himself, it really would be too weird, but he can make a logical conclusion. Extrapolate one. Whatever.

Then again he'd be down with Power Girl absolutely destroying him whenever the fuck she wanted to and she's genetically his . . . some form of cousin or something, he guesses. His half-cousin from another reality. So really, Clark's not even that weird an option. And like, all appearances aside Kon's a binary clone anyway, not even a one-for-one match, sooooo . . .

Actually it's probably weirder that he thinks Power Girl is so unspeakably hot but comparatively Kara is just . . . fine? Like, that's a little odd, isn't it?

Maybe it's an attitude thing. Or the costume.

Might be safe to blame the costume, yeah.

It's just such a good costume. Like, Kon aspires to reach that level of costume.

But really, all that aside he still doesn't even know what the big deal about temporarily going gay is, although to be fair he's also currently talking to Supergirl and not, like . . . literally any dude whatsoever. So like, who knows how weird this stuff might actually make him under those circumstances. Maybe it like fucks with inhibitions and stuff too?

Yeah, hell if he knows. He's really only dealt with green kryptonite before. He was vaguely aware that other colors existed and apparently did different stuff, but . . . this just seems very different, put it that way.

Maybe best to avoid Jimmy Olsen for a little while, Kon decides privately. The guy probably doesn't need that.

Besides, Clark apparently got there first anyway and Kon just really doesn't want to be worrying about measuring up. Miss him with that, thanks.

. . . although maybe he'll go visit Tim later.

Eh, no, Kara made it sound like the pink K's gonna stop affecting him pretty quick once they box it up, so not much point in bothering. Though maybe he'll visit just to hang, come to think of it; they haven't seen each other in almost a whole week. Well, he hasn't seen Tim, at least–who knows how much Bat-surveillance Tim's seen him through.

Kon should maybe sweep his room for bugs again. Note to self.

Although would it be weird to just like . . . keep the pink kryptonite, maybe? Since it apparently doesn't actually hurt anyone or anything? Because that could be, well . . . just interesting, that's all. Like, Kon is open to exploring that experience. Just–as an experience.

"Actually, you're surprisingly not high-strung about this," Kara says.

"Am I?" Kon asks. "I mean, it's not that big a deal, is it?"

She stares at him.

"Kon," she says slowly. "Pink kryptonite affects your sexuality. It makes you attracted to people you're not normally attracted to. It confuses you and everyone around you and it is really freaking embarrassing to explain afterwards."

"I've been mind-controlled into shaving my head and breaking my best friend's arm," Kon says, continuing to not really see what the big deal is. "That was embarrassing. And fucking traumatic. This? This is just kinda weird."

"Only kinda?" Kara asks incredulously. "You're one of the straightest guys I know! How are you just fine with this?!"

"I mean to be fair, that's probably making some unfair generalizations about straight guys," Kon points out. Kara stares at him. "What?"

"I don't even know how to respond to that," she says.

"Sorry?" Kon says, then tucks the pink kryptonite into his jacket pocket with a shrug. He's not trying to hide it or anything; just getting kinda sick of holding it. And it's that or he either ditches it somewhere or starts tossing it around and that'd probably be . . . just, well, absolutely epically stupid of him.

Or it seems like it would be, anyway. Whatever color it is, it's still kryptonite.

"I mentioned keeping that away from Kal, right?" Kara says.

"Yeah, on that note, are they like . . . done down there yet?" Kon asks, glancing down towards the mess of the street that Clark's standing on a few hundred feet below with a whole bunch of randos from S.T.A.R. Labs, for some reason. Somebody mentioned something about neutralizing Metallo's kryptonite heart without actually killing him, but mostly it was science talk and clearly theoretical anyway so to be honest Kon'd kinda tuned it all out as "not currently relevant", and that's all he knows.

"Definitely not," Kara says.

"I'm gonna call Robin while we're killing time, then," Kon says, pulling out his phone.

"You're going to call your closest male friend," Kara says. "Right now. While you've got pink kryptonite in your pocket."

"Yup," Kon says, already pulling up Tim's contact.

"Can you not see how that might be a bad idea at the moment?" Kara asks. "Not in any way whatsoever?"

"Well I'm not calling Impulse," Kon replies reasonably. Kara stares at him again, for some reason.

Eh, whatever.

He calls Tim.

"Hey, Conner, what's up?" Tim answers distractedly, which Kon doesn't hold against him because when isn't Tim distracted, really. Dude's got too much going on in that head of his, for real. He's just glad the guy ever picks up the phone at all.

"So apparently I'm gay right now," Kon greets conversationally, figuring he should lead with that just in case he actually is about to do something embarrassing to explain. "Pink kryptonite is fucking weird, man."

". . . uh," Tim says as Kara covers her face with her hands. "What?"

"Pink kryptonite makes you gay, Kara says," Kon says. "And we're both just kind of chilling above downtown Metropolis waiting for Kal to finish up with the science-y people so we can get said pink K locked up, so I'm bored out of my mind right now and calling you to complain about it."

"You're calling me," Tim says slowly. "While you're . . . gay."

"What, is he asking to come over?" another voice asks from the phone, sounding amused. It takes Kon a second to recognize it, but–oh yeah, that's the mysterious Bernard, isn't it?

Right, Tim has a boyfriend now. Kon's never actually met him on account of being the worst at secret identities and the whole thing that is Bernard living very firmly in Gotham, land of "no metas allowed unless you're either a supervillain or Batman's too dead to stop you", but he's heard him over the phone a couple times now, although they've never actually personally talked. So maybe thinking about Tim while being high on pink kryptonite isn't actually, like, kosher? Or polite. Or whatever.

. . . then again, Bernard did ask.

"I don't know, maybe?" Kon says thoughtfully, considering the idea. "Are you open to me coming over?"

"Yes," Bernard says.

"Bernard," Tim says.

"Babe, I know we're pretending I don't know you're an ass-kicking vigilante and all but come on, don't make me turn down Superboy," Bernard says wryly.

"We're–wait, pretending?!" Tim sputters.

"Pretending so, so hard," Bernard confirms, sounding nothing but fond. Kon's actually a little jealous of that tone of voice, he's gotta admit. Like–it's been a bit since anybody's talked to him that way, is all. "But like, if you actually thought you were being subtle maybe you shouldn't talk about kryptonite on the phone right in front of me or put themed emojis next to all your superfriends' civilian names in your contacts list?"

"Oh my god, you do that?!" Kon asks with a gleeful cackle, immediately forgetting everything else in favor of that absolutely delightful piece of information. "You're the worst! Batman just rolled over in his grave and Oracle is absolutely losing her shit on the other end of her wiretap!"

"B's not even dead right now," Tim says in exasperation. "And if O cared she'd have already hacked my phone and changed them. And for the record plenty of people put random superhero emojis next to their friends' names, that's a totally normal thing to do!"

"Usually the random superhero emojis aren't associated with contact pics that are dead fucking ringers for said superheroes," Bernard says, sounding amused again. "Just as a thing and all."

". . . anyway so you're gay today, how's that going for you, Conner?" Tim says as Bernard laughs gleefully in the background. "Triggering any unfortunate mental health crisises or anything? Making you worry about the validity of your masculinity? Because I can safely assure you that's all bullshit and you're fine."

"Naw, I know all that, being gay is just a thing," Kon says with a shrug. "Kara's being a little weird about it but honestly it's going way better than, like, the times supervillains mind-controlled me into being into them. Like just as an overall experience, I mean."

"Wait, how many times has that come up?" Tim asks in bemusement.

"I dunno?" Kon shrugs again. "I mean you were there for the Poison Ivy incident, and then Gorgeous Gilly happened to me a while later, which was, uh, genuinely horrifying because she tried to literally marry me during all that, so . . . I think just the twice, probably? But don't quote me on that, I don't even remember what I had for breakfast."

"And how is Kara being weird, exactly?" Tim says in his very unsubtle "assessing my teammate's psychological condition" voice.

"Oh, she's mostly just avoiding me?" Kon says, as a guy who's personally not really all that concerned with his psychological condition at the moment. "Because I've got the rock in my pocket on account of not wanting to just leave it lying around somewhere and she doesn't want to get affected by it. I don't know why, I don't really get why it matters."

"I mean it matters, definitely," Bernard says. "Like it very strongly matters to a lot of people."

"Fair, but I think we're all too invulnerable to really have to worry about getting gay-bashed or anything," Kon reasons. "Like, at least not as a heat of the moment thing."

". . . god can you imagine the world we would live in if every piece of shit gay-basher had to deal with the consequences of punching fucking Superman?" Bernard says feelingly. "For real."

"Oh, pink K's temporary," Kon clarifies. "Kal's not gay anymore."

"Hold up, I'm sorry, are you saying that at some point he was?" Bernard demands in obvious delight. "Is that what you're telling me right now?"

"I guess he was into redheads?" Kon says, tilting his head. "Slightly twinky redheads, specifically. Which I don't blame him for, I'm gonna be honest."

"Well now I know that forever, thanks," Tim says dryly.

"Alternate option: he could've been into Batman," Kon points out.

"Redheads it is," Tim says. "You just . . . redhead away over there."

"I mean I thought about it, kinda," Kon admits.

"Ngh," Tim says, for some reason.

"No thinking about Batman, though?" Bernard asks with a snicker.

"Not so much," Kon says, making a face. "Did consider having some Superman thoughts but I'm apparently not that narcissistic, surprisingly enough."

"Kon!" Kara chokes.

"Tell me you've never considered having Superman thoughts and I'll tell you you're a fucking liar," Kon snorts, shooting her a dry look. "Weren't you like totally naked when you first showed up on Earth? And then he found you like that and wrapped you up in his cape all nice and gentlemanly and took you home with him?"

"He is my baby cousin and you're being affected by pink kryptonite poisoning!" Kara accuses, her face bright red.

"Wait, is it actually poisoning me?" Kon says with a frown. "I feel like you should've led with it actually poisoning me, if that's actually a thing."

"Well no, not actually, it's physically harmless," Kara says grudgingly, folding her arms. "But you're still being affected! You're having Superman thoughts, of all things!"

"He just seems like he'd be considerate," Kon says reasonably. "Like, you know. Biblically."

"Ngh," Tim says, again for no apparent reason. Bernard sounds like he might be laughing. Or choking? Or maybe both; it's unclear.

"Please don't hit on Kal," Kara says. "Especially don't hit on Kal with pink kryptonite in your pocket. I don't want to know how that situation would end up."

"Ideally with him being considerate," Kon says. Tim chokes. Kara covers her face again.

"Does pink kryptonite affect your inhibitions too or are you just always like this?" Bernard asks curiously.

"Eh, pretty sure I'm just always like this, going by the things I've definitely still not been forgiven for saying to Power Girl," Kon says, idly tapping a finger against the side of his phone case. "Like, pretty damn sure at this point."

"That is unfortunately accurate," Tim agrees resignedly.

"So you're saying it is ethically okay to have Superboy over while he's gay," Bernard says in a promisingly speculative tone. Kon grins. Just a little, but yeah–definitely he grins. Kara grimaces, because she is absolutely no fun whatsoever.

Spoilsport.

"I did not in any way say that," Tim retorts dubiously.

"I mean that's what I heard, man, and I'm the one with super-hearing in this conversation," Kon says with a wider grin. "My inhibitions are all inhibited and my personal opinions of people are all the same, I'm just currently batting for the other team."

"So your normal opinion of me is that if you were gay, you'd come over," Tim says dryly.

"Yeah?" Kon says, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, obviously."

"How is that obvious?" Tim says.

"Because I already come over every time you let me," Kon reminds him.

"Oh yeah?" Bernard says slyly. "And how often does he let you come, exactly?"

"Not often enough," Kon replies honestly, and doesn't even bite at the obvious dumb sex joke Bernard so thoughtfully set up for him even though it is frankly painful not to.

"Ngh," Tim says. Kon continues not to understand the reason for him repeatedly making that same weird little noise, but whatever, he guesses. It's Tim, maybe he's stitching his own bullet wounds again or something. Guy's a multi-tasker like that.

"You know this would probably make for a fascinating case study about sexuality, actually," Bernard says musingly. "I mean, all I intend to do is abuse the situation to get into your very tight tights, but seriously, maybe we should all be taking notes or something."

"Ugh, hell no, Rob'll go full Bat if we let him do that," Kon snorts, then smirks. "He can take pictures, though, I know he's into that."

"Ngh," Tim says yet again, accompanied by a weird random "thump". If Kon didn't know better, he'd think he'd just fallen off a chair or something.

"Aw dammit, dude, I think I actually like you as a person now," Bernard says, sniggering. "Are you keeping the kryptonite? Please keep the kryptonite. Like, just for Valentine's and Tim's birthday, that's all I ask."

"Honestly don't know if Superman's gonna let me but I do kinda wanna," Kon admits. It seems pretty convenient, really. And definitely fun.

". . . and you're sure his inhibitions and opinions aren't being influenced in any way, Kara?" Tim asks suspiciously.

"He's really just like this, yeah," Kara says resignedly. "Well admittedly Kal spontaneously developed opinions on window treatments and used the word 'smashing' in cold blood when it happened to him, but that might've just been him sucking at flirting. Because he really does suck at flirting."

"What about when it was you?" Kon asks curiously.

"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara says.

"You kinda implied–"

"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara repeats, narrowing her eyes at him and doing an impressively bad job of acting like she's not blushing.

So it definitely happened to her, yeah.

"Okaaaaay, we'll pretend about that too then," Bernard says. "Well, what are your opinions on window treatments, Conner?"

"That I don't know what they are," Kon says.

"Sounds like he's in his right mind to me," Bernard says.

"He is absolutely not," Kara retorts dubiously.

"I really don't feel weird or anything, I swear," Kon tells her, since he still doesn't get the problem but also doesn't actually want to worry her either. "I don't even feel any different."

"Kon, you are hitting on your best friend and his boyfriend," Kara says. "Together. At once. Simultaneously, one might even say."

"You've met Wonder Girl and Arrowette before, right?" Kon says. "And both the Batgirls? And–"

"Oh my god, Kon," she cuts him off.

"Just saying," he says, then pauses for a moment and frowns consideringly. "Actually, question, how gay is this stuff making me, because while we're on the topic of threeways I kinda always wondered about what Starfire and Nightwing get up to together and if–"

"KON!" Kara yells, covering her ears.

"I'm just asking," he huffs.

"I don't know if it's actually possible to be gay enough to not be into Starfire," Bernard says musingly. "Like I can't imagine how it ever could be."

"Right?" Kon says.

"It's possible to not be into Starfire," Tim says. "Like, theoretically. Asexuals and aromantics both exist, for one."

"Do they?" Kon says doubtfully. "Like in general, sure, but when around specifically Starfire?"

". . . I can't technically prove you wrong due to a lack of reliable evidence but still," Tim says. "The possibility is there. If nothing else the multiverse is a thing."

"Last time I saw her she was wearing half a gold lamé bikini and I am not going to tell you which half or define how loosely I am using the term 'wearing'," Kon says.

"I said it's possible, not probable," Tim says.

"What about you, man, are you the gold lamé type?" Bernard asks with a teasing snicker. "Just while you're gay and all, of course. That's like, practically a cultural thing. Gotta be authentic to the experience, yeah?"

"That is in no way whatsoever a cultural thing, babe," Tim says dubiously.

"Please, like I've never worn freaking lamé," Kon scoffs. "I've worn collars and loincloths and leather and crop tops and enough unnecessary belts to tie up a Bat, lamé is nothing."

"Collars and . . . loincloths?" Bernard repeats, sounding confused.

"Yeah, this one time I crash-landed on a lost isle of beast-men and they kidnapped and enslaved me for a few months," Kon explains, waving a hand distractedly. "Frankly I count myself lucky they even let me have the collar, much less the loincloth."

". . . um," Bernard says.

"You, uh, never mentioned the collar part of that story before, Kon," Tim says, clearing his throat. "You very definitely never mentioned the collar part of that story before."

"Oh yeah, the prince kinda kept me as his pet for a little bit?" Kon tells him with an easy shrug. "Like he and all his buddies ganged up on me and then took me home with them, but I was kinda . . . feral, I guess? Technically? So like, collar and chain setup. But he was cool, he took real good care of me."

"Ngh," Tim says just barely faintly.

"Yeah you should definitely come over," Bernard says. "Tim, get the check. Conner, exactly how super is your super-speed?"

"You can just call me Kon," Kon says. "And . . . mach 3, last I clocked it?"

"Isn't that like two thousand miles per hour?" Bernard asks.

"Two thousand two hundred and twenty-three point three," Kon replies with a pleased smirk. "Faster than a speeding bullet. Or so they tell me."

"We'll just meet you at Tim's, how's that," Bernard says. "That work for you, Kon?"

"That works for me, Bernard," Kon confirms, smirking wider.

"Oh my god, Kon, you cannot possibly be serious right now," Kara says in exasperation, rubbing at her temples. "Just because you're temporarily gay doesn't mean you should do anything about it!"

"I mean, I'm feeling pretty serious?" Kon says, shrugging again. He still doesn't get why she's being so sensitive about this. "It's not like this is the weirdest thing I've ever done in pursuit of a good time. Like, holy hell, lemme tell you about the Ravers sometime."

"You're going to have to look Robin in the eye after this!" Kara says. "And work with him! And be a normal person in his presence! Normally!"

"I'm aware?" Kon says, vaguely bemused by her concern. Like he's never been normal around somebody he's slept with before, geez. "Tell Kal I ran off with the pink K, if he wants to lock it up in the Fortress or wherever I can bring it back tomorrow."

"Maybe Monday," Bernard says.

"Or maybe Monday," Kon amends.

"It's Thursday!" Kara sputters.

"So it's a long weekend," Bernard says.

"I'm not explaining this to Kal," Kara says. "I'm not explaining this to Batman."

"I really don't see why you'd have to," Kon says. "Rob, you cool with the long weekend thing? Not too much of an imposition?"

". . . I got the check," Tim mutters in obvious and absolute mortification.

Kon's gonna take that as a "yes".

"Cool," he says, grinning broadly. "See you soon, Boy Wonder."

He ends the call. Kara drags her hands down her face and continues to stay very far away from him and the pink kryptonite in his pocket.

"When you go back to normal and freak out and make everything weird with Robin and your team and even Robin's literal boyfriend, I'm going to say so many 'I told you so's," she swears vehemently. "So don't say I didn't warn you."

"Your objection is on the record," Kon says, then tosses her a lazy salute with another grin and takes off, kryptonite and all.

Best to just scarper while Clark's distracted, yeah?

Definitely best.

[prone-to-fleeting-obsessions]

Dating Veritas Ratio hc's

Out of all the hsr men, I'd imagine he'd be the most irritated figuring out he has a crush

A crush? A stupid little manifestation of his irrational emotions???

He'll stew over it a while, picking it apart like the most complex of equations, his stoic expression not wavering

So what if he's around you often? So what if he unconsciously seeks you out, it doesn't mean anything...

He'll hammer that narrative over and over until it becomes truth, or as close to truth as his mind will allow

You'll act like a married couple, though

He'll scold you without any real irritation, eyes narrowing as he pulls you closer to just fix the problem himself

A leaf in your hair? Your sleeve unrolled? Coffee stain on your shirt?

Honestly, how could you be such a careless mess...

Wait, no. No don't go, you're his careless mess—

It'll become a new normal to just have him occasionally once over your appearance, looking for things he can fix and doing so without a word

He also takes it upon himself to make you a healthier and more rounded person

No you're not eating garbage calories for the third meal in a row, yes you are drinking a full glass of water as he reads you excerpts from his book on how quantum chemistry applies to theoretical engineering under Nous's 63rd law of imaginary quantum information science, and there will be a quiz after so pay attention

If asked about why he's often seen by your side, he'll usually answer with a glare and an insult, commenting on the lack of even borderline decent conversationalists around

You're probably not really going to get an actual confession out of him, because that would force him to admit defeat to those annoyingly persistent feelings that just won't leave him be

If you take the initiative of backing him into a corner, you get to watch him flounder a bit, an expression of agitation and a growing warmth throughout his whole body as he skirts the topic with overly complex excuses

He's a big fan of doing different things in the same space, talking isn't necessary

Occasionally, when he remembers you're still there, he'll glance up from his book to see how you're faring, before getting back into it

He has a bit of a staring problem, in a way

It's just that he's so up in his head often, usually easily loosing sight of his surroundings, and you just happen to be the most pleasing thing to keep his eyes on

He'll look away when he notices you staring back, but it's not long before you feel his eyes trained on you again, as if studying every little movement as he works out equations in his head

Of course he does need alone time, usually spent reading in the bath

But that period seems to be getting shorter and shorter as his focus is constantly broken by unconditionally looking around to find you while deep in thought

He will absolutely use you as a blank canvas to throw ideas and thoughts on if he can't work through something in his head

By explaining it to you in mind numbing detail, he'll usually run headfirst into the solution, and it's a treat to watch his eyes widen ever so slightly as he pauses, immediately thanking you curtly before moving straight to writing

Your sense of curiosity is his favorite trait, the one he wants to nurture and encourage you to feed

He's not expecting you to be as smart as him, that would be an impossible expectation, but he will not allow you to give in to ignorance, to get in the habit of complacency, as it is the enemy of growth

He's an intimidating figure to most, both from his status and sharp tongue, so it's not uncommon for low-level scientists with something to prove to seek you out

Sometimes to get information on him, sometimes to test your intelligence, as if trying to prove themselves better than the company the great Dr. Ratio chooses to keep

He's quick to nip that in the bud, though

His crossed arm stoic faced glare would scare away anyone who isn't keen on being picked apart verbally

He'll claim it's all to avoid tainting you with their idiocracy, and that you really shouldn't keep such company

Tries to use selfish logical excuses constantly to get things he wants from you

"I've already chosen your hotel room for this trip, it'll be next to mine so I don't have to travel as far to compare notes in the morning."

"Honestly. You're coming with me to dinner so I won't waste my time working around your schedule later."

"No. You are absolutely not going to get a closer look at those monsters because I'm not cleaning up the mess you'll no doubt get yourself into by being so reckless."

"You're really going to waste your valuable time entertaining those IPC buffoons? They have more credits than brain cells. Stay here, lest their ignorance rub off on you."

He means well, under the insults and unapproachable demeanor

And, at a certain point, he really can't imagine the rest of his life without you close by

[marzipanandminutiae]

articles about the “wild new trend” of piercing from the late ‘50s and early ‘60s are fascinating to read. a selection of excerpts:

- one doctor cautioned that girls with pierced ears would be “required to constantly wear earrings to hide the holes in their heads” (or you could just not be weird about a tiny dot on someone else’s earlobe?)

- Genevieve Dariaux, then director of the Nina Ricci couture house, said in 1965 that “Pierced ears are unthinkable for an elegant woman, and even more dreadful for a young girl.” bear in mind that, as I’ve said, earrings that made your ears LOOK pierced were still common. what the difference was, nobody has yet made plain

- lots of evidence that going to a doctor was the preferred “safe” method for piercing at the time. but many doctors refused to do it, or said they would but that they strongly discouraged patients from having the procedure done. this checks out with my mother’s experience in 1965- her schoolmate’s anesthesiologist father did free piercing for all his daughter’s friends

- some teenagers around 1965 called clip and screwback earrings “chicken earrings” (implying that the wearers were too scared of pain to get their ears pierced, I think)

- one advice column, also from 1965, implied that pierced ears were just a passing fad. the previous several centuries of western history would like a word, Mx. Columnist...

- A GIRL WITH RESTRICTIVE PARENTS BRINGING UP THE ARGUMENT THAT HER GRANDMOTHER HAD PIERCED EARS. YES. FINALLY SOMEONE REALIZED THE LOGICAL FALLACIES HERE. the argument against that is, indeed, a sort of “that was the Bad Old Days and we know better now” deal as some other commenters have hypothesized

- one article mentions that the trend could be part of the Victorian revival that was just becoming popular in the mid-60s, which is a fascinating thought I’ve never considered before

- many doctors complaining that they were suddenly being called upon to pierce ears despite not really knowing how. this is interesting, because before the Great Ear-Piercing Taboo, jewelers offering piercing services were more like modern piercers than Claire’s employees (and doctors weren’t involved at all unless an infection set in). descriptions I’ve read of Victorian piercer-jewelers mention a lot of things we’re familiar with today- needles designed with a hollow for inserting the starter jewelry, for example, and even “freezing” solutions to numb the earlobe. so in those early resurgence days, going to a long-established jewelry store for your piercing might actually have been a better option than a doctor’s office

- two young women in a 1964 Canadian article (from Calgary) mention that they think screwback earrings look cheap and gaudy, and the pierced version is more conservative and tasteful, in an interesting reversal of mainstream thought

- a newspaper columnist saying pierced ears give him “the wim-wams,” so they are to be avoided. whatever the hell that means

- a LOT of people seem to think that ear piercing was popular in the Victorian era because wealthy women didn’t want to lose their expensive jewelry. sorry folks- my collection of Victorian costume earrings (all pierced) says otherwise

- much confusion as to why modern girls want to do something so old-fashioned

- one woman marvels at how comfortable it is to wear earrings in pierced ears, as opposed to clips and screwbacks. I feel infinitely blessed, as an earring-lover, to have been born when I could escape the scourge of ear-vises altogether

- apparently an eccentric elderly man on Salt Spring Island, British Columbia, literally bribed all the women of the community to pierce their ears because he liked the way it looked. one of them mentioned that she held out for $25- $244 CAD or $188 USD in today’s money. all because some rich Victwardian codger had a very specific fetish

- this absolutely incredible response of an Indian diplomat’s wife when asked, in New York, why she wore a diamond nose stud: “Because I feel [diamonds] become me more than rubies or emeralds.” QUEEN

- “when the fad changes, as it indubitably will-” are you certain of that, ma’am

[hotjaneaustenmenpoll]

Semi-Final Two

Propaganda...

Mr Knightley (2009):

Johnny Lee Miller as Knightley is JUST SO. I mean the way he says "if I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more" IS JUUUST. The dance scene. The tentative shy smiles. The fact you can see in his eyes the entire time " I am completely in love with this woman. She'll never love me back BUT I DO NOT CARE I'LL LOVE HER FROM A DISTANCE ANYWAY" IS JUUUUUUST

We need to appreciate Mr Knightley more for both his snark and for those soft eyes just so full of love for Emma

GIF by dearemma

I was just going to send in the actual dance but the little panic he has when Emma says she knows his secret is just soo charming. There was some thread on twitter a few years ago about how a romcom man's most important quality is knowing how to look at a woman and JLM is just the master of it in this Emma

I really feel like the pictures say it all. He stands there, head tilted to one side. He is listening to you. His posture is relaxed. His gaze open, frank, candid. He's not trying at all. He just is.And that's why he is Knightley.

GIF by night-unfurls-its-splendour

Some propaganda, not just for Jonny Lee Miller, but the general interpretation of 09 Knightley. I have some excerpts here from my review of the 09 adaptation:

What I really think is great about the 2009 interpretation of Mr. Knightley is what an easy and comforting presence he is, without being apologetic when he scolds Emma. I think this is communicated especially well by how often we are actually shown Mr. Knightley taking his almost-daily walks to Hartfield, how smoothly he comes and goes, and how happy Emma is every time she sees him coming up the path (usually, just at the perfect moment when she needs something to put her back to rights.)

Here is Emma, feeling lonely after Miss Taylor's wedding. And in the background, walking up to Hartfield--there's Knightley. He's always been there for her, and he always will be.

And also this Mr. Knightley is as understated as ever, but I wanna highlight this outfit and why I love it: This is Knightley’s first appearance in the series and it’s the perfect establishing shot that shows the viewer everything they need to know about Emma and Knightley’s relationship and how it has always been. He sort of materializes, out of focus in the background, but Emma immediately knows he’s there. And to accentuate how much Knightley is part of her home and scenery, his clothes (similar shades of pale tan, white and minty green to the wall behind him) almost camouflage him and make him seem at one with the moulding of her home.

Additionally, Jonny Lee Miller captures Knightley’s playful qualities, and his exasperation is so endearing

GIF by christophernolan

GIF by sashajames

GIF by christophernolan

I can’t be the only one tickled by this Knightley’s frustration with Emma! JLM FTW!

Jonny Lee Miller is mesmerizing in any role he inhabits. It’s 2009 Knightly all the way.

no but can you actually go vote for mr knightley he was FOUNDATIONAL for 16 year old me my favourite portrayal of my favourite austen man cannot fall at this hurdle!!!

He is my ultimate Austen Dream Man, I'm with him until the end. Honestly this adaptation is my very favorite of them all (P&P 1995 is a VERY close second) because it made me fall in love with Emma as a story? Honestly no other adaptation or indeed even my reading of the book made me love it quite as much. My crush on JLM goes back to 1995 and I do think he is one of the better actors of his generation - his range alone is just impeccable. The fact that he can go from Sick Boy to Mr. Knightley to Sherlock to Jordan Chase is really something. Of all the actors I know, his range is the most impressive. But i love how bright and sunny this adaptation is. The colors, it is as vibrant as Emma should be! The Kate Beckinsale Emma is dark and terrifying to me, not at all suitable an adaptation. I like the Paltrow Emma a lot, but it's got the same issue the 2005 P&P has for me -- it's just too short. This is tonally just right, and the casting is lovely, and JLM is just at his dashing best. His face is so expressive, he is so capable of communicating so much without saying a word. His open jealousy of Frank Churchill is delightful to watch. His face when Emma tells him his secret is out at the ball! JLM is maybe the most underrated actor of his generation and I LOVE that he has been multiple Austen heroes. I maintain that in a future adaptation of Pride & Prejudice, an older JLM would make an EXCELLENT Mr. Bennet. He would convey the right amount of grumpy but fond beautifully.

Look. Do people realize JLM hates wearing period clothing AND hates dancing? And yet in Emma he's sashaying around in pink jackets looking amazing and is THAT convincing? That's called BRILLIANT ACTING!!

A tiny bit of Mr Knightley 2009 propaganda but I love that they put in that bit from the book where he looks like he's going to kiss Emma's hand when he's saying goodbye but then he hesitates and doesn't and I just...it's such a tiny detail but conveys so much!

GIF by myforeverworldofmovie

It’s the only Emma adaptation that really hits the romance notes well. Knightley’s crowning moment of awesome really feels like it (when he rescues Harriet from humiliation) and his subsequent dancing with Emma does make you feel a shift in their relations. Love this adaptation. - This Knightley and Emma in particular are equals. They quarrel, not because he’s telling her off, but because they can have an argument because they know each other, trust each other and care about each others opinions, and there is never a sense of domination of one over the other. This adds so much fire to the romance, and it’s so unusual for a romance of that era (or even one written today!!). - Emma is rich, clever and beautiful and as powerful as a woman of her age and situation could be at the time and she married Knightley for no other reason but because he’s her best friend and his company for the rest of her life will enrich her. - He even leaves his house to move in with her!

Captain Wentworth (1995):

Ciaran Hinds has that perfect ruggedness yet friendliness to his face that makes him the perfect charming Wentworth. And all of the longing that he manages to convey in his eyes is so hot.

Wentworth may be angry/resentful with Anne but in general he is charming and the best friend you could ever have. Ciaran gets the pleasant parts of his character and brings them out, while keeping a guarded coolness (protective camouflage) with Anne.

GIF by molinaesque

I dunno if this counts as propaganda or not, but Ciaran Hinds has a face that looks like it was jackhammered out of a shale cliff.

If a line like 'I am half agony...half hope' comes out of a face like that you know that man has a soul for poetry.

I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in

F. W.

I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never.  

This is propaganda for the next round because I need my boy to be a finalist! But this letter is all the persuasion I need to know that he is a winner

Ciarán Hinds in this is a whole other level of "a good man" He makes Anne's decision at the end so much more perfect.

[nyerus]

The Narrative Importantance of Hualian's Sexual Intimacy

This is a repost and minor edit of a thread I made on Twitter yesterday. This is a topic I have always wanted to talk about because of how often it comes up in TGCF fandom, time and time again.

‼️CW: mentions of sexual assault, self-harm, bodily injury‼️

⚠️Major spoilers for the entire novel ahead⚠️

---

Saw a question the other day on what relevance Hualian being sexually intimate by the end of the novel had to either the narrative or Xie Lian's character arc.

In short: it bears significant relevance, especially in context of other themes the novel explores like bodily autonomy.

Throughout the novel, we see time and time again that Xie Lian is often dehumanized by pretty much everyone—including himself—with the sole exception of Hua Cheng. I've talked more in depth about it in an old twt thread, for those interested. @/stalliondany on twt has also made an excellent recent analysis that goes deeper into the specific ways Xie Lian was used as a physical shield, martyr, or scapegoat for others without thought to his humanity or suffering. I highly recommend reading it first!

But to sum it all up: it's important to Xie Lian's character arc to keep in mind that he is used to seeing his own body as a tool to solve problems. And in crucial narrative moments, he is robbed of his bodily autonomy, and either brutalized or violated in service of others.

One of the plot points that ties together all these concepts is actually... Xie Lian's chastity vows. That will be the main focus of this post.

When he was a young teen (or possibly as a child), Xie Lian took an oath of chastity because such was the norm for cultivators seeking ascension in Xian Le. To Xie Lian, even as he grew older, he never had an issue with this because he just never felt sexual attraction to another person, or any desire to be intimate in that way. Even if he yearned for the concept of being loved. And indeed, at first glance, his chastity vows may seem like nothing more than a side note. Or even a funny gag when it comes to Hua Cheng (later).

In reality Xie Lian's chastity vows are not only used against him, but paint a very disturbing picture with regards to his repeated violation.

The Land of the Tender scene is the most obvious example of this. Xie Lian's vows are directly tied to his spiritual powers, and because it affects how his followers see him. They place a high value on his chastity as being vital to his moral character.

For reference, an excerpt from TGCF vol. 3 of the English print translation, page 135:

Xie Lian's method of cultivation required a pure body. Those who worshipped the ascended cultivators who practiced this path were firmly convinced of the transcendence of gods untouched by earthly desires. If they couldn't protect their purity, their following would no doubt collapse and their powers would be devastated. It wouldn't be as serious as plunging from godhood to back to mortality, and there was still the possibility of recovery after many more years of cultivation—but with things as they were now, there was no time for him to sit behind closed doors and cultivate for years!

As a reminder: it is Bai Wuxiang who orchestrated this whole thing. Him trying to compromise Xie Lian in this way is horrific on many levels, yet that's not the main point I want to make here. It's that to preserve his "pure body," the solution Xie Lian realizes is to severely harm himself. To impale himself with his sword through the abdomen.

The juxtaposition of having to maintain bodily purity versus the gruesome violence inflicted on his body is extremely stark.

This grim contrast is no more evident than in the 100 swords scene. Where Xie Lian's body is literally brutalized and defiled to an unthinkable degree. To the point where he, quote: "no longer looked human." Yet he emerges from that temple physically "pure" all the same. His chastity vows were not broken, his body healed without scars. As though he was untouched.... And yet, he was completely destroyed mentally. It left permanent effects on him as a person. It's even worse when the scene is read analogous to sexual assault, as many have talked about before. I think that interpretation actually hits the nail on the head, especially keeping in mind the Land of the Tender scene and all the similarities between them.

Following the 100 swords scene, Xie Lian of course has a complete disconnect between himself and his body. I believe this is part of why he doesn't really feel pain, except when he is with Hua Cheng, who treats him and his body as one. As a person who is cherished, and loved. Hua Cheng is adamant in his adoring treatment of Xie Lian. Small injuries are also something he cannot tolerate because he knows what horrors befell Xie Lian in the past. (He was present at both the terrible moments mentioned above.) He will not let any of that continue, regardless of what Xie Lian says, because he sees it as injustice.

Xie Lian is willing to use himself as a tool to help others no matter the personal cost. He even thinks of it as something he must do, or that he deserves as penance. But Hua Cheng is the one person who asks "what about you?" He's the one that insists "your happiness matters." And it is Hua Cheng that takes issue with Xie Lian's chastity vows as being unfair, unlike everyone else. Regardless of Hua Cheng's reasons for this diegetically, symbolically it means a lot that he is the one opposed to this.

Just thinking about the chastity vows on their own for a moment: Xie Lian can indulge a little bit in stuff like alcohol, which isn't great to begin with for him. But he absolutely cannot engage in "pleasures of the flesh." He can totally have his flesh ripped from his bones, literally, but actually experiencing any kind of sexual gratification? Now that would make him unclean, and lesser.... Why? Because unlike everything else, that's something Xie Lian would do simply for himself to feel good. And what greater crime is there than to ever dare put himself first?

So Hua Cheng—being the one person who puts Xie Lian first above all else—thinking that such a restriction doesn't make sense is important. Hua Cheng being the person who Xie Lian breaks those vows for in the end is important! (Especially because it seems to have been an easy choice for him.)

And of course, the scene with Jun Wu and the Virginity Detector Sword™ has to be mentioned. Again, there's symbolism to be had! The perpetrator of two of the most physically violating moments of Xie Lian's life (both of which were sexual in nature; one literally and one allegorically) being the one to "check" Xie Lian's virginity... oof. Yikes. It's dramatic irony. It's deeply uncomfortable. Especially because Jun Wu probably wanted to know if Xie Lian slept with Hua Cheng, as he already knew Xie Lian wasn't the ghost fetus' father.

So it's once again a stark juxtaposition: of Ghost King Hua Cheng disagreeing with the purity vows, wanting Xie Lian to break them for himself and his own freedom. Versus Heavenly Emperor Jun Wu wanting to weaponize those vows against Xie Lian in whatever way he can, intact or not, to keep control over him.

Naturally, there's something to be said for the real-world problem with such purity vows being used against people, to judge their moral character, societal expectations, etc. Elephant in the room. It's very on the nose, so there isn't even much to say about it that hasn't been said already.

In the end, it comes down to how horrible it is that when Xie Lian tries to help others, it results in immense harm to his body every time. Yet he is expected to continue to bear it, for centuries, by others and also himself. Until he meets Hua Cheng, who helps him rediscover what it means to be happy, and to be loved. So yes, it's absolutely relevant that in the end, Xie Lian decides to break his purity vows to be intimate with Hua Cheng. That he's able to put himself in Hua Cheng's hands, and let himself be treated with affection and desire. It's Xie Lian finally forgiving himself, and beginning to heal.

[elementroar]

This is the "Why ABA and Paracelsus can feel horny" lore/theory post

The main Paracelsus deepdive post is a monster that I'm building in Google docs cos Tumblr can't handle it while it's WIP. This is a separate lore/theory monster I want to get out of my system first.

Here's my theory why ABA is consistently portrayed as being horny for Paracelsus from the start.

Translated excerpt from the Night of Knives Vol.2 audio drama CD, released in 2004 (20 IRL years ago):

Her being horny wasn't so much portrayed in-game in XX/AC+R really, prolly engine/sprite limitations and all; but then STRIVE happens and we get:

It's not just her being horny, and knowing exactly how to rizz Paracelsus up, and clearly has been doing this in her pocket dimension for a while now. PARACELSUS CAN FEEL HORNY NOW TOO!

And I stg I'm not joking...I think there's a legit lore reason for this.

Cos by the end of her arcade mode's flawless ending and according to the latest interviews with Daisuke-san and the game directors, it's explained that Paracelsus' form depends on what ABA thinks of Paracelsus, as well as her general mental stability.

ABA thought Paracelsus looked like a key, and he morphed into a key as part of his nature, which naturally makes him always fit to his wielder's preferences. In my deepdive I'll explain in more detail, but in addition to that, Slayer figured out that since ABA also saw Para as her hopeful "key to the future", Para's heart also began to change to basically fit her ideal of what he is.

So if ABA finds Paracelsus sexually attractive, and has made very obvious physical advances on him for years, then it follows that if she's horny for him, she can make Paras horny for her over time too, just like how Para is getting more key-like subconsciously just by being with her all this time.

I don't think this is entirely involuntary on Paracelsus end. I believe how much he wants to react to his wielder's emotions is still in his control...unless they become truly insane like with ABA's Jealous Rage being emotionally powerful enough to override Paras' ability to maintain his key form.

Also he reverts to his 'sharp teeth' design when he gets rizzed up, so he's losing his composure again and prolly holding back most of his...response. It's actually kinda telling cos Para used to just disassociate, ignore, scold ABA when she tries to make advances on him, so him actually responding now and to this degree is...interesting. And ABA seems very aware of this.

And for the bigger question of why ABA, an artificially created human would be created with the ability to feel horny...

Ok, crack theory time, it might be linked to why she apparently can summon an actual alchemical gate just whenever she wants, and even use it as her private pad. ABA doesn't just wanna rizz Paracelsus up as a key, she wants him in a human body since the start too.

Y'all remember Ghostbusters, and what the Gatekeeper and the Keymaster have to do to open the gate...?

[annabelle--cane]

it's fascinating to me the way that different social media platforms result in different types of fandom behavior. while s5 of tma was airing, I spent a good amount of time on tma tiktok (I log back in about once every two months now, going back to in-person school after a year a half of lockdown seem to re-blanace my brain and made me once again not really enjoy the format) while still using tumblr as my main socmed, and while there was a lot of overlap in the fan culture, some things were notably different.

tumblr tma fans had near-encyclopedic knowledge of the source material, but it was kind of an ongoing joke for tiktok tma fans that everyone binged the whole show in a week-long fugue state and lost memory of about 35% of it. tumblr has virtually no character limit and allows posts to be passed around by users indefinitely, which lends itself to fairly in-depth meta analysis being made and shared until most any fan could say "the time and space discrepancies at hill top road? psh yeah, I know all about them, I've read seven scrupulously cited posts that lay out all the details." for the entire time that s5 was airing, tiktok videos could still only be a minute long, and I know from a lot of personal effort that there's only so much you can fit into a one minute script that you also have to memorize and record (and cc manually with tiktok text stickers, as they didn't add the caption feature until april 2021) if you want the process to take less than four hours of your one mortal human life. and then you only see the video if your following or fyp algorithm shows it to you. there were a few tma meta-ish videos that got popular because other people would make their own videos referencing them and tag the account so their followers could see what they were talking about, but it's much harder to circulate content you like there. several times I saw people post videos saying "I got into cosplay to film some [agnes or annabelle or gerry or another secondary character] and I just realized I have no idea what their deal actually is 💀".

a thing that tiktok tma fandom was definitely better at than tumblr tma fandom was accurately remembering certain pieces of characterization and the flow of certain scenes. I've seen a bunch of posts on here where someone is trying to argue a point with excerpts from the text ("x character is nicer than you all give them credit for" "x character is so mean to y character in this scene" "z theory can't be true because y character said a line that disproves it") where the argument only holds up because the poster has gotten these excerpts from a transcript dive and hasn't listened to the episodes they're from recently, because while the text alone can be construed to mean one thing, the way it's delivered on-podcast clearly intends another. tiktok, being an audio and video based medium, allows audio clips to be shared around a lot, and cosplayers would often all make videos acting along to the same show clips of juicy interpersonal drama, and so tiktok fans, though they may have had less overall memory of what characters said, always had a better grasp on how they said it. an average tiktok tma fan might not have remembered melanie's subplot about war ghosts, but they would know the nuances of how the way she talks to jon changes between mag 28 and mag 155.