#and also pitiful and powerless against them

[whump-kitty]

There's just something about the word remade being used in a whumpy way to me- like "I'm going to remake you" or "I remade you"...there's just something so amazingly permanent about it, something about how the whumper shows, with this, that the whumpee won't be the same ever again, no matter what they do and how much they heal, or whether or not they get rescued... that they'll always be defined by the pain they experience there, whether they like it or not

[sleepyafcapricorn]

Tranquility in Marriage — Gojo Satoru x Reader (Part II)

WARNINGS: MDNI, heavy implications and talks of sexism, gender inequality because its in a more traditional setting, fluff, arranged marriage, quiet love, slowburn, distrust at first, elders acting like shit

SUMMARY: Getting into an arranged marriage with you was the only order Gojo Satoru had ever obeyed from the Elders and it was certainly not one he regretted.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is part two of the background of a mini-series for the arranged marriage au. Link to part one.

MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight. also, if you want to be in the taglist for other drabbles in this series, then just comment here.

You were close to breaking down.

Ever since the meeting with the Gojo clan, there wasn't a moment to breathe. Rather than praising you, or at the very least, give you a moment of rest, for the excellent impression you had left, your mother and your aunts doubled down on their lessons. She was constantly rambling on your tardiness--though you weren't late to the meeting--and blamed it entirely on your gluttony, as she put it delicately. Just because she saw you holding a sugar bun when you arrived to the meeting.

She wasted no time complaining to your father, who only raised his eyebrow and dismissed them with praise about how well you had handled yourself. Still, he couldn't help but feel confused about how you had ended up with a sugar bun when he had specifically instructed the servants to prepare only traditional desserts for the meeting. that you did well but he was rather confused as to how you got the sugar bun since he instructed for the servants on traditional desserts.

As harsh as it was to admit, your father became useless at that point, becoming more of a spectator to your mother's antics. Her insistence on molding you to be the perfect bride for the Gojo family--for you not to dishonor them--had grown stronger with each passing day. She became more demanding, barely letting you have space of your own. There was no time for you to think, to rest, and definitely not to explore the world beyond your clan's walls.

Even when you did have spare time at night, you were far too exhausted to do anything with it except sleep.

Every morning always starts the same; endless lessons, advices you never asked for, and lectures about how to please your future husband. All of them came from your mother and your aunts--not as if they had much experience in that area, seeing as their own husbands barely talked with them if not for the children.

You were tired of it all, and no one in your family seemed to notice how overwhelmed you are.

The servants did. They weren't blind to it. They saw the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders slumped lower each day, how your smiles no longer reached your eyes. However, all they could do was offer looks of quiet pity, fleeting glances filled with sympathy they couldn’t speak out loud without getting punished. They were powerless in your household, just like you were.

Until one morning, you decided you’d had enough.

You woke up long before sunrise, slipping out of bed without making a single sound. The house was still wrapped in silence, only the faint rustling of wind outside. You didn’t care about the consequences anymore. Not about your mother’s rants, your father’s disappointed sighs, or the sharp gossip of your aunts.

You just needed to get out.

With nothing but a light shawl and the shoes you kept hidden under your futon, you crept down the hallways like a ghost, heart pounding against your ribs. The guards at the outer gates hadn’t changed shifts yet, and you knew the one blind spot in the patrol. You had memorized it long ago to sneak out at night.

The cold air hit your face the moment you stepped outside the walls of your clan, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you could breathe.

It didn’t matter where you went. You just needed to feel like you still belonged to yourself. Even if only for a few hours.

You didn’t stop running until the rooftops of your clan estate were nothing more than a blur in the distance.

The sun hadn’t even begun to rise, but the city beyond the walls was already humming quietly to life—street vendors setting up, lights flickering on in the distance. You ducked behind a wall, watching the outer guards from afar, heart racing as you calculated the last part of your escape.

You crouched low, just waiting for the moment they turned. One breath, two—

“Going somewhere?”

You spun around so fast you barely had time to think. Your instincts kicked in, and your fist was already flying toward the source of the voice, but before it could land, a hand caught your wrist mid-air with an alarming ease.

You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“No,” he admitted, tilting his head slightly, “but I know what it looks like when someone’s suffocating.”

You hated how the words sank into you. How he said it so casually, yet it hit too close.

“I don’t need your pity,” you muttered, turning away.

“It’s not pity,” he said, following beside you now, steps light as ever. “It’s curiosity. And maybe a little concern. I mean, I kind of like the version of you that tries to punch people. That’s way more fun than the one sitting through lessons with that dead-eyed look.”

You didn’t respond, too stunned, too tired, too emotionally worn down. But you didn’t stop him from walking with you, either.

And when you finally crossed into the city’s edge, barefoot and free for the first time in what felt like forever, it was Gojo who walked silently beside you—hands in his pockets, grin soft, as if he wasn’t about to report you to anyone anytime soon.

Gojo Satoru, your fiancé, stood there in a simpler uniform, blindfold pushed up to rest lazily on his head, revealing those clear blue eyes. He looked rather amused.

“You almost punched me,” he said, as if you hadn’t just nearly attacked him. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

Your breathing was uneven, both from the sprint and the sheer panic of being caught. “Why the hell are you following me?”

He let go of your wrist and stepped back, giving you space. “We haven't had a conversation since our meeting weeks ago. I wanted to visit tomorrow, but fate happened to get us to meet now.”

You stared at him, heart still racing. It was not just from the run but from the way he said it. Like this really was fate. Like this second meeting had always been planned. Like he'd been thinking about it.

“I wasn’t exactly trying to be found,” you muttered, looking away. “If my family finds out I left without permission—”

“They won’t,” he cut in smoothly. “Not if you’re with me.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

He stepped closer, voice dropping to something gentler. “You don’t have to explain. I saw the way you looked at the front gates—like they were a prison door, and I get it.”

"How can you get it when you live so freely?" you asked, voice low, bitter with exhaustion. “You don’t have to bow to anyone. People listen when you speak. You leave whenever you want.”

For a moment, Gojo didn’t answer.

Then he let out a soft breath and looked away, just briefly. “Freedom looks easy when people only see the surface,” he said. “But I didn’t get it for free. I had to fight for every bit of it—sometimes against the same kind of people you're still trying to survive.”

His voice wasn’t sharp, just quiet. Honest.

“I live freely now,” he added, “because I promised myself I would never let anyone else decide how I should live again. Not even for the sake of tradition.”

You stared at him, the fight draining out of your shoulders slowly. No one in your world ever talked like that. Certainly not with you.

Gojo rubbed the back of his neck, glancing toward the path you’d been eyeing. “So,” he said, casually, “you can keep running. Or you can let me take you somewhere for a while. Somewhere quiet. I won’t tell anyone.”

Your eyes searched his face. “Why are you always being kind about this?”

He smiled a little. “I know what it’s like to want to breathe and not be able to. I don't blame you for any of your actions, but I figured, if I’m going to marry you, you should at least feel like you have choices.”

That stopped you cold.

A beat passed. Then another.

“…Two hours,” you said quietly. “That’s all I can afford.”

Gojo’s grin widened, pleased. “Two hours is more than enough to make you feel like yourself again.”

And with a snap of his fingers and a twist of the air around you, you were gone, leaving behind the suffocating walls of your home, just for a little while.

—

You blinked a few times when you looked up to see the destination.

A quiet café stood in front of you, tucked between taller buildings, the faint buzz of a vending machine nearby and the low hum of early morning traffic in the distance. A glowing “24/7” sign flickered gently above the doorway.

Gojo led you in without hesitation.

“I usually hang around here when I have the time,” he said, pushing open the door with the familiarity of someone who’d been there a hundred times before. “The owner knows me well, so they always make sure to keep something warm around just in case.”

You looked around, the place small and cozy. Soft jazz played in the background, a few early workers sipping quietly in corners, steam rising from ceramic mugs.

“We’re in Tokyo right now?” you asked, eyebrows rising.

“Yeah,” he replied casually, scanning the menu. “Easier for others to not see us. And I didn’t know which shops were open in your hometown.”

He ordered two drinks without asking what you wanted but somehow, when the cup was placed in front of you, it was exactly what you would’ve chosen.

You reached into your sleeve for a few crumpled bills, ready to pay your share, but Gojo smoothly placed his money on the counter before the cashier could even look at yours.

“It’s my treat,” he said with a shrug. “You had a long day from lessons already.”

"I have the same ones being taught to me before our wedding," Gojo replied with a slight smirk, "but I suspect they’re not nearly as brutal as yours."

You let out a dry laugh. “They probably aren’t.”

“Your mother seems… strict.”

You nodded, eyes dropping to your drink. “She is.”

Your face warmed as a memory surfaced—one that still stung a little. "About the sugar bun..."

Gojo raised an eyebrow, sipping from his cup. “Ah, that bun. The one I bought for you before the clan meeting?”

You nodded slowly, half-hiding behind the cup of your drink. “She snatched it from me before I could take a bite. Gave it to one of the servants. I tried to get it back, but… they ate it.”

Gojo blinked, then broke into a laugh. “You’re telling me my peace offering was given and devoured by your household staff?”

“Tragically, yes.”

He grinned, leaning forward on the table. “That was a very rare sugar bun, you know. I had to bribe a very grumpy baker at 10 a.m.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, quiet and genuine. “I figured it was something like that. It was still warm.”

Gojo’s voice softened. “Next time, I’ll bring two. One for your mother to throw away, and one for you to hide under your sleeve.”

You looked up at him, surprised at how easily he could tease your situation without mocking it—how he could take the heaviness and lighten it without dismissing it.

“…Thank you,” you said, almost shyly.

He only shrugged, smile gentler now. “It’s the least I can do for my fiancé.”

You looked up from your cup, caught off guard. Not by the word itself, but by how easily it left his mouth. No tension, no obligation. Just sincerity.

The two of you sat at a small table outside the café now, under the glow of a streetlamp that flickered every few seconds.

You tapped your fingers against the warm cup. “You make it sound so normal.”

He tilted his head. “Isn’t it?”

You gave him a look. “Nothing about us is normal. We met once, had a formal meeting surrounded by elders, and then I was told I’d be marrying the strongest sorcerer alive.”

“Strongest and most charming,” he added, raising his drink in mock toast.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched before you could stop them. “You really don’t take things seriously, do you?”

“On the contrary,” he said, watching you over the rim of his cup, “I take your happiness very seriously.”

The way he said it was light, teasing, but not joking, and it made your heart skip just a little.

You glanced down at the half-finished drink in your hand. “…I don’t know what to do with that.”

���With what?”

“With someone who cares what I want,” you admitted, softly. “It’s not something I’m used to.”

Gojo leaned back in his chair, gaze thoughtful now, softer than before. “Well, that’s going to be a problem then.”

You looked at him, eyebrow furrowing. “Why?”

“Because I plan to care a lot.” He smiled, tilting his head at you like it was the simplest thing in the world. “So you better start getting used to it, my dear fiancé.”

You didn’t answer—not with words, anyway, but your shoulders relaxed, and your fingers stopped gripping your cup so tightly.

And when he suggested to split a pastry, laughing as he tried to guess which flavor you’d like most, you let him order without protest.

For the first time in a long while, the world didn’t feel so heavy, even with the prospect of an arranged marriage. Rather the opposite now.

—

The days blurred into one another after that night. Satoru had used his teleportation technique once again to bring you home. It was not out of doubt for your strength—rather admiring your skills and endurance throughout it all—but out of insistence to make sure you were safe. The special moment with him stayed with you longer than you expected. In the days that followed, as the wedding got closer, you began receiving small, secret gifts from him—mostly sweets and pastries you've only seen or heard in books, each one a new flavor for you to try. And when you weren’t too exhausted from preparations, he’d sneak you away for short escapes back to the small café, where the world felt a little easier.

However, not long after, the morning of the ceremony soon came.

Your mother had been up before dawn, already flitting in and out of your room with one of your aunts adjusting hairpins and the other tidying the outer layer of your ceremonial gown. You weren’t even sure you’d spoken more than five words before someone was patting powder across your cheekbones or muttering about creases on your gown.

"Lift your chin. No, not that much—you'll strain your neck," one aunt sighed.

"Did she eat anything this morning?" your mother asked sharply, not really expecting an answer. “She’ll faint halfway through if she doesn't eat.”

You sat obediently through all of it. Still, quiet, patient in a way that felt unfamiliar to you. Not from resignation, but calm. Like the storm had passed and now you were simply learning how to breathe in its stillness.

A maid brought you a mirror, and for a moment, you hardly recognized yourself. The ornate embroidery traced stories down your sleeves, pearls pinned in your hair like constellations. You looked like someone else’s daughter; distant, ideal, and perfect.

But when your father stepped, the illusion shattered for a moment.

He paused at the front of your room. His eyes, which rarely brim with emotion, are now quietly filled with it. And though he said nothing at first, the way he looked at you said it all. The little girl who once hid in his study during thunderstorms, crying for his comfort since your own mother scolded you for being dependent.

“I didn’t think I’d feel this sad,” he finally admitted, his voice becoming soft. “It’s tradition and it’s expected of you, but still… I didn’t think it’d be this hard.”

You stood slowly, careful not to let the gown drag, and reached for his hand. “I’ll still be your daughter, even if I’m someone’s wife.”

He gave a strained smile. “He better be good to you.”

You hesitated, but only for a second. Then you smiled, this time it wasn't for anyone’s benefit nor was it rehearsed. “I think I might just be fine with this,” you said honestly. “My future husband… isn’t all that bad.”

Your father exhaled, a laugh escaping his throat. “Such high praises for him already?”

“It’s the truth,” you replied, a hint of warmth in your voice. “I gave him the benefit of the doubt… and he’s done nothing but prove me wrong—in the best way.”

He squeezed your hand, then reached up to adjust one last strand of hair the way he always used to do when you were younger.

And then, the music began to play. Soft at first, ceremonial and slow, its weight settling over the room like a quiet promise.

Your heart thudded once—sharp and certain.

Your aunts reappeared to straighten the folds of your gown one last time, murmuring blessings beneath their breath. Your mother gave a tight nod from across the room, her expression unreadable, pride and control stitched into every line of her posture. But it was your father who offered his arm, his touch steady even as his eyes betrayed a flicker of hesitation.

You took it, fingers curling around his sleeve as the doors opened.

Warm light spilled into the room from the ceremonial hall. The scent of incense, jasmine, and old wood lingered in the air. Every guest turned to look, a hush falling over the space like a held breath. The ceremony paid no expenses, both families going all out to show the union of two great clans, tradition filled the place, but it was the figure at the end of the aisle that made the rest of the world fall away.

Satoru stood tall beneath the ceremonial arch, draped in his own finery, still somehow effortlessly himself, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. However, his eyes were steady, fixed only on you, and for once, completely serious.

You felt your father stiffen slightly, like part of him wanted to turn you around and take you home. But instead, he gently leaned down and murmured, “If he ever makes you cry, you come straight back to me.”

A quiet laugh escaped you, but you knew he was serious.

“I’ll be alright,” you whispered back, more for him than yourself.

And then, step by step, you walked together—toward a future that no longer felt quite so distant or quite so heavy.

taglist: @enouche, @idiomaticpunk

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1328

Chapter 44:

The vine around your neck kept pulling you away, the struggle to fight it without your magic proving worthless, and yet you kept trying.

Hearing Agatha's screams of pain as she also tried to fight off Rio was driving you mad, but as the sun covered the moon fully, you were left powerless to act.

Eventually, the vine came to a halt, your head pressed against the wooden fence separating Agatha's House from the house right next to it.

Suddenly, more vines spread from the ground; wrapping around your wrists and your ankles, keeping you in an almost crucified position.

You tried to pull them again, and you had to bite your lip, feeling the pain coming from the thorns protruding from the green plants. They were never meant to kill you, just harm you enough when you tried to fight them.

The position alone did not help. A position you had once found excitement now only brought fear. That fear was not for you, though.

It was for Agatha.

It was the fear that you would once again fail to help her. The fear that Rio would harm her until Agatha gave in... the fear that you would be a spectator to this sadistic show of power between the two former lovers.

As if your desperation and need for help had been manifested by the universe, you felt a tingling sensation of magic approaching; for a moment, you wondered if the newcomer was an ally or a foe

You looked up, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of Billy in full costume, crown, and power; flying towards you.

All questions about how he got control over them or how he found you got thrown out of the window, hope flattering within your chest; a proof that you could somehow still win this.

"Billy!" You called him out, a tired smile forming.

"Y/N," he exclaimed as he stopped levitating, noticing you trapped by the vines.

Before he could question why you were trapped and not fighting, you interrupted him.

"Help, Agatha!" You shouted at him above the winds. He tried to argue, hesitating, but once again, you did not leave him. "I will be fine! Help her!"

With hesitation, he nodded and flew towards Agatha; readying his powers to blast Rio away from the magicless witch.

The fact that he was now present was a good thing, but it did little to ease worry growing inside of you. No matter how powerful he truly was, he was still a child; untrained.

And Rio... she was an undefeated force, one that could never truly die.

You wanted to help, and so you tried to fight the vines holding you hostage once again. The thorns dug deep into your skin, drawing blood, and yet you used that pain to fuel your attempts.

Defeat was slowly crawling in, and you were so close to giving up, feeling helpless. As you did that you barely noticed, the eclipse was over, and slowly, the first rate of moonlight had started to appear.

'Please,' you begged into your mind. 'Please help me save them'.

You continued mentally praying, hoping whatever ethereal power was out there would feel pity for you.

In that moment of helplessness, you could help but think back to all those years... to en era when you never felt that way.

The first time was back in Salem. You were a child no older than six years old, and yet your powers could surpass the powers of most witches. When you were a child , you never fet helpless, and you always took pride in what you could do.

Then they started criticising you, warning you that you were out of control. They started putting fear in your mind, telling you that without some self awareness, you would harm someone.

And when you actually did harm someone, when you actually started to hold back; you started to forget just how powerful truly were.

Only one person, back then, had tried to change that... Agatha.

You were both teenagers, sitting under a weeping willow. Side by side, you rested your head on her shoulder; fingers interlocked.

In your free hand, you held a flower you had plucked on your way to meet her, and you spun it around between your thumb and index finger.

That day was her birthday, and you had chosen to meet, only for you to confess to Agatha how you felt lately; that growing fear that you would truly harm someone with your powers.

Evanora's pressure on you, to harm and end Agatha,had definitely not helped ease your worries or feel better bout yourself... and your powers.

"You shouldn't listen to them,"she commented as her thumb caressed your skin."You shouldn't hold back for anyone."

"And what if i harm someone?" You looked at her. "What if I harm you?"

Agatha pecked your nose. The now 18 year old always chose to peck you there when younger and you were nervous. Even though, now, you were almost 16, she bever stopped.

"I trust you. I know you never would, no matter how powerful you become."

How many times did Agatha support you? Did she keep telling you to stop holding back? To stop being afraid?

How many times did Rio hold a similar stance?

"You shouldn't be afraid of your powers," she had commented one day after sering you hesitating casting a spel.

"I am not afraid, I am self-aware. There is a difference," you had argued, even though you did not believe it yourself.

"Right, and I don't show up where corpses are." She sat behind you, her longer legs trapping you within them as they spread on each side of you. "You are different than the rest, so why deny yourself that?" Her hands were placed above yours, magic subconsciously reacting; causing an exciting sense of thrill and faint pain. "Why hold back?"

A new memory flashed into your minds, the voice of a woman you did not expect to bring up in such a dire situation.

"Stop holding back. Face your fear."

Lilia had told you those words just before she left you go into the iron maiden. She could have told you anything else, knowing you would never mert again and yet... she chose those words because she knew something more, she had seen it.

The sound of fighting was faintly reaching your ears, reminding you that while you were laying there; contemplating about your life... Agatha and Billy were fighting for theirs.

You should have been there, helping them. You should be by Agatha's side as you promised, do something different compared to all those times you didn't.

And then it hit you.

This was a trial, and it was your trial.

All those times you have chosen to step back, to hold back your power... you potential , your love for Agatha.

There was only one way to end this, to truly honour your promise and be by her side...

And so you took a deep breath, concentrating as you felt the weak rays of moonlight upon your skin. You concentrate harder than ever, digging deep into your magic core. You tried to remember the power you always had, but you were always afraid of it.

Eyes close tightly during your attempt, a tear escaping and rolling on your cheek as you went deeper... and deeper.

The right hand, the very same one branded with the moonmark, wrapped around the vine holding it trapped and with one last effort you've started to summon on your magic in your hand; using it to burn the very same vine holding you hostage.

As you felt your power spreading across your body, burning your restraints... you didn't celebrate in triumph or clapped in joy.

Instead, you fought harder and harder to release it, barely registering the white light engulfing your body, giving you a boost you had never felt before as you finally.

Stopped. Holding. Back.

Chapter 45

[marril96]

A Cry in the Night

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: Agatha is the only person you can turn to after accidentally killing ten people.

You weren't a violent person, far from it, which was why, when you killed ten people in the span of five seconds and felt good about it, you freaked the fuck out and started screaming as if you were being actively murdered.

Which was what had led to you killing ten people in the first place, and was also part of what had made you freak out, alongside the act of murder itself. But, for the most part, what scared you the most about the entire ordeal was the sheer and utter joy at the realization that they were dead and you were not, and that it was all thanks to your magic doing your dirty work for you.

Deep in the forest, no one could hear you scream. No one had heard you the first time, when they'd chased you here, when they'd cornered you and pointed their weapons and hurled insults, and you'd begged for someone to come and save you.

No one did.

You were alone.

You were scared.

You snapped.

It was self defense, really. They were the ones who were going after you. But who was going to believe you? Who was going to believe that a witch was in fear of her life against ten regular, powerless human beings?

You would go to prison.

The thought made you scream louder, throat raw and dry. It hurt, but you couldn't stop.

Your life was over.

Even if you remained free, the reputation of a killer would haunt you for the rest of your life.

No one cared about the truth when it came to pointing fingers at witches.

Not even other witches.

Blood stained the ground around you, chunks of flesh and bone, big and small, strewn about like a macabre exhibition. The barks of trees were painted scarlet. How in the hell were you going to hide this? Should you hide it?

Yes. You absolutely should. No one could know about what you had done. No one could know how exhilarating it felt to take their lives just as they were about to take yours.

You'd been judged enough by the people in your life.

This needed to be taken care of.

But how?

What were you going to do?

Agatha. The name rang in your head like an echo. The first thing that came to mind. The first — and only — solution.

If anyone would understand, it was her.

She loved to kill people.

She wouldn't judge you for doing the same.

Would she?

Your phone was in your hand before your brain had time to catch up to your thoughts. As if on autopilot, you typed her number in and pressed the call button. Hers was one of the few numbers you knew by heart. She was always there when you needed company, or a pity party, or a one night stand. Always eager to entertain, to have a bit of fun.

Here was to hoping she would be just as eager to help you hide dead bodies — or what was left of them, anyway.

Agatha answered on the second ring. Clearly not in the mood to have been woken up at three am, sleep heavy in her voice, she said, "Someone better be dead."

The accuracy of her statement only made you freak out more. Reality was setting in, punching you in the face, the gut, the heart. People were dead. And they were dead because of you. They would never get to see their children grow up. They would never get to play with their grandchildren. They would never get to grow old and experience life.

Because you took it from them.

You took their lives.

"They are," you said in your weakest, tiniest voice. Then a sob that burned your throat broke out of your mouth, and you were bawling like a child. It hurt to breathe, to think, to exist. It hurt to cry, but the tears kept coming, and your lungs kept stinging, and you were shaking, and it took the last remnants of your strength to keep your phone from tumbling out of your hands.

"Y/N?" Your name was a soothing melody on Agatha's mouth. She knew this was serious, that something was wrong, and you had her full attention. "What happened, honey?"

"Agatha," you said meekly. "Help me. Please, help me."

This was beyond a mere want. You needed her.

"Gladly, but I need to know what you need help with," she said. "Are you in danger?"

Not anymore. "N-No."

"Are you hurt?"

Very. "No."

"Then what's wrong?"

Another sob. Your legs trembled, threatening to give way, to send you crashing to the ground. You gripped the closest tree for support.

"They're dead. They're all dead, and it's all my fault."

You murdered them. And you enjoyed every moment of it.

The thought made your stomach churn.

"Okay, hon, tell me where you are," Agatha said. No judgment in her tone. No accusation.

"I don't know. In a forest." You knew that much. Aside from that, crickets. "There's blood everywhere. Agatha, there's blood everywhere."

Around you. On you. Staining your clothes. Glued to your skin.

"That's okay," she assured you. "One thing at a time, okay? I will find you, and then we'll deal with the blood."

"You will find me?" You wanted her to promise you. To make good on it.

You needed her, and you needed her now, and you didn't know how much longer you could keep yourself from falling apart for you were well on your way there.

"I will find you."

Not long after you hung up the phone, a crackle of branches startled you. Jumping to your feet, you turned in the direction of the sound. Your eyes glowed in warning, sparks of magic bubbling at your fingertips, bright and vivid in the dead of night.

"Whoa there, tiger," the familiar voice said, and the building panic instantly dissipated.

Agatha.

She had found you.

Just as she had promised.

"We don't want an accident, do we?"

Because if you were to blast her, she would suck every last bit of magic from you and leave you a withered corpse on the ground. Not on purpose, of course; she couldn't control this power of hers, couldn't contain it.

That was part of the reason you trusted her with this. Her power made her kill people, even when she didn't want to, so she learned to live with it. She had to learn to deal with it. Taking a life — or two, or five, or a hundred — didn't bother her. She never would have survived for this long if it did.

She could fix this,

She could help you.

Taking in a deep, calming breath, you willed your magic back. The danger had passed, you told yourself. You were safe. There was nothing to be afraid of anymore.

"I-I'm sorry," you said.

"You've got nothing to apologize for," Agatha told you, and you knew she meant every word.

As soon as the last spark from your fingers faded, she was at your side, arms out, warm and welcoming. You allowed her to envelop you into a hug and melted into her. She didn't care that you were covered in blood from head to toe. She didn't care that your surroundings were littered with the remains of your victims.

All she cared about was you.

This was the side of her nobody but few select people knew was there. Her heartless bitch reputation proceeded her; nobody cared that, beneath the cold, uncaring exterior, there was a person who loved and hurt and bled just like everyone else.

She wasn't the monster that everyone had made her out to be. The facade was there for her protection.

You stood like that for a few moments. Agatha allowed you to cry, allowed you to let it all out in a safe environment. The worst had passed. Now that she was here, everything was going to be all right. She would make sure of it.

Once you had calmed down enough to stand on your own two feet without crumbling into pieces, she took a step back, gently brought her hands to your stained cheeks, and said,"What happened?"

Her eyes, usually piercing and intense, were as soft as her voice. A reminder — an exclamation — that you weren't in trouble. That she wasn't going to judge you, or mock you, or put you down. That she was here for you, first and foremost.

Judgment was all she knew about her entire life. Her own mother — the one person in the world who was supposed to cherish her, love her, protect her — had thought her evil, irredeemable from the very start. All because she happened to be born with a power no one had even attempted to understand or help her control.

She wasn't going to do that to anyone else.

She wasn't going to do that to you.

"They chased me here," you said.

You first saw them eyeing you at the bar, but you'd thought nothing of it. A big group of friends eyeing other patrons wasn't unusual; drunk people tended to do worse things. One of the girls among their group had asked you to join them. You'd politely declined; you didn't socialize with strangers.

You thought that was that, until they'd followed after you on your way out of the bar and formed a circle around you in the parking lot.

You'd flashed your magic.

They'd flashed their weapons, and they'd said you were dead. That they'd been hunting you for days.

Summoning all the power you could muster, you'd blasted them and ran. You weren't going to die at the hands of witch hunters. Not in the twenty first fucking century.

"They had weapons," you said, fresh tears spilling down your face, over Agatha's fingers. "They were everywhere, and I couldn't run anymore, and I just wanted them to go away and leave me alone."

You hadn't set out to kill anyone tonight.

They were the ones with murder on their minds.

All you wanted was to protect yourself. To save your life.

"And then it got hot, and my power just… It burst out, and there was blood everywhere."

Agatha pondered on your words. "Witch hunters."

"Yeah."

"You did good," she said. "You protected yourself. Don't you dare feel bad about that."

It was easy for her to say that. She'd spent centuries perfecting the act of not caring.

You, on the other hand, had never taken a life before.

A hard lump formed in your throat; you swallowed it, hissed as it burned your insides on the way down. "It felt good," Here it was. Now or never. "It felt really good."

It had almost felt better than your and Agatha's countless one night stands through your centuries of friendship when one of you — or both — happened to be in the mood.

Agatha quirked up an eyebrow. "What did?"

"Killing them." Your voice cracked before the second word was out. "It made me feel…" Exhilarated. High. "Alive."

She smiled. Was that pride painted over her face? "And what's wrong with that?"

Everything. Everything was wrong with that. Murder wasn't supposed to feel good. It wasn't supposed to fill you with joy, with relief that it was your victims who were dead instead of you.

Were they victims, though?

Did it matter?

"Why did it feel like that? Why wasn't I scared?"

Why weren't you horrified with your actions? Why was your first thought to defend yourself, to make excuses?

Why didn't you care about them at all?

"Because you survived," Agatha said. "You fought like hell and you survived like the witch that you are. Don't you ever feel guilty for that."

Why shouldn't you? What made your life more valuable than theirs?

"I've never killed anyone before." You'd sworn to yourself that you never would. And then this happened. Mere seconds, and your body count had gone from zero to ten.

It wasn't even a conscious decision to do it. Your magic felt that you were in danger, and it reacted. You had wanted them to die — better them than you — and then they did, and it was awesome.

The thought made you sick.

Agatha grinned. "Every witch's gotta pop their cherry someday."

Did they? Were all witches destined to be killers?

Was it written in your DNA?

"We-We're meant to kill people?"

"Kill or be killed. It's the only way to survive in this world.."

She wasn't wrong there. Every witch you knew had a story or two of needing to defend their lives, be it from hunters, or from other witches. The world was cruel to your kind.

Even your own kind was cruel to your kind, as Agatha could very well attest to. She'd been a target practically from the moment she was born, despised by her own coven. By her own mother.

"You killed. You lived," she continued. "Don't dwell on it too much."

"How can I not?" you demanded for you saw no way out of this turmoil. There was a storm inside you, destroying you bit by bit, eating at your soul like acid. No matter how many times you tried to get it to stop, to rein it in, it kept on raging. Guilt the girth of which you'd never experienced before. Regret that stung like a hornet's prick. "I feel like I'm gonna explode. It hurts so much."

Softly, gentle, as if she were comforting a child, Agatha pressed her forehead to yours. She was so warm. So strong, power radiating out of her every pore. For the first time tonight, you felt truly safe. "The first time is always the worst."

"I'm scared," you whimpered.

One of her hands reached for yours and squeezed it. "You've got nothing to be scared of. No one's gonna hurt you."

"What if someone finds out?"

"Let them. There's nothing they can do. All they've got are words, and words are nothing. You're safe."

"I don't want people to hate me."

"What's it matter if they do?"

"They hate you." And, despite her insistence that she didn't care, that she enjoyed the infamy, you knew it bothered her. It hurt her. Everyone she'd ever known had turned against her. That was bound to leave a mark on a person.

Agatha was silent for a moment. Then, softly, she said, "You don't hate me."

"I could never hate you." You knew her too well — loved her too much — to ever be able to.

"I could never hate you." She repeated your words back to you with the utmost delicacy and ease, as if she'd been waiting a long time to say them out loud. As if she'd been waiting for the appropriate moment to be honest, to speak from her heart.

That was why she was the first person you'd thought to call. Sure, she teased you at times and engaged in sarcastic exchanges with you, but she'd never — not once — judged you.

She would never make you feel bad over something you had no control over for she knew how it felt to be kicked while she was down.

"Will you help me?" you muttered.

Agatha smiled. "You don't even have to ask."

No, you didn't. You never did, yet you always asked, anyway. Because it felt good to hear a yes from her mouth.

It felt good to have Agatha Harkness in your life.

"Do me a favor, though," she said.

"Yeah?"

"Don't feel bad for protecting yourself. There is nothing wrong with finding joy in defending your life."

"I'll try," you promised.

Lucky for you, you had the best teacher by your side.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @werewolfvpire @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @midnight-lestrange

[hallucinatinghalos]

It's interesting to me that the show writers have decided to make the monastery be the moment Lestat is brought home violently, and at (I would assume) such a young age. In TVL he's still taken from the monastery against his will and denied an education (devastating enough) but it's not until he's older and runs away to join the theatre troupe that they drag him home violently. His eventual response to the assault and yet again being denied control of his life, and some other major events I'll skip over, is to move to Paris and become an actor anyway. But by making the physical abuse happen so young, and be so brutal, they're creating a flashpoint of extreme helplessness and harm without hope of escape that will parallel his turning by Magnus (who also now imprisons him for a week which is longer than the books' shorter but still horrific turning)

The repercussions of the abuse at the hands of his father and brother as it occurs in the show would be a little death, a transformation. The child that left for the monastery is lost, the Lestat that walks out of his room with his prayers silenced and saints forgotten cannot be the same person and survive. That will certainly mirror his mortal/human death and turning by Magnus. He is struck down, altered so cruelly by both his father and by his maker.

And don't even get me started on the ramifications of his relationship with the divine. That he wanted to be a priest. That his prayers repeatedly go unanswered in the face of such horrors. The ocean between himself and God.

The part of the apology/reconciliation scene that I think strikes best at the heart of his abandonment issues as it pertains to the divine is when he gently scoffs at himself for calling out to God during his turning. Despite previous experience, he again tried to survive the wrath of a larger, stronger being by praying. The situation so extreme he was made utterly powerless. And yet, again, there was no intervention. Again, he was abandoned to this awful fate and now there he sits a monster. Worst of all though he's his family's monster asking for forgiveness that he does not feel he deserves. You know he recognizes the anger in Claudia's eyes, the harm he's done. His smile a sad defense against Louis' pity. It's crushing.

"I didn't want this." he tells them as if to apologize for his very existence, his being.

He has become the thing he hates most.

He is so vulnerable here. My god.

I can't even allow my mind to delve into his psychological state in the garbage dump, post-murder. Can you imagine one of your greatest fears being abandoned and your family, knowing this, throw you out with the trash. And that he knows he pushed Claudia and Louis to such desperation. It's no wonder he breaks down during the trial when recalling Louis putting him in his coffin, that Louis saved him despite what he was, what he'd done. His one consolation being that Louis still loved him enough. I will never be convinced, until we see otherwise, that he was at the trial for retribution, and I do not trust the tower scene as we saw it at all. He would mentally be in tatters. He would've arrived in Paris already in such a state. Then the events of the trial, whatever his involvement ultimately was, of seeing Louis in that situation and watching Claudia murdered...there are no words for what he would be going through (and that's without knowing what the full context of the trial was for him) we can only assume from what remains years later...

A broken creature.

Louis leaving him was truly a push to destruction equal to Armand pushing his weakened body off the tower in the book, as near a fatal blow as Louis could strike in that moment. Lestat is alone and defeated. A fate he maybe feels he deserves, that he should've never survived to this point anyway. His existence only seeming to harm those he's loved most (can't forget Nicki here.) There is something about him choosing to sit in that ruined house and starve that calls back to his bedroom prison post-monastery. I can see why Rolin allowed the level of emotion to remain in the reunion scene. Because Lestat is as emotionally broken here as he is physically broken in the book. There is next to nothing left in him to rally against the flood of his feelings. He's that kid starving in his room, the man trapped with a monster, and a being that's hated his mind & body for lifetimes. It's unbearably sad and it should be gut-wrenching.

I'm guessing these changes (maybe more a shuffling) are just for more efficient storytelling. A way to get the viewer from point A to point B of his messy backstory more quickly with the same trauma of bookLestat still intact. What is my point? I don't know. I don't really have one. Mostly I'm just rambling, appreciating the show writers, and I really need new content.

Added a cut because below is a short S3 speculation that may contain spoilers.

Not that anyone asked but I'm leaning toward the idea that they'll have it be when he runs away with the theatre troupe (or just leaves for Paris) as a young adult he never comes home again. That the wolves will happen at some point before that but remain the life-changing catalyst and that the reunion with Nicki will be in Paris. That he will have a longer acting career before Magnus finds him. If that is the way it goes I hope Gabrielle still has a hand in his flight from Auvergne, but we'll see.

[reijisteacup]

The vampire Royals, ie Karl Heinz and his wives and his brother's reaction to Ichigo Momochi. You can add Azusa if something gets a lil shady

OOP A CHALLENGE!!!! I LIKEY <3

===================================================================================================

Karlheinz Sakamaki:

wait my fault....

Karlheinz finds Ichigo utterly fascinating, like a spiritual riddle wrapped in pastel lace and trauma. Her Kansai dialect and raspy voice break the mold of the refined, sterile image expected of vampire brides. She doesn't behave like a delicate noble flower—she's full of color, contradiction, and quiet resilience. He sees her as anomalous, and anomalies are always worth dissecting. Her blend of Wicca and Shinto, combined with charms meant to ward off negativity and attract love? Oh, he knows they’re powerless against him, but her belief in them — her conviction — draws his philosophical curiosity. "How fascinating... even after loss and fear, she still dares to believe in unseen forces. Even mine." Ichigo’s goals of studying parapsychology and anthropology amuse him. “So she wishes to study the dead and the mad, yet sleeps among the living myths themselves,” he murmurs. He may test her by subtly warping her perception — making her question whether her stalker is gone or if something worse now watches. Her hidden arms? Oh, he knows. And he knows why. But he won’t pry — not directly. Instead, he’ll orchestrate conversations or dreams that force her to confront what she buries. Would he use her trauma? Absolutely. Would he treat her with cold fascination, like a ghost in a glass box? Also yes. But underneath it all, he sees the spark that could awaken something long dead inside him: empathy. She might be the first “experiment” he doesn’t want to break.

Richter Sakamaki:

Oh, he likes her. Probably too much. Her voice? He calls it “raw honey over thorns.” Her clothing? “A sin wrapped in lace.” He’s a master manipulator and Ichigo’s softness, her sweetness, makes him see an opportunity. If he finds out about her past stalker, he might pretend to sympathize. “I, too, know what it’s like to be watched, to be hunted…” (He does not.) He may try to seduce or deceive her under the pretense of “protecting” her. He’ll say things like, “They don’t appreciate how rare you are here. But I do.” If Azusa shows up or gets too close, Richter will see him as a problem. "A broken doll guarding another broken doll. How poetic. How inconvenient."

Beatrix Sakamaki:

Beatrix is reserved, austere, and sharp-tongued — she’d likely see Ichigo’s fashion, voice, and theatrical behavior as immature or attention-seeking. However, her opinion would slowly shift. She hears Ichigo singing a Vocaloid song softly while organizing her charms and almost dismisses it… until she notices the subtle pain and yearning laced in her voice. That rasp? That raw, cracked vulnerability? It reminds Beatrix of her own youth before Karlheinz turned her heart to ice. If she notices the scars or Ichigo’s fear around loud, aggressive men, she might offer cold but practical advice. “If you want to survive in this world, girl, stop hiding your wounds. Wear them like blades.” Would she ever admit she respects Ichigo? No. But she might give her a black velvet shawl one evening and claim, “It clashed with my wardrobe.” (It didn’t.)

Cordelia Sakamaki:

Cordelia initially treats Ichigo like an insect: an aesthetic bauble brought into Eden or the mansion for Karl’s amusement. A Kansai-accented, raspy-voiced girl in frilly skirts who collects plushies and sings about stars and heartbreak? Laughable. “You must think you’re enchanting with your witchy charms and dolly clothes… darling, you're a knockoff in a world of originals.” But deep down, Cordelia notices the tension in Ichigo’s shoulders when a man stands too close. She notices the way Ichigo’s voice catches when she talks about her past. She sees the long sleeves and immediately knows why they’re there. She doesn't feel pity. She feels power — and something much more dangerous: mirroring.

Christa Sakamaki:

Christa sees herself in Ichigo — too much, maybe. The plushies, the fantasy obsession, the spiritual charms — it screams someone who’s trying to survive her pain by crafting a new reality. And Christa, lost in her own delusions, becomes both drawn to and unnerved by Ichigo’s presence. She calls her “the dream girl,” both lovingly and fearfully. Sometimes she calls her Usagi instead of Ichigo, claiming, “That’s what you were supposed to be named, wasn’t it? I hear names…” She’s protective in a ghostly, unstable way. “If anyone hurts her again, I’ll make the walls bleed,” she whispers to herself �� whether Ichigo is near or not. Ichigo might be one of the few people who treats Christa gently, never patronizing her. In return, Christa might give her strange cryptic warnings that end up saving her later.

Azusa Mukami:

Azusa recognizes the pain in Ichigo immediately. The long sleeves. The ghost of fear in her smile. He doesn’t ask. He just sits near her. “Your charms… don’t scare me. Pain doesn’t either. If… you’re scared, I can… be scared with you.” He gives her one of his plushes without explanation. It's frayed and missing an eye. She gives him one of hers — a pastel bunny named “Mochi.” If Richter or anyone starts targeting her, Azusa will quietly insert himself into every interaction. Not with threats, but with presence. He’s always there. Always watching. And if someone tries to hurt her again? Azusa’s violence is slow, quiet, and impossible to stop. “You already broke her once. You don’t get to try again.”

[theramblingsofadork]

Character Profile: Rivet The Cat

> Age for the AU: 18-Early 20’s

> Personality Strengths: A sweet and caring cat, Rivet is fairly mature, playful, and can be a bit of a flirt. She has a big heart, enjoys riding her hoverboard and doing competitive racing, is very affectionate and loyal to her loved ones, and enjoys partaking in long, intellectual talks. She also believes in second chances, and that everyone deserves the chance to make a change to be better. (“We all make mistakes. Some greater than others. What matters is if we choose to stay there.”)

> Personality Weaknesses: Rivet’s desire to believe in the best in people can sometimes get her into trouble. While she’s gotten much better at discerning a genuine change of heart from a cheap ploy, there was a time when she would let any evil doer go just because they apologized and promised to never do it again. (Something her brother had to teach her against.)

She can also be a bit much to some, being a touchy type who likes to drag people out of their comfort zones for the sake of wanting them to be involved and be the best they can be. Especially with the sensitive types, this can tend to put unwanted pressure on them.

She also gains a singularity complex that never quite goes away after losing her brother, leading her to bottle things up to try and bear the weight of the world on her shoulders to the point of exhaustion, despite being someone who is fairly reliant on the strength of others.

She’s also her own brand of stubborn, and will usually stick to her guns on who/what she believes in, even if it isn’t the popular choice. (Like believing everyone deserves a second chance.)

> Strengths and Weaknesses:

⚙️ Mechanics: Rivet’s developed a pretty decent grip on mechanics and inventing over the years thanks to her mentors and a lot of trial and error.

While her work tends to lack the clinical precision and polish of a classically trained inventor, she’s clever and resourceful, and knows workarounds to get ‘the thing’ to work. However, this does mean her builds aren’t always the most stable, and she’s had more than one project blow up in her face.

> Energy Bracers: Rivet built these to give her the ability to fight back against enemies she’d otherwise be powerless against. They can absorb and store up energy from external sources like Charge’s electricity, which then allows her to fight back with it by using it to fortify/enhance her natural abilities (Ex: Strength, Durability, Speed, etc); Essentially borrowing the power of others to make up for her lack thereof.

However, excessive overuse or overcharge can cause the tech to backfire, putting a massive strain on her body and making her eat the damage until she collapses.

> Hoverboard: This is Rivet’s primary form of transportation, and a key element to her combat style. While it started out as an old, abandoned, Extreme Gear board, it’s since been lovingly upgraded multiple times, making it a mix of both Mobian and Eggman tech.

⚔️ Combat: Rivet is fairly decent at fighting thanks to her training with Hunter, but without her tech or hoverboard to support her, she doesn’t stand much of a chance against a strong opponent, and will go down fairly easily.

> History: Rivet and her brother Charge were found unconscious and amnesiac in the forest one day by a lone forest dweller named Hunter. Talking pity on them, he took them in and raised them as his own, training them to be protectors of the forest.

Rivet eventually became curious about the world outside their village and wanted to go explore it, but Hunter refused, wanting to keep them safe. However, the outside world found them when a group of Badniks attacked, and as Rivet discovered Eggman tech for the first time, she became fascinated with it.

Against Hunter’s wishes, she began to tinker with it to see if she could use this ‘technology’ for good, crafting improvements for their village as well as various little inventions. Eventually she even found and fixed up a broken down hoverboard, which her and Charge then used to explore and visit a nearby town.

There, she fell in love with the outside world and it’s people, even meeting some other inventors. Hunter wasn’t happy when he learned of their little trips, but ultimately, he knew he couldn’t stop them, so he sent them on their way with his blessing, and a warning for them to look after each other no matter what.

The two siblings then began to travel about and explore the various regions. As Rivet began to take notice of the villain problem, she wanted to do something about it, so she dragged Charge into helping her stop them.

They became a little vigilante duo for a time, keeping crime off the streets. (At least— once Charge got her to see that just because an evil doer apologizes doesn’t mean they mean it or can be let off the hook.)

But as Charge began to lose interest in crime fighting, and tension began to grow between them, Rivet decided to create her now-trademark bracers to help solve the issue.

This allowed her to siphon off Charge’s power to use it as her own, which made her strong enough to fight villains without his direct help, freeing him up more to do more of what he wanted to. A win-win in her book.

Eventually though, the two learned about the Atmos Innovator’s Competition, which she then convinced him to join her in as a less violent way to help protect people and the planet.

There, she met Starline and the Starpoint Squad, and a new chapter of life began…

> Likes: Nature, technology, being able to protect people, tinkering with new ideas, competitive racing, helping others, her friends, playing the occasional video game (Hex got her into Hero Mania), the Starpoint Squad, Team Dark, Sonic and Co, Hunter, Surge and Kit, kids (she’s actually quite weak to them), winning against her racing rivals.

> Dislikes: Losing her temper, saying the wrong thing, not being able to help, feeling helpless, losing the people she loves, being alone, undeserved cruelty, Eggman (at least what he does), water (her fur becomes a nightmare when she’s waterlogged), pollen (she’ll sneeze forever), milk, Zeroth, Yvetica Yew, her racing rivals: The Babylon Rogues and Crimson Coral.

[romchat]

Director Deep Dive: The “Feminine Gaze” of Zeng Qingjie (A Familiar Stranger, Butterflied Lover)

What does it mean to film something through a “feminine gaze”? 

Unsurprisingly, this is a tough question to answer. In filmmaking, the feminine gaze is usually offered as an alternative to the “male gaze” or the ways movies and tv depict women as passive sex objects. Although filmmakers and scholars disagree over the definition and even value of the term, I like to think that, in its most basic form, the feminine gaze is visual storytelling that subverts or redefines how gender looks on screen.

I think one director whose visual storytelling often taps into that feminine gaze is Zeng Qingjie so I thought it would be interesting to discuss some of the stylistic choices that make his work unique.

I first came across Zeng’s work via the short dramas A Familiar Stranger and Butterflied Lover.

What struck me about these two fantasy romances is how different they feel despite having relatively standard plots for their genre. Both dramas are dreamy and refreshingly sensual and intimate. They touch on taboo topics like menstruation, abortion, and the dangers of pregnancy while also quietly challenging traditional gender roles. But most interesting to me is how they center their women protagonists not just in the plot but in the way the camera captures their image. These are women stories and it's evident down to the cinematography.

Style Element: Subjectivity

For instance, Zeng's visual storytelling often uses subjectivity.

Subjective cinematography is when we the viewers see what a character sees or feel what a character feels because of the camera’s position, movement, lenses, etc. It’s considered a critical feature of the feminine gaze because it forces us to recognize the thoughts and feelings of women characters who are often overlooked in traditional media.

Zeng adopts several cinematography techniques to put the audience in the mind of his women protagonists, and together these techniques encourage us to empathize with them, especially in their darkest moments.

One of my favorite examples of this is an early scene of Butterflied Lover.

In the drama, Tang Qianyue, the FL, has been infected by a poison that turns people into monsters known as "butterfly slaves". Qianyue knows she has been infected but to appear normal in front of her loved ones secretly suppresses her monster form. One day, however, she begins turning into a butterfly slave against her will.

As seen above, the scene of her transformation consists of many long shots that showcase the full horror of her monster form.

But the scene ends with a close-up of her face, the camera lingering on the anguish she feels at her body betraying her. Look at how the camera keeps her face in focus but her claws blur with the background, her blood-red eyes hidden in shadow. Zeng wants us to understand how she feels in this moment, not what danger she presents. She might be a monster but we feel pity for her rather than hate or disgust because of the humanizing subjectivity of the camera language.

(Side Note: I don't think it's an accident that most of the infected people shown in their butterfly slave form are women given that monsters in media often symbolize the unknown or uncontrollable elements of the feminine experience. It makes me wonder about the role of female monsters in Chinese myth and whether there are parallels to their patriarchal meaning in Ancient Greek mythology.)

I think another good example of this humanizing camera language is in the sexual assault scene of A Familiar Stranger.

Unlike many shows that depict sexual assault in an erotic way (i.e., filmed to make us sexually excited about a woman’s powerlessness and nakedness), Zeng uses a combination of close-ups, shallow depth of field, and canted angles to make us feel the violation. With the intimate but disorienting effect of these camera techniques, we feel Shi Qi's duress but also clearly see her attacker's abuse of power. We feel what she feels and therefore have a better understanding of what it's like being a woman trying to navigate the world. It’s an awful moment but one that doesn't objectify or visually disempower her as a character.

Style Element: Sexuality and Feminine Desire

(Side Note: Woot woot pregnancy sex)

Zeng also challenges the ways women's bodies are typically objectified on screen by how he portrays his characters' sexuality. In his dramas, women aren't sex objects but instead subjects who experience sexual desire and express their sensuality.

I love the intro of A Familiar Stranger for this very reason.

The show opens with the camera languidly panning across a line of bare legs and scantily clad bodies, their owners posed seductively. It’s a stereotypical example of the male gaze reducing women to their bodies.

But then Zeng's subverts this male gaze when he has one of the women look right into the camera in a subtle fourth wall break.

According to filmmaker-critic Joey Soloway, such moments are an example of "returning the gaze" and are a way for women characters to articulate how they feel about being seen as objects:

"When a female character breaks the fourth wall, they acknowledge the reality that they are being watched and are refusing to remain passive in that. Instead of being gazed upon, they remind us of their agency by directly addressing us and giving us insight into what they’re thinking and what emotions their actions are being motivated by." (Mariel Cipriaso)

Through this technique, we learn that the seductive performance is not for the benefit of some man on screen (or in the audience) but instead themselves. These women, who also happen to be sex workers, are posing for a portrait as a cheeky way to celebrate their own beauty and sensuality divorced from the services they provide male clients (with some sapphic undertones to boot!).

They are in control of the camera not the other way around. 

Ultimately, these are stories where women find pleasure, and the intimacy scenes reflect that.

Everything is softly lit and impressionistically shot as if the characters are lost in the haze of their mutual desire. The use of close-up and extreme close-up shots further play with our senses, giving us the tactile feeling of skin on skin, breath against breath. Unlike stories filmed through the male gaze, Zeng’s camera doesn’t reduce his women characters to body parts and mere receptacles of male desire—they’re active participants who desire and enjoy their partners just as much.

And what I find particularly interesting is that the scenes don’t just “center” these women’s POV but instead show how sex (and touch more broadly) is a vehicle for emotional intimacy and the impact of that intimacy on their male partners. (That hand flex below is giving Mr. Darcy.) Sex and physical intimacy between men and women is transformative not exploitative.

In these two dramas, women aren't objects of desire that men use for their own pleasure but instead subjects who are seen as such by the other characters* and, most importantly, Zeng Qingjie's camera.

(*Side Note: See @well-dressedwords' excellent analysis about the ML in A Familiar Stranger. His intuitive trust towards the FL is an example of seeing her as a subject. He doesn't recognize her for superficial reasons like beauty but her character, which he was able to glean when they first meet and she saves him--hence the title A Familiar Stranger.)

[rainbowkittyblossomwings]

Nobody at all follows me for gravity falls content (sorry old followers I switched fandoms teehee. My sister dragged me into gravity falls) but I am tormented by 1000 different billford fic ideas, but unsure which of the many to focus my attention on. I've drafted chapter 1's of multiple and plotted out 2 via chapters....I see other people talking about their own fanfic concepts so I'm wondering if I too should bounce my ideas off randos (ya'll).

I have 4 main fics my attention is trying to split my attention between. Help direct my adhd

• fic 1 multiple already written chapters but I have yet to actually plan it out and thus I do not know where its heading. Parrellel dimension ford visits Ford seeking out his Bill for info to use on his own Bill for revenge and Ford all for revenge on Bill tries to look into the theraprism for him. Unfortunately his hubris is his undoing and this is not a better world situation, he is being manipulated once again but this time by himself and once his evils are revealed he has to work with Bill to stop him. I call this one Evil Ford fic.

• This one also has multiple chapters drafted but I do know where Im going with it because I've drafted an outline. This one is one of those human Bill fics, but with a twist. I'll be sort of vagueish but gravity falls cast knows Bill is human, but he also has amnesia and a fake backstory implanted in his brain, and they all decide to manipulate him, Ford especially who believes this is karmic. Unfortunately the rest of the cast start seeing this new Bill as a new person to his horror and liking the new persona, and some of them feel pity for the fact that something is going on in his brain that is very wrong and this is essentially some form of lobotomy to him. And yet despite the pity, Ford plays him all the same. This is the amnesia human one.

• This one is not outlined at all, but I do have the first chapter as a draft. Its handyman Bill concept-ish except instead of being powerless and sent to the shack, hes sent to Gideon to undo the damage he caused there and because they had anvold deal that Gideon never officially paid. Bill gives Gideon terrible advice about going after his Pine twin and Gideon learns to not be him from his bad example and the two bond over their shared prison experiences. This one is handyman Gideon.

• Last one I have outlined and I had chapter 1 but I've decided to completely scrap it and rework it. Its time travel, where each zodiac time travels to episode 1 of the series and has to redo that summer. However most of them do not communicate with the other members that they too have time traveled and Dipper and Mabel are fighting against the butterfly effect and trying to do every action the same so they can survive the summer and beat weirdmeggedon again and keep their current lives, while Stan is doing changes to try to get his brother back sooner. Basically follows the formula of every single character preparing insanely for weirdmeggedon while Bill on the other hand has completely given up on that from prison and is now working with Ford in the multiverse to try to figure out who is controlling time and did this to them. It would go in a formula currently of 1. Normal chapter 2. Billford and switching off between the two I think. And this is the one my brain has currently latched onto.

I also have a one shot I need to edit to break into the fandom...

Thoughts? Opinions? Suggestions which to focus on even though my brain might make me focus on one that is not voted for?

Should I be screaming into the void about gravity falls fic at all?

[mousathe14]

So this has been an interesting ongoing development that I mostly was gonna bring up because it was a little goofy but the stuff before it is kind of interesting. Basically these legislators want to regulate superheroes.

But specifically teen heroes. And not for the reasons of child endangerment like one would expect, but because they’re teens.

Which is actually an angle I never considered before. Usually these stories are about regulating superheroes because they’re potentially dangerous, cause too much damage, or need to stop being vigilantes and be accountable to someone.

This is specifically about youth. It sort of mirrors various moral panics over the past many decades about kids out in the streets influenced by dangerous media to be reckless and destructive.

You know, that nonsense.

It’s come up in the story before, some random adults railing against Young Justice and blaming video games and comics for their behavior.

And Arrowette arrowing her therapist’s murderer/ex-fiancee in the legs was kind of the final straw.

But it makes sense in context! Now I don’t believe in an eye for an eye but I think a jury would understand an emotionally compromised teenager was doing!

The problem is that there is no context. Cissie was a masked hero. The only people who knew who she was Arrowette were her therapist (basically the mother she wish she had), other heroes, and the mother that forced her into this life to behind with.

With that said she might be tried as an adult for nearly arrowing that guy in the heart so who knows.

With all that being said, here comes the goofy part.

That’s right folks. Old Justice.

I’m sure Peter David was proud of this one.

Probably took him all night to come up with this joke.

Oh hey look! The original Red Tornado with the pot on her head!

This is sort of like the Teen Titans that never were. The sidekicks of Golden Age heroes that didn’t quite make it to modern day like Dick Grayson Robin, Wally West Kid Flash, Garth Aqualad, and Donna Troy Wonder Girl.

You can tell they’re Golden Age sidekicks because their associated heroes are Justice Society members. Also most of them have, like, no powers. Which was the style at the time when it came to sidekicks. Even the Star-Spangled Kid and his adult sidekick Stripesy were both just powerless acrobats that could fight good.

But anyhow, these aren’t exactly obscure heroes here! We have Hourman and Green Lantern for pity’s sake. But their sidekicks were kind of sidelined by history!

Eh? Eh?

Ah, everyone’s a critic.

Yeah, this is where the societal moral panic comes into play.

There are some good points here about the teen celebrity phenomenon but they problem there was being pressured under terrible conditions with no proper support systems growing up or getting out of the biz. Many were abused, or had everything controlled by overbearing parents.

… Like Arrowette’s pageant mom, okay I see where there might be a problem sometimes. But this moral panic stuff is too much. They’re basically accusing youths of being youths.

Honestly I think their problem is that nobody listens to Robin and Red Tornado isn’t supervising them enough.

At least when Impulse was doing stuff in his own Max Mercury would always be off screen ready to jump in if he thought he couldn’t handle it.

Besides, Old Justice ain’t exactly squeaky clean

They may be adults but they sure know to how blackmail like adults. Admittedly it was to help Red Tornado get custody of his daughter but uh, that’s a whole other story I want to get into some other time.

And who knows what Old Justice will be up to next.

[shibacosplay]

Miche x Levi

Bi-Weekly Challenge Week 12: Flu

It kind of ends abruptly, but it's still cute I think! 😊 My first little one shot with Miche x Levi, and it's my OTP (⁠;⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)

Miche would be the biggest baby when he's sick. Also a little hc of mine that Miche has very poor eyesight, hence why his sense of smell is so good.

Please enjoy the absolute fluff ❤️🥺

Sunlight filtered through the curtains of Miche's quarters, shining right into his closed eyes. The first thing that hit him when he barely opened his eyes was the pounding in his head. Next came the uncomfortable feeling of a clogged nose and an itch in his throat. He felt hot and cold all at once as fever chills racked his body, causing him to ball up his tall frame to keep warm. There was no denying it: he was sick. 

Damn it…I can't smell anything. He felt powerless without his strongest asset, especially when his eyesight was as poor as it was. 

Slowly, Miche sat up with a pained grunt, his aching muscles protesting the movement. He immediately regretted it when he felt his stomach lurch. Blankets were thrown off as he immediately leaned over to the bin next to his bed to empty the contents of his stomach. Sweat dripped down his face and neck and his skin prickled with chills. With his face in the bin he didn't notice the knock on his door, nor did he hear it open.

“Thought I heard you upchucking like a titan in here.” It was Levi. “Fucking hell, you look like death.” 

Miche groaned pitifully in the bin before he lifted his head slowly. God, his head was killing him and his stomach was still rolling. 

“...Feel like it…” His deep voice slurred.

Levi clicked his teeth as he stepped up next to the taller man. He pressed the back of his hand to Miche's forehead only to immediately pull it away with a hiss. If he noticed the way the sick man leaned into his touch, he didn't mention it.

“By the damn walls, Zacharias. Get your ass back in bed.”

With a touch that belied his harsh words, Levi took the bin from Miche's shaking hands and set it back onto the floor before maneuvering the giant of a man to lie back down. He pulled the sheets back up to cover the shaking form and tucked them under to help keep him warm. 

“Sleep you big mutt. I'll be right back.”

Miche blinked slowly, his eyelids growing heavy, as he watched Levi's fuzzy figure move to grab the bin before walking out the door. With a deep sigh he let himself succumb to sleep. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he woke up briefly to the sound of his door opening and footsteps. Levi's blurry silhouette greeted him as something cool and damp was placed on his forehead. Relief washed over him as the damp rag cooled him. Sleep reclaimed him soon after, and a gentle hand ran through his sweaty hair. 

“Miche? What are you still doing in bed, sleepyhead?”

The melodic voice of his mother reached his ears just as gentle fingers ran through his hair. Miche leaned into his mother's cool touch with a soft whimper. 

“I don' feel good…”

“Oh sweetheart, you're burning up.” 

She picked him up and held him against her chest as she carried him to the kitchen. His father, a beast of a man with a heart of gold, sat at the table reading a book. He looked up and frowned at the pitiful sight that was Miche. 

“Give ‘im here, love. That way your hands are free.” 

Miche was placed into his father's lap where he immediately leaned into the man. His father's large hand gently soothed him as it rubbed up and down his back. The boy sniffled and coughed into his father's shirt as the man's hand continued to soothe. His mother came over with a spoonful of medicine and a cup of water. Miche's nose crinkled at the sight of the spoon. He hated medicine. It tasted bad, and smelt even worse. 

“I know, sweetie..But it'll make you feel better.” His mother laughed softly.

“Nu uh…’s gross…” Miche croaked. 

His father patted his back with a chuckle of his own as he reached for the cup of water with his other hand.

“I'll have your water ready so you can down it quick, ey?” 

Miche whined, but opened his mouth obediently for his mother to stick the spoon in. His face contorted into one of absolute disgust as he begrudgingly swallows the bitter medicine. The cup of water was immediately pressed to his lips and he drank it down greedily. When all was said and done, Miche buried himself against his father again. He was sleepy and achy, and wanted nothing more than to cuddle. 

“Would you like to try and eat something, sweetie?” His mother smiled softly.

He quickly shook his head. Food was out of the question…He felt queasy enough as it was. His mother only nodded in answer and kissed his forehead before returning to make breakfast. His father's hand returned to rubbing his back as he continued reading. Miche's eyes grew heavy as he leaned into the big man. Even though he was sick, he enjoyed these moments. He wished they'd never end.

Miche awoke to hand on his forehead and a click of teeth. The cloth that sat upon his head was reapplied with fresh, cool water as a voice spoke up.

“This fever of yours is turning out to be as stubborn as you.” Levi spoke calmly, yet there was a hint of fondness. Miche hummed questioningly as he fixed bleary eyes on the shorter figure.

“You don't remember anything?”

Miche shook his head slowly. Levi sighed and sat back in the chair he was occupying.

“I suppose you were quite out of it. You're like a giant toddler when you're sick, you know that?” 

The sick man blinked slowly and gave a low grunt in acknowledgement. He reached for Levi, gently wrapping his fingers around his thin wrist and tugged clumsily. 

“Alright, alright. Give me a sec, would you?” Levi quickly slid off his shoes before crawling into the space next to the bigger man. Miche immediately wrapped him up in his arms and buried his face against his chest. Slim fingers tangled themselves into Miche's hair, scratching gently even as Levi grumbled.

“If I get sick, it's on you…Mutt.” 

Miche huffed in amusement as his eyes grew heavy once more. 

[mysterycharacterflowers]

Final Round; Snapdragons Vs A bouquet of fern, rex begonia leaves, black rose, lily, odessa calla lily and green hydrangea

If you know who they are, or you are pretty sure of it, please don't tell until this poll has ended!

First, let's talk about the Snapdragons

Meaning and why this flower was chosen: Snapdragons represent deception, graciousness, elegance, and strength. Depending on the actions of the protagonist, she can embody all four. If the protagonist try to save her, she'll be kind, polite, and harmless to him for the rest of the story. If he backstab her or try to leave her behind, she'll do a 180 and fight him (one-armed if she has to) and successfully kill him (even at the cost of her own life). I'd say she's elegant in all routes. (Also "slaying a dragon" is a common trope and there are many methods to kill her in her media) Description: Snapdragon is a mysterious but potentially powerful prisoner that will change depending on what the protagonist believes about it. (Pronouns used are she/her because the protagonist was told so) If the protagonist is terrified of her, she can be either a goddess or a demonic being. If the protagonist sees her as an enemy to take down, she is something that is dangerous but can be won against. But if the protagonist pities her as a prisoner and does what he can to save her, she is weak and powerless. (Conversely, if the protagonist doesn't give a shit about her, she'll be something with an inconsistent appearance giving uncanny valley vibes) The only true way to stop her is to believe she's dead, and even then she can become undead or use the last of her energy to do something if the protagonist is paranoid enough.

Check their post here

Now, let's talk about the bouquet of fern, rex begonia leaves, black rose, lily, odessa calla lily and green hydrangea

Meaning and why they were chosen: Fern- New beginnings, magic, fascination ( going on a journey with a guy you liked the look of, whoops that's a whole ass god. neato) Rex begonia leaves- Warning ( Really just a whole lot of danger throughout. they're chased by assassins like a week into the journey) Black rose- Death (for near-death experiences and full-death experiences!) Lily- Love and rebirth (Imagine loving a dude so much you come back to life. It's totally not because you literally ate the power of the god you formerly worshiped and fused with them) Odessa Calla Lily- Strength and resilience (Goes through a lot and isn't affected by it nearly as much as you'd expect) Green Hydrangea- Growth (for becoming a slightly less terrible person) Description: This character escapes home and goes on a globetrotting journey with someone he doesn't know. They grow together and become friends. Fortunately? His new friend is a newly formed god who's trying to not be a terrible person, and failing. They make many enemies through the power of being unbearable and death chases them at all turns, he can't keep escaping forever. Or can he?

Check their post here

[purgemarchlockdown]

Mikoto being so heavily associated with the female characters while Kotoko isn't is really intriguing with how he's so heavily sexualized in MeMe and plays into a lot of horror tropes.

The bathtub and the shower scene are common locations in horror, especially for Women. With one of the most iconic horror scenes Ever being the shower scene from Psycho, in which a woman is murdered in the shower.

Not to mention the lyrical pattern of calling back the title of the first MV that all the girls, except for Kotoko, follow. With Mikoto actually calling back to the title of his T1 MV in Double and having it be such an important part of it that they call back to it in the Trial 2 Album. Something originally pointed out by oboetmasuka here and candckirby who also mentions Mikoto's role as the "Final girl" and his consistent pregnancy metaphor with how John is called a newborn.

I think the way Kotoko connects to Masculinity is subtler but just as important, her interrogation question shows she's not attached to it, but she doesn't seem against it or anything.

(Kotoko Interrogations)

T1Q10: What do you think about the word 'feminimity'? A: It's one of the means you can take. It's something you can freely choose depending on the scene, so it's not something to cling onto.

Kotoko doesn't wear anything traditionally feminine but she doesn't lean super masculine either...except.

Okay so, 1moremilgram-enjoyer made this really interesting post about Kotoko's cap you can read here. Basically her cap has the name Jacques Roulet on it's front. Jacques Roulet is the name of a Male Serial Killer who killed two children and claimed to be a werewolf.

This cap appears in her outfit in Harrow:

But also appears in her T2 Design:

Establishing some sort of connection between him and Kotoko.

If we're reading into this Further. John and Kotoko are actually very similar in their want to become someone's "savior" as that's what gives them a sense of purpose.

John's an interesting character in this dynamic. Because if Mikoto is the helpless princess, John is the faithful prince. Coming to save his pitiful damsel whose too weak to protect himself.

(Mikoto T2 VD)

John: It’s true that I was the one who wanted to destroy everything… and the weakness of Boku, who couldn’t stand up for himself all alone, might have been the origin of that. But… that’s all there is to it. Is that a sin?

Mikoto has little to no agency and he Knows This. He doesn't know what's happening, is confused and terrified all the time, and feels like he's on a train with an unknown destination. He feels powerless and like he has no control. While John tries his best to help him, but ultimately harms him, cause John will do what He thinks Mikoto needs without knowing what Mikoto wants. Something he seems regretful for.

Hey, I just wanted to save you So why did it come to this?

However, Kotoko does have some sense of Power and Agency and actively Holds this over others.

From the begin I've never asked for your understanding! My actions, one by one, are bringing earth closer to peace. Useless Weaklings should just shut up and let me protect them!

There's nothing inherently wrong with wanting to present more masculine or feminine. However, there is a problem with enforcing strict and rigid roles onto people, especially if those roles enforce systems of power that allow for the exploitation of groups of people by elevating one group and putting down the other.

Even if the gender roles the two fit in are flipped, it is still playing into unhealthy ideals of gender and society that perpetuate abusive systems of power.

(Utena Scripts)

Voice:  Was the ring from the prince meant as an engagement ring? Voice:  That part was good, Voice:  but because of the strength of her admiration for the prince, Voice:  the princess made up her mind to become a prince herself! Voice:  But is that really good for her?

(I got it in!)

I think I might have to wait for Deep Cover's MV to release to fully discuss this, but this is really curious to me.

[copwef]

A couple pet peave I have about rottmnt Future fanfics.

Everyone always depicts the resistance as desperate and more "rag-tag" than it really was.

We saw how effortlessly the krang defeated the U.S. government and destroyed all their missiles and nukes. We also see a soldiers first perspective view of getting killed by the krang.

However we see briefly todd and another soldier doing the same thing and actually holding their own. In both the movie and the unused intro scene.

Another thing is that everyone says that Donnie was the only thing keeping krang at bay.

look at this screenshot.

In this screenshot we see several huge ships of Donnie's design. While designed by Donnie there is no way he could have single handedly built all those ships. Meaning there where MANY other people in the resistance who had to have helped.

Meaning there where others who understood and was able to replicate Donnie's technology.(Purple dragons and maybe even Draxum on a small scale)

And I'm pretty sure it wasn't confirmed when Donnie died. For all we know he died first and this is all happening years after his death.

This combined evidence means that the resistance was not completely powerless against the krang after Donnie died, thought it probably did weaken them. And it certainly proves the resistance was not some pitiful effort. It had to have had hundreds if not THOUSANDS of people.

It it were it would have gotten wiped out just as fast as the government did in the rottmnt movie.

(No offensive to any of the great rottmnt fanfic maker's or anyone's AUs they are all great, this is just something I found to be a common misconception)

[definitelynotshouting]

The salmon swam in a slow, lazy circle.

It would drift up, close to the shoreline, then turn, and batter once more against the world border. Sand and seagrass would stir in its wake, before settling, and the cycle would begin anew.

Grian could do nothing but watch it.

Wasn’t much else to do.

Up, shoreline, down, border.

It seemed cruel, to let this happen. To watch this salmon swim in its tiny pool of water- trapped in a loop it can’t escape.

It had been just upstream, a few days ago. It had hovered just outside the world border, before slipping inside- seemingly without even realising what it was getting itself into.

Without even realising it had doomed itself, with that one, fatal mistake.

The salmon suddenly switched, changed its path, and started looping in the opposite direction.

Down, border, up, shoreline.

Maybe it’s lonely. It’s been stuck in that section of the pool for a while, after all. Alone.

Maybe it’s hungry. Grian can’t imagine there’s much in the way of food down there. Yesterday, he gave it some bread crumbs. He only has two loaves left, now- acacia biomes never had the best land for farming.

Maybe it’s scared of Grian. He had been watching it for a good few hours today. He would be scared, too, in its place. Confused. Bewildered. Overwhelmed. Panicked.

Because it was so free, just a couple days ago. It could swim as far as it wanted up and down the riverbank, with all of its fishy friends. Now it was trapped. Alone.

Naïve little fish.

Has it even realised that its freedom is gone? That now it’s stuck here- forever powerless, under the scrutiny of a creature that won’t give it pity?

Has it even realised that despite all of its suffering, it will never gain anything?

…

Grian does not bother naming the salmon. In a few days, he will run out of bread, and the wheat will not have grown.

The salmon will be cooked crudely in a furnace, with sticks used as fuel- and Grian will ration its remains until the next crop harvest.

Then he’ll ration those crops until the next poor victim wanders in.

And then the cycle will begin anew.

///

uhh same anon as the one that sent in that other snippet (minecraft soundtrack headcanon). assuming i actually remembered to send in the other one.

i dont know?? what i ate?? to write this?? like am i cooking or is it just almost 1am and i need to Go To Bed.

in my mind the parrallels and forshadowing and implications are all on a corkboard being tied together with red string. the dots, ive connected them. its been salmon all along

THIS HITS ANON I TRULY LOVE THESE SNIPPETS.... insanely flattered to be receiving them for hunger au 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 it really is all about those repeating cycles, huh. Smth smth the cycle of not only violence but also loneliness and isolation. And theres something so haunting about the idea that his hunger started even before he became a Watcher

[dearweirdme]

Since you are upset about how Jkkrs talk about Jk let me ask you this. Do you honestly believe that the way taekookers talk about Jk is any better? When someone reads what taekookers have to say about Jk would they ever get the impression that this is is grown man who has made it clear on several occasions that he has a mind of his own? It’s not just Jk btw because even the way you potray Tae leaves very little to be desired. You constantly potray them as this pitiable duo that have been forced to endure torture and separation from the company even though nothing they have ever said or done has given anyone that idea. Taekook both sit down and have a conversation about being awkward and kinda drifting apart yet you make them out to be some puppets who do anything the company asks of them just because you don’t want to accept the words that come out of their own mouths. Just take a look at the things taekookers have been saying about Jk since AYS was announced. You lot spoke about tired he was up to the point of falling at airports and making it to look like Jk is just so powerless against the company that he cannot even stand up for himself when they mentally and physically abuse him even though he is the same person who spoke about wanting to take on more when his schedules were officially ended. You don’t respect Jungkook either and if you have gone all this while telling yourselves that you do, then that is sad because respecting someone entails listening to them, respecting their choices and opinions but that is not what you taekookers have ever done. How respectful do you think you are being to Jk when you sit here and call him a liar just because he says something that goes against your ship? I also haven’t forgotten all the years taekookers spent calling Jk a cheater, a sellout and someone who was mentally abusive to taehyung. I haven’t forgotten how many taekookers dropped Jk during layover because he apparently didn’t support Tae enough or didn’t stand up for Tae when the company was sabotaging him and letting Jk have all the payola. Where was this sermon then? Where is this sermon when taekookers complain about Jk being “cold” to taehyung or when taekookers complain about Jk not reciprocating Tae’s affections? Are you going to deny that taekookers haven’t done all of these? Jk is just a prop to shippers and nothing more. You think that you are being nicer to him because you package your words nicely but the truth is deep down, many of you don’t see him as a human being but just shipping material and the worst part of it is that, constantly stripping him of his autonomy is all because you need a way to justify your ship. When he does anything that doesn’t make sense the easiest thing you do is act like Jk is some 1 year old who cannot make any decisions for himself and who lets the company treat him like trash. Go through your blogs and read the way you taekookers talk about or potray Jungkook and then tell me if that is what you do when you care about someone. He spent the entire solo era trying to make people to understand that he has a voice and he is very capable of making his own decisions and he reiterated this over and over . When he was asked if the company punished or scolded him for going Live with Tae words were “punish who? Me? At the level that I am”? But not long after that, you lot were back to claiming that the company made him delete his instagram as punishment for going Live and even with AYS, tkkrs act like Jk had no choice and was forced into it even though he has been vocal about how much he loved it. Even now with him openly showing support for NJ amidst everything, he has shown once again that he is and always was in control of his words and actions but you people will be right back to calling him a puppet the moment he does or says something you don’t like. It’s such a pity.

If your side has any sense and empathy left, you would all go and call out that blogger for being ablist on main, because they are doing something that is very wrong and harmful to neurodivergent people everywhere. To point out negative behavior and decide that it’s the neurodivergence speaking, because what other explanation could there be for undesired behavior right?

In stead of calling me out for behavior of tkkrs I have had no say in, or wasn’t even around in fandom for. All of you shouldn’t be so scared to call out your own when they screw up.

I call out my own side when it’s needed. I call out my own side when they talk shit about Jm. You lot are too scared of not falling in line, to even try and do it.. instead you do what you always do.. turn it into a Tkk debate. I pity the lot of you.