#and can we please for the love of god stop with this narrative

[heynhay]

will you break and take all the words from my mouth?

[genderkoolaid]

im just begging people to stop saying shit like "afabs are always infantilized" "afab people can only be seen as victims by society" please. for the love of god. it's such a shallow take on misogyny. especially if you know anything about like antiblack racism or lesbophobia or whorephobia or. y'know. anti transmasculinity? we can and should talk about infantilization and it's deadly consequences but the way some of y'all talk about it is eerily similar to Those Kinds of white cis radfem-adjacent girls who are almost in love with the narrative of their own victimhood. maybe we only bring up infantilization once we already have an understanding that it is only one aspect of misogyny & its variants.

& frankly a lot of the time even when people talk about infantilization often it's in ways that i think fail to properly capture its harm because its being seen as the opposite of demonization instead of them being two tools in the same toolbox

[norrizzandpia]

Could you please write something about lando and some sort of enemies thing? even just a blurb, i just need lando fucking the sassiness out of someone.

Ok so i loved this but it isnt smut and its very angsty and i kinda just took the idea and ran with it

IM SO SORRY IF THIS ISNT WHAT YOU WANTED PLZ FORGIVE ME 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Enemies To Lovers, Ya Know? (LN4)

Summary: They’ve always hated each other. Always. Right?

Warnings: language, lando being highkey toxic but we can just ignore that!, im sorry i dont know if i like this plz let me know if its shit in the comments 🤞🏻, gender stereotyping? Im not sure the term lmk 💗

Note: SHES A LONG ONE SO GRAB THAT POPCORN also very cutesy and fluffy ones are on the way in apology for this

It wasn’t a secret to the fans, media, or the entirety of the grid.

Lando and Y/n hated each other.

No one was quite sure when it started or how it happened, but it was clear that the two couldn’t stand each other. Through menacing glares and snide comments, both of them showed how much loathing really went on behind the scenes. It didn’t help that they were teammates, both of them driving for the beautiful papaya, as it brought on horrible reviews and narratives. Continuously making McLaren look reckless, Lando and Y/n had gotten countless amounts of scoldings from the PR team, the employees pleading with them to stop the games and just get along, but, for some reason, they never could.

Y/n hated the sight of his face and the sound of his voice, and Lando…

Well, Lando didn’t exactly know why he hated her. She had never done anything to him, in fact, she had been so sweet to him the first time they met he had been convinced he was going to fall in love with her, but, over time, the anticipation of his inevitable love for her transformed into pure annoyance at her presence.

“Can you please stop breathing so loud?” Her voice broke through his thoughts as they waited for their next interview.

Rolling his eyes, Lando set his gaze on her, “Are you asking me to stop breathing?”

“No, I’m asking you to stop doing it so loud.” She countered.

Usually, he wouldn’t comment on someone’s bad behavior, but she made him so aggravated that he couldn’t help but look her in the eyes and say, “No.”

His sickly sweet smile made her fist twitch at her side as she got up from her chair and gathered her things, “God, you never stop, do you?”

He laughed as she left, “Not for you.”

—

“How do you guys even coexist let alone be teammates?” Daniel asked Y/n as they sat and ate lunch in Alpine Hospitality.

She shrugged, “I don’t know.”

He sat back, his fork falling to the side of his salad as he stared at her intently, “Would this have anything to do with that conversation you had with me when you first started racing for McLaren?”

Her head lulled against the table as she groaned, “Daniel, I’m so sick of you bringing that up. I was just hyped up with excitement over being the first girl to race in F1. What I said to you then was the product of delusion and a charming smile.”

His head tilted, “Mhm, sure. So, when you said you loved him, that was fabricated too?”

Her heart sped up and her cheeks burned at the inference, “Yes. You can’t love someone within a few months of knowing them.”

His eyes told her he knew exactly the kind of war that was going on in her head, “Y/n, it’s okay to love someone. It’s okay to put yourself out there.”

She saw the way his hand reached for hers lying on the table, but she pulled it back to dodge his digits trying to comfort her, “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t love him then.”

His mischievous smile haunted her, “I didn’t say his name, Y/n. All I said was it’s okay to love someone. I never said ‘Lando’”.

—

“So, your rivalry is one of the main things you two are known for on the track. How has this affected your relationship off the track? What I mean to ask is does the distaste come from what’s going on on track or just a wavelength you two can’t catch?” The reporter asked, his eyes searching for real answers in the PR-trained athletes.

Y/n opened her mouth to answer, the planned words ready to fly off her tongue, but Lando’s scoffing and interruption stopped her, “There isn’t a rivalry on track. If you know what I mean.”

The reporter’s eyebrows shot up, the opportunity for a juicy story right in front of him, “Are you saying Y/n doesn’t compare to your level of driving skills?”

Even though she hated him and expected nothing but the worst, she was still surprised when he didn’t hesitate to nod, “Well, she hasn’t been in Formula 1 for as long as I have. I have more experience and, therefore, I’m a better driver.”

His lack of humbleness had her blood boiling, “You’re answering this question as if I’m not sitting right here.”

All the men in the room turned at her voice, seemingly realizing she was sitting up there just like he was. The obliviousness to her presence wasn’t something she wasn’t familiar with, it happening on a daily basis, but that didn’t stop the sinking feeling from setting in.

“Do you have something to add?” The reporter shot out, his gaze flipping from both drivers.

She turned her head, glancing at Lando, before continuing, “I think it’s inappropriate for you to ask about Lando and I’s relationship. That’s something between him and I, not anyone else, and I think Lando’s answer is arrogant and inappropriate as well seeing as I’m actually ahead of him in the Constructer’s Championship.”

Each of the men addressed in her statement went to defend themselves, but she put up her hands, “I’m not done. As a woman in this sport, you have to be able to set boundaries with the people around you, especially teammates,” She glared at Lando, “It is clear you were and are trying to start something by your question and Lando may be too naive to see it, but I do not appreciate it. Next question.”

The room was silent before another reporter stood up, a woman this time, and asked her own question. A good, informative one that had Y/n smiling at her in gratefulness.

She answered it with ease even with Lando’s death stare drilling into her side.

—

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? YOU MADE ME LOOK LIKE A FOOL!” He screamed as soon as they were alone. She knew it was coming. He had given her rude looks all throughout the panel ever since she shut him and that reporter down.

Looking at him like he had grown two heads, Y/n waved her arms around, “What did you want me to do, Lando? Let you talk shit on me while I was right there?”

His annoyed groan echoed throughout the room as he took a moment to reel himself in before looking at her like she could die and he wouldn’t care, “I wasn’t talking shit and you know it. All you did was take an opportunity to make me look stupid in front of people who control my reputation.”

“Oh, wow I didn’t know that, Lan! Thanks for clearing it up!” She said sarcastically.

His finger came to point at her, “I worked so hard to get where I am, I love my job, and yet you make me question leaving every single day.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, “Worked hard? Are you kidding me, Lando? Your daddy paid for your way in here and we both know it.”

That seemed to strike a nerve as his face heated up in anger before he hit the wall in a sheer mask of rage, “WHERE DO YOU GET OFF, BITCH?”

Her eyes closed and she inhaled a slow breath before saying, “Is bitch all you have? Really?”

He stalked towards her quickly, his frame towering over hers as he stared her down, “I have so much more, but, for the sake of your feelings, I won’t do that to you.”

She laughed with a dry, short sound, “Try me.”

His eyebrows lifted, “Really?”

“Go right ahead.”

Those three words seemingly ruined her life as Lando went into a full-fledged monologue about why he hated her with every cell in his body, “I think it’s crazy the amount of ego you have because all you really are is a PR stunt, so McLaren looks good. Why do you think they would sign a 20-year-old girl who can’t drive for shit? It’s because you’re a girl, Y/n. Your whole message about this industry needing to stop using women as pawns is bullshit. You wanna know why? It’s because you’re the epitome of that with the way you were only signed and you were only ever going to be signed because of your gender and the things it could do for our image. Do you understand me? You don’t mean shit to this team.”

It was as if he had pulled her greatest fears from the depths of her body and presented them in front of her, confirming them. Her eyes watered and her hands shook. Not from anger, but from the crushing reality that Lando never cared about her. From their early days when she thought he was flirting with her and that the jacket he draped over her shoulders when it was cold meant something more to now, where he was yelling at her and tearing her down piece by piece, she didn’t recognize him.

No amount of time spent in bed trying to understand what she had done to him to make him hate her in the way he did would never be enough to conjure up some form of an explanation.

She would have to live with the fact that the man she loved hated her more than anything else in the world. That he could see her lying wounded on the street and he would swerve his car to injure her more.

Somewhere in the span of her thinking, she had begun to cry. The soft, wet tears slowly made their way down her face as if to tease Lando and the mistake he had just made. The meaningless words dawned on him too late as Y/n roughly turned away from him and made her way to the door, slamming it shut and being as loud as she could be.

The knowing faces she saw as she ran out of the hospitality told her that their yelling had been heard by everyone. Something which made her skin crawl and stomach churn at the thought of.

Her head throbbed as one idea bounced around its walls.

Her time at McLaren was effectively over.

—

Whispering increased as Lando made his way through the doors of McLaren’s Headquarters. He had been called for an impromptu meeting with Charlotte and Zak, a pairing that scared him shitless.

His footsteps halted when her short bob caught his eye outside of Zak’s office, “Hey, is everything okay?”

Her panicked gaze met him and she aggressively grabbed the sleeve of his sweatshirt and pulled him into the room, Zak already standing there in wait, “What did you do?”

His hard tone made Lando rethink his entire life, “What do you mean?”

Charlotte hit his chest, “Don’t be stupid, Lando. What did you say to her?”

He shook his head, “I seriously have no clue what you two are talking about.”

Zak yelled in annoyance, “Did you not check your phone? Your teammate’s just resigned because, and I quote, ‘it wasn’t the right fit’. Lando, what did you say to her?”

The air in the room disappeared as Lando’s eyes narrowed, “She what?”

He couldn’t think, all he could do was slowly slide down to sit in the chair behind him as his legs gave out under him.

“She quit, Lando,” Charlotte repeated.

“Lando, if you don’t tell us what you said to her right now, you won’t be the only driver out of a seat.” Zak threatened.

He put his head in his hands as he mumbled, “I told her she was only here because we wanted to sign a woman for good PR.”

A creepy, deafening silence fell upon the room as Zak and Charlotte gazed at each other. The two of them were finally at their wits end with the two driver’s misplaced dislike for each other.

Charlotte cleared her throat, “What?”

“I told her she was only here becaus-” He began to repeat, but she interrupted him.

“I heard you.”

At that, Zak leaned forward on his desk, his intimidating stance making Lando straighten up, “You better go to her and apologize for what you said. Lando, if she doesn’t come back here tomorrow asking for her seat back, I will personally ensure that your next years with us are pure hell. If you just drove one of the best drivers we have ever seen out because you couldn’t man up enough to tell her you love her and instead created this narrative where you hated her, I will ruin your career. I don’t care what kind of relationship we have built over the time you’ve been with us.”

Charlotte rested her hand on his shoulder, “Where’d you even get the idea that that was why we signed her?”

He shook his head, “Nowhere! I just wanted to hit her where it hurt because that’s what she did to me. I know we didn’t sign her on for that reason and I know the kind of talent she has! I don’t know why I did that! I-” He looked at them helplessly, “I’m sorry.”

“Save it for her,” Charlotte said sternly as she gestured for him to leave.

It didn’t take his body any moment longer to leap from his chair and go into autopilot, speeding to her apartment. There had been a few car crash scares on the way there, but he, ultimately, made it to her place with just a shaken feeling.

His hand wrapped against the wooden door, praying she would answer. The sound of her footsteps sounded from behind the door as the lock clicked and it squeezed open.

“What are you doing here? You got what you wanted. I left McLaren.” She said quietly and it was then that Lando realized how exhausted she was of their ongoing feud.

“Y/n, I never wanted that.” He said softly as he rested against the edge of her door, looking down at her adoringly.

His quiet words seemed to aggravate her as she swung the door open and yelled, “THEN WHAT DO YOU WANT? I WENT QUIET WHEN YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE ANNOYED WITH HOW MUCH I SPOKE OUT, I STOPPED MAKING JOKES WHEN YOU TOLD ME I WASN’T FUNNY, AND I LEFT WHEN YOU TOLD ME I DIDN’T HAVE A REAL PLACE ON THE TEAM. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”

He couldn’t help the way his heart sunk at the hell he had put her through.

All because he couldn’t be honest with himself.

“I want you.” He whispered, looking in her eyes like it would help her understand.

However, it didn’t and she scoffed, “Oh, so you hated me yesterday, but you want me today? Real mature, Lando. How about you leave me alone, okay? I can’t take your mood swings anymore.”

The door began to close on him, but he stopped it with his hand. Pushing it open and stepping into her apartment, he forced her to hear him, “I never hated you. Never. I know it seemed like it and the things I said to you yesterday were absolutely disgusting. I don’t blame you for being confused about why I’m telling you this now with the way I have treated you over the time we’ve been teammates. But, and just listen to me here, I never hated you. I hated the way you made me feel. I hated the fact that I loved you more than I ever could’ve loved Luisinha, I hated the way you made me want to give up a Grand Prix just so you could win it and feel happy, and I hate the way you’re right there yet I can’t have you.”

Her resolve cracked, he could tell, but she still held her ground, “You think you coming over here and telling me what I’ve been wanting to hear for years will erase what you said to me yesterday?”

His hands came to gently rest over her arms, trying so hard to show her how much she meant to him, “No, I don’t think that. I know what I said to you will always be something you think about, an insecurity that will never go away, and I hate myself for doing that to you. But, I would hate myself more if I let you walk away from F1 and McLaren thinking all you ever were was some ploy.”

She stared at him, clearly dodgy and untrusting of his words, but the look in his eyes, soft and pleading, told her that he had come here with good intentions.

Trying to stop herself from caving in, she looked away, “Okay, you’ve made your point. You can leave now.”

He shook his head, “No.”

Groaning, “Why? You told me what you wanted to and I believe you so what else is there?”

“You haven’t told me that you’re coming back to McLaren.” He said as he pulled her face back to look at him with his fingers.

“Why would I do that? How do I know this thing between us stops here?” She asked hesitantly.

“It won’t,” He began, his words causing her eyebrows to furrow, “It won’t because I still love you. I can’t make up for the things I said to you nor can I take them back, but what I can do is show you that I never meant any of it. If you come back, I’m telling you our hostile relationship won’t be hostile anymore, but I can’t promise I won’t work to get you to love me too.”

Her head fell down, so close to leaning into his chest, as she whispered, “I already do.”

He lightly nudged her head to rest against him as he softly said, “Well, that cuts down my workload by a lot.”

She chuckled, the sound reminding him that he might just be out of the woods, as she looked up at him, “And what if I gave you a chance?”

His smile reached his eyes, “I wouldn’t let you down.”

“Well, then maybe I’ll give you a chance.”

He kissed her forehead lightly before her tone shifted, “Is it true what you said yesterday? Did McLaren only sign me because it helped their image?”

He rapidly shook his head, “No, that was a stupid comment to make. That has never and will never be true. Your skill and talent speaks for itself, Y/n. Do you wonder why I get so defensive when someone talks about our ‘rivalry’? It’s because I know you’re better than me.”

“Don’t do that.” She said.

“Don’t do what?” He asked.

“Lie to me.”

He smiled at her, “Love, you said it yourself yesterday. You’re beating me in the Constructer’s Championship. If you look at our numbers side by side, it’s a fact you’re the better driver.”

Her mischievous smile greeted him, “I know. I just wanted you to say it out loud.”

Scoffing with a loving smile on his face, “Oh, you drive me crazy.”

She returned his smile, the look telling him she was in this with him for a long time, “Enemies to lovers, baby. Enemies to lovers.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR EIGHT

in which graves are dug up, walls are built, and nobody knows what happened in the bathroom that night.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 4.6k+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

8:00 ────ㅇ────────────── 24:00

DINGUS: hey, do you guys remember the first night they met? 

BIRDIE: you mean when we took her to the bar to meet everyone and they very clearly fell in love at first sight? no, doesn’t ring a bell. 

DINGUS: stop being such a fucking smart ass

NANCE: @DINGUS What about it? 

DINGUS: she just called me asking me about it. said eddie was nice until you guys went to the bathroom. apparently he acted differently when you guys came back, but i can’t remember anything about what was said?? did eddie actually start acting differently??? 

BIRDIE: i remember that! thought it was weird or eddie just started overthinking? i dunno. i was in the bathroom obviously.

ARGYLE  😎: oh i remember that night very clearly brochacho

ARGYLE  😎: kind of surprised you don’t, dude

JOHNNY: Oh God yeah @DINGUS you’re living up to your namesake dude

NANCE: You really don’t remember, do you? 

DINGUS: @NANCE and how the fuck do YOU remember? you weren’t even there, nance. you were in the bathroom as robs put it.

NANCE: Best friend privileges. You really might want to remember, Dingus. 

BIRDIE: @NANCE message me real quick? 

DINGUS: hey! no fucking whispering! that’s not fucking helpful! @JOHNNY @ARGYLE  😎 what did i say? 

NANCE: @BIRDIE I will. Let me call Eddie first.

—

HOUR EIGHT - 11:00 PM

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop - you were trying to sleep. If anyone asked you, you could have honestly defended yourself. The couch was uncomfortable, your back aching as you repeatedly twisted back and forth to just try and find a minute of rest. Your mind was reeling, still replaying all of your moments with Eddie leading up to this night. Suddenly, you were overthinking it all. You couldn’t differentiate between things that really happened, or things that you’d simply blown out of proportion due to your innate need to spin the narrative of Eddie being the villain. 

“Yeah, I… I think she’s sleeping.” 

You hadn’t even heard Eddie opening his door finally, your back facing the hallway as you stayed curled up tightly. His footsteps are heavy as he gets closer to you.

“She’s… uh, she’s on the couch.”

Immediately, you can hear a shrill voice shouting over the line. It’s hard to miss. You can imagine the way he’s wincing, holding the phone out from his ear in an attempt to not let her scolding damage his ear drums. 

“I didn’t think she went to bed!” he hisses, trying to stay quiet, under the impression you’re still asleep, “I- Jesus H. Christ, Nance! Calm down, calm do-” he’s cut off as the anger over the line still leaks into the calm air of the room, “No. No, I wasn’t- I was going to let- Nance. Please, can I get a fucking word in?” 

You hold your breath during his pause, and the clear scolding, Nancy’s scolding, finally ceases. 

“I wasn’t going to let her sleep on the couch,” he says slowly. You almost turn over, almost face him and show him you’re very much awake and not sleeping. “I didn’t think she’d go to bed while I was in there. I thought… I thought- Jesus, I thought at worst, she’d snoop through my shit. Maybe go for a walk or something. I didn’t- I just… Fuck, I needed space. It’s just been a long night.”

Nancy’s voice is no longer audible, but it’s clear he’s listening to what she has to say. You’re nearly overcome with guilt; you’ve done plenty of things wrong, but to eavesdrop on a private conversation? It might be your worst crime against Eddie yet. 

Suddenly, he says, “It’s just been a lot.” 

Something in his tone has changed. It’s gone soft, whispering from his lips in sudden muted blue. It’s a type of sadness you can’t quite place – it’s the kind of mourning you’d seen in his eyes in the photo. 

Nancy must say something, because he hums in response. It’s obviously not good enough of an answer for Nancy over the phone, because her voice grows back to audible levels, less shrill, more stern. 

Eddie answers with words this time. “I… I think I do.” 

He thinks he does what? 

“I do. I really fuckin’ do.”

He’s more sure in his answer the second time around to the unknown question. The guilt grows. Inflating, turbulating, ready to crack your ribs. The vines are no longer there to hold you together.

You’re put out of your misery when Eddie murmurs out a bye, Nance and you can hear his phone snap shut. If it were just a mere few hours ago, one hour ago, you would have made a comment about it - you would have joked again about what year it was, how maybe the two of you should get to sleep so first thing in the morning, you could drag him down to the Apple store to get a normal phone like the rest of you. But you’re not a time traveler, and Eddie is still an ocean away from you. 

And you’re not a strong swimmer. The water’s were rocky, were vicious, and if you dared to try and backstroke to his side of the water, you’d surely drown. He had to come to you. 

You’re praying he comes to you. Eyes tightly screwed shut, still resembling a ball on his old couch. 

Please reach out for me, your mind screams, please wake me up. Please tell me to come back to bed with you. Please tell me we can forget all the words said in the kitchen. Please, please, please. 

You don’t know where the pleading comes from. But whatever gods and goddesses may exist, whatever higher power in the Universe that would normally ignore you, hears out your silent pleas. 

His hand is warm when he first grabs your shoulder. 

It’s not rough, surprisingly gentle as fingertips press into your clothed skin and the first shake comes. It’s hardly enough to rouse a truly sleeping person. And Eddie realizes this as the second shake is a bit more firm, moving you a little more with a soft whisper of, “Hey, wake up.” 

The command isn’t as harsh as you’re used to from him. It’s crushed velvet, smoothing over your skin like the blanket you’d previously pondered for, making the guilt begin to deflate. A slow release of air and the accompanying feelings of dishonesty and disloyalty leaves your chest weathered when his next whisper comes not only louder, but closer.

“C’mon, you’ve gotta get up,” he insists, but all you care about is his cologne. He never changed it from that first night. Always something warm, always something spiced. And you hate it, because it’s still the feeling of coming home from a long week, “You’re not sleeping on the couch. I’ll carry you if I have to.” 

That makes your sleeping facade crack. Your lips betray you - one twitch, and Eddie knows you’re awake, pressing you to roll onto your back. 

“I know you’re awake now. Let’s go,” you can hear the dimples in his tone. You can picture the lazy smile, the shining eyes. With your eyes closed, you can pretend you never had to meet mean Eddie. When you’re not looking at him, it’s almost as if the man you initially met still exists, to have and to hold, to make inside jokes with as you let the scenery around the two of you fade to black. 

You crack your eyes back open to find him looking down at you just as you’d expected, but not nearly with as much mischief or mirth as you had craved. 

The Eddie you first met is gone. He’s not coming back, and you can’t live with your eyes closed. Hell, maybe he had drowned in that ocean between you two as well. 

Maybe if you took the leap, just attempted to take on the waves, you’d meet him somewhere at the bottom of it all. 

“I thought you said you’d carry me?” you tease. 

His hand. His hand is still on your shoulder, and his palm is still searing you. You couldn’t pull away from its burn if you tried. 

“I’d carry you if I had to,” he corrects, “You’re awake, therefore, I don’t have to.” 

“I don’t know. I think my legs may be broken.” 

Eddie says your name firmly. It takes you off guard, momentarily distracts you from the way he squeezes your shoulder, “Let’s go before I change my mind and leave you out here.” 

You decide against putting up any further fight. You’re just happy he’s talking to you again. How odd and peculiar that feeling is. 

You rise from the couch and take him in. He’s no longer in his jeans, having traded out his earlier day clothes for something more comfortable. A pair of comfortable grey sweatpants, one or two sizes too big with the drawn string pulled to its limit and tied into a knot. He’s wearing a faded band shirt, loved in every way possible: it’s been cut along the bottom to shorten it in length, several holes torn along the torso and in the neck hole, the once black fabric now a stormy shade of grey far darker than the sweatpants. There’s a logo across the chest, peeling away at the edges. 

“Deftones?” you ask, squinting to make out the words written amongst the logo, “What is that? A band?” 

He chuckles, almost in disbelief, before he realizes you’re serious, “Wait, you’ve really never heard of them?” 

You shake your head, ���No, are they any good?” 

You’re still making no move to stand, Eddie towering over you as you tilt back to meet his gaze. The disbelief is morphing, ever changing, pulling in and out of his features like the sea against sand. Like the waves of his self-imposed ocean that taunts you. You only dig your toes into the sand, you only stand at a far enough distance to not get your feet wet yet. You’re not ready to dive in. You’re not brave enough yet. 

His chuckle this time isn’t in disbelief. 

“Yeah, yeah. They’re great. I can show you them later, if you just come to bed.” 

The game of teasing and begging is over, and you refuse to push your luck. He’s talking to you. Normally. You finally stand and shrug off that hand on your shoulder, finally trying to get your wits and not glance down at the waistband of his boxers. 

“Okay, lead the way,” you gesture before spinning your upper body around with your feet planted in place, a soft crack coming from your back. 

There’s no words exchanged in that brief walk to the bedroom; there’s nothing else to really say. The fight happened, Eddie locked you out, you’re both having to start from square one. The ocean still calls to you, and there’s nothing you can change about it. 

His room is the same as it was hours ago, when you’d locked yourself into it. A little messy, a little boyish, but comforting all the same. 

“A couple ground rules,” he finally breaks the silence. Oh, this oughta be good. “One, no more looking through my shit for…. Uh, magazines.”

“Trust me,” you hold up a hand in defeat, “Learned my lesson the first time. You can keep your gross Playboys.” 

His brows wrinkle in minute irritation, “Gross? They’re not gro- You know what? Whatever. Yeah. Stay away from my gross playboys. Second rule, I have enough pillows we can make a… wall, I guess?” 

You have to bite back your amusement, you have to remind yourself of the roar of an ocean. Maybe if you taste the salt on your lips again, you’ll remember that this is all temporary. 

“Sounds good to me,” you agree. 

“Obviously that means staying on your side of the bed. And it’s not a big bed, obviously, so-”

“What side of the bed do you prefer?” 

“Excuse me?” 

He’s dumbfounded despite the question not being a hard one. “The bed – which side do you prefer?” 

“I, uh, I-” he brings a hand up to the back of his neck, a nervous habit as he rubs his curls that are matted at the nape, “The left, I guess? Or I mean, if we’re looking down at it, it’d be the right, but…” he waves his hand in the general direction of the side he’s referring to, the one closest to the wall, “You know.” 

A nervous Eddie is a sight to behold. The fidgeting, the flush of his neck and cheeks, the stuttering sentences. He’s nervous about sharing a bed with you. 

“Perfect,” you offer a smile, although you don’t think it does much for him considering he’s looking down at the ground in bashfulness, “I prefer the right side. I just refer to them by left or right when you’re laying down, by the way.” 

You don’t have to add that tidbit – you don’t need to reassure him that your mind works in the same way as his in the slightest. But you do, and the red of his cheeks lightens. 

“Cool,” he murmurs.

“Cool,” you echo. 

The awkwardness can be afforded as the two of you straighten out the comforter, not needing to focus on shaking hands or fluttering chests as Eddie climbs in first and begins to rearrange his spare pillows as a barrier. His sweatpants slip down a bit lower as he does this, and you catch sight of the band of his boxers.

The band of his boxers pressing into the jut of his hips. The streak of alabaster, soft and unmarked unlike his arms, and the coarse patch of hair that interrupts the center of it all. 

“Have you ever considered getting hip tattoos?” you blurt out, and immediately, you both freeze. 

You really need to learn to think before you speak. 

“Uh… what?” Eddie chuckles nervously, presenting an opportunity to redeem yourself. 

He didn’t even have to catch you staring. You’d outed yourself.

And yet, you choose to double down, to take the embarrassment in stride as if it doesn’t phase you, “Hip tattoos. Have you ever thought about getting some? I think they’d be pretty sick.” 

Your self-destruction pays off when Eddie smiles up genuinely at you. Sugar coated sweetness, a bit of authentic amusement. 

“You’re right. They would be pretty sick.” 

He should have mocked you for staring at his hips. He should have taken the opportunity to embarrass you and run, but the tides are shifting between you two, and you keep taking two steps closer to his ocean. The sand only grows colder and colder the closer you get to the edge, and it has your mind reaming with the possibility of what it would feel like to recklessly dive in. 

“I’m sorry, I’m going to need you to say that again, this time into the microphone,” you make a fist, an invisible microphone in your grasp as you thrust it out towards Eddie. 

He laughs. He laughs, and its reverb travels through the caverns of your chest. Suddenly, you’re sipping a watered down Amaretto Sour and his breath smells of Jack & Coke, and the lowlights of the room have become treacherous bar lighting as you lean into his shoulder, sitting side by side on bar stools. 

The echoes still carry as he swats away your hand, eyes squinted with the mirth you’d be seeking out since he ‘woke’ you up, “Jesus Christ, you’re an idiot.” 

“Yeah, a funny idiot.” 

“Oh, now you’re just pushing it too far.” 

“Too far? I don’t think I’ve gone far enough.” 

Why don’t we ever hang out? Why don’t we ever banter like this when out with the others? 

It’s so easy, easy to continue to giggle as you turn out the bedroom light before crawling into bed with him, feeling his warmth radiating even through the pillows between the two of you. Pillows, oceans – they all have started to feel the same. 

Once the two of you have settled, you on your side and Eddie on his back, a nicer sort of silence blankets you. It’s almost as soft as his voice when he woke you, almost the same type of crushed velvet if you don’t reach out to it. But if you were to touch it, brush your fingertips over the material with intention and inhibition, you’d find the roughness. Roughness that mimics sand amongst an ocean’s waves, a roughness that says there’s more to be spoken about. 

“The bed’s nicer than the couch,” you speak out loud rhetorically, not necessarily to him, but to the coarseness. To the sand and to the fake velvet, “More comfortable.”

“I know,” he answers to fill the space. I know, meaning he’s slept on his couch. 

It makes sense. It’s his couch. But your mind runs rampant with the scenarios. Did he discover this through afternoon naps after hard shifts? Or maybe after one too many night outs that ended in collapsing face first into the cushions because he was too drunk to make it to his bedroom? 

You jump when he sits up suddenly, “Fuck.” 

“What’s your problem?” you twist from your position of your back facing him, squinting into the darkness.

“The photo.”

“What photo?”

“Photo evidence, you idiot! We have to send a photo to those fuckers.” 

You had nearly forgotten that this is what this is; your friends and a bet are the pushing force behind this all. It’s not fate, it’s not the moon bringing two tides  together. You didn’t happen upon his beach because you two decided to give this, whatever this was, a fighting chance. 

You sit up next to him, crinkling your nose, “My phone’s in the living room, I think.” 

“I can go get it.”

An offer of chivalry you didn’t even have to ask for. 

Same as him sharing the bed. Same as him paying for your meal when you forget your wallet, or catching you when you trip up steps outside a bar. You really wish the list would stop growing. 

He’s shuffling out of the bed, down the line of pillows and off the end of it, before you can even protest. You didn’t even tell him where the godforsaken phone might be besides that it’s in the living room. That doesn’t stop him. 

It feels like an eternity, but is probably no more than a full minute, before he’s returning back to the room. He’s looking down at the phone, your screen lit up and basking his face in the only light in the room. 

“What is it?” you can only assume the chat is messaging for a photo, by the scrunch of his brows and the small part of his lips. 

“Nothing.”

That was the first thing that made your stomach drop.

The second comes when he returns to the bed, fighting his way up into his original position, handing the phone over to you as you glance at the notifications. 

A notification from Steve. A private message, not sent in the groupchat. 

STEVE-O: i’m sorry, i really don’t know what happened that night. the others won’t tell me either so they’re kind of useless. whatever it was, i don’t think it was you, though, honey.

Honey. Mother fucking Steve Harrington, and his need to use nicknames. 

“All good?” Eddie asks, as if he didn’t just have access to this message, as if he doesn’t know what Steve’s said. You don’t know why the thought of Eddie seeing Steve’s careless nickname throws you over the edge. You just assume he’ll take it out of context, that he’ll spin it as a weapon against you. 

“Fine,” you curtly reply, opening your phone and ignoring the message, going straight to the group chat and opening your camera. Your heart is still racing in terrible inconvenience as you glance over your shoulder at him, “How do we wanna take it this time?” 

“I don’t know about you, but I personally just love to take it laying down-” 

“Are you trying to make a sexual innuendo right now? Because if so, stop. It’s terrible.” 

More giggles, more chuckles, more taunting waves of a daunting ocean that is scaring you less and less. Maybe the jump is worth it. Maybe the initial chill will break and show you warmth. Maybe it would never be cold to begin with. 

At least he’s teasing you, which is a good sign. You lay down in the same position as earlier, this time Eddie propping himself up to peek over the wall of pillows so his face is in the picture. 

It’s too dark to really see your faces very clearly. You can still make them out, to be fair, but it’s hard. You have to strain your eyes quite a bit to make out the mess of your hair and the indents of Eddie’s dimples.

Eddie’s dimples. His dimples. Oh God, he’s smiling.

“Turn on the flash,” he reaches over, invades your space with boy and spice and nostalgia to tap on the screen himself and do as he had just requested. 

“What was the point of telling me to do it, if you were just going to do it yourself,” you grumble, trying to yank the phone out of his reach. He only leans further, pressing into the boundary of pillows, his collarbone knocking against the back of your shoulder. 

Warmth. So, so much warmth. It occurs to you that it’s not just the smell of his cologne that feels like a long week’s homecoming; his touch and presence can manage to do the same, when he’s not being a pest of course. 

“Shut up and take the photo,” he bickers before giving up and settling back into his pose. He even adds to it, throwing up a peace sign with the hand not holding him up.

You can’t help but tease him for it, mimicking the motion with your own hand and failing at holding back your tittering. When you tap the button to take the photo, the screen flashes white and you both immediately groan before rubbing your eyes. 

“Fuck.”

“Wow, bright idea.” 

“Was that a pun?” Eddie stops mid eye rub, side-eyeing you, “Fuck off. That was a terrible pun.” 

“I never said my puns were good!” you try to defend yourself, blinking to bring relief to your scorned irises and focus on the photo of the two of you, “I said my jokes were good.”

“Puns are jokes.” 

You completely ignore him, and instead sigh deeply when you see the photo, “We need to retake it. No flash, this time. They can adjust brightness on their own time.” 

The photo is terrible, truly. The photo captures the moment somewhere between your enjoyment of copying Eddie and the pain the two of you had brought upon yourselves. Squinty eyes, coiled lips. Two peace signs of two drastically differently sized hands. 

Don’t you dare, you scorn your mind at that trail of thought, don’t even start that comparison.

“Why?” Eddie protests, once again beginning to lean over and take a closer look at your phone, chest brushing your shoulder again, “Oh, c’mon, it’s fine – just send it so we can sleep before they bother us again.” 

You just shake your head, already reopening the camera app and being sure to adjust the settings. No blinding this photo. 

“Say cheese, pretty boy.” 

It’s not until you’ve tapped to take the photo that you both realize what you’ve said. 

Pretty boy.

Eddie is leaning in still, just as he is in the photo you’ve taken, and both of you look far too happy to be sharing a bed. The words – the nickname, the compliment – are still formed on your lips in it. If the flash was on again, you’d see the blush of his reaction. 

Neither comment on it. You won’t lean into your embarrassment for a second time tonight, and Eddie isn’t in the business of teasing you cruelly anymore, it seems. 

You can hear him swallow hard before he asks, “Is that one good?” 

“Fine,” you squeak before clearing your throat, “Um, yeah, it’s good. I sent it.” 

“Okay, good.”

“Good.”

The awkwardness is stifling. Heavy and drowning and goddamn stifling. 

You toss your phone far too quickly onto his nightstand, wishing the bed would swallow you whole. 

If you two were friends, it would have been mindless teasing. The same as when Steve calls you honey, or Robin rambles about how hot you look on a night out. But you two aren’t friends.

You two aren’t friends because of some mysterious change that occurred in Eddie while you went to the bathroom. You haven’t forgotten the burning question, and the longer you two lay there, the more you let it consume you rather than regret. 

“Hey, Eddie? Can I ask you a question?”

He’s laying flat on his back as he answers you, hands nervously wringing on his stomach, “You just did, but sure.” 

It should be a good thing. He’s still teasing you, it’s still a good thing. But all your questions die in your throat. 

What happened when I went into the bathroom that first night?

Why did you turn so cold towards me?

 Was it my fault?

Why aren’t we friends? 

The last one doesn’t go down without a fight. It reverberates and battles you, it tries to pull you into the ocean head first. 

Why aren’t we friends? 

“Do you still drive a motorcycle?” 

That sure was a funny way of asking what you needed to. 

He’s quiet for a moment, clearly puzzled by your random question, but nevertheless he says, “Yeah. Why?”

“No reason.” 

You’re picturing him stalking away from you again, without so much as a goodbye, straddling the bike and tucking his head away into the motorcycle. The last glimpse you’d ever had of everything he could have been to you. It’s enough to make your eyes water, your bones shake, your toes curl into coarse sand until they bleed. 

The next time you hear his voice, he’s whispering your name. You don’t respond, and so he tries it again, saying it a bit louder this time. 

“I know you’re not asleep. No one can fall asleep that quickly.”

“I can,” you snap, still choking on his waves and personal mourning, a yearning you need to find the grave of once more to bury – for good this time. 

“Clearly, you can’t,” he shuffles, but you don’t check to see if he’s sitting up. (He’s not, he feels like his back is glued to the bed). His voice is back to crushed velvet and kindness, vulnerability and softness, a sort of home you can never return to, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” 

That piques your interest. You turn, laying on your back and looking at the same ceiling as him in that moment, “For what? Earlier in the kitchen? Or at the bar?” you feel his flinch, and are quick to add, “Because consider it water under the bridge, okay? You’re forgive-”

“I mean for everything. I’m sorry for… everything.” 

Everything. Ten letters, four syllables. It means a whole lot more than it should be capable of. 

“Everything?” your voice is hardly audible as you turn to look at him. He’s half hidden by the wall put between the two of you. But if you squint, if you adjusted the brightness, you wonder if you’d see his eyes shining with the same remorse yours burn with. You wonder if you’d see the dirt caked under his nails from also digging up graves he shouldn’t have tonight. 

“Everything.”

Ten letters, four syllables, one leap of faith. The ocean isn’t as cold as you’d thought it would be. 

—

BIRDIE is typing…

DINGUS: i swear to god rob. if you’re not about to tell me what the fuck i did that night, you better lock your phone and just go to bed. 

BIRDIE stops typing.

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[familyagrestefanblog]

You know, the moment where Emonette wipes away some of Badrien's make up, revealing the same black vains she has hidden away underneath her scarf and then after she tries making a wish they reach her face

That actually has some massive implications the narrative just glosses over, huh?

Emonette only looked like this AFTER she tried making the wish but the black vains already reach far into Adrien's face BEFORE that.

And the thing is, we don't even see ALL of Adrien's face underneath the make up. Just this little part.

The black vains could be all over his face and neck by now and we wouldn't know because the scene literally shows us that he's wearing very good make up covering it up. Something Marinette didn't saw the need of doing before bc it wasn't bad enough yet to go to these measures. In her case a scarf was enough.

Something that for Adrien apparently stopped being an option for quite some time before the special even started. That sure explains why Griffe Noire took the cataclysm like a champ, his body was already much more damaged than Toxinelle's and he got alarmingly used to the pain.

*sigh*

I really hate being a bitch about this because Marinette's shot here is simply beautiful and such a heartbreaking piece of story-telling. I hate that the show can't let me enjoy something like this for Marinette anymore. Man, I REALLY love that shot of hers...

But for the love of God, Miraculous. If you want to give Marinette the special treatment with the striking visuals that show how bad she's got it, PLEASE just write it accordingly.

Why are you here, giving Marinette this extremely striking visual alongside the message of "it's just a little broken, we can fix it again" after the unique event of her having tried making the wish and then only letting Toxinelle openly run around with all her black vains visible?

You just admitted in the same damn scene that Adrien has long started wearing make up to cover up his own damage marks and from what little we can see his marks at least reach as far as hers. Not to mention that Marinette looked like this after she tried making the wish, the special SHOWS that this created a big leap in how big her damage got.

Adrien already long reached that level only through using his powers. That was equivalent to her getting punished for releasing the wish-making energy.

Miraculous, why are you out here visually manipulating the viewers into thinking Emonette/ Toxinelle had it "so much worse" again than Badrien / Griffe Noire, when what you actually did was cowardly hiding Adrien's damage marks underneath make up so Marinette can get the cool and deep shots?

I'm not against Marinette getting these cinematic and striking visuals, she's the main character, I KNOW.

But would it hurt you to then actually write the story accordingly? If you want her to be the one who has it worse here then actually write it being HER who has it clear-cut worse and don't just hide away Adrien's damage and seriously implied to be bigger problems AGAIN so Marinette can get the spotlight instead.

Why is this ALWAYS happening? JUST WRITE IT, DAMN IT!

[burst-of-iridescent]

I’ve been reading a series where a guy is in a near identical situation to Katara was in The Southern Raiders. But what I find interesting is that no one really tries to stop him and the fandom considers it completely justified. I can’t help but think despite it being two different series and fandoms that Katara’s gender has at least something to do with this. When a male character wants to seek revenge and kill the murderer to do it, the narrative and fans justify it but when it’s a female character she’s vilified, seen as out of control and letting her emotions get the better of her. I hate when people say Aang was right to say what he did and try to stop Katara from making her own choice. It doesn’t help that we know Bryke is misogynistic based on well everything to do with their female characters post series after they didn’t have the talented writers who actually understood the characters helping them. And sure I know Bryke themselves didn’t write The Southern Raiders but we know from script leaks that there were more shippy Zutara moments that were cut and I think we know who’s to blame for that. So I wouldn’t be surprised if they still influenced the more problematic parts of that episode. Such as Aang and Katara never talking about or resolving their conflict, Sokka calling Aang wise beyond his years and never talking about or resolving his side if things with Katara, and even Zuko weirdly agreeing with Aang at the end that “you were right about what Katara needed.” Even though she literally just told Aang a second ago that he was wrong and she would never forgive him and doesn’t know why she couldn’t kill him. If you couldn’t tell I have rather mixed feelings about TSR episode.

Sorry for the ramble. How do you think their conversations (Katara, Aang, and Sokka) would go if they were to talk about it all after the episode?

oh misogyny definitely plays a part - just compare the way people react to inigo montoya from the princess bride vs katara in tsr - but i think the bigger issue is the overt narrative framing of the episode.

on a first watch, tsr appears to push a very simplistic idea of "violence = bad" and strongly favours aang's perspective, which encourages the viewer to see him as being in the right while katara and zuko appear to be in the wrong. the fact that aang never changes his perspective and both zuko and sokka are (forcibly and very uncharacteristically) made to take his side by the end naturally inclines the audience to do so as well.

it's only with a closer reading that you see a more nuanced take which highlights the flaws in aang's thinking and treatment of katara. katara herself makes it clear that what aang wanted her to do would not have helped her find closure, and she began her healing process without ever forgiving yon rha - which is exactly why i hate people attributing her decision not to kill yon rha to aang when she explicitly stated she did not and would not ever do what he wanted her to!

these are the same people who will also blame zuko for being a "bad influence" on katara, as if the only reason she hunted down her own mother's killer is because zuko convinced her to do it. katara isn't some weeping willow to be bent to the will of zuko and aang; her decisions are her own, not based on the whims of the boys in her life. can we please stop stripping katara of all her agency in the one episode that actually focuses on her trauma and healing?

rant aside, i do wish that katara had talked to sokka after this episode and i imagine there would be some apologising on both sides. sokka - a realistic sokka, because my god was he wildly out of character - would probably check in on her and admit that he was afraid for her safety and well-being. katara would likely apologise for the "you didn't love her the way i did!" remark and i think it would've been nice for them to finally talk about kya and for katara to bring up the conversation she overheard from the runaway about how sokka confessed to seeing her as a surrogate mother.

(imo the impact hearing that would've had on katara was largely downplayed in the show, and is likely part of the reason she reacted to sokka the way she did in the southern raiders, but that's a post for another time.)

the katara-aang conversation would probably have gone the same way that it did in canon, because the issues with their dynamic in tsr are part of the underlying problems with the kat.aang relationship in general. i would've liked to see aang have a little more of a reaction to katara saying she never forgave yon rha (he doesn't seem affected at all in the show), and for that to maybe prompt him to really reflect on what he said.

but ultimately what really has to be tackled here is aang's idealization of katara and his focus on clinging to air nomad values at the expense of those from the other nations - and those problems run too deep to be fixed in a single episode or conversation. the southern raiders would have been a good starting point, but unfortunately the finale never engages with these issues, and so what could've been a great arc ends up going nowhere at all.

[periwinkla]

haha I’m back again haha-

If there was one thing you could change about the ace attorney story what would it be?

Personally it would be having the gap between where Phoenix and miles were in contact be a lot shorter. Because sometimes people forget Phoenix kinda stalked miles, they knew eachother for like a few months when they were 9 years old! So it is kinda creepy that Phoenix just stopped everything for him because he “looked sad.” The thing is we don’t even have confirmation that Phoenix tried contacting him. It would also make more sense if they were constantly talking to each other and it just stopped. Phoenix would have a better reason for the going into law school for a friend then “hE wAs sAd.” It’s honestly insane that nobody actually questions this for more than a minute! Like yeah, it’s the ace attorney universe. But are you telling me that no one thought “oh my god that is absolutely insane you need to talk to a therapist!” Anyways tell me what you think!

Haha hello again, anon :) (a few SOJ spoilers for the 1st paragraph) I don't think I would change any major event, but... I think I would change the way Trucy's relationship (or lack thereof) with some characters is depicted. Apart from the final SOJ scene with Edgeworth, it feels like Trucy doesn't have much of a relationship with the first trilogy's characters. In SOJ Maya doesn't mention her at all, even though it would make sense to have a dialogue with her asking Phoenix how his daughter was doing.... so maybe, if I were to change any part of the story, it would be for Edgeworth to notice she stuck in his suitcase a bit earlier so that she can take part in 6-5 at least. What she was even doing throughout the whole mayhem still baffles me... please don't tell me she was in the suitcase the whole time... I understand your point, although at least for me it just represents a character flaw & relationship flaw, and I find it interesting. I don't think it's something that's ever treated as a 'normal' decision in-game, either (Maya is flabbergasted when he tells her the reason he became a lawyer, for example). It shows how easily he gets attached to people and obsessed with saving them. It's an actual problem he has as a character. Also the class trial sells to me the narrative that Phoenix was a bit of an outcast in childhood (he had only Larry as a friend which is also mentioned to have had a not-so-good childhood).  And in such a circumstance there was this one person to stick out for him so vehemently. Then he sees that same person - someone he saw as a hero - in a newspaper depicted as a demon who would do anything for a guilty verdict, and he can’t accept it. Phoenix does this to an extreme degree, but he does everything in his life to extreme degrees, really. And it seems like to him, as long as he gets to save people, nothing is a big deal. Like ‘yeah this is just a thing I need to do to save that person’. It’s no biggie to change life paths to save someone, it’s no biggie to swallow a necklace, it’s no biggie crossing a bridge on fire, it’s no biggie adopting a kid at 26 when your life is in shambles. I like that Phoenix and Miles’s relationship is not an idyllic love story thing. Phoenix’s tendency to get too attached, obsessed, and fixated on saving people is one of his character flaws, which is something he needs to work on. Miles’s tendency to self-isolate and do everything by himself contrasts with that and they both need to learn from each other, really. Both are incredibly unhealthy. What drives this point home is 2-4 for me, because Phoenix makes Miles’s death all about himself, like it’s somehow his responsibility. When it really isn’t. Miles had to take some time for himself and figure himself out. It’s the way he did it that was wrong. They’re both wrong here.

By the way Phoenix confirms he tried to contact him, we just don't know the 'how'. I suspect he may have just phoned/sent something to the Prosecutor's office, but who knows. Miles didn't reply, regardless. Unless he sent like, dozens of stuff to the Prosecutor's office, I wouldn't define that as stalking; he also never even tries to be in his vicinity if not in the courtroom. By his logic, he only can get through to him via the law, after all. By showing him and reminding him what Miles himself taught him as children. That's why he became a defense attorney and not something like... I dunno, a detective? Would have been easier to talk to him if they worked together, no? But that wasn't the point. He wanted to inspire Miles to go back to being the person who inspired him when they were children. That's my understanding, anyway. (also I like to consider the fact that the whole Dahlia fiasco reminded him of the feeling of being accused, but I'd ramble so I'll stop here... there's a lot behind his decision to become a lawyer) I do think it would have been nice if they had at least a few more months together as children though. In the game it’s ambiguous when the class trial takes place (and the JP school year starts in April) so initially I had thought they were friends for something like 8ish months… but in the anime it’s set in September. To me this may imply that Phoenix didn’t have a nice childhood either; maybe it wasn't tragic, but he was lonely enough that he hanged on the memory of those 3-4ish months because those were his most precious ones. It’s… sad.

P.S. Sorry if I rambled too much anon, I tend to overanalyze stuff.

[bored-trans-orchidsexual]

Porter Musings

Spoilers for Fantasy High Junior Year, as of episode 17.

Some of you may recall me being on team "fuck Porter" most of this season, since he denied Gorgug's MCAT and dared to hit him with the "I am feeling hurt". Since his power as a narrow-minded instructor meant Gorgug was forced to quadruple his workload in order to persue his education as he envisioned it. Since he *saw* that workload, how hard Gorgug was working, and still refused to budge. At this point, if what he *said* was the problem, that gorgug wasn't doing well as a barbarian and he saw no drive in him, is just plain stupid.

Gorgug is going through more effort than *any student in the past* for a single school year and flying, getting nat 20's in his class checks, that's fucking determination. That Gorgug has been trying his ass off and succeeding, and Porter did not give a shit. Yes, he says *in the aftermath* his mind was changed by Gorgug putting in the work, but look back. Hopefully now that he's a confirmed rage-empowered villain more people will see it wasn't Gorgug's *effort* he chose to reward, it was his *stress.* The way Gorgug has been breaking down, yelling more, being so hurt he's lashing out *that* is what impressed him enough to approve Gorgug.

The way Porter likes to act, to boast that his 'tough love' approach helped motivate Gorgug to succeed, makes me sick. The way Brennan, even in adventuring party, as well as both Gorgug and Zach seem to *agree* that this push was necessary and in the end for the best, makes we want to throw up. And the way so many in this community just accepted that, will even argue in favor if it, makes me sad. Accepting that is, by way of implication, suggesting that the Helioic repackaging of hardship is valid too.

To those in the Helioic faith, whenever someone triumphs over hardship, they will say it's because *Helio* helped them. When something bad happens and it isn't stopped or recovered from, it was just a test they *personally* failed. Helio receives all credit and no blame. The fanbase as a whole cringes back from this thinking with Helioic followers, but swap a god with a shitty teacher? And suddenly, it makes sense, I guess.

I understand these two scenarios are not 1:1 but they are a *lot* more similar than they are different. In both cases success is being attributed, at least partially, to someone who did not lift a finger to help and in fact, with Gorgug's situation, Porter was a direct barrier, he was *preventing* Gorgug's success. Why would we assume that without Porter's disruption, Gorgug wouldn't be able to fuful his ambition? Was Porter there to stop him from creating the Solar Lasso? Was he there, to prevent him from establishing connection to the Thistlespring Satellite? Oh wait no, the people around him then *helped* him and supported his growth, like some kind of *teacher* should.

I'm just hoping now that the narrative sees him as a villain more people are willing to look at his actions critically, and maybe rethink the way the look at certain behaviors. All interpretations can be valid but please think more about intent and consequences.

[twyftwyt]

here’s a short Noah imagine i scrabbled in my notes app while rotting in bed, i’m wondering if i should write more.

…you have more pieces of me than the desert has sand

and i have less pieces of you than i can hold in my hand…

I knew we weren’t dating. I knew we were never gonna be together officially, so what was the point of fighting over it? What was the point of this whole thing, actually? I wasn’t his to claim and he, for sure, was not mine to call. He was gone almost 300 days of the year. He had gigs, festivals, signings, award shows, record meetings. And I had a 9 to 5 job. I went home, cooked, cleaned, went on vacation sometimes but my routine was way different from his.

So why were we sitting in his car, at 2 in the morning, fighting over “labels”?

“I’m not about to argue with a man who doesn’t even know what he wants.”

“Do you hear yourself? I don’t know what I want? Me? Is that how we’re turning the narrative now?”

“No, Noah. The narrative’s been the same this whole time. Just admit that you don’t want a relationship and we can call it a day and I can finally go home and sleep, cause I have work tomorrow.”

My eyes were burning and so were my cheeks. I was flushed with anger and I could already feel the tears coming.

“I never, NOT ONCE, said that I do not want a relationship. I am INCAPABLE of maintaining one. You wanna miss me for a month straight, see me for a weekend, travel the whole world to spend a day, maximum two with me in between shows? You want me calling you in the middle of the night, waking you up just because where I’m at it’s midday and it’s the only possible time for me to call you? You want to put us in a position where my trust will be questioned all the time? And you’ll be anxious if you see me with another woman just because I HAVE to work with her? You wanna go through all of this?”

“Seems like you don’t want to, so what’s the point of having this conversation? Please, just take me home.”

I couldn’t contain myself anymore and I felt the tears streaming down my face. I was starting to shake but I didn’t want to make a bigger scene than what this conversation had already turned to. I was spent. And hurt and tired. And he was just sitting in the driver seat, looking at me, not knowing what to do. He looked so pathetic, it was insane how much I allowed myself to fall in love with him. He was just. a. stupid. man. He never knew how to react properly and most of the time it was funny watching him struggle to pick the right words, but he was always big on physical contact, so he’d just pull me in his arms until I stop crying. He didn’t do that now though. He was just staring at me, blankly. I turned to face the window and put my legs up on the seat, curling into a little ball.

I heard the engine start and the radio came back to life with the most gut wrenching song Spotify could pick. God, I hate that shared playlist. And I hate myself for falling for him.

[ryin-silverfish]

LMK S5 trailer, Chinese pantheon infodump, and some ideas

…Man, normally, I feel the urge to write fix-it AUs after rewatching episodes and coming across particularly bizarre theories and takes, not before the new season's even out.

Thanks, S5 trailer.

Consider this your spoiler warning, because the rest of this post will all be my personal opinions about a few major story beats that were revealed + the rough outline for a fix-it AU.

It's also a bit ranty, and features some criticisms of the general narrative, so if that's not your cup of tea, feel free to avoid this one.

Li Jing becoming JE/the regent of the Celestial Realm is just hilariously absurd. I mean, it makes a teeny tiny bit more sense than the "Nezha will be the new JE" fan theory, but that's not a very high bar.

1) In-universe, he had done a grand total of nothing while shit was hitting the fan, and only showed up after it was all over. Which, tbh, isn't too far from his role in FSYY. No, wait, at least in FSYY, he killed Luo Xuan via a pagoda to the head, after the guy had all his fire-based magical treasures neutralized and taken away by Princess Longji.

Yeah, congrats, LMK's Li Jing, you've somehow become even more useless than your FSYY and JTTW counterparts——which is a true feat.

2) Even if someone's making him JE/regent, it wouldn't be the Ten Kings. To put it simply: the Underworld doesn't have that authority. They are the most pathetic of all divine bureaucracies, who pretty much only show up to get pushed around and revive the occasional dead guy in JTTW (and I still love them).

Like, they ain't no Hades or Satan. Just the 10 judges of the Dead People Supreme Court. To heavily paraphrase Di Ting in the original JTTW novel:

"How much power do Underworld gods really have? (幽冥之神，能有多少法力)" "...Certainly not enough to stop a rampaging demonic macaque who's as strong as SWK, if I say the truth out loud in here and piss him off. Just send them to the Buddha, please."

An analogy: if the Celestial Host is the imperial court, the Underworld is the ministry in charge of judicial processes and prisons. They don't even have authority over the imperial censors who answer directly to the emperor, let alone the power to determine a successor to the throne during a major crisis.

If this was to make the tiniest bit of sense, Li Jing would be the one commanding THEM, not the other way around. Or if it's Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha himself giving orders to Li Jing…for some reason.

But we know that ain't happening bc of the show's strange aversion to showing Buddhist deities on screen, not to mention it would be very OOC for Ksitigarbha, whose job is granting relief and salvation to souls in the Path of Hell, not judging and punishing them like the Ten Kings.

3) If you must make Li Jing the emperor/regent, you have a more mythos-accurate and obvious choice than the Ten Kings, considering you already got the Four Divine Beasts involved!

Yes, I'm talking about their bosses, the humanoid "directional + elemental gods": Lord Father of the East (Wood), Queen Mother of the West (Metal), Emperor Zhenwu of the North (Water).

No South though...because our mythos can't agree on a single directional god of the South, but for shit and giggles, just imagine Zhurong, Yandi, Huaguang, and the Star of Fiery Virtues all sitting on the same narrow bench, staring awkwardly at each other.

Maybe we can have Ziwei, Great Emperor of the Central Sky and North Stars, who is one of the Four Sovereigns(四御) in Daoism (two of which could also be an alternate choice, but maybe a bit too obscure for foreign audiences).

He commands the stellar deities and heavenly bodies——which the Four Divine Beasts would technically fall under, as guardians of the four quadrants of the sky, each in charge of 7 Lunar Mansions.

4) But if you already have these deities, why the hell would any of them make Li Jing the regent? Wouldn't it be more likely for them to create a Celestial Council of Regents themselves, with Devaraja Li Jing under their command as the leader of what's left of the celestial army?

Like, you can still have them, or one of them, going after the gang and ordering Li Jing to put the fillet on SWK.

I can see Zhenwu the Demon-Vanquisher doing that, since the fillet isn't too different from what he did to Huaguang and a lot of the demons he subdued in JTTN: feeding them magical water/fire pills that would corrode/ignite their insides whenever they tried to resist.

(Yeah, compared to that, the fillet would look like the lenient option, since it's just pain and won't actually dissolve/cook you alive from the inside out...)

And it wouldn't be bc he thought SWK was to blame for the Brotherhood's epic fuck-up...somehow. Like, what even is that logic?!

I mean, I can kinda see the Ten Kings doing it as a pre-emptive "Don't blame us for our shitty security, blame that guy over there!" move...except they are no longer answering to any higher authorities who'd hold them responsible at that point!

"What about Li Jing?" You may ask. Yeah, WHAT ABOUT LI JING? Why does Li Jing have to get involved in this?

If he's forcing the Ten Kings to pass judgement on the gang (which surely doesn't look like it in the trailers), why's he enlisting the help of the weakest faction and not, y'know, his celestial soldiers and other gods?

If the Ten Kings get Li Jing to be their enforcer...well, how the Eighteen Hells did they manage that? What could the Ghost Supreme Court and their crappy prison-torture chamber-soul customs office complex even offer Li Jing as a bribe?

And if their goals were to avoid responsibilities by blaming someone else, how stupid did they have to be to actively involve/create a higher authority who can punish them once the cat gets out of the proverbial bag, instead of, I dunno, just stay where they are and keep their head down???

So in my fix-it AU, it's more of a "Better safe than sorry" scenario, where every demon working for the new Celestial Council must prove their loyalty via swallowing the water/fire pill, now that even more dangerous demons have escaped and are running around in the aftermath of S4.

And Great Sage and company are not exempt from that new law either——"If you are truly righteous and Not Like Them and not planning to rebel, what's there to be afraid of?"

Horrified by the Demon-Vanquishing Mansion's 16th century standards of "justice" and "mercy", they naturally would not have any of it, and thus the conflict begins.

Not only would this show the fallout of Azure's misguided rebellion——that, in trying to make a better world, he had made it 120% worse for both humanity and demonkind in less drastic and more realistic ways aside from dooming reality to irreversible destruction, it would also help with the major show-not-tell problem about Celestial cruelty bc the "good guys" in power saw no problem with this kind of shit.

If you want your lawful antagonists who take Order to its extremes, the warrior sovereign in black leading an elite army of demon-hunters + penal legions made of "reformed" demons would be a better choice than the Ghost Supreme Court, don't ya think?

(Fun fact: in Zaju plays, Zhenwu was often said to be the boss of Nezha and Erlang, so him commanding Li Jing wouldn't be too out of place either.)

Now, you may ask, why do I even care? After all, isn't it clear that the show is neither mythos-accurate nor trying to be, considering the JE got K.O.ed by a Bodhisattva's cat of all things?

Not to mention the season's not even out yet, so why jump to conclusions so quickly? Maybe the actual episodes will have explanations that make sense. Relax.

...Cause I don't mind less-than-stellar animations if the story's good, and since I keep noticing the less-than-stellar animations, it clearly isn't good enough.

Also, it's not like it's only the implications that are absurd——my problem is with the whole premise of "Li Jing becoming the new JE/Regent" and "The gang is prosecuted by the Ten Kings for bullshit reasons, even though these guys should not, and never have the power to enforce anything over SWK."

I don't like calling narrative choices "wrong" per se, and prefer to see it on a gradient of "least to most narrative potential". When it comes to adaptations, if the option that is faithful to the original work will result in a less interesting story, then I'll happily take the one that isn't as faithful and takes creative liberties, but makes a better story.

And here, I feel like being faithful to the Chinese mythos inspirations will add to the narrative potential instead of subtract from it, and the idea they come up with kinda...goes against how Chinese pantheons work, in a very simplified and "westernized" manner.

Mostly bc I am a Chinese Underworld mythos lover and think they deserve better than being ominous Hades/Grim Reaper knockoffs. And out of all the possible Chinese gods, Nezha's asshole dad is the least qualified or interesting candidate to fill in the power vaccum left by JE's death.

[freyjas-musings]

"Elegant, feminine, and utterly wild. Warm and steadfast—unbreakable, his queen.

Sarah J. Maas, Queen of Shadows

The author literally writes stories about characters not needing to fit into any specific box yet somehow some people in this fandom keep building the narrative that

Being a trained warrior automatically implies the character is not soft or feminine? Please spare us the BS .... Nesta is soft and feminine , Feyre is soft and Feminine, Gwyn most certainly is Elegant , graceful and feminine..... them being warriors doesn't exempt them from being elegant or soft or feminine 🙄.

Being a SA survivor doesn't automatically confine you to specific rules.... whether it's sexual preferences , whether to want to be in a relationship, the choice of clothes , choice of career .... stop reducing characters to their trauma , when the author literally writes stories of females who don't let their trauma define them. I am not going dignify the lunatic discourse around consent to be shipped with a counter... its stupid at an elemental level.

That a male character is not allowed a trauma response that's unsavoury. Why? We can all empathise with Nesta acting out or Feyre withdrawing but Azriel we have conveniently reduced to a fuck boy ? The guy has 500 years of unresolved trauma and doesn't understand relationships... all he wants is to be loved and accepted for who he is ... he was tortured and locked away .... what does it make you when you disregard that? HOFAS clearly shows there is so much more to Az that's endearing and adorable.... yet people are hell bent on only letting him be a fuck boy? Same with Lucien..... he is an abuse victim and yes he does make a mistake with Feyre but that could be result of his trauma too ... yet that guy deserves to die alone , can't be trusted and God knows what else ? What are you guys even talking about ... do you even understand how characters are written?

Its almost sad that we belong to a fandom of an author who literally writes stories and characters that have always defied the odds and have refused to be put in set boxes only to fight people who do just that with her characters.

Guess what ..... Aelin was both a queen and an assassin.... Nesta was an absolute queen owning her sexuality while also preferring modest clothing without revealing much skin.... Azriel is both a torturer and someone who believes there is salvation in the mothers embrace .... Gwyn can be whoever she wants and we can all hope to see her however the hell we want without needing to put her in a box only because she is a survivor.

[moonshynecybin]

In the teenage mom Marc au, how hard does Vale need to stay still and breathe through his nose when the first time known baby magnet dovi enters the picture. The babysitter list as you said suddenly includes dovi. Vale post breakup so used to seeing the baby with Julia/roser/alex or santi only, nearly has an aneurysm when it's Dovi chucking a squealing toddler into the air. She still lights up for Vale but she also lights up for Dovi. Does not consider that Marc sitting off to the side laughing along clicking pictures might be the other half of the reason for the heartburn.

It's a different kind of hurt to when Vale saw Jorge play around with the kid (she was firmly being held by Dani because Jorge is not on the list) and gets a reality check of the baby is going to grow up know more people love more people, people that are not Vale, one day she might not even recognise vale in the crowd

Oooh is Uccio specifically told not to stop the child from heading over to Vale or is there an incident where she is turned away which NOW marc is truly done with Vale

LOVE this question. because a few days ago i was answering asks about their handshake heard round the world at argentina 2019 and i was like ummm why would vale do that and then immediately reverse course. for why. for what. and THEN i saw dovi also on the podium and i was like lmaooooo okay. jealous.

not just in an rpf way (although. please.) it’s like. vale is a person who is very aware of how a rivalry can get mythologized into a rider’s mythos. he himself is very CAREFUL and DELIBERATE about who he names as his rivals and how he manages perceptions surrounding them (he’s on good terms with them! keeps their helmets in his museum etc) and he’s kept marc pretty deliberately out of this narrative as an evil little punishment for marc’s whole deal.

BUT ! lmao. if we look at marc’s major rivals on track, there’s two major entries: vale and dovi. later fabio but post injury is a dif ballgame. and dovi is frankly better at fighting marc than vale is! so i think he sees the narrative of marc’s star getting tied to dovi and chafes a little (he is MYYYY FATED RIVAL. i am the only one who can actually challenge him as he is the best and i am the best. type shit) and then he decides wellllll what if i make this weekend about MEEE and himmmm and shakes marc’s goddamn hand lmao.

so. to actually answer your ask. if he sees marc like. having a NONtoxic homoerotic rivalry with someone he’s gonna chafe. if he sees that IN ADDITION to dovi being on the baby marquez’s (she’s. 6 in 2017 and he STILL somewhat psychotically considers her basically his own. #deadbeatstepdad) babysitter list he’s gonna lose it lmao. MAJOR kick in the pants. like marc literally hands her off to dovi in parc ferme like it’s nothing and vale’s smile FREEZES. double take. chest seizes. thank god he has sunglasses on. because usually she’s pulling over to himmmm (but she LIKES DOVI. and marc had been racing DOVI those last few turns. not vale…) and she’s NOTTTTT. dovi cracks a sleepy little deadpan joke and marc full body laughs and her little kid hands are tugging at dovi’s cap and for the SECOND TIME IN HIS LIFE vale sees this kid and is like haha. i’m in dangerrrrr. motogp instagram posts a cute pic of baby marquez with dovi on instagram (usually it is VALE or MARC in those!!! fuck !!) captioned like “looks like someone has a new babysitter!” and vale genuinely has to have a white knuckle moment staring into the mirror. goes to bother honda hospitality in incognito mode the next day because truly. that is his DAUGHTERRRRR. cold anxiety swimming around in his stomach nonchalant smile plastered on realizing that like. if he wants an actual place in her life he’s gonna have to ask 4 it. she sees him and. LIGHTS up. marc gives him a tense affectionate smile… still wary…. he still ALWAYS lets him see her though…

and that’s ALSO how vale cottons on to the marc of it all. because he’s turning it over in his mind like he’s trying to crack the zodiac killer case and eventually there’s no running from it and he’s like. um. i think the driving force of this is that i want to have a family with marc. and i love that little girl. and i miss him. and then. well he has to convince marc that he’s gonna stick around.

[diningchairs]

dewmac thesis? please? for the sake of the people of course

OH BOY, YIPEE!!

i am going to be so annoying, so for all the dewmac enjoyers (hi taylor and katie) and dewmac-curious people, let me explain

some people may ask WHY i ship them and the answer is simple: i am a freak enjoyer, delusional and these are my barbie dolls.

first, i’m gonna go over the lore…which is very limited but when had that EVER stopped me from shipping??

October 30, 2021 - nate goes after dewey after dewey lays a dirty hit on bo byram. they’re both bad at fighting, so it’s funny. love the quote, “down he goes, duhaime on top of him”. (x)

now all the way too

March 7th, 2024 - Brandon Duhaime gets traded to the Colorado Avalanche

March 12th, 2024 - Attack Dog. During a game against the Calgary Flames, Dewey goes after a player who was bothering Nate. NOW THIS IS WHAT I LIKE TO SEE!! That is exactly what you’re supposed to do, Dewey, good boy. Connor McGahey had this say about it in an episode of Peak Access:

“There was a Calgary player who was wacking at Mackinnon and immediately, Duhaime recognized the situation and went to the Flames player and tried to track him down and made sure that he was leaving Nathan Mackinnon alone and then went back on the bench and gave Nathan Mackinnon a little tap on the knee and said, ‘I got you, I got your back’ and that’s the time of player Duhaime is, he’s got you back” (x, 5:53 is the bit about Dewey)

SO FUN, RIGHT?!?!?!!!!

March 30th, 2024 - I have no videos for this but just know that I saw them laughing on the bench together and everything felt right. Now as a Nate supporter first, human being second, I felt very protective over Nate and certain people claiming that he was going to “ruin” Dewey. So when I saw them laughing and having a good time, I was just happy because believe it or not, Nate isn’t some evil person devoid of fun, happiness, and sugar.

April 8th, 2024 - DEWEY’S FIRST GOAL AS AN AV! And guess what… he points to Nate RIGHT after (x)

Okay so now onto my thesis.

Obviously a big reason for shipping them is seeing two freaks and thinking, “ooo, they should fuck nasty” but there’s a little more to the narrative here.

Dewey was traded away from HIS TEAM, from his team that meant to much to him. He even said in the Peak Access episode I mentioned earlier that he was excited to play for Colorado but sad to leave Minnesota. He was also RIPPED AWAY from his best friend, Connor Dewar, who was then ripped away from Minnesota. Not to mention, Dewey was brought here because we needed a physical player for our playoffs roster.

So. Dewey’s now in Colorado, all alone. (Yes, we’ve all seen the arrival and airport photos where he looks miserable, which i’m not denying he wasn’t but also: That’s Just His Face)

And just a few games after being traded, he becomes an attack dog for Nate. And GOD, it was just hot and kind of unexpected?

Dewey takes all of his anger/frustration/sadness from the trade and puts that into defending his new team—especially Nate—by getting physical and going after other players.

In my mind, they’re friends with benefits. And they absolutely know that they are NOT each other’s first choice. But they still fuck nasty. And Dewey was never intimated by Nate at all. He was so pissed from the trade that he just doesn’t GIVE A FUCK. And then he plays with the Avs and is like, “ohhhh okay, I will lay down my life for Nate I guess. Also I want to fuck him to fuck me.” And so he’s using Nate as someplace to put his emotions again.

And Nate is all for it. Another fun thing is that, *slaps Nate*, you can fit so many terrible love situations into this bad boy! Is he fucking Dewey because his love for Sid is unrequited? Is Cale ignoring his texts? Was he reminded of his thing with Tyson Barrie? Or Burky?

More on their relationship dynamic:

So yeah. In conclusion, dewmac nation NEEDS TO RISE because they are so mean and nasty to each other yet they need each other to balance out their emotions from stupid trades and playoffs and other hockey related problems.

I hope you enjoyed! It’s kind of hard for me to explain ship dynamics sometimes because I will just keep rambling. And ships are always evolving in my head as I get more comfortable with writing them.

Okay, now i’m gonna go write something about these freaks

[kanmom51]

JM's Production diary Documentary

And Live 23 October 2023

So, I don't know how to do this.

Write about JM's documentary separate from his live.

Write about the two without being all over the place.

Because not too much happened, and yet so much did.

So, where do I start? How do I get through this?

At this point I have so many ideas running through my head for posts, so much so that I'm not sure just yet how this post will work out, given that everything intertwines.

I still have JM's previous live to work on as well. Yeah, kind of overwhelmed at the moment.

I guess I will just get on with it, but I do think that more than likely there will be things I will either save for another post or two or three, or forget something (that I can guarantee) or just post on repeat, cause some things we just cannot get enough of.

Let's talk about the documentary a bit.

We got to see the process of JM creating his songs. How they would start with the idea, the narrative. Then the melody, instruments and the vocals and then the actual lyrics.

JM's musicality, his talent, his creativity all showcased.

We also got to see just how nice Pdogg is. How much he loves JM, how respectful he is to him, not to mention how talented he is himself. As a matter of fact, the whole team that worked with JM were super nice and talented and they just all seemed to be having a good time, even while working to the bone.

Oh, and how none of them actually knew English, lmao.

In the documentary we were shown how JM and Pdogg chose the quote from the movie to use in the song. Only that it wasn't the one they actually used in the song itself. And that is because, as JM revealed to us in the live, they picked it without knowing what the characters were talking about, picking a convo between the characters that sounded nice to them at the time, something that would suit the song. All while the two characters were actually talking about a visa, lol. And JM, well, he found that super funny (which truthfully, it really is), so he repeated it a couple of times.

We also saw RM in the documentary sitting down with them talking about writing lyrics. Only for JM to share with us that:

Which JM found to be very funny. I guess now it is, but back then... not sure he shared that same sentiment, lol.

He kept on laughing about him being an idea bank, lol. It's ok to acknowledge your genius, man!!!

Hobi and then Jin show up in the comments while JM is watching the documentary. And I was surprised at that point, given that I really did think JM wouldn't be doing this live, that it would have been pre-recorded. But it wasn't, and thank god for that, cause we all know what happened later on. Less than 1.30 minutes out of an almost 2 hour live, but gosh, what a 1.30 minutes they were, lol.

Anyways, Hobi shows up and JM goes all shy and even stops playing the documentary telling him to leave, that he won't continue playing until he does.

Guess who won that fight, lol. Hobi, of course. JM gives in and continues, once in a while saying they will go away at 9 pm (Jin came in to say that there is some kind of something military related, lol).

Letter

Yes, let's actually start with the name of the song.

Cause for some reason, although they all talk about the song using the word pyeonji (Letter), all while the translation is Dear.Army. Like what the actual fuck? Why would they do that?

Well, we kind of know, don't we?

Someone (cough Hybe cough) is working super hard to cement the song is for the fans.

Please tell me, if this was a song completely meant for the fans, why this incessant need of the company to sell this to us? Why change the name of it in the fucking documentary, while JM and the others are literally saying the word "letter" translating it to "Dear.Army"? There is only one answer I can think of here. And you know exactly what that answer is.

I'm not going to go back to all the reasoning as to why this is way more than a song for fans, I feel like we've discussed this ad nauseam. I will only say that NOTHING we saw in the documentary contradicts what we think about Letter.

You can see, throughout the process how emotionally tasking the song is for JM. And yes, a song for ARMY could be emotional, I mean both JM and JK have immense love for ARMY, and we've seen JK burst into tears talking to army or about army, JM getting very emotional himself. But this, this was more. There are moments there when you can see the anxiety just bursting out of JM.

This song was just MORE.

Especially when you take everything you see in the documentary, JM's state of mind, his words, his behaviour, and add it all up with the lyrics, even more so the missing lyrics. Would be hard to explain how "dongsaeng" fits into "this is a song for army"... Add it to the hidden track. But not only it being a hidden track, it's a hidden track only on the physical CD. Not the digital CD. So, no streaming. A track for Army, for his fans, that not all of his fans get to hear freely? A track for Army that, hmm... maybe wasn't supposed to even be in the album?

We got more than 2 seconds of JK. That's worth a mention too, no?

When I saw this I was: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Cause, no way under the sun, yes, pun intended, that this was about ARMY.

Army was NEVER REFERENCED AS THE SUN BY ANY OF THEM.

NEVER.

You know who was?

The level of emotion we see from the two of them throughout the process... this was so personal.

I rewatched it again today before writing these lines. It's JK's body language, it's JM's body language, it's JM going in to cup JK's face when telling him he wrote a fan song, and JK's reaction.

Dare I remind you that "Still with you" was classified by JK as a "fan song". Dare I remind you what our sentiments about that song are? Yeah, a fans song.

And I will remind you, not that you need the reminder, who happened to state for all of us to see that he was JM's fan. Happening to do so during JM's promotions of Face and before JM's Face Live, which I do not think was a coincidence AT ALL.

They are just precious. What else can I say?

There is this as well.

Also, I don't think I'm the only one seeing this. JK at the end going in for a hug, but JM, reaches out for a hand shake and a bow.

He bows.

Twice.

Now, the not going in for a hug could be one of two with JM. The first could be that it was too emotionally charged and that hug, in front of the cameras, will just be too hard. Too hard not to show the emotions. Too hard to break off.

Or, the second could be that by doing this, bowing the way he did do JK, he was showing us, the spectators, just how profoundly thankful he was for JK, and for his participating in the song.

Now that I think of it there could be a third reason. Which would be the combination of the two.

You know what I also noticed there?

That JK didn't bow back.

So, that's more or less what happened with them in the documentary. Not too much talking, when there is it's subdued, understandably so, given this is all done in front of the cameras. But, there is an undertone of emotions there.

Oh, and did I mention we see JM wearing the very important, at the time, necklace throughout the documentary? On that day of recording as well.

And happy little coincidence them wearing the black and white bucket hats? Lol.

Ok then. By now we all know that JK joined the live. And he does it exactly when they started letter. Quelle surprise. Quelle coincidence. Or was it?

Observations:

JK is too skinny. JM thought so too all while grabbing his tiddy.

JK is really tired. Said he was practicing. Eyes red. He needs to eat and sleep.

JM was genuinely surprised by JK's appearance. Th way he lights up, he was surprised and giddy and excited, his whole body movement, practically dancing in his seat with glee.

JK walks in holding his right hand in place. At first I thought maybe it was injured or hurt or unable to move, a cramp maybe, like the ones JM suffers from at times. But later on it looked like there was nothing wrong with his arm. So was that his way of holding himself back? Restraining himself? Containing himself?

JM signals for JK to talk into his mic,

Pulls the mic up forward away from his chest, and as JK comes closer he lets it go and leans back for JK to move in.

And JK, well why? The mic is right there. Why does he lean in lower? To say hello to Army? Talking to JM's what? Not the mic, that's for sure...

There did not seem to be a chair there next to JM when the live started, and when JK was leaving JM had him take a chair with him. So, as JK came into frame were the staff assuming he's going to be joining JM for the rest of the live? Also making sure to hand him a mic?

And then, JM asks JK "why did you lose so much weight?", all while reaching out his arm, and JK moves forward towards him, and you can see JK's eyes moving down to JM's arm all while JM just goes for JK's chest. Just going straight for the grab.

And JK, he loses it for just a second.

Sniff, gulp, giggle...

And we are back.

JK laughingly tells us he just practiced. But kind of still dumbfounded I guess.

And then I think JM came to as well (you know, awakening from the aftershock of his own actions, lol) and tells JK "time to go", or more so "get the fuck out of here as fast as you can and take that chair with you while you're at it, cause if you don't leave now I'm going to jump your bones right here right now".

Ok, so maybe he didn't say those words exactly, but that was the sentiment, lol.

JM apologises. Thrice.

For sending JK on his way.

And we get the hug. One of those Jikook in front of the camera hugs.

And again JM rushes JK to leave, smacking his butt while he's at it.

JK grabs the chair, tells JM to enjoy watching with Army and tells us he loves us on the way out. And JM sitting there watching JK, giggling, smile plastered on his face, waving by. But that isn't the end of it.

Because as JK leaves JM follows him with his gaze, until he waves him goodbye and only then gets back to the documentary.

And this is when we lost JM for a few minutes there during that part of the documentary, and even more so when JK was on screen singing or during their interactions.

And we also got this reaction to their hug.

What was going through your mind at that moment JM?

After JK leaves there is not too much left until the end of the documentary. And then we have a JM giggles attack. And the man is telling us he's laughing about balloon placements, but seriously, do we really think that's it?

And yes, JM was as always his own shy self while going it alone, and yes, he was finding it hard where to go with the live once the video was over, but this was just more than just plain embarrassment or shyness.

Could there have been someone there waiting for him? Someone that has that kind of effect on JM perhaps?

I don't think JK was there the whole time. He really did leave when JM was waving him goodbye (if he hadn't have left JM wouldn't have been able to get back to the documentary the way he did). But possibly, very possibly, lover boy went to shower and came back in time for JM's ending.

JM tells us during that giggle attack that he will post a pic of the funny balloons only to later post a pic of 19 balloons, the ones in the front shaped like an S. And why do I feel like that was JK's doing? The S shaped balloons...

Clearly the balloons were not placed that way at first.

Someone did this. Question is which one of them. The S, the 19, not a coincidence.

I guess that's it for this post.

Like I mentioned, I know I probably forgot stuff, and there will probably several posts to follow.

But I just needed to get this one out there for you guys. And I guess we'll add on as we go (especially seeing that I've reached my image limit here, as usual).

To sum this up.

WOW!!!

[theflagscene]

*gets up on soapbox* Ahem…

BLs and GLs ARE queer media! By placing an arbitrary condition on what is considered a QL and what is considered queer media, you are making it harder for actual queer writers and directors (especially from Asia) to be taken seriously in the film and television industry, which allows Westerners to get away with saying things like this! ⬇️

That is a cis white aroace woman saying that the stories of gay men, written by gay men and directed by gay men, don’t count as legitimate queer media because the stories happen to feature messy adult things such as *checks notes* sex… yep, sex.

Am I saying that Heartstoppers needs sex in it? No! Of course not, Heartstopper is wonderful just as it is. Alice is an openly sex-repulsed asexual aromantic, of course she doesn’t want to write messy sex into her stuff. But her claiming that BLs basically fetishize gay culture when she herself is not a gay person, is not her choice to make.

We need to stop saying QLs are separate from queer media, it’s not, it’s a genre of queer media. It’s a genre that the queer community can’t get out of western Hollywood, it a genre that promises you that if you watch this show that you will see a gay protagonist. Not a toss away side character, not some terrible walking stereotype that’s doomed by the narrative, that is destined to die because they’re queer and being queer and happy in Hollywood is not allowed. No, the QL genre promises us that we will see someone we can connect to, we will see someone who represents us, we will see love between people that are not fucking blonde haired, blued eyed, heterosexual, Nicholas Sparks protagonists! The QL genre promises us that no matter what, we will see queer happiness at some point and in a world that is so ugly towards the LGBTQ community, that tiny bit of happiness, however fleeting, is so important.

So please, remember, QLs ARE Queer Media.

And for the love god, never forget the voices behind your media 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

You're Safe Now

Casey Novak x autistic fem!reader Warnings: Hurt/comfort, discussions of past child sexual abuse and child pornography, PTSD, flashbacks, panic attacks, brief and mild self-harm Word Count: 1,799 NOTE: Child sexual abuse/assault is a deeply triggering subject for many people. If you're one of them, please proceed with caution. As a victim myself, I know that, oftentimes, I find great comfort in reading stories that include narratives like mine, especially when they make me feel seen and heard and cared for. At other times, they are terrible for my mental health. Please just be mindful of your mental state as you read, especially if you are a victim. And if you need help, please reach out to the National Sexual Assault Hotline (1-800-656-4673).

Casey looked over Stabler's shoulder as he scrolled through grainy photo after photo. Stills from hundreds of pornographic VHS tapes, all of abused children. "Any of them prosecutable?" Stabler shook his head. "Nah, not on abuse charges. These are all 25 years old. The Feds just want us to look and see if we can make any connections."

"All the same ring?" "Yep. A Baptist church, if you can believe it. Somewhere in Tennessee. Apparently the ringleader moved to the city about 10 years ago. They just nailed him last month." Casey looked disgusted. "I absolutely can believe it was a church. They're like breeding grounds for pedophiles. No offense." Stabler gritted his teeth. "Sunday school teachers. What an introduction to God." They watched the nameless faces scroll past in silence. So many kids, so much hurt. A child flashed past the screen–a little girl with glasses–and Casey blinked. "Stop," she said. Stabler stilled his scrolling and glanced back at the ADA, curious. "Go back." He dutifully scrolled back up the page until Casey stopped him again. She stared at the pixelated photo, sick to her stomach. A little white shirt, a Ramona Quimby-style bob, multicolored glasses. And the cutest nose–your nose. It wasn't you. Surely, it couldn't be you. You would have told her. But the child in the picture looked so much like you. And you had grown up in Tennessee. Going to a Baptist church. Casey cleared her throat, trying to disguise the shakiness in her voice. "Can you print that photo for me?" Stabler looked long and hard at Casey. "Yeah, why?" "Just print it. Please." Stabler handed Casey the printed photo, and she snatched it, folding it tightly and placing it in her pocket. "Thanks," she said, walking swiftly away with her fists clenched. Stabler watched her go, concerned. He made a mental note to mention it to Olivia. _____________________________________________________________ When Casey came through the door that night, you were curled up on the couch watching Parks & Recreation. "Bye, Bye, Little Sebastian" played in the background and you sang along absentmindedly, typing on your laptop. "Hey, love," you called. "I didn't feel like cooking. Want to order a pizza?" Casey set down her briefcase and walked slowly to you, heart pounding in her chest. She sat across from you and paused the show. You looked at her and frowned. She looked terrified. You had never seen her look so scared. You threw your laptop aside and took her hand. "Hey, what's wrong?" you asked. "You look like someone died." Your eyes grew wide. "Did someone die?" Casey took a shaky breath. "Sweetheart, I need to ask you something." Now, you were scared, too. What could Casey possibly need to ask you that made her this anxious? "Okay," you replied, your voice quiet. She took one of your hands in hers and traced circles on it. After an excruciating few minutes, she asked, "Did anything happen to you when you were a kid?" Your stomach dropped and you felt ice flood your veins. There was no way she could know. Nobody knew. "W-what do you mean?" "Were you..." Casey started, clearing her throat. "Were you... abused at all?" You felt panic rising in your chest, your throat constricting as it became harder and harder to take a breath. "Why are you asking me that?" you cried, your voice growing frantic. "Casey, why are you asking me that!?"

Tears threatened the corners of your eyes, and your body started rocking back and forth. You felt like you were suffocating. Casey held onto your hand even tighter, her own eyes glistening, as she pulled the folded paper from her pocket and handed it to you. Your hands shook as you opened it, and when you saw yourself on that page, everything inside you shattered all at once. "No, no, no, no, no!" you cried, grabbing your head in your hands and rocking more and more aggressively. All of a sudden you couldn't breathe. Just like you couldn't breathe in that Sunday school room. Just like you couldn't breathe with in front of that camera with the red blinking light. And the hands. So many hands touching you, all over you. You coughed and retched, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your pupils darted back and forth, overtaking the rest of your eyes. And somehow you were back there, back in that room. The black carpet with the rainbow flecks. The smell of stale hymnals and men's sweat. The taste of the wintergreen mints they shoved in your mouth when they sent you back to your unwitting parents, masking the scent of vomit. You clenched your fists over your ears and slammed them into your head, grabbing your hair and pulling so hard a tuft came out.

Casey jumped up and grabbed your hands, trying to keep them away from your head. "Honey, don't do that," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Please don't do that. I'm right here." She tried to wrap her arms around you, but you shoved her away. "Don't touch me!" You heard yourself screaming, as if from far away, as if you were sitting in the rafters of the Sunday school room, but no one could hear you. "No! Please, it hurts!" Tears streamed down your flaming face as you rocked back and forth, hyperventilating, tucked into the corner of the couch. You were as far away from Casey as you could get. Casey had dealt with a lot of victims. She'd been emotionally invested in a lot of victims. She cared deeply for and fought for so many victims. But you. You were hers. She felt like her heart was being physically ripped apart as she looked at your tiny, terrified form. In that moment, you were a mirror image of the scared little girl in the VHS still. Casey wiped her own tears away, trying to stay strong because you needed someone strong right now. God, she wanted to hold you. She wanted to scoop you up and protect you and tell you that it was okay, that she loved you, that she would never let anyone touch you again. But you wouldn't even let her close. "I'll be right back, sweetheart," Casey said, biting her lip as she looked at you, then jogging to the kitchen. It seemed like you couldn't even hear her. She thought you were having a flashback, but she didn't know how to help you out of it. She dialed Olivia's number and prayed to whatever powers there were in the universe that Olivia would pick up. "Benson."

"Oh, thank god," Casey exhaled.

"Casey? What's going on?"

"Do you know how to get someone out of a flashback?"

Olivia's voice deepened in concern. "Is this about that photo you got from Elliot?"

Casey paced back and forth, rubbing her forehead. "Yes. I don't have time to talk about it now. Do you know how to help with a flashback? Please."

"Uh..." Olivia started, clearly trying to provide information and make sure that Casey was okay. "Usually they need to be reminded of what's real and what's not."

"How?" Casey asked, trying to hide the desperation in her voice.

"Try engaging their senses. Something to shock them out of it. Ice, maybe. Or something with a strong smell."

"Okay, I got it," Casey said, sprinting to the bathroom.

"Casey, are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll talk to you about it later, Olivia," Casey barked, more terse than she meant to be. "Gotta go."

Casey rummaged in the vanity, looking for a specific bottle of perfume. She gripped it tightly in her hand and ran back to the kitchen, grabbing a bag of frozen green beans out of the freezer.

Casey took a deep breath before returning to your corner of the couch, where you sat curled and shaking and sobbing. She reached out to hold your hand, then stopped herself, instead grabbing the bottle of perfume and spraying it around you.

"Hey," she said, tentatively. "Honey, I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm here."

Your body shook uncontrollably, your eyes clamped shut.

"I'm gonna put this ice on you," Casey said. She wasn't sure you could hear her, but she wanted even your subconscious to know that she was there and doing everything she could to help you. She dropped the bag of green beans in your lap and you gasped, your head shooting up. You looked around frantically, and Casey grabbed at the chance to pull you out of the flashback. "Hey," she called. "Y/N, can you hear me?" You seemed to look both at her and past her at the same time. "Do you feel the cold? Honey, that's real. Can you smell my perfume? It's the one you like so much, the one that smells like pine trees. It's real."

You were confused, disoriented, but your frantic breathing was slowing down, and Casey took that as a sign it was working. "I'm right here, sweetheart, okay?" Her voice broke. She was dying to hold you, but she still wasn't sure you'd let her, and she didn't want to make it worse. "I'm right here with you. I love you, and I'm real. We're in our apartment, and that's real. Those men who hurt you, they're not real anymore." You kneaded the bag of green beans in your hands, still rocking, but less aggressively. Your vision was coming back into focus, the overlap of past and present becoming less confusing and overwhelming. You were finally able to look at Casey and see her. You looked into her eyes and a rush of shame poured over you. She looked terrified. Her face was streaked with tears. You didn't know if she was scared of you or scared for you, but either way you felt sick to have scared her.

Your face screwed up in tears and you looked away, burying your head in your hands. "I'm sorry, Casey," you cried. "I'm so sorry."

She surged toward you, her hands stopping inches short of your skin. "It's okay, Y/N, it's okay. I'm right here. Can I touch you?"

You nodded, but you still couldn't bring yourself to look at her.

Casey scooped you into her lap like a child, wrapping her arms protectively around you and cradling your head next to hers.

"I'm sorry, Casey," you said again and again, anxiety and panic and exhaustion giving way to pure shame as you grasped her shirt and wept. "I'm sorry."

Casey had tried. She had tried to hold it together for you, but seeing you so broken, hearing you apologize to her for this horrific thing that had happened to you–it broke her, too. Her tears came all at once. "You don't need to be sorry, honey," she told you, pressing her forehead to yours, your tears mingling. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry. I'm sorry it happened. I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you."

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping snot from your nose. "You're like three years older than me."

She kissed the side of your head over and over, smoothing your wrecked hair and holding you as tight as she could. "You're safe now, Y/N," she said, for both of you, like a mantra. "I will always keep you safe. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."

You buried your head under Casey's, making yourself small.

She rubbed your back, breathing slowly and rhythmically. You didn't notice, but yours followed.

Neither of you knew how long you sat like that, but after a while Casey asked, "Am I holding you too tight?"

You shook your head, snaking your arms around her waist. "No. Please don't let go."

"Never," she whispered, her breath hot on your cheek.