#and it never ends with the Bad People (and frankly rarely ACTUALLY starts with or involves them at all)

[morgenlich]

the thing about saying “violence against [fascists/pedophiles/etc] is always justified” is that people immediately begin to expand their definition of who counts as a [fascist/pedophile/etc] to include people they personally don’t like, in order to justify violence against them, whether or not they are actually a [fascist/pedophile/etc] or whether they are actually doing harm (or are very likely to do harm) to others. the solution to dealing with the fact that [fascists/pedophiles/etc] exist in society should never be to go looking for a reason to do violence, or to train yourself to treat violence as a reflexive action.

[ifancyharry]

Too late

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Word count: 6.8k

What is it: childhood friends to strangers to lovers; YN is getting married and she and Harry haven't spoken in five years. Harry hopes it's not too late, because he's been in love with her since he was 10. angst

TW: mentions of marijuana

When Harry received the invite he was coming back from his usual morning run. It had started as a rather nice kind of morning, really; the weather was warm and the sun kissed his tights with every jog he took, turning his skin a nice golden color, but not enough to make him sweat to the point of grossness. 

Days like that were rare in London, especially in May, so Harry, while he was running, thought about five nice things he could do outside to take advantage of the beautiful weather. Of course, he obviously hadn’t taken in prospective the possibility of getting home to an invitation to his best friend’s wedding, so instead of sun bathing, eating his favorite meal on the porch and whatever other three things he’d come up with, he closed the door behind him, shut all the blinds, and sat on his bathroom floor for hours. And not what felt like hours. He really sat there until his bum had taken the shape of the floor’s tiles. 

He has to admit, albeit without little shame, he tried to throw up a couple of times. He most definitely knows how dramatic that sounds, but call it poetic license or a really bad taste in romantic movies, it felt appropriate at the time. Because he really did feel like throwing up. 

When he started feeling too pathetic to excuse his behavior, he jogged downstairs once again, and he picked up the invite in between his fingers. If he’s being honest, he really hoped the letter wouldn’t be there anymore. He’d rather have imagined it. A nightmare he couldn’t seem to wake up from, or perhaps a sick joke? YN wasn’t like that. She could never joke about such things. 

Harry was definitely the more unserious out of the two, and even he wouldn’t dare to pull such a prank on her. So he knew the invite was real. 

After a brief moment where he seriously contemplated going MIA and pull another ‘kissy’ post and disappear until the upcoming year, he took out his phone from his hoodie’s pocket and opened the calendar app. 

As he came closer to the date, he was praying to god he’d be busy. Call him coward all you want. He was really hoping YN chose the date of the Met (it’s not like he was planning on going, but he’d definitely reconsider if it meant missing her wedding) or the date he’d set for an album release. She hadn’t. She actually chose a nice, free Sunday at the end of the month. And Harry felt like lying on the bathroom floor all over again. 

If Harry was any other person in the world, he would have felt guilty. Because you’re supposed to be happy if your best friend’s getting married. Except, Harry isn’t like other people. Because Harry’s been in love with YN since he was a child; since the very first moment she moved next door and Harry wasn’t even old enough to know what love was all about. He’s certainly aged now, and with it you’d think the love he felt for her could have subdued, or fade, but it never did. It stayed with him until the very day he received the invite. 

Harry eyes briefly the piece of paper in his hands, ‘You’re invited to YN and Graham’s wedding’ and bla bla bla, written in that one font Harry despises (he truly doesn’t, he wasn’t even aware that font existed before this morning), and he feels the sudden urge to pick up a lighter and burn it. That’s how much he despises that font. That’s how much he loves YN. Because seeing her name close to another who isn’t his, makes him want to never get out of bed ever again — he contemplated doing that already, and, frankly, he probably will, at least until he isn’t required to do something like a show or whatever else Jeff schedules for him. 

The thing is that the invite wouldn’t have had this effect on him if YN and Harry were still friends. Because despite Harry still calling YN his best friend, he doesn’t know if she considers him even a friend anymore, and he made it that way. It’s his fault. Harry, who’s someone who never takes accountability for anything, knows it’s his fault. And everyone around them knows, but sometimes Mitch, who maybe cares about him to the point of hiding the truth from him for his sake, tells him it wasn’t his fault entirely; he says: you followed your heart, so you made the right choice — which coming from Mitch means a lot. But Harry, despite appreciating the effort, knows it’s not true. Because he did follow his heart, but he lost her. So really, he would have preferred a life in pain beside her. Because now he’s still in pain but without her. So who won? 

-

YN never thinks about Harry. She doesn’t think about him when she’s shopping at Primark and sees a fruit theme stuffy she knows he’d like, she doesn’t think about him when she gets in the car and her bluetooth connects to his playlist on her Spotify automatically (she told Graham many times it wasn’t her fault, it was kind of a default thing her car did), she’s not thinking about him now, in front of her closet, debating whether she should wear a dress he bought her for her wedding rehearsal dinner.

YN sometimes likes to pretend she never knew Harry. She likes to pretend she never moved next door to him when she was only ten, she likes to pretend he never auditioned on xfactor, she likes to pretend she loves Graham as much as she loves Harry. 

Other times, YN likes to pretend there’s a universe in which Harry’s the one she’s marrying. In this universe, she imagines never meeting Graham, she imagines Harry never leaving and shattering her heart, she imagines the cat they’d adopt, the house they’d buy, how they’d raise their children; in this universe she sees herself always happy. 

She knows she’s not being fair to Graham, so she lets herself linger in this universe only for a couple of minutes and especially on hard days when she feels overwhelmed, it doesn’t make it more morally right, she’s aware of that, but what else could she really do? 

When YN sent Harry that invite, she certainly didn’t think he’d come. It’s not like she appositely called Jeff and asked — begged — him to free his schedule the day of her wedding. She asked Glenn instead because she’s friendlier with her. 

A part of YN still wonders why she did it, from time to time. Maybe, if she was a bad person, she could’ve done it because she wanted Harry to see her happy and in love. But she’s not like that. She could never imagine hurting him in that way. 

So, she always comes to the conclusion that maybe she sent the invite because she just misses him. It’s not like she has to have another reason. Missing him is enough. 

She knows no one is truly aware of the affection she feels for Harry. What she feels for him isn’t nowhere near what she feels for Graham. In the past, she used to be so scared of feeling such things for another, because with those feelings came the realization that she also had something to lose. And she truly felt like she couldn’t do it without him. 

But then, he left her. And she did do it without him. She met Graham, graduated college, and got engaged. And at one point, she felt like she’d give up everything to have Harry beside her again. So, can you blame her if she remembered his address by heart? Can you blame her if she invited him? 

-

Harry feels like a pretentious asshole. 

He hates his car; he hates the flashy yellow color of his Ferrari, the sound it makes when he revs the engine and all heads turn to look at him. All but one, because YN’s the only one that recognizes him by the sound of his car. Even five years later.

When he gets out of the car, he feels like everyone’s looking at him, and he doesn’t dare shift his gaze to see if she’s looking at him too. He feels like they all know what he did that night, that he broke her heart. He feels exposed before them.

He’s glad YN invited Jeff and Glenn too, and he waits for them to get out of their car too before approaching the crowd.

“So nice!” Glenn exclaims once she’s out of the car, shutting the passenger’s door loudly behind her. 

Harry looks around and has to admit, it really is nice. A nice old cottage in the English countryside, with a big well-kept garden full of flowers he knows it’s where the wedding will take place (because YN loves flowers). It’s nice. He’d be a liar if he said otherwise, but it’s not YN. Because YN, or at least the version he knew of her, wanted to get married in the winter — on Christmas Eve —, in a small chalet with only her close family and friends, where the snow would never stop falling and they’d be forced to stay in with the fireplace popping and wool, chunky blankets to keep everyone warm. 

“YN!” He hears Glenn once again, and he shifts his attention to her. 

She’s standing on the porch, wrapped in a long black coat definitely too warm for the weather, and despite being far from where he’s standing, he can see her clearly. She hasn’t changed. It’s still her. 

Harry doesn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe a more grown up version of her, definitely boring and that kind of resembled her mother a bit. He wasn’t expecting her. The YN he once knew still there, perhaps more beautiful than ever. 

He feels his heart skip a beat, and with her walking slowly towards them, waving politely at a couple of guests that stop to greet her on the way, he feels warm. A kind of warm that resembles the one he felt as a kid when he was sick and his mum would take care of him. He feels something that reminds him of a certain familiarity, like he had been floating all this time and he’s finally back on the ground. He feels parts of himself coming back with every step she takes forward.

“Hello” he hears her giggle, and he feels the sound resonate in his chest, spreading all over his body up until the very end of his fingers. 

“Hi!” Glenn squeals, shrugging her shoulders and stretching her arms forward, closing YN in a hug between her arms.

“I’m so happy you came” she says, her voice muffled by Glenn’s shoulder, and Harry isn’t sure if she means him too. 

She hasn’t exactly looked at him, but Harry isn’t upset about that. He knows her. He knows how she is. She never makes eye contact when she’s uncomfortable. And Harry feels a certain smugness come with it. He’d rather make her uncomfortable than uninterested, because with her uncomfortableness comes the realization that maybe, maybe — deep down, under her skin and rooted in her heart — she did miss him too. And maybe it’s not like Mitch says. Maybe it was his fault and he should’ve fought for her. 

However, Harry realizes things always late; because she’s getting married to someone else now. 

YN briefly hugs Jeff too, and after that, she smiles awkwardly at Harry and waves at him with her hand, “Hey” she says, her hand dropping by her side. 

“Hey” he replies, and he watches as she hugs the coat closer to her body as a sudden gust of wind embraces them, ruffing her hair. Harry can make out the faint scent of her shampoo, and as it fills his nostrils, his mind is swarmed with memories of hot summer nights where they would talk in bed for hours after swimming in his stepdad’s pool all day, minds free of whatever worry a 15 year old could have, sweaty bodies sticky together, tanned skin against skin, Harry not being able to make out where he’d end and she’d begin. 

“This place is so nice!” Glenn interrupts, and YN is grateful for that, because she isn’t sure what she would’ve done if Glenn hadn’t talked. She fears she would’ve leaned in to hug Harry if she’d stared a second more into his green eyes. 

In the five years they spent apart, YN always wondered if there would come a time when she’d no longer remember the exact shade of green of his eyes and the way they used to twinkle when he’d talk about something he was passionate about. 

Now, YN doesn’t know what things Harry’s passionate about, but his eyes are the same color she remembered. Despite the stubble on his chin, and the cheeky grin he used to give her turning in a more mature one, his eyes stayed the same. 

“I know, right! Graham picked it, he used to come here on vacation with his family when he was a child” YN smiles happily at Glenn, and turns her body to look around herself.

Harry frowns at her words. Of course Graham picked it. She never would’ve if it was up to her, he knew that. And somehow, call him an asshole all you want, he feels a certain smugness coming with the awareness that he knows YN more than her own fiancee does. 

“It’s nice” he agrees, and he smirks at her when she snaps her head in his direction, probably not expecting him to talk, “but I prefer winter weddings, you know? With the snow and everything…” 

YN’s happy smile turns in a frown when she hears the words come out of his mouth. She isn’t entirely sure about Harry’s motives. She doesn’t know if he remembers that she wanted to get married in winter or if he’s just expressing a preference. She doesn’t know this Harry anymore.

“It’s beautiful, YN” Jeff chimes in, and YN shifts her glance towards him and smiles at him too.

“Let’s go, then! I want to introduce you to Graham” she exclaims, and turns around, grabbing Glenn by the arm and intertwining it with hers.

“C’mon” Jeff says, patting Harry on the shoulder as an encouragement.

Harry nods and starts to walk beside him, his hands tucked in his pockets as another gust of wind flies over them. 

He watches YN walk in front of him, too occupied to talk with Glenn to close her coat against the wind, and he’s sure he can make out the floral design of the Gucci dress he bought her on his vacation to Italy many years ago. How happy she looked when she opened it, and Harry remembers he thought about how much he wanted to buy her every pretty dress in the world if it meant seeing her so happy.

He kisses his mouth at the memory of every dress he saw in those five years and that he thought about buying. Now, knowing she still wears his gifts, he wishes he did. He wishes he bought everything that reminded him of her. 

Harry knows it’s just a dress, and he shouldn’t get this flustered over such a simple thing as that! But with it comes the realization that maybe, in her deepest subconscious, she wore it for him. And Harry’s content with that. Because maybe then that means that those five years apart didn’t mean anything. Maybe then she missed him as much as he missed her. And Harry feels warm at the mere thought. Maybe he hasn’t lost her entirely.

-

Harry met Graham, and everything went somehow fine. 

It’s not like she was imagining Harry fighting Graham over her — no, that’s just a thought that pops in her mind every once in a while when she catches herself fantasizing over what her life with Harry could be like.

It’s weird to YN how there’s someone in her life that Harry didn’t know until she introduced him. And not just someone; her future husband. It sets a weird kind of awareness, because until now she was almost pretending Harry was in an island unknown to mankind, without his phone and that’s why he wasn’t calling. 

Now, seeing him shake her fiancee’s hand, smiling politely at him, she realizes Harry wasn’t stranded on an island without technology; the missing phone calls were a choice. So she should be happy she’s no longer involved with such a person. 

Why isn’t she happy, though? Why does she catches herself wishing she could go up to his room, lay on his bed and talk to him? 

She really wishes she could tell him she’s scared of marrying Graham. She knows he could tell him that and he wouldn’t judge her like everyone else would. She knows he’d have the answer. He’d say something like “get your stuff, I’ll start the car” and they’d laugh and run away to the nearest McDonald’s drive through to stuff their mouth with a big mc or some chicken nuggets, and Harry would purposely stain her wedding dress with barbecue sauce, and she’d laugh. As I said before, whenever she catches herself fantasizing about an alternative universe with Harry, she’s alway happy.

So, then, why didn’t she call? Why did she let five years pass? Five years without hearing his voice. Seeing his eyes. 

She doesn’t know why. 

At first she was mad, because Harry made love to her and then he left. So she was really really mad. Then, after the anger had subdued, she got scared. Scared he didn’t want her anymore. Scared their friendship wouldn’t be like before — now, she thinks it doesn’t matter if their friendship had changed. She wanted Harry around, no matter what.

She’s aware sometimes nostalgia makes you remember things that were never there. But she feels like it was different with Harry; it’s why she’s walking towards his room now, heart in her throat, and hands twitching at her sides.

She wishes it could be easier. She wishes she could be different. She has a fiancee. Why is she going to Harry’s room? Why did she invite him in the first place!

The cottage has six rooms upstairs, and she remembers exactly in which room she put Harry. He’s the only one without a plus one, so his room is smaller than the others. She hopes he liked it, but she knows he didn’t. It’s too fancy, for him. He doesn’t like flashy things, which is kind of ironic for someone who owns six cars, but who is she to judge when she helped him pick the very one he came here with? 

When she stops in front of his door, she feels ashamed, and she’s scared someone may catch her, even if she’s not doing anything wrong, just greeting an old friend. But Harry wasn’t always a friend. There was one night in which they were more than friends, and she feels herself fluster at the thought of being alone with him in a bedroom.

She releases a big breath and closes her hand in a fist, knocking it against the door. 

When he doesn’t answer she tries again, “Harry, it’s YN”, she clarifies. 

Nothing.

She stands before the door for a couple of minutes, but then realizes he’s not going to answer. He doesn’t want to see her. 

It’s fine. She’s fine. 

She understands, it’s been five years. She can’t pretend nothing has changed between them. She feels stupid when she turns around to head back to her room and a single tear rolls down her cheek. She wipes it away before anyone can see. She refuses to cry. She cried enough when he left. 

This gave her the answer she needed. She’s marrying Graham, and if before she wished Harry’d persuade her in not marrying him, she knows he doesn’t care now. 

-

Harry’s sitting on the his bedroom’s floor, freshly showered, his hair still a little damp from the water, waiting near the outlet on the wall for his phone to charge. He’s playing with the chord of his phone’s charger as he listens to his mother rumble on the other side of the line. 

He’s not paying much attention to what she’s saying, his mind is definitely more focused on this morning’s encounter he had with YN’s fiancee. Harry tried to be on his best behavior, because despite hating Graham, he loves YN and he wants to be respectful of her choices. Harry has always been someone that never fought for what he wanted. He kind of always went with other’s decisions. He doesn’t know why he’s like this. Sometimes he thinks it’s just easier to let others decide for you, other times he’s aware it’s a matter of accountability: he doesn’t want to be responsible for his own choices, because then if something goes wrong, he doesn’t have anyone to blame but himself. 

“How’s YN? I’ve seen her Instagram and she looks even more beautiful” he hears his mum say, and his eyes widen at her words.

“Mmmh, yes, she’s beautiful” Harry agrees, chewing at the skin of his thumb. 

“Do you think she’ll have a baby soon?” Anne asks, and Harry almost wants to throw his phone against the wall at the mere thought of the love of his life having a baby with someone else.

“I don’t know, mum… I don’t think so” he shakes his head, but his words aren’t that much convincing to him. He doesn’t know if YN wants to have a baby with Graham. She had expressed her desire to have a big family when they were still friends and when she thought the timing was right, but was it now? Was it with Graham? He honestly doesn’t know.

“You know, I always thought she had a little bit of a crush on you” Anne giggles, almost childishly.

“She’s getting married” Harry says, and his tone suddenly turned stern. He doesn’t want to be rude, especially to his mum, but thoughts of what could’ve been have been hunting him especially hard since he saw her, and he doesn’t want to come to terms with the fact that maybe something could’ve happened between them if he had been a little more brave.

“She isn’t married now” his mum says, and he rolls his lips in his mouth. 

Weird enough, he knows what his mother means: she’s giving him an ultimatum, a sweet reminder that there’s still time. She’s not married yet. But what could Harry do? He really wishes someone could tell him. He wants his mum to say, Harry, tell her you love her before it’s too late. And he swears he’d do it. He’d do it right now. But coming up with that decision on his own? He’s not that much impulsive. 

“Mum” he says, “I have to go now. It’s time for dinner”.

“Okay, my love.” She replies.

“We’ll talk tomorrow” he nods, and ends the call, throwing his phone in his lap.

He shuts his eyes tightly and his head drops between his knees, his hands reaching up to clutch his hair at the roots. 

He feels pathetic. He feels like screaming in a pillow. He picks up his phone again and taps at the scree to check the time: 7.37 pm. At this time tomorrow the love of his life will be married to someone that’s not him.

-

Harry is late. Everyone has already eaten their appetizer and he still hasn’t shown up. Yn knows she probably shouldn’t care, especially after he didn’t answer the door after she knocked on it three times feeling like a naive teenager with a school crush. But still. She wonders what he’s doing. It’s not like she blames him, this dinner is pretty boring, and coming from the bride says a lot! But Graham especially requested no music and no dancing while eating, so the room is kind of quiet, albeit for a soft giggle or whispered words every once in a while. 

She’s biting in her pasta when Harry walks in, and suddenly she feels breathless. He’s beautiful. The kind of beautiful that warms her insides and reminds her of the color yellow, the sun shining when they visited Rome together, the tan he used to get at his stepdad’s pool when she’d spend hours looking at his lips while he sunbathed and she wondered if they tasted like chlorine. Beautiful. 

He walks slowly towards where he spots Jeff and Glenn, and YN looks at him shamelessly; he’s wearing cream tailored pants that hug his tights perfectly, paired with a silky blue blouse tucked at the front of the pants. She swallows the mouthful of pasta. When they were friends he definitely didn’t dress like that, he was more into skinny jeans and flowery button down shirts. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t like him like this. But, must I dare say, she’d like Harry even if he was wearing a trash bag.

He throws her an awkward smile before sitting down, and she shifts her eyes down on her plate, suddenly aware of being caught staring. 

As dinner goes on, she never raises her eyes from her plate, not even when she feels a familiar pair of green eyes burning her skin.

-

YN pushes her palm against the wooden door and takes in a big breath once the fresh spring air hits her warm face. She takes a step outside and the door closes behind her with a thump. She cringes at the sound and hopes it didn’t wake anyone up.

It’s almost one in the morning and she couldn’t sleep. She doesn’t know wether it’s pre-wedding anxiety or the thought of another universe soon to be lost forever, but she felt a heavy weight on her chest that made it hard to breathe.

She looks at the garden before her and decides she wants to take a walk in the rose garden. She’s always loved flowers, and she thinks seeing some beauty could help her clear her mind.

She makes her way down the cobbled path, illuminated by some lamps paved across the way, but when she reaches the start of the rose garden, she has to blink a few times to accustom her eyes to the darkness. 

The garden is the only thing she likes about her wedding location, and she’s thankful Graham agreed to get married there. He decided everything else, so at least he left that part up to her.

When she turns the corner of the hedge that divided the rose garden from the location of the wedding, she’s surprised to see a dark figure sitting in one of the reception’s chair.

She walks closer and she’s able to make out a familiar pair of broad shoulders bent over. Harry’s sitting on a chair from the first row, his head hanging low between his shrugged shoulders, his legs are slightly opened and his forearm is resting on one of his tights, the bright fire red of what she knows is a joint illuminating the side of his face. 

She’d recognize Harry even in darkness, but she still feels her heart fall to her chest when she realizes he’s right in front of her, sitting probably where he’d be tomorrow.

She debates whether she should go sit next to him or go back to her room and pretend she never saw him. It’s almost like she can’t control her own legs when they start to walk towards him.

With the movement, Harry turns his head around and his eyes widen at the sight; YN’s walking towards him, but what’s most shocking to him is that she’s making her way down the aisle. He suddenly gets up on his feet when he sees her, and when she stops right in front of him, she gives him a mischievous smile.

She’s breath taking. If this is what Graham will see tomorrow, he doesn’t know how he’ll manage not to faint.

“Walked like a true bride!” He says jokingly, and she giggles at his words, slapping his chest lightly. Harry feels the skin burn under her touch.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks, and she shakes her head.

“Can I?” She says, gesturing to the lit joint he’s holding between his fingers. He’d almost forgotten what he was doing before she appeared.

“Mhmh” he nods, stretching his arm. 

She doesn’t take the joint from his fingers though, she just opens her mouth and waits for him to place it between her lips, and Harry swears he can feel himself faint, his head dizzy with all the love he feels for her.

He holds the joint between her lips and she takes a long drag from it, tilting her head towards his fingers, closing her eyes after she inhales. She opens her mouth again and opens her eyes as she exhales the smoke from her mouth, Harry watching closely her every movement, his eyes dark and glazed over.

He watches as she turns around and sits on one of the white chairs, the one next to where he was sitting before, and she tugs one leg to her chest as she hugs it closer to her chest.

Harry stays standing before her for a while, looking at the faint image of the cottage behind her and absentmindedly smoking his joint. When he feels her eyes on him, he looks down at her. It’s been years since they’ve been this close, and suddenly he’s 15 years old again, his hands twitching at his sides from how much he wants to stretch them out and just touch her.

“Graham is nice” he says, and immediately after he cursers himself in his mind for ruining the moment when he sees her gaze harden.

“Yeah, he is…” she whispers. 

Harry tilts the joint towards her to ask her if she wants another hit, but she shakes her head no and he drops his hand at his side, nodding his head.

“I really like the place, by the way. I was only teasing this morning” he shrugs, smiling at her. 

“You were?” She asks, and when he nods she says, “so you remember?”

“Of course I remember.” And he doesn’t have to say anything more, because they both know what he means.

“Graham picked everything” she releases a shaky breath at that, and Harry takes another drag from his joint and raises both his eyebrows to signal her to continue as he exhales the smoke from his mouth.

“I wasn’t… I didn’t want this” she shakes her head, shifting her gaze from his eyes to an indefinite point behind him.

Harry wonders whether she means the cottage or the wedding. Perhaps she even means their fight. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t dare ask, ignoring the voice in his head telling him that maybe she’s offering him an opening to a conversation he isn’t sure he wants to have.

 “I’m sure it’ll be wonderful anyway.” He smiles and throws the joint’s butt on the grass.

“Yeah” she nods firmly, and he’s aware of the tension lingering between them.

“I better go,” she says, getting up from the chair and tugging at the sleeves of her sweater to cover her hands “big day tomorrow”.

She smiles awkwardly at him when she walks past him, and Harry notices the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. 

He shifts his gaze in front of him, staring out in the darkness. He’s about to lose her all over again, the bitter night five years prior vivid in his memory, hitting him like a bullet. He thought the pain from leaving her that night had left, and he wonders how much time it will take for it to stop hurting. Maybe it never will.

He’s sure he doesn’t want to live his life with the memory of her back planted in his brain, leaving him once again. He doesn’t want to think back to her and remember her like this. Leaving.

So, when she’s about mid way through the aisle, he calls her name.

He doesn’t have a speech in his mind, and when she turns around with her brows furrowed and her shoulders sagged he doesn’t really know what to say, how to tell her.

“What, Harry?” It’s the first time he hears her say his name in five years, and he’s upset she sounds so defeated. He wishes he could make this easier for her, but he doesn’t know how.

His chest floats as he takes a big breath. 

“Whatever” she says, shaking her head, but Harry notices she doesn’t turn around.

“Don’t marry him” it’s the only thing he manages to say, and he isn’t even looking at her, he’s still looking out in front of him, and she wishes he could look at her to see if he’s joking or not.

She scoffs, because despite the words coming out of his mouth made her insides warm , she isn’t sure if he’s being serious. “You’re so… so immature! You enrage me!”

“No, no!” He hurries, waving his palms in front of him. “Hear me out, then you can — you can leave. if you want you can leave.” He nods, trying to convince himself, but he really doesn’t want her to leave.

“Don’t marry him. You know he’s not right for you! He… he’s controlling, he doesn’t know you! You shouldn’t marry someone like that.” He’s standing in front of her now, and he grabs her hands in his.

“Is that the only reason you don’t want me to marry him?” She whispers, looking up in his eyes.

“No… i-“ he sighs. 

“You can’t even say it, Harry.” She frowns, trying to free her hands from his grip, but he only tightens it, intertwining his fingers with hers.

“I can say it.” He nods, “i don’t want you to marry him because I want it to be me. I— I have loved you since I could remember.”

She shuts her eyes tightly at his words, “you don’t mean that”.

Harry frees her hands and reaches for her face, caressing her warm cheeks with his thumbs.

“I do. I do.” He nods, “look at me, angel — please look at me” 

YN opens her eyes and Harry can feel his heart clench at the sight of her beautiful eyes filled with tears. 

“You had me, Harry. All those years ago, you had me. But you let me go! You have no idea how… how hard it was”

This time, Harry closes his eyes and then reopens them, despite being aware, the thought of making her suffer is hard to face. 

“I thought… I didn’t…—“ he shakes his head, his hands still keeping the firm grip on her face, “my life was hard, YN. It was crazy. I thought… you weren’t ready. I didn’t want to ruin you.”

“You did anyway. I hated you for what you did to me. I hated you for leaving.” She frowns, tears spilling from her eyes, but Harry wipes quickly at them with his thumb before they can roll down her cheeks. He leans down to place a delicate kiss between her eyes.

“I never once left you. In my heart it has always been you.”

He can feel her start to soften, but the she says “It’s too late now.”, and she shakes her head, her hands reaching up to remove Harry’s from her face. He complies, not wanting to force her. “I’m getting married, tomorrow.” 

“Angel, please” he whispers, but she’s already turned around, and Harry’s left alone in the middle of the aisle.

Suddenly he feels nauseous, and he brings a hand to his chest to calm his restless heart. As I said before, Harry realizes things always too late.

-

The next morning, Harry wakes up on his bed with the sound of an alarm he forgot he’d set. As he rubs the sleep off his eyes, he can’t wait to get the hell out of this place as soon as he can, and when he reaches for his phone and checks the time, he remembers why he set the alarm so early in the morning: this way he can avoid everyone from the ceremony on his way out. 

He can’t bare the thought of sitting through the wedding. He’ll send YN some fancy gift that she’ll enjoy with her husband and then he’ll disappear from her life once again. 

He knows it’s better this way.

He did it one time before. He knows already how long it will take to mourn their lost friendship and get back on track. The sooner he goes home and sleeps his feelings off, the sooner he’ll feel better.

He hurriedly throws his clothes in his suitcase, without caring if they get wrinkly or ruined. He grabs his phone and its charger and doesn’t even bother to check the bathroom twice to see if he left something behind. He doesn’t care, he’s eager to get far away and never face the heartbreak he’s leaving with.

As soon as he opens the door, though, the bag in his hand falls from his grip to the ground as he takes in the image in front of him. 

YN’s against the other side of the wall, her head hung low between her shoulders. 

“YN?” He asks, and she looks at him with her big, glossy eyes, and Harry feels like staying. He feels like grabbing her hand and tugging her inside, kissing her until he’s finally able to show her how much he loves her.

“I’m not… I—“ she shakes her head, her voice trembling as she gets her back off the wall and takes a step towards him, “i called the wedding off.”

It’s the only thing she says, but Harry feels butterflies fly in his stomach. His heart clenches in his chest, and he has to bring a hand to his chest like he did the night before to make sure he’s not having a heart attack.

“It’s not too late.” She whispers, “if you still want me, it’s not too late.”

Harry reaches up to her and tugs her closer to him by her arm. 

“I’ll never not want you”.

YN steps in the room and closes the door behind her, and Harry gently takes her face in his hands and tilts her head up. He looks from one eye to the other attentively before placing his lips against hers, and he almost contemplates not closing his eyes in fear she’d no longer be there when he reopens them, but YN moves her hands from his neck, to his shoulders, and he feels her grabbing his shirt between her fingers and holding him closer, her fingers digging in his skin. She’s real. She’s here, and he’s kissing her. It’s been five years since he’s last tasted her, and this time he’s kissing her without guilt. Because it’s not too late. Life just started.

YN parts her lips slightly and Harry sucks her bottoms lip in his mouth, eager to taste her more. 

His tongue licks over her lips and when she whimpers against his lips, he sneaks his  tongue inside her mouth and caresses hers with his. He explores her mouth like his life depends on it, and he feels like he wants to drink her. He wants to get drunk on her taste and never recover.

YN moves her hands from his shoulders to the hem of his shirt, tugging on it, and Harry parts from her mouth breathlessly. He feels dizzy and he’s not entirely sure it’s from the lack of air.

“No” he says, taking her hands in his and squeezing them in his grasp.

YN pouts at him and he tilts his head to kiss it away from her lips with a brief peck: “i want you. I really do. But not here”.

She widens her eyes at his words and realizes she was almost about to have sex with Harry when her ex fiancee and his family could hear them. She giggles loudly at the thought, and Harry, despite not knowing why she’s laughing, lets out a chuckle, shaking his head and looking at her with a bewildered look in his eyes.

“Let’s leave then.” She says when she calms down.

“Okay.” He nods, picking up his bag from the floor, “get your stuff. I’ll start the car.”

YN bites down on her bottom lip hard, trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

“What?” He says once he realizes she still hasn’t moved from her place.

She shakes her head, “nothing” she says, “i’m glad I wasn’t too late.”

“You could never be too late” he smiles, and he hopes she knows he’d wait for her all his life if it meant having her beside him. 

[charmac]

just wanna say I agree wholeheartedly with your tags on that fandom post. I have been following sunny on here since 2015 and there is a constant cycle of sensitive, and frankly delusional people, who claim the show, make crazy headcanons and justifications to make it tolerable and acceptable to them before they eventually shun and condemn the show altogether. it was very bad in 2018 and made me withdraw from the fandom lmao. I remember being most annoyed with the endless woobifying of charlie and the absolute condemnation of dee above everyone else. like, they're all bad. that's the point of the show. I just don't understand how they could stomach it in the first place

You are a warrior, dude.

The reason it took me so long to join Sunnyblr in the first place was the fact that ~early 2020 I was rarely seeing anything here that was based in canon, mostly weird headcanons that made no sense to me, and Reddit genuinely seemed like a more based place to exist for this show.

I literally needed a friend to give me specific accounts to follow because the tag was (and, sorry, lowkey still is) a nightmare. (Though to be fair I’ve been in fandoms on Tumblr for over a decade and literally never liked scrolling tags.)

I got into Sunny and I fell in love with Sunny because of canon. Because it’s so fucking weird and fucked up but it’s FUNNY, and there’s genuinely nothing like it. The characters are horrible stupid terrible people but they’re actually deeply complex and rich to study, so much so that you feel extremely compelled in a multitude of ways to dedicate yourself to some part of them, or all parts of them. But.. if you strip them of those core identities, of what the characters stand for, that compulsion is gone, void, irrelevant.

Because it’s the extremely raw, almost purely acting on basic instinct, unfiltered humanity, worst parts of the self, inability to recognise or follow societal norms aspects of these characters that are relatable. It’s relatable in a way that *should* make you uncomfortable, feel unsettled, and maybe a little relieved that these parts of people can be acknowledged... That’s a unique and interesting feeling, something people engage with media like this to explore and expand upon, and it’s often something that genuinely helps or supports people who wrestle with a lot of the heavy concepts Sunny satirises (and sometimes just, shoves at you head on).

When people start to disregard all of this, for whatever reason they do, that’s when you end up with the Fandom using Sunny Characters as an “ability to project” or (much worse) a “near blank canvas to play with” (because, yeah, if you strip them of their literal reason for being created and continued existence, ofc you lose their whole identity!?)

The problem seems to be that either 1) they just don’t understand the show well enough to get that they’re disregarding this aspect of the plots and characters, and so they genuinely don’t recognise that the fandom for Sunny exists because of these terrible compulsions and insane trauma exploration and that’s why we enjoy discussing and playing with these characters or 2) they do understand this but they can’t engage with it without some kind of personal moral conundrum or extreme discomfort, so they have to sanitise or completely alter the characters to enjoy them.

The thing is, if you fall into category 2, you just don’t belong in the depths of it all, and it’s an unfortunate truth you have to face. If you cannot enjoy canon, if the actual show makes you extremely uncomfortable and you’re only here for a gay ship or to project your gender and sexuality onto one character, you need to go stan something else. I say that with the greatest intentions for you. As Anon here has stated, it’s an insane cycle in this fandom over and over, you’re just going to upset yourself and resent the show and the people here, because we like the canon and the fuckery because that’s what the show is for. That is the literal point of the show at the end of the day.

Now if you’re in category 1, I heavily encourage you to actually *talk to people about the show and the characters*, read analysis, watch the episodes with different frames of reference and in alternate states of mind. Do your own analysis or character work, try and just write out the plot of your favourite episode and put to words *why* you like it. Hell, try and write a fanfic or a spec script from the mind of one of the characters, even if you think you can’t write.

Honestly, honestly, honestly, if you genuinely like this show at face value but you’re only engaging with fanon because you feel like you ‘shouldn’t’ openly enjoy the canon because it’s seen as ‘bad,’ the best thing you can do is have a conversation with someone, or multiple people, who get the show.

That being said, I do wanna open this shell Discord I’ve made to people. For people who *enjoy* the canon, who want to discuss actual Sunny (and also have fun with it, of course!) you’re welcome to join.

A lot of you get it. I’ve made some amazing friends in this fandom and regularly have extremely stimulating and insanely throught provoking convos with the people I’ve met here. I love it, it drives my insane passion for this show and I am eternally grateful to have found people who love this show for what it is. I hope, if you’re struggling to figure out why you like this show or struggling to accept that you like media like Sunny, you reach out or join a conversation and learn to love it too. And if you don’t, if you genuinely hate the canon of this show and only like the version of Macdennis you saw in a dozen different Tiktok edits to Taylor Swift songs, I really hope you move on for your own sake.

[that-house]

SATAN’S PERFECT IDIOT OR: POP MUSIC AND THE BATTLE FOR SURVIVAL IN NEW SPACE CITY OR: INVINO VERITAS AND THE DOCUMENTARY TO END ALL DOCUMENTARIES (AND THE WORLD)

To explain why for me, universally-beloved pop sensation Invino Veritas, being drunk on The Every Night Show with Blue Jerry Seinfeld was a bad thing would require copious context that I’m too lazy to give right now, especially when it could be revealed at a more interesting and dramatic time later. Suffice it to say the conversation had started bad, and was going worse.

“is that legal?” asked famous talk show host Blue Jerry Seinfeld, bluely.

“No,” replied famous pop star Invino Veritas (me, in case you forgot), honestly.

We both trailed off into an awkward silence, the sort of silence that two famous people trail off into when one of them confesses to double-parking a private jet in front of the fire escape of an orphanage on live TV, but in my defense building an orphanage near the corner store where I buy my menthols was poor civil planning on their part. Hardly anyone got hurt, anyways.

“While we’ve got you here, would you like to say anything about your upcoming album, Always Read the Fine Print?”

I batted my eyelids coquettishly, my seventeen thousand dollar UltraGlitter eyeshadow emitting enough light to temporarily blind (and in one case, as my lawyers would later tell me, somehow permanently deafen) the audiences at home. “Well, let's just say it’s still a bit of a work in progress.”

Blue Jerry Seinfeld stared at me gormlessly and bluely. As part of his ten year contract with The Every Night Show, he was obligated to stay awake 24/7/365/10, or actually more like 24/7/365.25/10 to account for leap years. It gave him a miserable earnestness that drew his guests in and inspired them to share things they’d never even admit to themselves. He didn’t need that for me, though, because I was drunk.

“I’m actually delaying on purpose,” I continued.

Blue Jerry Seinfeld’s sleepless blue eyes bored into my soul the way a particularly blue soul drill might similarly bore into my soul, only bluer. “Tell me more about that.”

“You see, Blue Jerry Seinfeld, you know how I’m with Morgenstern Records, you know, the record label owned by Lucifer Morningstar?”

“The guy from the bible, right?”

“Yeah. He did porn for a while, too.”

“Yeah. I’ve seen that. Good stuff.”

“Yeah.”

We trailed off into another awkward silence, the sort of silence that two famous people trail off into while thinking about the biblical Lucifer’s penis and its frankly ridiculous proportions. Thirteen inches length, seven inches circumference, by the way. I know you were wondering.

“Anyway, what about him?”

“Yeah, so you know all those stories about how someone makes a deal with the devil, and then they get totally screwed on the wording?”

“I’m familiar,” said the man who was contractually obligated to go ten years without sleeping. He was kind of ugly, now that I thought about it.

“I don’t think you’d really get it, actually,” I said, dismissing his lived experience the same way I dismissed my first butler for not excitedly running to come greet me at the door every time I got home. I mean, it wasn’t in Gerald’s terms of employment or anything but would it really have killed him to go above and beyond every single day? (LAWYER’S ADDENDUM: Gerald MacDonald had a rare and little-known heart condition which would have killed him if he ever felt any excitement or joy, and the depressive spiral he fell into following his termination likely saved his life. You cannot conclusively prove that my client, Invino Veritas, was unaware of his condition or that she specifically ended his employment for any reason other than to protect him).

Blue Jerry Seinfeld bristled in irritation, shaking his venomous quills as if to deter a predator and making a noise that sounded like a blue, be-quilled clone of a 20th century comedian muttering “fucking divas, man” under his breath. “As you were saying,” he said, more audibly and bluely.

“As I was saying, I made a deal with the devil and then I got totally screwed on the wording.”

You know what, to save time, let’s just assume that Blue Jerry Seinfeld does everything bluely going forward, and I can just say that he did a thing and you can add in the word “bluely” yourself, because the way he did it, whatever it was, was undeniably blue. So next paragraph, when I was going to say “‘Much like me and my deal with the studio,’ said Blue Jerry Seinfeld, making everything about him, bluely,” I’ll just say “‘Much like me and my deal with the studio,’ said Blue Jerry Seinfeld, making everything about him,” and you’ll just have to keep this paragraph in mind.

“Much like me and my deal with the studio,” said Blue Jerry Seinfeld, making everything about him. Did you do it? Did you do the thing I told you to do? The super easy thing I literally just told you to do? Here, consult this flow chart:

Yes, I did as I was ordered by pop sensation Invino Veritas: good girl, or whatever you are. Keep it up!

No, I ignored the super easy request of a really hot woman: literally how did you fuck that up. The bar was so low.

“Sure, Blue Jerry Seinfeld. Whatever. Anyway, back to talking about me: so I have a seven record deal with Morgenstern Records, right? And in the last five years I’ve put out six albums, all to incredible critical and financial success. Selling my soul to the devil was the best decision I ever made.”

“But…?” said Blue Jerry Seinfeld (don’t forget).

“But… I may have neglected to Always Read the Fine Print. See what I did there? Anyways, it turns out that when the seventh album is done, I go to Hell, and so does everyone who’s ever listened to even a single second of my music.” And of course, due to my incredible popularity and sex appeal, my music is inescapable in New Space City, so every single one of the ten trillion people who live here has heard my music.

“What the fuck? My fucking kids love your music! Oh god! Oh god we’re all going to die! Oh god! Oh cruel and merciless god, all I have ever asked of you is the chance to dream again, and now it seems I will be denied even that!” Blue Jerry Seinfeld was having a panic attack, something famously pretty common in cheaply-made clones. He didn’t even have kids, he just had implanted memories from the 1990s.

It was frankly pretty embarrassing, watching this blue man break down and cry on the floor, and clearly the studio execs agreed. A crack team of clonehunters rappelled onto the stage and shot Blue Jerry Seinfeld until he stopped twitching. The corpse was dragged off stage, and The Every Night Show with Blue Jerry Seinfeld cut to commercial.

The commercial was an ad for dog food, and featured a few scandalously-uncollared dogs dancing at the club to my hit single I Literally Just Killed a Guy (So Let’s Make Out in the Back of a Cop Car), so if there were any dogs in New Space City who somehow hadn’t heard my music, well, they probably were going to Hell now, too.

A few minutes later, they’d defrosted a new Blue Jerry Seinfeld, and rammed an icepick into the part of his brain responsible for feeling fear. “Sorry about that everyone,” said the new Blue Jerry Seinfeld, oozing blue blood from a hole in his eye socket. “So, Invino, you were saying that we’re all going to Hell. I hear it’s nice this time of year.”

“Yeah, pretty much. Of course, if anyone kills me before I finish the album, I guess I’d be the only one to go to Hell.”

Why did I say that. Oh right, the context.

So when I was like, seven years old, I got into a wish-god’s windowless white van because he said he could turn me into a princess. When I told him my name was Invino Veritas, and that I lived at 3243293 Jelq Street, he started laughing.

I asked him what was so funny, and he said that he was going to turn me into a princess but then he had a way funnier idea, and cursed me so that I have to tell the truth as long as I have literally any alcohol in my bloodstream. It didn’t really affect me at the time, but once I reached the legal drinking age of twelve I started losing friends really fast because I couldn’t stop telling people that I thought I was better than them.

Who names their kid Invino Veritas, anyway? Like, that’s just asking for them to get bullied by an omnipotent, kinda pervy deity with a penchant for stupid puns. No one else in my family has a weird name, and still I got singled out for a stupid name-based curse from birth, the assholes. Whatever, I got to channel that rage into my music and I’m over it now. I’m over it.

“Could you say that again, for audiences at home?”

“Sure thing, Blue Jerry Seinfeld. When I finish my next album, every single person and dog and elf in New Space City will be immediately sent to Hell, unless I’m killed before it’s done.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to say, before a swarm of desperate fans looking to avoid eternal damnation storms the studio?”

“Just that I hear your complaints, and I’m listening, and I think I can delay the album for, like a year or two, so you should do whatever you want in the time you have before the world ends. Quit your job. Go on that vacation. Kill a guy and make out in the back of a cop car. Preorder Always Read the Fine Print, because I don’t think I can cash those royalty checks once I’m in Hell.”

“You heard her, New Space City. This has been The Every Night Show with Blue Jerry Seinfeld, and it will continue to be The Every Night Show with Blue Jerry Seinfeld until the world ends or my contract expires.” He turned to me, gripping my arm with the sort of intensity that you only get in freshly-defrosted clones. “You can escape out the back. I’ll hold them off for as long as I can. Good luck out there, Invino.”

Aw, that was actually really sweet of him. “Thanks, Blue Jerry Seinfeld. I’m sorry I called you ugly in my internal monologue.”

“Dying feels like falling asleep,” said Blue Jerry Seinfeld, still not releasing my arm.

“Okay, Blue Jerry Seinfeld.”

“Invino, even when I’m dead I don’t get to close my eyes. The cameras are always rolling.”

“Okay, Blue Jerry Seinfeld.” I tugged my arm free of his grip a little bit, but his grip was like magically-reinforced iron that was way stronger than steel or titanium, but probably weaker than magically-reinforced steel.

“The cameras are always rolling, Invino…”

“I have to go, Blue Jerry Seinfeld.” He let me go, and I sprinted out the back of the studio. Behind me, The Every Night Show with Blue Jerry Seinfeld cut to commercial again, and the screaming started.

[paris-geller-was-straightwashed]

'that adhd feel of-' 'adhd is not being able to' 'adhd is when you forget-' you're describing executive dysfunction. that's...it's executive dysfunction. like I NEED you to understand this.

I don't think this is purposefully malicious but jesus fucking christ it's no wonder the ~neurodiverse~ community on here can feel super alienating. I'd fucking eat own shoe if any so-called 'neurospicy' (derogatory) blogs can name EVEN ONE other condition then either adhd or autism as part of neurodiversity. ppl think it starts and ends there - and what I find the most infuriating, is that one of the most common symptoms when it comes to diverse brains (aka executive dysfunction) is talked about like it's SOLELY for adhd.

look. I got dyspraxia and ocd - two things considered a part of the neurodiverse umbrella. I also have learning disabilities that have affected my whole school life, and memory issues that I've been explaining to people as to why I've already forgotten their name since I was a kid. YET, ocd is rarely talked about in neurodiverse circles or even considered, and I'll literally pay two bucks to anyone reading this who can tell me what dyspraxia is (who isn't a professional or someone who has it, and if you do have dyspraxia, then I am giving you a cookie and fist bump). yet often, when I see posts passed around talking about issues like poor motivation or time blindness or bad memory, I find a lot to relate to - bc executive dysfunction, in case anyone missed it, affects many, many conditions! you don't even have to be neurodiverse; it's known to affect those with anxiety and depression too! there's so much layover - yet, I will see, inevitably, the post attributed to adhd or possibly asd. frankly, it's both alienating to those with other neurodiverse conditions, and possibly misleading, even if unintentional, to say it's an 'adhd thing.' you guys run the market and it's over-saturated; I'm just asking for adhd/asd to share a piece of it's throne.

to be honest, as what's considered a 'neurodiverse person', I barely find any commonality within the community. yes, as mentioned above, I will relate to common shared symptoms like executive dysfunction, but it's a complete shut-out when we act like those symptoms are only attributed to one condition. frankly with my ocd, I find way more commonality in schizophrenia/paranoia/psychosis communities then in the ND one (I would never act or say I know what it's like to experience those conditions, but I can relate to the fear of some outside force telling you something horrible is going to/will happen), and with dyspraxia, even when we talk about it, it gets so little coverage and recognition it leaves the whole community a bit dry. if anyone gives a shit, then maybe shine the light on us and others kicked to the sides (ppl with learning disabilities, dysgraphia, language disorders, and those with schizophrenia/affective disorders like I mentioned earlier, who are so often vilified by ppl online and on this site). we all struggle with executive dysfunction and a million other layover symptoms, and the nerotypical world is just as hard for us to navigate even if no one is bothering to listen.

I'm rambling at this point. everyone just..do better and actually recognize the 'diversity' in 'neurodiverse.'

[watching-sam-and-dean-again]

Watching a reactor on YouTube who just got to Season 4: Lazarus Rising, and I’m so annoyed by the amount of comments with people saying things like, "this is when the series REALLY starts" and "Seasons 1-3 were the prologue, now The Story begins" and "I’ve been waiting for you to meet my favorite character!"

First, I will never be able to understand Castiel being someone's legitimate favorite character. I just don’t get it. He starts off as a massive dick, becomes an ally, uses and betrays both brothers a number of times, rarely takes full responsibility for his actions, and ends up as a totally different and neutered version of himself. But this guy is your favorite!? The only reason I think a large number of fans who love him do is because he comes in the gate treating Sam like crap and he becomes a simp for Dean (or they are shippers). Also, if someone is a more casual fan, I can see enjoying Cass because he’s quirky and he mostly stands up for the Winchesters, but if someone is a big fan of the brothers, Cass makes their lives harder a lot of the time. Also, I’m coming to really hate the fact that the dude is always in a trench coat. How am I supposed to take a character seriously who is essentially like an unchanging cartoon character come to life? Anyway, despite how it might sound from my ranting, I actually do think people are allowed to love whatever character they want, but it just doesn’t compute for me personally that it’s Cass as he is on screen (not in someone’s head).

Next, the idea of people calling the first three seasons "The Prologue" to supernatural is offensive to me personally (well, not offensive but it’s dumb as hell). A prologue is used to give some important background that should be known for you to better understand the main story, but it happened before, or doesn’t quite fit into, the main narrative. I’m sorry, but the first three seasons of Supernatural are the foundation that everything builds off of, and maybe I’m splitting hairs here, but it’s not just the set up to the Real Story. The Real Story of Supernatural has always been and will always be "the epic love story of Sam and Dean," not the angel crap. Calling the basis of the whole show the prologue has an implied message that it’s not as important as, or connected to the rest of the story. Again, people are allowed to have their own opinions about what they enjoy in media, but this idea that what came before Season 4 wasn’t as important as the rest of the show is actually bad media literacy, especially when you consider how much retconning and inconsistency later seasons have (*cough* John Winchester, for exapmle). The early seasons are Supernatural at its most pure, and if you don’t like or care about Sam and Dean's story, what are you doing here?

I was going to go on by listing all of the important things that we learn about Sam and Dean's characters and relationship in the first three seasons, but honesty, I’m tired. If you’re reading my post, I’m sure you already know. True fans of the show, even if seasons 1 to 3 aren’t their favorite, know how important these seasons are. Frankly, if someone claims that they don’t matter as much as the later season, then I’m going to assume that they are probably a heller (and I’m probably right), thus their opinions on the show don’t matter.

Speaking of Hellers, they are the Jehovah’s Witnesses of fandom. They descend on your doorstep (YouTube video, blog post, etc), uninvited and unwelcome, to make you uncomfortable by forcing their literature (head-canons and subtext) on you in a vain attempt to make you convert to their twisted version of a cult religion (Destiel). Some get indoctrinated into their cult, others consider them a joke, and yet others are driven to madness by the constant hounding of the hellers. I wish they would just stay in their lane and let people come to their own conclusions about the show and the characters, but they try to gatekeep the fandom experience by jumping on anyone new and telling them how they are the "most popular ship" and that supernatural queerbaits, but Dean and Cass are still totes husbands, and there is some other guy there, too but Sam is just some jerk who isn’t as important as Wuwu Dean and their Little Meow Meow Cass. If somone actually sees and enjoys Destiel on their own, great, good for them; they’ll find the blogs and groups who love it too. Hellers don’t need to try actively recruiting people. It’s all just a numbers gone to them. We have the most fanfic (um, yes, because the show doesn’t deliver what you want), we are the most popular ship (sure, because the other main ship is brothers which squicks some people out, and because you crucify anyone who admits to being a Wincest shipper), and they tell the stupidest lies (the show shifts away from being about the brothers, and focusses more on Dean and Cass' "relationship," and Sam isn’t as important to the story later). I wish they would just stay in their own sandbox and not come pee in everyone else's. Cult like behavior in action.

Okay, deep breaths. I’m grad I got that one off of my chest, but my blog is getting very ranty. I’m going to try make sure my next post is a positive one.

Happy weekend everyone!

[chelseeebe]

right away, mr. harrington.

summary: an illicit affair with your boss steve harrington can only end one way, heartbreak. c/w: so steve is like 39 in this and reader is around 24, i didn't wanna write r any younger but also think this age gap is still a bit dodge. there's also rough sex and like he's a bit of an asshole honestly. modern! au. also i guess plussize!reader but it's like a sentence of description so i don't wanna tag it as that. so i actually LOVED writing this like a lot so i hope you enjoy <3

‘no, i really am going to end it this time, tomorrow in fact,’ you take a sip from the wine glass, looking up at your roommate.

‘do what you want darling, i know if a man like that was interested in me, i’d do the same damn thing,’ emma snorts, unscrewing the wine lid and filling both of your glasses.

‘i know, but i feel bad.. nancy is a lovely woman, it’s not fair,’ you respond. the thing is, at first it was just mindless, admittedly amazing, sex but the more time you’d spent with him, the more you’d begun actually having feelings for him.

it hurt more because nancy really was a nice person, she’d always bake little treats for the office, bringing them in with a smile. and she was always polite to you, complimenting your new shoes and your nice new skirt that steve had actually bought you.

it was strange really, because you and nancy couldn’t have been more different. you were more.. round. you had thick thighs, wide hips and carried a lil’ bit of extra weight around your stomach. whereas she was petite and slender. you were loud mouthed and cocky, whilst she seemed much more reserved and honestly a little shy.

‘she probably knows, don’t all big bosses fuck their assistants?’ she chortles.

‘i’m not his assistant, i’m in admin,’ you sarcastically quip back. realistically you were a glorified receptionist, but telling people that you worked in admin for the harrington law firm made you look miles better.

‘of course, pardon me for the mistake,’ she raises her eyebrow.

you hadn’t meant to start an affair with steve, really. you’d stayed late at the office one night, trying to finish the monthly report before monday, steve was in his office tapping away at his computer, quite frankly you hadn’t even noticed.

you were swearing under your breath trying to get the photocopier to cooperate when he swings his office door open, ‘giving ya’ trouble?’

‘shit!’ you clutch your chest, realising who you’d just sworn at, ‘oh my god, sorry! i didn’t realise you were still here!’

he chuckles moving to stand next to you, he clicks one of the buttons and it clunks and starts printing.

‘easy, the trick is to not get angry at it and it’ll listen,’ he smiles down at you. you notice how he’d loosened his tie, his hair messy from running his hands through it.

‘ahh, should’ve known.. thank you,’ you grin back, you rarely saw your boss, he was far too busy to socialise with his workers.

‘uhh..’ he sighs, slapping his forehead sarcastically, ‘forgive me, what was your name?’

you giggle, ‘y/n, i’m in admin,’ gosh you’d never noticed just how attractive mr. harrington really was.

‘right right, i remember now.. how come you’re still here?’ his arm brushes against yours making your whole body shiver.

‘i had to get this stupid report done before monday, thought i’d better stay.’

‘hard worker.. i like it, is it finished?’

‘it is now, thanks to you,’ you grin, collecting the papers from the machine.

‘come and join me for a drink in my office, celebrate your hard work?’ he touches your arm briefly.

‘ahh i shouldn’t.. i still need to staple them and-,’

‘i have a stapler in my office,’ raising his eyebrows.

‘okay..’ you concede, following him into his office.

he’d only had some very expensive whisky but you put up with the burn and sat and drank it with him for hours.

and then somehow you’re on the edge of his desk, legs wrapped around his waist as he pounds into you, hands gripping onto the fat of your hips.

you limped out of the office, arriving home in the early hours of the morning, much later than you’d intended.

from that night on, you and steve had started the affair. it began with late nights in his office, slowly moving to secret meetings at hotels and then now, staying at his house when nancy was away communicating through the second phone he’d bought especially for you.

the day after the not so helpful conversation with emma, you strut into the office, prepared to end things once and for all.

you were wearing the tiny black skirt he’d bought for you, perhaps subconsciously, knowing that he’d be salivating as soon as you walked into his office.

it’s nearly the end of the day before you get the guts to walk in there, lightly wrapping your knuckles on his door.

there’s an exaggerated gag from behind you, you spin to see one of the guys from accounts jerking his hand in a mock blowjob. you roll your eyes, it wasn’t a secret that people in the office were speculating about you. noticing the trips to his office and how you’d both mysteriously appeared from the bathroom at the christmas party, hair messed up and a trace of red lipstick on his collar.

it was all the more annoying because steve actually wasn’t doing anything for you at work. you’d explicitly told him to keep it all seperate. you didn’t want promotions handed to you. any and everything you’d earned was all you.

‘come in,’ he calls and you oblige, shutting the door firmly behind you.

he snaps the lid of his laptop shut, looking up at you and then down to the short skirt, his signature smirk creeping to his face.

‘it’s you,’ he breathes, pushing his chair back from his desk and standing.

‘what’re you hiding? don’t tell me you’re having an affair?’ you feign shock, walking over to his desk. you hated the effect he had on you, before you’d come in here you were so ready to shut him down and now you were crumbling at the sight of him.

‘ahh, you caught me,’ he holds his hands up as you walk over to him.

‘well i hope she’s not prettier than me,’ you pout, his hands resting on your waist, pulling you into him.

‘that’d be a tough one,’ he smirks.

you bite your lip, your cheeks flushing with heat at his words, ‘really, what are you hiding?’

‘well.. it was supposed to be a surprise buut since you’re here…’ he pulls away, lifting the laptop screen to show the conformation screen for a very, very fancy hotel.

you lean in to look at the screen, ‘what..? what’s that for?’

‘for this weekend, nancy’s away at some conference until monday so i’m all yours,’ he turns to you, smiling.

‘oh.. okay,’ you try not to sound unappreciative but he had just knocked your plans right off course. this wasn’t helping you in trying to convince yourself you weren’t hopelessly in love with your married boss.

‘oh.. not a good idea then,’ he sits back on the chair, a slight frown on his face.

‘no.. no, it’s great, i just didn’t expect it at all,’ you wrap your arms around his neck, perching on his lap.

how could you ever end things with him? he’s the first man to ever think about you so deeply and sincerely. even if it was only when nancy was away.

‘really? you didn’t seem too happy..’ his arms wrap around your waist, the frown still apparent on his face.

‘i am, really steve, thank you,’ planting a small kiss to his nose before you press your forehead to his.

he finally smiles, ‘you deserve it.. we’re going tonight, i’ll pick you up at seven, pack for the whole weekend we’re back sunday night.’

‘okay, exciting.. are we-,’ you’re cut off by a knock at his door, jumping up from his lap and practically sprinting to the other side of the desk.

he clears his throat, spinning to sit correctly at his desk, ‘come in.’

carol, his very lovely but elderly assistant walks into the room. you were sure he’d only hired her to keep nancy off his trail.

‘i’ll get on that right away mr. harrington,’ you smile at him and use the interruption to slip out of the room.

you sit back at your desk, a collection of eager eyes on you.

you pull out your phone to text emma,

‘i’ll be back sometime sunday lol’

she pings back almost immediately,

‘didn’t go well then?’

‘of course not’

‘i think i’m actually in love with him em.. this is not good’

you place your phone back on your desk, attempting to get back to work.

-

the hotel room is huge.

decked head to toe with candles and bouquets of flowers.

‘oh my god,’ you drop your bag onto the velvet chair, taking in the magnificent room.

‘your favourites,’ he nods over to the vases full of sunflowers adorning the sides.

‘oh, thank you.. thank you,’ you snake your arms around his neck, kissing his lips.

he walks you backwards towards the bed, your knees buckling as they hit the edge and you fall back onto the soft mattress, his body now on top of yours.

his hands wander down to your thighs, creeping up your skirt.

you take his bottom lip between your teeth as his thumb begins to circle your clit above your underwear.

quickly letting go as he presses harder, causing you to moan into his mouth. his fingers hook onto the lacy hem of your panties, yanking them down to your thighs.

‘mmm, i love these ones,’ he looks down between your bodies, his thumb returning to its previous position, circling faster.

‘fuck steve,’ your eyes squeeze shut at the feeling of his fingers sliding into you.

‘so wet for me already, baby,’ he growls, nipping at your neck.

you moan in response, tugging at his blazer hinting for him to remove it.

your stomach tightens, his fingers dangerously close to sending you over the edge. he can tell as the grip on his arm tightens, your chest heaving up and down.

‘yeah? you gonna cum for me baby,’ he groans, eyes firmly on you as you cry out at your orgasm. legs shaking as steve removes his fingers, smirking down at you.

he was, genuinely, the first man to care about making you cum before he did. not only that, but he was so good at it. he was proud of the fact that he could have you writhing underneath him in five minutes.

‘jesus,’ you pant, looking up at him.

‘not sure he was responsible for that one, darling,’ he retorts, going to stand from the bed.

you grab his hand, taking the two fingers that had just been inside of you and wrapping your lips around them, looking at him through your eyelashes.

he inhales sharply, ‘you drive me crazy..’ his thumb strokes your cheek, before sliding his fingers out, a low moan rumbling from his throat.

‘c’mon.. what about you, mr. harrington? i wanna make you feel good,’ you mew, lightly placing your foot on his crotch and sliding it down ever so slowly.

you can hear his breath hitch in his throat, ‘we have dinner in an hour..’

‘i’ll be quick.. promise,’ you flip onto your knees, crawling to the edge of the bed. unbuckling his belt and sliding his tailored pants down. he shrugs his blazer off, now stood in his tight, white button-up shirt. it fit perfectly, highlighting his defined biceps.

‘so hard for me already?’ you run your hand over his bulge, mocking his words from earlier.

‘baby please, i’m begging you..’ he pants, his hand running through his hair.

‘hmmm, i like the sound of that,’ you tug his boxer shorts down, his erection springing up, tip already leaking pre-cum.

the size of him still genuinely shocked you. the first few times you fucked, you had to get accustomed to his length, unsure if it was going to tear you in two.

you spit into your hand and take his cock into your grasp, pumping your hand up and down. his knees almost giving way as you fasten the pace.

‘fucking hell,’ he grunts, his long fingers curling into your hair.

you crawl forward, taking his cock into your mouth, beginning to bob your head up and down.

low moans fall from his lips as he twists your hair into a make-shift ponytail, yanking on it as his dick hits the back of your throat.

your hands grab onto his hips as he begins to thrust into your mouth, gagging at the feeling of his cock repeatedly slamming your throat.

you look up at him, his dark eyes already staring down at you. the eye contact makes him fall apart, your name tumbling from his lips as you can feel his cock twitch in your throat.

he gives one last thrust as he cums into your mouth, ‘holy fuck,’ he says breathlessly, pulling away from you.

you swallow the liquid and wipe your mouth, sitting back on the bed.

‘i don’t think i can go to dinner like this,’ you laugh, your mascara now smudged and the nude lipstick you’d chosen now anywhere but your lips.

‘you look perfect to me,’ he leans down, kissing your swollen lips, ‘we do actually have to go though.’

-

you wake up to an empty bed and hushed arguing in the next room.

‘i told you.. well i can't.. i don't think you're listening..’ you can only hear snippets of the conversation but you can tell steve is annoyed.

5:24am

the clock reads and you sigh, it could be one of two things: nancy or work, honestly the thought of either was annoying.

he climbs back into bed, almost an hour later, wrapping his arm around your waist and pressing himself against your back.

‘who was that?’ you mumble, voice full of sleep.

‘oh, it’s just work.. needed me to sign off on some things,’ he says, hiding his face in your neck.

‘you sounded angry,’ you note.

he combs your hair with his fingers, exposing the back of your neck and planting light kisses to the skin.

‘i was, it’s five am on a saturday, i don’t want to be woken up because idiots can’t do their job,’ he mutters into your neck.

from the conversation you could hear, that was evidently not work, in fact you’d literally heard him hiss nancy’s name down the phone multiple times.

but it’s far easier to just ignore, rather than argue about why his wife was calling so early and why he was so angry about it.

‘okay,’ you wriggle around to face him, slinging your leg over his, intertwining them.

‘it’s too early to be awake.. go back to sleep baby,’ he tilts his head down to place a kiss to your forehead.

your heart skips a beat at the intimacy and you’re so nearly tempted to just blurt out that you actually think you’re in love with him. but you bite your tongue, not wanting to ruin the weekend.

-

you’re sat opposite steve in some incredibly fancy restaurant when he slides a thin box across the table.

you look at him, puzzled, ‘what’s that?’

‘just open it,’ he sits back in his chair, smiling.

you take the lid off slowly revealing a stunning diamond encrusted bracelet.

'steve.. no, i can't accept this..' you slide the box back over to him.

he takes the box, carefully taking the bracelet out of it and grabbing your wrist, he clasps the bracelet and places your hand back on your lap.

you admire the glistening jewellery now adorning your wrist, 'you really didn't have to,' you beam back at him.

'but i wanted to, i'm glad you like it,' he takes a swig of wine, gazing over at you.

'thank you, i love it,' you lean across the table, placing a light kiss to his lips.

'good,' he smiles against your lips, as you sit back in your chair.

you look around the busy restaurant, 'you look like my sugar daddy, you know,' giggling.

he groans, 'god, i don't look that old, do i?'

you jut out your bottom lip sarcastically, 'ooh, i'd say.. 48.. on a good day.'

'wow.. i think i've still got the receipt for that bracelet,' he remarks.

you reach over and take his hand, 'no, you look great for your age, though i can see some greys peaking through,' you laugh.

he shakes his head in response, a slight smile on his lips. your humour was lost on him, though you'd tried to get him to understand some of your jokes and references, it was useless. he'd actually asked you to help him set up an instagram account, so he could 'be friends with you' on there.

you intertwine your fingers, 'no, you really do look great.'

'i know,' he winks and you roll your eyes at the sheer cockiness.

the waitress walks over with plates of foods, noticing his ringed finger intertwined with yours. you catch the slight frown she flashes you and drop his hand, a sudden wave of guilt flashing over you.

_

emma notices the new bit of bling straight away, gushing at your new present.

'i'm gonna assume it's not ending anytime soon then?' she asks, admiring your wrist.

you groan as your palm hits your forehead, 'i don't know.. nancy called him when we were away.. he told me it was work but i'm not stupid.. anyway, i've never heard him so angry.. it was weird,' you shake your head, looking to your roommate for advice.

'hmm.. that is weird.. maybe she found something? like the receipt to that bracelet.. i know i'd be angry as shit if i found that without the bracelet..' she suggests, finally giving letting go of your arm.

'i dunno.. he said she was away this weekend.. some conference or something, so surely she wasn't home to find it?'

'oh, well.. i actually have no explanation for that.. just ask him, what's the worst that could happen?'

you think back to the time you'd made an off-the-cuff joke about nancy's name on his phone and how he immediately went into a foul mood, 'why are you bringing her up? i'm here with you, okay? we don't need to talk about my wife.'

though, he did occasionally use you as someone to rant to about her, telling you about how loveless his marriage was, how she barely even looked at him anymore and how really he was just looking for the right time to divorce her. you knew to keep your mouth shut and just listen because as soon as you'd ask a follow-up question about her, he'd shut his mouth.

'god no.. we don't talk about her.. i'm sure it was nothing.. if it was that bad he woulda gone home, right?'

'yeah.. exactly, don't stress about it.. not with that on your wrist,' she chuckles. she didn't exactly help, only appeasing your delusions but you still appreciated her words of not-so-much wisdom nonetheless.

_

you fluff your hair up, making sure the curls sat perfectly before smoothing out your floor length gown and heading out to the taxi steve had booked you outside.

you'd attended a handful of the business dinners with steve before, the general consensus you'd gathered were that the women that accompanied these men were girlfriends, rather than wives. every single suited man sat around your table had a gorgeous, younger woman on their arm and a wedding band on their fourth finger. you included.

it was also incredibly evident that although these men had girlfriends, none of you had boyfriends.

this dinner was different, half of the team were going to be there so you and steve had to be totally unconcerned with each other. he'd booked a room for you both at the hotel after you'd pretend to try and find a cab with your colleagues.

you walk into the large hall, alongside a few of the people from the office.

you spot steve, dressed to the nines not that he ever didn't make an effort. and then you see nancy stood beside him, wearing a pale pink gown. the exact shade steve had previously convinced you not to buy as it was 'boring'.

you're slightly taken aback as she never usually attended these things, but you brush it off, sitting down where your placeholder inked your name. conveniently your seat was opposite steve at the large round table. he'd surely been responsible for the placing.

the night trundles on, many large glasses of white wine consumed. you pick up on the fact nancy is on the water, so vehemently shutting down any offers of wine.

'i love your bracelet, y/n.. it's gorgeous,' carol states taking your wrist into her hand.

'i know, my daddy bought it for me, a congratulations present,' you smile.

steve chokes on the wine in his mouth, causing a clatter of plates and cutlery as everyone's eyes land on him.

'excuse me, must've gone down the wrong hole,' he shoots you an irked look which you brush off, downing another glass of wine.

you're positively tipsy when nancy stands from the table, nudging steve to stand next to her, she clears her throat, 'steve and i wanted to make a little announcement.. we're pregnant!'

your heart drops. you'd known from the second you noticed she wasn't drinking. the fact she was even in attendance should've been a tell tale sign.

you press your lips together in a forced smile, eyes planted on nancy, rather than the massive dickhead stood next to her. you didn't hate her, how could you? she'd done nothing wrong.

you join in on the applause, even going up to congratulate her still choosing to ignore steve.

the rest of the night goes by in a blur, nancy leaves at some point or another, coming up to hug you goodbye, her kindness making your stomach turn.

your other phone buzzes at the end of the night as you stand besides your colleagues waiting for a cab. you'd intended to just hop in and go home, leaving steve on his own in the overpriced hotel room.

'where are you? there's a key under your name at the desk'

you swallow, making up some pathetic excuse to go back inside the hotel to your colleagues. they flash a few knowing looks to each other before saying goodbye as you stumble up the stone steps and into the reception.

'uhh.. y/n y/l/n.. there should be a key..?' you question the polite lady at the front desk.

she hands you a plastic keycard, 'yes, room 906.. have a nice evening,' she smiles at you.

you're on a mission to get to steve, the anger unfolding in your stomach as you press the elevator button. it dings on the ninth floor and you step out, unlocking the sixth door.

steve is stood at the desk, pouring two glasses of wine as you walk in.

he can tell instantly that you're angry, in fact you were positively furious.

'are you joking? she's fucking pregnant, steve! did you not think to let me know?' you screech, throwing your bag down and storming over to his position.

he raises his hands in defeat, 'i was going to tell you.. i promise, she just sprung it on me saying she was going to do it tonight.. i had no choice,' he's so calm with his words, you almost believe him.

'hah, get fucked.. you've known for god knows how long and not told me, you expect me to believe you?' you spit at him, jabbing a finger into his chest.

'yes, because it's the truth.. why would i ever choose to announce such news here? especially to you.. you mean much more to me than that.'

'do you seriously think this can continue? she's pregnant, for fuck's sake,' you stare daggers into him, wishing you weren't so hopelessly in love with the caramel eyes that stared back.

'why not? it wasn't a problem when she wasn't pregnant.. now you want to take the moral high ground? it's far too late for that,' his jaw is tense.

'it's different! and you know that!' you jab his chest against as his hand grabs your wrist, constraining you.

'why'd you come here then? you could've gone home, hell i'll book you a cab right now, if it's what you want,' the side of his mouth ever so curls up into a slight smirk. already knowing your answer.

'i came up here to tell you to get fucked,' ignoring his offer for a cab.

'okay, you've done that.. you're still here,' he cocks his head to the side slightly.

'get fucked.'

his lips crash onto yours, your arm snakes around his neck as you kiss him back, eyes squeezed shut.

you yank at the back of his hair, the kiss desperate and full of breathless moans as he presses you back against the desk. much like the night that had started this whole affair.

he pulls away, spinning your body round and holding onto the back of your neck, bending you over the desk.

his fingers unzip your dress, sliding it down your body as his large hands slide up your thighs, settling on your waist.

you hold your weight up on the desk, feeling his already erect cock pressing against you. he takes your wrists in his hand, practically slamming the side of your face down against the wood.

you groan in response, he unknots his tie and wraps it around your wrists and tying it in a tight knot.

he rips your panties off with such force they sting your thigh, causing you to inhale sharply.

'are you gonna take my cock? huh? you gonna be a good girl?' he puts his hand on the side of your face, pressing you down onto the desk.

you nod under his palm, 'c'mon i wanna hear your words, baby.'

'y-yes,' you manage to mumble out, he slaps his cock on your slick entrance. it pained you to say it but this was turning you on ridiculously, he was rarely this dominant with you.

'good,' he thrusts into you with no warning, grabbing onto the tie around wrists, holding them tight behind your back.

you gasp as he continues to pound into you, steve pulls your body up towards his your back flush against his chest, he growls into your ear, 'you're such a good girl.. much better when your pretty little mouth is moaning for me.'

his hand creeps around your neck, balls slapping against the back of your thighs, unintelligible moans tumble out of your lips as his pace quickens, slamming into you with his fingers squeezing your neck.

his thrusts falter as he grumbles into your ear, 'fuck,' you can feel him shudder behind you, filling you up.

steve pulls out, standing back just watching you in the precarious position.

'you're cute when you're angry but i prefer you like this, i might just have to leave you like this,' he smirks, pulling his boxers back up around his waist.

'please, untie me,' you bargain, attempting to wriggle free but it was useless.

'only because you said please,' he unties the knot, freeing your wrists as he stands right behind you.

'have you got something i can wear?' you turn to look at him, admiring his sweaty chest, heaving up and down.

'in my bag,' he grabs your arm, pulling you back to him, 'you're staying here?'

you nod, pulling away and walking over to the brown leather bag on the bag, finding a black t-shirt and a pair of his boxers, slipping them on.

he walks over to the bed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, ‘i knew you would, though i will say i did enjoy your little performance earlier.’

you roll your eyes, ‘it wasn’t a performance, i’m still angry with you.’

‘hmm, thought i might’ve fucked it out of you, but clearly not,’ he chuckles and you almost melt at the feeling of his chest vibrating against your back.

‘i’m tired, i’ve got no energy to fight with you again,’ you sigh.

he leans down, kissing the back of your neck before removing his arms, ‘thank god for that, not sure my back would last another round like that.’

you slide into the big bed, pulling the covers around your shoulders. you really should’ve just gone home, but the thought of having to get a cab after all of that was too much.

quite honestly, you knew this would be your last night with steve. there was no way you could continue the relationship knowing nancy was at home pregnant with his child. it wasn’t necessarily the thought of her being pregnant either, but the fact that he loved her, and not you.

he climbs into bed next to you, snaking his arm around your waist and pulling you closer. you snuggle into his chest, exhaling as you lay your head on his shoulder. slowly drifting off to sleep.

-

you wake up to the sunrise, creeping in through the drawn curtains.

6:34am your phone reads.

you sigh, carefully sliding out of the bed, as to not wake the snoring steve next to you.

not intending to still be here when he awoke.

you slip on the dress you’d worn last night, over his black tee, deciding it was only fair that you also took his suit jacket, for your modesty.

taking the other phone he’d given to you and leaving it alongside the bracelet he’d most recently gifted, on the bed.

you can’t help but steal a quick glance of him, the last time you’d see him in such a peaceful state.

picking up the uncomfortable heels you’d worn last night and creeping out of the hotel before he had the opportunity to sweet talk you into continuing the affair.

-

monday morning is dire in the office. you hadn’t spoken to steve since friday evening. even though he’d tried. even breaking the number one rule he’d set out for you: don’t use his personal number for anything.

you’d received a text in the middle of saturday morning,

‘please call me, it’s urgent.’

smart man, knowing that he could so easily play it off as some work emergency. you ignored of course. too busy sobbing into emma’s arms to care.

you pull open the top drawer of your desk, and there lies the phone you’d left in the hotel, right next to the glimmering bracelet.

there was already a text message on the phone screen,

‘come to my office as soon as you see this.’

you choose to ignore once again, closing the drawer and continuing with the work on your screen.

what you couldn’t see was steve getting agitated in his office, surely you had seen the message by now?

there’s an hour until the end of the day when carol trundles over to your desk, ‘mr. harrington has requested you in his office.’

you sigh, standing from your chair and strutting over to his door. three knocks on the wood before he tells you to enter, and you do, closing the door behind you.

‘what the fuck are you playing at?’

‘what?’

‘you know exactly what.. you didn’t get my messages?’

‘no i did,’ you stare at him as steps forward towards you.

‘you didn’t think to reply? you left in the middle of the night, you could’ve been dead for all i knew,’ he snaps.

‘well i’m not, i thought you would’ve taken the hint and realised i don’t want to speak to you,’ you shuffle backwards as he gets closer.

'i don't understand, i thought we sorted this mess out at the hotel? now what? you don't want to do this anymore?' he tilts his head slightly, staring at you.

'yes, exactly that,' you nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

'well.. that's your choice, but i am telling you now that nothing between us will change.. there's no reason to end this now,' he moves closer, now only mere inches away from you.

'i can't steve, i won't do it anymore..' a tear slides down your cheek, quick to wipe it away, 'you know.. very well that i love you.. i can't watch you have a kid with her while i feel like this,' you're crying now, attempting to speak through the sobs.

'you know how i feel about you..' he cups your face in his hands, but you pull back, jerking your face away.

'say it then.'

'i- wel..' he fumbles over himself, unable to speak the words you were so desperate to hear.

you can't help but smile, despite your bottom lip quivering, a sob threatening to erupt.

'look.. i- it's just difficult-,' he stammers.

you walk over to the door, back facing him, as he grits his teeth, irritated at how quickly you were willing to leave this.

'i'll.. uh, i'll get you transferred to our brooklyn office.. i think you'll be very happy there.'

you scoff and walk out of his office for the last time, slamming the door behind you. you can feel the collective stare from the office as you walk to the bathroom, tears streaming down your cheeks.

and you truly realise, girls like you weren’t ever supposed to be like nancy. you were forever going to be a girlfriend. or the other woman, not good enough for pole position but always, always good enough to hang off of their arm as eye candy. steve could move you to another office, out of sight out of mind, right?

but another you would come along just as fast as you had, stealing pathetic glances across the office, sly touches in the staff room, the gifts and then it’d all get too much. wives get suspicious and she’d be shipped off just as quick as you were.

you're sat in a cubicle crying quietly when you can hear the bathroom door open.

'y/n..?' there's a light knock to the door, 'can i come in?' you click the lock, allowing her to come in.

it's carol, steve's sweet little assistant walks in and bends down to your level.

you furrow your brows in confusion but she looks softly back at you, a slight frown on her face.

'i don't know... exactly.. what's been going on.. but, i do know that you are far too good for that man, men like him.. they get off on ruining young girls,' she wipes your cheek with her thumb, 'but you.. you're not going to let him ruin you, okay?'

you sniffle, looking up at her with a small smile, 'okay..'

'you walk out of here with your head held high and you forget all about him,' she puts her hands on your shoulders, rubbing slightly.

what you didn't know was that you weren't the first young girl to leave this office because of him and you most certainly wouldn't be the last. she'd bore witness to girls full of ambition joining the office to end up with a head crammed with dreams about their relationship with steve. only to end up the exact same way as you, hopelessly in love with a married man.

[fleshadept]

while the criticism of glass onion being a bourgeois art piece hegemonically negotiating hatred of the 1% into standard discourse is understandable, i think it's important to remember that rian johnson and daniel craig and whoever you want to criticise for making "performative" art about the systemic ways in which the ultrawealthy maintain power and specifically marginalize women of color are far closer in wealth to the average american than they ever will be to elon musk or any billionaire. daniel craig's net worth is $8 million dollars. his WHOLE net worth. you have to multiply that by 19,500 to get anywhere near elon musk's net worth of $156,000,000,000. and that's after he's lost $100bn this YEAR.

it's true that people shouldn't count watching movies as activism and definitely shouldn't see media produced by huge corporations as praxis, but that doesn't mean what political standpoints they do contain lack value or are disingenuous. the human mind is literally incapable of conceptualizing numbers after a certain point, so it's easy to think of hollywood rich and billionaire rich as similar, because both kinds of people live lives that most of us could barely dream of with privileges and access to resources that we will never have. but the difference between a millionaire and a billionaire is the difference between being able to make a movie starring daniel craig and being able to bankroll dozens of politicians and buy one of the largest social media websites used by millions of people daily on a whim

as "rich people bad" movies go, glass onion deals with it REALLY well. the scene at the end when helen destroys miles's house demonstrates a very nuanced understanding of how billionaires maintain power; blanc recognizes and tells helen that even though they found the truth, they can't do anything legally because miles burned their only physical evidence and the courts will unequivocally side with the billionaire. again. so in lieu of any justice system that will work, helen starts breaking shit. but miles doesn't even care that much, because what's a dozen million dollar glass art pieces to a man who accrues that in interest every minute? even when everyone else joins in, he doesn't care. it's annoying, but it doesn't mean anything. so the other "disruptors" stop after they've gotten their minimal catharsis, having done no real damage to his reputation or, frankly, their reliance on him.

helen burning the mona lisa to take him down, and that being presented as the best option, is really significant. as movies go, taking the stance of "destroying priceless art and private property is not only justified and moral but effective in the face of a system that gives you no other option for justice" is pretty damn rare.

it's true that if glass onion or other high budget films actually tangibly threatened the system in any way they would never get funded or see the light of day. but the cool thing about stories, and about art, is that you can't predict the effects they have on people. anti-billionaire bourgeois art isn't direct action, it isn't activism, and it isn't even important politically, but that doesn't mean it has no effect on the discourse whatsoever and can't be important to how people see the 1%

[princess-of-the-corner]

So, in regards to your "Missing school" stuff, I don't mind the trop for super heroes in concept even if I see your point regarding it feeling unfair.

Cos to me that's part of the drama, the hero is choosing to do this, choosing to hide it from people and so people thinking they are a flake or lazy is a consequence of that decision they need to grapple with.

The issue in my eyes is how its often poorly thought out.

Like, the amount of street crime Spiderman or Batman are liable to stop while swinging on rooftops every night is frankly rather small compared to what dedicated investigations would accomplish. Plus, said heroes are meant to be detectives/investigators anyway which suggests stake outs, spying, intel gathering, time consuming shit.

So one thing they are doing is impractical and makes little sense and pisses away time. The other thing they should be doing, that would be useful and also eat away at time is something they are rarely shown doing for longer than "Introduce problem, investigate, problem solved, back to patrol."

As to Miraculous, the issue there is these things don't apply at all.

Like yeah Marinette & Adrien run around the rooftops at night & sometimes do stuff other than battle Akum. But there's no indication they aren't squeezing this into their respective schedules.

What's more, unlike say, Shocker robbing a bank and then going into hiding, Akuma are not subtle. They are here to break shit to cope with their personal issues & fight the heroes, their mere presence disrupts everyone's lives in a way Two Face's ongoing tax fraud does not.

This means there's minimal investigation time, time spent tracking, or anything like that which could be used to justify them missing scheduled events or falling behind on study or work.

That Akum behave like this also means that they have good excuses to be missing classes or events anyway.

"Sorry I had to leave the shoot an Akuma was nearby and I wanted to get out of dodge."

"I am late to class cos there was an Akuma this morning and I had to go the long way to school."

These are entirely reasonable and believable things probably happening to a lot of people anyway.

So unless they are both constantly skipping classes/event to fight Mr Pigeon every couple of hours, it doesn't work that they deal with this problems.

& even Gabriel can only Akumatize so many people in a day before it would start becoming either obvious who the heroes are, or obvious who the villain is. Or otherwise demand a larger team to better address the issue of a never ending parade of Akuma.

So yeah, conceptually it just doesn't work well for ML, especially as I don't even think we actually see Marinette's grades slip or classes skipped like we do wen Peter is say, super late for dates. So again its not being shown, and it wouldn't be well justified if it were given context.

Yeah as I said I have mixed feelings on the trope!

I think it needs to come up because ofc it's going to happen occsasionally.

But outside of one or two /really bad/ incidents for bigger drama, I think it can be downplayed

[selbstverbrennung]

i never really saw the need to articulate the reason i stopped interacting with the codz fandom on here outside of reblogs and very rarely posting art, but i've noticed something has become ever prevalent again.

disagreements over headcanons, mischaracterisation, and being so rooted in fanon that you don't actually know how to interact with other human beings, to a vitriolic and frankly toxic degree. without sounding like i'm trying to gatekeep the ideas people have of fictional characters, because god knows that's nothing i care about, i think some of you need to actually play the games (again, perhaps) before you start hatefully yelling at strangers about things that are mentioned in game.

i dont know if it's because a lot of you people seem to be on the younger side these days, or some puritan culture that gives you the idea that liking "bad media" makes you inherently a bad person, or that you don't want others to assume you support x "irredeemable" thing because you enjoy a character who is "irredeemable", but it's actually embarrassing the way i see some of you posting and the anons you leave.

the ever divisive debate on richtofen's sexuality always comes to mind when i think about my experience in this fandom. i've been in this fanbase for over a decade, so i've seen the disgusting threats and comments people have left over simple disagreements in interpretations of a fictional character. now, i don't know if it's because he's the fandom's golden boy, or that people seem to end up way too attached to him, but what's a little agreeing to disagree between strangers? ignore it, and move on - if it bothers you THAT much, block and move on. it is NEVER worth leaving suicide bait or death threats in someone's askbox over.

something i keep in mind: are you sure you inferred that from the text, or are you so entrenched in fanon that you can't remember the text? and is that clouding your view and rational thinking when you see someone who doesn't have the same ideas of a character that you do?

i think what i'm trying to say with this post is that i'm so tired of seeing the way the characters have been whittled down into these sanitised perfect boys who can do no wrong, so when somebody dare bring attention to the fact that the series has dark themes, or merely make a tasteful in-character joke, they have to be crucified like some sort of vile evil trying to corrupt your space.

[marvus-xoloto]

idk if you've talked about this but what do you think it would take to get marvus real and truly angry? like the kind of anger that turns his eyes the same color as the base of his horns. that pure rage. how would he react to that situation? what would it take to bring him down afterward? sorry this is such a specific prompt but im curious about your thoughts on it.

I may have spoken about this before, idk! I don't mind repeating hcs because it's fun to revisit old opinions and see how they've changed :o) PLUS i am like DESPERATE for hiveswap meta/analysis content and I'm happy to make more with people <3

Anyway. I had to sit on this one for a while; really had to think about it. (Frankly, my mind is feeling unorganized so it took a little longer than I wanted haha.) My opinion isn't super formed yet, so I'm open to discussion about this one (and. everything. i like to discuss).

My gut instinct says: nothing that he'll likely experience, but let's dive deep, shall we ;o)

First off, let's talk about Marvus and emotions in general to get a baseline.

Marvus is ice cool COLD. He's very easy going, only lashing out when things that are important to him are going to shit (and even then its's not a terribly strong reaction, see: his bad end when all the clowns are fighting. "Man wtf is going on" or something like that. Marvus enjoys performing for his crowd; more on that in some other post). That being said, he recovers quickly and will generally just Not Get His Hands Dirty (come on troll nostradamus letz skeet skoot).

He is in control of himself. He has to be.

In my opinion, this indicates that he has a very high emotional IQ. He has to have a high emotional IQ as both an artist and a manipulator (some might say these two things are one and the same for him). Not much shocks him, nothing can really get to him.

This does mean that while he is generally friendly, it's not easy to actually get close to him unless it's his idea. That's not relevant here, though, haha.

Here's another part of Marvus that explains his anger response: he always has a plan. The gears in his head are always turning; he's very intelligent. For him, anger doesn't solve any of his problems or bring him closer to his goals: he needs to be approachable (see: with Joey, how he manipulates her [don't get me started on their clown and kid friendship it fucks me up sooo bad]), and he needs to appear only as threatening as he needs to. He's quick to improvise (see how he protects Joey in the purple car at the end of act 3).

So. What gets to him!

In my opinion, the only two things that have the potential to get him this angry are:

-> Lack of privacy

Marvus needs to keep his secrets in order to, well, do what he does. This leads him to the instinct to keep his personal life and secrets VERY well hidden. Even if it's not a big deal on the surface, something like the name of his matesprit dropping or tracks leaking (that he didn't stategically leak himself) might frustrate him more than the average person. Something like explicit pictures of him, or something that someone could use as a metaphorical thread to follow towards his motivations or his ego; these might make him actually pissed.

That being said, though, I genuinely can't see him getting red-eyed angry about this. Generally, I do see him as someone who enjoys getting out of trouble, even if he's not thrilled about it at first. Like playing a puzzle! I'll leave it open as a possibility, however. What I really think could get to him is...

-> Knowing that he is, for whatever reason, not free or otherwise helpless

This is more esoteric and, frankly, extremely rare in his life.

Marvus really does not like the idea of having no freedom. We can infer from his general dislike of seadwellers combined with his ideas to "shake up" the hemospectrum (emphais on "shake up," notice that he never mentions improving it) that it's less about inequality and more about inconvenience. He dislikes that anyone might have percieved power over him (notice during his diatribe that he does view purple blooded trolls as unquestionably stronger and more influential than the caste above, and how he doesn't do this for say, bluebloods, who are a caste below but still in a position of relative power).

But having a plan is pretty much the core of Marvus's id. Not having that? Losing that sense of himself? Failing? I can see this genuinely making him rage-y angry.

Calming him down is simple: find him a solution. He's timeboud, thus goal based. He needs to have a focus point, something to reach for.

Anyway! Hope that made sense!

[littlerosetrove]

Well. I have some thoughts, which some of y’all may not like or agree with, and that’s fine. But please please if you’re going to “well actually” or “okay but” in the comments or reblogs then make your own post, okay? I need to vent on my corner here. You can do whatever you want in your own.

This got long, so my venting about Eddie's cheating storyline is under the cut.

Let me state: if you’re enjoying this cheating storyline for Eddie? Truly that is fine. I don’t think anyone who likes it is bad or anything. This is fiction after all. I, however, am not enjoying this fictional storyline, which is also fine. I just won’t engage with people who are on opposite ends with me for this story, and I’m asking the same in return. 

Also to be very clear: this is not me bashing or hating on Eddie. This is me very much disliking the storyline the writers have chosen for my favorite character. I fully understand Eddie is a flawed human being, but that doesn’t mean I have to like or enjoy every story they write for him. 

Now, has 911 done a cheating storyline? Yes, with the mains Hen, Michael, and Buck, and at least a couple times with random people on 911 calls. It may not be new, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. I didn’t enjoy Hen’s, Michael’s, or Buck’s cheating storyline, and I’m not enjoying Eddie’s either. I’ve rarely enjoyed cheating storylines in any media. It’s just not my thing. ALSO. Funny how every cheater in this show has been a queer main character. Eddie may not be canonically queer YET, but it’s obvious he’s going to be. So thanks, I hate it. 👍

No seriously. I DO think they’re eventually going to make Eddie queer. But then. Y’all. That will confirm Eddie as the FOURTH queer character to cheat. Like what the actual fuck. As a queer person, I do not care for this honestly gross trend. 

Clearly the writers and Tim wanted to do a story where Eddie romantically pursues a woman who looks like his dead wife, because Eddie has not moved on in 5 years, but more on that aspect later. Ok, fine. But why did they have to make it even more messy and complicated and unoriginal by having Eddie cheat? No seriously. No one cares about Marisol nor the nothing burger of a relationship between her and Eddie, because there’s nothing there! To either part! Hell Eddie keeps joking about breaking up with Marisol, so he definitely sees an end date to them (despite, I think, Ryan saying in an interview that Eddie cares for Marisol, and the word love was used, but? cool we’ve zero evidence of this in canon, so whatever). 

Why could the show have not had Eddie break up with Marisol nolastname first, and then quickly jump into dating a woman who looks like his dead wife? That way there’s no fucking cheating. Eddie is still grieving Shannon, sure I get that, but for his grief to drive him, knowingly, to be a cheater? For what purpose?????? Eddie is clearly unstable and acting irrationally, so frankly it’s enough to highlight this with, again, first breaking up with Marisol, and then immediately start dating Shannon’s doppelgänger. Boom. No need to cheat, and it’s still messy as hell. 

To quote @eddiegettingshot from their post here, when it comes to Marisol “it’s literally just flimsy writing she’s not even adding an emotional element except for by virtue of her existence.”

Let’s circle back to Shannon.

Look. I’ve never made it a secret that I don’t like Shannon. She’s not an unsympathetic character, and I know she’s flawed because she’s human. I Know. But I still don’t like her and never will. I’m also not a fan of this show keeping Eddie on a hamster wheel with the ghost of Shannon for FIVE seasons. I’m tired of Eddie’s stories constantly coming back to and revolving around Shannon. This is a TV show guys, not real life. I’m fully aware what grief can do to people, I have experience, but my gosh. Watching the story of Shannon dragged out for five seasons now is so. tiring. And yes, FINALLY, the show is addressing the Shannon of it all so Eddie can move the fuck on, but good gosh. It’s taken five seasons to get here. I really wish they’d taken the opportunity to do this story in season 6, but alas. 

Kinda repeating here, but fucking finally they’re working on Eddie moving past the ghost of Shannon, because Eddie’s been hiding who he is and what he wants behind her AND, to bring Chris into this, hiding behind him too. Using Chris as a shield to protect and deny himself from who he is and what he wants. We know a big reason Eddie dated and stuck with Ana was because “my kid loves her.” Eddie thinks he needs to give Chris another mother, for various reasons. Because of this he hasn’t been following his heart. Thus, Eddie has clung to the ghost of Shannon and their relationship because that is known (the nuclear family and the heteronormativity of it all, which I really don’t think Eddie actually wants, hence a fuck ton of denial and compartmentalizing), and the “unknown” is more terrifying to Eddie. Super understandable. But this is TV and I need Eddie to do something different and new. 

I don’t think they’ll go this far, but what in the world was Eddie planning to do? I mean I don’t think he’s even thinking far ahead at all, but what would happen if Eddie brought home this Shannon look-a-like to Christopher? That would be hella traumatizing to Chris, who is of course still struggling with the loss of his mom, and the mother he recognizes/understands left him.

A connected side not to all of this is, we still have zero knowledge of how Chris feels about Marisol. Sure the three of them went for ice cream, so we can interpret Chris is fine with her, but nothing more concrete or illuminating that. For once I’d love for Chris to actually get to say how he feels about things like this. SO we can only guess that Eddie, without talking to Chris, had moved Marisol in then back out of the house. We have no idea if Chris knew about Marisol moving in or not. Nothing. 

So we take these two huge things, Eddie possibly not talking to his son about having his girlfriend of maybe four months move in, and the potential (because again I don’t think they’ll go this far, but who the fuck knows now) of Eddie bringing a Shannon doppelgänger around Chris. I know grief is a hell of a thing - again, I have experience - but it all paints Eddie as a bad father (this season), and I don’t get why they’re taking it this far. Eddie is flawed, of course he is, and oh my god I know he’s only human, but come on. Why is the show painting Eddie being as, honestly, pretty damn selfish in this way? Again, we’ve zero knowledge of Chris’s feelings on Marisol, really, and now Eddie is cheating on Marisol nolastname by chasing after a woman who looks like his dead wife, and to what end????  (to be clear, I don't think Eddie is a bad father, it's just that the show is making him kind of look like one.)

All of this is going to blow up in Eddie’s face, and he’ll deserve it. 1) He’s cheating on his girlfriend with a woman who looks like his dead wife. I have no fucking clue how Marisol will react when the truth comes out, but my gosh if they have her easily forgive Eddie… I don’t care at all about Marisol, but if she has no backbone the way Ana never seemed to have one, then good grief. I’m white, but that will be two Latina characters just letting Eddie’s bullshit slide (to an extent). Idk, but that doesn’t feel right. 2) He’s going to hurt this “looks like his dead wife” woman because Eddie refuses to process his grief over Shannon. Thus adding a layer to Eddie’s selfishness. The show can have Eddie be selfish of course, but it does Not need to be in this way (i contain multitudes. i am ok with the doppelgänger weirdness on its own, but at the same time see that it's a very selfish thing eddie is doing). 3) Eddie is certainly lying to everyone, but he lied to Buck’s face. And remember how Buck felt so terrible about lying in any way to Eddie in 7x5? Yeah.... Yes Buck has experience with cheating on his girlfriend, but Eddie used Buck to lie. There's a difference. 4) Where the hell does Chris fit into all of this mess?? Christ, for both their sakes I hope Chris does not learn that his dad cheated on his girlfriend to date a woman that looks like his mom because, again, Eddie refuses to properly grieve and let go of Shannon. Chris already needs to go back to therapy anyway though, let’s be honest. 

However this mess of a storyline plays out, FFS, they better put Eddie back in therapy. Even without the cheating part, Eddie NEEDS to go back to therapy for so many valid reasons. He needs to talk about his guilt and grief when it comes to Shannon, his Catholic guilt (currently forgotten??), it hasn’t been brought up yet but his mommy issues, and he needs to learn about consent especially when it comes to sex. Like come on. Eddie has plenty of issues, so WHY was it necessary to throw in cheating? I’m so serious. They want him to continue to be messy? Fine, but pick a less uninspired path to add to the mess. 

*tired sigh*

Bottom line, I feel like the show is just continuing to disrespect Eddie and his character. In season 6 they handled his loneliness and then dating storyline, particularly the dating aspect, in a joking way. It wasn’t handled well in my opinion. Now in season 7 he’s cheating on Marisol who still has no character, and they’re in a no substance relationship that I don’t feel an ounce of investment in. A cheating storyline should resonate on some level, but it’s not here and it doesn’t resonate because we have two women no one cares about beyond the general feeling of “it sucks to be cheated on” and “it sucks to be lied to.” Congrats on the shitty writing.  They want to (fucking finally) work on Eddie actually confronting his grief about Shannon after five years of being on a hamster wheel? Great. But do it with more care. Not this. And remember how they introduced and treated Eddie’s apparent Catholic guilt as a joke? Yeah there’s that too. 

Eddie has complicated trauma and I really don’t like that it’s being treated as a mix of a joke (catholic guilt) and just disrespectfully (cheating). Eddie dating a Shannon doppelgänger is already messy on its own - and honestly I would have been fine with that because Eddie is a walking trauma, guilt ridden, repression bomb waiting to go off - so we did not need to add cheating to the mix. While I’m on board with Eddie being hella messy and delusional to date someone who looks like his dead wife, but the cheating never needed to be here. 

After all this mess blows up in Eddie’s face? Ya’ll. Eddie needs to go to therapy and it’s not a bad or wrong thing to point out that he needs to be single for a little while. Hello????? Just look at the mess Eddie is right now.  

*another tired sigh* I think I covered everything I wanted to say....

[skrunksthatwunk]

ok the last post i reblogged sent me on a minedai spiral and i wrote a massive textpost i didn't actually finish and watched like 30 mins of cutscenes including the whole finale rooftop stuff [yakuza 3 spoilers to follow] and god WHAT THE FUCK I'm actually crying like multiple consecutive tears over fucking. MINE YOSHITAKA. not that he's not worth it but i Did Not Care That Much when i first saw that scene but after spiralling over his emotions i am apparently DEVASTATED. cannot stress enough that i do not cry very often at all. this is a rare event. but it's just so fucking sad. when you know what's happening and what's going to happen and how mine feels the atmosphere is so fucking miserable and mournful. god. fuck. the way he looks at kiryu when he's like what are you going to do to daigo you bastard. THE GUILT THE HESITATION. HE'S NOT WELL. the love of his LIFE got hurt under his protection and he is NOT HANDLING IT WELL HE'S HANDLING IT SO FUCKING BADLY that he's decided to kill him because he's basically dead and he can't stand waiting for the other shoe to drop. he's losing his mind over this he's actually losing his entire purpose and ideology and he's fucking. gay as hell. and the way he says "oh yeah you know how it was growing up as an orphan. no one trusted or loved me. i had nothing" when, frankly, kiryu DIDNT have it that bad. but he did lose those people, one of whom's death has a striking resemblance to mine's in a minute. idek how i wanna unpack that rn. like he just assumes it's universal and it's not. but if they grew up in the same circumstances who's to say kiryu wouldn't have ended up like him? and when he collapses after the fight and his secretary calls him and he tries to open up to her about the shallow but meaningful (to lonely ass mine) relationship they have and she starts talking about stock exchange bs and he's like kiryu do you ever feel like your world is falling apart around you. he's been worried sick he's been agonizing he almost killed his dead beloved chairman. and the way daigo uses the same gun mine used to shoot at kiryu and was gonna use to kill him to save mine and kiryu. how his first lines are that he's not ready to die yet. how mine cowers and falls to his knees when daigo wakes up. fuckkk dude. and how mine starts all rational and explanatory and calm in tone and when kiryu starts pressing him he starts freaking the fuck out and when daigo wakes up he finally has a mournful tone. him saying he doesn't deserve to live but not admitting he betrayed daigo. he never even told him he loved him, as far as we know. (god the fact that it still manages to be devastating even with richardson's CHOICE acting and daigo's coma trickshot is insane.) and how he tells kiryu he hates those who always try to help others even when that's the trait that drew him to daigo, and when he lets kiryu help him (read: beat a moral into him) he wishes he'd met him sooner, as if the belief that there wasn't only one person who could care about him would have saved him has set in, as if he realizes now that he never accepted help and that's why he was wrong about those do-gooders, and that perhaps he was wrong about them and himself, that it wasn't because they were lying to him or because he was unlikable, but that he did not let them in. because that's literally what's happening. AND I FUCKING. FORGOT DAIGO ASKS KIRYU IF MINE WAS THE TRAITOR AFTER HE WATCHES HIM FUCKING KILL HIMSELF AND KIRYU SAYS NO HE WOULD NEVER BETRAY YOU. HE LIES TO COVER HIS ASS BECAUSE HE UNDERSTANDS HOW BROKEN HE WAS ABOUT THIS AND CANT BEAR TO RUIN HIS IMAGE IN THE EYES OF THE ONE PERSON MINE REALLY CARED ABOUT, REALLY LOVED. FUCKS SAKE.

[h34vybottom]

Gonna be mean real quick. Context is that this is from a post about Cait Corrain, an author who went on a racist offensive against BIPOC indipendent authors. There's a lot more to this, of which you can probably just check Xiran Jay Zhao's Twitter for more information, given that they're directly involved in this. Xiran is the focus of this post btw, not like directly, they've done no wrong. I will however be bitching about a person's bad post. So there you go. Context is context. I'm frankly kind of too annoyed to properly be a bitch to someone rn (very rare!) hence all of this.

Post in question is a reblog of a much larger post about Corrain, though it's (in tumblr fashion) just screenshots of a Twitter post that features screenshots from Twitter. Here you go:

Now let me pinpoint my issues w/ these notes.

Inserting proship/antiship bullshit into an actual, serious conversation about white supremacy and racism as a whole

Using the wrong pronouns for a semi-public figure who you can just like. Search up their profile on socials. For free. It's not hard.

Gonna start on the second point. I'm not going to be too harsh here as I get that actually doing basic shit like looking at someone's Twitter bio is tedious but like. It's so easy to find. You don't even have to be logged in. You can just search their name. I don't even watch Xiran's videos and I've never read one of their books but all it took was me looking at their fucking biography. Not actually hard mate.

Onto the main point. Inserting fandom bullshit discourse into a very serious conversation about such an important topic w/ very real victims is just. Like actually maybe go fuck yourself? Fishing for reasons to hate on Xiran is fucking bonkers shit too. Like actually seriously get help. This is some perfect victim type shit yall are doing. Let's just clear some shit up right fast: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS PROSHIP. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS ANTISHIP. Are we clear? I think we're clear. If you're going to try to argue w/ me about this prepare to get fucking insulted. There are real problems in this world that end people's lives and yall have to invent fake reasons to hate another person. That's some real penis behaviour. Grow the fuck up.

[f1-birb]

and let the hate comments commence.

sometimes i really do question why i follow this sport.

like lando fucking up doesn't even bother me because it's a sport where they're pushing and driving on the edge and every millimeter and every hundredth of a second counts like shit happens

but idk having to read all the shit takes because people don't tag their hate (yes, even from people i follow because they're supposedly mclaren/lando fans) about what a shit teammate he is or he'll be whining for team orders or he chokes or he can't handle pressure or all the first/second driver bullshit (which isn't how mclaren operates. even in his struggles, when daniel had more pace due to his driving or strategy, he was given preferred strategies too).

like damn i could get it if piastri was on pole and lando was like p10 or some shit, but they got a front row lockout, amazing for the team, and half the comments are shitting on lando instead of celebrating that. or frankly even giving oscar any credit for his accomplishments. and oscar himself deserves more recognition than his accomplishments and good results being chalked up to a "let's harass lando" instead of "let's congratulate oscar". it gets old and tiring.

Idk maybe i just need to restart my socials and never check tags or comments and just heavily regulate who I follow to get enjoyment out of the sport again. like this result is amazing and ordinarily I would be enjoying it but it's turned into a monza '21 "how can we use this great team result to attack lando" type thing instead of celebrating frankly both drivers doing great even if lando did mess up his last lap

very little to add here

at the end of the day, every driver is allowed an off weekend, and for someone like Lando who, if you look back across the season:

has made very few mistakes

rarely has a bad qualifying (when the car's been able to perform, we don't talk about the start of the season)

always maximises the car on a Sunday

above all that, takes a huge amount of accountability for his fuck ups

if this is now what an off weekend looks like? I can't be that mad about it

(I never look at twitter, I don't look at the comments on insta, and I'm very fussy about who I follow or block and what tags I filter on here - that's my only advice I can actually offer)

[remyfire]

Okay but BJ/Hawkeye/Sidney is such a good rare ship! One of the first MASH fics I read was for that OT3 before I even met 2/3 characters involved but GOD was it written so well and reminded me of another OT3 very close to my heart so I just sort of latched on lmao. And frankly it's tragic BJ never had any sessions with Sidney, because he definitely needed it. The man seriously struggled being away from home, let us see him deal with it in a healthy way!

Also aaaaaAHHHH I just watched An Eye for a Tooth and it was so good! I am so fond of Margaret and Hawkeye's friendship and this was such a good episode for that, and it was so nice to see a bit more of Margaret and BJ's friendship as well. It was such a delightful episode to watch all around, I loved all the silly pranks, and the way they all worked together at the end to mess with Charles because of COURSE they figured out he was behind it all, they're truly unstoppable when they put their heads together. And the subplot of Mulcahy wanting that promotion was great too, I always love seeing more Mulcahy storylines and just as much as I can get of him being an absolute sweetheart.

Also I'm complete garbage and relished in every one of the several shower scenes in this episode because mmmmm b o y s

I wish you could see me irl because I just chinhandsed when you said that was one of the first fics you read because I'm imagining that was Flootz's. Flootz, zir impact continues to be so widely spread and appreciated, god bles.

Honestly that's part of what I love so much about the Sidney and BJ dynamic, like, it is so underexplored, and you can easily say that it's because BJ is avoiding being alone with him to be analyzed, and that makes them so so much fun to write together. Just these extreme depths of potential, all the hidden secrets that can be dredged up, all the things BJ didn't actually realize that he buries. It gets me. I need a million more fics about them even if I have to write them all my damn self.

Eye for a Tooth is so much. It's so much. I'm not normal about it. Sometimes I feel bad that I'm not normal about it because the overwhelming majority of people that I know saw That Moment with BJ and Margaret as something unsettling and frightening, and something is probably wrong with me as a person because I Was Not Unsettled At All. Maybe it was because I could tell from the moment that the scene started that something was in the water, so I wasn't actually surprised when it hit, but A, it gave me great characterization and sad-past fodder for young BJ, and B, the hand-holding. The hand-holding, anon. idk if you noted it but in the aftermath, BJ and Margaret are just holding hands literally the entire time until he helps her back to her feet, and it makes me goddamn tender every time. Even then, he is trying to comfort her! Even then, he's holding that lifeline so she can remember the Truth of what just happened! I'm unwell about it! That moment alone takes anything potentially frightening about that scene and obliterates it for me because that. One. Lingering. Handhold. Tells me that even before the scene began, BJ needed her to know that she was safe.

Don't look at me, I'm fine, and I'm very normal about them, don't listen to what anyone else tells you—

The Mulcahy subplot is so interesting to me because I understand him craving recognition because it is a long-running theme that Mulcahy doesn't think he's doing any good on the ground, but I would've loved to see them lean into a conflict inside of him, that he's seeking worldly favor over spiritual fulfillment, that sort of thing? It's probably the ex-evangelical in me but there would've been something so satisfying about him having to actually grapple with the fact that he is basically willfully going against his God-given directive of humility and caretaking through his pursuit of higher rank, higher pay, literally demanding these things from time to time. Very camel through the eye of a needle, right?

That's actually part of the reason I haven't done much with Mulcahy yet in my fics. I know I'm gonna want to dig into that with him but I also know it's going to necessitate a deep dive, and once I start getting into his head, I am not coming out for a very long time fhsdkfd I just really wanna bring these desires of his full circle.

(also the shower scenes are hot as hell and the chopper pilot wanted to blow Mulcahy's back out, I know this in my heart)