#but those are less criticisms of what the text did than criticisms of what the text Could have easily done so like i said.

[thelovehypothesis]

Sunsets with you.

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Requested- lost my old account so this is basically me reposting my old stuff

Summary: Everyone else’s opinions on your and Harry’s relationship get in your head, but you’re it for Harry and he won’t have it any other way.

a/n’s: pretty sloppy but smwt enjoyable, please sendin request!

You’re well aware that you’re living the dream of many, being Harry’s girlfriend is something many dream of and somehow here you are, 4 years into a relationship with the man of your dreams.

Even though you were “living the dream” this said dream can with backlash, 4 years of trying to have a private (as possible with some fail) relationship, and some how media always had article to share on your relationship, fans had comments and haters hate to spread.

Truthfully it never got any easier for you to have the public eye on you, even though Harry always tried to help with sweet nothing and telling you to just full on ignore it, it was hard one click lead to another and you ended up engulfed in people opinions about you and your relationship.

Having said that, tour had been taking a toll on your relationship, you being “left” behind in London with harry signing his heart out around the world just gave your mind to much time to click and overthink, and most articles and post you read were full on rumors questioning your fidelity and his, and well you two trusted each other and had been through so many scandals that you knew better that to even bat a thought a those articles. It was rather the article criticizing you: your job, looks, intentions, family; that’s were you’d overthink your value in the relationship.

And so you started to distance yourself from him, not picking up his phone calls ever time he would call, texting him back less often and giving him shorter replies.

So when he came back for a short break, his grown worry from your uninterested self on having a proper conversation with him immediately unleashed a fight, well more so of an argument.

“We’ve been through this! You have to stop reading the comment and articles. They know one shit about us!”

“H-how can I. Im sorry but all they say is true! You’re this big pop star traveling all around the world with this huge successful career, while I’m stuck here working a 9 to 5!”

Silence

Being truthful Harry and you hardly fought but we you did it some how always lead to moments like this. You looking at each other with pleading eyes, hoping the other would just listen.

“I-I-I don’t know what you want me to say y/n”

“I don’t need you to say anything. I need you to listen, and to finally realize that I’m not-not enough for you H.

You need someone that can travel with you, and that can take on the public eye and-and that’s not me-“

“stop”

You could see the tear drops forming in Harrys eyes, even though yours are already flooded.

“Harry-“

“No. No. Yo-You don’t get to say those things. Not now not ever”

He starts stepping closer, cupping your face with his hand making you look at him.

“y/n listen please… just listen.

You are the most amazing human being I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, I know you better than anyone so I get to tell you that-that the comparison you’re making isn’t fair. You’re working on achieving your dreams, and you not that far away, and we are still so young, and somehow everyday you prove yourself to everyone around you, there is no doubt in the world that you’re the most talented person out there. I on the other had just got a head start and-and without you I-I wouldn’t be here, you’re my muse, my everything”

Sobbing, full on sobbing. How could this god of a human possibly believe in you this much knowing first hand how tough the world is.

“Harry I-I just can do it anymore-

I feel so small sometimes and I don’t want to be a burden to you”

“God y/n”

Harry lets you go.

He goes upstairs, and that’s the last indicator you needed to know that Harry can grow so much more if you just let him go, so you follow him, to say goodbye and sorry one more time.

When you got to you shared bedroom, you saw him walking out of the closet, eyes immediately meeting.

“I still hadn’t planned it out so far but I guess the time found it’s self”

Harry steps closer to you and takes your hand in his. Now in your hand, is a small velvet box.

Tears on the edge of both your eyes, but for a different reason now.

‘Just stop your crying, it’ll be alright’

“You’re it for me. And no matter how many times I have to reassure you of it, it’s me who doesn’t deserve you. “

‘So please stop your crying baby it’s the sign of the times

runaway with me, to a world that only you and me’

“Harry- are you sure of what your doing” your voice trembling more that thought possible.

A scoff leaves his mouth.

“I’m sure. I want this. All of it. The big house on top of the hill, the four children running around screaming, the wedding, the dog, all of it.

So y/n y/l/n would you do me the honor of marrying me and living the rest of life together?”

He said now on one knee.

He sees right through you, he knows you could never stop living him even if you tried to, you two find home in each other.

So without an other thought, you rapidly nod your head and kneel down to be able to kiss Harry.

The kiss you shared was full of the unspoken sorry’s each of you feel needs to be said, the new promises that come with this new stage your relationship, just love, the immense love you two share.

“I love you.”

“I love you so much more.”

And there you were in your sweet tender moment, not a worry in mind, hearts beating in sync and lovesick eyes that gazed at each other.

After a few more moments Harry broke the silence.

“I love you so much that if you want me to scream it from the rooftops I will, if you need me to reassure you of your worth every day I will. I will do anything if it makes you happy.”

“I love you so much. Thank you for loving me as much”

“Forever.”

He’d already slipped the ring on your finger sealing this moment forever.

End 📌

[sunkissed-zegras]

❄️ Jack Hughes ”no matter where I go, all these roads lead me to what I once called a home”

Congrats btw! 😁

✮ 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 / 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐠𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 | jack hughes

♡ ─ word count | 4.4k

♡ ─ summary | jack, driven by his ambitions, realizes too late that he has taken his relationship with you for granted. as he achieves success, the bitterness of his lonely successes intensifies, highlighting the irreplaceable hole left by the genuine connection he lost.

♡ ─ warnings | unedited, angst!!! fighting, nothing else i think??

♡ ─ taglist | @dancerbailey3 @valluvsu @daisysnhl @dasiysthings @iminlovewithtz11 @literatureluster @lvrzegras @lxvleyzoe

♡ ─ ev's notes | this ask was a part of my 600 celly BUT i was feeling angsty so i wrote it. hope y'all enjoyed!! also, requests are open for now! always open to respectful criticisms :)

As the clock struck midnight on your fourth anniversary, you sensed a subtle shift in the air, a quiet shake that seemed to resonate within the core of your relationship with Jack. The two of you had been inseparable since your teenage years, navigating the trials of adolescence and embracing the joys of young love. Yet, as the months passed, a distance began to emerge, casting shadows over the once close connection you shared.

You noticed it first in the subtle changes – the diminishing frequency of his texts, the laughter less genuine, and the gradual shift in focus from your shared world to individual pursuits. The I-love-yous that used to flow effortlessly now hung in the air, unanswered or replaced by a strained silence.

You found yourself grappling with a growing sense of unease, a gnawing suspicion that whispered of changes you were not prepared to face. The shared dreams and aspirations that once bound you together now seemed to drift into the background, overshadowed by Jack's newfound focus on career ambitions and personal goals.

You weren't angry that Jack put his career first, no, if anything you'd pushed him to make sure his dreams were achieved. It was the fact that somehow, everything else became more important than your relationship. Making money and going out seemed like the only thing that mattered; everything that you two had talked about when you were younger had became less and less important to him. Was it a lie? They couldn't have been, he promised.

In quiet moments of reflection, you found yourself remembering the vows exchanged during late-night conversations when the world felt like it belonged solely to the two of you. Jack's assurances that success wouldn't change him, that love would remain the foundation of your connection, echoed through your mind like a haunting song. Yet, as the days passed, those promises started to feel like distant echoes, fading away in his ambitions.

You had always envisioned a future where success and love walked hand in hand, where the pursuit of dreams strengthened the bond between you. But, it seemed that Jack's definition of success had turned into a solitary journey, one that left little room for the shared dreams you both had once held dear.

The weekends that were once reserved for lazy strolls in the park or movie nights now transformed into a whirlwind of social events, networking dinners, and late-night games. As Jack's career flourished, the time he dedicated to building a life together dwindled, leaving you grappling with a sense of isolation within the relationship.

You couldn't help but question whether the promises he made were now casualties of his success. Did the allure of wealth and a thriving social life overshadow the simplicity and authenticity of your love? The echoes of those once-heartfelt promises grew fainter, drowned out by the noise of his career and the allure of a lifestyle that seemed to prioritize everything but the intimacy and connection you once shared.

The nights you spent cuddled up on the couch, lost in conversations that stretched until dawn, became replaced by solitary moments of insecurity. You wondered if you had done something wrong, if there was a fault in your stars that you failed to recognize. Were you not enough? Were the dreams you shared no longer worth pursuing together?

The once deep connection that felt like an unbreakable bond now seemed like a fragile thread, ready to snap under the weight of unanswered questions. In those quiet moments, you found yourself replaying old conversations, searching for the missed cues or overlooked signs that may have forewarned you of this impending shift. Was there something you missed?

You longed for the days when love was enough, when the simplicity of being together was worth more than any fleeting moment of fame and success. The questions that lingered in your mind echoed in the silent spaces between you and Jack, becoming an unspoken barrier that seemed hopeless.

In those moments of doubt, you couldn't help but wonder if there was a way to bridge the growing gap, to reclaim the dreams that once felt so attainable. The beginning of the end hung in the air, and you found yourself at a crossroads, torn between holding onto the fading echoes of promises or facing the reality that the love you once knew was slipping away.

The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, the sound echoing through the quiet living room as she sat on the couch, glancing anxiously at her watch. Hockey practice was supposed to end hours ago, but Jack was still out there on the rink, lost in his own world. The apartment felt empty, the only source of light was the soft glow of a lamp casting long shadows across the room.

You absentmindedly twirled a strand of your hair, glancing at the clock again. The frustration and exhaustion etched on your face were undeniable. The late-night practices had transformed from an occasional occurrence to a regular part of your lives, leaving your with a sense of loneliness that permeated the air.

The door creaked open, and Jack stumbled in, clad in his hockey gear, a tired look on his face. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, there was a flicker of guilt before it quickly masked itself with a tired smile.

"Hey," he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "Sorry, practice ran late again."

She forced a smile, but the weariness in her eyes spoke volumes. "It's fine," she replied, her tone carrying a weight of unspoken words. "I made some food, it's in the microwave if you want some."

"Already ate with the boys," he replied before he disappeared into the bathroom, you sank deeper into the cushions, grappling with the frustration of being left alone, night after night.

As the sound of the running shower echoed through the apartment, you sat there, feeling the weight of the unshared meal and the emptiness that seemed to seep into the spaces between you and Jack. The promise of a home-cooked dinner, prepared with love, now felt like a futile attempt to bridge the growing gap in your relationship.

When Jack emerged from the bathroom, the scent of soap and exhaustion lingered in the air. He joined you on the couch, the distance between you both more pronounced than ever.

He settled in, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone. The flickering light illuminated his tired face, the blue glow reflecting in his eyes that were once filled with the spark of shared dreams. You glanced at the clock; it was late, too late for meaningful conversation.

"Long day," he mumbled, his attention still on the screen.

You two sat in silence for a few moments before you decided to speak up again, another attempt to bridge the gap between you two.

"Jack," you began, the uncertainty in your voice cutting through the quiet of the room. He looked up from his phone, meeting your eyes with a distant acknowledgment.

"I was thinking about our future, you know?" The words hung in the air, a tentative attempt to navigate a conversation that felt more fragile than ever.

He sighed, the weariness evident in the lines that etched his face. "Yeah, me too. It's just... work's demanding right now. I'm on the brink of something big, and I need to give it my all."

The acknowledgment of his ambitions stung, a reminder that the dreams you once shared were now taking divergent paths. "I get that, Jack. I've always supported your goals, but it feels like we're moving in different directions lately. What about that family we'd always wanted, the two boys and the girl-"

"What about family, Y/N? We have time, We're 22 for God's sake, just be patient with me." Frustration dripped from his voice as he snapped, sighing as he watched all the patience drain from your face. He looked back at you, guilt overtaking his emotions. "I know it's been tough, especially with the late nights and practices. But this is temporary. Once I make it, we can have everything we ever talked about."

Everything you ever talked about. The phrase echoed in your mind, a stark contrast to the reality of unshared dinners, missed moments, and fading dreams. Did he even remember your dreams together anymore? "Jack, it's not just about the late nights. It's about us, about the life we planned together. I miss the simplicity of what we had."

He nodded, a reluctant admission of the truth. "I miss it too, but we need to make sacrifices for the life we want. This is just part of the journey."

You were tired as you looked forward, to the TV. "Okay, Jack." The conversation lingered in the air, unresolved and heavy.

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of unspoken words settling between you and Jack. The glow of the television cast shadows on the walls, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown within the space you once shared.

──

The restaurant hummed with the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of conversations. The atmosphere should have been celebratory after Jack's successful game, but as you sat across from him at a dimly lit table, there was an undeniable tension in the air.

Throughout the meal, Jack's attention seemed divided. He was engaged in animated discussions with teammates who joined the celebration, and you found yourself fading into the background. Attempting to bring a sense of intimacy, you reached for his hand, a silent plea for a connection in the midst of the crowd.

However, when one of his teammates approached the table to congratulate him, Jack subtly withdrew his hand to shake theirs. The gesture was small, but the impact reverberated through you like a shockwave.

As the teammate left, you couldn't ignore the awkwardness that settled between you and Jack. The distance had become palpable, and the celebratory atmosphere of the restaurant only accentuated the loneliness you felt.

The walk back to the car was quiet and dormant, you felt almost nauseous after. The silence between you and Jack was broken only by the distant sounds of the city. You stole glances at him, hoping to find a trace of the connection you once shared. However, his gaze seemed distant, lost in thoughts that remained unspoken.

As you approached the car, the silence became unbearable. The unlocking of the car door punctuated the stillness, and you both settled into the seats, the physical proximity doing little to bridge the emotional chasm that had formed.

The car hummed softly as you drove back from Jack's hockey game. You stole glances at Jack, his profile bathed in the soft glow of passing streetlights. His eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, distant and unyielding. The connection you once shared, the easy banter and shared laughter, felt like a distant memory. The gap had widened, and you couldn't shake the sinking feeling that something big had shifted.

"I just don't understand, Jack," you finally broke the silence, the words hesitant but charged with emotion.

He sighed, his gaze still fixed on the road. "Understand what, Y/N?"

Your name sounded bitter coming from his mouth, hearing it felt like a curse. Your name used to sound sweet, like something special - now, it sounded like something else.

"I don't understand why it feels like we're falling apart," you admitted, the weight of the unspoken tension finding a voice. "I don't understand why every moment between us seems strained, like we're living in two different worlds. It doesn't feel like us anymore."

Jack's shoulders tensed, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. The city lights cast shadows on his face, emphasizing the lines that etched the weariness of unresolved issues.

"We're just going through a rough patch," he replied, his voice carrying an edge and it almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself that, too.

"But how long is this 'rough patch' going to last, Jack?" The bitterness crept into your voice, fueled by the frustration of being kept in the dark. "I feel like I'm losing you, and I don't even know why."

He remained silent, the distance between you growing with each passing second. Your hands fidgeted in your lap, the tension in the car becoming unbearable. "We used to talk about everything, Jack. Now it feels like you're shutting me out."

He finally turned to look at you, his eyes carrying a mixture of guilt and defensiveness. "I'm dealing with a lot right now, Y/N. It's not about shutting you out."

"But it feels that way," you countered, the rawness of your emotions laid bare. "I want to be there for you, but I can't if you don't let me in."

His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, and frustration etched lines on his forehead. "You just don't get it, do you? This is my career, my life. I'm trying to make something of myself, and you're making it harder."

The words hung in the air, a declaration that cut through the silence like a sharp blade. The breaking point was reached, and a surge of anger replaced the hurt in your chest.

"Making it harder? Jack, I'm not your enemy. I'm your partner," you retorted, your voice rising. "I've supported you every step of the way, I've put you first for the last three years, Jack, I pushed everything aside to come move to Jersey with you."

"I never asked you to do that, Y/N." Jack replied, his frustration palpable.

"That's not the point!" you shot back, your emotions breaking through the dam of restraint. You couldn't believe that was the only thing he got from everything you'd just said. "I did it because I believed in us. I believed in you. But now it feels like you're pushing me away, shutting me out, and I can't take it anymore."

"You're not understanding, Y/N," Jack's tone grew sharper, defensive walls rising. "I'm under so much pressure, and I need space. I can't have you constantly questioning me, doubting everything I do."

His words cut deep, and you felt a sense of betrayal mingled with the anger. "I'm not doubting you, Jack. I'm doubting us. I'm doubting whether we can survive if you keep shutting me out like this."

He turned away, gripping the steering wheel tightly. "I want a future, Y/N. I want success. Is that so wrong?"

"It's not wrong, Jack, but success shouldn't come at the cost of our relationship," you argued, desperation seeping into your voice. "I want a future too, but not at the expense of us falling apart."

He scoffed, the bitterness in his tone cutting through. "You knew what you signed up for when we started this relationship. I can't just drop everything now."

"Jack, relationships require effort from both sides," you insisted, your frustration reaching its peak. "You're so focused on your career that you're neglecting what's right in front of you."

"I'm neglecting what's right in front of me? Y/N, I'm working hard for us," he argued, the bitterness in his voice unabated. "I'm trying to build a future, a life where you don't have to worry about anything."

"But what about the life we're living now?" you pleaded, your voice breaking through the tension. "What about the love and connection we used to have? Is that not worth fighting for anymore?"

Silence lingered, the car speeding through the night, the city lights outside casting a surreal glow. The breaking point had led to a stark realization — you were both standing at a crossroads, and the choices made in this moment would shape the fate of your relationship.

"Jack, it's not just about the future. It's about us, about what we have now," you spoke softly, the vulnerability in your voice revealing the depth of your emotions. "I miss the way we used to be, the laughter, the shared dreams. It feels like we're losing all of that."

He remained silent, his grip on the steering wheel tight. As you neared home, the heaviness in the air grew more pronounced. The choices you both faced were stark — to continue down divergent paths, the breaking point had set the stage for a decision, and as the car rolled to a stop, the echoes of unmet needs and fading dreams reverberated in the silence that enveloped you both.

The engine cut off, and Jack finally turned to look at you. His eyes, once filled with love, now reflected the weight of the unspoken resentment. The air inside the car felt dense with the unmet expectations.

"Y/N," he began, his voice heavy. "I think we need to be honest with ourselves. We're not the same people we were when we started this journey. Our dreams, they've pulled us in different directions."

The breaking point had reached its culmination, and the truth hung in the air like a heavy fog. You looked at Jack, the person you had shared so much love with, and saw a stranger in the dim glow of the car's interior staring back at you.

"I never wanted it to come to this," he continued, a hint of regret in his eyes. "But we can't keep holding onto what used to be. It's not fair to either of us."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded, the pain of parting etched on both your faces. The car door opened, and as you stepped out into the cool night air, the echoes of what once was lingered in the spaces between you. The breaking point had led to an ending, a decision made in the quiet aftermath of a car ride that had shifted the course of your relationship.

──

Months had passed since the break up, and Jack found himself navigating the post-Y/N world with attempts to move on. Tonight, he found himself at a bar with his friends, the dimmed lights and lively atmosphere attempting to drown the lingering echoes of Y/N and everything she was.

His friends, aware of his struggle, were determined to lift his spirits. "Come on, Jack, look around. There are plenty of beautiful girls here! Who wouldn't wanna sleep with the Jack Hughes?" One of them encouraged, gesturing towards the crowd.

Jack halfheartedly smiled, appreciating their efforts to pull him out of his slump. He scanned the room, the laughter and chatter of the bar patrons surrounding him. Amidst the sea of faces, one caught his eye — a girl who, from a distance, bore a resemblance to Y/N.

His friends nudged him, teasingly urging him to approach her. "There you go, Jack! She's cute, right?"

He hesitated, his gaze fixed on the girl who seemed to share a fleeting resemblance to someone he once held close, someone who had been his world. The internal struggle between moving on and clinging to the past played out in his conflicted expression.

But as he approached, the girl looked up, and for a moment, Jack's heart skipped a beat. The resemblance was uncanny — the same captivating eyes, a similar smile. In that instant, he felt a pang of nostalgia, a cruel reminder of what he had lost.

The girl, oblivious to the emotional turmoil within Jack, smiled politely. Jack stammered, the weight of the past and the allure of familiarity colliding. His friends exchanged knowing glances, realizing that even in a sea of faces, some connections were indelible. As Jack struggled to respond, his gaze lingered on the girl who momentarily embodied a resemblance to the one he couldn't forget.

"Hey, can I get you something to drink?" Jack said, feigning confidence.

"Sure, I'll have a vodka soda."

As he headed to the bar, Jack's friends continued their subtle exchange of knowing glances. They could see the conflict in their friend's eyes, torn between the past and the present.

As he returned with the drinks, Jack decided to engage in conversation, attempting to momentarily escape the weight of his thoughts. They found a more secluded spot, away from the lively crowd, and Jack tried to muster a genuine smile.

"Cheers," he said, lifting his glass. The clink of glasses filled the air, but in the echo.

As they teased back and forth, Jack decided to flirt, something he'd done a million times in the last couple of months, trying to move on. The girl reciprocated, and for a brief moment, the bar seemed like a place where past and present could coexist.

"You know," she said, casually swirling the drink in her hand, "I've never met someone as driven as you, someone so focused on their own success. It's impressive, but I wonder if you've ever stopped to enjoy the simpler things in life. I bet it's hard, with your work and stuff..."

Jack's smile faltered, and his eyes widened in surprise. Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Jack was transported back to the countless times Y/N had gently urged him to appreciate the present and to find joy in the little things.

In that instant, the weight of realization hit him. It wasn't about a specific detail, but rather the essence of what he had lost. Y/N had brought balance to his life, grounding him in the beauty of everyday moments. The girl's words echoed Y/N's sentiments, and it dawned on Jack how much he had taken her for granted.

Excusing himself, Jack left the girl confused. He quickly said his goodbyes to his friends, walking back to his friends. The attempt to recreate the banter, the flirtation – it all felt like a hollow pursuit compared to the real connection he had with Y/N.

Outside the bar, the cool night air wrapped around him, and Jack took a moment to collect his thoughts. The city lights flickered in the distance, a stark contrast to the clarity that was slowly settling within him. Determined to address the growing void within him, Jack made his way back to the apartment he once shared with Y/N. The familiar surroundings seemed different now, carrying the echoes of both joy and the regret of what he had lost.

Upon entering, the silence enveloped him, a stark contrast to the happy memories that used to fill these walls. The photographs on the wall, the shared belongings, all gone now. The home now felt sterile and cold, it didn't feel like home anymore.

Jack sank onto the couch, his mind replaying the moments he had shared with Y/N. The laughter, the late-night talks, the dreams they had woven together – they all flooded back, bringing with them a profound longing.

Unable to shake the weight of regret, Jack decided to confront the reality he had been avoiding. He picked up his phone and dialed Y/N's number, the familiar digits carrying the hope of rebuilding what he had carelessly let crumble.

"Hey, it's me," Jack began, the words carrying a vulnerability he had long suppressed. "I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I need to talk to you. Can we meet?"

Y/N's response was a mixture of surprise and caution, "Jack, it's been months. What's there to talk about now?"

Jack took a deep breath, ready to lay bare his feelings. "I realized how much I took you for granted, Y/N. The success, the pursuit of my dreams – they meant nothing without you. I miss us, I miss the simplicity and authenticity we had. Can we meet, please?"

Y/N's hesitant silence on the other end spoke volumes, and Jack felt his heart sink. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally responded with a gentle but firm, "Jack, I appreciate your honesty, but I've moved on. Meeting now wouldn't change anything."

His chest tightened with the weight of her words, and the reality of the consequences hit him. Jack had taken a chance on something genuine and beautiful and let it slip away. The simplicity and authenticity he once shared with Y/N were now fragments of a past he couldn't reclaim.

"I understand," he said, his voice betraying a sense of defeat. "I just wanted you to know how sorry I am, and that I've learned from my mistakes."

Y/N's response was soft, "Jack, take this as a lesson for your future. I hope you find the happiness you're searching for."

The call ended, leaving Jack with a hollow ache. The apartment, once filled with shared dreams, now felt emptier than ever. The essence of what he had lost lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the genuine connection he had taken for granted.

Anger took over his body and he couldn't help but slam his hands on the coffee table, it felt like the whole apartment shook. Breathing heavily, Jack paced around the room, the weight of his realization settling in. The photographs on the wall seemed to mock him, frozen moments that he couldn't ever relive. The essence of what he could've had with Y/N now haunted him, a ghost of the love he had taken for granted.

He glanced around the apartment, each corner holding memories of shared laughter, whispered promises, and the warmth of their love. It was a stark contrast to the emptiness that surrounded him now.

Sinking onto the couch, Jack let out a heavy sigh. The world he could've had with Y/N played out in his mind like a bittersweet movie, each scene a reminder of what he had lost. Regret clawed at him, and Jack couldn't shake the image of Y/N moving forward without him. The authenticity he craved, the simplicity he missed – it was all embodied in the love he had taken for granted.

As Jack sat alone in the quiet apartment, the taste of success, once sweet on his tongue, now felt bitter. The achievements that he had relentlessly pursued seemed hollow without Y/N by his side to share in the joy.

The awards and accomplishments, once the pinnacle of his aspirations, now felt like mere tokens in a life that lacked the authenticity he had once shared with Y/N. The world he had built for himself seemed colorless without her to share in the colorful moments of success.

In the solitude of the apartment, Jack realized that the pursuit of success had come at a cost – the cost of a genuine, irreplaceable connection. The bitterness of this realization was palpable, a reminder that the sweetest victories were the ones shared with someone you loved. And no matter where he went, all those roads led him to what I once called his home, his everything.

It was a bitter truth that Jack couldn't escape, and as he reflected on the choices that had led him to this lonely moment, he understood that success, without the taste of shared happiness, was empty. In the silence, he grappled with the emptiness that accompanied the absence of the one person who had made every success worthwhile.

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[mvltisstuff]

Hi, I loved you recent fic about reader being Eddies sister, it was amazing.

Can we get a part two with reader and Buck getting to know each other and then eventually dating at the end 🙏

Love your fics keep up the good work.

mr. rager (cont.) - e.b

summary: request

evan buckley x reader

gif from @evanbuckleydaily

a/n: ok so eddie had the spotlight in part one but this is bucks part 🤭 this is a bit of a shorter one but i hope you like it 💗

“eddie,” y/n complained. “i really don’t think i want to start anything-“

“c’mon, he’s nice! i’ve known him for a while i swear he’s a good guy,” eddie attempts to convince y/n again.

“i know, i’ve met him before. i get that you have some weird obsession with him and me but pipe down.”

“alright! i’m just saying he is an option.”

truth? y/n and buck have been going out for weeks. they’ve been hanging out and getting dinner and they actually hit it off. she realized that there’s people out there who understand her. growing up, she felt more alone than anyone. until she found buck and his radiance, he were someone to confide in. buck always was the spotlight of criticism when he was being raised. between his parents and comparisons of him and maddie, it was intolerable, so he left. similar to y/n.

they knew all too well that eddie was trying to get them together, but why not try to mess with him? they figured they wanted to sneak around a bit, act like teenagers again. sure, eddie would be pissed, but y/n was gleaming with buck. buck knew she was different from all of the girls he’s been with. abby, ally, taylor, didn’t have the elements that y/n did when she came into the room. the elements that buck needed.

they were both surprised when the other started spitting out their exact feelings, finishing their sentences like they were a psychic. it was scary at the beginning. y/n figured those issues would eventually crash together, causing damage that couldn’t reverse. she couldn’t bear to lose buck so early on.

as mentioned, they were continuously sneaking around, avoiding eddie and people who could say something. so usually, they were just at buck or y/n’s apartment where no one could bother them. y/n was laying on bucks bed, propped up on her elbows with bucks lips pressed against hers. her hands rubbed against his forearms as his were keeping himself above her, loving on her neck and admiring her lips. they stayed in that position until y/n sat up, running her hands through bucks growing hair and letting them fall to his jaw.

bucks shift had ended a few hours ago, and after long hours of working, he texted y/n, wanting her to come over. so there they were, making out in bucks small apartment.

“when do you have to go to work?”

“don’t worry about it,” buck smiles, continuing to kiss her.

“just wanna know how much time we have,” she smirks and the knocking on bucks front door interrupts them. “clearly not as much as i had hoped.”

“ugh,” buck groans, planting one more quick peck on y/n’s lips before rushing downstairs to peek into the peephole. his heart races when he sees his best friends figure waiting by the door, six-pack in his hand. “shit!”

“what’s wrong-“

“go in the bathroom, it’s your brother!” buck whisper-yells.

“why is he here?” y/n asks, frantically trying to decide what to do.

“i’ll cover for you, just, i’m so sorry,” he stutters and moves to open the door. y/n locks herself in bucks bathroom, standing there until eddie leaves. “uh, hey! what’s up?” he asks awkwardly.

“nothing much… bad time?”

“no! no, you’re good,” buck moves to let eddie in. he’s trying to make it seem less suspicious, so he just decides to let him stop by for a few minutes. “i just woke up anyway.”

“makes sense, your hairs a mess,” eddie says, making bucks eyes widen and run his fingers through it. “relax, buck. what’s got you so on edge?”

“me? i’m fine!”

“alright,” eddie replies, not believing a word of his act. “i was gonna see if y/n was busy, but she didn’t answer her phone.”

“is she at work?”

“no, her shift would have ended a while ago,” eddie tells him. “here, i’m gonna call her again.”

“are you sure?” buck spits. “it’s just, maybe she’s asleep? or out with people? or on a date?”

“c’mon, it’s y/n. i’m just gonna make sure she’s ok,” eddie presses her name on his phone and buck immediately knows his fate. he’s screwed, basically. eddie would be pissed if he found out they didn’t tell him. shouldn’t they have said something sooner? it doesn’t matter now, because he’ll find out anyway. eddie unfortunately notices the distinct ringtone of y/n’s coming from above, on his nightstand. buck tries to cover it up by coughing, but eddie just puts his phone down.

“nice try, buck,” he crosses his arms. “where is my sister?”

“i-i don’t know what you mean-“

“y/n?” eddie shouts, knowing that she’s been hiding in there somewhere. even in the bathroom, she silently curses buck, trying to figure out which part of his brain told him to do this. no turning back now, though. she flicks the lock and pulls the door open, smiling awkwardly as she steps out of the bathroom. “come down here.”

she steps down, carefully incase she has to make a run for it. maybe she should do that anyway, just escape to el paso from the pure embarrassment she feels.

“and how long have you been seeing each other and not telling me?”

“oh, you know just a-“

“four months.” buck speaks, quickly and it’s barely inaudible.

“sorry, did you say four months?” eddie exclaims. “why didn’t you say anything?”

“you had your fair share of sneaking around growing up? i’m a grown woman, i can see whoever i want. and buck is a grown man, he can make his own decisions.”

“i’m not mad, i’ve just been trying to make this work for months!”

“well, congrats,” buck adds. eddie takes a beer from the pack and takes the lid off.

“tía owes me $20,” he adds, taking a sip of the beer.

[familyabolisher]

Apologies if you've answered this before, but I've been following you for a while and the way you approach literary analysis is so interesting, and your takes have made me reflect on and reconsider the way I approach a text and how to respond to it! So I wanted to ask: when you read other people's takes/analysis for a particular piece of media, how do you determine if it's good or not? And not in a way where you decide it's "good" in the sense that the person you're reading has uncovered the One True Interpretation you could get out of that piece of media, but in the sense where you feel like it was worth your time, and hit the spots that you're looking for in particular when it comes to media analysis.

I'm asking because I've taken to reading more media analysis and commentary online a lot more nowadays, and sometimes I'll read something I'm not quite satisfied with but can't exactly articulate why I feel that way. I never know if it's in the particular language used or in the length, or in the details, because frequently I find that at the end of my reading I don't even disagree with the take or its premise, which makes my dissatisfaction all the more confusing. So I do like hearing about how other people approach things to try and figure things out for myself, and I respect a lot of your positions, so. How do you do it?

Thank you! I feel like “good/bad” is a very broad framework to be using here; I wonder if it might be more helpful to come to conclusions about analytical work based on how useful you found it. There’s a lot of critical work that I consider to be completely useless to me, but that doesn’t necessarily make it ‘bad’ or even ‘wrong’; it’s just not doing what I want it to be doing. Some questions you might want to ask could include:

Is this elucidating? Does this explain what it purports to explain, does it answer the questions it wants to answer and/or pose new questions that weren’t immediately legible in the text? Has it developed an idea clearly? Has it given you some new angles from which you can think about the text? In short: did you get something from reading it?

Is the argument followed to its furthest possible conclusion? What I mean by this is like, media analysis is often a process of asking a lot of “why” questions: why is X like this? Why is this significant? Why X and not Y?—over and over until you run out of questions to ask. I think the big thing to watch out for here is whether or not a piece of analysis lays out its observations as though events, characterisation, relationships, etc., are phenomena emerging organically (as though it were “real life”) rather than being narrative choices made with intention (and some impetus towards figuring out what that intention is). Saying that X character is like Y is far less compelling than saying X character is like Y because Z when Z is an argument that extends beyond the boundaries of the narrative itself. Narratives are a series of deliberate choices; we want to know why those choices were made and whether we agree with them.

To give an example: let’s say we’re talking about the significance of Shiv’s pregnancy in the final episode of Succession. Following it through to its conclusion might look like this:

I start out by saying, “Tom being favoured over Kendall as CEO of Waystar is in part due to Shiv’s pregnancy reaffirming the Roy family bloodline, something that Roman establishes Kendall as being functionally incapable of doing.” The first question we should ask here is: why is reaffirming the bloodline significant?

From here we can say, well, we know it’s significant because Roman uses the word ‘bloodline’ to mark Tom/Shiv as favourable, and this tells us that there is a logic of eugenics running through Logan’s empire. This is good, but we’re still operating in wholly diegetic territory ie. the only terms we’re setting for our argument are those of describing conditions internal to the narrative. The next question we’re asking is: why are the Succession writers bringing this question of eugenics and bloodlines into play here?

From here, we can go in a bunch of different directions—for argument’s sake, we can think about Succession’s relationship to imperial/monarchic narratives of dynastic succession crises and how the show generates tension in part by transposing those narratives onto an American capitalist media empire in order to suggest that networks of capitalist hegemony and the means by which such a hegemony is sustained can be discursively linked back to such dynastic interplay. We might then point to eg. Caroline and the British aristocracy and this question of blood purity that Logan’s relationship with her + his discarding of Connor introduces; can we think about the British imperial aristocracy as a crutch on which American capitalism rests, or are we being asked to consider how these imperial superpowers are a) functionally interchangeable and b) mutually sustaining, or? We can look at the fact that Sophie Roy is brown and Iverson is implied to be autistic (and obviously the fact that neither is biologically related to Kendall and the suggestion that social ‘inferiority’ is therefore hereditary) to identify whose bloodline a practice of eugenics within hegemony seeks to retain and who it seeks to dispossess, and how this links back to the willingness on the part of the siblings to collude with (or even openly support) a fascist when it becomes in their best interest to do so. We can ask questions about reproduction of the bloodline as a means of reaping the rewards of hegemony (Shiv) or punishment within the borders of said hegemony for impotence and sexual deviance (Kendall and Roman). All of these lead us from arguments about the internal conditions of the Roy family towards conditions of the ruling class articulated through the family structure. All of this is compelling, but it begs the question of: why are we able to extrapolate all of these conclusions from the narrative configuration of the Roy family? Where in the text is it evinced that this kind of metonymic reading is coherent?

Finally, we link this back to Succession by understanding the Roy family as effectively metonymic for the ruling class as a united body (and why it’s effective for a family unit to take on such a metonymic role! What does this tell us about the relationship between the cluster of kinship relations we call the “family” and hegemony?) as is pretty transparently evinced throughout the show, and which is what gives meaning to this series of observations and allows us to extract an argument towards thematic significance out of what was initially just a set of observations about what was ‘happening’ on-screen.

I hope this is a clear example—I just went with it because most people on this website are at least passably fluent in Succession by now, lmao. The point is, you keep asking questions until you’ve followed the throughline through as far as it can be followed. In evaluating a piece of critical writing, you always want to be asking: why is this there? Why is this important? A weaker piece of critical writing will often avoid or else seem not to consider these sorts of questions. As a general rule of thumb, the more a work of critical writing seems to take for granted, the weaker it tends to be.

How well does the argument match the expectations you might have? Is this line of interrogation something that you’ve considered before, and what conclusions did you draw? Does the argument fall in line with your conclusions; does it challenge or develop them by introducing something you hadn’t considered, or do you think that your understanding identified something that the argument missed? If you were asked the question that the piece purports to respond to, how would you respond?

What are the blind spots of the argument? This is similar to the above, but is specifically concerned with asking what the piece might have missed or what assumptions might be limiting its scope. This means looking for the assumptions upon which the argument rests and trying to unpack and challenge them in order to understand how they took the form that they did. An example of this might be the kind of “female rage”/“teenage girl ferality” arguments you often see circling about Yellowjackets: what narrative does this idea of girls’ youthful ‘rage’ implicitly exonerated from harm contribute to? What do we do when we reify the idea of ‘teenage girlhood’ as a unique, impenetrable state that affords those who ‘experience’ it a uniquely elevated condition, or when we flatten these characters into the apparently equalised category of ‘teenage girl’? How do these arguments elide questions of race in Yellowjackets as regarding eg. Lottie or Taissa, and how can we follow them through to think about blind spots not only in the argument but in the show itself? No argument can feasibly encompass every possible nuance and perspective that one could bring to a text, obviously, but a stronger piece of critical writing will try to get into these underlying assumptions with depth and thoughtfulness and try to put some work into showing why they came to the conclusions that they came to; again, it’s about what gets taken for granted, what the writer presumes can go unspoken, and whether we ought to drag it to the surface and take a better look at it.

How well is the argument substantiated? Here I would expect reference to the source material—how well are these references selected? Are they consistent? Is there some cherry-picking happening—can you think of a point in the text where the claims being made might be challenged or contradicted? Does the argument impose stasis or unilaterialism onto something that in the text is in fact depicted as dynamic or otherwise in development? How well does this hold up with your interpretation of these moments—can you interpret them differently? What do you make of that ambiguity?

Can you place a value judgement on the argument made? In other words: do you agree? This is basically just about synthesising your responses to all the other questions and evaluating how on the mark you think the argument is; how you would respond to it, how you might develop it, how it might have developed your understanding of the work or else can be applied to other parts of the text (or indeed, other texts).

Ultimately I think the best thing you can do here is develop your own positions on texts to the best of your ability—I find that writing my arguments out helps me to get to grips with them better—and engaging with analytical work relative to that, ie. going in with your own solid sense of understanding from which your response can be crafted; I have an older post here on some of the questions you can start asking when you’re looking to do so. Obviously this means keeping an open mind towards arguments that contradict your own or that you may not have thought of before, but knowing what you think and why you think it will make it a lot easier to notice what might be missing or contradictory in someone else’s work (or, again, what you yourself might have missed). Critical work is (imo) best thought of as a dialogue rather than a straightforward imparting of knowledge; how someone else’s analysis informs your own, and how yours informs theirs, without flattening this dynamic into a deference of superior authority on either end, is the clearest and most productive way to think about it all.

I hope this is helpful!

[houlebubo]

One day I'll probably do a 40-minute video essay on this topic, but the internet's misinterpretation of "Death of the Author" is just a real shame.

I frequently see the concept brought up in relation to a certain terf author. People attempt to 'separate the work and the author', but that is frankly not how it is intended to be used.

"Death of the Author" is supposed to be a tool for literary analysis. That's all it is. It is not a theory by itself, nor a political stance or a way to judge morality.

It is a tool to encourage readers to interpret the content of a text authentically, but you should use it critically, and be aware of why, how and when it is relevant. It is not an excuse to ignore context or paratext, as both of those should also be considered in a proper analysis.

The tool was developed during a time when the discourse was more favourable towards an author's intention rather than a reader's interpretation. People used intention to dismiss other readers' analysis of texts, using diary entries or letters by dead authors to counter less mainstream takes of canon texts. It was a period where the 'goal' of literary analysis was to uncover a text's true meaning. The original essay was a short controversial counterargument but the conversations it sparked over the following decades have led to the scale tipping more in favour of interpretation. It has also led to a 180 of the original problem.

Killing the author has the potential of empowering readers and encouraging deeper. Maybe even uncovering biases the author wasn't even aware of! However, (mostly outside of academic circles but not always) people are misusing the concept and use it to dismiss context and racist dog-whistles as well as discourage readings that rely more on subtext.

In simple terms we have gone from a mentality saying "AHA, I have evidence and it said you are wrong" to "AHA, it doesn't matter and therefore you are wrong". Neither is constructive in a conversation about art.

If you use the death of the author effectively while acknowledging intention and context you actually add a lot of nuance to your analysis, and doing so can demonstrate your analytical abilities. You will be able to distinguish what the text is saying plainly, what is said between the lines, and if the narrative effectively handles what it originally claimed. It is an effective 1-2 punch. Let me give you an ultra-short example:

On the surface level, '50 Shades of Grey' tells you that it is a sexy BDSM story. Throughout interviews and promotional material, E. L. James frames her story as a female-empowering book. But by critically examining how the books handle themes of consent, privacy, agency etc. we can argue that the narrative doesn't live up to proper BDSM conduct and that the protagonist is not empowered, and is instead displaying an unhealthy relationship. If we take the analysis further we could make an argument about what this says about society at large. Does it normalise boundary-breaking behaviour? Could it make someone romanticise stalking? The thesis statement is all up to you. (disclaimer I have not actually read these books, don't come for me, this is an example)

Here is what we just did: I presented a surface reading of a text. I presented the most likely intention of the author. I then argued for my interpretation by looking at literary themes and context. I used the conflict between Jame's intention, and my interpretation to illustrate a conflict. 1-2 punch. I am not killing James, I consider her opinion and intention to strengthen my argument, but I don't let her word of god determine or dismiss my reading. In just 3 simple sentences I use a variety of resources from my toolbox.

When people weaponise the author's intention it can look like this:

"Well, E. L. James said it is a female power fantasy, you're just reading too much into it" <- dismissing context and subtext by using 'word of god'. Weighing intention above interpretation.

"Does it really matter that E. L. James didn't research BDSM before publishing, can't it just be a sexy book?" <- dismissing context, subtext as well as author intention and accountability. Weighing their own interpretation and subtly killing the author

Simply exclaiming "I believe in death of the author" (which I have heard in Lit classes) means nothing. It's nothing. Except that you want to ignore context and only indulge in the parts of the text that you find enjoyable.

In the plainest way I can put it, the death of the author is supposed to make you say: "the author probably meant A, but the text and the context is saying B, therefore I conclude C". Don't just repeat what the author says. Don't just ignore context. And allow the feelings the text invokes in you to be there and let them be something you reflect on. The details you pick up on will be completely unique to you, the meaning you get will be just your own. You can do all of these things at once, I promise it doesn't have to be one or the other.

There has to be a balance. Intention matters. Interpretation matter. Watch out and pay attention. Are you only claiming the author is dead or alive when it serves your own narrative?

When you want to ignore an author ask why

When you don't want to read a book because you don't condone the actions of the author ask why

Examine how you dismiss arguments and how you further conversations.

[dukeofriven]

To Ravel-Out The Weaved-Up Follies: The Decline and Fall of Homestuck^2

[I first started this essay a few months ago during a strange, brief resurgence of Homestuck^2 discussion that vanished almost as quickly as it began. Because my brain is A Wretchedly Uncooperative Thing this essay has stayed in draft form, being picked at, until—naturally—Homestuck^2 surprised us all by relaunching with a completely new team at its head. I’ve decided to push myself to publish this anyway, because I still think the core of my thesis is correct. So, keeping in mind that this leaves the starting gate slightly later than I would have wished (not knowing I was in a race), let us commence.]

___________________________________________________

“A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate care that the balances are correct. -Frank Herbert, Dune, 1965 “Once upon a time there was a Boojum——" the Professor began, but stopped suddenly. "I forget the rest of the Fable," he said. "And there was a lesson to be learned from it. I'm afraid I forget that, too." -Lewis Carroll, Sylvie and Bruno Concluded, 1893

Several posts about Homestuck^2 have started to crop-up… adjacent to my dash. I'm not attaching myself to those posts because it seems rude, but their points are largely an attempt at revisionism of the fate of Homestuck^2. Understand I'm not using the term ‘revisionist’ pejoratively: it is common, even sensible for artists to look back at failed projects and try to pick up the pieces and derive some value from them. I’ve done it myself, many times. Nobody likes to say "I entirely wasted my time, my passion, and my creative energy for [X] days, months, years.” It is important to look at a failure and see what you did right, treasure the parts that were worth treasuring.

But equally I don't want to go too far in rehabilitating what was, undeniably, a failure. There's a lot of critical theory being brought-up, a lot of talk of Homestuck^2 from a standpoint of post-modernism, or post-post-modernism, trying to engage with what Homestuck^2 was as a platform for ideas. A habitus, if you’ll forgive the jargon, what Bourdieu famously called (in a Hussie-like masterwork of language) “the structured structures predisposed to function as structuring structures.”

I get it. I get what the Homestuck^2 team was trying to do intellectually: where their minds were at, the hostility they faced, the vitriol they were harmed by. I get it.

But that's not why Homestuck^2 failed. Homestuck^2 did not fail because it dreamed too big, or was too intellectual. It did not fail because its themes were not worth exploring, or because its lens was too meta: for most of its original run, after all, Homestuck is nothing but an interrogation of Homestuck. Its brains were not why Homestuck^2 failed. The problem was its execution. The problem was its heart.

There's a lot to be said about not giving fans what they think they want. The internet drowns in coffee shop AUs where everything interesting about a franchise's characters has been vulgarly ripped from the text, leaving a drama-less, tension-less pablum where everything is stagnant and unchanging, everyone gets along, all the romances are cute and smooth, and you can burrow in the comforting ooze of artistic and narrative death. Give fans exactly what they want and frequently nothing creatively meaningful will result. Fandoms famously resisted both The Empire Strikes Back and The Wrath of Khan when they first released because they pushed characters to change, and yet they grew to be beloved as fans realized that what they thought they wanted and what it turned out they could enjoy were not as alike s they assumed. There's nothing wrong with showing fans that there can be more to a story that just doing the same thing over again, retrenching into the pablum wastelands of growth-free comfort fics.

But when asking whether Homestuck^2 did or did not gave fans what they wanted or needed, we must first raise an important establishing question: which fans? That is to say: who was its intended audience? Who was Homestuck^2 written for?

At its peak, Homestuck Classic had millions of readers and a million page-hits a day. There was a whole contingent of fandom who came only for the trolls (in some baffling cases actually skipping the first four acts of the story to jump right to into Act 5). There was another contingent who loved the video game parody, there were Problem Sleuth junkies, and in the early acts there were the suggestion box obsessives: all of these were readers who were fans of parts of the story but largely stopped reading Homestuck as the story got more concerned with the complex nature of stories and narrative itself. Homestuck^2 is clearly not for them—as indeed Homestuck Classic itself had not 'been' for them for much of its run. Homestuck^2 is also not for new readers: if you haven't read the Homestuck Epilogues through at least twice, if you don't remember all its major plot points and the plot points of Homestuck Classic, it makes no attempt to onboard you and is, probably in-arguably, outright impenetrable to those not already in the know. It’s not impossible—there were SBaHJ fans who onboarded with the first context-free SBaHJ and went ‘yeah, I can vibe with this’ and never knew or cared that it was a reference work for something else— but it doesn’t seem likely that many people ‘jumped on’ the Homestuck train with Homestuck^2. I think Homestuck^2’s writers would agree that Homestuck^2 expected you to know the lay of the land. So: nobody new was likely going to read Homestuck^2, and (given its density of Homestuck call-backs) neither was it for more casual Homestuck fans. Homestuck^2 was not even for the truly otiose Andrew Hussie diehards: Hussie was only tangentially involved in the project, they weren't writing it, and there's seemingly no references at all to Barty's Brew-Ha-Ha or Inappropriate Time for Ham, so that's a full seventeen readers it also likely turned off (sorry, comrades. One day…)

So who, then, was Homestuck^2 for? Its intended readers seemed to be those who read the Epilogues and loved them. This is a complicated issue: for those who weren’t there, the Epilogues were… controversial. I defended them at the time: I liked them, even admired them, partially because I believed with the fervor of a zealot that there was still something else to come. I called this final entry ‘Pumpkin.’ Homestuck, a story that always rejected binaries, surely was not meant to conclude with over-the-top Candy and/or grim, dour Meat. I knew in my heart that Pumpkin was coming, where John rejected both of these dark and crazy futures and found a third way in which his friends grew up and matured without losing themselves and their friendship: not a story without conflict, but surely the prime timeline as existed in general fandom imagination could not accept Dirk’s grotesque, manipulative suicide, breastfeeding Gamzee, brutal civil wars, and Dirk and Jane becoming so cruel and hateful. Surely that was set-up to pay-off a better future later: after all, like its author, Homestuck abhorred a binary.

But Pumpkin never came, and now I look at the Epilogues and I find lot in it (for lack of a better term) ‘edge lord showboating.’ It feels like reading 90s comics all over again, including the bits with cannibalism. A lot of bleak and miserable things happen in the narrative, and I find myself asking ‘do they happen because they should, or just because they could?’ (And how many times can one franchise treat Jade Harley like absolutely garbage?)

But if the Epilogues had a true and golden virtue, it was their framing as intrinsically being fan-fiction: Meat or Candy, this was not the 'true' continuation of the franchise (as much as that means anything), this was speculative futures, not much different from Doc Scratch’s story of the Vriska/Noir battle. A one-shot, in other terms, an elseworlds: not a definitive statement about What Homestuck Was From Now On, but an experiment in tone and structure. How far can you push Homestuck before it doesn’t feel like Homestuck any more? (Turns out not nearly as far as you might think.) A lot of people didn’t notice, however, or perhaps simply didn’t care: the Epilogues ripped the Homestuck fandom apart. Homestuck Classic often did things in bad-taste as part of its odd charm: Gamzee’s codpiece, Jack playing dress-up after slaughtering a nice couple on a date, Caliborn’s cartoonish misogyny. Some bits land, some don’t, but for fans—I think for many, if not most—the Epilogues crossed a line that they were not comfortable with.

In some quarters the Epilogues are reviled, and I honestly can not fault people who found them off-putting. They are: intentionally so, provocatively so, and it should be okay for people to be put off by them without insisting that the haters ‘just didn’t get it.’ Often they did: they ‘got it,’ they just didn’t like it. It ‘squiked them out’ as we used to say, and the writers had to have known it would: discomfort is the nature and partial purpose of provocative art.

(Sidebar: Epilogue writers, you wrote a plot-line in which 16-year old Homestuck Act 6 protagonist Jane Crocker grows-up to become a racist dictator who has a cuckolding sexual relationship with Gamzee Makarra that involves kin-play involving public breastfeeding.

Sorry Andres Serranos acolytes, that’s not going to go down super-well with the majority of people, not because they are uptight suburban prudes but because they liked Jane Crocker and felt this outcome was not grounded well in the character they knew: only the obtuse would act shocked and try and argue it was due to a lack of sophistication. You took a gamble, you took a risk, you faced the outcome. You fucked around with ICP Hitler breastfeeding cuckoldry and you found out.)

So: who was Homestuck^2 for? It was for people who had read Homestuck multiple times, had read the Epilogues multiple times, and wanted a sequel that involved those Epilogues.

That is… a small audience. A very small audience. I counted myself among them, but had no illusions that its reach was ever going to be very large. Homestuck^2 was never going to be the Second Coming of Homestuck as a sui generis cultural phenomenon: seemingly by design, it was deliberately written for an insular audience who liked a controversial and difficult interpretation of a famous story and wanted more of that interpretation. So the Homestuck^2 team wrote for them: they came to the table with big dreams and big ideas. They came to the table with lots of critical theory under their belts: they knew their Barthes and Baudrillard, they could reference queer theory and the legacy of post-structuralism, they were the sort of people who knew how to situate Homestuck in post-post-modernism and what that meant for the nature of its exploration of stories.

They had an audience, and they had a plan. They were going to give the fans what they wanted.

So after much hype and fanfare, after interviews and the Tumblr equivalent of a press-junket—which saw the new team saying how excited they were to tackle Homestuck’s legacy, how many great ideas they had, how much having a diverse team was going to see Homestuck ‘done right’—Homestuck^2 first published on the 25th of October, 2019, releasing 32 pages.

We start in the glittering majesty of space. The camera swoops in among the stars, barrelling towards a rushing spacecraft (every frame of Homestuck^2 looks great, the visual arts team's work is its unquestioned highlight). We aim at a viewport in the spacecraft’s hull and slowly the Muti-Narratively-Dimensional Ubervillian Dirk Strider comes into view. Fresh from his triumph in the Epilogues, continuing his wicked schemes, he looks right at the camera, and—speaking directly to the audience—he voices the first line of dialogue in Homestuck^2:

"Surprise, bitch."

…

There is…

…

… there is no coming from back that.

There is no saving it.

It is the 25th of October, 2019, and Homestuck^2 launches with its own death-rattle. It stumbles out of the gate like a beautiful racing pony catching its delicate hoof on the sharp, treacherous edge of an unwieldy analogy and tumbling into the indifferent soil of hard reality, shattering all four legs and immediately marking itself for teary euthanasia at the hand of the devastated young girl with the violet eyes who raised it from a foal and dreamed of making Nationals.

We have established that Homestuck^2’s potential audience was small. The people who were most likely to like it were already an insular, distinctive group who had bought-in to what much or all the Epilogues had to offer. Homestuck^2’s opening-day crowd did not need to be sold on the word of the Lord—they already believe it: they came to see their first glimpse of the promised land.

And in its very first conversation with that audience, in its very first words, Homestuck^2 makes the most spectacular miscalculation of tone since 2013's DmC: Devil May Cry—or for those of us of who remember the 90s: ‘Dirk Strider’s about to make you his bitch.’

There's nothing wrong with starting a story with a villain, there's nothing wrong with a villain being a contemptible heel to its audience, but Homestuck^2 spends its opening 32 entries—which, at over 7600 words are longer than the prologue to the Homestuck Epilogues—jumping between Dirk’s smarmy conversations with fellow characters and a monologue to the audience, pages infused with an arrogance and condescension that is downright enervating. The text is frequently dense, so dense it feels like chewing your way through a plank of wood. It is actively tiring to read: I bailed on my first attempt at reading Homestuck^2 when it originally dropped because I just did not have the energy to squint at my screen and read that much orange-on-off-white text.

It is, to be clear, contemptuous. Dirk did much the same in the Epilogues, but the locus has changed. In the Epilogues Dirk taunts the reader with the changes he is making to the story: he knows they object to his manipulations, and he preens as good villains do. But in Homestuck^2, Dirk speaks not of his changes but of the very existence of Homestuck^2 itself. He treats his audience as inherently hostile to the entire existence of the work they have just shown-up to read (or even support via a Patreon), a hostility that culminates when he ‘opens’ a suggestion box and receives the suggestion ‘Dirk: Stop Making Homestuck,’—which he at-once rejects and goes on to monologue some more.

Dirk is talking to an audience who isn’t there. He is speaking to everyone who didn’t like the Epilogues and objects to Homestuck’s 'sequel' directly following them: but that audience isn’t reading Homestuck^2. They bailed in advance, and any who did try and keep an open mind likely jumped ship the moment the comic started by calling them a bitch and implying they’re idiots. The only people likely to read past the fifth page are those who already bought-in to Homestuck^2’s plan: and they are greeted with some 32 pages and 7600 words of the comic’s villain re-litigating and justifying that plan over and over and over again to people who nominally already agreed with him.

It is draining. It is annoying. It is boring to read.

There’s so much you could critique about Homestuck^2’s choices: from Rose cheating on Kanaya to impregnate Jade to Jane Crocker going full Trump and keeping kids in cages. Equally there’s arguments to be made that Homestuck^2’s very premature cancellation inhibits any ability to judge the story fairly: like any serialized narrative stopped mid-way, we have no way of knowing what narrative payoffs were supposed to be. Decisions that seemed baffling on page 8 might prove brilliant and bold by page 8000. But we never got to page 8000, because Homestuck^2 made one crucial error:

It started by telling its audience they were fools for not being smart enough to appreciate how brilliant Homestuck^2 was going to be, and then spent a majority of some 7600 words repeating itself like the worst self-pitying incel you’ve ever had the misfortune to be trapped with at a party. If only the ungrateful could realize how smart, handsome, and well-educated I—Homestuck^2—am, the love I deserve will come flowing in. I’ll show them all.

Homestuck^2 never recovered from that first, fatal error. The rest of its choices, good and bad, are almost irrelevant in the face of that opening broadside, that hostility, that tedium. Homestuck Classic earned its walls of text and at least knew how to space them: Hometuck^2 took its audience forbearance as a given and opens with a lecture on its principles and quality like an unusually snide abstract on a sociology paper. Homestuck^2 essentially began by telling its audience to leave unless they were willing to give it carte blanche, to roll over for its brilliance from the first, to accept in advance that its intelligence and virtue were first rate. So the audience did leave and it never came back and eventually the whole thing collapsed via artist infighting that was so rancorous and possibly subsumed by NDAs that to this day no one has ever halfway adequately explained what happened at the end.

But that ending was preordained from the beginning, for the balance was hopelessly incorrect.

So to anyone trying to write a revisionist history of Homestuck^2 in which its downfall was the fault of readers who simply didn’t ‘give it a chance,’ who didn’t appreciate its themes, who couldn’t grasp (or didn’t care to grasp) its intellectual bonafides (not to mention its extraordinary self-assurance that it was going to be queer Homestuck ‘done right,’ which is a whole essay about a priori reasoning in and of itself)... in other words, a history in which Homestuck^2' downfall happened because people just didn’t ‘get it,’ I’d like to sum up my counter-argument succinctly:

People didn’t like Homestuck^2 because you wrote it bad.

[Afterwards:

There is something bitingly funny about the ‘return’ of Homestuck^2 with the announcement that, from what I can gather, seemingly every person involved with the original project was fired (or, as they’d probably insist, refused to come back). Dirk’s preening, overwhelming arrogance, that ‘Dirk: Stop Making Homestuck’ prompt, will forever haunt the original team’s unwieldy vision. “I’d bet you just looove for us not to make Homestuck anymore” the team said, with all the confidence of an entrepreneur dismissing safety regulations before climbing into his homemade submarine, and boy were lessons learned. My problem with the return, however, is that I don’t know who genuinely wants to see the story of Homestuck^2 finished: the remaining cadre of die-hard patrons who still have enough goodwill to want the promise of the story’s finale fulfilled is microscopic. I’d argue there’s more people waiting for the conclusion of Wizardy Herbert, and I’m the only person I know who has ever read it. What I mean is: as a choice to revive a struggling franchise it doesn’t make much sense, and further—if it is not clear—I don’t think this is a story worth finishing. What is to be salvaged? Jane-the-Dictator, Rose’s cheating, Obnoxious BabyVriska, Dirk Strider the monster? The problem with Homestuck^2 is that Pesterquest happened, and those who played it went ‘this—this is the kind of story we were hoping for, not your edge lord showboating.’ And we only got one Pesterquest and Homestuck^2 limped on for another year reviled, ignored, and eventually forgotten. When it died, most people didn’t have any idea, because the drama never crossed their screens: nobody was talking about it any more. As my best friend noted, give us more Paradox Space. Give us more stories with joy and some sense of fun, something not written by people who often felt like they had an ‘End of Evangelion’ style hatred of Homestuck, or at the very least took the old joke that Hussie was ‘trolling’ his audience at face value. (Writing a good story with twists, set-backs, and tragic moments is not trolling, it is just writing a good story.) Homestuck^2 never felt like it understood that: it was rude and iconoclastic for no more compelling reason than it thought that was meaningful. But then I think the legacy of Epilogues has been extremely toxic—part of the positivity towards Pesterquest was that it let the Epilogues go, featuring a triumphant moment where YoungDirk confronts his Epilogues self and goes ‘I don’t have to be a huge wanker, actually, I can stay a character people can stand and even love again.’

Do that, new team. Pesterquest is named-dropped on the new site more than once, and my dream is that its cast arrives and overthrows the corrosive toxicity of the Epilogues, banishes it to the far realm of underbaked elsewhere ‘what-ifs’ along with every DC cannibalism story and that time Peter Parker’s radioactive semen gave MJ cancer.

The Epilogues and Homestuck^2 are, at this point, not worth salvaging—but I’d happily see them formally buried.]

[gemini-sensei]

Tutor!Demetri Alexopoulos x Mean Girl!Chubby!Reader

Fem!reader 💘 smut 💘

CW: monstercock!Demetri, teasing, rough fingering, pussyjob, size kink/difference, kind of bitchy reader, pet name (good girl), little to no prep, unprotected sex, probably more tbh 👀

@sensei-venus (unedited)

"Are you even listening?"

Reader looked up from her phone, an unapologetically bored look on her face. "No."

Demetri frowned. When he'd agreed to tutor a struggling student, he'd thought that it would be something nice to do while getting another cool thing to add to his college applications. However, had he known who his tutee was going to be, he wouldn't have agreed to it in all honesty.

Reader was a mean spirited but sly girl. She could smile to someone's face and give them a compliment, then turn around and talk shit about them behind their backs. A single tweet from her could put anyone to shame, no questions asked, and she could make people cry with a look. She made people feel bad about themselves because she walked around in designer jeans and blouses like it was nothing. Most people didn't believe she was a girl anymore and had long been replaced by a demon, but that was neither here nor there.

Surely if she were getting graded for bitchiness, she'd get an A+.

And if Demetri had to compare her to a goddess, it would have to be Aphrodite purely for her vanity.

Sitting in her big cushy mansion while trying to tutor her was beyond infuriating, but Demetri had more patience than most people. He guessed that was why the school staff had chosen him to work with her, but there had been little work being done. It was so hard to get her to focus, but once he had her attention, it was soon lost because she just didn't care.

"Why am I even here?" he asked.

She shrugged and looked back down at her phone. "You're welcome to leave anytime you want. It's not like I care."

Her thumbs tapped away at her phone and she went on to ignore him. He rolled his eyes, ready to pack up and get out of there. This was a waste of time, he decided, and he didn't see the point in staying. However, before he got too far into closing up the books, she leans across him and reached for his calculator.

"I need this," she said, as if she had ownership over anything he had brought there. Though he was less focused on her tone and more engrossed in her tits that sat in his face while she stretched her arm out for the device. Then she sat back with it in her hand and started punching numbers into it. "There's this dress I've had my eye on for a while, but daddy said it's too much to get. But I just got a text saying it was on sale at another store, so if it's a reasonable percent off, maybe I can talk him into finally getting it for me."

Demetri didn't really hear most of what she said. He was too busy staring at her tits as they sat in her low cut top.

It was hard to deny that Reader was smoking hot. She had soft curves and cute round cheeks. Her outfits always accentuated her figure and showed off her best assets. When she wore dresses, they always put her thick thighs on display; her tits bounced when she hurried through the halls in heels; the school's gym uniform hugged her belly deliciously. She was beautiful

Some guys didn't like big girls, not appreciating them or treating them right, which Demetri thought should be a crime. Reader ignored those that criticized her body and focused on herself, which included all the nice clothes and hanging out with her friends.

It did not include paying attention in class or being seem with the likes of Demetri Alexopoulos of all people. It was how he ended up at her house in the first place, because she needed to be tutored but did not want to be seen getting help at a place like the library. Never mind the fact that it felt borderline inappropriate to be there at all, especially with her parents away on vacation. It-

"Oh my god!"

Her voice cut through his train of thought and he blinked, looking at her with burning cheeks. Her mouth was hanging open and he was ready to apologize for staring, but he was quick to see that her eyes were cast downward. As he realizesld what she was marveling at, his cock twitched and she gasped.

His jeans were extremely tight and he was only just noticing. His cock was stuffed down one leg of his pants and he was now painfully aware of how noticeable it was. His hardness created a rather sizable buldge along his thigh and it seem Reader was intrigued.

She looked up at him, licking her lips before she smiled at him. Suddenly, her grin was so mean. If anything, it was too sweet.

"Who knew you were so... big."

And there's the backhanded compliment, he thought. However, he couldn't really focus to that part of it because her attention was all on him now. Her desirable gaze was burning hot and unlike anything he'd ever reviewed before. He shamelessly loved it.

"Why don't you and I forget all this math work and head upstairs?" she asked, scooting closer to him. She put her hand on his thigh and slowly moved it inward.

When her hand came to his cock, she gave it a light squeeze and he groaned. She giggled and he looked at her, getting an idea.

"Or maybe, you get some of this work done and then maybe we could go upstairs," he said. He phrased it as a suggestion, but there was no real options aside from do the work or don't get cock.

She pouted and whined, "but I can't. It's too hard."

He smirked at her. "That's why I'm here, to help you."

He then pulled her onto his lap and situated her to sit right on his boner. She gasped while he groaned, both feeling the way his clothed cock pressed against the underside of her thighs. He put his arms around her and leaned forward, resting his head on her shoulder. She tensed up a bit as he breathed down her neck, sending shivers straight to her cunt and she clenched her thighs together.

He took up a pencil and put it in her hand, them laid his hand over hers and brought it to the paper. "I'll show you how to do the first problem, but then you have to do the rest on your own. Got it?"

"Mhm," she hummed softly and watched his guiding hand.

As she goes down the sheet, Demetri mumbles in her ear whether she's doing it right or wrong, telling her how to fix her little mess ups. Meanwhile, his hands are roaming her body; from her waist down to her hips and thighs. He slips a hand between her pudgy thighs and slide it up her dress, making Reader gasp.

"You're doing so good," he mumbledinto her ear, his hand creeping closer to her hot center. "Keep going."

She slowly spread her legs a little wider to give him more room and he lays his palm over her mound. His fingers began to inspect her panties, which were already a little damp from her catching sight of his bulge. He slid his fingers up and down her clothed pussy, making her whimper softly. Then he pulled the material to the side and pushed two fingers between her folds, finding her wetness and spreading it all over her entrance.

With his touches, Reader began to lose focus. Her pencil stopped moving as she whined, wiggling her hips in an attempt to get more friction against her sensitive lower lips. But as her pencil work stopped, Demetri pulled away.

"Finish the last problem, then I'll touch this wet little pussy."

She looked at him, pouty and desperate, but he didn't say anything more. So she turned to the sheet and worked out the problem. When she was finished, she showed it to him. "Like this?"

He gave it a short once over and smirked. "Just like that." Then he took the paper from her and turned it over, revealing more problems. "Now do this side."

"But-" She cut herself off with a moan as he pushed a long finger into her tight cunt.

He started off moderately slow, dipping his digit in and out of her hole as she worked on the sheet. When she was halfway down, he added another finger and stretched her out on them. He rubbed them against her walls pointedly and especially massaged her g-spot, making her shake in his lap. He groaned as she wiggled and moved, grinding on his hard cock while trying to stay focused. Her hole was gripping him tight, leaking fluid onto his jeans and all over his hand.

As she got closer to the end, he started finger fucking her hard. She let out a little scream and tried closing her legs, but it didn't deter or slow him down. Lewd, wet smacks came from between her legs as he quickly shoved his fingers in and out, eventually adding a third. As she shakily wrote the last few numbers of her answer, he used his other hand to rub her swollen clit.

In seconds, she was coming on his fingers, squirting hard. A torrent of liquid gushed from her hole and splashed the table in front of them, wetting the papers and books they'd been looking at for hours, ruining them. Several bursts of her juices made a mess of not just the table, but her pretty thighs and his jeans. He rode her through it, feeling the way her walls squeezed around his fingers.

When he pulled them out, he put them in his mouth and lapped up the dripping wetness. He hummed around them until he pulled them out with a smacking pop, then turned to her trembling figure. "You taste so good."

She looked at him, flustered and speechless. Her panting breaths fanned his face and he dove in to kiss her, putting his hand on her cheek to pull her in. She tasted herself on his lips and even more so on his tongue when he shoved it into her mouth.

They made out for a moment before he guided her to stand up, their lips disconnecting for only a moment before she's turned herself to face him and straddle his lap. Their hands gripped each other, putting their lips together again. His hands grabbed her waist and he started pushing and pulling her along his hips, grinding her hot, sensitive core along his straining jeans. It sent shivers and electric jolts of pleasure up her body and she whined against his lips.

The grinding didn't last long before he gently pushed her away. "Get up."

She nodded gently and did as he asked, standing in front of him and watching as he undid his jeans and shoved them down his legs. They only got to his mid thigh before he was shoving his boxers down and releasing his hard, aching cock. It stood at attention, tip red and angry with a bit of pre leaking out of his slit.

Reader gasped as she finally saw his cock for the first time. It looked a lot bigger than it did in his pants and she began to ask her self if she was going to be able to take it. She rubbed her thighs together as she whined, "It's so big."

Demetri sat back, pumping himself as he looked up at her. "And it's all for you."

More pre cum bubbled out and spilled down the side of his cock, but wasn't nearly enough to lube him up for her tight cunt.

"Come here," he ordered and she stepped forward. He grabbed her hips and guided her to sit on his lap, cock sandwiched between his stomach and her soaked pussy lips. As he stared up at her, he started rocking her against him and she got the idea fast.

She anchored her hands onto his shoulders and slid her pussy over his cock, coating him with her wetness, but they didn't spend much time doing that. He lifted her hip off of him and she hovered over his lap while hie positioned his cock to her entrance. When the bulbous tip met her folds, she moaned and eased herself down onto him. He helped to guide her, watching her lips pout as the head popped into her tight cunt.

"Oh fuck," she let out as she sank down further. Though the tip of his cock felt like a feat in itself to get inside of her, she didn't let it deter her. Her grip tightened, though, the more of his cock she took, and he learned she had a dirty fucking mouth. "Fuck fuck fuck! Ohmygod!"

Demetri held her hips and stopped her when he met resistance halfway down. She felt so good wrapped around him, at least what she could take, but he couldn't help wanting more. He wanted to bury his cock in her all the way to the hilt.

She looked to see how much of him was left to talk and her eyes widened and she whined. She already felt so full, but there was still so much more of him to take. Looking back up, she leaned into him more and wrapped her arms around him, pouting her lips at him. Then she whimpered his name, "Demetri~"

His brain just fizzled out at that and he lifted her hips and pulled her back down on him, working her on his cock. She moaned loudly, a little unprepared for his initiative, but wasn't complaining. Her pussy was wrapped around his cock tight, stretched to what she thought was the limit, but he steadily proved her wrong with each movement he made. It stung some, but that only added to the pleasure in the long run because his shaft was rubbing against those special spots along her walls.

"You gonna take my cock?" he asked her, watching her face as bliss warmed her cheeks. They were mere inches away from each other and he could smell the sweetness on her breath of candy and fruity drinks.

A small noise came from the back of her through, something between a hum and a squeak. Then she mumbled, "Yeah..."

"You think this tight little pussy can take it?"

"Y-Yeah..."

He licked his lips and watched her carefully, then pushed her down on his cock, shoving the entirety of his length into her wet, clenching hole. She squealed, holding him close as her body began to shake. She hid her face in his neck and whimpered. It was by far the biggest cock she'd ever taken and she wasn't entirely prepped for it, but as they sat like that for a moment, her walls started to relax around him.

"Good girl," he told her, then kissed the side of her head. He rubbed her hips in small circles, helping her to relax as she got used to the feeling of being utterly stuffed full. His lips dragged along her ear as he whispered, "Such a good girl for me."

Involuntarily, her hips lightly bucked at the pet name. He groaned but smirked and moved his hands up her sides, groping her rolls on her waist and belly. She didn't move again for a little while, then buried her face into his neck and peppered small kisses along his skin. She started swiveling her hips, moaning against his skin. He let her move at her own pace, feeling the way he was stretching her out so deeply.

She steadily worked her way up to a moderate pace, grinding her hips against his hard. When she was comfortable and found a rhythm, she picked up her head and smashed her lips against his. He groaned into her mouth and wound his arms around her, putting his hands on her back. They made out heavily as she rode him, both extremely satisfied with how she'd been able to take him. It was hot and messy, full of loud moans and whimpers. Her pussy was gushing around him, keeping him lubed up to the point it was dripping down his balls and staining the couch under them. It made their thighs wet and slippery, making it easy for her to glide on his lap.

Eventually, their lips parted and they panted hot air into one another's faces. Then he pulled at her dress and pulled the straps down her arms, along with the straps to her bra. Soon, he was pulling her tits out and playing with them, taking one into his mouth while fondling the other.

"Oh my god..." she sighed, feeling the knot in her stomach growing tighter. Her walls began to squeeze him harder and she moved her hips on him faster, grinding harder. "I'm gonna come..."

He looked up at her, swirling his tongue around her hardened nipple. He abandoned her other tit and grabbed her hip, helping her keep pace. When he was done playing with her nipple, he pulled off of it and left it puffy and spit covered. "You're gonna come on my big cock, aren't you?"

She looked at him and nodded desperately. She was climbing higher and higher, her head becoming dizzy with pleasure. "Yes... oh god! It feels so good! I- Ohmygod! Demetri!"

She screamed as her orgasm tore through her, body racked with pleasure. She shook on his lap as she creamed on his cock, her cunt milking him for all that he was worth. In an attempt to keep it going, to make him come too, she tried to continue moving her hips on him, but it was hard. Her arms were wrapped around him in an iron grip and her head was hazy. All she could do was feel the euphoria.

But it was okay. Demetri kept her moving, moving her back and forth on his lap as her eyes rolled up. The creamy ring she left around his cock became frothy, making an even bigger mess. He basically used her like his own special toy until the constricting on her velvet walls had his balls drawing up and dumping a fat, hot load. He stopped everything, wrapping his arms around her as his cock shot off like a firehose in her spasming cunt, making sure his tip was pressed against her puckering cervix so she got every thick rope of cum he was giving her.

He sat back, holding her to his chest as she moaned and sighed in bliss. Her head fell onto his shoulder as he filled her up. She felt like she was gonna pop she was so full of cock and cum, but if that wasn't the best feeling in the world, then she didn't know what was.

As they came down from their highs, his cock began to soften, but it didn't change much in size. It still felt like she was utterly full. When she moved to get off of him, he hissed and she moaned - except now it was with a lot more pain. Her hips and thighs were burning and her pussy was sore. She settled back to where she was and sighed.

"Maybe just... uh, wait until I'm not hard anymore," Demetri mumbled.

She nodded in agreement against his shoulder, very much tired after achieving such a feat. After a moment of silence though, she lifted her head and looked at him. He raised an eyebrow at her and she smiled.

"You can come over and teach me anything you want, okay?"

His cock twitched at hearing the implication in her voice and knew he'd be coming back, regardless if they got any actual tutoring done or not...

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/733632507529117696/its-good-to-listen-to-criticism-if-youre?source=share

Some of it's just that marginalized people are capable of being wrong about stuff. Sometimes because they're misinformed, but also they might just be petty or in a bad mood and lashing out, and so on. The idea that the marginalized person is ALWAYS right and the privileged person is ALWAYS wrong doesn't recognize the ability of marginalized people to make bad faith arguments just like anyone else. I think a better way of thinking of it is that marginalized people are more often than not, when framing things this way, coming from an understandable place.... but you don't have to agree with someone to understand them.

There's also the fact that whenever you decide a particular group is always right, that is basically telling someone from that group how to abuse and gaslight people. We've seen examples of this over the course of Tumblr, abusive users like Riley and genderbitch who used their marginalized status as an excuse to doxx people. But I've also seen this happen offline in progressive communities, where the danger is that framing things purely in terms of broader societal dynamics fails to recognize how there can be other power dynamics in smaller communities and more intimate relationships, and also how guilting people over their supposed unconscious biases and how that affects your personal relationships with them can be used as a way of controlling and abusing them.

I knew this awful guy when I was in grad school who was a trans man of color and would assume this was the case every time a woman rejected his romantic overtures, even though he did tons of other stuff that turned women away (such as bombarding them with texts/DMs within minutes of meeting them) and also, some people just don't find you attractive for reasons that have nothing to do with your being trans or your racial identity. This was mostly just funny and cringe when he struck out dating, but he'd use this as an excuse to stalk and creep on cis white women he was attracted to, the idea that their rejection was racist/transphobic and therefore he shouldn't have to honor it. He also had a habit of dating really insecure cis white women, getting super serious in those relationships really fast, and gaslighting those women about how they're just unconsciously racist/transphobic when they took issue with that or his other decisions in those relationships. The fact that trans men of color in general have less power than cis white women didn't matter about the fact that he had more power in those relationships (and he was also a big name on campus within queer groups there, and a lot of these women were younger and newer to these communities), nor the fact that the way he used those identities to abuse women is abusive and coercive no matter what the power dynamic.

To give some more minor examples, you see some similar stuff in academia and other professional environments where the fact that someone is marginalized just matters way less in one specific interaction than the fact that they're an established name in that discipline with a comfortable, secure job and the "privileged" person they're going up against is a young newbie nobody.

--

[copsecore]

my thoughts on the "fanon-isation" of sam (and his newest ba)

(taken from a long winded text conversation i had - slight NSFW talk below the cut) [WORD COUNT: 1047 WORDS, IM SORRY]

psa: while i am complaining about it, it's just my own thoughts, and none of which is an actual criticism of erik, feel free to add your opinions, as per the usual

Maybe its coz time is passing, and the relationship is developing but i feel like i’m enjoying the dynamic between sam and darlin’ a lot less than i did at the beginning. It feels a lot less “human-realistic” and more “tailored for fan preference” (you sam fans gotta hear me out on that bit okay).

Clearly erik isn’t “pandering” towards the fandom or anything, however there HAS been a change in sam’s writing that i don’t know if anyone else can see, or whether it’s just me.

 Fight me, but i feel like whatever’s happening to guy, the reverse is happening to sam. In the sense of where guy is gaining lore and becoming more plot relative, sam seems to be losing that position, which doesn’t cover all of my opinion, but it’s the simplest way i can think of putting it. 

He feels more “disconnected” as a character and I wish i could write this more specifically but there’s almost no “good” way of putting it, i’m just trying to put my vibes about this into readable thoughts in a way that’s somewhat well communicated.

It feels like he’s being diminished, where there’s less of the gruff dad-type personality, protective semi-asshole, gently-caring-in-a-non-tsundere-way, and a lot more “here’s your standard cookie-cutter southern bf who just so happens to be a vampire, however that’s essentially irrelevant because it’s never referenced in a way that’s plot-needed”. 

It’s quite flat and 2D now in a way that i can’t explain, so therefore don’t yell at me for saying it. While he’s still hot ofc, I don’t enjoy his character nearly as much as i did pre-quinn era, which is a shame because it’s difficult to let go of the fact that he’s one of my favourites, but the energy’s shifted and it’s “off” now. 

Maybe it’s because I’ve changed as a person in the last four years, which i know i have, but it doesn’t seem to be just character development, in the nicest way possible, it feels like he’s being written “out of character”.

Character development in any way is good, I’m a writer myself, I would know that, but those words aren’t what i would personally use to describe it. Forgive me, but i just felt like i needed to get everything out so i could see if anyone else agreed. 

You could say “it’s not that deep” but I’m autistic; this is my special interest, so as much as you can say otherwise, it is in fact “that deep” for me. 

Don’t get me wrong, i still thoroughly love sam as a whole, complete character, and the more recent videos that i don’t like as much could never take that away from me, so again, don’t come at me saying i’m “hating on him”, because i’m not.

This is as constructive of a “rant” that i can make it, and yes, my anonymous asks are turned off. I’m not gonna go on about how “i’m not criticising erik, BUT-” because if you know me at all, you’ll know i would never send hate towards him. 

With the “fanon-isation”, that’s just a word i threw out there to header this whole thing. I meant it mostly in reference to how a large part of the fandom seems to idealise or romanticise darlin’s character, and somewhat how that seems to be translating to the canon of their relationship with sam, and thus effecting him as well. But that wasn’t the right wording - the sam fangroup is big, and i’m already throwing myself to enough proverbial wolves as it is.

The thing that sparked all of this - and if you don’t have the patreon then you probably won’t know - is that Sam biting darlin’ for the first time happened in his most recent ba, which wasn’t something that i really liked. It felt weird to me that, even though it was fully communicated and both parties were okay, it would happen FOR THE FIRST TIME in a sexual setting. While it made sense for darlin’s character, it made less sense for sam’s.

 It also means that (at least as i’m writing this) the non-patrons won’t experience the very plot-important aspect that is sam biting darlin’ for the first time, considering how built-up it’s been throughout their storylines, it didn’t feel right.

It almost felt like the only reason the reverse-comfort audio even previewed for a ba was because THAT was the video that fell on release day. The circumstances just didn’t feel right for it, not given sam’s past and everything that happened in the quinn arc. 

i figured it would at least happen with a sit down conversation, in an sfw audio, even if it was ON patreon, but free. Of course - knowing darlin’ - it was going to be sexual at some point, but i didn’t think it would happen for the first time.

 I’m not going into any more specifics on the audio itself, but those are my thoughts on that bit. Sam bites darlin’, and i didn’t like it. My gripe is neither that it happened, nor that it’s not available to the public, but that nothing about the setting or the build up felt right, and it felt like it happened “just because”, which was a big let down for me, personally.

It wasn’t even the first time I’ve gotten the gist that something was “up”, THAT happened in sam’s hbs 2023 audio (NOT the ba, just the youtube access one) where it definitely felt more like “this is what the audience wants” because yes, who wouldn’t want to see a hot southerner get down and dirty in a club? But it didn’t feel right, and I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time, but more so now it seemed like fandom influence of a sorts.

Almost like I was reading a fanfic or something that was posted on here (no hate of course, I would say my "platform" on here is mainly constructed of fan based content, just that it seemed more “headcanon-y” and less Just Canon) rather than something that erik himself wrote.

TL;DR: sam feels more and more “out of character” to me as a long-term viewer, and it all came to a head in the most recent bonus audio

[starcanwrecked-confessions]

Content warning for discussions about transphobia.

I'm here almost two weeks later because I still think about how defensive and dismissive the response was to that anon expressing frustration about Sherman Young. And while I agree that him being played by a woman isn't the butt of the joke the way Umbridge being played by a man was, I don't think the anon's discomfort is unwarranted like the reactions to that confession did. Sherman irks me too. And I think the issues with this character go way deeper than the cross-dressing (the coding of autistic traits as creepy is way worse imo), but I'll limit this ask to discussing the original point raised. Yes, cross-dressing is part of theatre practice, but it's not always a value-neutral act, even unintentionally.

Starkid have cross-cast a lot of roles, but importantly have dropped the practice in the Hatchetfield shows (unless it was for the one child actor they had). Except for Sherman. Him being acted in drag was a deliberate choice, because Jaime Lyn was cast over several guys who auditioned for the part. In BF, Sherman is written with no redeeming qualities. He is sexual in a way meant to be uncomfortable, he gets called a sicko and a pervert in the text, he assaults a young woman. He's the only named character that gets explicitly queered when he calls Wiggly his boyfriend in that one throwaway gag line. His jacket is striped blue, white and pink. That's how they present the one character that's played in drag, and it was really noticeable to me, especially in contrast to how aggressively cishet the rest of the show is.

And I don't think there was any transphobic intent at all, but looking at something like this in context matters. These choices about the character do add up to say something about gender in these shows, because Sherman doesn't exist in a vacuum. He is surrounded by other characters, and I think it's important to critically think about what traits and actions are used to differentiate and villainize him and how these traits and actions take on an additional layer if you decide to have him be a man played by a woman. And again, I don't think it was malicious, just a slightly tone-deaf decision that can strike the wrong chords if one looks at the broader context of how Hatchetfield is usually cast and Starkid's less than stellar history of depicting genderqueerness or rather their lack thereof on stage.

I've refrained from ending this with a joke about how people should think about the implications, but sometimes that is the thing to do, unironically. Just because a character isn't an overtly transphobic joke like Umbridge doesn't mean they can't carry unintended harmful connotations, and it doesn't help being dismissive of people trying to point those out.

~~~

[fansplaining]

Do you have any advice, guides, or opinions on how write a good rec list?

WELL! This is Elizabeth, and as the longtime co-curator of "The Rec Center" newsletter (with @hellotailor) I do have *a lot* of thoughts about rec lists. 😊 I'm delighted you asked, because as I'm sure both Flourish & I have mentioned on the podcast, rec-list-making is way less prominent now than it has been in previous fandom eras, and I think that's a shame. Reccing can be a great critical tool, and rec lists make a fanwork space richer—not least because they can move readers beyond the mostly quantitative metrics of the AO3.

I'll put the rest of this under the cut:

So obviously there are different kinds of rec lists, including by category/trope, favorites about a character or a ship or fandom, etc. To me, a true ~authored~ rec list is one in which the writer(s) deliberately put together a batch of fics to make some kind of argument about the works/the ship/the fandom/the source material.

Most of the lists we run in the newsletter are not like this, because we're pulling 5-7 works from our guest submissions bank—and since we don't (realistically, can't!) read the stories that are sent in, I have no idea if those 5-7 compliment each other in any real way. (When I put together one of these lists, I aim for balance: not all M/M, not all white characters, not all Western source material, etc.) (Yes, unsurprisingly, those are overrepresented in our submissions bank.)

But an authored rec list treats the rec list itself like a fanwork: you can tap into connective tissue that runs throughout the fics you choose, and you can put stories side-by-side that illuminate something when read together. You can approach this from two different directions: working from a broader pool of fics you like and pulling out a coherent batch, or starting with a theme, an argument, that connective tissue, and seeing what fits.

When I first got into my current fandom, I kept a google doc with fic titles, links, brief descriptors, and general thematic vibes etc., for future reccing use. (Obviously you can do this with AO3 bookmarks, but I use those differently, so this was a separate endeavor.) These were set up to transfer to "The Rec Center" easily, e.g.:

“Celestial Navigation” by kaydeefalls. 9K words, rated Teen. Canon-era: C & E go to NYC to try to recruit several mutants. Delicate balance sort of story with a soft revelation. No tropes.

When I actually go to rec something, I reread it—mostly because I want to get the content warnings right, but also because reading it to rec is more like reading for work: you wind up looking at the text with a different eye, always lowkey thinking about how you'll make your argument about it in writing. I haven't actually recced the fic above in the newsletter, but here's another X-Men fic I did rec at one point:

“Come Together” verse by blarfkey. 60K words across 4 stories, rated Teen.  Backstory: When Peter gets arrested for breaking Erik out of the Pentagon, Erik returns the favor and breaks Peter out in turn—and takes him to live with Charles. Beautifully awkward father-son bonding coupled with bitter, stubborn exes pining: *chef’s kiss*. The verse spans five years, with really believable character growth, which is really saying something, based on the emotionally-stunted starting point for all parties involved. Rec: Peter is the POV character here, so a+++, and the close third-person narration plays with the spaces between what he feels and what he says while capturing his voice beautifully. This means 50% dragging people and 50% feeling like an idiot, which is a total joy. A lot of X-Men stuff, canonically or...fanonically...sorry...is about found family, and I mean, this one is about finding your literal blood relations, but it’s also about building a true family, and I think the author gives that enough space to really sell it.  Content warnings: Canon-typical violence, torture, ableism, the unenlightened thoughts about women’s bodies that preoccupy heterosexual teenage boys 

That rec is from a whole list I did with @morgan-leigh a few (five???wtf lol) years ago, which I think is a good example of an authored rec list: Morgan and I had overlapping tastes and similar interpretations of the characters, so all the fics here feel like they're talking to each other in some way, and making an argument about who these characters are (in Morgan's beautiful words, many of these stories "capture the exquisite and venal dickishness of both our heroes" lol).

Obviously rec lists don't have to be super formal—we created this reccing format a long time ago to keep things standardized—and I certainly don't think recs need to sound like literary criticism (not that the examples above sound like literary criticism lol...you know what I mean). Some of my favorite rec lists are pure vibes and (performatively? in a good way) emotional, and that's great. If you're a fic author, you know what a delight those comments are to receive. And like someone's AO3 bookmarks, the all-vibes rec list is an opportunity to see if you, too, feel like the selected fics smack you in the face or whatever violent expression of appreciation people are using. They often don't give you a ton of information, but if you and the reccer have similar taste, you know you can trust their picks.

But! I would make the case for reccing as a chance to talk about fic in a way that you really wouldn't in a comment to the author or in a performatively emotional tag: critically, not in the "this is bad" definition of "criticism," but, like, in the lit-crit way. Why does this work—and how does it work? As with all literary criticism, "work" is totally contextual; a good rec list sets up that context, and gives you just enough information to want to click through and see for yourself.

All that being said, you don't need to overthink it—and I say this partly because I'd really love to see more rec lists floating around! The AO3 often primes people to sort in a top-down way, and though there are tons of great fics with lots of kudos, as the meme goes,

Rec lists let you include things that aren't super popular, that hit niche characterization or plot notes, that really worked for you specifically for whatever reason. They're pure human curation—not just recs, but an arrangement of those recs that creates a whole new work in the process. And that's something I really love about fandom! We don't want algorithmic 'if this, then that' for-you pages; we're interested in doing the actual work of reading, thinking about, and sharing what we like with others, and that's wonderful.

[lostcauses-noregrets]

Lost, why do people even criticize Erwin for saying, "I don't know and I won't until it does," when Levi asks what he'll do when his dream comes true. This is the most realistic answer to a question like that, because really, how would he know? People make plans as they go, and considering how dedicated Erwin is to his dream, of course, he can't think of something else at the moment. Also, when Levi asks him about his future plans after the basement, he says he'd be eliminating threats beyond the walls, and people take this as him being clueless and blinded by his goal that he hasn't planned anything yet. It's like after he died, they actually did anything else, lol. They literally did exactly what he said he'd do; deal with the threats from outside, those who "wanted them dead," as Erwin said. I'm sorry for the little rant but I see this everywhere, and it's been annoying me to no end.

I feel your pain Anon.  This idea that Erwin cared nothing about humanity, and that he would simply have given up after reaching the basement is not only one of the most egregious misrepresentations of his character, it’s also a very bizarre conclusion to draw from the story. 

Erwin spent his entire life pursuing his dream of proving his fathers theory that the king had altered the memories of people within the walls, and that other people still existed outside the walls who had hostile intent towards them. The discovery of Grisha’s diaries confirmed that everything Erwin and his father had hypothesised was correct, not only that, they also provided the key that had the potential to free the people of Paradis from the walled world.   The idea that Erwin would have just shrugged his shoulders at that point and wandered off into the sunset is just nonsense. That knowledge would have galvanised Erwin and, as you rightly pointed out, he already had a plan - eliminate the threat posed by the people outside the walls and take it from there, which is exactly what Hanji and the others tried to do. Sheesh. 

@tsuki-no-ura has written some excellent posts (X, X) about this recently, which I can highly recommend. I particularly like these points: 

Erwin wanted more than just to know if what his father said was true. He wanted to know what the “memories of the world” that King Reiss erased from their memories were. This implies an intention not just to know about, but to understand and figure out what was out there, not just sort of know that it existed. “Eliminating threats” speaks directly of bringing the fight out to their enemies instead.

And…

It makes even less sense when one considers what actually lay outside of the walls. What’s outside fits in exactly with Erwin’s hypothesis, whereas it is a crushing of Armin’s dreams because it turns out that it wasn’t an unexplored wilderness that awaited them but a populated world. I just can’t see how Erwin’s dream would die when it would have been the equivalent of hitting the jackpot. On the other hand Armin’s dream did actually die when it turned out to be enemies beyond the sea (but is something that Erwin already knew). He can also no longer imagine and daydream now that the reality of what the world is actually like has hit.

Whether all these careful explanations of the text actually change any minds remains to be seen, but I live in hope!

[brw]

You're part of the majority population in a relatively peaceful country like the United States or one of the Western European nations. You think your posts commenting on the X-men and Krakoa signal ally and the liberating concept of "no ethnostates". They don't. What you've done is deny the right of actual minorities to build communities. Krakoa is more analogous to the American Indian Movement than Israel. It was a bloody nation-building exercise, but it was Marvel's first attempt to not only create a Mutant society, but a thriving one, and thus served as an allegory for other "minority" communities and their struggle to live together and get heard. It was very resonant for me, as an actual non-Caucasian person living in the US. Just from an actual non-Caucasian (Chinese, if you want to be specific), your comments about the Krakoa era are extremely hurtful, or at least as hurtful as a comment on a perception of a comic can be. You reduced every nuance to "ethnostate bad", without considering the reason that minority populations might sometimes long to create spaces exclusive to them.

Look, everyone's interpretation of this era is different. If you found it empowering, good for you.

But Krakoa directly compared itself to Israel when it opened up with Magneto in Jerusalem. That was from the very fucking beginning. I am not saying this out of nowhere, that is the actual text of the comic. Krakoa from the beginning had eugenicists as founding members. Krakoa from the beginning was fundamentally unsafe for disabled people. Krakoa from the beginning was a state that did not allow elections of its governing body. Krakoa from the beginning allowed a mentally unstable man to commit more and more egregious war crimes in its name while refusing to stop him. I am not coming up with anything here. This is all in the text of the comic.

And frankly, me, random stranger online criticising a comic book series written predominantly by people with no proximity to oppression themselves is not stopping you specifically from building a community. My criticisms of the Krakoa era mean nothing. My criticisms as a disabled person talking about the ways Krakoa was fundamentally eugenicist from the beginning are no less valid than what you saw as a positive in this era. But I do reject the idea that Krakoa was devoid of Zionist politics, when it directly opened up with those comparisons. Saying out loud that a people are not safe except in their own country with their own political powers where they can directly meddle in the affairs of other countries and that it's the fault of the Evil Bad Terrorists that it got destroyed is something I disagree with fundamentally. And I don't think that is a stretch, and I deserve to talk about that on my own blog. If you disagree, feel free to make your own posts, but I will not be responding to any more.

[mediaevalmusereads]

God's Monsters: Vengeful Spirits, Deadly Angels, Hybrid Creatures, and Divine Hitmen of the Bible. By Esther J. Hamori. Broadleaf Books, 2023.

Rating: 4/5 stars

Genre: Biblical studies

Series: N/A

Summary: The Bible is teeming with monsters. Giants tromp through the land of milk and honey; Leviathan swims through the wine-dark sea. A stunning array of peculiar creatures, mind-altering spirits, and supernatural hitmen fill the biblical heavens, jarring in both their strangeness and their propensity for violence--especially on God's behalf. Traditional interpretations of the creatures of the Bible have sanded down their sharp, unsavory edges, transforming them into celestial beings of glory and light--or chubby, happy cherubs. Those cherubs? They're actually hybrid guardian monsters, more closely associated with the Egyptian sphinx than with flying babies. And the seraphim? Winged serpents sent to mete out God's vengeance. Demons aren't at war with angels; they're a distinct supernatural species used by Satan and by God. The pattern is chilling. Most of these monsters aren't God's opponents--they're God's entourage. Killer angels, plague demons, manipulative spirits, creatures with an alarming number of wings (and eyes all over)--these shapeshifters and realm-crossers act with stunning brutality, each reflecting a facet of God's own monstrosity. Confronting God's monsters--and the God-monster--may be uncomfortable, but the Bible is richer for their presence. It's not only richer; the stories of the monsters of the Bible can be as fun, surprising, and interesting as any mythology. For anyone interested in monsters, myths, folklore, demons, and more, God's Monsters is an entertaining deep dive into the creaturely strangeness of the Bible.

***Full review below.***

CONTENT WARNINGS: descriptions of violence, mention of suicide

I picked this book up after it got a shout out on Dan McClellan's TikTok/YouTube channel. I've been diving into critical studies of the Bible and thought this would be a fairly good entry point.

Overall, I thought this book was incredibly accessible. Hamori summarizes the major stories she discusses so if you're not familiar with the Bible, it's still easy to follow her analysis. Hamori assumed a passing familiarity, but she's not writing to a specialist audience; of anything, she's writing to undergraduates or casual readers with an interest in diving into more academic interpretations of the Bible. As a former academic, I did want something a little more rigorous, but I am also not the intended audience, and that's OK.

Hamori also writes with a casual style that a lot of people might find enjoyable. Her prose includes a lot of glib humor and pop culture references, so it feels less intimidating than the prose in a textbook or academic monograph. Personally, I kind of wish the prose was a little more straightforward since I value the insights over the delivery method, but I also recognize this style might help a lot of readers connect with ancient texts.

Hamori's book also cites very few secondary sources (at least compared to a traditional monograph), and I think that's so casual readers and new students aren't overwhelmed by Biblical scholarship. It's fairly effective, though if you're looking to put Hamori's book in conversation with the broader field, you'll have to do your own digging.

In terms of the content, I very much appreciated the literary analysis and the historical insights that Hamori provides. Each chapter is devoted to a single type of monster, which means the organization is easy to follow, and within those chapters, Hamori is guided by a singular question: what does each monster reveal about God? I appreciated this guiding question because it meant that I wasn't reading a list of trivia facts about ancient beasties; instead, I was reading about each monster's relationship to the divine and how ancient writers would have thought of God based on these monster tales.

TL;DR: God's Monsters is a good introduction for students or readers with a casual (yet more academic) interest in the Bible. Though I personally did not vibe with the pop culture references and humor that characterizes Hamori's writing style, I can see how it makes this book more accessible, which it very much is if you're not used to reading academic monographs.

[thatswhatsushesaid]

I have a MDZS question and consider you an expert on all things JGY (he did crimes, good for him) so I hope you have some insight into this: I read that NHS found the Sacrifice Ritual in JGY’s Closet of Wonders, but how did JGY get it? Was it in WWX’s Burial Mounds “library,” and if so do you know where WWX found it?

Thanks, I very much enjoy your content!

hey there anon, it's very kind of you to consider me an expert, but i really am not 😬 i've certainly read, reread, and re-reread both the EXR and 7seas translations of the empathy flashback sequence many, many, many times, in addition to the guanyin temple sequence, because those are the parts of the text where jgy's actions are most frequently criticized and taken out of context. for details like the ones you're asking after, i've got to revisit other parts of the book again because my memory is a tea sieve, and i'm also not immune to medium bleed (no one is). so please bear with me, and keep tabs on the notes of this post for any discussion that follows since my pals often chime in with details i've missed.

first point of contention tho: it is never confirmed how novel canon nhs comes by his knowledge/familiarity of the summoning ritual, though wwx does speculate extensively in the guanyin temple denouement that he hears about the ritual from mo xuanyu himself. i don't think he gets his hands on the ritual himself, and i don't think he has access to the jin sect treasure room either. from vol 5 of the 7seas translation:

So yet another person came to [Nie Huaisang's] mind. Mo Xuanyu, who had been banished from Golden Carp Tower.

In the past, Nie Huaisang might have chatted with Mo Xuanyu to glean information from him. From the mouth of the dejected Mo Xuanyu, Nie Huaisang had clearned that he'd read one of Jin Guangyao's fragmented manuscripts of forbidden magic, in which an ancient, evil ritual was recorded. He had then incited Mo Xuanyu to exact revenge for the humiliation he'd suffered at the hands of his own clan members--to use the forbidden art of the sacrificial ritual to seek retribution.

in vol 1 of the 7seas translation, this is what the text tells us about the sacrificial ritual mo xuanyu uses to summon wei wuxian:

The nature of this "sacrificial ritual" was a type of curse. The caster was to harm themselves with a weapon, making cuts on their body and using their own blood to draw the array and write the spells within. They would then sit in the center of the circle and give up their mortal body to evil spirits, using the annihilation of their soul as the price to summon a nefarious, malicious ghost. This was all done in order to request the fulfillment of a wish. Thus, it was the opposite of "possession."

While both were forbidden magics of ill repute, the difference was that the former was much less popular than the latter. After all, few wishes were so strongly desired as to make someone willingly sacrifice everything they had. This was why the technique had been nearly lost after centuries of disuse. The examples recorded in ancient books had only a handful of cases that were backed by reliable evidence, and every single one of them had been for revenge. Every malicious ghost summoned by the ritual had fulfilled the caster's wishes perfectly, in cruel and bloody ways.

i've been thumbing through the rest of the 7seas volumes as well as the EXR translation, but i don't think there's anything more concrete about where the ritual comes from. i think it is entirely possible that the jin sect found copies of something like this ritual in the burial mounds, sure, but i also wouldn't rule out a ritual like this being contained in the treasure room entirely independent of wwx. there's canon precedent for it; case in point, recall the collection of turmoil in the gusu lan's forbidden section of their library.

anyway that's what i've been able to find today, but i'll keep poking around in the books to see if i trip over a passage that neatly answers all of our questions lol.

[rollercoasterwords]

jkr, death of the author, and the marauders fandom

ok so i saw this comment a few days ago on tiktok, and i've had thoughts spinning around in my brain about it ever since, so...here's my take on why comments like the one above, while likely well-intentioned and also not very serious, are still maybe not the best way to engage with hp fandom.

since getting involved in the marauders (and, by extension, hp) fandom, i've seen a lot of people making "death of the author" comments online or joking about how they just pretend that jkr didn't write the books. and while i understand the impulse--jkr is a vile human being, and most of the people who engage with the marauders + hp fandom want to make it very clear that their own views do not align with hers--i think this approach of trying to just "remove" jkr from her work demonstrates a fundamental lack of understanding about what death of the author actually is.

this post that i saw a few days ago summarizes it really well, and here's a link to a free pdf of the actual essay if you'd like to go straight to the source (it's not very long! only 7 pages). but essentially, death of the author does not mean "let's pretend this work was created in a vaccuum by no one because we don't like the person who made it." barthes is arguing about meaning within the text, arguing against the idea that every piece of literature has one true meaning instilled into it by the author which then must be sought by readers. instead, the text can take on different meanings for different readers, and those meanings are what matters. "a text's unity lies not in its origin (author) but in its destination (readers)."

let's take an example from the hp books: wolfstar. the people barthes is arguing against might claim that wolfstar can't be "real" (the fact that we're talking about fiction notwithstanding) or is somehow not "valid" because the ultimate Truth of the text comes from the intentions of the author, and jkr did not intend for remus and sirius to be a couple. but in barthes' words, "To give a text an Author is to impose a limit on that text, to furnish it with a final signified, to close the writing." barthes would argue that jkr's intentions don't matter, that what really matters is the way that readers are engaging with and drawing meaning from the text. if we adhere to death of the author, then wolfstar as a couple is not any less real or valid than any other reading, because what matters is that readers are picking up on homoerotic subtext and drawing meaning from it--whether it was included intentionally or not.

so--that's death of the author. and i think it's a great thing in hp fandom; i think it's fantastic that readers are prioritizing their own meanings and interpretations of the work over anything that jkr may have intended. but saying "fuck you" to jkr's intentions and the idea that the only Truth that matters is the author's does not mean we should just pretend that she had nothing to do at all with the creation of the work.

again, this post summarizes it really well--but essentially, even for readers who adhere to death of the author in their thinking about literature, it is still important to understand a work in context. understanding who wrote a work helps us to understand what sort of biases--subconscious or conscious--the person might have written it with, and it helps us to read the work critically and identify those biases lurking under the surface.

it's no secret that jkr is an incredibly biased woman. when she wrote the hp books, she wrote her own biases into it, and if we simply pretend that she had nothing at all to do with the work, then we deprive ourselves of important context we should be using to critically engage with it. it's important to understand how jkr's biases infect the series, because if we simply take things from the work at face value, we risk perpetuating those biases.

now, a caveat here -- i will say that, in the grand scheme of things, i don't think fanfiction is the be all end all of social justice. i understand that it's a hobby. but those falling back on this misunderstood conceptualization of "death of the author" to try and remove jkr from the work already seem preoccupied with morality to a certain extent, already seem to be the type of people who want to engage with the work in a way that doesn't perpetuate the biases of its author. so to do that, we have to acknowledge who wrote it, turn a critical eye on her writings, and think about how we might adjust our own work accordingly to avoid perpetuating the many biases bound into the fabric of the text. for an example, take house elves--if we loudly proclaim that jkr has nothing to do with our fandom as a means by which to make the text magically "unproblematic," and then pull aspects of the wizarding world like house elves into our own work, what narratives are we then perpetuating?

i think this tendency to just ignore jkr is particularly common in the marauders fandom, and understandably so! especially with newer social media like tiktok drawing in younger fans who didn't grow up with the books in the same way, i'm increasingly seeing this phenomenon of marauders fans who have never even read the books themselves. and i don't think that's a bad thing! in fact, i think it's pretty cool to see the fandom so far removed from jkr's work. but it is still harry potter fanfiction. even if it's being written or read by somebody who's never read the harry potter books, their knowledge is still coming from fanon, whose starting point of growth is still canon. it is still important to understand the context of the work which this fandom grew out of if we want to critically engage with it.

at the end of the day, i understand that it's uncomfortable to consume work that is in any way tied back to a person as vile as jkr. but i think it's important to evaluate for yourself how you want to engage with that work, whether you think it's possible to engage at all with harry potter media ethically while knowing that the woman who created it actively perpetuates harm against marginalized communities with her rhetoric. it's important to understand and address these uncomfortable questions; we have to acknowledge the ways in which the fandom is inextricably linked to and stained by jkr if we want to create and engage with fanwork that isn't stained in the same ways.