#humour is the best medicine

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked:  What role does humor play in your life? How do you look at comedy and its role in culture? Do you think comedy today is more or less funny as woke culture has its itchy trigger finger at the ready to cancel anyone that mocks it? Is it harder for edgy comedians like Dave Chappelle to remain relevant in today’s toxic society? 

Your questions are quite wide and so I hope I can hone in on some of the issues you raised.

I don’t think I’m different from anyone in general in not only loving comedy but also having humour in one’s life. I’ve watched my fair share of comedian stand up sets at comedy clubs and shows (Eddie Izzard, Andy Parsons, Ross Noble, Jack Dee, Stewart Lee, Frankie Boyle and so on).

I try to start my day by watching or reading something funny like an online clip or an article, essay or chapter (think Clive James or Anthony Lane or P.G. Wodehouse) - just to set the tone for the rest of the day. Because let’s face it, one look on the home page of any news media from the BBC or the Economist makes for depressing shitty reading.

Put another way, I’m like the girl who gets up one fine morning and wears a brand new white pair of shoes at school. You just know those white shoes are going to get battered around. They’ll get all kinds muddy shoe prints stomped on it and likely chewing gum and dog poo under it. But least you started the day clean. That’s how I feel about humour in my daily life.

I’m fortunate that I have a close circle of friends who make me laugh and that is precious. We text and send each other stuff throughout the working day. It’s light relief for a stressful day at work.

I try not watch comedy on a plane on my lap top. I think the air stewardess in my business class flight always think I need a sedative because I usually get a severe case of the giggles. I try so hard not to laugh out loud out of respect to the sleeping passengers near me. I just can’t help myself. I wet my knickers laughing so hard.

My perspective on and indeed my insatiable need for comedy in my life can best be summed up by that 18th Century man of letters, Horace Walpole who wrote, “The world is a tragedy to those who feel, but a comedy to those who think.”

For me the best comedy is hilarious and humane but equally brutal and true. Like many people I grew in a home where humour was the life blood of our family especially around the dinner table and just generally goofing off. The jokes to point out our foibles or pratfalls acted like glue to bind us together more strongly. As times goes on and as one matures you also learn to lean into humour as a personal coping mechanism when dark clouds gather above. But it’s also a mark of maturity that you also become self aware of humour as a commentary on things that lie just beneath the thin skin of society.

Humour has been on the minds of thinkers for centuries. My eldest sister who is a neurosurgeon and is interested in humour as a side topic of interest gave me a book on the psychology of humour as a birthday gift. As Peter McGraw and Joel Warner explain in their insightful book, The Humor Code: A global search for what makes things funny, “Plato and Aristotle contemplated the meaning of comedy while laying the foundations of Western philosophy… Charles Darwin looked for the seeds of laughter in the joyful cries of tickled chimpanzees. Sigmund Freud sought the underlying motivations behind jokes in the nooks and crannies of our unconscious.” A good read.

We tend to see comedy through the romantic lens of the one-off inspired comic whose unique view of the world is entertaining. But the focus on the individual witty voice misses the gigantic, political nature of the task of comedy. Comedy isn’t just a bit of fun. We don’t laugh at things unless they cause us very serious problems at other points in life. We can see this in the standard category of jokes: about relationships, family, sex, money, impotence, bowel movements, identity etc. We laugh most readily around things that in other ways are very distressing. A good joke invariably has a relationship with darkness, anxiety and pain.

I’ve always valued humour in people as a precious gift. I love having a laugh and even more if it’s at my expense. Perhaps that comes more readily to the British who appreciate the existential absurdity of life and don’t particularly make an effort to climb out of the hole they fell into…and if they do then we bring them down a peg or two.

But Northern Europeans have an even drier sense of humour, yes, including the Germans (it’s there…somewhere) but in the Swiss it’s totally absent. Norwegians have perhaps the driest sense of humour in Europe and that partly stems from the fact of its social code of janteloven - the idea that you mustn’t think of yourself better than anyone else. Because of this I firmly believe humour should be an equal opportunity offender. Moreover what I love about enjoying a good joke is that one the singular properties of certain comedy when done well is the freedom to explore ideas in an unconventional or counterintuitive way, to subvert society’s norms.

No one does that better than a comedian in culture in flux. As the great George Carlin put it, “I think it's the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately.“

I’ve always been naturally drawn to dark humour from an early age and I suspect that had a lot to do with being packed off to boarding school at a young age (for my peers it was as young as 7) and just learning to develop coping mechanisms in the face of parental abandonment (or it seemed that way).

However I didn’t know the real importance of dark humour until I actually served in the British army and found humour as a form of therapy to deal with stress and situations of life and death with my army brothers and sisters. Our shared jokes were so off colour and un-PC that we would dare not repeat them in polite and respectable company. But that kind of shared humour served a crucial importance as any soldier will tell you. By mocking dangerous things or the situations you might find yourself with others, humour can embolden us. It helpfully paints what is potentially very frightening as deeply ridiculous. Joseph Heller’s ‘Catch-22’ captures the spirit of the absurdity of it all.

The comic perspective fills a central need of every society; it enables us to cope much better with our own follies and disappointments, our troubles around work and love and our difficulties enduring ourselves. Comedy is waiting to be reframed as a central tool behind the creation of a better world.

Comedy offers us a way of having a better time around things which, otherwise, can feel pretty disastrous. Ideally, in the utopia, comedy and its therapeutic potential wouldn’t be left to chance. Humour would be deliberately cultivated as a benign response to a range of entrenched difficulties. Previously, certain countries had an elaborate carnival season devoted to enforced comic activities. For a brief time, the weak could boss around the powerful, priests and nuns were supposed to hold obscene rituals in their churches, serious people were required to get drunk and throw bags of flour over each other’s heads. Humour wasn’t just left to those who felt so inclined: it was a kind of duty.

Black humour was a means of reducing anxiety of the awareness of death. Historians now know that one of the things that helped the persecuted Jewish community survive the demented Nazi persecution creeping into full blown genocide was humour, often of the darkest kind.

An example well-known joke went like this in Warsaw: "Moishe, why are you using soap with so much fragrance?" - "When they turn me into soap, at least I will smell good”. Jokes about soap were in response to rumours which started circulating in 1942 about soap produced from the fat of the Jews. Other jokes of this kind: "See you again on the same shelf!" or "Don't eat much: the Germans will have less soap!"

Indeed Jewish humour did not die in the Holocaust. In fact, Jews depended on humour to endure the period after liberation, both as a psychological weapon to grapple with what they had endured under Nazi persecution and as a source of coping with the displacement of the postwar period. After the war, humour was a poignant affirmation of mir zaynen do - we are (still) here - a declaration that the Jewish people had not disappeared and indeed could at times have the last laugh.

Does comedy have something to teach us or can we use comedy to teach? That is an interesting question in itself.

When I discuss this with friends across the political and non-political spectrum, some have argued comedy can’t be didactic as its the ultimate contradiction in terms. It’s why they hate woke comedy that often pervades the BBC these days and even the comedy clubs. These friends and I would sometimes go to the Edinburgh Festival to see comedians live on stage. But they say none of what passes for comedy on stage is funny because of the politics of woke.

I would disagree. Not about woke comedy - which ranges from pedestrian to just awful. But I will say that some of the best comedy is didactic. That’s because the best comedy is about revealing hilarious truths.

The ancient biblical books of Jonah and Esther, for example, have comedic elements that are clearly didactic. William Shakespeare’s ‘Much Ado about Nothing’ is didactic. The Marx Brothers’ ‘Duck Soup’ and ‘A Night at the Opera’ are didactic. Mel Brook’s ‘The Producers’ (original only) and ‘Blazing Saddles’ are didactic.

For us Brits, Monty Python is didactic, especially in its masterpiece, ‘Life of Brian.’ For Americans, ‘Seinfeld’ is didactic precisely because it’s about nothing. From ‘The Great Dictator’ to ‘Dr. Strangelove’ and ‘Blackadder series’ to ’South Park’, you will find that great comedy can be didactic.

The problem my friends identified is not that woke comedy is didactic, but rather that the woke side of the moon has no light of knowledge to impart. Woke ‘comedy’ tries to be didactic and fails because it has nothing profound or interesting to teach.

Comedy is not merely an event that produces laughter. A fart is not comedy (although it could be). The difference between comedy and tragedy is tonal. Both stem from the inflexibility of the ego.

This is why for example Shakespeare’s ‘Much Ado About Nothing’ is such a remarkable comedy. The two people who want to be viewed as most principled in their objection to romance are so easily pushed over into love, because their hearts are ultimately farcical. The hilarity stems from the disconnect between their inner and outer selves.

While the ridiculous disconnect between the ego and reality makes us laugh here, it could just as easily make us weep if the situation were changed. The fundamental difference between Shakespeare’s comedies and his tragedies is the ending. Everyone gets married at the end of his comedies and everyone dies at the end of his tragedies. Yet Hamlet and Macbeth are still felled by their own inflexible egos, just as Benedict and Beatrice are made to be wonderful, humorous fools for love by the same principle of human nature.

Comedy’s didactic nature is even clearer when we look to films like ‘Duck Soup’ or ‘Blazing Saddles.’ ‘Duck Soup’ is a scathing indictment of goose stepping fascism (of the real kind and not the lazy insults lobbed over these days) and arguably the Marx Brothers’ funniest film. ‘Blazing Saddles’ does the same for American racism. Neither is necessarily meant to be interpreted along propositional or pedagogic lines. Regardless, those films teach and they teach well. They expose the absurdities of reliance upon authoritarian government and identity politics to solve our problems.

The problem with woke comedy is that woke comics want to convince people to do the right thing, to hold the right view, in other words to moralise if we want to be considered good people - which we all do. But the politics behind woke politics is fundamentally ridiculous. That’s why it can be so easily used for comedy: their core concepts and assumptions (gender and biology in trans ideology or the darker you are on the colour spectrum, the greater your societal victimhood) are easy to mock.

In ‘Life of Brian,’ the Pythons did not mock Jesus. They mocked institutionalised religion. When Jesus appears, it’s in the background, he only speaks scripture, and his portrayal is markedly respectful. Nothing else in the film is respectful - everything else is treated like a huge hilarity. John Cleese said the reason they didn’t try to make Jesus funny is that they didn’t think he would have been funny.

According to John Cleese, Jesus didn’t have an ego to bruise or be inflexible. Yet Jesus was a complete and humble person. If he slipped on a banana peel and fell, he would have found it just as funny as anyone else. That’s because Jesus was self-forgetful. You can’t mock someone who gets the joke. So you can’t turn Jesus into a joke, because he’s not threatened by jokes.

One of the most enduring theories of humour arrived courtesy of the philosopher Thomas Hobbes. It asserts that humour is ostensibly about mocking the weak and exerting superiority. While this is clearly the function of some comedy – anyone who has flinched at a comic’s lame attempt to poke fun at, for example, disability will attest to this – it’s a relentlessly bleak and far from complete explanation of the purpose of humour. It’s better for a comedian to punch up then down.

So the real question today’s politically charged climate especially in the so-called culture wars (more visible in the Anglo-American world rather than in the rest of the world) is who is doing the punching up and who is punching down?

It depends as each side of the political divide claims the lower ground ie they are the weaker and therefore don’t deserve to be punched down upon but they can freely punch up.

Dave Chappelle’s comedy is the absurdity behind the so-called victim olympics that pervades behind woke culture. So making jokes about people of colour by white people is punching down but, as Chappelle alludes, people of colour can’t make jokes about white men in skirts ie trans because that’s now a greater sin and it would be punching down. In accepting the Mark Twain Prize for American Humour in 2019, Chappelle said a good joke is a finely crafted joke and one designed to offend regardless of one’s feelings or of one’s politics. Victimhood in terms of giving personal or political offence has no place in comedy.

I believe a joke is a joke. It doesn’t matter where it comes from so long as it’s funny. If you laugh, you own it.

I personally think much of our popular culture is overwhelmingly left - from Hollywood to the BBC - I don’t think that should be a controversial statement. It’s nearly always been that way as it attracts a certain kind of creative content maker whose values are liberal in the classical sense. There’s nothing wrong in that because this liberalism of the past didn’t necessarily inject itself into the art except in very benign ways but mainly it just told a damn good story or made us laugh because they told genuine funny jokes (from Python to Blackadder and Frasier to the Simpsons).

I think that’s changed now as woke ideology is increasingly the raison d’etat of a new generation of creative content makers. The message is more important than the craft itself.

Anyway, I digress.

Punching down is a charge of course that has been levelled at Dave Chappelle for his many jokes about different groups who have invested a great deal in their identity and also exert their own social and political power. But does he really do that? I don’t think so.

The mainstream media critics publicly hated his comedy special, but the ordinary audience overwhelmingly loved it (if rotten tomatoes metric score of 96% approval is anything to go by). It’s clear that many in the mainstream media had not really watched the show or gave an accurate account. Indeed the mainstream cultural critics in the US and in the UK prevented its readers from knowing that a debate was even happening, let alone what it is really about. If the argument about gender theory is mentioned at all, it is dismissed as a bunch of “anti-trans” bigots - aka ‘TERFs’ - hurting a beleaguered and tiny minority, for some inconceivable, but surely awful, reason.

As one of my favourite conservative writers (and gay rights advocate) and as an authority on the conservative philosopher, Michael Oakeshott, Andrew Sullivan put it really well, as he always does:

“Chappelle’s final Netflix special, ‘The Closer,‘ is a classic. Far from being outdated, it’s slightly ahead of its time, as the pushback against wokeness gains traction. It is extremely funny, a bit meta, monumentally mischievous, and I sat with another homo through the whole thing, stoned, laughing our asses off - especially when he made fun of us. The way the elite media portrays us, you’d think every member of the BLT community is so fragile we cannot laugh at ourselves. It doesn’t occur to them that, for many of us, Chappelle is a breath of honest air, doing what every comic should do: take aim at every suffocating piety of the powers that be - including the increasingly weird 2SLGBTQQIA+ mafia - and detonating them all.

‘The Closer‘ is, in fact, a humanely brilliant indictment of elite culture at this moment in time: a brutal exposure of its identitarian monomania, its denial of reality, and its ruthless tactics of personal and public destruction. It marks a real moment: a punching up against the powerful, especially those who pretend they aren’t. Bigoted? Please. Anyone who can watch this special and think Chappelle is homophobic or transphobic is either stupendously dumb or a touchy fanatic. He is no more transphobic than J.K. Rowling, i.e. not at all, and the full set masterfully proves it to anyone with eyes and ears.“

I would argue it’s hugely reassuring to see the ‘powerful’ laughing at themselves - in this case the LGBTQ+ community’s more shrill and self-righteous social justice warrior activists that brook no public criticism of their conduct against women and other critics who don’t have the power to fight back and are instead cancelled. It is a trusim to say that finding oneself comical is a token of maturity. It means being able to see one’s faults, without being too defensive about them. This, I argue, was one of the messages of Chappelle’s comedy show.

The thing that intimidates us isn’t actually power. It’s power that looks like it’s going to be inhumane: insensitive, unkind power. So we’re intently interested in things that reveal a mature, kindly sort of power.

Humour often provides a mechanism whereby the powerless (or at least the less powerful) can give constructive but pointed feedback to the powerful. Whether the powerful - in Chappelle’s view that would be the trans and social just warrior crowd - can take social commentary masked as a joke says a lot about their level of maturity.

Humour, as one neurosurgeon sister put it, is a form of psychological processing, a coping mechanism that helps people to deal with complex and contradictory messages, a response to conflict and confusion in our brain. Humour that is in bad taste or cruelly targeted at particular groups may generate conflict, but humour is also our way of working through difficult subjects or feelings. In this sense the comedian’s role is not validate our feelings but to make us think.

In olden days, the idea of the court jester - an officially licensed and salaried comic  - was built on the importance of humour to the mental health of the powerful. Even if in the council room or around the dinner high table, the leading people didn’t feel much like joking, the jester was required to make barbed, witty and perhaps mocking remarks to deflate pomposity and restore sane perspective. The high table may not be occupied by the feudal elites anymore but by a more egalitarian society now.

Who can disagree with the fact that all of us - leftist, conservative, revolutionary, traditonalist, straight, gay, lesbian, bi, trans, different colours and many creeds - are not in need of our inflexible egos and the self-important pompous bubbles we inhabit from being burst open from time to time?

If we live in a world where everyone demands equality, in other words to sit at the same high table, then we also sign up to be equally ‘offended’ by the court jester, however fair or unfair it may feel.

The shrill of cancelling a comedian is not the answer if we find a joke offensive. We have the right to protest. We can protest by...not laughing. It really is that simple.

Thanks for your question.

[mortalityplays]

How do you make a whore moan?

Extract sapogenins from a Mexican yam and employ Marker degradation to degrade the sapogenin side chain while leaving similar functional groups on the steroid nucleus (relatively) unaffected. Use acetic anhydride to block the hydroxyl group formed by opening the six-membered pyran ring. Then oxidatively open the five-membered furan ring with chromic acid. This forms the acetyl side chain of progesterone and an esterified hydroxyl group on the steroid nucleus. The ester is then hydrolyzed under strongly basic conditions. The use of acetic acid leads to the production of 16-dehydropregnenolone acetate (16-DPA). 16-DP can be converted into progesterone in two steps. Firstly, the double bond in ring D is hydrogenated, followed by Oppenauer oxidation of the hydroxyl group and the concurrent migration of the remaining olefin from ring B to ring A so that it is in conjugation with the ketone carbonyl group at position 3. Alternatively, a three-step procedure involving Br2, CrO3, and Zn/HOAc can be used. 16-DP can also be converted into testosterone and the downstream products estrone and estradiol. 👍

[humble-humbler]

(I forgot why I followed you but I like your vibes)

U .......... R ........... very kind!

Unfortunately .........."VV" ........ (V)icious V(ibes) ......... is all I can offer you!

Stick with me ............ hopefully ......... we can ......... turn ........ "VV" .......... into ............. V .......... 4 ....... V(ictory)?!!

Have a ........... VV ........ (V) ery .......... V(onderful) ......... day!!!!!!!!

[thepersonalwords]

Just like you silly bums, I have a personal sky god. I bow to him, as you do to your airy-fairy sod. He prefers I call him Mr. NOT.

Fakeer Ishavardas

[daffodil-echo]

HoneyLemon: Do you ever want to talk about your feelings, Hiro?

Hiro: ... No.

Fred: I do!

HoneyLemon: I know, Fred.

Fred: I’m sad!

HoneyLemon: I know, Fred.

[open-era]

Finding Humour in the Grip of Murphy's Law

Murphy's Law dictates that if something can go wrong, it will. Embrace the chaos, find humour in the setbacks, and let resilience guide you through life's unpredictable twists. Laugh in the face of adversity and thrive despite Murphy's Law.

Finding humor in life’s misfortunes not only lightens the burden, but it also empowers us to transcend the challenges with resilience and grace. Laughter holds the transformative power to reshape our perspective, creating a path of strength and joy even in the face of Murphy’s Law. Dr. Rebecca Harper, Humour and Resilience Expert Murphy’s Law, the timeless adage that dictates that anything that…

[cheerfulcorp]

LOL! :D

[m0llygunn]

deathbed confessions (eddie munson x fem!reader one-shot)

summary: cold and flu season hits you hard but luckily you have your best friend eddie to take care of you. If the cold medicine makes you admit a few things... eddie sure isn't complaining.

contents: 18+, best friends to lovers, r is dramatically sick with a cold (talks about dying but it's just drama), fluff idk a/n: guys i am so sick help me i had to lay on the bathroom floor after braving a shower because i thought i was gonna die (but also i wrote this so maybe im ok) wc: 4.4k+

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Holy shit, did Halloween come early?” Eddie snickers from the door of your room.

All you can muster up is a low groan and that alone makes you feel like your head is on the brink of explosion. 

“Jesus, you’re really sick, huh?” he says with the huff of a laugh.

You answer with another groan. Yes. You are 'really sick'.

“Can I do something to help?” he replies, the first hint of empathy appearing in his voice.

“Put me out—” you interrupt yourself with a sniffle followed by a phlegmy cough. “—out of my misery.”

You were supposed to be seeing some double feature with Eddie tonight but yesterday, right before bed, you felt the slightest of tickles in your throat. By morning you were the living dead with everything from your big toe to your forehead aching in one way or another. You called Eddie and before you could even mention that you were sick, he knew from your stuffed up voice. 

No matter how many times you told him you’d be fine he was strangely insistent in checking on you at the very least. By the end of the call he’d quickly worn you down and you told him that he has the spare key and he can do whatever he wants but if he gets sick that's his fault— a little mean but arguing was the last thing you felt like doing.

From the time you hung up to now— which has only been a handful of hours, you’ve gotten substantially worse. Earth shatteringly worse. So terribly worse that the simple task of opening your eyes has been too much effort. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire, and your lungs are just begging for salvation. That’s why when Eddie called twenty minutes ago letting you know he was on his way you told him no. It would have been wise if he listened to you but instead he replied ‘too bad’ and abruptly hung up the phone. 

Cut to twenty minutes later he was at your door, letting himself in. He was willingly walking into his very own death sentence. He clearly thought it was more of a joke than anything.

You hear Eddie’s tell-tale gait as he walks further into your room. You assume that he’s standing over your bed, maybe a hand on the back of his neck, maybe a hand on his hip. Mustering the efforts to confirm your suspicions would take too much of your very limited energy so you continuing laying in your bed, not doing as much as opening an eye.

You hear the ruffle of his hair and he definitely is rubbing the back of his neck as he gauges what to do. 

“So…do you want, like, medicine then?” he asks. 

“A gun,” you croak, earning a deep belly laugh from Eddie.

“At least your humour’s still intact, that’s good to know,” he says, sitting down on the edge of your bed.

You try to shuffle over to make room for him, but that effort alone makes you wince.

“Call an ambulance,” you whine, sniffling pathetically. 

“Really?” he asks, a genuine nervousness creeping into his voice. You feel his hand tug at the blanket you’ve cocooned yourself in, revealing your face for him to see. If you were more cognizant maybe you’d care about Eddie seeing you like this, but you’re too far gone to think about that. 

“No,” you answer, nodding your head up and down in contrast to your answer, earning a huff of relief from Eddie. 

The blanket slackens from his pull and the bed dips deeper as he leans in further to get a better look at you. Once again, if you were more cognizant you’d probably rather he didn’t, but you wouldn’t have the will to fight it anyways.

“Did you take anything?” he asks. 

“It’s been a few hours.”

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah, whipped up a quick 4 course meal earlier, michelin approved of course,” you mumble. You contemplate cracking an eye open to see his reaction but you don’t. 

“Right, so no food.” 

“No, surprisingly not that hungry when you’re on your deathbed,” you say, sniffling.

“Tell me you’ve at least had water,” he says and from his tone you know that he already knows the answer. 

“I had water until the bottle was empty, then I decided I’d rather succumb to death than get out of bed,”

“Funny, funny girl,” he says dryly, obviously not impressed by your answers. 

“Tombstone quote,” you say weakly, hoping that Eddie gets what you mean. He laughs softly and you consider that enough of a success. 

You hear the slightest bit of shuffling, not Eddie getting up but more like he’s looking around your room. Whatever state it’s in, you couldn’t even work up the courage to care. 

“Do you want a movie on or something?” he asks, breaking the lull in conversation. 

“Would you do that?” you ask, tilting your face towards him despite not opening your eyes. 

“Oh yeah. I’m giving you the mortally ill special— the deathbed works, if you will,” he says, and you can tell he’s smiling. You do your best to smile back but it’s weak and probably looks more like a grimace. 

You feel shuffling before the bed rises from Eddie standing.

“Okay, so I’m gonna get you medicine first. Then movie, food, and whatever else, deal?”

Your lower lip pouts out appreciatively for the boy you’ve called your best friend for forever now. If you weren’t deathly ill, you’d kiss him.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you whisper, voice getting caught in your throat for an entirely different reason than your cold this time. 

He mumbles back some version of ‘don’t worry about it’ before he’s off, leaving you in the quiet of your room with only your breathing, coughing, and sniffling breaking the silence. It’s barely a few minutes before you hear his footsteps and the edge of your bed dips again. 

“This is what you took right? The cold and flu medicine?”

“Mhm” you hum.

“You have nasal congestion?”

You sniffle loudly and nod.

“Right. Nasal pain, sinus congestion, and sinus pain?”

You hum again, catching onto the fact that he’s reading the symptoms off of the box. 

“Chest congestion?”

Weakly you swat your hand out trying to find Eddie. When you do, you give him the weakest of taps. “Too many questions,” you muster. 

“Well, I know you’re joking about dying but I don’t want to actually kill you,” he says. You hum again.

You hear him fumbling with the cardboard before fumbling with the plastic pill packaging.

“Do you wanna sit up?” he asks.

“I want to die,”

“Well you can’t do that so I’m gonna help you sit up, okay?”

Eddie starts tugging at the blanket and you let your weakened limbs go limp, undoubtedly making the task much harder for him but he doesn’t say anything. Eventually, he pulls you up by your underarms, propping you up against your headboard. 

When you feel his cool hands on your forehead, pushing your hair back and out of your face, you open your eyes for the first time since Eddie got here. 

“There she is,” he laughs lightly, still pushing back the disheveled mess that is your hair.

“Your hands feel nice,” you whisper, focusing on the coolness on your skin. Before you have a chance to really absorb the relief of his hands on your skin, he pulls away, grabbing for the water he had set down on your bedside table. 

“Yeah, you’re really hot,” he replies, passing the water to you.

“Tombstone quote,” you say, catching his eye, making him laugh again. With a shaky hand, you take the water.

“Funny and hot, that’s a killer deal.” He hands you the little cold and flu pill and you place it in your mouth, swallowing it down with small sips of the cold water that feels like ice going down your throat. 

You redirect your gaze to Eddie, “you’re gonna get sick, that’s the real killer here,” you say. 

“I’ll be fine,”

“You don’t want this cold, trust me,” you say, taking another sip of water before holding it out to Eddie. 

“I’ll be fine,” he repeats as he takes the water, putting it back on your bedside table. 

You nod. You appreciate Eddie’s help more than anything. Fending for yourself wasn’t exactly going so well— clearly.

“You had this with your other stuff, do you want it?” he asks, holding up the vicks vapor rub.

When you felt the cold coming on you went to the pharmacy and picked up a few things just in case. The vapor rub was on sale and you bought it on a whim but haven’t tried it yet.

“Do you think it really works?”

“Wayne used to put it on me, I guess it does?”

“Where do you put it?”

“On your chest or back,” he answers, looking at the fine print of the packaging. “Yeah, it says chest, throat, and back.”

You open your mouth to reply but instead feel the creeping up of the tickling in your throat. Turning the other way, you do your best to not cough all over Eddie. Sucking in a deep breath, you only trigger another cough that divulges into one of many coughing attacks that you’ve had today. When you’re finally done, you drop your head to the back of the headboard in defeat. 

“C’mon, let’s try it on your back for now,” he says, putting a hand on your shoulder encouraging you to lean forward. You move how he wants you without protest.

“I’m just gonna lift up your shirt a bit, okay?” he says, you nod but he pauses, fingers just barely slipping under the hem of your shirt.

“Eddie, with the way I’m feeling, you could see me butt ass naked right now and I could not care less,” you say. 

He snorts a laugh before his cool fingers trail up your spine giving you tingles that make you shiver. “Sorry,” he hums but you shake your head. His hand makes contact with your upper back, rubbing the ointment on your skin and it honestly feels incredibly soothing. Whether it’s the rub or the physical contact, you’re not sure, but you’re not questioning it either.

The noise that comes out of you could have been a moan had you not been congested. Instead it comes out like a low, stuffed up groan— not unlike a movie zombie. 

Eddie rubs a few more circles on your back before his hand travels back down your spine. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks, helping you sit back up straight.

“So fucking good and like I need you to rub my back like that again,” you say, resting your head back against the headboard. Maybe you put a little too much conviction in your words but that truly felt amazing.

The room is silent and you blink open your eyes to see Eddie holding the tub of rub in his hands, paused halfway through closing it. It takes a moment for him to look up at you but when he does, he smiles softly.

“What movie do you wanna watch?”

Had you not been distracted by your sickness, you might have noticed the faintness of a blush spreading across the tops of Eddie’s cheeks. Coughing and forcing air back into your lungs takes up every ounce of your consciousness though, so you don’t notice. 

You shrug your shoulder taking a deep breath, “anything, I’ll probably pass out from the medicine anyways,” you reply, turning away again to cough. 

Eddie hums before he’s moving to your dresser opposite your bed, angling the TV for you to see it better. 

“Sixteen Candles, Children of the Corn, Gremlins, Teen Wolf?” he says, listing off the titles of the different tapes you have sprawled next to the vcr. 

“Any.” 

“Gremlins seems kind of relevant,” he says, pulling open the clamshell box.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask. Eddie turns to you, smirk spreading across his lips.

“Nothing,” he sings lightly. He turns away from you, pushing the tape into the player and then pressing the combination of buttons to get it working. 

“You better not be implying that I look like a gremlin because—” you interrupt yourself with another cough that quickly divulges into yet another coughing fit— worse than the last. 

With each cough being so strong it makes your head pound. You don’t notice Eddie crossing your room or him settling back on the edge of your bed. You only notice his presence when he’s encouraging you forward, hand rubbing your back again. 

When your coughing finally calms down enough for you to take a good breath, Eddie brings the glass of water up for you to take a sip. You take the cup in your hands, guiding it to your mouth. At the same time, Eddie never fully lets go of the cup, making sure it doesn’t spill. You take a drink, nodding when you’re done and he sets it back down, hand still running up and down your back. 

“It’s probably just the rub working, getting all that nasty stuff out,” he says softly. 

You nod again, letting your head fall to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. It’s probably not the smartest idea to be so close to him because you're pretty much sentencing him to his demise, but with how terrible you feel you’re desperate for anything to make it better— and right now the only thing making anything better is Eddie. 

“The medicine’ll kick in any minute and you’ll feel much better, okay? I’ll go get you something to eat and then I can rub your back some more. How’s that sound?” he says softly, brushing the edge of your face with his chin as he tilts his face downwards towards yours. 

Your lower lip pouts out again and you feel your eyes water behind your closed lids. Maybe you were already hyper emotional from feeling so sick, but Eddie being so sweet is also doing a number on you.

“Sounds really nice,” you whisper, sucking in a breath.

“You’ll be okay,” Eddie whispers, hand switching from rubbing up and down your back to rubbing circles at the top of your back. “I’ll take care of you, I got you.”

Before the tears in your eyes have a chance to breach your waterline, Eddie’s shifting beside you, leaning you back against the headboard with the promise of being quick while he gets you food. Only once he’s gone and you’re left alone in your room do you notice Gremlins has already started playing. Opening your eyes, you spare a few glances at the screen that distract you from your teary eyed state.

As Eddie promised, he was pretty quick in his return. You could hear him the whole time, kitchen utensils clanking and cupboard doors closing. Maybe all concept of time is lost on you right now, but it seemed like barely any time had passed before he was taking slow, careful steps back towards your room.

“Alright— got that soup you like, got crackers, and got you some juice,” Eddie announces as he situates the dishware on your bedside table. “I even made sure not to warm the soup too much so you can eat it right away,” he says.

Eyes closed again, you don’t know what you expected him to do but him manhandling you took you by surprise. A hand slid behind your back and another under your upper thighs, he was sliding you right over on the mattress.

“Just giving myself some space here,” he says absentmindedly as he fixes your blanket around you. He quickly settles in next to you before grabbing the sleeve of crackers and settling them in front of you and grabbing the bowl of soup.

Sitting with his legs stretched out next to yours, you let your head dip to his shoulder again, this time like a silent thank you where you cozy your head against him, not unlike a cat.

“For the record, you’re more like Gizmo,” he says, a tease intruding in his voice.

“Hm?” you hum questioningly.

“You don’t look like a gremlin, you’re cute like Gizmo,” he says.

You sink your face further into the crook of Eddie's shoulder, lip jetting out once more. He’s done nothing more than call you a cute gremlin rather than an evil gremlin, yet you feel yourself turning misty eyed yet again. This time you squeeze your eyes shut, closing them on purpose, hiding your sickness induced emotions.

“Soups gonna get cold,” Eddie says, twisting his neck to look at you again. “C’mon, it’ll be better for you if you eat it warm,” he says, using his free arm to move you.

Once you’re finally propped up again in an appropriate position to eat, you feel Eddie’s hand on your cheek— no doubt becoming aware of your tears.

“You okay?” he asks softly, thumb rubbing under your cheek.

“You’re being so nice to me,” you explain, sniffling back your need to cry.

“Just taking care of you. Want you to feel better,” he replies, keeping his voice quiet. 

“Thank you, Eddie.”

“You don’t gotta thank me, just gotta eat your soup, okay Gizmo?” Eddie says, making you snort out a snotty laugh before sucking it all back in with an apology that he quickly dismisses. 

You take a few breaths, getting your tears under control. Shifting your focus to the soup, Eddie holds the bowl close to you while you slowly feed yourself spoonful after spoonful. 

“Crackers?” Eddie offers.

“Maybe one.”

“How ‘bout two?” he replies, peeling back the plastic and pulling two out for you. You nod softly before taking them from him. 

You feel yourself running out of energy and it’s exasperating that all it took was lifting a spoon to your lips a measly few times. When you let the crackers sit in your lap for too long, Eddie turns to look at you, resting the bowl of soup down in his lap. 

“Y’okay?” he asks.

“Tired,” you answer. 

“Just finish those and you can be done, okay?” he says, meeting your gaze. You shake your head.

“Can’t,” you reply.

“You can,” he says, turning his torso to put the bowl of soup on the table. He turns back around, reaching for the crackers in your hand. “Know you can,” he repeats, bringing the crackers to your lips.

“Eddie—” you try to protest.

“Bite,” he says, cutting you off and nudging the cracker into your mouth. 

You bite, giving into him. It feels weird being hand fed. It’s probably even weirder when two bites in you close your eyes in an effort to conserve your energy. Regardless, Eddie doesn’t say anything besides positive affirmations about how good you’re doing which you really, really appreciate. 

“How about you drink some of this,” he says, reaching for the glass of juice as you chew the last bite of cracker. “Then I’ll help you lay down and I can rub your back s’more?”

“You don’t have to if you wanna go home, you've been here a long time,” you say, swallowing the dryness of the cracker down. 

Eddie lifts the cup of juice to your lips, tipping it back for you to sip at. When you take more than a few drinks, you lift a hand lightly pushing the cup away. Blinking your eyes open you look at Eddie as he returns the cup to sit with the other dishware on your bedside table. 

“I’m serious, Eddie. You can go home if you want,”

“Don’t want to,”

“You’re gonna be— you interrupt yourself with a yawn this time. “—gonna be so sick,” you say groggily.

“Just let me cuddle you, you know you want it,” he says, a teasing tone hinting in his voice. You blink open your eyes again to see a genuine smile as he looks at you—one that shouldn’t be there considering how gross you feel and are sure you look. Despite that, it’s there and you do want cuddles so you nod softly, making a weak, sad attempt at getting closer to Eddie.

Eddie meets your attempt by gently pulling you down the mattress. He maneuvers you to have your head resting on his chest while his arm snakes around you, rubbing circles on your back. With the sleepiness settling in and your cold symptoms dialing back due to the medicine, you can’t help but hum happily. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he says quietly.

It feels beyond good. Good is an understatement. Having him take care of you like this is making you feel mushy and only highlights your feelings for Eddie. In combination with your partially delusionally, sleepy state the only thing on your mind is expressing your feelings, all of them true no matter how far out of it you are at this point. 

“Eddie, if I die, just know that I love you,” you mutter into the fabric of his shirt. 

“That’s just the cold medicine talking,” Eddie laughs softly. You find the energy to shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, love you,” you repeat. “Love you so much.”

It’s faint, maybe he whispered it or maybe it’s the fact that you were slipping into sleep but you heard it. 

“I love you too,” he says quietly. 

As if those words gave you a short lived second life, it had you perking up, desperately needing to clarify just in case he didn’t understand. 

“But Eddie I love you as my best friend but also more than that— I love you so much.”

He leaves you in silence but you don’t have the clear consciousness to overthink it, you just keep talking.

“I don’t even care if you don’t like me like that, I love you Eddie.”

“I love you too. Love you a lot, but I think we should talk about this when you’re not tired and on cold medicine, okay?” he whispers softly. 

As your thoughts start to drift, you focus on the first half of Eddie's sentiment. He loves you— and he loves you a lot. With that on your mind, intermixed with the comforting friction of his hand on your back, you fall into the deepest and most comfortable sleep of your life despite being so sick. Eddie loves you. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Arguably, the best thing that came out of your cold was your confession. It was bound to happen eventually and although it did sort of seem like a deathbed confession at the time, it was genuine— that of which you clarified for Eddie. To your fortune, he also clarified that his reply was true as well. Beyond that, you were still sick and neither of you had done much more than just sharing those little words that one night. So yes, arguably, that's the best thing that came out of your sickly state; however, in your opinion, you think the best thing that happened was that you got Eddie sick too. 

It was less than a day after you started feeling normal again that Eddie was running a fever. He ended up staying at your place for the majority of your sickness but he had left once to get some things for himself. Since he had his stuff here already, you offered for him to stay over at yours while you returned the favor of playing doctor. 

Eddie took on a much different position as a sick person than you did. Undeniably, you both were on the dramatic end of things but while your cynical humour came out during your time being sick, Eddie was much different in how expressed himself.

Normally, a very touchy feely person, his affectionate side heightened tenfold while he was sick. He was all grabby hands, wanting you closer to him. Maybe it was because the two of you had broken the touch barrier while you were sick or maybe Eddie just turned into a touch deprived baby when he was sick, you’ll never know, but you didn’t deny him of the cuddles that you so dearly appreciated while you were under the weather. 

The most interesting part— which shouldn't have came as a surprise, was that not only did he appreciate holding you, but he intensely appreciated you holding him, whether that be hands scratching his head as he rested it on your stomach, or your arms wrapped around him from behind making him the little spoon. Additionally, he was also incredibly affectionate with his words, constantly telling you how grateful he was for you and how much he appreciated you. 

Your favourite confession came late one night, probably at the peak of his sickness. Fairly similar to your deathbed confession, but a moment to remember regardless.

You had just finished helping him eat, similar to how he had done for you, and were cuddling with him, smoothing your hands over his side as he rested his head on your chest. 

The medicine was kicking in, making him drowsy, eyes fluttering shut as he let sleep take him over. He had kept babbling random thoughts but as he got more and more tired he was eventually reduced to heavy breaths. That was, until he titled his face up to yours. You looked down at him, meeting his sleepy eyes.

“I love you,” he said. “Love you so much.”

“Love you too, Eddie,” you replied, smiling.

“But I love you so much,” he said, voice returning to its babbling cadence. “Love you so much I wanna kiss you and love you and—” his babbling started to slowly fade as his head got heavier on your chest. You couldn’t help but laugh softly as your heart swelled.

You smoothed a hand over his face, brushing back his hair as you stared at him with nothing but love for your very, very sick boy. Like you had given him a second wind, his babbling started up again. 

“Wanna marry you. Love you so much wanna marry you,” he said, words slurring.

“Think you’ll have to ask me on a date first, cutie,” you replied quietly, partially under the impression that he was already asleep. 

“I will. Love you so much, I will,” he mumbled and with that, he was out like a light. 

From there, the rest was history. If curious minds were to inquire, you would say that Eddie’s always been very good at keeping his promises, and mindless babbling or not, he meant every word that he confessed in his sickly, drowsy state. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

thank you! <3

[userlando]

that anon is a genuis? the showering one 🥺

okay okay I’m still gonna write a full on fic but I wanted to do the showering together rn because I have no shame, but but I hope you enjoy this lil fluffy thing

take care of you (2.k words) lando norris x fem!reader sickfic

You were never sick, and that’s why Lando was getting worried. The both of you had always laughed at the thought of being ill, boasting a little too much about your amazing immune systems and now it’s come to bite you in the ass.

It had started as - what you thought was - a hangover, having a little too much to drink at the bar where Max had practically forced you to come two days ago. Lando hadn’t really been feeling it, still a little sore from the race a few days prior and in need of a night in where he could just relax. But you’d both gone eventually, had a good time and then you’d woken up violently ill the next morning.

Lando had set aside his aversion to vomit, quietly gagging as he tried to nurse you back to health. But it had become clear that it wasn’t just the aftermath of the night before coming to haunt you. Your nose had turned stuffy, voice hoarse and your fevers were running high. Dangerously so. Lando had never seen you so drained of energy before and it was starting to scare him.

He’d ignored your protests of staying away, not wanting him to catch whatever the fuck was making you feel like death was knocking on your front door but Lando was nothing but stubborn, glaring angrily at you when you tried to wave him off.

Max had dropped in to dump a plastic bag of medicine and everything a pharmacy held before fleeing, saying that whatever you had, he didn’t want it. You just wished Lando had the same attitude.

You didn’t want to admit it out loud though, that a part of you was glad that you had your best friend by your side to look after your basic needs when you couldn't. He always ran cold and it was a great advantage as he sat by your side as you went in and out of consciousness, placing his chilly hand on your forehead and cheek to hopefully stave off the fever.

By day two, he’d had enough. His stomach was twisting in worry, and he’d rang his mum three times - looking for advice or anything to help with her in a different country. You’d been a little delirious, skin slick with sweat as you laid on the bed; barely conscious and drifting between that place where you're not quite lucid, but you're also not completely knocked out. Lando would’ve thought that you were sleeping if it weren’t for the mouth breathing and little whimpers you occasionally let out when the pain in your head spiked out of nowhere.

It was three in the morning when you sniffled, waking up from your doze and blinking at him. You looked so miserable that he couldn’t help but feel sorry for you, brushing a few strands of hair sticking to your forehead and ignoring the fact that your hair was absolutely soaking. Anxiety was already gripping his heart in a fist and he couldn't handle feeding into it anymore, in fear of it bursting at the seams.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, voice quiet as to not worsen your headache but you still groaned like he’d put a megaphone to your ear and screamed into it.

You made a pathetic attempt at shaking your head, and the little gesture made him smile in endearment when you nuzzled the side of your face against the pillow; squishing your nose and mouth into the damp fabric.

“No.” You murmured. “‘s so hot.”

He glanced at the one too many covers and blankets on you, thinking that maybe he’d gone overboard with his mum’s advice to ‘let you sweat your fever out’.

“I know, bug.” He frowned a little. “You’ll be okay soon.”

“I feel like I’ve taken a nap in the devil’s arse.” You complained and Lando laughed, a bit relieved that your humour was still there.

He thought back on his mum’s advice that he’d immediately brushed off with heated cheeks as soon as the words left her mouth. Let her have a shower, it’ll do wonders for her, poor girl.

How was Lando supposed to get you in the shower when you hadn’t even left the bed for days? He glanced down at you and sucked his teeth, hands going to push the covers from your body before he could second guess himself. You made a sound of confusion when he grabbed at your hands, helping you sit up.

“What are you doin’?” Your speech was a little slurred, exhaustion clinging to your very soul and Lando ignored the pang in his chest at your rare vulnerability.

He’d ever only seen you like this when you were pissed out of your mind drunk, or when you were really sad. Or sick.

“We’re taking a shower.” He said, helping you stand up and you went easily, leaning heavily on him because the room was fucking spinning and he’d just said we.

The slow realisation made you yelp as he walked the both of you to the bathroom, and you gripped his hoodie in your hands in a lousy effort to stop him from walking any further.

“We? You’re not seeing me naked.” You said, feeling a little panicked at that thought.

Lando gave you a look you couldn’t decipher, pushing the door open with his foot and guiding you inside. He flipped down the toilet seat lid and gently sat you down and any other day you would've laughed at how much he acted like his mother when she fussed over her son or even you.

“Then we’re showering in our clothes.” He said, like it was that simple but it really wasn't that simple.

“We’re not.” You frowned but immediately stopped because fuck, that hurt your head. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll shower tomorrow when I've got my strength up.”

“You said that yesterday. You’re literally laying in your pool of sweat.” He pointed in the direction of your bedroom as if to get his point across and your mouth pursed in displeasure.

“You said you wouldn’t mention that.”

Lando’s eyebrows climbed to his forehead in exasperation and you flushed hotly. It was embarrassing and he’d promised not to make fun of you. Not that he was making fun of you, but still.

“You’re being an idiot.” He said, watching you pout a little at that and immediately feeling bad. He backtracked. “I mean… I don’t want you feeling faint and falling when I’m not here. I promise I won’t be a creep and look.”

You narrowed your eyes in disbelief and Lando placed both of his hands on his hips as he exhaled, the tips of his ear turning a nice shade of pink.

“Fine. I won’t look too much.” He swept a hand in the air. “Can we please get you in the shower? You’re starting to stink.”

“Now you know how I feel every day around you.” You muttered, ignoring Lando as he repeated your words in a mocking tone. “Okay, can you at least just… Look away?”

He regarded you with a contemplative look before nodding slowly, turning around and you stared at his back for a few seconds before starting to undress. Lando was patient, keeping his eyes firmly on the sink as he heard the shuffle of clothes and your noises behind him. You made a small sound that let him know that you were done and he stretched a hand out without turning or looking, offering his support as you stepped into the shower with weak legs.

You didn’t want to admit that he was right. You were in no shape or form to wash yourself without risking blacking out, but Lando thankfully didn’t say a thing as he let you draw the shower drapes to cover you.

You stood quietly, shivering and a little nervous as you heard him undress, nausea roiling your stomach and tying it into knots and you couldn’t figure out if it was because you were nervous or simply sick. It must’ve been a combination of two, you decided, thoughts spiralling until Lando’s voice echoed in the bathroom.

“You okay?” He asked and you nodded before you realised that he couldn’t see you.

“Yeah.” You flattened your palm against the tiled wall when you started feeling a little dizzy, squeezing your eyes shut. “Can you hurry? I’m feeling sick.”

The weakness in your voice must’ve triggered your best friend into action because he pulled the drapes aside and stepped in, grabbing your hand like it was a normal and every day occurrence to be standing in the shower. Naked.

You opened your eyes to find him looking intensely at your face, eyebrows pulled together worriedly and you gave him a shaky smile.

“Do you wanna lean on me?” He asked, tilting his head to look you in the eyes.

You were about to shake your head when you felt your world tilt on its axis, stumbling a little and Lando was quick to wrap his arms around you. He pulled you into his embrace and took some of your weight off your feet, trying not to think about how incredibly naked and warm you were against him.

He exhaled, feeling your hands weakly rest on his back; like you were welcoming his help and it made something warm bloom in his chest.

“I’m going to turn the shower on now, okay?” He walked the two of you to the corner before reaching back and turning the knob.

There was a sputtering sound before the spray came, and you could feel the cold mist as the shower head splattered cold water by your feet. You hummed in delight, leaning your forehead against Lando’s shoulder and closing your eyes.

“I feel like shit.” You confessed quietly between the two of you and Lando’s hand came up to brush the hair down your neck in quiet comfort. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Don’t mention it. You know I always will.” There was something in his voice that you couldn’t quite decipher, but you let it go when he took a step back into the shower once he’d deemed it warm enough.

The lukewarm water felt like heaven as it pelted down the both of you, washing away the sweat and everything you’d managed to accumulate these past few days. You hummed in pleasure, feeling your hair soak and you pushed your head off his shoulder to look at your best friend.

He was busy making out the hundreds of different bottles, looking lost before he finally found the shampoo bottle. The sight would’ve made you laugh if you had any strength left, but you settled for an amused smile that Lando clocked as soon as he turned his attention back to you.

“Shut up.” He said, seeing the clear laughter in your eyes and you raised your eyebrows as if to say hey, I didn’t say anything. “Turn around and let me wash your hair.”

You weren’t about to protest, doing just that and placing the palm of your hand against the wall to keep yourself upright.

Lando quickly washed your hair, the suds of the shampoo sliding down your face and getting in your eyes and it wasn’t as relaxing as one would’ve thought but he did the job and you couldn’t complain. He even went as far as conditioning your hair, rinsing it off gently before you offered to do the same for him.

“You don’t have to do that.” He scrunched his nose. “You look like you’re two seconds away from falling asleep.”

“Put your head down and shut up. Let me wash your hair.” You tried to sound stern, but you ended up sounding a little ridiculous with your stuffy nose and Lando grinned before complying.

The smile on his face vanished when he realised that he had, in the process, put himself in direct eyesight of your naked body and he struggled not to tense up as he heard the cap of the bottle pop, staring hard at your bare feet instead.

You did a way better job at washing his hair, digging your nails pleasantly around his skull and massaging his curls thoroughly before rinsing the suds off. Lando didn’t realise how relaxed he’d became until he tried to stand upright, hair drooping over his face and dripping wet.

His breath stuttered when you let out a hoarse laugh, pushing the hair out of his face and the movement was so intimate that Lando had a hard time breathing, wondering what the fuck was happening.

You didn’t seem bothered by the gesture though, none the wiser as you picked up a loofah and pushed it into his hands. He blinked down at it like it was a foreign object, trying to make sense of what exactly you were asking of him.

“You want me to wash you?” His voice went high, almost in a squeak and you shot a questioning look at him.

“Yes.” You decided on replying before frowning, adding: “Is that weird? I can do it if —“

“No, no. Um, I can do it, just —“ He was flustered, turning a little in the small space of your shower and trying not to yelp when his arm brushed your naked skin. “Body wash. I need body wash.”

Your face was on fire, watching him pop the cap of the body wash and ripping it off in the process. He made a little sound in his throat but didn’t dare to pick the broken cap off the floor, squirting the liquid onto the loofah before waving it in front of you.

You turned around, figuring that it was maybe a little easier if you weren’t in each others faces and Lando must’ve felt the same because he blew out a breath and started washing your back, albeit a little timidly.

He gained confidence after a few moments, finishing scrubbing you before doing himself and you didn’t call him out on him using your sponge because really, he’d probably done it a million times whenever he showered at your place.

The both of you stepped out, and he was there to immediately wrap you up in a towel before doing the same to himself. You didn’t want to acknowledge your heart, how it was speeding up abnormally so at the sight of him and how sweet he was being. Taking care of you, sending updates to your mum with how you were and assuring her that you were being taken care of. He knew how much of a worrier she was, and it made something immense swell in your chest as he rubbed a second towel over your hair, gentle and so very careful not to snag your hair or accidentally hurt you.

“What?” He halted when he pulled the towel away, revealing your face and your eyes staring at him. He wasn’t sure if it was the shampoo that had gotten in your eyes but they looked like they were on the verge of welling up.

“Nothing.” You replied, voice thick and so obviously lying but Lando didn’t touch on the subject. He made sure to ask later, when the air wasn’t so charged and you weren't teetering on the brink of death.

“Get into bed, I’ll bring you fresh clothes.” He said as he steered the both of you back to your bedroom. Lando stopped as he eyed your bed, a little critically. “You know what, let’s go to the couch instead.”

You laughed, voice a little thick and you reached a hand to weakly slap at his arm.

“What?” He grinned. “We need to change the sheets. Or maybe even burn them.”

“You’re a prick!” The way your voice cracked made Lando cackle, yelping when you shoved him a lot harder than he had anticipated.

Your words may have sounded malicious, but there was an undertone that your best friend couldn’t help but latch onto.

It sounded a lot like, I love you.

don't look at me, i love pain. anyways, hope you enjoyed this little drabble as i go crawling back into my cave to write something better than this. (also how did this turn into 2.6k words? i need help)

[catiuskaa]

under the weather.

SUMMARY: is that a sneeze what he’s hearing? unnaceptable! changbin will take care of his sick little bunny... no chance of escaping.

WC: 0.8k

CW: a quirky attempt at humour, and really fluff! will rot your teeth! ^^

REQUESTED! here by my pookie @deadcrow-donteat, hope you get well soon and you like what I’ve come up with! <3

[☆★☆★☆]

It was difficult to say, but it had to be the loud slam of the bathroom door flying open that gave it away.

“Baby?” Changbin had been getting ready for a long session in the studio with the boys. “You ok?” He voiced loudly, and when he didn’t get a reply right away, he wasn’t so sure about leaving now.

You looked… well, um. Definetely not your best. Paler than usual. Droopy, reddish eyes that struggled to stay awake stared back at him.

He craddled your cheek with one of his hands, and you sighed, leaning into him, his body looking like the most perfect weighted blanket anyone could ever wish for.

“sick.” you muttered with a hoarsh voice.

“Oh, my poor bunny,” he cooed at you, and you blinked at him, surrounded by the fluffiest blanket you owned. “Feeling cold?” You hummed, doozing off when his hand stroked your cheeks, then softly touched your forehead.

He leaned in and pressed his lips on your forehead. Too hot. Changbin clicked his tongue, leaving his bag on the floor. “Let’s get you to bed. Binnie’ll go fetch the thermomether, yeah?”

His voice sounded so sweet that there was nothing else for you to do than flush the toilet and sickly waddle your way back to bed, throwing yourself at it like a lifeless body.

Changbin came back in less than a minute, and you were almost asleep. He shook his head, smiling softly. How couldn’t he stop thinking about how cute you looked, all cuddled up in bed, when you were this sick?

No further comments.

He bent down at your side. “Bunny?” You nodded softly, and he couldn’t hold back a toothy grin. “Medicine.”

Changbin had to hold back a loud snort when you frowned. “Bunny, it’s just for a moment. C’mon. For me, please?”

You gazed at him, then squinted your eyes.

“Just ‘cause you cute.”

He snickered, handing you the glass with those god-awful powders that allegedly taste like lemon —only to people that have never tasted lemon before, or any fruit, by any means—. You drank it with a groan, then made a silly face, disgusted by the taste.

Changbin patted your head, and you pouted at him, sick eyes gazing lovingly.

“What?” He knew he had to be blushing when you smiled cheekily.

You scooched up closer to him. He didn’t like the face you made, traces of guilt lingering on your beautiful face.

He couldn’t have that!

“You’re gonna be late for the studio.” You whispered in a low voice, taking his hand and fidgeting with it, much bigger than yours.

But instead, he tutted at you. “Nuh-huh.” He shook his head, then he got closer to your face, and booped your nose. “What if you suddenly combust? I can't just leave now! You’re sick.” Changbin explained, almost as if you couldn’t figure out that by yourself, and you rolled your eyes, a silly smile creeping out.

Yeah. Much better.

“But you called the boys already.”

He snorted. “The boys won’t mind. They like you better than me.”

The thermomether beeped after a couple of seconds. His face contorted in what seemed like shock.

“What is it?” You frowned, confused and slightly worried.

“Oh my god. You… you’re going to die.”

A loud “huh?” left your lips instantly. He turned the thermomether so you could see it for yourself.

“You’re at 38 degrees! You’re frozen inside!!”

You whined loudly, and he laughed giddily.

“That’s fucking Celcius, you dingus.”

You rolled onto your other side, and he stood up, laying a knee on the bed to see your face, but you covered it with the closest pillow next to you.

“JYP will kill me if you stop going to work, mister.”

Changbin cackled loudly.

“JYP can't kill me. His sweet dreams performance? Maybe. But not him.” He couldn’t even finish the sentence without laughing.

He tenderly moved the pillow away from your face.

“I called the boys already. I’ll just go by later. That ok, love?”

Your heart softened at the way his brown eyes looked at you.

You groaned, sick and grumpy.

“Snuggles.”

Tugging at his shoulders, you unstabilized him enough for him to fall next to you.

Changbin giggled, and you tutted at him, a finger above his lips. “Shh.” You murmured teasingly, and he smirked, lightly gracing his teeth on your index.

Eventually, you know he had fallen asleep, both of you now a mix of tangled legs and linked hands that rested in between your bodies.

A text dinged loudly, and you moved as much as you could with Changbin’s strong grip on your body to fetch your phone.

> hann☆♪

that idiot is down bad for you girl

marry that simp soon! ㅋㅋㅋ

You snorted, quickly typing a reply and turning your phone on mute.

Staring at Changbin, you sighed lovingly, falling asleep aswell.

Maybe Jisung had just given you a crazy idea.

~Kats, who wanted to type something and is actually surprised that she managed in just one sit.

[worriedvision]

Forgery - chapter 3

Gender neutral reader, part 2 here.

--

Alhaitham and Kaveh decided to host Tighnari and Cyno, both of them intrigued by the alleged accusations and the opinions of those in Sumeru seeming to be opposites. Typically, Fontaine was known for being the best with finding out whether someone was guilty or not.

Kaveh takes a look at the writing, seeing if there was a sign of outlining prior to writing with ink, but Alhaitham had a more... original way of looking.

Picking up the paper that was yours, he sniffs it. Seeing everyone recoil at his actions, Alhaitham shrugs.

"I have a hypothesis, but this depends on the ink that is accessible in Fontaine." Alhaitham begins, taking a second sniff to get a clearer scent. "This is one form of evidence used to prosecute _, yes? Well, this ink smells like ink that isn't accessible in Fontaine."

Sensing no change in willingness to listen, Alhaitham continues. "There is a type of ink used by criminals that is designed to ignite upon contact with water. The ink is typically connected to the Fatui, however some treasure hoarders also use this. It is banned from Fontaine, to the extent that even the Fortress cracks down on it."

"...how do you know how the ink smells in comparison to other types?" Tighnari asks, tilting his head. "Are you confessing to a crime?"

"Calm down, I happened to study this topic in the Akedemiya. I still have the samples, if you wish, you can take the ink in question to use as evidence."

"...In case that wasn't enough, I can also see evidence of tracing. It's a very clear marking - I'm beginning to see why those you've asked so far are not in agreement with Fontaine's judgement."

"Thank you both. I think we have enough evidence to suggest forgery, now we just need to find the best way to make it interesting enough - as well as convincing enough for Monsieur Neuvillette - to reverse the sentencing." Cyno states. "perhaps I could use my jo-"

"No. Your jokes aren't appropriate in this case." Tighnari replies.

"Ah, I forgot how dramatic Fontaine is..." Kaveh sighs.

"Well, out of the four of us, who would be best? I'm no entertainer, Cynos dry humour isn't going to help..." Alhaitham begins, looking at Kaveh as he begins to think.

"...What?" Kaveh huffs, seeing Tighnari and Cyno both now looking at him. "I can't afford this - I have rent to pay!"

"I'll pay for your trip." Cyno responds, Kaveh humming in thought. "I'll also account for a few more days, just so you can look around Fontaine. Meals, drinks, I'll pay."

"...Very well then. Shall we start writing a script?"

--

"Please, I want to visit Sumeru!" Sigewinne huffs, Wriothesley knowing immediately why. "I really really want to see what plants they have Their medicinal properties are phenomenal according to books!"

"You can't go, we only have you as a medical person here!" Wriothesley sighs, before fluffing up her hair. "Besides, I wouldn't be able to protect you from-"

"Oh, you know they wouldn't harm me." Sigewinne frowns, clenching her fist. "I'm fed up with you insisting they were guilty. They didn't even have time to even write that many letters - most of the time they were helping me in the medical station."

"Yet they can have an accomplice."

"An accomplice who happens to have their exact handwriting?" Sigewinne raises a brow, Wriothesley clearly only realising the flaw as she walks away.

Wriothesley wanted to see if you were harming people in Sumeru - perhaps you were going to be a danger, and he would need to take you back to Fontaine and lock you in a room with little to no access to what every other prisoner has. Sigewinne hasn't forgiven Wriothesley or Neuvillette for the quick and, according to her, illogical solution.

So, he requests a week off to travel to Sumeru with Sigewinne to keep her safe as well as keeping an eye on you.

--

Kaveh wanted to get a better idea of who you were before defending you. He decides to spend some time talking to you, and to his relief you did seem to match up to Sumeru's idea of you. He could tell you were hurt by the accusations, and when you asked if you could be there for the court date Kaveh declines.

"But why? I want the chance to see Sigewinne again." You protest, Kaveh smiling sympathetically.

"Yes, however from the publics perspective in Fontaine there is a chance your presence would give the prosecutors something to latch onto." Kaveh explains.

"I want to reassure you that I will do my very best to ensure these crimes get lifted from you."

[junnieverse]

2:22 am ➳ L. HEESEUNG

➙ synopsis: after an abrupt awakening earlier in the morning due to excruciating pain, you realise you've started your period. luckily your boyfriend heeseung makes sure to get anything that'll make the pain better and you're thankful for his efforts to nurse you.

pairing: lee heeseung x afab!reader

genre: fluff, humour? (if you squint hard enough)

word count: 1.2k

warnings: light cursing, mentions of food/cravings, not proofread so there may be some typos

a/n: calling the boyfriend hotline to deliver bf!heeseung to take care of me during my periods too

Twisting and turning, you're soon abruptly woken up by a sharp pain hitting your uterus and you immediately wake up.

Rubbing the sleep off your eyes, you grab your phone checking the time and it was only 2 am.

The room completely dark, the only source of light being the moon shining through the curtains you look beside you and notice how peaceful your boyfriend was sleeping.

Heeseung's light snores filled the room as he was completely passed out exhausted from his day practicing and working on his upcoming tour with his group.

Oh what you would trade to be sleeping as peacefully as him right now.

And the simmering temptation to wack him awake...

All you could think about was how he was sleeping looking as cute as a baby deer yet you had to face the cruelties of life as a women at ungodly hours.

Shame on him for being so unthoughtful!

Snarling at your boyfriend you let out a small "tch" as you got mad at him.

To be fair, ofcourse Heeseung can't be blamed for the fact that you had to go through the menstrual cycle and all the pain and mood swings it came with.

He can't automatically just wake up knowing something was wrong but he most definitely would have to put up with you going through it every month. 

Another jabbing pain hit you as you winced silently slowly getting out of bed trying your best to not wake up your boyfriend.

Tip toeing into the bathroom, you got the warm bath ready and once the tub was filled and smelled just as good, you dipped in submerging yourself as you immediately felt the tension in your muscles soften.

"Ah~ this is perfect." you say to yourself out loud.

Well it may not be as convenient at two in the morning, but it's better than staying in bed in agony... and messy.

After that more than relaxing bubble bath, you unfortunately decided to get out the water before you started to get pruney.

Taking care of your hygiene once again, you soon felt clean and fresh.

Looking through your medicine cabinet you reached for your period pain killers which usually did the trick.

You take your medication as you rub your back which soon started aching and it takes everything in you not to curse out the universe for this fate you've been dealt with.

With how similar period and pregnancy symptoms are, you tried holding back tears at the thought of having to experience all this pain for nine months straight compared to a few days every month.

Walking out the bathroom, you turn the lights off and you eyes direct to the bed which happened to be empty.

Where the heck did Heeseung go?

Sighing in defeat not bothering to ponder more on your boyfriend's whereabouts, you decided to crawl back into bed as you surfed through the channels on tv looking for a cartoon to watch.

Finally settling on Adventure Time, you grab Heeseung's pillow pulling it to you as you cuddled it.

The pain killers hadn't taken effect yet and the cramps were still bothering you.

A late night, early morning snack could satisfy your cravings but you were just too lazy and in pain to move to check in the kitchen downstairs.

Trying to close your eyes, you softly let out deep breathes hoping it would help with the pain but you were basically on the verge of tears.

WHERE THE HELL WAS HEESEUNG?!

Usually your cycle wasn't this awful, this one just hit like a truck and the pain wasn't stopping and it was just really uncomfortable for you.

The other side of the bed dipped and looking up your eyes met with your one and only boyfriend, Heeseung.

"Where were you, Hee?!" you threw the pillow you were cuddling at him which hitting arm.

"I'm sorry I left like that. I was getting you some snacks." he says sympathetically as he showed you the plastic bag which was filled with all sorts of stuff.

He placed the bag on the bed between you both before leaning down giving you a gentle forehead kiss which most definitely cheered you up a bit more.

"And I know you're on your monthly so I got you some pills, extra tampons, pads too, some chamomile tea and a heating pad." He explained showing you all the stuff.

Heeseung was always doing his best to take care of you during your cycle, but this time around he really was on top of his game, not only were you impressed but you were touched by his efforts too.

Immediately reach for the heating pad, you placed it on your stomach and you felt yourself start to relax as the relief washed over you.

He looked through the bag of snacks and handed you your favourite chocolate bar and you softly thanked him opening up the wrapper.

"Gawd I love you."

"Aww, i love you too princess." Heeseung says with a tone of endearment rubbing your arm comfortingly.

"I was talking to the chocolate babe-" you playfully retort pointing at your snack.

Heeseung's jaw dropped at the sudden confession and you nudged him letting out a small laugh.

"I'm just kidding babe, I really appreciate all of this. Even more so at the fact that you- wait how did you know I was on my period?" you look at him quizzically.

He lifts his phone up showing you the period tracker which had your dates recorded.

"This app is a life saver. Makes my life easier. As long as I feed you, you won't bite my head off." he tells you.

Going closer to you, he snuggles in as he wraps his around your shoulder and uses the other one to gently and slowly rub your belly.

"Now Hee I'm not that much of a demon during my period." you quickly defend yourself taking a sip of the warm cup of tea.

"You kicked me out the house and made me sleep at Jay's house for two days straight after I ate the last piece of cake..." he says opening the packet of sweets eating a gummy bear.

"I'll have you know that cake was one of a kind." you mumble trying not to sound petty.

"I- (y/n) you only let me come back after you realised there was another slice in the fridge?!" he remarks back in utter perplexity at you.

"Okay okay damn. So dramatic, it's just cake." you whisper as you crossed your arms feeling defeated.

Heeseung sighs pulling you closer as his body heat radiated off onto you and you felt like you could stay like that forever.

I mean, you can admit that Heeseung gave the best cuddles and he knew that too.

Periods are truly one of the worst things you felt like you had to experience but he makes them seem... less bad.

Going back to the show playing on the tv, you open up a bag of chips calmly munching on them as you enjoyed the quiet and relaxing atmosphere.

"OW!" Heeseung yelps as you slap his hand away when he tried to reaching for your snacks.

"Don't touch my chips."

[lamportb]

some random thoughts on Sneed:

He totally thought a 10% share in nutmeg would make the ladies flood their basements

he’s good at shooting people - a hobby entirely contradictory to his profession. Much better at blowing holes in things than fixing them.

The fact that he’s the unconscious third wheel to Jack and Belle’s first kiss is fucking hilarious. Maybe if he gave her a scalpel instead of nutmeg?

how infuriating must it be for him to be Oxford educated in medicine and continually bested at every turn (professionally and romantically) by a cheeky illiterate asshole

Every time he has to humour Fanny because manners

how, when it comes right down to it and his childhood friend’s life is on the line he concedes that he’s not the best person to save her. He’s so good in that scene - a real partner in surgery while simultaneously witnessing and acknowledging Jack’s improvisational brilliance as a surgeon AND his legitimate love for the woman on the table. His line to Lady Jane at the end just kills me - like it doesn’t even matter if Belle survives this, you just killed the Michelangelo of surgery!

he’s a pompous git but he’s also kind of great.

[bodhranwriting]

The Chosen Many

Destiny is a woman.

There’s nothing much important about that particular aspect of Her. It wouldn’t make much difference to the world if the sparks that make up the goddess of human fate had decided that Her avatar should be male or genderless. After all, personality is more important than genitalia when you can shape them yourself and She would have been just as a much as an arsehole if She’d been a He.

The important part is that She made Herself a humanoid body and, with humanoid bodies, come humanoid thoughts.

Thoughts like, ‘I’m bored’ and ‘You know what might be fun?’

Gods aren’t worshipped here. They turn up too often and overstay their welcome: rather like that one friend at a party who didn’t bring any alcohol and is suddenly very insistent on trying out a watery interpretation of socialism. At best, the more conscientious ones get thank-you gifts. At worst, it’s a toxic relationship for whomever has caught their attention.

Priests tend to get friendly with the bottom of a glass by their third year in service.

Destiny doesn’t have priests. Contrary to popular belief, She doesn’t have much interest in everyday people either. If you were to be honest – preferably in the temple of another god She’d recently annoyed – Destiny’s plans are faint pencil sketches for most. Often, She gets bored and, apart from one or two big events, most people have blameless, simple lives.

But sometimes, She likes to leave a massive metaphorical rake across the lifespans of a significant number of people.

This is one of these times.

And here we meet Sandford Candles – Sand – riding towards the village of Westbank, blissfully unaware that it is going to be obliterated by the hand of fate before he has time to finish his residency.

He was a skinny, suntanned youth, old enough to grow a beard but so far completely unable to. His hair was the colour of wet straw and cut in the style of Not Able to Afford a Proper Barber. Stray tufts stuck up at irregular intervals and occasionally he attempted to flatten them with his hand, but since he had three out of five fingers, it was less successful than he obviously intended. He was clad in the junior uniform of the Royal College of Medicine – maroon breeches, cream tunic, sky-blue jerkin – which had never looked good on anyone who wasn’t colourblind and therefore did not look good on him.

It certainly didn’t look good after a few hours of being rained on, but it was telling that that hadn’t upset him. Sand moved through the world with the good humour of someone who has never yet had anything bad happen to him.

Besides, the last rays of the setting sun were shining down on him through the autumnal leaves, the birds were singing, and he could see signs of civilisation that suggested his destination wasn’t too much further. He was taking his first steps – or rather, Arta, his horse was carrying him – into the next chapter of his life and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make the best of it.

His enthusiasm wasn’t even dampened as he rode into what certain, snootier classmates would term a ‘bend in the road’. A cluster of cottages huddled around a square of green, gradually fanning out into lonely farmhouses and huts ranged along the lakeside. Shepherds were herding their sheep and chickens back into their barns, fishers tying up their boats at the slick-wood docks, and small shopkeepers shutting up. Flies buzzed over the water, black swarms coiling unpleasantly.

Most of them stopped as Sand rode in, watching him in polite silence, their stares raking him from head-to-toe.

He coughed nervously. “Um, hello?”

One of the fishers – a tall, dark woman– sighed heavily and jerked her thumb back the way he came. “If you’re looking for Mother Nylund, back to the red oak, take a left, and don’t get eaten.”

Sand blinked, wetting his suddenly dry lips. “I – “

“She’s a scary one, our Nylund. Last apprentice ran away crying.” The fisher grinned unpleasantly. “You look like one for crying.”

“Uh…” Sand scanned the faces of the crowd. To his slight relief, several of them were shaking their heads at the speaker, a few turning back to work. One of them – a stout, ragged old man in a multicoloured shirt – caught his eye and gave him a wink and a sly thumbs-up. The effect was slightly spoiled by him immediately taking a long drag from a bottle in his hand and spilling it on his collar.

“Are you deaf?”

Dragging his attention away from the ensuing scuffle as a shopkeeper stepped in to disarm the man of his alcohol, Sand said, “No. Thank you for the directions.”

As he urged Arta to turn, he heard the woman called, “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the flies!”

The laughter, hopefully, wasn’t all aimed at him.

A few minutes and a stomach-churning second of believing he was lost later, Sand urged Arta towards a squat stone cottage overrun with ivy. A half-circle of a fence enclosed it in a front plot of tamped-down dirt with a chicken run and pen lurking by the edge, but by the smell wafting in the breeze, there had to be a massive herb garden around the back.

Dust boiled up over his feet as he slid lightly off her back and he steeled himself as he strode towards the front door. He raised his fist to knock –

And nearly fell into the hallway as someone yanked it open with considerable force. That same someone grabbed him by the collar and snapped, “Have you ever had a baby?”

“I – no – I’ve been sent from the College –“

“I know you’re from the College, man! Have you delivered a baby?”

Sand gaped. “Not yet, I’m –“

“Well, there’s a first time for everything and lucky you, it’s breech. Take this and get on your horse!”

[that-ari-blogger]

Efficient Writing At Its Best

Is it me, or is there a noticeable jump in quality in No Princess Left Behind? As in, the animation budget seems to double between episodes, the cinematography is stellar, the humour is incredible. And the writing itself becomes so much more enthralling.

What gets me about this jump is that She Ra and the Princesses of Power was already a fantastic show. Each element I mentioned above is already firing on all cylinders. You would think that this show cannot improve any further, but in this episode it does.

Promise is lauded as some of the best She-Ra has to offer. And don't worry, I will get there. But No Princess Left Behind is my favourite episode of the show by far and one of my favourite episodes of television. This is the episode She Ra stops being merely an incredibly well-made show, and starts to become art.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD

First up, format. This episode is a prison break and both a condensed monomyth and a miniaturised tragedy. None of these things make it great on their own, that's not how writing works. But they are written with incredible nuance derived from character, setting, and the intersections of those tropes.

A prison break is a self-explanatory story structure. A character is imprisoned and either doesn't want to be or has allies who don't want them to be. In the case of the external help variation, as with this episode, the plot functions as a medicine journey with the object of significance being the ally on the inside. (A medicine journey is just a journey to a place to retrieve a thing).

Monomyth is another term for the Hero's Journey. And there are two things about this that need to be understood: The Hero's journey is a set of guidelines, and the Hero's Journey is fluid. By which I mean, the format of the monomyth isn't set in stone, and if a story doesn't follow the specific set of rules you have found, that's not a fault.

In essence, the Monomyth is a set of common events that link multiple stories. Originally proposed in Joseph Campbell's A Hero With A Thousand Faces, the format has been changed over time through interpretation and through people leaving out Campbell's... biases (Misogynistic is an understatement for this guy). The form I am most aware of includes elements such as crossing the threshold, the darkest hour, and the metaphorical death and rebirth, all of which this episode hits in quick succession. If you want more details about the monomyth, I advise reading Campbell's book, or this article by Owlcation. TedEd also has a neat video on the subject.

A tragedy is the most well-known story type. Or rather, you say tragedy, and people generally get what you are talking about. It's a story with a sad ending. But there is more complication than that. Beginning in Ancient Greece, a tragedy is a way of experiencing powerful emotions in a safe environment. Loss, pain, hope, joy. A tragedy is a rollercoaster and is an incredibly good way of achieving that effect. To the point where stories that aren't tragedies (Like She-Ra) are frequently written as them and subverted at the last possible moment. OSP has a video going into detail, but in the interest of this analysis being shorter than a Tolstoy book, the words to understand are these:

Hamartia - Fatal flaw

Peripetea - Reversal of fortune

Catharsis - Emotional release

Bear these in mind because these are situational, and I will be talking about how in a moment. The point is this episode is incredibly efficient at showing each character's strengths and weaknesses and having them affect the plot. Each character has some moments to shine, and that final gut punch is caused by the characters' mistakes. Thats why it hurts, because it was both unlucky and inevitable.

Mermista and Sea Hawk steal the show for me, for completely opposite reasons.

I have always believed, somewhat falsely, that the most well written scenes are those with less dialogue, because the rest of the acting can speak for itself. The minour acting and surroundings can shine if there is less dialogue to distract. Mermista is an example of this, but also an example of why this belief is wrong.

Mermista is the queen of subtlety, with so much emotion and meaning being portrayed by so little. She is exaggerated, sure, but she is a lot more subdued than the entire rest of the cast. What she does have, is expression. In the sewer scene, her head is the only thing visible, and she has more character on display in twenty-two seconds than Swiftwind has in the whole series. She doesn't even speak.

But when Mermista does speak, there is something fascinating happening here. Mermista's lines are saying a completely different thing to her animation, actions, and even the inflection of how those lines are delivered. Mermista goes out of her way to put up a facade of not caring, but she is remarkably affected by her surroundings and the people around her.

For example, despite herself, she grows attached to Entrapta, and gets excited when they work as a team. But I find this gesture so much more revealing. She tears up. But instead of crying, she quietly turns away and dries them. Mermista's Hamartia is also her greatest strength, her distance. She is pragmatic, but she pushes herself too far away to help.

Meanwhile Sea Hawk is a TTRPG bard. This isn't even subtle.

For those who don't know, in DnD and Pathfinder, a bard is a charisma-based class that plays support most of the time (although you can build it in whatever way you want, this is how the class is designed). This means that they often end up as the party face and the glue of the group. There is a prominent live show in which a Bard leaves the party, and it shows off my point exactly.

Sea Hawk is easily the most charismatic character on the group, a fact he uses in a really interesting way. For one, he's distracting. His fast talking keeps Scorpia from being a problem for the group, and in every fight he is in in this episode, his primary role is to distract or annoy his opponents. He doesn't deal much damage, but he keeps himself as a piece on the board that gets on people's nerves and gets them to make mistakes.

Sea Hawk's constant babble is doing another thing for the group. He's reassuring and comforting. His number one priority at all times (successfully or not), is to keep everyone's spirits up. Sea Hawk is a master of inspiring. And would you look at that, DnD and Pathfinder have that as a core ability (Bardic Inspiration and Inspiring Performance respectively).

So, what is Sea Hawk's weakness? His optimism. I don't mean this as "optimism is foolish", I mean that Sea Hawk's hamartia is, much like Mermista, his greatest strength. Sea Hawk is always looking forwards, always keeping the group moving. When someone stops, it doesn't occur to him to look back until it is too late.

Glimmer and Bow are similar characters to each other, and it is in how they react to stress that that is shown. Both are resilient, but where one is resourceful, the other is relentless.

Bow is a simple character, in comparison to everyone else. Psychologically and physically. He doesn't have powers that can be restricted or that can get him out of trouble. What he does have, is his mind. Bow is clever and resourceful, and he works out a way of getting the right information while imprisoned so that the group doesn't have to work on that later.

Bow thinks big picture, once again his greatest strength and greatest weakness. He can strategize really well, but he doesn't expect the little things. Like Adora's surrender, or like the tiny detail that he overlooks: Entrapta likes robots. It's so small and so natural to him that he takes it for granted.

Glimmer's fatal flaw is obvious already. It's her stubbornness that got everyone into this situation, and that directly causes the end result. This is Glimmer's fault. But Glimmer's stubbornness isn't always a bad thing.

"It's a shame the toll this rebellion has taken on your family. First you loose your father and now..."

"She-Ra will stop you."

"There is no She-Ra!"

Shadow Weaver is a character who specialises in messing with people's minds. She enjoys control, and routinely underestimates the power of determination. To her all those around her are weak willed. But say what you want about Glimmer, the one thing she is not, is weak willed.

I love the line above because it is the first time anyone has managed to actually annoy Shadow Weaver. By this, I don't mean the same type of annoyance as Catra is to her, because I don't think Shadow Weaver cares about her enough to be truly angry. What Glimmer does here is win on Shadow Weaver's home turf.

Shadow Weaver tries to demoralise, and Glimmer blinks away tears, looks her square in the face, and remains stalwart. That's why I think Shadow Weaver shouts here, she's furious, and she can keep posturing, but Glimmer has won this little exchange.

Even with the reveal of the sword, I think its clear just how much Shadow Weaver is rattled, and I think this little exchange is the reason for her actions later on in the series.

This is also on display here, as once again, Glimmer's raw determination and stubbornness blindsides Shadow Weaver, and it's telling what provoked this. Glimmer is protective of her friends first and foremost. And here, Shadow Weaver pushes too far, and the power of friendship prevails.

It's a minour moment of the theme for the rest of the series. Love, whether romantic or platonic, will overpower anything.

And finally, there is Entrapta. I don't think I need to explain what her strengths and weaknesses are. She's not hiding either.

What's important to note about Entrapta is that she is the convergence of the plot threads I mentioned earlier. The tragedy is her story, and this episode focuses in on that.

Her death scene is so powerful because it is so unfair, and so inevitable. It's quick, and unavoidable in the moment. Thie is the moment when the cost of this war finally sinks in. Yes, things happen later on, but it cannot undermine the gut punch that is this scene, and the final few moments of this episode.

Peripetia is the reversal of fortune, it is the moment when all of the Hamartia comes crashing down and everything thereafter, and the tone changes. In Romeo and Juliet, this is the death of Tybalt (Spoilers).

Here, the Peripetia is the moment when Emily gets stuck, and those flames. It's the look in everyone's face as they realise what has happened and that brief shot of Entrapta's expression before. And it is that infernal siren.

Catharsis meanwhile is the moment of relief, or setting out those emotions. Catharsis is technically not a part of the story, it happens when you stop watching and reflect.

But this episode offers you time to wind down. That brief shot of She-Ra turning back into Adora is powerful not just because of the music, but also because of how empty it is. There is no closure here, and the audience doesn't get it either. The episode ends on this:

Final Thoughts

I didn't even have time to talk about Catra. She doesn't really do much here, but that scene with the sword is a nice bait and switch. Shadow Weaver is evil, all the characters are at their best and their worst simultaneously and I think that is quite cool.

Oh, and Perfuma. She has an extremely restricted worldview of what teamwork should look like, and Entrapta doesn't fit into that, hence the conflict. I think Perfuma learns to change slightly but doesn't get much time to do so in this episode.

Next week I'll be taking a look at The Beacon, so stick around if that interests you.

Previous - Next

[suzannahnatters]

And here are my reactions to Love Like the Galaxy: episodes 13-27, in which a cdrama does some absolutely terrific things I've never seen before which make me incredibly happy. This is also beneath the cut because I got very excited!

Tremendously diverted by how little this whole entire arrow through the chest is bothering our hero, one would think he'd broken a nail

Ling Buyi: I will tear apart this whole empire and everyone in my way to find out who is smuggling imperial weapons to rebels

also Ling Buyi: I am determined that only the very deepest love will ever induce me to marry

NN scolds a whole hospital full of sacking victims into drinking their medicine because how dare they lie around in pain and trauma when their loved ones died to keep them alive and it's another writing decision I'm not very fond of

the emperor is a gossipy old woman, he's discovered the secret of Murder General's heart in two minutes of screen time, I fondly look forward to episodes' worth of behind-the-scenes matchmaking

ahaha we have entered the "Niao Niao finally gets a boyfriend, and Murder General stares at the two of them sadly from a distance" section

he's just bowing himself out so silently, without ever saying a word - because he only wants to marry for love, so if NN doesn't want him, he doesn't want her

Marry the sweet boy, Niao Niao. He's not very bright, but the only baggage he's got is from the cake shop.

oh my, Niao Niao's boyfriend is sending her terrible mother snacks in an attempt to soften her heart, what a darling

I'm dead, not only does Murder General literally have a Niao Niao Memorabilia Hoard but he leaves it in his carriage for her to see while she's being given a lift in the rain askajdalfah

Niao Niao has dinner with with her three suitors and her aunt's ex and it's every bit as wildly uncomfortable as it sounds

also the Smug Scholar is here just to cause drama and wooow these are some epic sour grapes

It's a bit jarring how cavalierly everybody at this dinner dismisses the orphan girl in the backstory. The best thing I can say is that she fails to recognise one of the emerging themes of the show, that a woman shouldn't let love consume her entire life.

Murder General's family is straight out of Shakespeare - heartrendingly mad mother, moustache-twirlingly-evil estranged father.

meanwhile, over the Jane Austen side of the plot, Niao Niao's parents break the news to her that Murder General must be hopelessly in love with her. is this the worst way to find out or what

This whole mother-daughter relationship is so real it's triggering memories of a bad family situation I was familiar with around 5-10 years ago. Just…NN's mother not trusting her an inch, wanting to micromanage her life, despite all the ways that NN has bloomed away from her. Too painfully real.

Part of the reason this story feels SO Jane Austen is the way it focuses on the small domestic dramas of families, women, and marriage, with a keen eye to humour and satire. There's Murder General's political subplot too, but it's kept compartmentalised away from the main plot.

I…I think Murder General might be a darling, actually? when he's not mowing down the emperor's enemies in an overly dramatic manner or quietly and visibly pining, he is salving his broken heart by trying to make sure NN has everything she wants in life

and this is another place where this show neatly sidesteps a common pitfall - instead of HIM decided what's good for NN and then making sure she gets it despite her own wishes, he's allowing HER to decide and then silently providing her with everything she needs to make it a success.

I'm honestly astounded that this show is managing to make the typical strong, silent, commanding male lead…actually make sense as the endgame love interest, even in the presence of someone as charming and well adjusted (and devoted to snacks!) as Luo Yao. I honestly hadn't shipped them until this stretch of the show but now I'm beginning to.

He even credits her with "suppressing the mountain bandits" when he was the one who swooped in and saved her just as she was about to lose her siege T_T I'm sorry I have something in my eye

what WHAT WHATTTTT

having been informed of General Ling's feelings by her parents, is her maid now proposing to her on his behalf???????? wild

oh………he just wanted to know her hopes and dreams

Luo Yao has learned from Niao Niao how to fight for what he wants and it makes me so happy that this show is committing to these themes because the last big cdrama I watched was all about punishing the free-spirited heroine for wanting a life of her own

I feel hopelessly confused about all this arms smuggling subplot and backstory tbh

"don't be afraid, I'm here" asjkg love a good callback

also: good for you, He Zhaojun. good for you

It was also very satisfying seeing Bad Mum and our girl getting to fight together for once, but it's clearly only a temporary case of interests aligning and not a genuine change of heart for the former. I continue to enjoy the nuanced writing here.

Smug Scholar cracks me up. every interaction he has with our girl is like: NN: you make me feel sick SS preening yes I have that effect on a lot of women

Murder General telling NN that he's convinced that whatever decision she makes will be the right one!!!! and then for the first time she breaks down saying she's tired of always being the unlucky one - she's been fighting not to show any vulnerability and she's finally showing herself - to HIM eee

again: I'm ASTONISHED the show is making me believe he's the best choice for her given the presence of darling little snack boy but it is. She hasn't shown any vulnerability to Snacks. As for Murder General, he's been bleeding vulnerability everywhere silently for 21 eps.

"Everyone talks to me about righteousness and being fully considerate. But who will be fully considerate to me?" Snacks is a sweetie and he's doing really well, but the show is doing a terrific job of showing that for all his baggage, Murder General understands & supports her far more deeply.

I was wondering how the engagement with Snacks was going to end, & I have a lot of thoughts. On one hand, I really hate that after all the stuff about the importance of being able to fight for yourself, NN convinces LY to give her up & marry a girl who's already mistreated him, for the greater good

Snacks is absolutely correct here - none of the people telling him to marry He Zhaozhang can live the rest of his life for him. While NN always does prioritise the state above family, I hate that she is now putting it above somebody else's future happiness, AFTER teaching him to fight for himself.

It feels a bit hypocritical of NN, tbh, and like it muddles the themes of the show a bit. Also, it would be one thing if Snacks marrying HZ was to avert a future catastrophe, but the He family is already heroically dead and Snacks is being asked to self-immolate on their pyre. So unfair.

That said, I'm still appreciative of a lot about this. While I don't like that Snacks is deprived of agency here, you don't often see a drama heroine making this decision, & it's done without any of the "break his heart to save him" nonsense you'd usually see at this point.

We are also shown that although Snacks is giving in to marry HZ, he still has the lessons he's learned from NN about fighting for himself & plans to use them to make his life more bearable. And NN, though kinder & more respectful than HZ, never did truly love him.

I had my money on NN being the one to bow out all along, but I wish the show wasn't trying to make a virtue out of her self-righteous statism. I would love to see NN in the future realising that being able to let LY go like this, was a sign that she didn't truly love him. I hope!

In any case, I'm glad the show leaves us with real hope that Snacks is going to be a better, happier man for having known our girl.

"no need to worry about Miss Cheng's marriage. I'll be responsible for that" the SOUND I made

A LITTLE BOYFRIEND FOR YANG YANG, YESSSS

someone needed to come along and rescue our girl from Murder General's rescue just there, 1 out of 5 stars would not ask for a rescue again

does the man have fingertips made out of Velcro

the emperor is dying to matchmake Niao Niao and Murder General and tbh I feel his frustration, we have entered the "it's been eighty-five years" section of Waiting For The Cdrama Leads To Kiss (Or At Least Confess)

ahahahahahahahahahaha Murder General just blithely announces to all the princes that on account of the cancellation of NN's previous engagement he is going to marry her now and she goes into a coughing fit, hilarious

thing is, I don't think he actually means to be domineering here, I think he reckons the entire city in general and Niao Niao in particular must know about his intentions towards her, so why beat around the bush??? it's not like it's a secret or anything?

!!!! we have a proposal?!?!?!

and her mum is like NO NO NO oh die in a fire, woman

oh wow. oh wow. it's a trainwreck. oh my goodness.

"I had no idea I was so wonderful in your eyes" screaming crying throwing up

the fact that nearly their entire courtship has had to play out in public, carried by family members and households, until finally this proposal scene happens in the royal hall itself during a banquet, is just one more of the absolutely wonderful ways this is SO Austen-esque

I'm dying for these two to have a proper conversation in private but instead they've got to checks notes attend her ex-fiance's wedding together OOOOOOHH

This scene between He Zhaojun and NN is so good. I didn't expect such growth and change for this character based on her introduction. And she's absolutely right - a marriage to someone kind and gentle is far better than to someone elegant, but cruel

The writers making this point feels pretty unusual given a very usual sort of cdrama hero. But if course murder general is, as NN points out, cruel only to his enemies. Or is she in for some surprises? WE SHALL SEE

He certainly has no chill when it comes to using his more powerful position to protect her socially lollll

He's been protecting her so often it's beginning to deprive her of agency and I'm really hoping the story doesn't overlook this in the second half.

OH YES "he's standing up for you! Are you not happy" no, no she is not I AM BLESSED

I can't believe it they're finally having a chance to talk in private and it's ALL ABOUT THIS STUFF

NN just calling him out for his thoughtless use of power

Yessssss we've moved past the point where she can fight catty girls, she's fighting him now, AHHHHHHHH. so good

"let's eat together. No need to feel awkward. I am easy to get along with" amazing "hello fellow kids" energy

OH NO HE'S TRYING TO TELL A JOKE ABORT ABORT

Murder General, who has got straight As on everything in his life to date, getting an F in Intimate Family Dinners and thinking he's done splendidly is really…amazing

I see now how NN's conflict with her mother was setting up her conflict with Murder General - both want to run their families with dictatorial military discipline, and NN, who has had more than enough of it coming from her mother, definitely doesn't want it from a husband. NN I'm barracking for you

SCREAMING

Murder General has now taken over Niao Niao's household to train them so that his beloved will be strong and ready for anything. How bad is it? it's so bad that even Perfect Cousin Yang Yang no longer wants to be an obedient female anymore

the soundtrack for this drama seriously cracks me up sometimes. Most of the time it's lush, romantic classical strings and flutes. Then, BANG - 80's guitar + synths, or…jazz clarinet????

"I'm not used to discussing everything with someone yet" aw he does want to learn better!

"You represent only oppression in my life…I don't need you to take care of me and my family so much" I cannot beLIEVE this show is letting someone say this out loud. Amazing

Cannot believe she just sent him away like that. And of course he went because he only wants someone who loves him. And I think that's the one character detail that makes this man capable of change - he doesn't know how to relate to people outside hierarchy, but he WANTS it

I really, really like that the show doesn't try to gaslight NN that she's making a fuss out of nothing - her parents encourage her to compromise the life she truly wants, but even they aren't bad enough to tell her that this IS the life she wants.

And I also love that BOTH of them are shown reflecting on where they might be going wrong and why they might be better off yielding to the other person - not just NN.

It's delightfully reminiscent of Lizzie and Darcy getting a reality check in tandem after his first proposal. SO AUSTEN.

With episode 27 I've officially finished "season 1" of Love Like the Galaxy and am right around halfway through - and this show is fulfilling my wildest dreams of cdramas justifying tropes, letting the heroine have agency, and overtly calling out the hero's unthinking use of power to control, protect, and smother the heroine. All in a sparkling Jane-Austen-flavoured comedy of manners about a little gremlin girl whose greatest strength is fighting for herself when nobody else will, and a strong, silent murder general who has resolved only to marry for ~~ LOVE ~~

It's so good, if the second half continues to be this good it'll be a solid 10 for me. MORE TO COME.