#the only people I know who are hot and charming are neurodivergents

[sleepynegress]

So, I'm Watching Dollar Tree The Gilded Age: The Buccaneers (I apologize that this is a long one folks because of ADHD Romantic Period Drama w/ ~Color~ tangents)...

Okay... So, I have to preface this by admitting that Bridgerton never has been my great big thing. It's a cake sculpted from cotton candy.

Pretty and sweet, but not much substance. And very much leaning on the "fantasy" so everyone can enjoy the costume romance fun (but it does please me to see my marginalized players, playing well...). -Using an author's works as a base, who not only started with an all-white palette but was flippant and insulting in response to the idea of inclusion... And yet...

I'm just saying, it is something that the woman who walked away from ABC because an exec didn't respect her enough to get a Disney pass for her family, went on to make that lucrative author's uplift deal with, instead of say, Beverly Jenkins. I love underdog romances that aren't the typical het white bread. Give me the canon gays (I never got slash...but I love when it's canon, especially with color), the big girls, the dark brown skin girls, the Black couples, and the interracials, especially when both are BIPOC and there's no lag in charm/looks in the lighter half in some expertly lit, dressed, confection that makes everyone look as gorgeous as they actually are and there's all kinds of soft plotting and chemistry. Bridgerton for all its lazy ways of handling color, gave that. Everybody is hot. And the people that studios have typically just pretended either weren't "invented" yet or were all living horrible tortured lives of enslavement got to get the sweet costumed wooing, will-they-won't-they, ~romance~ treatment. But... being an obscure Black history nerd... I'm neurodivergent, so I have some deep-dive GEMS that I'll mention here that I NEED TO SEE DONE WELL, before I die. FYI I called Dido Elizabeth Belle a good 8 years before that was actually made. It is frustrating to see some of the ACTUAL interesting capacities in which some actual existing Black folks in history who did live interesting, not tragic lives, not given the big glossy budget, well-written renderings they deserve... In lieu of what has now, firmly taken hold as a trend, colorblind casting in known white works. See recent adaptations of David Copperfield, Persuasion, Tom Jones, & Great Expectations,

and now, this The Buccaneers (which like I said, is Dollar Tree, and *worse* the colorblind cast sister Conchita is using her regular-eggular Cali accent and...is not a compelling actress & her man is a jar of mayo) and baby...them costumes are Reign-levels of anachronistic/bad. It's the lazy jump onto the trend Shonda exploded, and Mr. Malcolm's List started (yeah, that short film was put on YouTube a full year before Bridgerton debuted). So, my point... Instead of *just* doing colorblind casting in old classic white period works... I need to see these ACTUAL GREAT stories of and/or written by or about the colorful people who lived in those societies. And this is where it could get long... but I'll do my best to keep it short... EXAMPLES that were gotten right and those *I need to see adapted*: ____

Interview With The Vampire is inclusive color-AWARE casting... The showrunner went beyond and actually rewrote the narrative to make sure the inclusion wasn't lazily done, but actually improved the depth of the source IMO. And I believe the showrunner is a queer white man. It just takes empathy and effort.

Passing... is a moody slow-burn horror based upon an actual work written by a Black woman in that period, and adapted by a white-passing WOC who not only lived the theme, but rendered it expertly.

Belle is often pointed to as a good example, but my nerd-ass knows Gugu's beyond AMAZING handling of the material elevated it.

Too much was changed from the reality of her life (IMO), still...Most period dramas are about as "true" and yall know I was not a fan of Sam Reid's over-dramatic ass in this... (yelling in that damn carriage for what?!) but he is PERFECT in IWTV. Sanditon being made, despite the typical side-character Black character issues...really was a reset because Miss Austen had already envisioned, in her day and above her class(!) a Black heiress as a character getting the Austen treatment, w/o any modifications the salty and ignorant would prefer to think is beyond "true history". ----- I have a little hopeful part in my brain that wishes it had the power to will capable adaptions of the lives of Carlotta Stewart Lai - middle-class educated Black woman who became a teacher & lived an "Anne of Green Gables" type of Edwardian life (more interesting really) surfing, having "bathing parties," and teaching Hawaiians with her Black family, Portuguese, Hawaiian and Chinese friends on the big island... Her life was w/o the stereotypes people assume all Black Americans lived in Victorian/Edwardian "America".

Gustav Badin, a Black man who was "Chessmaster" of the Swedish Royal Court in the 1700's...was in charge of the Royal family's secrets after the Queen's passing, really gives me intelligent queer Black man energy in his portrait and lived out a non-tragic life in a VERY white space many don't know we occupied.

And The Hunters... Who already have a short film and I've posted about it here... but I would LOVE to see an actual rendering of their lives in the Klondike, with their gold and silver prospects and son grandson Buster and daughter Teslin in Edwardian Canada.

(that is Teslin at the highest point in the photo, named after the lake she was born at)

(and the Hunters' grandson Buster ice-fishing)

All this to say... Now, that I've thoroughly veered away from my review of a middling show... I WISH THESE DAMN SHOWRUNNERS used a little effort in research and imagination and gave us more "true to life" renderings of Black life (and life of color, in these romanticized spaces) that isn't tragic nor the patronizin inclusive "fantasy"... That feels like it's smirking at me while saying "we know you weren't ~really~ here, but here! have a cookie!!" These people existed.

You don't have to *just* make inclusive versions of white works with the lie that you have to do that because thee above people ~didn't exist~. Nor do you have to be lazy when you do!! (see: IWTV) Right now, for me... It feels like for the most part we're in a period of very shallow "advancement" in period rep. And I'm saying if little old me can find the actual stories that could make AMAZING true history-based media. Why can't the more powerful people do the same?? P.S.

You already know I'm fresh off being mad about that shitty Bass Reeves show...but I'm even madder because I can't even say, "just make sure its made by Black people," because Jeymes Samuel (AKA Bullitts) gave us skinny biracial StageCoach Mary!!!

---NO!! I will never stop being mad about it!!

DO BETTER!! Have the empathy and care for the material, regardless, and don't rest on "I know what I'm doing because I'm Black" That male gaze won out over truth in The Harder They Fall *smh*

P.P.S I get the feeling the lazy adaptions are about cash-grabbing, what they see as a trend, and being all the ready to jump back into the whitewashed business as usual, that ain't true to *all* actual histories nor (as Austen proved) fictions of those eras or spaces.

P.P.P.S. On The Glided Age!! I do love that the Fellowes drama has Erica Armstrong Dunbar (known for her book and research on Ona Judge -another figure whose story needs to be adapted!!!- the Black woman who successfully escaped enslavement from George Washington's household and was doggedly pursued by him throughout her life) and Salli Richardson-Whitfield as producers... so, Denee Benton's Peggy is authentic... but as much as I like The Gilded Age, I want to combine Fellowes comfort drama... with a CENTRALIZED Black character... Why can't someone do all of it correctly?? WHY??!!!

[thecluelessdoctor]

little warning: angry rants, MY OPIONION, DONT BE A DICK

alright people you all need to know

helluva boss is objectively a better show than hazbin hotel. which isnt a high bar to beat but still

look the animation is better, the songs are better other than a few, the story is better and more relatable, with more relateable characters than hazbin, the characters and the designs of them are better because they dont rely on stripes and dots to make everyone different, they just art. hell moxxie, milie, and blitz are all the same type of creature and yet they are ten times better and more diverse than the whole hazbin cast.

there isnt too many main characters. our mains in heluva are the I.M.P, and stolas. everyone else is objectively a side character. in hazbin however we have Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, Husker, pentious, Alastor, soon to be lucifer, niffty, and all the villains like the vees and the angels. in hazbin they try to give the spotlight to the characters who dont need it, while not giving it to the mains as much as needed. in helluva, they do get side tracked alot, however endless its made clear that that episode is gonna be about xuz character, its mostly about our mains, esp blitz and stolas seeing how any more, they are the main event (lowkey cant wait for apology tour. full moon was... REALY good. ALSO VEROSIKA IS COMING BACK LETS GOOOOOOOO)

helluva boss tried to introduce all its villains naturally in season one. and it did. fizz got replaced with mammon so im interested to see where that goes

overall, helluva boss, isnt perfect. its a comedy telenovela basically. but thats its charm

HAZBIN HOWEVER

its only strong suits are is music and animation. and even then. that isnt enough to carry a full ass show.

anyway, im Finnley, and i was supposed to be the cool hot one but the neurodivergence makes me like things a abnormal amount.

[discotechque]

till my hand shook with the way I fear

pairing: abed nadir/nby! reader word count: 1.6k rating: T

me and abed have neurodivergent solidarity and for that, we would be besties. also the mc in this is specifically non-binary so whatever.

There's clear haze that settles over the bar, that's the first thing Abed realizes once he settles into the space. It's dim, like most bars are and he assumes that's the charm of places like these. Jeff and Britta are adults ( he is too but he's overlooked and therefore his opinion is mute ) so he follows their guidance. Watching from afar, observing their inebriated choices while downing another shot.

He doesn’t get the point of alcohol, much less bars, and it seems the whole point is to get pleasure after an initial sting. A sharp weight that lays in the back of one's throat before elation rips through you. Bourbon burns through him with too much consequence, gin coats his mouth with a bitter tang, and wine falls flat on his tongue.

Maybe it's his upbringing, he's never witnessed his father take a sip to this day, or the pressure that rushes to his frame when he's offered a drink. Abed understands the appeal of bars, it does not mean he shares the same sentiments to them. They're noisy little backend places where melancholic characters come to waste away their sorrows, typically finding pathetic people who drool over glass rims.

However, he is not pathetic ( even if his oldest friend is rounding his seventies and community college all seemed like a folly ) and he had never been overtly dripping with melancholy. So he stood by the small arcade game in the corner, unbothered and safe, until someone offered kindness.

And he takes miles of that even if all they've given was an inch because even if he isn't pathetic or melancholic, he is greedy. He likes eyes being on him because he has so many thought he wants to share with one mouth that can only do so much. Abed is not dumb, he knows what the man wants and how his friendly touches are slowly rising above his knee.

He knows what the man wants and isn't surprise at his outburst once learning that the feelings isn't reciprocated. There's streams of Mint Julep dripping from his jaw and lashes, softly mumbling about his love for Farscape before having it degraded. Abed knows he deserves it and was warned by Annie that people are sensitive ( but he is not held by the bounds of common decency or empathy no matter how hard he tries to keep his mouth shut. )

Then, he remembers the man's proposition ( the only reason someone would be interested in him ). He isn't familiar with being viewed as a sexual object and men weren't unwelcome in his eyes. Gay? Is he gay? Maybe something that exists within the unorthodox box that is sexual realization? The questions sound so foreign even within the echo chamber of his mind.

He's in a dingy bar celebrating his best friend's birthday, this is not a time for the sexual exploration of his subconscious ( although he saves the thought because he considers if not now then when ). The drink is seeping within his clothes, it's going to stick if he doesn't move. He needs to fucking move.

And he does, swiftly pulling himself away from the chair and heading towards the bathroom. Wherever that is, Shirley said it was in the far back and Annie said fair left. Yet, she meticulous as ever so what if she always assume her left is everyone's true left and Shirley is vague with her directions but it doesn't even seem to be enjoying her time here at all.

He's not enjoying it either if he's honest. His loose shit now sticks to his chest and he knows it would make sopping sounds if the man's glass was any larger. Jeff brought them here to celebrate because they're all adults and Troy deserves to have a birthday party in style but if all Jeff and Britta do it bicker, doesn't that make them children themselves? And if he shares his companionship with them, does that make him and all the others children by association?

He's going nowhere with this train of though, this he knows but it can't ever seem to stop. His brain becomes a leaky faucet that can never be screwed back just right so it drips and drips just like the alcohol does along his jaw and lashes. Abed wants to go home but he's with his friends and it's his best friend's party and it'd be so rude of him to leave so soon. At least, that's what Annie tells him.

( Parties were far and few between when he was younger and even then, he cannot replace family functions for beings that truly care for him. )

But then he remembers you, nursing an iced tea in the corner because you are not interested in bestowing wisdom onto Troy that you do not have or participating in anybody's shenanigans. Bars are where people come to hook up or fuck up, you proclaimed on the car ride here, there's no in between.

Then he hears it, bursting against his ears as a smile splits across your face, a discotheque pop song that might be pleasant if it wasn't so overwhelming. His hand involuntarily taps against his thigh in tune with the rhythm. It helps sort out the sensations, the noise is different than the bland flavoring of water, and he knows what's what but it all feels the same in his mind.

Abed's eyelids shut, another involuntary tick he can never seem to shake, and his hand has created it's own beat. Rapid and rushed with no real rhyme or reason except for the fact that it's something that will tug his mind away from everything. ( It's the same thing he does when he's at the edge of a rollercoaster, it makes him safe. ) If everyone else can sway to a rhythm, why can't he?

"Hey," an unexpected voice softly call out to him ( tenderness within this group almost borders on unnatural ). Abed slowly opens his eyes to see you, you call out to him. He feels his hands move away from his pants, tangled within your fingers instead as you gaze at him with earnest. "five things you can see?"

Your hands feel polished, no—plush. He's afraid that if his thumbs press too hard, he'll begin to meld into your being. That's a great idea for a movie, he thinks and he knows you've been his muse from time to time. Maybe it means something, he's not willing to deep any deeper.

His eyes scan the room for a brief second before he rattles off, "The wooden floors, the bartender, the door, the chair behind you, and Annie still trying to be a Texan."

Her accent still lingers within her mind, poor acting for someone so involved a role they've assigned for themselves. The though nearly amuses him but he's getting off track, he needs to focus on you. On the way your hands gently rub over his knuckles and needs to ignore this growing pit within his stomach on whatever that insinuates.

"Four things you can feel?"

"My feet against my shoes, my jeans against my legs, how hot my ears are, your hands."

You don't let go even after he's mentioned it, instead he receives a squeeze that sounds throughout his body. A continuous cycle the runs on until you ask him for something he can taste, he doesn't know what lingers within the crevices of his mouth. ( He'd want it to be you and licks his lips without a second thought. ) Yet, settles on the answer Mint Julep.

Something about thinking this way must be wrong, he shouldn't want to keep holding your fingers or gaze into your fervent irises. He shouldn't be attracted to someone like you and shouldn't be searching for so many reason on why he has to tear himself away from your presence. Still, shouldn't doesn't stop him from doing so.

Maybe his hands have melted into yours, it'd be a good excuse on why he can't bring himself to let go. The song changes again, how long has he been in this small little world with you?

"Hey, it's Mazzy Star, this fucks so hard." he's heard of this before, maybe you've shared it with him. It's less grating on his ears, smooth melodies being shifted on strings, and he watches you sway from the corner of his eye.

( He likes to be watched but something about you commands all his attention. )

Still shifting from foot to foot, you turn to him with a far more lax expression. Both shifting into familiarity as you ask, "You wanna sit down?"

"Not really," he shoots back suddenly but you're not perturbed at his fast response reflex. However, his heart sinks as the next words tumble from his lips. "but we can stand here and sway?"

You don't pull your hand away from his, instead, pressing into his fingers as you ponder a reply. Perhaps you think this isn't real as much as he presumes you'll humiliate him for even asking. But you don't and another smile splits down your features, large than the last one he saw from across the room.

"Of course, Abed Nadir has a genius idea. Let's do it."

You don't move him from this space you've cultivated with him. Instead, wrapping arms around his neck as he places them on your waist ( he never went to prom but this is better than any teenage fantasy ). Moving side to side, never shifting around in a circle but rather awkwardly figuring out a steady pace while his stares becoming fonder while the night grows.

Abed still doesn't get the point of bars but he can figure it out the next time he's here with you.

[bigskydreaming]

Doing some writing today off and on between errands and work, and jumping around various Kings of the Sky installments, specifically Dick, Jason and Cass stuff, so probably gonna post snippets from a bunch of them as I go. 

(Kings of the Sky is an AU that goes canon divergent from the point of Jason calling Dick for advice for dealing with Bruce after the Garzonas case and where things end up going dramatically different from that point on. Including Jason not dying, being part of his own lineup of Titans between Dick and Tim’s, Dick being adopted not long after the Church of Blood incident, Cass being the third Wayne kid to be taken in and adopted and with Tim and Duke being next and then Damian coming along later once they find out about him. This is basically my ‘the family’s alright’ AU with largely ‘Good Dad Bruce’ except for Dick and then Jason yelling some sense into him about the other, respectively, in the first two installments, just FYI).

Anyway, this bit is from a story called “In Their Shadows Grow Trees Of Good and Evil,” set about a year after Cass has been adopted, when she and Jason are both sixteen and Dick’s twenty-one. Also just FYI, because canon has never been specific about what ways Cass is neurodivergent due to the comic-book style ‘rewiring’ of her brain so that she could learn to speak later in life, I tend to go with her being dyslexic and having aphasia. She sticks exclusively to sign language and being a silent presence in her costumed personas, so that there’s no chance of people connecting the dots between Black Bat and Cassandra Wayne, as she mostly speaks verbally in her civilian persona and doesn’t hide her aphasia. The reason there’s not likely to be any obvious signs of aphasia in the snippets of her I post is because I wait until I complete something to choose words at random to replace with aphasia-born mixups, so its more realistic and I’m not gearing her dialogue towards deliberately placed moments. Just in case you were wondering.

In Their Shadows Grow Trees of Good and Evil

“Hey Todd,” sneered an exquisitely obnoxious voice. “Why’s your sister so fucking weird?”

Jason sighed the sigh of a soul a mere century into its eternity of damnation as he rose from the lunch table he’d been studying at and crammed the rest of his books into his backpack. Then he pasted a cheerfully bland smile on his face and turned around, geared for academia warfare (teenage prep school edition).

“Hey Craig,” he said brightly. “Why’d you come out of the womb so ugly your parents had to tie a piece of steak around your neck just to get the family dog to go near you? Mysteries abound.”

The advancing junior slowed a step, momentarily rocked by his truly impressive return volley. The grimace Craig’s already gargoyle-esque features twisted into made his face even more unpleasant to look at than usual, which was quite the feat. Jason would have applauded if just looking at it hadn’t already turned him to stone.

But the bargain basement basilisk kept on towards him rather than turn tail and skulk off to pop his emotional blisters, so Jason sighed a sequel to his first one. Looked like it was one of those days where Craig felt up to powering through. Guess someone had eaten their self-esteem Wheaties that morning. Joy.

“You think you’re pretty hot shit, don’t you, Todd?”

Jason shrugged. “I mean, to be honest I kinda have a one track mind, so right now I’m mostly just thinking about punching you in your mistake.”

“My what?”

“Your face,” Jason elaborated with exaggerated patience.

“Huh?”

“Oh my god, I’m saying your face is a mistake. See, its not as fun when I have to stop and explain it to you. Ugh, you ruin everything.”

He neatly sidestepped the older boy as R2-Dumbass stayed frozen, smoke coming off of his internal CPU while trying to catch up. For a second Jason thought he was home free, but then he remembered the universe fucking hated him so haha, sucks to suck. Also, a small crowd had gathered to witness the verbal jousting match, and nothing invigorated an asshole like Craig more than an audience of like-minded peers. So there was that too.

“Whatever. Laugh it up all you want, you little shit,” the junior rallied. “But just remember, mocking your betters will never change the fact that you were born street trash and you’ll be street trash until the day you die.”

Honestly? Not his best effort. Jason almost felt bad using any of his good material. Seemed like overkill at this point. But he did have a strict Scorched Earth policy to maintain, so.....

“Yeah but my dad could buy out and ruin your dad so that means I still win, right?”

He smirked as the barb landed and Craig’s face set into a sunset vista of strangled purple and furious red. Bam. Direct hit.

“Listen, you - “

“Oh for fuck’s sake, it was rhetorical,” Jason interrupted. “I don’t actually care what you think even a little bit. Nobody does. You don’t matter. Please go be irrelevant elsewhere, you’re fucking dismissed, you loser.”

“Speak for yourself, charity case.” Oh goodie, Craig’s backup singers had finally arrived. Now if only he could remember to care enough to learn their names in the first place. Seriously, who told the extras they could have lines? “All the jokes in the world can’t change who and what you are.”

Jason shrugged and continued nonchalantly up the hill to where his sister was standing with arms crossed, staring down at something on the other side.

“True genius is never appreciated in its own time,” he tossed back over his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll be immortalized in song eventually.”

The mob of morons deigned to let him go without further incident. Though he suspected that had less to do with his scathing wit and more to do with him being headed towards Cass. She was immaculately presented as always, wearing the Gotham Academy uniform like she was born to it despite hating its uncomfortable stiffness every bit as much as he did. But that was just Cass for you. 

For all that she still struggled at times to engage verbally or speak up in social settings, her mastery of body language remained without peer. She could chameleon-camouflage her way into matching poise and posture with anyone - a skill that had allowed her to walk into school on her very first day with her head held high as though she owned everything in her sight. Exuding so much Queen Bee Intimidation Factor even the other hive queens were afraid to approach her  themselves. Sending forth their drones to try and woo her into an alliance, only to see her remain oh-so-casually above it all, a slightly contemptuous smile adorning her lips.

Basically, she scared the shit out of their classmates without them having anywhere close to a true understanding of why, and Jason was outrageously jealous. Rude. Unfair. Why did his siblings always get all the cool toys when all he had was his rakish charm, scintillating intellect and debonair.....nah, who was he kidding. He was fucking awesome. 

“Sup, sis,” he said, cresting the hill to stand beside Cass. “Just FYI, I just took a popularity bullet for you, which means you owe me your dessert tonight. Its a family rule that’s totally a real thing and definitely not something I just made up right now because Alf is making chocolate soufflé.”

She made no acknowledgment and remained stock still, a Colossus at Rhodes peering down into the shifting shadows of the parking lot below.

He peered down as well, though with absolutely no idea what they were looking at. Solidarity, yo.

“So are we staring fixedly at anything in particular, or should I just pick my own spot and commit?”

His humor was totally wasted on her as always. Instead of laughing and telling him what a lovable goof he was, she just inclined her head in the direction of a blonde girl where she was standing next to the driver’s side door of a Mercedes-Benz, dictating final commandments to her peons before departing. Well, probably. Jason was just guessing, based on his own body language reads, and like, general disdain for literally everyone at this school that wasn’t related to him.

He made a face. An extra special one reserved just for this classmate in particular. “Ugh, Madison Dunleavy? She’s the worst.”

Cass raised a cool eyebrow. “I thought Craig Hendricks was the worst.”

“He is. They’re both the worst. Its a hotly contested position here at Gotham Academy.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded back down at the Queen of Air and Darkness. “So. You know her?”

“Nope,” Jason said. “Come to think of it, I’ve actually never seen her in my life. No idea who that is. Can’t help you, sorry. Shall we go home?”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition speared him with clear intent. Who the fuck needed words when you could pack the Encyclopedia Britannica into a single facial expression?

Jason sighed gustily. 

“I had a slight altercation with her freshman year that led to her declaring her undying enmity for me until the end of time. The word nemesis may or may not have been thrown around once or twice. I can’t recall.”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition lowered nary an inch. Ugh, she wanted more? Why did everyone in his family hate privacy, with the obvious exclusion of himself when snooping through Cass and Dick’s rooms for blackmail material, which was actually intel-gathering and thus another matter entirely.

“Okay so basically what happened was my first week here I overheard her talking shit about me and not even twenty minutes later she was pretending to kiss my ass in homeroom, like probably because of Bruce, y’know? So I just busted out laughing and told her to fuck off and die and she has inexplicably loathed me ever since.”

Avoiding further Eyebrow Inquisition-ing, he made a show of peering around aimlessly. When the silence extended and it was clear Cass was absolutely not going to break first, Jason waved a hand in dismissal and took to peering oh so casually at his fingernails. "I suppose I was less tactful back in those days.”

He chanced a look up, finally, and saw his sister’s eyebrow had somehow managed to mighty morphin power ranger its way into a configuration evoking both judgment and disbelief, with the latter perhaps aimed at the idea he was significantly differing in the tact department these days either.

“I don’t love the implications your face is making right now,” he told her.

She ignored him, because of course she did. 

“Does she know Dick?” She asked instead. Jason shrugged.

“I mean, maybe? She’s probably seen him around at one of those stupid galas we have to go to, and actually I think maybe she has an older brother who was either in Dick’s grade or like, one above or below it? I don’t know.”

Now both eyebrows were doing the dance of disbelief. Okay, so maybe that was poor situational awareness on his part, since it wasn’t like Gotham Academy was a big school with a ton of other kids and also he’d only been in the same class as Madison for like over two whole years, but whatever. There were extingent circumstances.

“Look, she’s a total snob who’s always looked down on me and in return I willfully ignore both her existence and that of everyone and everything even tangentially related to her. Its called equality, Cass.”

She pursed her lips and went back to the peering, because of course in the mind of Cass it made total sense that the Grand Inquisition didn’t need to be followed up by any explanation on her part, what the hell. Like was he supposed to have inferred it?

“What’s this all about anyway?”

“I heard her talking about Dick earlier,” she said without peeling her eyes away from her personal recon mission. “I don’t know what she said though, I just heard her say Grayson, and then I was busy looking at what her body was saying. I know it was about Dick because she shut down when she saw me. And I didn’t like the way she....looked....before that happened. The way she was talking. It was.....”

Jason frowned but held back any follow-up questions while he waited - with total patience because he wasn’t an absolute cad, thank you very much - for his sister to find the word she was hunting for. It was a major source of frustration for her, that whatever neural map her brain followed put body language and spoken language in totally different regions of her brain, separated by a fairly great divide. Meaning she usually had to make a conscious choice to focus on body language or conventional languages - whether verbal or sign. But it tended to be one or the other; she’d yet to master taking in and comprehending both forms of ‘language’ at the same time. And none of them had quite figured out how to convince her that she wasn’t actually missing anything when she chose to focus on one specific form of communication - that she was still observing far more than most people ever would.

“Proprietary,” Cass settled on at last. She nodded her satisfaction with her choice of word, and Jason waited a whole two point five seconds before sticking  his whole foot in his mouth.

“Proprietary?” He asked with a scrunched nose as he weighed that for possible context and implications. “You sure?”

She glared. He winced. It was a whole thing.

“Yeah, I know, sorry, sorry, I heard it the second it was out of my mouth. We don’t actually have to experiment with the legitimacy of if looks could kill.”

Cass rolled her eyes, but eh. That could’ve gone worse.

Jason swiftly redirected attention anyway. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all.

“So. The Queen of Air and Darkness was talking about our big bro, and her mood was.....proprietary, huh?” He recapped while digesting the info like a boss. “Well. Definitely not loving that, I gotta say. Hold please.”

Pulling out his phone and pulling up his most recent texts, he began typing furiously.

“What are you doing?” Cass asked.

“Texting Tom,” he replied, because duh. Hah, now it was his chance to have the answers that should be patently obvious and thus make with the ‘are you kidding me’ when she asked obvious questions she should know the answer to! How do you like them apples, sis?

“Why are you texting your boyfriend right now?”

Jason rolled his eyes, because fair is fair, but never ceased texting for a moment. Time was of the essence here, probably. Well, maybe. Okay probably not. But it’d still been like half an hour since he and Tom had last texted and that’s a very fucking long time in teenage years.

“To be our getaway driver tonight, obviously.”

She stared at him. He didn’t look up, but he could feel it anyway. He was very intuitive like that.

“What?”

Jason heaved another sigh, one keyed to tones of ‘oh my god, do I really have to spell this out,” exasperation. He was just racking up the bonus points here. It was really too bad this wasn’t an actual competition he could actually win and this was all just pettiness taking place wholly in his own head. Lame. 

“Well, clearly we now have to go snoop in Madison’s house aka lair to see if its actually a house or a full on lair. Because she’s either a creeper or like, legit evil, and its important to know which one before we proceed, because obviously we can only bust her for being a weird creeper about our brother as Jason and Cass, whereas if she’s legit evil, that’s gotta go down as Robin and Black Bat. I’ll handle the snooping, you’ll take look-out, but we still need a wheelman and that’s why I’m texting Tom. This is all very mission-oriented, okay. I’m a professional.”

“Right,” she affirmed, while sounding anything but convinced. “Why don’t we just tell Bruce?”

Without looking up or breaking stride, he said: “I’m going to give you til I finish typing this sentence to figure out what was wrong with what you just said. Remember that we are talking about hypothetical danger to our brother, and also Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response to any of his children being in even hypothetical danger. And also our brother’s idea of a proportionate response to Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response. Look, you’re still new so I’m gonna need you to just trust me on this one. Its gonna be a no on telling Bruce without further intel.”

Cass said nothing in response to that, which meant that she was conceding the point and recognized the wisdom of his words. Or maybe that she was just gonna go ahead and do what she wanted anyway and just wasn’t bothering to fight about it, but it was probably that first thing.

“Well you better not just make out with your boyfriend all night,” is what she said at last, and that got his attention reeeeeal quick like.

“Umm. Wow. Okay. So, first off, you’re not the boss of me and who I make out with and when, so jot that down. And second, now I’m definitely going to make out with my boyfriend extra hard, with the exception of when we are actually on our recon mission because as previously established, I am a professional. And also, again, you’re not the boss of me.”

Jason ignored her Eye Roll With Extra Emphasis, and instead just held up his phone to Text With Extra Emphasis, as he read along with what he was typing.

“By the way babe, we have to make out extra hard tonight,” he said, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth while he dragged out his dictation with the kind of focus that usually led to Bruce asking why he couldn’t apply as much intensity to training as he did to pettiness. “Cass has suddenly decided she can dictate terms to me and I need to shut that shit down ASAP, so thank you in advance for your assistance in this matter. Smoochies and other gay stuff to the best boyfriend ever.”

Jason frowned as a response pinged back seconds later. 

TheCatsMeow: ....the things I put up with for the sake of your weird family dynamics.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah, yeah. You’re a saint among were-panthers. Must you mock? Why can’t you just tell me I’m pretty instead?

TheCatsMeow: Sorry. Let me try again. OMG you’re so pretty Jase how did I get so lucky xoxo.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: No. Its too late. It feels forced and unbelievable now. You’ve ruined it forever.

TheCatsMeow: Got it. From now on I will only tell you that you’re repulsive and hideous.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: I’m breaking up with you.

TheCatsMeow: But after I help you with your mission tonight.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Obvsly. I’m a professional. Why do people keep forgetting this?

TheCatsMeow: And also the making out to spite your sister.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah we should do that first too. I mean we already penciled it in.

[spectrumed]

7. identity

The aesthetic of suffering, the allure of victimhood, it’s important to acknowledge that to many people, the idea of struggling with mental illness is hot. A common trope in teen dramas is the existence of the sexy bad boy haunted by demons of depression or addiction or some other psychological malady. Women with mental illness tend to be sexualised, less, but then again, women are most typically always sexualised, no matter the state of their mental health. But it’s not just a case of some people finding mental illness to be attractive in others, many see mental illness in themselves as something to take pride in, to celebrate and nurture. To seek out a diagnosis, to infiltrate communities that exist to provide support to those in need, and to declare themselves as being special. Fakers, you could call them. Yes, we’re going to be entering into dangerous grounds here, talking about a potentially incendiary topic that might feed the flames of controversy, but it’s a topic worth discussing. Self-diagnosis. Is self-diagnosis valid or not? Should one self-diagnose? Is it ableism to be against self-diagnosis? Is it ableism to be for self-diagnosis? Is it ableism itself ableist? I don’t know, sweetheart, you are asking a whole bunch of questions and I am hungover… But let’s go on rambling about what it means to be labelled neurodivergent.

Do you have an identity? Do you root for a particular sports team? Do you like a particular kind of music? Do you dance a lot? Are you a dancer? What are you? Simply stating that you’re just “a human” probably won’t do. Sure, it’s correct, but I am also a human, and we could be two very different kinds of people. Your identity should be that certain something that makes you stand apart from the rest, that distinguishes you from the squirming mass of flesh that is the whole of humanity. There are plenty of things about you that do figure in your identity, even though you wish it didn’t. You’re black, you don’t wish to always be “that black guy over there,” but you’ve come to realise that’s just how society views you. Maybe you are a transwoman, and you very eagerly want your friend to stop introducing you as her “trans bestie.” You’re just a woman, you don’t need her to keep labelling you as trans, even though that's what you are. There are many ways we can change our identity through direct personal action. Maybe you could start wearing a hat, and be known as “that hat guy” to the people you work with. Maybe you could embrace a punk aesthetic, looking like young Johnny Rotten stepped into a time machine and got transported to the current day. Actions like these can have a big or small impact on how others see you, but it feels good to be able to make a decision like that and get a response. This is me, this is what I am. I’m the guy who wears bow-ties, don’t I look cool? If only shaping your sense of self always came down to personal decisions like that. You don’t always have a choice.

I’ve lately been watching some Conan O’Brien (American TV talk show host who’s recently decided not to be a TV talk show host) clips. I am sure I don’t need to explain who Conan O’Brien is to my readers, but just in case this is being read by aliens ten-thousand years from now, what I can tell you is that Conan O’Brien is well known for being freakishly tall. Like, really tall. He’s an elongated leprechaun. He’s turned being tall into one of his trademarks. Like many comedians, he’s come to use his corporeal form as a source for levity and fun. While, naturally, the man did not choose to grow as tall as he did, he’s come around to use his height not as a hindrance to success, but rather as an asset. He’s “that tall irish guy on the TV,” and he’s been that person for nearly thirty years. It pays to have some distinguishing feature if you wish to be distinguished. Mr. Joe Average might be perfectly funny and charming, but being an average-looking guy can be wholly detrimental in making a career for yourself as a funnyman. At least get yourself some weird voice, or something. Maybe pretend to be some foreigner and put on a fake accent. As a comedian your job is to be exploited, you wish to be made into a commodity to be sold. People will want to watch your special because of that funny face you pull in the thumbnail. To be different can be financially lucrative.

What’s the best approach in turning something that could be perceived as an abnormal feature into something that is beneficial to you? To make jokes about it? Certainly, if I were to meet a man with a heavily scarred face, I feel there’d likely be a tension between me and him that could be dispelled if that man with the heavily scarred face made some little joke about his appearance, some little quip. “I’m sorry, I cut myself shaving this morning,” would do. The person isn’t obliged to justify his existence to me, he does not have to go out of his way to make me feel less uncomfortable. I am the one in the wrong, certainly. I shouldn’t look at a person with a heavily scarred face and feel uncomfortable, that’s me letting prejudices get in the way, I know that. But, it is what it is. If you’re looking for a practical solution, telling people to simply get over themselves and learn to not be so awkward around folks with physical deformities won’t do. It may be the right thing, but it’s not going to happen any time soon. I am sure that the man with the heavily scarred face isn’t interested in being defined by his heavily scarred face. He's probably sick and tired of that little joke, and wish he didn’t have to make it. But it does the job. Suddenly, you are not looking at something to be feared, the other, you are looking at a person, and someone with a sense of humour. The importance of humour in eradicating stigma, making it possible for the ostracised to enter in society, cannot be understated. Through humour, you can convince most everyone that you are someone worthy of inclusion, because… well, you’re just a funny guy, who doesn’t wanna hang out with you?

For those who have grown up not feeling normal, worrying that there are aspects of your character that others may perceive as unwanted, the yearning to be liked can at times become excruciating. I like to consider myself a funny person, while this blog isn’t intended to be a humorous one, occasionally small little jokes will squirm their way to the top, like worms coming up to the surface during a rainstorm. I am also a cartoonist, and produce a new cartoon every other day. My humour isn’t universal, no good humour ever is universal, but it’s done good in getting some folks to like me. Some people want to be admired, some people want to be feared. I only want to be liked. The one thing I absolutely do not want to be is pitied. I don’t want your pity, I fear your pity.

You’re probably familiar with The Sims, right? It’s a life simulation game, where you control a little digital human, known as a sim, and try to help them make the right decision through life. Each sim has a number of meters that measures their current needs. Hunger, hygiene, energy, if they need to urinate or defecate (though, frankly, the distinction between the two isn’t made in the game, so one can assume that sims are like birds and have just one cloaca that does both,) and so on. One of these meters is for social activities. If a sim hasn’t been social in a while, they go nutty. What’s interesting here, the reason why I bring it up, is that in real life, though we all (to a lesser or greater degree) crave to socialise with others, what kind of socialising you do is of a very big importance. There are a myriad of ways in which one can be social, and depending on your needs at the time, one kind of socialising may not do, whereas another kind of socialising may be just what you need. Do you want to hang out with your pals, cracking jokes and maybe drinking a couple of beers? Do you want to have a serious conversation with your partner about what you wish to accomplish together? Do you want to play with your dog? These different social situations scratch different parts of your mind, and you can’t just substitute one for the other and think that’s all alright. A person may have tonnes of friends, lots of buddies to spend their time with, but they may still desperately be yearning for another kind of social interaction, one that none of their friends can deliver. The human need for company is more complex than how it is depicted in The Sims… which, to be fair, probably shocks nobody. The Sims doesn’t pretend that it’s some highly realistic simulation of real life, it’s a game meant to be played for fun. But what’s important here is the fact that while humans do have a need to be social, how that need is fed changes dramatically on the person, and their conditions. Socialising that may bring comfort to one person, may bring discomfort to another person.

I don’t want you to pity me. I may list my diagnoses, I may tell you of the difficulties that I face in life, but I do not want you to feel sorry for me. I want you to be entertained reading this, I don’t want to make you weep thinking about how cruel life can be. I don’t want you thinking I’m special, or different, because of my diagnoses. I want you to think I’m special and different because of my writing. Sure, this blog is about living with autism spectrum disorder, but I don’t want you reading this blog just because it’s about autism spectrum disorder. I want you to read this because, while it is about a diagnosis you are interested in learning more about, you also find what I write to be well-written and at times, mildly humorous. This blog isn’t my rabid manifesto detailing all the ways my life sucks, and what must be done by society to appease me. Nah, I’m doing relatively fine, don’t feel bad for me, please. I don’t want that kind of attention. I do want attention, I won’t lie and tell you that I don’t have an ego, or that I don’t get pleased seeing people like the things I put out there. I do have a social need, it’s just that being pitied does not do it for me. It doesn’t make me feel good. It makes me feel bad. It makes me feel sad. It really makes me feel mad.

We’re finally getting around to the topic I promised I would discuss. Self-diagnosis. A principal concern people have with self-diagnosis is that people only self-diagnose in order to receive pity from others. The difference between someone like me, who’s got a proper official diagnosis, and someone who is self-diagnosed, is that I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you to fetishise my diagnosis, this thing about me that I did not choose to be. I don’t want special favours just because of my diagnosis, I don’t want to be known as “that cartoonist with autism.” I am autistic, I’ve come to accept that, but I don’t want anyone to introduce me as “their friend who’s on the spectrum.” Some may accuse me of self-loathing, treating being autistic like some bad thing that I am ashamed of. But that’s not it. After all, I did start this blog to discuss what it is like. I just don’t want to be defined by this certain something that lies outside of my control. I don’t want it to be my “thing.” I don’t mind being referred to as a hairy cartoonist, because I am pretty hairy. I don’t want to cut my hair any time soon (especially with this plague going around.) No-one would pity me just because I am hairy. At most they may regard me as a good-for-nothing beatnik, and I’m okay with that. Ideally, I still want to be liked, but anything is better than being pitied. To be pitied is to be robbed of your own agency, your own potential. Sure, it gets you that attention you may be craving, but at the cost of infantilization. Autistic people often struggle with being infantilized by society, to the point where some folks don’t even realise that there are autistic grown-ups in the world. Anyone who would voluntarily seek out a diagnosis just to be pitied, well… it doesn’t sit right with me. It makes me, quite frankly, feel demoralised.

But not all people self-diagnose just to get pity from others, right? For some it’s genuinely their only option, likely living in a barely-functioning country like the United States where receiving psychiatric care is expensive and it’s just not something they can afford. It’s unfair of me to phrase self-diagnosing as just a quest to receive pity, it’s way more complicated than that. And yes, I’d have to agree. To know all the reasons why a person may self-diagnose, you have to go personally ask them. Even if it is possible to highlight a few certain trends, things that they all have in common, it’s bound to be impossible to make this one sweeping generalisation to explain everything. All I am saying is that there absolutely are those people who do self-diagnose with the explicit goal of getting pitied. Whether they are knowingly faking their condition or not, to them, being pigeonholed as a person with autism isn’t at all a negative. It’s their identity. It is how they have chosen to let the world see them. They made a choice. They chose this label. This is why many people who have official diagnoses are sceptical of those who've only got a self-diagnosis. Whether your self-diagnosis is accurate or not, in the end, you chose to identify yourself with it. You made a decision, oblivious of the fact that many people don’t get to make that kind of a decision, and they may bear resentment for how you are turning something they’ve faced ostracization for, into what is potentially on the same level as listening to a certain kind of music, or being a supporter of a sports team. A diagnosis is not something you should choose to have.

There are other things to say about self-diagnosis. First of all, it can be dangerous. Some of the diagnoses I’ve seen people give themselves are really serious, things like personality disorders or psychosis. Psychiatrists are very careful when putting these kinds of labels on people, knowing the harm that it can do. A diagnosis is meant to only be given after careful deliberation, and after long conversations with the patient. Psychiatrists know that reducing a person to a set of symptoms can have detrimental effects to that person’s sense of self. If you’re trying to cling on to a diagnosis, seeing it as a major part of your identity, then that may hamper any attempts you make to become a better person, to improve your mental health. You will feel as if you need to correspond to the exact specifications of the disorder, and you will not allow yourself to grow naturally as a complicated human being, a human being whose internal life is far too vast to be fully rounded up with some psychiatric jargon. There are plenty of things about me that do not line up with the diagnostic criteria for autism spectrum disorder, and guess what, that’s quite good actually. It doesn’t mean that I don’t have autism, I very much do, but I realise that as a person, I am more than just my diagnosis. The diagnosis does not define me, I define the diagnosis. If you self-diagnose, do you comprehend all that you are getting yourself into? Are you going to find yourself in psychological traps that will only serve to worsen your mental health? It’s hard to look at yourself objectively, you could easily be misrepresenting yourself inside your own mind. You may effectively be locking parts of yourself away, making it so you are no longer able to see the full you. You will no longer be all there, you will be segmented in favour of upholding the defining marks of a diagnosis that doesn’t suit you.

Instead of self-diagnosing, try doing a self-assessment. Keep in mind that, while you may have this diagnosis, it’s too early to say for sure. You’re going to need somebody else’s input. You’ll need to sit with it for a while to see if it sticks. Keep an open mind, realise that there’s no easy way to explain exactly who you are, or what you are like. It’s very possible that you will come to realise that you are in fact autistic, or have whatever other diagnosis you may suspect describes you. I, after all, came to the conclusion that I was autistic before I got the diagnosis (though, I was going to therapy at that point, and I was on the way to undergo a neuropsychiatric evaluation.) It’s not bad to try and get to understand yourself, don’t come out of this thinking that self-reflection is only possible with a psychiatrist looming over you, telling you how to think about things. We all need to come to certain conclusions over how we self-identify, and sometimes you need to take mental leaps to explain certain things. Just don’t feel as if your best option is to put a label on yourself that can potentially negatively affect your psychological well-being. If you are truly searching for understanding, if your goal is to find out more about yourself, you should act with caution and concern for what you are doing. If all you are looking for is to have people pity you, then… well… I don’t know what to say, really…

[marshmallowfin]

Drag Race season 13 first impressions and vibes:

I do this every year and I know no one cares but here are my unwanted opinions.

Kandy Muse: Her reputation proceeds her...in a bad way. I've seen how hateful she can be online and I just can't look past it; I can just tell she's gonna annoy me until she goes home. The look however was cute and the lipsync was fun, I can tell she's talented. I wanna try and view her without bias but it's gonna be tough.

Joey Jay: I was excited for her during the promo but couldn't get past the entrance look. Really? The panty was cut too low cut, the feathers were cheep and falling apart, the hair was supposed to look wet but it just looked a mess, like she didn't have time to dry her hair before coming. Just came across so unpolished and because I only got to to see her for like a collective 15 minutes I was just unimpressed. Lipsync was unimpressive, Kandy really let her have it, the only thing I remember was her punching her tiddie and the feathers falling off all over the stage.

Denali: The look was so right, head to toe, but that contour was so rough it was distracting. She seemed fun, I can see her succeeding. Again, only getting a couple of minutes with her just really left me wanting more, it felt lacking. For someone who was on literal ice skates she was pulling some impressive stunts I honestly thought she might have the lipsync but I'm not mad at the Lala win. I'm honestly just really neutral on her. I did like when she flashed us, it's really the only thing I remember from the lipsync. (Also the repeat song? Hello? Iconic Coco Montrese lipsync from season 5? I clocked it.)

LaLa Ri: The look: pedestrian, didn't fit her in any way and was just so basic it was almost sad. Wish it were a full pant and the jacket was tailored to her. Also not everyone is able to wear those flat little wigs, wish she had teased it up. Her vibes? Her smile? Stunning. She seems so warm and friendly and kind. I want her to succeed but the ONE TIME I got to see her she looked... unimpressive. I don't remember a single think she did in the lipsync not gonna lie...

Symone: fully obsessed during the promo, so beautiful in and out of drag and her sense of style is so interesting to me. Entrence look was a little on the simple side but effective. She's also from the same area is me so I know people who know her and are fully obsessed. One of my tops for sure. The lipsync was good but I really thought Tamish let her have it. Not mad she won but I would have made it a double win. (Maybe after a night of just okay lipsyncs I'm grasping at the only one that made me excited.) Also, nothing to do with her but she's Gigi Goode's sister and Gigi is for sure talented and I really liked her for the majority of her season but she's made some choices in the have been confusing at best; I worry Symone might share some of those opinions. Here's hoping that just my paranoia.

Tamisha Iman: she came across as cookie cutter pageant girl (not that there's anything wrong with that) in her promo so I wasn't really excited for her. Very pleasantly surprised. She walked in in that red power suit and long black hair TIDDIES OUT: I was shaken. She also seems to just radiate good energy, I'm really liking her. She and Symone had the most entertaining lipsync of the night, it felt close (I do think Miss Tamish turned the party a little hard but not enough to call it rigged.) I am a little heartbroken they made her tell her cancer story episode one, immediately after getting there, she killed a lipsync, then was sent on her way, she was amicably calm tho. I really like her.

Gottmik: Another I was SUPER excited for during promos and she's really giving it too me. The look was so interesting and flattering and the face was to die for topped off by that perfect black hair. Dead and in the ground. Lipsync...left much to be desired. The song was a bop and my jaw dropped when it started but neither of them gave me what Rumors deserved. I loved both the queens so much though I almost didn't care...almost. Also FIRST FTM QUEEN EVER ON THE SHOW I'M SO JWBDJDIBEBSKDE AND IM SO HAPPY AND PROUD OF HIM. King shit never been more insane and proud to be cisn't.

Utica Queen: I CAN TELL THIS BITCH IS NEURODIVERGENT AND SO AM I!!! SAME HAT!!! I love a bitch who has a distinct aesthetic and lives on a completely different planet. Her promo look was my favorite, she's so striking and the crazy mad hatter look was EVERYTHING. Entrance look was equally crazy and somehow all worked (maybe not the strawberry but I still loved the strawberry). I thought she was so fun during the lipsync and I couldn't take my eyes off of her (again, that might be because I find her so striking) I honestly thought she would win but again the lipsync as a whole was a little underwhelming. Her sad face at the end of the episode broke my heart, this premier was a little cruel to the losers.

Rosé: not gonna lie, I was disappointed in Rosé. Her look was so crazy and cool for the promo and she came into the competition wearing a pink cropped biker jacket and panty? (The look was cute enough and I like the designer but it was so meh) The hair was lovely and I thought the missing tooth was funny, it was a shame she wiped it off before anyone could see it. I totally understand being bitter about hyping yourself up as a LIPSYNC QUEEN and a major nyc girl and so established especially compared to someone like Olivia who has only be doing drag for a year and a half..then you lose...and you assume you're going home first...I TOTALLY GET IT but the edit worked on me and I was like wow what a bitch. The only person who has claimed to be nyc royalty I actually vibed with was Peppermint, I think it's like an instant turn off for someone to say they're the best whatever of nyc. (Not that I dislike nyc girls, just the ones that claim to be hot shit.)

Olivia Lux: Sweet summer child. Precious baby angel. I found her so cute and charming and silly in her promo and she came in in that VELVET (?) HALF PINK HALF YELLOW GOWN WITH THE ROUGING and that BEAUTIFUL blonde hair that looked so good again her sink and the long as ponytail and the fucking waves like a designer Barbie fresh out the box, I'm living. Another one of my favorites, the energy is just so right and so there. Had my 2nd favorite lipsync of the night and I was so proud of her for besting Rosé, someone she clearly looks up too so much. I would LOVE for this bitch to win but I can tell she's gonna be a Miss Congeniality.

Tina Burner: I can tell this one is gonna annoy me. Again a nyc royalty claim which is an instant minus, the look was not it (I love the designer but the look was so wrong), the hair hat was fun in concept but that red hair just didn't look right on her, she was definitely giving me sexy hotdog ketchup and mustard fantasy, and I don't know why but her face is just kinda scary to me?? It like makes me feel like I'm going crazy. I didn't really like her in the promos either, she just comes across as really full of herself. I'm like instantly getting the worst vibes. I have seen people online saying she's really funny and turns the fucking party but I found the lipsync boring and hard to pay attention too. I've seen so many people saying she's IT so I want her to prove me wrong, make me eat my hat.

Kahmora Hall: So insanely beautiful, a WOMAN, how DARE SHE. She's our current reignings sister so she has huge shoes to fill and I'm ready for her to fill them. I actually kinda liked her lipsync, she was doing the damn thing in a gown which is impressive. Wish I had gotten a little more of her. I'm sorta neutral on this one too, nothing from her promo or literal 15 minutes if screen time really impressed me nor turned me off of her.

Elliott with 2 Ts: The second she said she was a "housewife with a secret" I was sold. Something about that instantly endeared her to me and have not been able to stop saying it since. I thought the red two piece was nice and the cropped jacket was fun but the hair was not right. I find her so pretty in like an alien way. I honestly thought her lipsync was the best and I found myself drawn to her but it's so hard to tell with more then 2 people. Promo look was very like cool mom and I vibe.

As a whole...a very underwhelming premier, especially after the last seasons. Seemed really rushed and unnecessarily cruel to the losing girls. Especially telling them they're all going home then saying they're not but they need to choose one queen from them to go home...I'm so worried they're all gonna take one look at Utica and be like 'get this weirdo out of here', if a single person picks her to "go home" I'll scream and cry and piss on the floor.

[hillnerd]

How about my Prodigal Prat Percy and My shy neurodivergent Hugo who is his favourite Nephew - if you like. (No obligation what so ever.)

It was take your kids to work day at the Ministry. Percy knew his own job was rather boring for his twin daughters. Lucy looked on with polite interest, while Molly didn't bother looking interested until she found out more about the Floo network and how there were maintenance workers who would go into it.  "It's the most dangerous job at the Ministry beside those at the MLE office."  Molly's eyes lit up.  "What happens in there that's so dangerous?" "Well you have to go in there with specially charmed gear so you can breath and travel through it without getting your lungs messed up from prolonged exposure to all that soot and flame. Also the workers are fighting a tornado of flames and Floo magic when doing the charms in there-- so it's rather hazardous. Easy for someone to lose their footing and get tossed around for hours on end if you don't take all the proper precautions." "Oh! Ohh! I want to do that!" Percy let out a sigh. Of course she did. She said that about every dangerous job she'd ever heard of. Dragon taming, Auror, experimental potioneer, curse breaker... The list went on and on.  "I'm sure you'd be very good at it. What about you, Lucy?" "I'd rather keep my feet on this side of the Floo," she quickly answered. “What kind of spells keep a person in place through that, though?” His twins weren't identical in looks or personality, unlike his twin brothers. He wondered if they'd be sorted into the same Hogwarts house or not. Molly was as Gryffindor a child as he'd ever known, but Lucy was harder for him to pin down.  He looked at his pocket watch. Nearly half past three.  "Time to meet your mother."

"Ohh Daddy can't we stay longer? I want to go do maintenance in the Floo!" "Only trained professionals get to do that, Molly," he said, leading them down the hall to Floo them to their mother. "I wanted to see the mail sorting room again," Lucy added, looking with longing down the hall.  "There'll be plenty of other times you can see that," he said, but his chest puffed up a bit. Perhaps he'd managed to make their time at the office less than boring, after all. "As I recall, you both wanted to visit the Magical Child Welfare Office today." "The Adoption Carnival!" Lucy smiled, hands grasping together beneath her chin. She excitedly twirled her skirt back and forth like a bell. "I'd forgotten!" Molly gave a whoop, punching the air. "I LOVE the carnivals!" "Once you're done with your volunteering, you get to have fun with the other kids, but not until then." Both his daughters rolled their eyes. "We know, papa!" "You tell us that every time!" "I don't want you to forget the reason for the carnival," he forewarned, wagging a finger their way. "It's so the kids can find families, we know!" Molly moaned. "We're not dumb." "It's not a question of your intelligence. It's a matter of slowing down to recognize how lucky we are to have families, and to prioritize those children's needs." "Will there be a petting zoo?"  He gave a sigh. Maybe they were a little young for him to be giving this speech.  "I believe your mother might have mentioned baby nifflers." He could barely contain his smile as the girls squealed and laughed.  When they arrived at the MCW Office it was controlled chaos, as it ever was.

 Kids were running about in much nicer clothes than usual, though many weren't quite finished dressing yet. The twins were happy to join the ruckus, both yelling 'Uncle Ron, Uncle Ron!' and running across the den to join their Uncle in braiding some little girl's hair. Various Weasleys were part of the fray. He spotted George out in the garden setting up carnival games, Ginny polishing brooms, his Mum magically changing spots of grass to bright colors for a cake walk, and various other brothers and spouses were walking between booths, arms laden with supplies.  Percy looked about for his wife. He soon found Audrey chasing down a four year old who was wearing socks on both his hands and running away with no trousers. Percy quickly headed the boy off, picked him up and presented him to Audrey. "Thank goodness for you," Audrey panted, blowing a curl out of her face. "This conejito doesn't like putting on trousers, even though he knows guests are coming." "Is that so?" Percy asked the boy with his sternest of faces, as his wife pulled the polka dotted socks from the small boy's hands. "It is quite important you wear proper attire when meeting new people." "Trousers are hot!" the boy exclaimed, head dramatically thrown back. "Hmm... A very good point," he nodded, looking to Audrey. "Perhaps we can turn these into shorts instead?" "You do it? I'm too tired to remember how to tailor things," she quietly griped, pressing her head against his arm. He tried his best not to smile when she was put out like this, but always found her pouting looks rather adorable.  "Long day?"  "Long month!"  He quickly spelled the trousers into shorts and they finally got the wriggling boy. They went about the room tying shoes, tucking shirts. It took a whole lot of child wrangling from Audrey, her staff, and all the Weasleys-- but they finally were ready for the prospective foster families (and perhaps even future adopters) to arrive, and for the children to go about the carnival having an intense amount of fun. Later on Harry arrived with his own children, which caused a lot of turning heads, not only because it was ‘THE Potter,’ but because James had let out a cry of glee and immediately knocked over a table full of food. Percy’s twins joined with their cousins, and Percy was happy to let Harry look after them for a bit. With so many staff on hand this year Audrey didn't have to be as hands on for the paperwork side of things for once, giving them a chance to slip away.  They went back into the center to their favorite spot, a little sunroom with an old comfortable couch.

"This looks to be your best carnival yet. Wonderful turnout."

"I'll feel better next week when I know if it paid off," she said with a sigh, putting her head on his shoulder. "But yes, it definitely looks like fun. Nothing but toothy grins everywhere I looked."

Percy nodded and leaned his head on top of hers. Their peace was broken by the sound of fireworks going off, making them both jump. "Those weren't supposed to go off for an hour! I was going to have ear plugs for the children and everything!" "Can we have a strict family foster George for a bit?" asked Percy, shaking his head.  "Sadly he's past the age limit for fostering by fifteen years." She closed her eyes and rubbed her brows.  Another great bang came, but this one sounded more like a slammed door followed by the pattering of tiny feet. Audrey made a move to get up but Percy waved her down. "I'll get this one." It didn't take much looking to find a head of bright ginger curls poking out from under a craft laden table.   "Hugo?" Percy asked. His knees creaked as he squatted down, something they'd been more and more prone to doing lately.  His tiny nephew had his back to the wall and hands over his ears as he rocked a bit. His eyes were tightly scrunched closed.  Percy did a quick Muffliato, and closed the curtains with a flick of his wand.

Despite saying he'd take care of it, Audrey had some in to fix the problem. He silently mimed 'tell them I have Hugo,' which she immediately understood. 

Knowing there was little point in talking to Hugo at this time, he gathered a few books and a cup of water. He gently placed them in front of his nephew as he waited for the boy to open his eyes. They had an old copy of 'Beedle the Bard' he'd given the house a decade ago he silently read. A good five minutes passed before his nephew started to move.  "Water?" Hugo nodded before drinking the cup and giving a small 'ahhh' as he finished it. "I have a few books we can read from in the sunroom, if you like. Which do you prefer," he said, laying the three books out. "Beedle the Bard, Stellaluna, or Arrow to the Sun?" Hugo pointed to Stellaluna, grasping Percy's finger as they went to the sunroom to read.  He read Stellaluna three times, at Hugo's silent request. The boy's bright brown eyes lit up every time the bat and her little bird friends hugged at the end.

"Do you want to go back to the carnival?" Hugo shrugged and buried his mop of curls into Percy's side.  "Was it just the fireworks that were too loud, or were the people too loud too?" he asked, weighing his hands back and forth. Hugo put both hands in Percy's. "I understand. It was rather chaotic out there. Lots of noise." Hugo nodded.  "If I put some headphones on to make it quiet, would you like to go outside? The petting zoo, cake walk and broom riding booth looked like fun." Hugo worried his lower lip, looking much like his father had at the same age.

 Ron hadn't been on the spectrum, exactly, but he'd always been a more sensitive child like Hugo. That was most likely why he was so partial to the lad. He'd always preferred Ron to the rest of his siblings, though he tried to cover up his partiality the best he could. Whenever he had a choice, he'd make sure Ron got his castoffs first because it meant more to him and he showed such care and kindness to all his items and pets. 

His nephew had just turned four and still barely talked, but he had that same deep care within him about things. He held books with reverence, smiled with the same whole-bodied smile, and had a natural curiosity all his own. He hoped to hear Hugo talk more, eventually, because he imagined the boy had quite a lot to say. "So, headphones?" "Are... Are they Muggle?" Hugo whispered.  Percy had to fight back the mad grin trying to make its way across his face. He hadn't heard Hugo in months, despite being around the boy many times.  "They're very close to the ones you normally use, so sort of," Percy answered, bringing Hugo with him to raid the supply closet. "Your Dad and Uncle George invented them based on Muggle technology, but they don't use electricity. They use magic to help cancel out certain sounds, but still let you hear the important things." He held up a pair and Hugo looked glum. "Ready for me to put them on you?" Hugo shook his head, brows furrowing a bit.  "What's wrong?" Hugo looked away and bit his lip. His nephew didn't much like things that were different from what he was used to. What did his headphones look like? They weren't the mass-produced ones. No, they were the prototypes, so they'd used actual Muggle tech and just spells on top of it. Percy racked his mind trying to remember the details of them.  "Sorry they don't look like your normal ones from home. Did you need me to spell them another color?"   Hugo stopped responding, looking to the ground.   "They do the same job though... I can magic them to look more like the ones from home. Make them have have the same padding on the inside, change the color... Make them plastic-looking." Hugo suddenly nodded, running up to Percy and pulling at his sleeve. Ah, he'd forgotten about Hugo's interest in plastic. It took a few spells before Hugo finally put on the headphones and smiled.  "Ready to go back out?" His nephew nodded, giving a thumbs up and a broad grin. "Excellent. I have it on good authority that there will be baby nifflers at the petting zoo."

[saetangfm]

( twenty - one , cisfemale , she/her ) ✉ ― hey babes, have you met MALI SAETANG. they’re vacationing here, a few villas down from where you’re staying. you might hear LOTTERY BY KALI UCHIS playing from their villa, it’s their favourite song. yes, they hear that they look like LALISA MANOBAN alot, actually - it’s really uncanny. their friends back home in SAN FRANCISCO , CALIFORNIA say that if they were on a tv show, their trope would be THE DITZ , how funny is that? ✎ bunny, 18, she/they , est.

[ paris hilton’s vc ] “that’s hot !” hiii , my name is bunny !! i am a very chaotic person. hopefully all of my ideas for mali is coherent enough. i’m SO SO SO excited for this rp and for you all to meet mali. i am very forgetful due to my neurodivergency so if you ever send me a message to plot don’t be afraid to send it twice to remind me. OK OK , HERE IS MS. SAETANG <33

full name | mali saetang

age | twenty - one

birth date | december 24

zodiac | capricorn

father’s name | aran ( last name to be found )

mother’s name | chailai saetang

orientation | bisexual

label | the ditz

I. BIOGRAPHY

COMES from a long line musician and music moguls well at least on her mother’s side her mother is currently a music mogul , retired musician. her mother quite reminded her of cher. a very forward thinking and independent woman. didn’t need anyone to do anything for her. incredibly talented , beautiful , funny. the whole PACKAGE really. she looked up to her mother very much. her dad on the other hand was more of the scumbag more of the DIRTBAG type. he was a one time fling for her mom. a big scandal when it happened. such a famous woman like her mom sleeping with a nobody. he came and go when he pleased when she was growing up. one day , he just never showed back up. she still loved him regardless even though he showed little interest in her. no matter how hard she tried. she just wanted VALIDATION. craved it. this trend would follow her into adulthood. her mother treated her well though , she had a problem staying at her house busy with work and all. her mother always felt HORRIBLE and GUILTY for this so she gave her money , gifts , and vacations. anything to help her conscience but she always meant well because she loved mali. so mali spent her childhood rotating through nannies , craving the validation from her dad knowing she’ll never get it , and getting PITY gifts and money from her mom.

II.

MALI took up singing as well but more as a hobby to her mother’s disappointment. mali just has a lot of doubts in her singing ability and just doesn’t know if she’ll ever live up to her mother. she’s much more of a typical SOCIALITE. lots of parties and hook ups rather than spending time being typically “productive”. her mother funds these habits out of guilt of her past behavior in mali’s childhood. her current life is just filled with her in the tabloids. MALI’S GONE WILD makes the headline like two times a week and don’t get me started on her dumb tweets that genuinely makes people question her intelligence on a daily.

III.

TYPICALLY , mali is a pretty sweet person. always has her friends back regardless if their friends are in the wrong or not. she’s a little bit of a airhead. think of the DUMBEST quote you can and she has probably said it or tweeted it. she’s one of those people who just goes with whoever she has the most fun with. this gets her in a lot of trouble because the people she hangs out with can be the nastiest bitches girls on earth. tend gets her in a lot of drama. her SWEET and QUIRKY personality makes up for most of this though since she can really charming. she’s not a person who kicks people down to get her way but she will if she has too. can charm her way out of anything truly. just put a smile and twirl her hair. works every time.

IV. WANTED CONNECTIONS

bad  influence  . generally all of her friends are kind of bad influence on her but this one in particular is bad. always getting in trouble especially during parties. think of lindsey lohan and paris hilton when they were friends. just a whole mess , a lot of fun , and a ton of bad decisions.

best friends . a group of people she hangs around constantly. this group definitely has to be a lot of fun. doesn’t necessarily have to be the nicest group of people.

frenemies . party buddies or just a person she only hung out with a couple times who she honestly doesn’t really like. just hangs out with them for fun. talks badly behind their back.

flings . this could be multiple people. she kinda falls in “love” with people at parties a lot. maybe it’s the alcohol that brings it out but absolutely loves being loved or at least wanted. keeps them around for a couple and then breaks up them.

enemies . a lot people find her airhead socialite personality annoying.

| honestly just throw any other plots my way if you want !! <3

[abbeyfangirl]

dragon age: all characters (companions)

I’ve been in this fandom for a hot minute now and I want to update my opinions on characters :)

Origins

Alistair: super sweet dude who literally is not the stereotypicalchantryguyfightme. He’s a great example of healthy masculinity and I totally wish he was bi because I have an entire essay on that— also: he’s a poc! His mum was brown. In game he’s got dark features. if you really want a blond/blue-eyes/white guy, make your warden that. or accept that brown people can be noble and moral. or just draw cailan, idk. just because BioWare whitewashes doesn’t mean you should.

Leliana: someone hug my singing girlfriend before I crush her under with my own hugs. Also: nugs. Yes! Shoes. Yes! She likes how I style my hair? YES!! I honestly think she’s super duper and it pisses me off whenever someone’s like: yeah she enjoys killing people and the Game. ok. and michel de chevin willingly participated in genocidal marches through the alienage he grew up in with his elvhen mum. 

Morrigan: dirty swamp witch that i stan and also have a v big crush on. tiddies. Have a son with a GW so we can raise him with our tiddies out in the forest. she’s also white-passing, as her father was chasind and all people we’ve seen that are chasind are black. therefore, she is biracial. therefore, poc can be goths and don’t shy away from giving morrigan a darker skintone. if the devs had of been thinking, she’d have a darker skintone.

Zevran: Actually is the best romance, I think. Loves consent, therefore I will stan him so hard my skull cracks a little. Also: he is a very brown boy and if he’s white in da4 I’m seriously going to throw all canon out the fucking window. genuinely a good person who needs to be told so. 

Wynne: grandma who only likes my friends who go to church. but also super sweet and I’d rest my head on her bosom (in a platonic way omg ZEVRAN)

Sten: angry quiet boi. the bestest boi. I totally would give him a kitten for a gift and bake him cookies. Thicc softie. I think if I had DA:O and i knew how to use mods i would mod the fuck outta him. sorry.

Sha(y)le: who’s gender? idk her. See also: fuck birds and authority. pound ur ass into the ground you feathery meatbag little shits. fuck songbirds.

Dog: such a good boi. thicc. thinks Alistair is a whiny fuck and is Morrigan’s only friend. love him. he’s the cutest companion. bet.

Ohgren: honestly forgot about him bcc he’s such a shitbag. also: he could’ve been a really cool addiction recovery type but NOPE. probably would have a trump shirt in a modern au and would catcall wlw and hit mlm. no thanks.

Awakening

Anders: he acts like rlly straight but he’s so gay I can smell it. also he’s rlly cute and fun and I love him so much.

Justice: MAYBE i’M selF CONSCious OF THE twitchING. is the friend that genuinely doesn’t get dick jokes but is ur 110% ride or die.

Nathaniel Howe: honestly is sort of a white knight/neck beard a little, but it’s kind of charming with his whole velanna m’lady?? grump boi. annoying soul patch that I’d mod out SO FAST—

Sigrun: would have ROMANCED the FUCK out of her. why she even entertains the idea of fucking with ohgren makes me realize most of the writers are dumbfucks.png. peppy little emo. 12/10 would die if she kissed my cheek teasingly.

Ohgren: why. why. why. I’d have brought Shayle over. Maybe Zev? Definitely Dog.

Velanna: she was written to be an annoying feminist and you can tell but I deadass am a kindred spirit with her bcc I too am deadpan annoyed with Thedas’ general population too. love her. Would’ve loved to romance her. She’d totally be one of those who’d get all tsundere and be like “n-no i hate you” *kisses the fuckin soul out of you then blushes so hard she’s now a tomato*

Dragon Age II

Anders: fuck the cops. i don’t care. fuck the cops. (vine reference). also: do i hate him for blowing up the chantry that would eventually annul a huge collection of his people? no. read dalishious’s meta on Anders. v intriguing. didn’t they retcon the fuck out of the reported deaths too? like there was like eight Templars and Elthinia in there. Templars killed more “abominations” in a day than Anders in the game canon—

Aveline: initially thought she was fine and then realized she’s shit to my lil brother and I will fucking clap her ginger ass. See also: whorephobia isn’t a joke so fuck off with treating Isabela badly, you tit.

Bethany: sunshine. Literal sunshine. I feel my freckles grow in her presence and i love it. she’s my little baby sister and I’d slam that ogre so fuckin hard before it touched either twin.

Carver: there has to be a mod where both twins survive. I love them both to bits. My babies. carver is my bitter, angry little brother and I can relate because I too am very angry and would totally clap my own ass. hes so genuine and I don’t get the competition between Beth and Carver. Like, both are fuckin stellar in different ways. In this essay I will—

Fenris: honestly, I don’t get the general hate between him and Anders. Fenris’ main arc should’ve been a recovery arc, not drunken moping and revenge. he deserves better. give him a soft sweater instead of his spikes and let him love himself as much as I love him for MAKERS SAKE. like when you really think about their relationship, it could’ve been an eye-opener for fenris and finally some legit sympathy for anders. but we all know that if they had of teamed up that Meredith would’ve been dead before the end of Act 1 so.

Isabela: whorephobia is not a joke. oversexualizing your only appearing brown woman is so poorly written. how about we appreciate her and her lovely bosoms but also let people tease her about her heart of gold? her innate understanding of freedom? instead of just a wave of dick? please?? can we give her some pants for when she fights? can we accept that i fall for rogues who hate themselves?? fuck. also whomever draws her x femHawke x Merrill literally is after my own heart.

Merrill: my fucking babygirl MARRY ME. Fenris could’ve been her older brother type, but NO. she and Isabela should’ve been canonical gfs instead of Isabela/Fenris (no shaming the pairing tho!!). I love how she’s written as neurodivergent. V nice. Sometimes I just look her up and cry because she’s fucking everything. Also: she’s in the Dalish origin and she’s far from being white. Why did they make the most innocent/naïve character really white? hmmmm.

Sebastian: whew that boy. Would totally be that annoying Mormon at your door but you still let him in bcc he’s super sweet. Also: huge ass bible thumper and should get his head slap because you said the maker loved all his children why do you defend a complicit old hag you annoying attractive fuck—

Varric: totally is a bard and the devs couldn’t handle the idea of him being one bcc it might make him look less straight. is the only grey morality person I don’t want to fucking bash in with a fry pan. he sees people and I like that, but you totally know he’s siding with mages every time bcc him and Anders are like besties. I’m sorry. I don’t make the rules. “Professional Younger Brother”.

Tallis: I know nothing about her but she seems okay. I think she was an escaped slave and honestly? Fucking props. Spy on a shitting organization, idk what you’re doing, but your VA was that cool lesbian from SPN so I think ur okay?

Inquisition

Blackwall: Redemption Arc 101. Love him to bits. Sad dad bunwall. good man. actually atoned for his sins by actively becoming a good person. his initial design is 80% hotter im so sorry but so not.

Cassandra: was way browner in the last game. would romance the fuck outta her. I love me a butch lady who melts at my dorky recitation of poetry. BioWare is a coward. also is the worst choice for divine. but not a bad person. could use some more guidance or get her ass whipped by a dalish elf about religion or a circle mage kid whos like “yeah bud i didn’t ask for the templars to whip my ass everyday for existing.”

The Iron Bull: I think the Qunari/Vashoth were a little based off black people (the whole anti blackness thing where ppl are scared of them bcc of whatever reason) and it pisses me off that he had a weird ass dubcon thing with Dorian in banter. It doesn’t make sense— he’s an A+++ dom and would not jump straight in role play without at least checking in at first like wtf BioWare.

Cole: his mother was chasind so he’s like not supposed to be that white? or like biracial? albino? idk. love him to bits tho. He’s neurodivergent and I deadass love him. romancing him? idk. I see why ppl think it’s fuckin nasty but also like as a writer I’d age him the fuck up so fast before my inquisitor even THOUGHT about that. like idk. I’m down with him being a sweet little bro character tho. he’s a babe. love him.

Sera: had the worst fucking writer I’ve ever seen and I willingly read the twilight saga twice by a shit ass racist white lady who okay’d pedophilia. like. Fuck you Kristjanson suck your own dick you fuck. had the worst options in regards to speak to her. has a thicc case of internalized racism that literally most of the fandom just loves to use against her. my lesbian neurodivergent queen. Would write a thousand fix it fics for her. Love her to bits. im gay.

Varric: I haven’t played DA2 so i don’t get why everyone wants to romance him but like. a dwarf romance? yes please. Idk he reminds me of my uncle so I only see him as fun uncle material. Deadass should adopt Cole and Merrill and co parent with Blackwall for Sera. dads? fuck yeah. love me some wholesome, present fathers.

Dorian: is a gay stereotype that I love/hate so much. and he’s also just as bad about being a creep bcc he sexualizes qunari men (in banter). I attribute that to shit writing tho. I want to protect him from all the “omg gay best friend!” people. he’d clearly be that tired gay that wouldn’t give a diddly damn about ur het romance. wanna talk about politics? he’s ur guy/gay.

Solas: “me, an intellectual:”. I don’t hate him, but I’m not about him. He comes off as mysterious and suave (which he totally is) but I deadass would not save him from himself because he’s a racist, exclusionist eggshell. idk. not my cup of tea, but I can totally see the appeal. And he’s interesting, I’ll totally say that. “I think the Dalish are garbage but they made you” is not a compliment. it’s so offensive. and such bait for “quirky girls” which I’m no fan of. Would be Achilles and let Patroclus (Lavellan in his case) die before he realized how his pride is literally a waste of time. If he gets a redemption arc I hope Lavellan gets to slap him before getting him to teach all about ancient Arlathan and show that the Evanuris weren’t all total dicknozzles. (Aka I really have a hard time believing that they’d be slavery cult things. especially since they’ve compared elves to indigenous ppl, Jews and the Romani.)

Vivienne: it’s so racist that they’d make a black woman be pro-slavery. That’s such internalized racism. She could’ve been the cool ass “educate yourself first before you speak, fool” ice lady, but NO. the devs could’ve kept the “Templars are a tool that I proudly can mandate” and the “circles are very good education” and we. Could. Have. Romanced. Her. Like. Fuck. Sake. I just wanna give her a hug and say “love yourself omg!!” and not even in a romantic way. Also: she and morrigan should not have been so antagonistic towards each other. I’d expect them to have great respect for each other, as they both moved up in the world through hardwork and very little help. They could learn different magic from each other too and still maintain that rival respect “oh you” mood. Sidenote: probably the cooler option for Divine. if her approval is high enough she’ll love and be loyal to you forever and i can’t see her agenda being bad. she improves the circles exponentially and tells all the antis to suck her pretty painted toes.

Josephine: an actual disney princess. romanced her my first playthrough. I love her so much. she just makes me so happy. And she’s like: “Integrity, Loyalty, peace. That is what it means to be a GREY WARDEN good fucking person.” she’s the person who would let you hold her hand if you got anxious and she’d be that person who shouldered the whole group project with finesse and poise and would probably lie for everyone as to not be mean. i love josie. her and leliana’s relationship is so cute, too. whether it’s romantic or not: women supporting women.

Leliana: if you leave her hardened you must hate her. why. she becomes so against herself. i like how shes feminine and lighthearted because that’s so powerful-- to remain hopeful when the world is hopeless. (its hard to know when to soften her/harden her so i get it but. google it. she deserves to be happy and sweet again.)

Cullen: uwu war criminal with shit ass “redemption arc” that was actually a half-assed (at BEST) recovery arc. Recovery isn’t linear, it isn’t pretty, and even the broken need to be told they are wrong in order to heal right. Like I’m offended by that bullshit. I’ve had to do some mental health recovery in the past and unlearning lots of toxic ideologies— which I’m still unlearning— and it bothers me that he gets an easy pass because he’s hot. It’s one thing if you like Cullen, it’s another thing if you hold him accountable.

[doka-chan]

SIM OC QUESTIONS (50)

This tag was adapted by @twistedsimblr 50 QUESTIONS FOR YOUR SIMS

I was tagged by @ninjaofthepurplethings. Thank you my friend !

Sim’s name: Ellowyne Wendy Moïra OLWE MIRIEL.

Answers under the cut.

How old is your sim? 21.

When is your sim’s birthday? May the 4th.

What is your sim’s zodiac sign? Taurus.

What is your sim’s ethnicity? Celtic mainly.

Does your sim have any nicknames? She has a lot !! “Ello”, “Shorty”, “little witch”, “my sweet”, “Baby E.”, “baby”, “baby girl”, “baby doll”, “doll”, “dolly doll”.

Do they have a job? If so what is it? She is a junior at the Bridgeport City Ballet.

Where does your sim live? She was born and grew up in Moonlight Falls, but she recently moved to Bridgeport.

Who does your sim live with? No one.

What environment did your sims grow up in? (strict, loving, cold etc.) She was raised by her Grandmother, Martha. Her education was strict but fair. Her and her brother definitely grew up surrounded with love thanks to their Grandmother though. But their own parents never really cared about them and left them both to Martha soon after Ellowyne’s birth.

What are your sim’s favorite foods? Sushis is her most favorite ! And her favorite dessert is pumpkin pie.

What is your sim’s favorite drink? Cold : water, hot : hot chocolate with a lot of cinnamon and a tiny bit of cream on top, alcoholic : mojito.

If they have one what is your sim’s favorite color? Blue. But immediately after comes white and pink.

Does your sim believe in any clichés? (love at first sight) She believes that actions speak louder than words. And about love at first sight, for a long time she didn’t know, and used to wonder about this. But now she knows it can happen since she experienced it with Austin.

What is your sim’s sexuality? Straight.

What is your sim’s gender identity? Female.

Is your sim type a or type b? Type B with A tendencies sometimes.

Is your sim introverted or extroverted? Mostly introverted.

Is your sim neurotypical or neurodivergent? Depends.

Is your sim a pet person? If so what is their favorite animal? Yes, definitely. She likes nature and all the living animals, but her favorite is cats.

Does your sim have a best friend? Ruby Chevallier.

What is/was your sim’s favorite school subject? Literature.

Is/was your sim a high, mid or low achiever in school? High.

Are they planning to go or have they already been to college? If so, what would be or what was their major? She did and majored in literature and sports. (If we consider the sim’s college works the way it works in the USA.)

What are your sims political beliefs? (if they have them) She hates politicians and believes most of them are corrupted liars only caring about their own immediate interest, and not acting for their people. So it’s making her an anarchist, I guess…

What is one thing your sims wants to do before they die? Being able to travel at least one time in every continent.

Does your sim have a favorite tv show (cable) and/or movie? She has no interests in tv at all. But she does enjoy cinema and movies. Her favorites movies of all times are Dracula from FF Coppola, Romeo+Juliet, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Hancock, The Exorcist, and Million Dollar Baby. And ALL the horror movies possible !

Is your sim a Netflix viewer? If so what are their top 3 shows. ? Not so much.

Does your sim like books? If so what’s their favorite one? She likes them very much, if you come to her place, there is books everywhere. Froth on the Daydream by Boris Vian is her favorite one, followed immediately by The Little Prince by Antoine de St Exupery.

Does your sim enjoy video games, if so what is their favorite one and do they play on pc or console? Yes, she discovered video games with her brother when she was younger. They used to play together and since then she likes adventure games mostly. Her favorite is Breath of the Wild, for obvious reasons.

What is your sim’s personal style? Dresses or shorts with cute tops when the weather is nice, jeans with warmer tops when it’s more cold. But she is obsessed with shoes, she has so many (flip flops, high heels ones, boots, sandals, sneakers).

Does your sim have a lucky charm? She has a little plush she is keeping most of the time in her bag. It was the only toy she remembered her mother gave her.

Is your sim religious? She is a believer, but not in the strict sense. She does believe in guardian angels and in a force balancing the nature and the universe.

What kind of music does your sim listen to and who is their favorite artist? She loves all kind of musics and she listens to them depending on her mood. Her favorite artist is Lana Del Rey.

Is your sim a festive person? If so what’s their favorite holiday? Yes, her favorite holiday is Christmas and she also likes Halloween and Valentine’s day.

What is your sim’s favorite type of weather? Spring days.

Does your sim prefer to start fights or finish them? Finish them.

Does your sim have a dream job? Being first ballerina.

Does your sim have any siblings? Yes, her big brother : Emrys.

Does your sim get along with their family? Not with her parents as she barely know them. But she adores her grandmother, her brother (even if he is too protective with her), and her auntie Bennette.

What is your sims favorite hobby? Dancing, reading, hanging out with her friends.

What does your sim look for in a romantic partner? Kindness, patience and intelligence. She also has a big crush on beautiful voices and she is very sensitive to the scent.

What is a secret about your sim? Her angers can be very impressive. Especially as she is very calm most of the time.

What is a wish your sim has? Being able to be more confident.

What is a flaw your sim has? Shyness is one of her flaws. She is also using aggressiveness as protection when she is feeling cornered.

How do others generally perceive your sim? As someone kind and caring.

Does your sim have a greatest achievement? If so what is it? Being happy with a family of her own.

If they have one, what is your sim’s greatest regret? I already talked about this here.

Does your sim have a favorite emoji? 😜

Does your sim use simstagram? If so what’s their @? No.

What is the last text your sim sent (and who did they text)? “I miss you ! When will you come to Bridgeport for a weekend ?” to her best friend.

I tag @sim-locked, @nonsimsical, @summerreverie, ​@rollo-rolls, @freckled-pixels, @mochasims, @vil-lain, @fyachii.

No obligation of course and feel free to ignore if you have already done it !!! :D

[lodelss]

Soraya Roberts | Longreads | May 2020 | 10 minutes (2,500 words)

Isolation is horny as fuck. Not for everyone, obviously, but if you’re single and you live alone. . . I mean, I have never thought this much about sex in my life. Not even in high school. Although this does kind of feel like high school: snacking, jerking off, sort-of working, snacking, jerking off. Or maybe we’re regressing to a point in history when we were exclusively driven by our basest instincts: horny, hungry, trying not to die. In between we binge-stream. And through this fogged up lockdown-induced lens, the horniness of what we are watching is compounded by our own.

Normal People is the big one. The Hulu adaptation of Sally Rooney’s critically felated millennial romance is softcore for hipsters: an outcast girl and a sensitive jock, both of them equally brilliant (of course), having some messy, bildungsroman-style sex over the years (to Imogen Heap, in Malick-ian light) like that’s all the world is. The sex is hot, but everything that happens right before it is hotter. All that staring, all that sizzle — by the time they actually do it, it’s almost an afterthought. Almost. The same goes for Run, the HBO series by Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s creative partner, Vicky Jones, about two ex-lovers fleeing their lives to the kind of loin-tingling wit that got us through the Hays Code. Here, once again, the foreplay is the sex. Then there’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire, the French period piece in which two women, with their eyes alone, strip, fuck, and share a cigarette before they physically do all three.

This is the kind of hot — leg-crossing, side-eying — where you don’t have to say it out loud, you feel it. The kind of hot spun by women from Europe, where sex doesn’t have the same moral implications it does in America. But more than that, it’s a hotness related to a wider move toward women reclaiming their own stories, their own sex. We all know by now that sex under the male gaze tends to objectify women — hotness, in the hands of men, is predominantly naked women getting fucked. Permission is neither here nor there. Under the female gaze, sure, naked women get fucked too, but there’s also enthusiastic consent. Great sex is not orgasm upon orgasm so much as agreement upon agreement, through looks and gestures and breaths and talk — the personification of ongoing accord, no permission slips or questions necessary. The point being that sex isn’t sexy unless it’s between people, not just their bodies; people who change their minds as well as their positions. In isolation, where you have nothing to do but wait for it, it only makes you hotter to watch not only the physical restraint and psychological tease, but every move, every look, every word that says “Yes!” before it’s screamed aloud.

* * *

I have no idea where or when I first heard the term “edging,” but I think it was a couple of years ago. I recall being told that it came from teenagers who used it to describe holding off orgasm deliberately to make it that much stronger in the end, a kind of pleasure binge that seemed to fit that generation (if everything sucks, might as well overdose on suckage). Which is not to say that climax control is new; it goes back to Tantric and Taoist traditions, where it’s less about splooging as hard as you can and more about a kind of physical transcendence. But the idea of mindful sex, of really feeling everything — together — instead of just trying to get yourself off as quickly as possible, didn’t really hit conservative America until the sixties. Masters of Sex reintroduced us to William Masters and Virginia Johnson, the couple responsible for the huge human sexuality study published in 1966 that identified the four-stage sex response: excitement (arousal), plateau (pre-orgasm), orgasm, resolution (post-orgasm). Of course, it turned out that cycle was generally reserved for men, while women across the country were left dissatisfied (and often pregnant). But the sixties and seventies brought heightened awareness of women’s rights along with heightened awareness of sexuality.

Enter edging. “Understanding this new kind of orgasm can be especially difficult for men. When it comes to pleasure, women are the first in line.” This comes from the worryingly titled Extended Massive Orgasm by Vera and Steve Bodansky, a 2002 addition to a slew of slow masturbation and one-hour-orgasm how-to books, all of which fall under the rubric of edging. The Bodanskys emphasize being fully present — fully engaged with yourself and your partner — and aware that the mechanics of sex are not the sole source of pleasure. A human being has a psychological as well as a physical self, and sex also has both elements; eye contact, verbalizing, variations in touch, and breathing responsively aren’t requirements for ejaculation, but they definitely make it more agreeable. Which is why the Bodansky book, somewhat patronizingly, addresses men the way it does. Because sex has been generally dictated by men, it has generally served them and them alone. Putting women first doesn’t mean men are neglected, it means women aren’t.

But Hollywood is still predominantly run by men and men predominantly run it the old way when it comes to heat (erotic thrillers were a brief light at the end of the tunnel, but then the tunnel just kept going). Think of Game of Thrones or anything on Starz: what passes for hot, once again, is conventionally beautiful women with no clothes on being bent over. The physical part may be there, but the psychological part, not to mention the consent, is not. Which is why reality series like Too Hot to Handle (contestants win by not touching) and Love Is Blind (contestants get together before seeing each other) are not particularly orgasmic, though they are positioned as the perfect pandemic watch. The payoff of edging requires real chemistry and it helps to have some real stakes thrown in.

Which is not to say it can’t be fictional. There are nine sex scenes in Normal People. Actually, there are more than nine, but there are nine between the two superficially polar-opposite teens we follow from high school to college. (There are only 12 episodes). Try finding a story about Normal People that doesn’t mention its horniness. You can’t; horniness defines it. Obviously, being particularly susceptible in lockdown to anything related to the possibility of sex has affected how we respond to it, but this is also the kind of hotness that transcends pandemics. Let me explain, with Connell and his little chain.

Connell (Paul Mescal) isn’t just hot because he looks like an animated version of Michelangelo’s David, he’s hot because he looks like an animated version of Michelangelo’s David and is shy. He is hot because he is entirely uncomfortable in his own skin despite inhabiting skin in which he should be entirely comfortable — he is a super-smart, super-handsome, super-athletic white man; how much better can he have it? Connell is hot because despite all of that, he can’t stop staring at the guileless-verging-on-neurodivergent-poor-man’s-Anne-Hathaway Marianne (Daisy Edgar-Jones) when Marcia Brady (that’s not her name, but does she ever look like her) can’t stop staring at him. He is hot because he is charmed as fuck when Marianne, during their second kiss, blurts out the “guy” question: “Now can we take our clothes off?” He is hot because he gives Marianne an out during her first time. He is hot because he takes Marianne’s advice about his future. He is hot because he is inconsolable when he realizes how badly he has treated her by keeping them secret. Connell is hot because as much as Marianne is at his mercy, he is even more at hers.

And the sex scenes in Normal People are hot because the director realizes all of this — that the hotness is as much in everyone’s heads as it is in their bodies. “In some movies, they treat sex scenes like they treat car chases or gun fights, like an opportunity to try a different form of filmmaking,” Lenny Abrahamson told the Irish magazine Hot Press. “How I shot, if we were moving from dialogue to sex, there’s no point where we enter a different dimension, it’s just a continuation of their interaction.” The way the show is filmed, the confined settings, the proximity of the camera to their faces, their eyes — all of it magnifies the intimacy. But it isn’t just in the shooting, it’s also in the choreography. With the help of intimacy coordinator Ita O’Brien, every frisson between Connell and Marianne — from every long gaze and every small touch to all that heavy breathing in flagrante — coalesces into an intoxicating six-hour expression of the fluid physical connection between two characters whose psychological connection (whose verbal agreement, even) came first. It’s like nothing else exists but them. These two are entirely in it with each other.

While Run is less about what’s in their heads than what’s coming out of their mouths, its not-so-brief encounter on a train has a similarly close-quartered intimacy. The HBO series stars Merritt Wever as Ruby, a wife and mom of two, and Domhnall Gleeson as Billy, a Jordan Peterson type. The two exes reunite after 15 years on a cross-country trip to escape their lives. She has her family to lose, he has his book deal. The stakes are slightly uneven, but their banter is not: their edgeplay is their wordplay. Like Normal People, the camera stays close to the two lovers who are already confined in their seats (and, later, “roomette”) shoulder to shoulder, face to face, almost mouth to mouth. Just like we do, they become so hot off each other’s proximity that they are forced to take breaks to secretly masturbate in the bathroom. Both of them. Separately.

But here again, as in Normal People, the woman ultimately has all the power. With a family back home, this is Ruby’s encounter to take or leave, not Billy’s. It is her thirst that fuels the ride, not his. “I turned up to have sex,” she says. And later, “I want to fuck you… now.” These exclamations are all the more pregnant for the person saying them — Wever herself has admitted she did not see herself as a lead in a rom-com (Gleeson had already done About Time). And yet here she is not only in one, but subverting it. A man admitting he wants to fuck a woman who might not want to fuck him isn’t transgressive, it’s a cliché. But a woman admitting she wants to fuck a man (more conventionally attractive than she is, more successful, more single) who might reject her? That’s hot. So will he say yes? Do we even need him to anymore? “Holding back on the sex was always something we knew we had to do,” creator Vicky Jones told Refinery29. “Because it’s not really a will-they-won’t-they, since they do. It’s, will they have sex and how?” But with foreplay this good, the sex can’t help but be an anti-climax.

That upending convention, that the woman dominates really, suggests why the queen of edging is Portrait of a Lady on Fire, a queer love story by a queer filmmaker (Céline Sciamma) about a painter named Marianne (Noémie Merlant) and her subject, Héloïse (Adèle Haenel). There is no dilution here by the well-trod tropes of male sexuality, there is only a pair of  women drowning in each other. The female gaze turns in on itself as Marianne’s view of Héloïse becomes ours. The film’s title summons the slow burn of their relationship, with every new plateau advancing so achingly slowly — Marianne even seeks consent before repositioning Héloïse’s arm as she sits for her, which is the first time they touch — that every act, when it comes, is that much more extreme, the whole thing mimicking that aforementioned menacing “massive extended orgasm.” It takes 13 minutes for the heroines to meet, despite being in the same house, and even then, one of them is only introduced from behind in a black head-to-toe cloak, a funereal tease. This is no meet-cute; it’s the slowest reveal ever, with her cloak fluttering in the breeze until a mess of blond strands escape, which almost make you gasp despite yourself, before the whole hood falls to expose the back of a blond head. And then, suddenly, the faceless woman is running to her death, we think, until she stops right at the edge of a cliff and, abruptly, turns, her flushed face, her great blue eyes, downplaying the grand mort to a petit mort. “I’ve dreamt of that for years,” Héloïse says breathlessly, post-coitally. A pure distillation of the female apex, no wonder the French, their sexual legacy defined by males, thought the film wasn’t erotic enough.

* * *

The hottest scene in Normal People, ergo the hottest scene of my isolation, doesn’t actually include an orgasm. And it, fittingly, takes a while, not arriving until the near the end of the second half of the series, which was directed by Hettie Macdonald. Now in college, no longer dating, Connell and Marianne are sort-of-not-really watching some sports game in Connell’s hot, cramped childhood room in a haze of hormones. Everything is sweating. She stares at him. He stares at the screen. She pretends to sleep. He gets up. “Want some ice cream?” He goes, she stays. He returns. It’s not ice cream, it’s penis-shaped rocket popsicles. And the room is dripping in sex. When Marianne stretches out her bare feet to his end of the bed, I squeak. She says she wants him to kiss her. He says he does too — the pain on his face! — but they always end badly and he doesn’t want to lose her friendship. Fuck. She gets up to leave, telling him not to drop her off at home ‘cause he’ll miss the rest of the match. Olive branch: “I forgot there was a match on, to be honest.” Game on.

Even though the sex is ultimately abandoned (I won’t spoil it), it doesn’t matter. This prelude is more satisfying than 99 percent of the orgasms I’ve ever watched. Despite all the sexual tension, the woman still ultimately commands the room. Theirs and ours. In that Hot Press interview, director Lenny Abrahamson, who shot the first six episodes, laughed perversely about the show coming out during a worldwide pandemic. “You start to miss the human touch, people’s skin — and that is all over the show,” he said. “God help everybody!” But it wasn’t Abrahamson behind the episode I’m talking about, it was a woman. And while it’s true that thirst can hurt, it can also take the edge off, as that scene choreographed by three women — conceived of by Rooney, directed by Macdonald, managed by O’Brien — proves. No one finished, but it wasn’t about that. Because all the elements were there, all that want and all that permission. And that was enough for me, if for no one else. And what was that line again? “When it comes to pleasure, women are the first in line.”

* * *

Soraya Roberts is a culture columnist at Longreads.

[lodelss]

On the Hotness of Not Getting Any

Soraya Roberts | Longreads | May 2020 | 10 minutes (2,500 words)

Isolation is horny as fuck. Not for everyone, obviously, but if you’re single and you live alone. . . I mean, I have never thought this much about sex in my life. Not even in high school. Although this does kind of feel like high school: snacking, jerking off, sort-of working, snacking, jerking off. Or maybe we’re regressing to a point in history when we were exclusively driven by our basest instincts: horny, hungry, trying not to die. In between we binge-stream. And through this fogged up lockdown-induced lens, the horniness of what we are watching is compounded by our own.

Normal People is the big one. The Hulu adaptation of Sally Rooney’s critically felated millennial romance is softcore for hipsters: an outcast girl and a sensitive jock, both of them equally brilliant (of course), having some messy, bildungsroman-style sex over the years (to Imogen Heap, in Malick-ian light) like that’s all the world is. The sex is hot, but everything that happens right before it is hotter. All that staring, all that sizzle — by the time they actually do it, it’s almost an afterthought. Almost. The same goes for Run, the HBO series by Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s creative partner, Vicky Jones, about two ex-lovers fleeing their lives to the kind of loin-tingling wit that got us through the Hays Code. Here, once again, the foreplay is the sex. Then there’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire, the French period piece in which two women, with their eyes alone, strip, fuck, and share a cigarette before they physically do all three.

This is the kind of hot — leg-crossing, side-eying — where you don’t have to say it out loud, you feel it. The kind of hot spun by women from Europe, where sex doesn’t have the same moral implications it does in America. But more than that, it’s a hotness related to a wider move toward women reclaiming their own stories, their own sex. We all know by now that sex under the male gaze tends to objectify women — hotness, in the hands of men, is predominantly naked women getting fucked. Permission is neither here nor there. Under the female gaze, sure, naked women get fucked too, but there’s also enthusiastic consent. Great sex is not orgasm upon orgasm so much as agreement upon agreement, through looks and gestures and breaths and talk — the personification of ongoing accord, no permission slips or questions necessary. The point being that sex isn’t sexy unless it’s between people, not just their bodies; people who change their minds as well as their positions. In isolation, where you have nothing to do but wait for it, it only makes you hotter to watch not only the physical restraint and psychological tease, but every move, every look, every word that says “Yes!” before it’s screamed aloud.

* * *

I have no idea where or when I first heard the term “edging,” but I think it was a couple of years ago. I recall being told that it came from teenagers who used it to describe holding off orgasm deliberately to make it that much stronger in the end, a kind of pleasure binge that seemed to fit that generation (if everything sucks, might as well overdose on suckage). Which is not to say that climax control is new; it goes back to Tantric and Taoist traditions, where it’s less about splooging as hard as you can and more about a kind of physical transcendence. But the idea of mindful sex, of really feeling everything — together — instead of just trying to get yourself off as quickly as possible, didn’t really hit conservative America until the sixties. Masters of Sex reintroduced us to William Masters and Virginia Johnson, the couple responsible for the huge human sexuality study published in 1966 that identified the four-stage sex response: excitement (arousal), plateau (pre-orgasm), orgasm, resolution (post-orgasm). Of course, it turned out that cycle was generally reserved for men, while women across the country were left dissatisfied (and often pregnant). But the sixties and seventies brought heightened awareness of women’s rights along with heightened awareness of sexuality.

Enter edging. “Understanding this new kind of orgasm can be especially difficult for men. When it comes to pleasure, women are the first in line.” This comes from the worryingly titled Extended Massive Orgasm by Vera and Steve Bodansky, a 2002 addition to a slew of slow masturbation and one-hour-orgasm how-to books, all of which fall under the rubric of edging. The Bodanskys emphasize being fully present — fully engaged with yourself and your partner — and aware that the mechanics of sex are not the sole source of pleasure. A human being has a psychological as well as a physical self, and sex also has both elements; eye contact, verbalizing, variations in touch, and breathing responsively aren’t requirements for ejaculation, but they definitely make it more agreeable. Which is why the Bodansky book, somewhat patronizingly, addresses men the way it does. Because sex has been generally dictated by men, it has generally served them and them alone. Putting women first doesn’t mean men are neglected, it means women aren’t.

But Hollywood is still predominantly run by men and men predominantly run it the old way when it comes to heat (erotic thrillers were a brief light at the end of the tunnel, but then the tunnel just kept going). Think of Game of Thrones or anything on Starz: what passes for hot, once again, is conventionally beautiful women with no clothes on being bent over. The physical part may be there, but the psychological part, not to mention the consent, is not. Which is why reality series like Too Hot to Handle (contestants win by not touching) and Love Is Blind (contestants get together before seeing each other) are not particularly orgasmic, though they are positioned as the perfect pandemic watch. The payoff of edging requires real chemistry and it helps to have some real stakes thrown in.

Which is not to say it can’t be fictional. There are nine sex scenes in Normal People. Actually, there are more than nine, but there are nine between the two superficially polar-opposite teens we follow from high school to college. (There are only 12 episodes). Try finding a story about Normal People that doesn’t mention its horniness. You can’t; horniness defines it. Obviously, being particularly susceptible in lockdown to anything related to the possibility of sex has affected how we respond to it, but this is also the kind of hotness that transcends pandemics. Let me explain, with Connell and his little chain.

Connell (Paul Mescal) isn’t just hot because he looks like an animated version of Michelangelo’s David, he’s hot because he looks like an animated version of Michelangelo’s David and is shy. He is hot because he is entirely uncomfortable in his own skin despite inhabiting skin in which he should be entirely comfortable — he is a super-smart, super-handsome, super-athletic white man; how much better can he have it? Connell is hot because despite all of that, he can’t stop staring at the guileless-verging-on-neurodivergent-poor-man’s-Anne-Hathaway Marianne (Daisy Edgar-Jones) when Marcia Brady (that’s not her name, but does she ever look like her) can’t stop staring at him. He is hot because he is charmed as fuck when Marianne, during their second kiss, blurts out the “guy” question: “Now can we take our clothes off?” He is hot because he gives Marianne an out during her first time. He is hot because he takes Marianne’s advice about his future. He is hot because he is inconsolable when he realizes how badly he has treated her by keeping them secret. Connell is hot because as much as Marianne is at his mercy, he is even more at hers.

And the sex scenes in Normal People are hot because the director realizes all of this — that the hotness is as much in everyone’s heads as it is in their bodies. “In some movies, they treat sex scenes like they treat car chases or gun fights, like an opportunity to try a different form of filmmaking,” Lenny Abrahamson told the Irish magazine Hot Press. “How I shot, if we were moving from dialogue to sex, there’s no point where we enter a different dimension, it’s just a continuation of their interaction.” The way the show is filmed, the confined settings, the proximity of the camera to their faces, their eyes — all of it magnifies the intimacy. But it isn’t just in the shooting, it’s also in the choreography. With the help of intimacy coordinator Ita O’Brien, every frisson between Connell and Marianne — from every long gaze and every small touch to all that heavy breathing in flagrante — coalesces into an intoxicating six-hour expression of the fluid physical connection between two characters whose psychological connection (whose verbal agreement, even) came first. It’s like nothing else exists but them. These two are entirely in it with each other.

While Run is less about what’s in their heads than what’s coming out of their mouths, its not-so-brief encounter on a train has a similarly close-quartered intimacy. The HBO series stars Merritt Wever as Ruby, a wife and mom of two, and Domhnall Gleeson as Billy, a Jordan Peterson type. The two exes reunite after 15 years on a cross-country trip to escape their lives. She has her family to lose, he has his book deal. The stakes are slightly uneven, but their banter is not: their edgeplay is their wordplay. Like Normal People, the camera stays close to the two lovers who are already confined in their seats (and, later, “roomette”) shoulder to shoulder, face to face, almost mouth to mouth. Just like we do, they become so hot off each other’s proximity that they are forced to take breaks to secretly masturbate in the bathroom. Both of them. Separately.

But here again, as in Normal People, the woman ultimately has all the power. With a family back home, this is Ruby’s encounter to take or leave, not Billy’s. It is her thirst that fuels the ride, not his. “I turned up to have sex,” she says. And later, “I want to fuck you… now.” These exclamations are all the more pregnant for the person saying them — Wever herself has admitted she did not see herself as a lead in a rom-com (Gleeson had already done About Time). And yet here she is not only in one, but subverting it. A man admitting he wants to fuck a woman who might not want to fuck him isn’t transgressive, it’s a cliché. But a woman admitting she wants to fuck a man (more conventionally attractive than she is, more successful, more single) who might reject her? That’s hot. So will he say yes? Do we even need him to anymore? “Holding back on the sex was always something we knew we had to do,” creator Vicky Jones told Refinery29. “Because it’s not really a will-they-won’t-they, since they do. It’s, will they have sex and how?” But with foreplay this good, the sex can’t help but be an anti-climax.

That upending convention, that the woman dominates really, suggests why the queen of edging is Portrait of a Lady on Fire, a queer love story by a queer filmmaker (Céline Sciamma) about a painter named Marianne (Noémie Merlant) and her subject, Héloïse (Adèle Haenel). There is no dilution here by the well-trod tropes of male sexuality, there is only a pair of  women drowning in each other. The female gaze turns in on itself as Marianne’s view of Héloïse becomes ours. The film’s title summons the slow burn of their relationship, with every new plateau advancing so achingly slowly — Marianne even seeks consent before repositioning Héloïse’s arm as she sits for her, which is the first time they touch — that every act, when it comes, is that much more extreme, the whole thing mimicking that aforementioned menacing “massive extended orgasm.” It takes 13 minutes for the heroines to meet, despite being in the same house, and even then, one of them is only introduced from behind in a black head-to-toe cloak, a funereal tease. This is no meet-cute; it’s the slowest reveal ever, with her cloak fluttering in the breeze until a mess of blond strands escape, which almost make you gasp despite yourself, before the whole hood falls to expose the back of a blond head. And then, suddenly, the faceless woman is running to her death, we think, until she stops right at the edge of a cliff and, abruptly, turns, her flushed face, her great blue eyes, downplaying the grand mort to a petit mort. “I’ve dreamt of that for years,” Héloïse says breathlessly, post-coitally. A pure distillation of the female apex, no wonder the French, their sexual legacy defined by males, thought the film wasn’t erotic enough.

* * *

The hottest scene in Normal People, ergo the hottest scene of my isolation, doesn’t actually include an orgasm. And it, fittingly, takes a while, not arriving until the near the end of the second half of the series, which was directed by Hettie Macdonald. Now in college, no longer dating, Connell and Marianne are sort-of-not-really watching some sports game in Connell’s hot, cramped childhood room in a haze of hormones. Everything is sweating. She stares at him. He stares at the screen. She pretends to sleep. He gets up. “Want some ice cream?” He goes, she stays. He returns. It’s not ice cream, it’s penis-shaped rocket popsicles. And the room is dripping in sex. When Marianne stretches out her bare feet to his end of the bed, I squeak. She says she wants him to kiss her. He says he does too — the pain on his face! — but they always end badly and he doesn’t want to lose her friendship. Fuck. She gets up to leave, telling him not to drop her off at home ‘cause he’ll miss the rest of the match. Olive branch: “I forgot there was a match on, to be honest.” Game on.

Even though the sex is ultimately abandoned (I won’t spoil it), it doesn’t matter. This prelude is more satisfying than 99 percent of the orgasms I’ve ever watched. Despite all the sexual tension, the woman still ultimately commands the room. Theirs and ours. In that Hot Press interview, director Lenny Abrahamson, who shot the first six episodes, laughed perversely about the show coming out during a worldwide pandemic. “You start to miss the human touch, people’s skin — and that is all over the show,” he said. “God help everybody!” But it wasn’t Abrahamson behind the episode I’m talking about, it was a woman. And while it’s true that thirst can hurt, it can also take the edge off, as that scene choreographed by three women — conceived of by Rooney, directed by Macdonald, managed by O’Brien — proves. No one finished, but it wasn’t about that. Because all the elements were there, all that want and all that permission. And that was enough for me, if for no one else. And what was that line again? “When it comes to pleasure, women are the first in line.”

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Soraya Roberts is a culture columnist at Longreads.

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