#the unwillingness to engage in life

[abitofouterspace]

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[mortalityplays]

This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.

e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.

I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.

This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.

And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.

[hermajestyimher]

Avoid people-pleasing enablers who lack a backbone and will readily excuse the behavior of narcissists and manipulators trying to harm you, all for the sake of "keeping the peace." These people are not your friends; they will happily stand by and watch as you get painted as the bad guy, even when they know the truth about the situation or your character. They will happily take any assistance you may offer them when they need it, but will never give back the same to you if it means that they must engage in temporary conflict or uncomfortable situations.

No matter how nice or friendly these people may appear, their unwillingness to grow up and overcome their people-pleasing tendencies makes them major backstabbers , unreliable, and completely useless for anything beyond superficial interactions. You need people in your life who won't hesitate to stand up for you, even when it's inconvenient or uncomfortable. True loyalty is how strong bonds are built.

[chimielie]

sun seeker

summary: you are a princess, a future queen. somehow, this is still not enough.

word count: 1.5k

cw: fighting, oikawa’s an asshole (sorry), arranged marriage/royalty au, fake history stuff, angst to fluff (i guess), i’m not telling you who the love interest is but like. Guess, misogyny, ambiguous ending

a/n: if i tell you that i imagined a whole other side for oikawa will you forgive me? also this was supposed to be a short drabble related to between lightning strikes but it very much was not. my bad

Your betrothed is unexpectedly quiet.

It had only been a few days since you met the crown prince, having been sequestered in your father’s court in the country for most of your life, learning to fill the seat of someday-Empress. The capital is huge, bustling with people, always noisy—or so you surmised from within your veiled carriage. You had thought, as you bowed before the Emperor and Imperial Heir, that your life was finally beginning, finally growing beyond the narrow confines of etiquette training and religious rituals.

Instead, you felt your dreams shrivel and die as your daily routine proceeded exactly as it had for close to two decades. The only difference was time mandatorily spent with Tooru, who seemed… less than enthused by your match.

You had dreamed of someone who chafed against authority as you had, who felt as bound by propriety despite the privilege of your positions. Alas, you found him to be both sullen and arrogant, eager to rule but in denial of his own dissatisfaction with a noblewoman such as yourself. It made you want to scream. You had not chosen the circumstances of your birth, the path which you had been led to walk. It was not your fault that fate had pushed you two so forcefully together without regard for your desires, ambitions, or personalities.

“I was told you visited the temple this morning,” you say, watching your fiancé pause a long sip of tea, his brown eyes temporarily widening. Your face slips momentarily into a frown; you cannot conceal your frustration with his clear disdain for such small talk but unwillingness to bring anything more engaging to your table.

“Yes,” he says finally, setting down his cup. Light brown liquid sloshes over the rim and onto his fingers; he wipes them on his robes without care for the expensive fabric. “There are many rituals that must be done to ensure the most auspicious wedding possible.” His voice catches noticeably on the word wedding. You take a sip of your own tea to hide your grimace.

It is lukewarm. How long have you been sitting here, trying to force civility?

“Did it go well?” You ask in turn, your pitch straining. Behind you, one of the imperial guards snorts. When you try to discern which of them broke character, they have all returned to a stoic, uniform position. You straighten your posture.

“It was satisfactory,” Tooru says. You hear the snort again, and the crown prince’s lips twitch, just barely.

You shut your eyes tightly for a moment, trying to take in a deep breath. Your chest feels tight, though, bound by heavy fabrics and scarlet ribbon. There doesn’t seem to be anywhere for the air to go.

“What did you do this morning?” He asks, and you throw the cup at him.

His Imperial Highness is athletic beneath his aristocracy, and he dodges it easily. It bounces off one of the silk screens behind him and lies, cracked in two, in a puddle of lukewarm tea on the floor. You bury your face in your hands and scream through your teeth, a short, guttural noise that carves a little more space in your chest to breathe.

When you look up again, he stands over you, his perfect brows pulled into an expression of concern. You know without looking that two of the Imperial Guard are standing behind you, hands on their weapons.

“You have asked me that,” you say slowly, fighting to push the words out through the red haze of rage, “twice now. And you asked what my plans were yesterday. And the answer is always the same: wait in my rooms for you to call, because I am a painting of a woman waiting for you to walk in and criticize my form and decide that I am satisfactory.”

“I didn’t—” he says, and for a moment you become a fairytale heroine instead of a scorned princess, sitting on the floor looking up at him with despondent eyes that betray your desire to be loved. “This is what we are,” he decides finally, expression no longer concerned. “I think perhaps you need some rest.”

“You cannot be serious,” you seethe, pushing yourself to your feet. One of the guards puts a hand on you, ready to restrain you.

Tooru turns, his back facing you. He glances back as he exits, tone bored, eyes cold.

“Do not worry yourself,” he tells you, “I still find you satisfactory.”

You lunge after him, but two strong hands clamp down on your arms, hauling you back. You writhe and kick, but when you look up at your guard, his face is impassive, his eyes distant.

“I hate you,” you snarl, and watch as his eyes flicker down to your face. Seeing you. “I hate you,” you say again, but it sounds much more like a sob.

You can’t sleep that night.

The moon is full, high and bright, and every time you close your eyes, you see visions of your future. A glorified concubine, living in an expensive sanitarium, surely to be driven to insanity before your husband can ascend the throne.

You sit up, wild-eyed, and throw your door open with more force than you realize.

“Princess,” says your guard, startled.

“I can’t sleep,” you say, your heart thrumming in your chest. “Hajime, please, I can’t sleep.”

“I can’t let you out of your quarters,” Iwaizumi Hajime, head of your security detail, says.

“I don’t want—” you start, and he gives you a knowing look. “I know. Please just come and—talk with me. A little.”

He sighs, deeply, a rush of wind through cypress trees, and follows you into your room.

“Sit,” you order him, and the moonlight affords you the ability to see his green eyes flash with panic. “I am your future queen. Sit.”

He sits, trying to maintain his stern, professional face, even as you peel his helmet off and run your hands through his flattened hair.

“You lied to me,” you hum, and he jerks under your touch, façade breaking. “You told me Tooru never shut up.”

“I knew him a long time ago,” says Hajime. One of the few who had come with you to Kyoto, he had been raised here and come to your father’s court as a youth to learn to fight. “He’s not—he’s stubborn. He’ll soften eventually.”

“I don’t care,” you say bitterly. “Why did you hold me back?”

“He’s the prince,” Hajime says, his voice rasping with exasperation.

“I am the princess,” you say, and his lips press together into a straight line.

“My princess,” he murmurs. Hajime has always run warm, much more suited for Kyoto’s climate than your hometown’s. When he wraps an arm around you and pulls you against his side, you can feel his body heat through his armor.

“You let him say horrible things to me,” you say. His hold on you tightens.

“He is my oldest friend.”

“I am your—” you sigh heavily, pushing away from him, looking out at the moon. “I am nothing to you. I will live, though I am ungrateful. Many would say I am the luckiest woman in all the land.” The air is very cold without his touch.

“You are not nothing to me,” Hajime says, and you smile wistfully at his selective hearing.

“At least I am satisfactory.” You don’t see what happens, but Hajime’s helmet clatters loudly on the floor a moment later. “What—”

“He is my oldest friend,” he repeats himself, but his voice is low, so deep in his chest you can barely hear him. It does not matter; you can feel his words. “I wanted to kill him.”

Your lips part on a silent gasp, and he leans in close, so close that you can nearly taste him. You’ve always loved the way he smells, something base that relaxes you instantly. You haven’t been this close to him since you left home.

“He’s the Emperor,” he continues, “I can’t hurt him. I held us back.”

“Us?” You ask, his fingers suddenly tightly intertwined with yours.

“Ask me to help you leave,” he says, and you shut your eyes against his gaze, frightening and familiar all at once. “Ask me to take you away from here. I had—I have plans, and you will not be happy with him, Princess. You will be more than satisfactory, satisfied—you will be loved.”

Something knotted tightly unspools in you, red threads laying themselves out in perfect lines. You duck your head and nod against his shoulder, face rubbing against the metal of his armor.

You aren’t likely to succeed, you know, no matter how thoroughly Hajime has planned. Your fiancé will look for you: a stubborn man, like he had said. You do not know if his disdain for you or his love for Hajime will protect you. You could both die.

“Take me away,” you say, voice ringing out like a queen’s.

The moon, at its fullest cycle, chases its estranged wife into the day. The crown prince wakes without his betrothed. The world only spins forward.

[clairdelunelove]

cigarettes and exchanges

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (smoking drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, smoking, suave!ghost

synopsis: ghost understands that his cigarette addiction is getting out of hand. but, in his defense, he's just never had a motive to quit! you offer to help and perhaps your new reward system will work for the lieutenant!

a.n. this could be read as a continuation to 'frosty kisses' or a standalone! and no, I typically don't like when men smoke but will I make an exception for ghost? yes. I hope you lovelies are doing well! let me know what you think about this headcanon I have for him heh! here's my kofi! <3

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been pondering about ghost’s inclination to smoke a cigarette whenever he’s stressed and how you might’ve found a better alternative– one that he craves even more.

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another operation typically meant an increased likelihood of risking a multitude of unknowing, blind lives– an embittered fact that accompanies the line of duty he’s in. it’s a cruel contract that he’s familiar with yet the guilt never dissolves. in truth, it’s the torture of bad conscience that he can never shake off. he shoulders through resting recruits, footsteps heavy on the patchy floorboards while weaving clear of the crowd. some shift on their feet to avoid being pummeled by his powerful gait as he makes a beeline to the door. it’s assumed that such a strong reaction from the man would raise alarm but no one pays him any mind– aware of the lieutenant’s ache for solitude after the completion of a mission. whispers of his infamous smoke break settled amongst the lips of veteran recruits. and truthfully, it acts as a deliberate retreat that he wouldn’t commit to in the public eye. stepping outside and gazing into the abyss was an escape from the detached facade he gives into when he slips into a role of leadership. a position that’s necessary yet promises contempt– an emotion that not even he could run away from.  

ghost who perceives that his reliance on cigarettes is a bad habit he should break. knows that he could quit, in all honesty, since his self-discipline was so tenacious that many envied him for it. was never tempted with superficial vices that other task force members sought after. however, cigarettes are a psychological and chemical crutch that he’s been unwilling to drop. and he’s wise enough to realize that the chemicals do more harm than good to his body but it serves as a form of self-medication for him. helps him deal with wartime stress– the unyielding tension and restless nerves that disturbed his rare nights of sleep. reasons that his thoughts are clearer whenever he pulls out his lighter. he rationalizes that his incessant, troubled mind is finally hushed. lulled to rest. all he has to do is flip open that little white box and he’s instantly rewarded with the one predictable outcome in his life. 

ghost who wordlessly offers a spare cigarette to you when your figure slips beside him. his gloved fingers pinch at the small roll as he outstretches it towards you. you shake your head, muttering a gentle, “no, thank you though,” and he wittingly predicts the polite decline. there was nothing else you could’ve requested from him at this moment. food, entertainment, and rest were all found within the base– not outside. he rocks back on his heels. your tendency to keep him company is a habit you’re guilty of. not that he minds. recalls a similar scene that unfolded the night before the new year. and he’s aware that your lingering is intentional; as deliberate as the giggles that he manages to pull out of you during these softer times. the companionship sparks a fervor in him. one that he’s compelled to cultivate and cherish with you. 

ghost who rumbles, “your life expectancy just went way up then, pup,” due to your unwillingness to smoke. it’s a praise. don’t engage in the faults he has. you’re too pure for that. his heavy-lidded eyes spot the tinge of a smile dancing on your lips on behalf of the nickname. satisfaction burns within him. possessiveness claws at him. needs to get his mind off of the strong emotions. grasping at the lower edge of his balaclava, he tugs the darkened fabric up and neatly folds it over the slant of his nose. it’s not the first time he’s been partially unmasked with you. presumes that you wouldn’t actively question his identity and throw him into a crisis. yet, your curiosity magnifies to unveil the enigma that is simon ‘ghost’ riley, your lieutenant, who unknowingly causes your stomach to excitedly flip and churn with every interaction. 

ghost who turns away from you to place the cigarette in his mouth. it balances atop his full lips, a position so enticing that you’re willing to trade places with the inanimate object, and ultimately quell the yearning. his other hand fondles the box of cigarettes. “you can always replace the cigarettes with a new reward system, ya know,” you suggest. your voice is light, dipping on the last syllable, and he understands that you mean well. yet, he raises a dark eyebrow while flicking on his engraved lighter. connecting the cigarette to the end of it, there’s a satisfying burn before he deeply inhales. a cloud of misty smoke swirls around you even if he shifts away. the stench intermingling with your sweet fragrance and lingering. a sort of imprint that brands you as his. your gaze flits over to him to eagerly trace the fair, sharp jawline that’s visible without the guise, and you sputter, “like having something sweet. I heard people quit smoking by chewing bubblegum or having lollipops.”  

ghost who curiously prods, “somethin’ as sweet as you?” and the idle thumping in your chest accelerates into hammering when his gaze locks onto yours. his teasing is too sudden. you stiffen at the inviting drawl of his voice and the mannerism is one that he’s too familiar with. his eyes skim the soft features of your face, noting your skittish behavior, and deems it necessary to compose himself a bit. doesn’t wish to scare you off. but he’s pleasantly surprised to hear you ask, “you think I’m sweet, lieutenant?” his gloved fingers lift the cigarette to his lips again to take another long drag, “oh, I think we both know the answer to that, pup.” another mention of the nickname– another wave of heat rushing to your core. the statement throws you into a frenzy because his deep-set eyes seem more fitting for the bedroom and the revelation has you internally scolding yourself for the stray path your mind takes. 

ghost who’s unaware that it’s his turn to be as motionless as a marble statue when you edge closer. speculated that the rancid cigarette smoke would dampen that sugary aroma that invades his senses when you’re in his proximity. it doesn’t. just promotes the stark difference since it’s a specific scent he traces back to you. always causes his skin to tingle whenever he catches a whiff. a curse abruptly leaves his lips when he’s broken out of his reverie. your hand settles on the center of his chest, a tender touch that compels him to trail his gaze to your face. makes no effort to halt your movements. why should he when you’re the root of all his desires? immediately, his brain conjures up an arrogant remark; a natural reaction to his usual encounters. however, when he drags his eyes to yours and perceives that your usually bright eyes are hooded– he’s silent. 

ghost who allows you to push yourself up on your toes and pluck the cigarette from his mouth. doesn’t even manage to get another drag of it. never finds himself craving for it once it’s taken from him. instead, he’s fixed to the spot while you stare at his lips, revealing a small scar blending in with a muted shade of pink. your thumb gingerly brushes against the meager feature. a detail that is so ardently ghost. the rather concealed scar ignites something affectionate between the two of you. a shared secret that he’s let only you uncover. you slide your fingers underneath the sharp curve of his jaw and the gentle touch seizes his attention. pressing close to the juncture of his neck, you murmur, “let's exchange your cigarette for something sweeter, yeah?”   

ghost who stifles a groan of satisfaction when your glossy lips finally press against his cheek. warmth blossoms in his chest. fiery sparks, a discerned emotion that he thought he had lost, set him alight. for once, he’s rejoicing at the mere coincidence of being partially unmasked. and when he conceived that this overwhelming rush was fulfilled, you stunned him again by pressing another delicate kiss dangerously close to the corner of his lips– directly where his scar was. “a prize whenever you don’t smoke,” you propose while pulling away. he curses a resounding, “fuck.” it was dizzying. a singular glance was all you needed to discover that he’s completely flushed from your touches. his breathing is uneven too, teetering on what some would call desperate. drawn out and amplified. however, if that’s what he is– for you– then so be it. ghost was free-falling. plunging into another bad habit. a dependence that he’s afraid is more addicting and chronic than nicotine. you.  

ghost who hums deliciously low, “playing a dangerous game here.” his voice invokes a shiver within you. a sweltering heat crawls up your face, lingering at the uppermost part of your cheeks. the vowels dripped from his tongue like honeyed venom and you caught it. stored it, like it was fundamental to your existence. before you can withdraw, a strong hand encloses around your wrist. the touch is sure and solid– undoubtedly his. and when you peer at him, he’s admiring you through thick, pale lashes. his eyes are like silvered stone, cutting through all your defenses as his focus darts along your face. mapping– no– sketching out your softest features for the sake of his pleasure. the pleasure of admiring art. 

ghost who then raises the hand that’s gripping the box of cigarettes, notably to gain your attention, and tosses it behind his shoulder. the cardboard carton falls to the floor with a muffled thud. and in the span of a couple seconds, ghost completely eradicates his dependence on cigarettes. the promise of something sweeter causing him to reconsider and amend for all the time he could’ve spent smothered in your syrupy kisses. he leans to graze his lips against a sensitive spot in your neck, his nose nudging at the tantalizing crevice of skin. without the barrier of his mask, you’re hyper-aware of the greedy nip that ghost leaves and he’s awarded with a breathy exhale escaping your glossy lips. anticipates the way your knees buckle but he easily steadies you. he hums, dark and encouraging, at the receptive noise. fancies hearing it regularly. surely reserved just for him. you distinctly sense a corner of his lips tug upward once they’re on your neck again and he questions, “gonna give me ‘nother prize now, sweetheart?” 

[dreadfuldevotee]

Finally found someone who understands loumand amongst the loumand never loved eachother discourse, feel like I'm going crazy armand loved him (not defending his actions) and i believe louis loved him too in paris and i wanna say after too even if that love was tainted, or faded by the time they're in dubai that doesn't mean they never loved eachother.

They're beautiful and complex! I can't say I'm surprised they aren't a popular dynamic but the unwillingness to engage with their story is what upsets me the most. If you take away the love they share then absolutely nothing either of them do in those 77 years together never meant anything in the first place.

Honestly, the biggest crime of Anti-Loumand readings is that they are wildly boring. Like okay, Louis has absolutely no agency whatsoever, or he's staying with Armand for Claudia but he can't even do that right because he refuses to stand up for her where it actually matters, but also stays with Armand even when he tells him to get out of Paris to....spite Lestat??? And Armand is just....what? Blanket evil with no real motive but to keep Louis like a pathetic goldfish in an gallon tank. Why would you want that, when the story being written is much more interesting? Louis who is troubled yet still wanting, drawn to Armand and despite his reservations and self-doubt finding himself loving Armand despite it all. In each-other they both see something they want and believe they can obtain it if they can possess the other. Armand is dazzled continuously by Louis zest for life, even if he often times doesn't understand the forms it takes. I adore how they each have these pivotal moments where they are disarmed by the others vulnerability. Armand hearing Louis advocate for Claudia in the sewers and deciding not to kill him. Louis hearing Armand talk about his past and choosing to stay in Paris, despite the imminent dangers.

Like of course, they are far far far from perfect, and by Dubai they are both such shells of the people they actually are. And why I keep hope alive about Trinity Gate or really any loumand reunion. The two of them getting to meet again when they have both rediscovered themselves, and seeing each other in new lights would be everything to me. But yeah, truly nothing could make me hate them. I could sit here and wax poetic about them forever, frankly. And I absolutely will continue to on this blog lmaooo.

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

stans are actually very funny bc they often time talk themselves into the weirdest corners.

the whole point of criticizing acosf and its handling of nesta's character is to prove the point that sjm...doesn't like nesta as a character. that's is literally THE point - that sjm often abandons her moral themes (abuse, trauma, assault, etc.,) for character's deemed as undesirable or villainous to a capacity - and its through the handling of those 'vilified' (i.e. main character opposed - not even villianous) that we can gauge the extent to which sjm actually believes the ideals of her story. like - it is alarming that the only tolerable, empathetic parts of the a court of silver flames were the moments you could tell where ripped straight from sjm's own life (the hiking, training, mind-stilling etc.,). any actual characteristics about nesta weren't explored...like at all. her relationship with feyre and elain, with her mother, her trauma from her sexual assault, her conflicted relationship with her grandmother, her life before the cabin, her life during the cabin. in 800 pages - i still don't know mama archeron's name. what was life like in the cabin? what did nesta do all day? what was the dynamic? what was going on between elain and nesta?i don't know anything about her and nesta, we don't know anything about nesta's human life, her conversation with clare bedor, her relationship with clare beddor, moments with her dad - not even touching moments with him (and part of this story is her finding love for her dad). mind you we read 800+ pages and we learned absolutely nothing about her.

we essentially read sjm's emotional journey in one part, and a taming of the shrew narrative in another. i think the only way sjm had genuine interest in exploring nesta's story is through essentially self-inserting herself and avoiding the actual plot-points she set up in the first three books. like did nesta have childhood friends? if losing the wealth so drastically affected her life wouldn't she reminisce about it a lot? would she yearn for her mother? who were her childhood friends, how did she function at court?

and the whole point of saying alll of that is to argue the misuse of these topics - serious discussions abuse are only reserved for certain situation, and others its completely undermined in a way that only reinforces the negative ideals to begin with. (i.e. nesta needs to abused bc..." "the intervention was harsh but" - pair that with discussion around what feyre needed in acomaf - and it makes much more sense).

nesta antis often jump between the fact that nesta is so favored that sjm nerfed feysand to 'redeem her' and arguing that sjm secretly does everything in her power to embarrass and secretly laugh at people who like nesta's character. (1) we've gotta pick one or the other (2) in my humble opinion - sjm would have always given feyre a pregnancy plot like this regardless of whether this was nesta's book or elain. its literally so sjm. im shocked people are surprised she pulled the pregnancy as she did.

as with the tamlin discussion we had under this post - i think the story undermines its discussion of abuse with feyre/tam by essentially insinuating that tamlin (when placed in the same victimized position as feyre) should have sucked it up and braved out his abuse with amarantha (and the same with rhysand as well - esp with the deliberate foil of rhysand's 'willingness' v. tamlin's unwillingness). and when we start to have a real conversation ultilizing our own irl analysis and standards we really see how harmful and rather sisyphean the conversation becomes. instead of engaging with these topics earnestly, they only engage in them to prove a point - which is how the issue began in the first place. the whole issue with rhysand isn't the fact that he engages with harmful, potentially villainous positions. no - its that the book wants to prove that tamlin is wrong by justifying rhysand's actions. so even though rhysand and tamlin almost always have the same written and expressed intentions in their abuse of feyre, the book flocks to justify one, and eschews the other. and thats why we get so much reactionary critcism of rhys that is surface: people only admit the problems because they know antis will, not because they actually believe their are issues in the story.

and perhaps im still speaking into a void here but i can tell there's tension between pro stans wanting to have these serious conversations but understanding they can only really introspect so far until the conversation begin to prod at the validity of the topics being brought forth. so stans have to jump between invalidating the romantasy genre ("its just faeries") and treating this book as a serious topic (cue: "sjm put a hotline in the back of the book"). this is also the exact reason why the racism conversations stall (i.e. why inherent superiority is always passively emphasized - despite cc1 + 2 centering human oppresion there is no human in the ensemble cast. despite the fact that illyrian women are the most oppressed - rhys has no illyrian women - or reg illyrians (not his brothers) in his inner circle. aelin 'sacrificing' her human body).

[novembermorgon]

tell more about maegors wife.. her faceclaim. Personally and relationship with the fam…

combining these to wifepost <3

maegor marries alysanne hightower - i've been pondering her family a little bit!!! because ive been cooking up some little friends for aerion when he's in his youth . kind of like the aegoons in hotd. and one of them is a hightower so i imagine she's his daughter :-) eldest of like five girls and heir by default because he has no sons.

alysanne is ... she's sort of a special girl .. i think being the eldest child + being a hightower + etc etc she's very buttoned up . proper and pious and a bit strict . wants everything to be in order and wants everything to be a specific way and if things don't work out she gets really stressed and upset about it . in turn she kind of ends up micromanaging everything maegor does - ultimately out of concern, because he's sickly and meek and soft and she feels like she needs to kind of guide him every step of the way in every aspect of his life. kind of overbearing but he doesn't feel as if it's much of an issue .

because she's so close to maegor i think her and myrielle are at odds a lot . ive talked more extensively about this but i think myrielle feels as if he kind of slips away from her, and when she can't get through to him anymore the way she used to she instead shifts to 1. blaming alysanne for being in the way and 2. coddling aenys instead . ❤️ i dont think she likes alysanne at all . nor does aenys . because she's stolen his not-quite-sisterwife

aerion feels sort of the same i imagine but for different reasons - she's too uptight and makes his son look weak (which . well.. he already is... but having a wife to lead him around everywhere doesn't help) but she's his friends' daughter and the hightowers are a good alliance so he tries not to think too hard about it. luckily maegor was never his favourite anyway

as for aenys ... :-) YES ! he marries a velaryon. i think aerion would put more thought into aenys marriage just because he is dad's favourite and he's a lot more of what aerion kind of thinks a targaryen should be. projects onto him and insists that he be given everything that a Real Valyrian Son should have . which includes a valyrian wife . i imagine he goes to the velaryons like PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLE

her name is valla velaryon ❤️ i didn't think about her that much yet because maegor has kind of been the blog golden boy between the two but its time to lock in ...

i imagine she's definitely less brash (? if that's the word) than alysanne - a little bit shy and reclusive, not in the sense of being a complete shut-in but to where she sort of likes to have a lot of time to herself, which clashes with aenys who is always worked up over something and always a little too dedicated to doing a little too much. LOL

i've mentioned before that i don't think her and aenys have the best relationship- and i do think it is just because they don't have much in common. aenys wants her to be enthused with the things he does and engage with him while she prefers to sit and do her own thing which frustrates him. he's very bad at changing HIS mindset or approach for the sake of others so they're kind of stuck in this sense of never quite clicking . because of aenys unwillingness to meet her in the middle

on the other hand i think myrielle and aerion like her a lot more than alysanne . she's not latched onto aenys the way alysanne is to maegor and i imagine it's a lot easier for them to find her agreeable. aerion because she's a velaryon and because he kind of set up the match himself and myrielle because she doesn't get in the way of her coddling her son a little too hard .

as for faceclaims ... 💔 I GIVE UP . i tried so hard but im realizing i will just never be able to find any that match properly . im sorry . i will let you imagine them as you please

[bonyassfish]

There’s often a deep unwillingness to see a people (like us Jews in this case) as both capable of genocide and victims of it. Which leads to Zionists denying the reality of what’s happening in Gaza and what’s been happening in Palestine for the last 75 years, or to antizionists trying to downplay the historical reality of antisemitism. But why is it so hard to accept both? Why is it so difficult to see how Jews were oppressed throughout our history, and that Jewish Zionists are engaging in horrific acts of violence and war crimes against the Palestinians? How childish do you have to be assume that the world is that black and white? Do you think it’s impossible that historical trauma leads to more violence, or has Christian culture deluded you into assuming that suffering makes you good?

Moreover, you should know, if you’re a western leftist with no personal stake here (which seem to be the loudest voices), that the context of Israeli settler colonialism doesn’t quite fit into the beat boxes you imagine it to be. The early Israel settlers were, by and large, socialists. And they were still racist, still participated in displacement and ethnic cleansing. And the motivations for Jewish migrants to Israel were complex: some migrated because they were Zionists, plain and simple. Many migrated because they themselves were kicked out of their home countries. Does that excuse the actions of the Israeli state, both those occurring today and what has occurred historically? Of course not. And by the way, were they all European? Definitely not. Framing every Israeli Jew as a white capitalist is ignoring reality in favor of a narrative which is more comfortable to you. It’s easier to understand Israel in the context of European colonialism, but it is different in innumerable ways. That’s not to excuse or defend the Israeli state. Hell, I’m an antizionist Jew and I am horrified and disgusted by what’s happening in Gaza. I hope desperately to see the end of the Israeli state in my life.

But that doesn’t mean expelling every Jew in the region. And it’s funny because I’ve seen that take mostly come from white American settlers who almost certainly would not want to leave if they were asked. There were Jews in Palestine before the Israeli state and there will be Jews there when it ends. Advocating for Palestine doesn’t mean you have to downplay the historical connection Jews have to the land, nor does it mean you have to resort to antisemitism. It only hurts the cause to do so, and gives Zionists more fuel for the fire.

(And to be clear: this rant is directed at white western leftists, because they seem to be the source of the issue I’m referring to here)

[dingodad]

...meowrails positions nepeta as a pacifier for an emotionally unstable man who controls her life #and how alternias power structures fully enable this #erifef can be met with a similar reading too. the quadrants in general and the way they enable these sort of gendered power dynamics [...] #maybe a tldr there is that i think the fandom non-critical enjoyment of meowrails (and to some extent erifef) is very much a display of... #...the fandoms unwillingness to engage with aforementioned feminist themes even at a base level #given how big of a focus gender is in homestuck this is surprising to me sometimes. but unless abuse is in your face like it is with gamrezi #fandom seems reluctant to ever really grapple with how male cruelty impacts women in the comic (x)

@whamss GODDDDUHHHH the way i have been saying this literally for years and the way almost every other reader i have tried to have this conversation with has been too caught up with the idea of quadrants as a kind of queer/subversive romance to even begin to consider the fact that maybe girls(/lowbloods) continually being put in situations where they have to play free therapist to dangerous men(/highbloods) is like, a feature of moirallegience and not a bug... like the fact that the page that introduces moirallegience to the comic in the first place literally uses the words "obliged to pacify" and "a serious threat to society" is somehow okay because they also "complement each other's emotional profiles" which superficially sounds kind of cute. i have always compared this to the institution of heterosexual marriage like just because it is founded on some romantic notion of true love doesn't mean we shouldn't also investigate the reasons for its existence and work to deconstruct it if we determine that those reasons are unjust

[contemplatingoutlander]

Why are U.S. courts afraid of the 14th Amendment? Because it’s radical.

"The 14th Amendment has once again proven too bold for the judges empowered to interpret it. Political forces are at play again, this time fearful of a backlash if Trump is removed from the ballot. As this case makes its way through the appellate process and, most likely, to the Supreme Court, it should be understood in the context of how the timidity and unwillingness of judges to acquiesce to the judgment of the 14th Amendment’s framers effectively derailed our democracy’s promise after Reconstruction and until the mid-20th century. We must ensure that it does not do the same in the 21st."

--Sherrilyn Ifill, visiting professor, Harvard Law School

This is an important article about why the 14th Amendment was written and why judges are afraid to use it to ban Trump from running for office. Consequently, this is a gift🎁link so people can read the entire article even if they don't subscribe to The Washington Post.

Below are some excerpts.

Judge Sarah B. Wallace’s decision that Trump engaged in insurrection but is nevertheless qualified to run for office is emblematic of the often outright resistance courts have shown to the 14th Amendment’s guarantees and protections. This instance applies to Section 3, which bars any participant in a rebellion against the government of the United States from holding public office. But almost from its inception, all the amendment’s radical provisions have inspired fear and timidity in jurists of every stripe. I use the word “radical” deliberately. The 14th Amendment was conceived of and pushed by the “Radical Republicans” in Congress after the Civil War. They were so named because of their commitment to eradicating slavery and its vestiges from American political life. A number had been abolitionists, and all had seen the threat that white supremacist ideology and the spirit of insurrection posed to the survival of the United States as a republic. Although the South had been soundly defeated on the battlefield, the belief among most Southerners that insurrection was a worthy and noble cause, and that Black people — even if no longer enslaved — were meant to be subjugated to the demands of Whites, was still firmly held. The 14th Amendment was meant to protect Black people against that belief, and the nation against insurrection, which was understood to constitute an ongoing threat to the future of our country. Frederick Douglass, the formerly enslaved abolitionist who rose to become one of the most prominent voices of the Reconstruction period, had no illusions about the persistence of the “malignant spirit” of the “traitors.” He predicted that it would be passed “from sire to son.” It “will not die out in a year,” he foretold, “it will not die out in an age.” [color emphasis added]

I encourage you to read the full article, which goes into detail about how the US judicial system has been afraid to actually adhere to both the spirit and letter of the 14th Amendment, and in so doing has done a major disservice to Black Americans for well over a century, and to our nation as a whole.

[crossdressingdeath]

Thinking about it having taken some time away, a revenge plot like Karlach's was I think one of the worst possible choices for a BG3 companion quest even before we get into what a half-assed fake drama story it is (why isn't her quest finding a damn Wish scroll, Larian, that would actually be fun and wouldn't cut into Wyll's quest or demand the player choose her ending if they want her to live, there are multiple spells that could fix this and we're given exactly zero explanation for why we aren't even trying to get one, you even brought Wish into the plot as a non-standard game over and then didn't bring it up here when it would be an ideal solution), because it really brings the massive double standard the game's got going on into stark relief. It's most obvious in contrast with Astarion. Like, think about it: the Gur's desire for revenge against Astarion is every bit as justified as Karlach's desire for revenge against Gortash; actually it's more so, given they have a real (though faint) reason to hope that they can actually accomplish something outside of his death, namely getting their kids back. But giving him to the Gur kills him and costs you a companion; it's a failure as far as his character arc goes, and in fact happens so early on he doesn't really get a character arc. All of that potential development is cut short and you have to see his corpse in the ritual and it is in general treated as a bad thing. The much better way of handling the Gur situation is to talk to them in act 3 and drag Astarion into atoning for what he did by trying to deal with Cazador and rescue the kids. This is good! Blind revenge solves nothing, having people pay for what they did by atoning and having to help the people they hurt as best they can is a much better solution! We love to see it!

Now you'd think the equivalent to that would be to dissuade Karlach from her revenge and instead get Gortash to fix the heart (either with his knowledge of the tech involved or—my personal favourite—his power and influence being used to acquire the use of one of the spells that could repair it or replace it with a normal heart because again there's more than one of those and it's stupid that none of them are even brought up as potential solutions), but... nope! Revenge is only bad when those outsiders do it, when it's a companion it's the only real solution! Like, yeah, she's got that thing where she complains that it didn't help at all but... we knew killing Gortash wouldn't help from the start. I don't remember if Karlach herself ever brings it up, but it's hard to miss that killing Gortash will not solve anything Karlach's got going on. And if you don't kill him you don't even get that much acknowledgement that revenge isn't a great solution. And also that's the most basic revenge plot outline, "revenge feels empty" is so fucking common as an ending. But it's just a moment that makes it so clear that Larian wasn't really interested in exploring the themes of the cycle of abuse and how aggressors can also be victims and all that with... anyone except the companions (and even then not always; see their complete unwillingness to ever engage with pre-amnesia Durge as anything but a heartless, crazy murderer despite the game itself including plenty of implications that that wasn't the case). It makes it seem less like a discussion on the cycle of abuse and more like good old-fashioned protagonist-centric morality, where the bad things the heroes do are forgivable because they had a hard life but anyone who hurts them is irredeemable no matter how hard their lives were. And it could've been avoided so easily (in a way that also gave Karlach's quest a more satisfying ending) by having a better ending to her quest that focused less on revenge and more on restitution. But no, heaven forbid we be allowed to engage with the act 3 antagonists in any meaningful way outside of killing them or acknowledge that the main thing separating them from the less moral companions is that no one helped them...

[rhaenin-time]

It's honestly troubling how certain people, despite all evidence and arguments to the contrary, willfully misinterpret Rhaenyra/Cole as coercion in order to avoid the actual issue at hand.

Don't get me wrong, there's also a lot of misogyny wrapped up in those takes. But it also stems from the unwillingness to engage with the true issue. And by pushing their misinterpretation so hard, they actually do a disservice to that issue that hangs over Cole and Rhaenyra's heads; the one the characters would realistically think about.

How ethical is it for Rhaenyra to "offer" her body in a world that's decided it's not "hers" to offer?

In a world that denies her agency (while still punishing her of course) and instead sees her as a valuable object that can be "spoiled," is it ethical for Rhaenyra to act the 'seductress' when men of that world are so accustomed to a social order where the only barrier between them and a 'valuable' woman's flesh is the fact that she puts up that wall? Especially towards a man like Cole whose whole worldview upholds the idea of courtly romance — the idea that the ultimate, desirable, honourable love story for a man like Cole is to be the loyal white knight who, though he certainly pines for the beloved woman he protects, never crosses that line specifically because the object of his affection puts up that line?

This isn't guesswork, by the way. This is a description of "courtly romance" that was valued at the time.

Is it ethical to seduce a man of that world while acting like a person, knowing that if you're found out, the fact that you're not seen as a person will have the man punished for despoiling you, regardless of 'consent' you were never free to give? Is it ethical to endanger others by acting human in an inhumane system?

That is Ser Criston's true issue with Rhaenyra. To HotD's credit, they make it very clear. Not with only the Rhaenyra/Cole storyline, but it's part of Rhaenyra's storyline in general. And there is a debate to be had there that for some reason his supporters avoid in favour of bad faith, and to be honest, troubling misinterpretations that often seem almost gleeful.

The problem is, while it's a complicated debate... there's still a clear 'winner'. Yes, Ser Criston has some justification in resenting Rhaenyra for maybe not immediately recognizing the danger of defying misogynistic rules in a patriarchal society. But that doesn't give him the right to hate her, to blame her, or to dedicate his life to ruining her by weaponizing that very system.

And there lies the answer to Criston Cole. It's not that he takes issue with Rhaenyra not navigating an inhumane system in a safer way. It's that he wholly buys in to that inhumane system. Be it book or show, that is the root of his character.

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 14, MDNI

Simon talks, talks, and talks. His voice reverberates through the room. It's firm, resolute, and leaves no room for negotiation or dispute. Refusing to abandon the search, he tells you that returning home without your brother is no longer a viable option. He presents you with a choice: you can stay in the shop, wait a day or two until Simon returns, or you can go with him. Regardless of your decision, Simon will be leaving. He will go looking for your brother, with or without you, by his side.

"Simon, please," you implore, your voice heavy with exhaustion and frustration. You draw in a shuddering breath, the air around you heavy with tension, and release it slowly as if you're deflating a balloon of your pent-up fear. You walk closer, only coming to a halt when you're standing right in front of him. "We can't keep going anymore. I want us to go home. I want us… you to be safe." Your eyes lock with his. Your shoulder is still throbbing, but you keep your back straight. You don't dare to glance at your wound, not wanting to reveal you have been bitten, not wanting to add more burden to his already heavy shoulders. Not yet.

His lips part, as if he's about to speak, yet he bites his tongue. After a few moments of silent contemplation, he finally forces his chaotic thoughts into coherent words.

"My life, and my efforts to preserve it—they no longer matter," he says and rubs his face before turning and walking away. As he moves, he nudges you lightly with his shoulder. It's an unspoken request for you to move aside and give him some space.

"What do you mean, it no longer matters? Of course, it does." Your trembling hand reaches out to grab his arm, hoping to stop him, to make him turn around and look at you. Yet, halfway through the motion, you hesitate, your fingers hovering in the air before you withdraw your palm and take a step back.

Since your narrow escape from the ravenous horde of the dead, you've done nothing but engage in relentless arguments. Your voice, once soft, now echoes with the harsh clang of surrender, a desperate plea to abandon this doomed crusade. Yet, no matter how hard you attempt to rationalise with him or how passionately you articulate your unwillingness to have him risk his life for your sake, his resolve remains unwavering. He stares at you, eyes clouded with confusion, unable to decipher the sudden shift in your behaviour—your abrupt, jarring decision to forsake the search for your brother. You are aware of what needs to be done to put an end to this futile back-and-forth. Still, it's a challenging task to muster the courage to express your thoughts, to reveal the secret you've been hiding from him.

"Just a short while ago, you were determined, insistent on finding your brother. It's impossible that in the span of a mere ten minutes, you've so drastically changed your mind, deciding that this is no longer what you truly want." He pauses, turning around to face you, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "I'm running out of time, and I have to help you before it's too late."

You are perplexed, unable to comprehend what he is trying to tell you. As though in slow motion, he extends his arm towards you. You notice the torn sleeve of his jacket. Suddenly, a heavy weight descends onto your shoulders, like a slab of ice, sending shudders down your back. You attempt to speak, to ask what's happening, but the words remain trapped in your throat, choking you. Simon unrolls his sleeve, revealing the dried blood that stains his skin. As he peels away the fabric further, the shocking sight of an awful wound comes into view. It's a bite mark, cruel and jagged, as if teeth have been brutally drilled into his flesh.

"When I tried to reach you—I was so focused on making sure that you don't get hurt—I failed to be aware of my surroundings. Some biter got me, I felt its teeth sinking into my arm," he explains. His voice is filled with a strange calmness that somehow makes the situation even more unbearable.

The only thought shrouding your mind, like a relentless fog, is your culpability. It was you who had recklessly dashed back to retrieve the fallen pistol. It was you who had needed to be saved while the ravenous biters circled around you, like a lone deer surrounded by wolves. Simon got bit because he placed your life before his own without a second thought. And in the end, none of it matters. By the time he had reached you and pulled you away from the dead, you were already a lost cause.

With a muted wince, you raise your arm. Pain shoots through your body like a bolt of lightning. Your trembling fingers hover over the vicious bite on your shoulder. As you trace the outline of the teeth marks, a grim reminder of your impending fate, the sticky, warm blood that's still seeping from the wound causes you to grimace. It trickles down your back, staining your shirt and jacket in a dark, crimson hue. The sensation of the liquid, reminiscent of a relentless river seeping into the fabric, makes your muscles tremble.

He doesn't pull away immediately. Instead, his muscular arms encircle your frame, pulling you closer to him, drawing you into his warm embrace. He whispers softly into your ear, "After all that's happened between us… I lo… Actually, that's irrelevant—The point is I don't want you to be left alone."

Like a snowflake surrendering to the gentle heat of a palm, you allow yourself to melt into Simon's embrace. You close your eyes, sealing away the harsh reality. Burying your face into his chest, you nuzzle your nose into his shirt. The fabric smells like him, and a mix of sweat, dirt, and fresh blood.

The relentless march of time hurls forward at an alarming pace. It feels as though you just met Simon yesterday, yet many months have passed since that day. The moment you got to know him, to really know him, it was as if a gust of fresh air filled your lungs, a sensation so invigorating it felt as though you had been unknowingly yearning for it your entire life. You never expected to fall in love with someone in this bizarre new world. Yet, you did. But now, no matter how much you want to plan your future with Simon, to reassure yourself that those nasty bites will heal, a part of you knows better than to get lost in the labyrinth of fantasies that bear no chance of becoming reality.

Simon's hand gently moves across the delicate curve of your lower back. His fingertips trail upwards, tracing the bumpy ridges of your spine. It's a soothing touch, so subtle you barely notice. Unhurried, his hand continues its journey upwards, coming to rest on the round of your shoulder. As if scalded by the hot water, he jerks his palm back. His heart plummets to his knees. The sudden terror takes hold of him. An icy chill creeps over his face, turning his complexion a ghostly, ashen colour as he moves his palm towards himself. His worst fears are confirmed at that moment. His fingers, now trembling, wrap around your arms, and he forces you to turn around. The shock renders him speechless. His voice gets trapped in his throat. When you glance over your shoulder, your eyes meet with his, and in them, you see a reflection of your own fear, like a mirror image in a still lake. His gaze is brimming with anxiety. After a moment, his focus shifts back to the bite on your shoulder. The sight of it sends another shiver through him, the reality of the situation sinking in.

In the dense, suffocating silence that has enveloped you both, no words dare to escape your lips. The gravity of the situation has rendered speech unnecessary, and there are simply no appropriate words that could possibly capture the tempest of emotions storming within you. You both realise you are going to die, and there is no way to avoid it.

Simon, in particular, is immersed in a dense fog of guilt and self-blame. It feels like a heavy stone is lodged in the pit of his stomach. After all, he was the one who had insisted that you swear to keep his pistol safe. His instructions were clear to you. So, when the gun slipped out of your grasp, you didn't hesitate, didn't pause to weigh the risks. Instead, you raced back to retrieve it… You are equally filled with remorse, chastising yourself for your own stupidity. How could you have been so foolish to return for a mere gun, only to find yourself swamped by a starved horde of the dead? The decision was impulsive and foolhardy, and you've forced Simon into a situation where he had to gamble his life to save yours.

"I just want to go home," you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips before they're swallowed up by the heavy silence hanging in the air. As the echo of your voice fades, you take a hesitant step back, feeling the distance grow between the two of you. His hands slide down from your shoulders, grazing your body like a feather caught in a breeze before they fall back to his sides.

Simon gives a slow, understanding nod. He knows that the idea of going on a wild goose chase for your brother is futile at this point. Time is not a luxury you possess. Even if you were to somehow pinpoint his exact location, the task of infiltrating the heavily fortified base is a monumental challenge in itself. The thought of successfully navigating through it seems like a far-fetched fantasy. And if, by some miracle, you find your brother, there's absolutely no guarantee the three of you can sneak out unnoticed. The base is teeming with men who are eager to catch Simon. It would be akin to willingly stepping into a viper's nest, where the odds are overwhelmingly stacked against you.

Despite the searing pain of abandoning the search for your brother, a part of you is forced to acknowledge the bitter reality. You yearn to spend your remaining time with Simon. You want to cherish each moment, each breath with him before it's too late. The decision to forsake your brother is cruel, yet it's a sacrifice you feel compelled to make.

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset, @lurkinwbreexy, @breadpitt69 , @browtfyoudoing , @yelenassafeplace, @itsthealice, @naxxsstuff, @lotionlamp, @aquarianix If you want to be added, let me know!

[batmanego]

Talk about Jason and Barbara next

THE SCRAPING AND THE AGONY AND LET THE BLOOD RAIN FALL

i think barbara probably has a somewhat similar relationship to jason as the one dick has to him, except that i think jason likes her more than he likes dick #SORRYDICK. barbara hates watching jason do this to himself but she also respects herself enough to not push him in the same ways dick does, because she knows doing so will only serve to make jason angry with her and with himself and push him back into isolation. it’s a veeeeeery tenuous peace, sustained mostly by barbara’s historically keen ability to read jason (“you’re keyed into his emotions” “that’s because he’s emotional” etc etc). i do think she does occasionally push against his ideas too hard and he does snap and lash out at here, but those instances are far and few between when compared to dick and jason’s ebb and flow, push and pull. also, she doesn’t LIKE the attempted child murder, and probably is/was really mad about it, but damian was not her brotherson so it’s slightly different there.

fundamentally i think barbara, like the other people in jason’s life, wants something from jason that he is unwilling to give, and that will always create a divide between them (not that it’s barbara’s fault. jason built the cage and burnt his bridges himself, and is actively choosing not to leave the cage and to turn away help when it’s offered). barbara also is sort of trapped in some sort of Guilt Nexus as a result of the fact that she pointed out jasons emotional problems to bruce and thus holds herself responsible (in part) for what happened to him — maybe if she had been stronger/smarter/firmer/a better role model/etc, this all could have been avoided (though i don’t think she’s quite at the bruce wayne levels of self pity where she starts blaming herself for jasons actions — mostly just for the fact that he died in the first place)

jason appreciates having someone who knows when to not push the issue, but i do think that barbara’s unwillingness to engage in outright hostility with him most of the time grates on him and makes him feel like he’s being talked down to. he also HAAAAAATEEEEEESSSSSSSSS her Creepy Watcher nature (much like he hates bruce’s) and as a result i think the face to face communication they have is fairly limited — he’s too paranoid about her planting bugs or gleaning too much information about his life. but she is his favorite and he likes her a lot both as a person and as a… pseudo-sister figure..? she has enough distance from batman that she is (mostly) safe in his eyes (and he gets a kick out of ragging on bruce with her when he’s in that mindset), and also the two of them have enough history from when he was a kid that she is a familiar and comforting presence when he’s really desperate. i wouldn’t say the two of them are close, because i think jason has made “getting close” with him a virtual impossibility for his family/family friends (And this is good for him. Trust.Its working out really well), but shes definitely up there. i would say she and duke are probably the people he’s closest to that are batman-adjacent.

[sloane-kdramas]

My thoughts on the structurally flawed premise of Wedding Impossible & its merits (ep. 8)

Liking the chemistry of the main pair of Wedding Impossible while being frustrated with the complete unwillingness of the writers to engage with the reality of being gay in Korea is giving me major cognitive dissonance.

Am I supposed to view AJ and JH as a forbidden love story? A taboo where man is in love with his sister in law? Then why make the fiancé gay if it bears no effect to them?

The progression of AJ and JH's relationship separately is actually engaging and cute. He went from announcing his ploy to stop the wedding to falling into his own trap and liking her for real. This happening not by cute dates, but by getting to know her deeply, what she values, what affects her, how she treats the people around her. He got deep with her and he fell despite his resistance.

But, shouldn't he feel more guilty to take this awesome person away from his brother, now he's sure of her character? Like bro, it stands to reason that your brother admired the same things you did that's why he's marrying her.

I get he's mad, but not thinking even for a second how horrible it is for a gay man in Korea and the lengths he's going to cover it up and only worrying about her is a terrible display of an empathy gap. It also cheapens the familiar relationship, what do you mean you protect your brother when you turn your back when he needs you the most and move on his girlfriend?

AJ, I love you, but if you're running around flirting with your brother in law, you're endangering DH's secret, which is the whole point of all this. You're an actress, act in love!

The gay character is the villain? Homophobic, lazy, uninteresting. How about you examine the ingrained homophobia of the patriarchal culture of Korea that destroys people's life to this day? And not even huge wealth can prevent it.

TL;DR Wedding Impossible mistreats the core premise, but I am still curious to see where it's going