#(by which i mean my dignity as a writer)

[rkvriki]

GOT ME THINKING NONSENSE sim jaeyun ౨ৎ

synopsis! you get paired up with jake, your sweet classmate who’s always willing to help you, but while you’re both working, he seems to be the one needing help. wc! 5.1k cw! porn with barely no plot unprotected sex (wrap it up yall!!), SUB!JAKE, dom!reader obvi, oral (m! receiving), jake is whiny and reader is just a tad bit mean, unexpirienced but not virgin jake, had huge writers block in the beggining pls spare me 😣

BREAK THE SKIN MASTERLIST

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You could still feel the high heat in your body when you were walking away from your and Heeseng’s place. You probably didn’t look the most presentable, cheeks flush, hair a little bit tousled and your clothes were most likely all wrinkled from being messily thrown out. The walk from your apartment to Jake’s wasn’t longer than 10 minutes since he lived quite close. You checked your phone and it had been 6 minutes past the time you had planned with Jake so you tried to walk a little faster, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling between your legs, the aftermath of your and Heeseung’s sins.

You had met Jake during one of the classes you had together when one day you were late and the sit next to him was the only one available. He was the usual classmate who didn’t talk much but still had a good group friend, in which Heeseung was included. You two didn’t talk much unless when you ask him to help you with something and to you it almost looked as if he avoided talking to you. You often noticed how his cheeks warmed up when you talked to him or how his eyes flickered from yours to the environment around him, which you found cute and made you bite back a smirk each time you interacted. You would be lying if you said you didn’t find Jake attractive. His face looked like it could’ve been sculpted by the Gods above, and when he wore his glasses you swore you could drop all the dignity you had left for him.

It wasn’t too long after that you reached Jake’s apartment building. You took your phone out, texting him that you had reached his house. You didn’t have to wait long to see how good Jake looked today. Sporting basic jeans with a striped polo sweater and his usual black specs, he looked better than ever. Before your mind could wander any further, you walked towards the entrance, greeting him with a smile and following him upstairs and inside his apartment. When you first walked in, you noticed right away how neat his place looked, just like him.

“Nice place you got.” You said with a smile, making him look back at you with a surprised expression. “Oh? Thanks, though! I’m not very good at decorating but I tried my best here.” Jake answered with a shy chuckle. “Yeah, I could tell you did.”

He leads you further into the hallway, entering the door to his room. His room was a reflection of himself. Anyone could tell this was his room just from the way it’s organized and coordinated. The books on the shelves were all neatly placed and organised in alphabetic order. His desk was free of clutter and had only the necessary things placed above it, that, if you considered a picture of what you assumed was his dog necessary. Your eyes found Jake’s and you could see him tense up when you did so. 

“Shall we get to work then?” You asked with a smile. “Yeah, yes, of course.” He said quickly moving to sit by his desk. You put your things down and sat next to him, your thighs almost touching since the desk was clearly made for only one person to sit there. You pulled out your laptop and opened the document your teacher had sent you with all the instructions.

“I think we could divide the topics for each other and then discuss which information to keep..” Jake suggested, his eyes flickering between the various topics shown on the screen. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea, Jakey.” The nickname slipped faster than you could catch, but you don’t regret it, especially after seeing how Jake’s ears slowly turned red. You bit your bottom lip to prevent the smirk threatening to form.

You had been working for a little past an hour and you could feel your eyes getting tired from looking at your computer screen for so long. From your peripheral vision, you could see Jake running a hand through his raven hair with a heavy sigh, making your eyes turn to look his way. With your head propped on your hand, you admired as he scrolled through endless reports, trying to find any good content he could for the presentation.

He hadn't noticed your staring, too focused on the screen ahead of him. Your eyes moved down his body. His sleeves had been pulled up a little, just below his elbows, showing off the veins that ran down to his hands. Oh, his hands. Something you always stared at. Anytime you would ask him for help in class you would always get distracted by the hands of the man beside you as he used them to point things out in your textbook. You would almost drool as you stared at his thick fingers, letting your mind wander further than it should.

Obviously, you didn’t keep these things for yourself. This had been a hot topic on your late-night calls with Yunjin, the one you would always run to when you needed feminine advice and didn’t want to hear the constant nagging Jay gave any time you talked about boys. The girl would always laugh at you, mentioning that you must have a thing for nerdy-looking guys or, in her words “pathetic men” (her theory got confirmed when you told her you fucked Heeseung). It wasn’t totally false. It is true that you liked weak men who wouldn’t hesitate to get on their knees for you. Blame you for being tired of guys with big egos who think they’re all that.

Another big sigh, almost groan, snapped you out of your thoughts. You looked at Jake and saw him leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed. “Everything alright?” You asked as you slid your chair closer to his. “Yeah, sorry. Just can’t find any good info for my topics.” He said as he nodded his head towards the screen in front of him. You let out a small sigh as your lips pout with pity, pulling your chair even closer to his. “Don’t be too harsh on yourself, Jakey.” You told him as your hand made its way to his thigh, feeling it tense at the touch. You leaned your body towards his way “You know you can always ask me for help.” our hand moves upwards “Anytime.” You finished with a smile, leaving that last word floating in the air with an uncertain meaning. Jake’s breath got stuck in his throat and he felt the weight of the last word that left your lips. The gears in his head twisted and turned as he tried not to show how the way you were smiling up at him affected him.

You sat back straight in your chair, acting as if you didn’t know what effect you left on him. “Let's ge back to work, yeah?”

It had been a few hours since you started working. During the whole time you could see Jake squirming in his seat, maybe from the tension in the air, so thick that it could be could with a knife. With a sigh, you closed your laptop with a thud, your hands falling to your lap as you turned to look at Jake who seemed to avoid looking you in the eye. 

“I guess this is all for today, Jakey.” You said smiling at him. “We can talk tomorrow in class and choose another day to meet again, maybe at my place next time, yeah?” You asked him as you started getting up from your seat, him doing the same. “Oh yeah, we can do that. I was about to finish this part as well so you’re all free to go.” You nodded at his words, your eyes subtly looking him up and down. His hands twitched in his sides. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Reaching his door, he opened it to let you out. You looked back at him one last time with a slight smirk. His cheeks warmed up and he swayed in his place, suddenly feeling awkward in the loud silence. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” You said, now fully smiling. “See you, y/n.” Jake said not moving from his spot. 

You walked away from his door, and as soon as you were out of sight, Jake moved to close the door, resting his back against it as he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He brought his cold hands to his cheeks, trying to heat them down. He knew working with you wasn’t going to be an easy task.

This cycle of going back and forth between each other’s houses has been going on for a few weeks now and the project was almost done. The thick tension between you two every time you were together was undeniable and it had Jake feeling tense around you.

Ever since you pulled that thing the first time you went to his house, Jake could seem to fully focus when he was around you, always getting distracted by whatever you did. Even during classes, you seemed to purposely sit next to him, only to spend half of the time subtly touching the side of his leg and moving up to touch his tight. Jake was going crazy from your shenanigans and they were the only thing running through his mind when he laid in bed wide awake, head full of you and his hand running down from his tummy to where his body needed him the most.

It’s not like Jake never had sex or related activities, but he wasn’t the most experienced. He had only had sex with his ex and only serious girlfriend he had and it wasn’t anything too out of this world. He knew you’ve had your fair share of sexual encounters, he knew you had plenty of experience and he knew you were damn good at it because he has heard stories from the men you were with. If you asked him a long time ago, this wouldn’t bother Jake, but now, with all you’ve been doing to him, it makes him feel a bit insecure, because if your teasing escalates further he knows he could never compete with those men. But maybe that’s not what you think.

You were waiting for Jake since he was coming over to finish and wrap up the project. You had spent a good two hours in front of the mirror, trying to make yourself look more presentable for him, something you would never admit to anyone even if they paid you. It wasn’t too late but you could see the sun setting from the view in your window. You were about to check your phone when you heard the doorbell ring, meaning Jake had already arrived.

Walking towards the front door, you checked yourself one last time in the mirror before opening the door. “Hey, Jake! Come on in!” You said stepping aside so he could enter your house. “Hey, um, I brought some snacks, since it’s getting kinda late and I remembered you said you liked these so…” He trailed off, showing you two packs of your favourite snacks, making you surprised he even remembered that. “Oh my god, Jake! You definitely didn’t have to. Thank you, though!” You said smiling at him, his cheeks warming up as usual. “Anyways, let’s get started before it gets too late for you.”

The project was going smoothly since today you two were only doing the final touches and reviewing the whole thing. The dynamic between you and Jake today felt different. There were more lingering touches coming from him who you would accidentally touch his hand but he wouldn’t move away or flinch like he usually does. You were surprised that he acting this way, but you were definitely not complaining, you like this less conserved side of him.

You tried to focus on the text on your screen, but you couldn't help but let your eyes drift off to where Jake was sitting working on the powerpoint. It’s not like he didn’t look good any other day, but maybe it was the dim warm light in your room or maybe it was the moon shining from your window behind him, you weren’t exactly sure, but something about him today had him look so good and you couldn’t avoid the warm sensation in the bottom of your tummy that made your thighs press together.

Your inner turmoil was interrupted by Jake’s little sigh, making your eyes focus back on him. “I’m finished with this.” he said turning to look at you. “Do you need any help with that or…?” he trailed off. “Oh! Um no, I’m finished as well.” a thought came up to your head. “Can I check the powerpoint?” you asked leaning a little towards him. “Ah, yes, of course.” He answered, adjusting his glasses.

You pushed your chair closer to his, purposely making your thigh touch his. Jake felt his heart race when you got suddenly so close, the scent of your sweet yet intoxicating perfume invading his senses. His eyes drifted from your focused face down to your exposed neck, making him lick his dry lips as if to stop himself from letting his lips fall into its soft skin. He shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts of you out of his mind and maintain his composure.

“Well, this looks pretty good!” you said smiling at him, almost missing the way his eyes quickly fall from your eyes to your lips. “Oh, really? Thank y-” “You did such a good job, Jakey.” You interrupted him, as you let your hand fall on his thigh. His lips opened and closed as he tried to speak but no words came out. “You worked so hard on this.” your hand started moving up and down, making him tense up. “Think you deserve a reward, don’t you?” his eyes doubled in size as you spoke so softly, yet your words were filled with nothing but lust.

“Answer me, Jake.” you said, leaning closer to his face. “I- Yeah, please.” he answered, voice barely above a whisper. Your lips immediately connected to his, making him let out a low moan. His lips felt soft against yours, fitting almost like two pieces of a puzzle connecting. Your hand moved further upwards, now dangerously close to where his bulge was growing. His wands that were awkwardly laid by his side moved to lay on your hips, gripping them when he felt your tongue swiping against his bottom lips. He gave you access and you started exploring his mouth, tongues rubbing against each other, making both of you moan at each other’s tastes. 

Kissing Jake felt heavenly, almost better than anyone you’ve kissed. It felt good to finally be the one leading. You felt so powerful with him writhing against you, yearning for more than just your kisses. You pulled away so both of you could catch your breath. Jake looked up at you, lidded eyes with a glow on them and his lips red and swollen from you biting on them occasionally. “Fuck, Jake. You look heavenly.” He only answered by chasing your lips, already missing the feeling of your lips on his. You pecked his lips before pulling away again, making him let out a whine. Your pussy throbbed at the sound, never had heard a man make such a beautiful sound, almost like a melody to you. 

“Let’s move to the bed, yeah?” you asked breathlessly, making him nod eagerly. Both of you stumbled as you got off from your chairs, almost bumping into each other. Jake was the first one to lay in your bed, head hitting your soft pillows. You followed him, crawling in his way, until your legs were straddling his lap, sitting on it. You leaned down, taking his lips on your again. The kiss was messy and heated, both of you probably getting coated in spit but neither could care any less about the mess. His bulge felt delicious as it grew harder and harder below you, rubbing against your clothed core.

You grinded experimentally against his clothed member to which he let out a groan, feeling the heavenly friction of you against him. You kept slowly and teasingly grinding against him as your hands ran down from his face to his chest stopping by his nipples that felt hard against your fingertips. You pressed on them, his hips bucking up as he let out a yelp, not expecting the sudden stimulation. You smirked against him, pulling away from the kiss, a string of spit connecting you both. Your hands left his nipples to pull at the bottom of his shirt, indulging him to take it off. You stared at his toned torso, not expecting to see the lines on his abs, something you would deal with later.

Your mouth made its way to his neck, starting by kissing all over until you found his sweet spot. Your hands started moving back up again to his nipples, rubbing them, making him whine again as he grinded harder against you. “Never had your nipples played like this, Jakey?” you asked, pulling away from his neck “Tell me, baby. Do you like it?” he had his eyes closed and his brows furrowed as he tried to think of what to say. “F-fuck yes” he stuttered “Feels so good!” he said with a whine, making you smirk at his already fucked out state. 

You lowered yourself, mouth moving to kiss from the dip in his chest, down to his abs, sucking on the area there, creating red marks all around. Your mouth kissed lower, following his happy trail until you reached the line of his pants. “Can I take this off, baby?” you asked him, pawing at the button. He nodded quicker than he would like to admit. “Need words, Jakey.” you demanded, wanting to hear him voice out his consent. “Yes, y/n, please, fuck”

With his green light, you started unbuttoning his pants and undoing the zipper. You tapped his hip, signalling him to raise them so you could take them off. He did as he was told and you pushed the jeans off, leaving him in just his boxers that already had a damp spot where the tip of his cock was. You stared at the bulge, already noticing that he was probably huge, making you feel a little nervous about fitting him in you. You squirmed in your spot, feeling an uncomfortable sticky feeling in your underwear, making you aware of how wet you were getting.

Jake whined, snapping you out of your thoughts, looking at you with eyes begging for you to touch him. You smiled at his helpless state “What d’you want, Jakey? Need you to speak or I won’t know.” He whined at your words, his brain feeling like a mush inside his head. “N-need you to touch it, please, just do something.” He answered, squirming in your bed as he felt more and more desperate. You didn’t say anything else as your hand moved to his bulge. Poor baby, was hard as a rock. It probably even hurt. You squeeze his length, pre cum escaping the tip and staining his boxers even more. “More, please! I need more,y/n!” he said with a whine. 

You took some pity on him and your hands automatically moved to remove his boxers from him, cock hitting his stomach with a bounce, Fuck, he really was huge, and thick. A long vein ran from the base to the tip and you wanted nothing more than to do that. You lowered your mouth on his cock, licking up from the base until you reached the tip, engulfing it with your lips. You licked a stripe on the slit, making him groan at the delicious but almost overstimulating feeling. Your mouth moved down, taking almost his whole length. One of your hands wrapped around what you couldn’t fit, while the other moved to play with his balls, his hips bucking inside you making you gag around him.

The vision Jake had of you ass up and face down on his cock was what he hoped heaven looked like. Your mouth felt warm and heavenly and he already felt brain fucked. He had never felt such pleasure in his life and he just knew this was gonna be the suck of his life. He dared to look down again and his eyes met yours. He could bust right there and then with just the look you gave him. Your eyes were dark, pupils blown out, making him feel so powerless underneath you. His eyes closed shut when he felt you hollowing your cheeks to suck him even harder.

You could tell he was close. His hips were twitching as well as his whole cock and you could feel him throb in your mouth. You removed his length out of your mouth and licked down to his balls, licking them as your hand moved to jerk him off at a quick pace. His breath was getting shorter as he felt his release come closer and closer. “Oh, f-fuck! Please, Please, y/n!” He didn’t even know what he was begging for, his whole body felt numb, except for the knot on his stomach getting tighter and tighter. 

Your lips moved to suck on his tip as your hand kept jerking him up and down. His cock started twitching hard in your grip “y/n I-I’m gonna cum-!” His warm cum spurt inside your mouth, making you moan at the feeling of him filling you up. He was moaning loudly as he rode out his orgasms, chest heaving up and down quickly as he tried to keep breathing. You gave him one last hard suck, making him shudder in overstimulation. 

You moved to eye level with him, hand moving up to brush his hair away from his face. “Such a good boy for me, yeah?” He nodded in your hold, face flushed and eyes teary from his orgasm. Your lips met his, tongues instantly meeting. He could taste himself on you, making him groan as the bitter taste touched his buds. You pulled away from the kiss, sitting on him fully clothed. Your hands pulled at the hem of your top, taking it off and leaving your torso naked as you weren’t wearing a bra. Jake’s mouth gaped as he stared at your bare chest, hands twitching at his side, wanting to touch them.

“You can touch them, Jakey.” you smiled sweetly at him, showing him you were comfortable with whatever he wanted to do. He let out a shaky breath as his hands hesitated to travel to your chest. He held your boobs in his hand, fitting them perfectly in his calloused hands. He didn’t really know what to do so you moved your hands to hold his, moving his thumbs to rub and twist your hardened nipples. You quietly moaned at the feeling of his rough fingers touching your sensitive buds. You removed your hands from his, letting him experience you by himself. He pinched on your nipples, making you yelp in surprise. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt-” “Do it again.” you told him “W-What? Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly. “Yes, I liked it, Jakey. Was just surprised.” You answered, smiling at him.

His hands returned to your nipples pinching and rubbing them, making you clench around nothing. As much as you enjoyed the feeling you were getting impatient and needed to have him inside you as soon as possible. You grabbed his hands, taking them off of you as you stood up on the ground to take your bottoms off. You slowly pulled them down along with your panties. His eyes carefully watched as you stripped for him and him only.

You straddled him again, your pussy sitting right on top of his cock, making both of you moan at the feeling. Jake grabbed your hips up and sat against the headboard. “Wanted to have a better look at your face when you fuck me.” he said looking up at you with his puppy eyes. You were out of words so you cradled his face in your hands as you kissed him again. Your hips start moving as if on their own, rubbing our cunt against his length, making the tip bump against your clit. He whined inside your mouth as you swallowed his sounds. 

You pulled away, hoisting your hips up as your hand grabbed his length and aligned the tip to your entrance. “W-wait!” he suddenly said making you stop in your movements. “Everything ok?” you asked worried that he might have been uncomfortable. “No, I just- You weren’t prepped and-” your lips clashing against his interrupted him, making him let out a protesting sound. “Don’t worry bout that, Jakey.” You simply said as you grabbed his length again positioning it on your gaping hole.

You slowly sink on him, your mouth opening in a silent moan while he whines in your ear, hands moving to circle your waist. You bottomed down and stayed still for a while to adjust to his big and thick size. The only thing heard was both of your heavy breaths. His hands were comfortingly rubbing up and down your back. When you felt ready you moved your head to look at him. “Ready?” you asked him and he nodded eagerly at you.

You started by slowly circling your hips around his length, both of you moaning at the euphoric feeling. He rested his head against your shoulder, panting in your ear. You circled your arms around his neck as you started to pick up your face. The room was filled with the sound of skin hitting skin and the squelch coming from your pussy. “F-fuck, y/n! Never felt s-so good.” Jake whispered as he felt his eyes roll back at the feeling of your raw cunt moving on his hard cock. “Yeah? You’re filling me up so good, Jakey. Even let you go in me raw.” You grabbed his head to make him look at you. His eyes were low and he had drool almost dripping out of the corners of his open mouth.

You moved around him at a now stable pace, moaning loudly when the tip of cock found the spongy spot inside you. “F-fuck, Jake!” he was stretching you out so good, taking you to cloud 9. You looked back at him, his head leaning back on the headboard, completely fucked out. “Look at you.” you said making him open his eyes, barely keeping them from closing again. “Fucked you dumb, didn’t I?” he nodded even though you weren’t really looking for an answer. “Poor baby, just wanted to be a good boy for someone, isn’t that right, Jakey?” he whined at your words, knowing they were fully true so he nodded his head as his eyes got even more teary, one tear even dropping out. You laughed at his state, knowing he had nothing on his brain but your pussy. 

You felt the too-familiar pressure on your tummy starting to build up and his cock twitching again. You bottomed out on him again, grinding your hips down on him as you tried to reach your climax. “Oh God! I’m getting close, Jakey.” you said in a whiny moan” You’re gonna cum with me, yeah?” you felt his cock twitch harder inside you as he nodded at your question, wanting to fulfil your request. Your breath was getting laboured but you tried to maintain your composure for him. 

Jake could feel you clench around him, knowing you were almost reaching your high. He slowly moved his hand from your waist to where your bodies met, rubbing on your clit. You let out a surprised yelp as you squeezed hard against him, eyes widening at the unexpected contact. “F-Fuck, Jake!” you said breathing heavily. “You make me feel so good.” Both of your lips met, desperately trying to reach both of your releases. You grinded faster on him, now moaning in sync against each other mouths. His finger rubbed faster on your swallowed nub, making your head spin as you threw it back.

“J-Jakey, I’m so close!” you said as you felt your thighs burn from exhaustion. “Me too, f-fuck!” His hips started slightly bucking upwards, trying to match with your movements. Your synced movements had you moaning loudly, not even caring if you’re gonna get complaints from your neighbours later. The sound of Jake’s whines getting louder along with the frequent twitching of his cock indicated that he was just as close as you. You sped up your movements as you felt the knot in your tummy about to burst.

“J-Jake, I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cu-” you were cut off by your orgasm, almost stopping in your movements with a silent scream. The feeling of your juices releasing against his cock had Jake cumming right after you with a loud whine. The aggressive twitching of his cock along with the feeling of his warm seeds painting your insides felt heavenly. You looked down to see a white ring form around his length, slowly moving up and down as you rode both of your orgasms out.

Your heads rested against each others’ shoulders as you stayed like that for a while, you with the feeling of his hands rubbing shapes on your back soothingly. The sound of both of your panting filled the silent room. The sound of traffic could also be heard from outside and it made you go back to your senses. You got your head up, urging Jake to do the same. You pulled him in one last kiss before you pulled his length out of you, making both of you hiss. You got up and walked towards the bathroom to grab a washcloth. You cleaned yourself up first before going back and cleaning his length for him. He shook from still being sensitive, making you chuckle at him.

You tossed the cloth onto the ground and laid next to him, sighing happily when your head hit the comfort of your pillows. Your hand rested on his chest rubbing circles on it as you simply looked at his peaceful state. The silence in the room wasn’t uncomfortable and you felt like you both made a silent rule of not talking about what happened. He grabbed your hand from his chest and gave it a kiss. “Thank you for taking care of me.” He said as he felt his cheeks warm up. You chuckle and prop your head on your hand to get a better view of him.

“Well, thank me when we get a good grade. This was my thanks in advance.” You said, making both of you laugh. “Yeah, maybe I’ll be the one rewarding you next time.”

[sweaterkittensahoy]

My chronic pain disabilities (hip fuckery; migraines) do not stop me from working. It doesn't mean I should treat my disabilities with less respect than disabilities that DO make it impossible to work.

When my endo pain was at its worse, I did all the things I was supposed to do--according to HR--to protect my job. I filed ADA paperwork. I communicated when I used it. I had the doctor's note. Etc.

Two days before my hysterectomy, I got a call from HR. "Oh, we're not sure we'll have work for you after you recover."

Which, first of all, is fucking illegal to say to someone who has ADA paperwork in place with you.

And, second of all, you're a fucking liar. I was the ONLY tech writer in a company of 500 people. Don't bullshit me.

I should have filed a complaint and sued the fuck out of them, but all I wanted to do was be able to possibly get out of pain and not have to worry about my paycheck after that. So, I called someone else in the company who I knew would lose his shit if I told him I'd basically just been told I had no work to do.

Two days after surgery, I had an email from HR to my personal account. Which, technically, they ALSO should not have used to contact me while on medical leave that was--like my disability paperwork--100% lined up and signed off on.

But the HR person wanted me to know that "Oh, looks like there IS work for you! Lol! Didn't know!"

This is bullshit. She was very aware.

Years later, I'm at a much better company. My supervisor, who is nothing but supportive, recently floated that it might be good to have ADA paperwork in place for my migraines because they flare during stress, which is the time I'm needed at work THE MOST.

No shit: I went into hard shutdown for about two minutes after he said it. It wasn't a threat or a dismissal of my migraines. It was him going, "Oh, hey, so no one can ever try to use them against you to say you're bad with stress, you might do this."

But all I felt was how I was absolutely fucked over by a bad company because they said, "You need to follow these legal steps," and I did, and they still tried to get around them.

So, no, I'm not dealing with getting punished if I have more than 2k in my bank account. I'm not dealing with people touching me, or my assistive devices (I don't currently use any). I can park anywhere in a lot and walk to the store entrance. But I was disabled, and I AM disabled, and I have had people try to punish me for existing in a body that just fucking HURTS because it HURTS.

It's Disability Awareness Month. I am disabled. Less so than I was ten years ago, which is a fucking stroke of luck. But also my right hip has started to go now, and who knows what the next 10 years will bring.

It's Disability Awareness Month. If someone says, "I'm disabled, and I want to talk about my experience," please pay attention and listen and learn and understand there's all sorts of ways disabled people are fighting to be treated with basic human dignity and under the basic rule of law.

[stormandforge]

And just like that, Forge has a name.

I almost choked when I heard it. I use captions, so I could see I hadn't imagined it, and I was in absolute shock. I repeated "DANIEL?" in disbelief about 10 times, my hand on my mouth and my eyes wide. I looked at my husband to confirm I wasn't going insane. Then I stared into space for the rest of the episode.

X-Men '97 using Forge's real name was the last thing I expected. And the way they did it, too, so casually, in conversation. I'D BEEN WAITING FOR THIS FOR 30 YEARS.

You might think it's a small thing, but before X-Men '97 episode 10, so before yesterday, Forge didn't have a real name. He was introduced in 1984. Let that sink in: that's 40 years without a single Marvel writer bothering to give him a name.

The fans, myself included, came up with headcanon to justify the decision and sometimes made up names for him in fanfic (Jonathan Silvercloud being the most famous one - no it's not an alt reality name, it comes from fic), but no Marvel writer took the time to explain or rectify.

This was frankly insulting of them, especially when you consider Forge's constant presence in the comics, and the ridiculous number of names some other characters have. Also, and perhaps most importantly, Chris Claremont had already planned a name for him:

All Marvel needed to do was use this name to make it canon. Or perhaps ask Claremont if they could use it. (And if they didn't want to speak to Claremont, they could still just...make up another name. You know, that thing writers do all the time.) But no, even after the name was announced on Twitter, it still was never used, on panel or elsewhere.

Enter a simple piece of dialogue in X-Men '97, and boom, Forge has a name. It wasn't that difficult, was it? Such a small move, but it shook me like a bomb. It's a historic moment for the character, and for the people who love him as much as I do. It's like he was finally given an identity, and with it the basic dignity he deserves.

I had imagined all sorts of scenarios in which his name would be revealed - all quite dramatic or emotional. But I guess the best way to retcon something that doesn't make sense is to pretend it never happened. So revealing his long-withheld name in conversation, natural like, is absolutely perfect. I love that Forge doesn't even react, because, you know, it's just his name, no big deal.

(I'm a bit sad that Ororo wasn't the first one to call him by his first name, but hey, you can't have it all.)

As far as I'm concerned, the name is canon now. '97 isn't the comics, but it's still Marvel, and that's good enough for me. I've waited long enough. And if the first name Claremont wrote is canon, then so is the last.

Which means: Forge has a full name. *SQUEEEEEEE*

I don't know who made the decision to use Forge's name or why, but I want to thank them. They righted a major wrong.

Now catch up, Marvel Comics. Everyone deserves a name. Even the monkey wrench repairman with non-flashy powers.

Everyone, meet Daniel Lone Eagle.

[the-other-art-blog]

SOPHIE NEVER ASKS BENEDICT TO CHOOSE HER OR MARRY HER.

I can talk endlessly about Sophie Beckett. She is one of my favorite characters ever. And I was thinking the other day how Sophie never asks Benedict to choose her or marry her. There's no "pick me" moment at all. She never gives him an ultimatum, a "marry me or I leave" kind of threat. She simply wants him to leave her alone.

How amazing is that? And how strong she was to do this and stick to her decision?!

Sophie, as romantic as she is, has a very realistic view of society and her future. She leaves her dreams to be dreams and takes life as it is, without sugarcoating it.

She refuses to be Benedict's mistress no matter how much she loves him, and he has no intention of marrying her until the last chapters.

In Mexico, we have a saying "mejor sola que mal acompañada," which translates as "better be alone than with bad company."

It's not that Benedict is bad company per se, but the life he offers her only works for him (and not even that really, not in the medium or long run). As a mistress, she would feel shame for the rest of her life adding one more disgraceful label to her name AND she would subject her children to the same shame and pain she endures every day. She will never be a Bridgerton, and the family will never accept her as they accepted Kate and Pen.

So she chooses a lonely but dignified life. Even Benedict tells her how lonely she will be:

And honestly, kudos to her because it's easier said than done. I mean, it sucks to be alone and everyone is afraid of it (this also applies to friendships too, and even family). Look at social media, everybody is lonely or afraid of being lonely. It's a rational fear, but it traps people in bad relationships. How many people have partners that do not support them or pose obstacles to their growth, some even mistreat them physically and emotionally. And they stay because they don't want to wake up to an empty bed.

When you take all the Bridgerton paraphernalia, you have a very current issue at the core, a very relatable woman (probably the most relatable one for the 99%) who just wants to stay true to herself. She's a woman refusing to be mistreated because she knows her worth and protects her dignity. She's not in the streets carrying cardboard with feminist messages, but she's fighting for herself and that's enough because it keeps an overprivileged man from ruining her. In the end, Benedict understands this fully and loves her all the more for it.

This also reminds me of all the posts here and on tw that say something like "I would be Benedict's mistress" or "my love for Benedict is dangerous for feminism." I know it's a joke and it's fun BUT when you think of it, Sophie could have said this, Benedict wanted her to say this. She could have accepted his proposal to enjoy the luxuries but she didn't.

I was going to post this until we have actual official confirmation that Sophie will be Sophie. But I am confident we'll have her. For 3 seasons the writers have demonstrated their love for Benophie with foreshadowing like no other character has had. And if we still have to wait more weeks to have casting news, then this post is still true to the book. I love Sophie so much 🥰.

[maykitz]

If you're white you really shouldn't be encouraging people to watch a video of a Black woman getting murdered by police. You shouldn't have to actually watch a Black woman getting killed on video to understand how horrible it is. I'm Black and I'm just tired of people trying to act like our deaths are some sort of show or spectacle to consume.

i'll try to explain my stance on this delicate matter thoroughly and i mean this as gently as possible because i know you're coming from a place of hurt and compassion. but think about what you're saying here. if (almost) no one watches the footage, then what? who decides what's on it? who owns the narrative? do you want to grant exemptions to a few reliable(?) narrators who can watch the video and then tell everyone else what they saw? we're talking about a homicide case with major public interest and a not insignificant amount of coverup from varying sources, not least of which is the police department itself. it's actually paramount that the public have access to the evidence and use that access. you can rely on descriptions, sure, but who's to say they're accurate? even unintentionally, every description only tells you what the writer thinks happened, it will never replace seeing something with your own eyes and forming your own opinion.

besides that, i strongly disagree that viewing evidence to be able to assess the situation as truthfully as possible disrespects the victim in any way. no dignity is taken from her when other people see what led up to her death, whether that be on the news or on tiktok. we're not talking about a lecherous bystander recording of her body or anything. and nobody actually watches these videos to learn that killing [black] people is bad, i don't understand the popularity of this strawman. the crux of every single discussion of police brutality has never been questioning whether killing is per se bad, but whether this specific killing was justified due to special circumstances and especially the victim's own behaviour. the question of special justification is what all the victim blaming is poured into anew every single time. and body cam footage can not only answer this question but actually provide evidence for it like nothing else can.

people who watch material like this to titillate themselves are few and can and will get their kicks anyway. the vast majority of views on these recordings are concerned with investigating the facts before speaking on them, which is undeniably a good thing. an essential thing, in fact. how is the public discourse supposed to respond to the inevitable claim of self defense from the first hand account of the cop if everybody respectfully declines to view the first hand account of the body cam? or can only refer to the second hand account of someone else's description? you're conceding the investigation to people whose interests lie in shifting the blame onto the victim, out of racism or fanatic loyalty to the police force or whatever reason.

still, i agree that sharing these videos around on social media shouldn't be done if they're reliably permanently available somewhere. but as well meaning as you are and as much as i emphasise with your desire to protect the victim, people very much do need to see facts to form an opinion. you do have to prove that the cop killed her unprovokedly und frivolously. you're not protecting her dignity or her status as the victim by asking that everyone just says yes & amen and believes whatever some unspecified source of video description has concluded from viewing the evidence. criminal cases can't be discussed on the basis of a game of telephone. and that does mean the victim's final moments will be seen by many strangers. i'm sorry.

[creatingblackcharacters]

This might seem like a weird thing to get hung up on, but in reference to your post about Wyll's hairstyling, someone made the comment that they imagined Mizora used magic to braid his hair as part of their pact. You replied that this was a racist idea and offered to explain why, but they never commented back. If you're still willing to discuss it, I actually would like the explanation. I'm not disagreeing that it's racist, I just think I'm missing some of the nuances/reasoning.

The only explanation I can think of is the way that Wyll's relationship with Mizora is treated, both in and out of game, just makes the joke really not funny. I hate that Mizora is treated as a quirky, love-to-loathe-her side villain when she's essentially Wyll's abuser. She should be treated with the same gravitas that the writers treat Astarion's relationship to Cazador, or Karlach's relationship to Zariel. Then you've got the fans, who can write loads of rants and analysis of Mystra "grooming" Gale on what I would consider very little basis (adults can have teachers too), but stay pretty mum about Mizora, who started manipulating Wyll when he was 17, isolated him from any support systems he might have had, and literally tortures him with the torments of Hell for disobeying her. I forget which conversation it is, but Wyll even describes her visits to him after he completes a task for her as her "saying all the right words" and "touching him in just the right ways."

Maybe I just haven't seen people talking about it because I'm not looking in the right places, I tend to keep most fandoms at arm's length so I'm not swallowed whole by their nonsense. I'm sorry if this turned into an extra long vent message, but I hope it shows I care about Wyll as a character and the work you're doing in general to improve the portrayal of black characters in fiction and fandom.

I mean, you pretty much said it all. I mentioned in my hair lessons that hair is very important to Black people, and that it's also a matter of consent. You wouldn't want just anybody touching your body, and that includes your hair, yes? So it would be incredibly violating for some white person that is essentially your abuser touching your hair, your body, something that is important to you! How can there be real consent if someone OWNS you? Hair is something that requires trust and intimacy. Especially with the idea that a white person would know better how to do your Black hair?! No thanks.

It's also something that ties into my most recent lesson with stereotypes, plus issues with how men are perceived with abusers. The idea that a boy should be "grateful" that a woman is attracted to/attached to them, even when it's inappropriate. For me, what I see when I see Mizora is a white coded woman allowed to mistreat a young Black boy into his adulthood, and treated as though he brought it on himself, as if he deserves to be mistreated by someone who took advantage of him. I see that people won't take that violation seriously, bc no one cares about the dignity of Black bodies nor do we offer them grace under fire.

Whereas if this were a young white girl, and an older Black coded male demon had done these things to her, all hell would break loose. Fans would immediately understand that that sort of relationship is not appropriate and we should not just assume that "oh well it's just sexy".

I mentioned in the last lesson that this sort of "attraction" has gotten Black boys and men killed at the whims of white women. It's not "funny" to me to think that some white coded woman is allowed to treat Wyll that way and everyone is just... Cool with it. I'd be very nervous to ask your opinions on real Black people.

It's honestly why I felt uncomfortable getting interested in the fandom to begin with, in addition to everything else involved with Wyll and his VA Theo. BG3 doesn't seem like a welcoming place fr, and I too have to keep fandom at an arms length for racism reasons, but as I've done with fandom before this: that's my chance to maybe create something that's missing. 👍🏾

[inkmonster21]

Sing for Me

3. A Choice for the Damned

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader / The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

She's a singer the nation adores. He's the actor everyone respects. What happens when these two get entangled in a heated affair? Passion, regret, rage, and even murder will commence. From before the bombs drop to the vast wasteland, these two souls live for one another.

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

Tagged: @fallout-girl219 @harmfulb1tch

The sheriff leans over the antagonist with a glare. He backs away, groaning, the first gunshot bleeding out. The damsel is strapped to the fence, a bandana gag around her mouth, and tears in her eyes, “Help me!”

The sheriff nods to her, eyes determined. “Now you just stay calm, honey.” He towers over the injured man. “Please, sir. Please, sir, please.”

The sheriff holds his gun up, “There's an old Mexican eulogy. Feo fuerte y formal. Means he was ugly, strong, and had dignity. Well, Joey, I'll give you two out of three on that front.” Waiting in anticipation for him to pull the trigger, the damsel turns away whimpering.

“Do I really have to kill him?” Cooper’s voice rings out with an unsteady tone. I look up at him, as the loose rope is being pulled off of my frame by an assistant.

“Cut!”

Cooper motions for the director, “Emil, can you come over here? I got to talk to you for a second.” Cooper turns to me, lending me a hand to rise to my feet. “You were amazing, sweetheart. Just like always.” I smile, giving his hand a light squeeze. He had been very open about his concerns with this individual film. He didn’t want to be seen as the enemy. Cooper had a good heart and a strong grasp of the reputation of his characters. He held them dear.

As Emil nears I remove my hand and avert to my set chair. “Listen, I got to talk to you about these, these new pages, you know? I mean, I-I'm the sheriff, right? Well, why can't I just arrest the guy like I normally do? That's what I do.” Emil nods in understanding, “The... The audience, Coop, yeah? They already know you're a good man. They want to see that even a good man as yourself can be driven too far sometimes.” “Yeah, I understand that. But that's not really my thing, you know, Emil, that's not what I do. I mean, Bob, is Bob around here anywhere?”

I pipe up from my chair, where an assistant brushed makeup on my cheeks. “Bob's been fired, Coop.” He turns to me shocked. “What?” “The Studio fired him.” “Why?” Emil sighs, “See, turns out... Bob's a bit of a communist.”

Cooper's eyes widen, “A communist? Cadillac Bob?” Emil nods, hands on his hips, “Cadillac Bob! The very one.”

Cooper shakes his head, frustration clear in his eyes. “Well, what a shame, he was such a great writer. Terrible shame.” “One of the best, but he had to go. Which is why this movie is so important. You see, it's a new kind of western.

The power of the individual when the chips are down. The new America, it's why I'm telling you, so... that's why it'd be really great if you could just... shoot Jorge in the fսck¡ng head, yeah?” Coop lets his head fall at the director's words. The fight was clearly not worth the time for either of them. “Right.”

I sit silently, watching the exchange. Cooper really stressed this change for his role and reputation. He would always be the good guy in my eyes.

“He causing drama again?” I look over my shoulder to see Barb. I suck in a breath composing myself. I smile lightly pretending to now just look towards Cooper. “He’s not too keen on the new ending.” Barb furrows her brow. “They’ve changed it? He didn’t mention that.” My heart tinged in the most sinful way. He shares his thoughts and troubles with me instead of her. Just time was all he needed. He said so.

Cooper stiffened at the sight of the two of us speaking. He excuses himself from the director, “Uh, hey, let's, uh, let's pick this up after lunch, all right?”

He arrives placing his hand on the arm of my chair, force of habit. “I’m just going to have to do it.” His sigh of defeat reflects in his eyes. I frown, patting his hand in support, “it will be fine, Coop.” Barn watches the exchange, brows furrowed, lips in a tight forced smile.

Cooper makes himself drift away from my chair, wrapping an arm around Barb. “Are we about ready to do this thing?” She nods, bilking away any doubt in her mind. “I have both of your clothes right here.” She hands a box to Cooper and a bag to me. The lavish tissue makes it appear as a gift. What a joke.

“They’re both in Cooper's signature colors. Your dress will be the trademark of the bots. If you have any jewelry you’d like to add just slip it on before the shoot.” I smile at her sweetly, “Thank you, Barb. I’ll go change right now.”

As I leave I don't miss the glare Barb sends in Cooper’s direction. She says something causing him to roll his eyes and pat her shoulder. She brushes him off and walks away. My heart feels for her, truly, but in no way was I willing to end my addiction.

I spin in the blue fabric, the skirt of the dress flowing around delicately. The gold piping at the edge of the skirt, waist, and neckline added some extra dimension. It was likely hand-crafted just for me. I looked at my table, seeing the pearls Cooper gifted me poking out from the bottom of my bag. I bite my lip in hesitation before grasping the expensive earrings and necklace and adding them to the outfit before exiting my trailer.

I walk up to the studio doors, meeting Barb and Cooper. Cooper rakes his gaze over my frame with a smile. His eyes lasted a second longer on my jewelry; his smile widened. Barb clears her throat, “Are you two ready to meet the suits?” I nod with a smile, ready to charm and look pretty for the billionaire bastards.

Cooper nods, “I'll try not to embarrass you. No promises, though.” The three of us walk in meeting a man and a woman. “Mr. Howard, Ms. (L/n). It is great to meet you.” I shake the gentleman’s hand with a smile, “it’s a pleasure.” The man proceeds to kiss my knuckle. “I’m a big fan. Saw you in Vegas last year.” Before I could respond, Cooper pushed his hand forward, a fake smile plastered on his face, “Hey, nice to meet you.”

The woman speaks, “On behalf of the whole Vault-Tec family, we wanted to say how delighted we are that Barb could use her connections to get to you and Ms. (L/n).”

Cooper nods, “You know, I've never done an advertisement before in my life.” I lean into his side, prodding my elbow into his side lightly. “Don’t you worry, Cowboy. I’ll show you how it’s done.” Everyone laughs, everyone but Barb.

“Over here?” I ask gesturing to the large Vault Tech backdrop. My heels clicked with each step. “Yeah. Let’s get America’s sweetheart wrapped up first, then Coop can have a shot. Sound good?” The male member spoke. I couldn’t help but look towards Cooper as he called me sweetheart. I was not disappointed to find him burning a glare into the man’s frame.

I stand like a poised housewife, hand on hips and a pearly white smile. “Beautiful!” I turn around, the skirt flowing, placing my hand behind my back. “She’s such a beauty!” They had me pretend to vacuum, hold an apple pie, and eat a fucking cherry like some porn star! Cooper wasn’t wrong about what he had said, they would do some shady shit.

“That’s a wrap on Ms. (Y/n)!” A roar of applause and howls from the men coursed through the set. I bowed slightly, the cheeky smile of a performer shone on my face. “You know what would make this even better?” I stare at the man in confusion, “now how could I possibly make this any better?” Please don’t say more pictures with fruit, I silently beg.

The male smiles widely, hope in his eyes. “If you’d sing.” Several of the men nod in agreement. “Yeah, come on.”

I look over to Cooper and with a nod he tips the final persuasion in my decision. I wave my hand at the group of people, “Any chance one of you might play the piano?” They hurriedly push a skinny man out. He gulps with a smile. “I-I do miss.” I smile at him extending a hand. “(Y/n), nice to meet you,” I drag on with a friendly smile. “Henry. Henry MacLean.”

I motion to the grand piano so conveniently set right next to the backdrop, “if you wouldn’t mind.” Henry’s cheeks turn rosy, “yes, of course. It would be an honor.” He sits down composing his jitters. I lean down in a hushed manner, “It would be perfect if you knew how to play, I’m the one you’re looking for.” If even possible, his smile grows wider and he begins the tune on the piano softly. I pat the top of the piano to the tune beginning to perform.

“I see you lookin' 'round the corner

Come on inside and pull up a chair

No need to feel like a stranger

Cause we're all a little strange in here.”

Cooper smiles as he watches me, he is under my spell. I felt the power of having him at my will with his wife so near.

“Have you got a history that needs erasing?

Did you come in just for the beer and cigarettes?

A broken down dream you're tired of chasing

Oh, well I'm just the girl to make you forget.”

And I was the one to make him forget everything that pledged him. He told me his troubles big and small. We shared a heart of the same soul.

“So sit down your pretty face

You came to the right place

Oh, where every night it starts once more

I'm telling you, friend, your search is at an end

Cause I'm the one you're lookin' for.”

I spin around the piano with grace. Lifting myself on top of it. I dramatically cross my legs and lay down flat on the black surface.

Louder applause erupted. You would think it was an actual bought-out concert. I sit up with my hand over my heart and a killer smile.

A hand reaches out to assist. I grab it not bothering to look. “That was remarkable, (y/n),” Henry whispered in my ear. As my feet hit the ground I back away from him. “Thank you, thank you everyone.” Cooper claps with a flat smile, his eyes bore into Henry’s back, watching his every move.

I take a bow before moving off the floor. “Looks like I warmed them up for ya.” I laugh standing next to Cooper and Barb, whose face is fighting to break her picture-perfect smile.

Cooper makes his way into the backdrop. “Hell, I don’t know if I’ll top that.” Cooper begins his work, striking pose after pose. He puts his hands on his hips, and before I stop myself I whistle at him playfully.

Barb chuckles beside me, very gently, loud enough for only my ears. I can feel her eyes burn into my side. I turn to her with a smile. She returns it, her eyes sending silent daggers. Her eyes graze over the necklace. “That is so lovely.” I touch the pearls in devotion, “thank you.” “Where’d you get them?” I look at her without a beat, “it was a gift.” She hums with a sharp nod. I feel the back of my neck heat up as we continue to watch Cooper in silence.

~

Barb and I sat in the car, silent on the drive home. I knew she was angry with me. It wasn’t very discreet how I acted towards (y/n). I just needed time to sort everything out. Sadly distancing myself from Barb was part of the mission.

“Henry and (y/n) would make a cute couple.”

“What?” I almost swerved out of my lane. “That guy who played the piano?” She nods, “They had chemistry.” I grip the wheel, I can feel jealousy in the pit of my chest, rotting from the inside out. “I don’t think so, Barb. He’s not her type.” “And what is her type?” I roll my eyes S we roll up to a red light, taking a minute to look at her. Her arms are crossed and her face looking at me wildly. “I see what you’re doing.” “Then it shouldn’t be difficult for you to admit.” I huff, “admit what?”

The red light makes the car appear in a rose hue as if I’m on fire. I am definitely in the hot seat. “That you have feelings for her.”

The light turns green and Barb begins her accusations. “You look at her like she’s a prize. You’re constantly talking about her. You barely come home at a reasonable hour, and when you are free you make plans with her!” I shake my head, “We’re close Barb, what do you want me to do?” She slumps, crossing her arms, mumbling, “Too damn close.”

I ran a hand over my face, thankful I was pulling in the driveway. “I think you need some rest, Barb. I know I do.” I exit the car not even waiting for her. I didn’t know if I could do it. I knew I had settled on it, but now seeing the consequences at bay I feel torn.

I love Barb. She supported me in my career through the good and bad. She has been a wonderful mother to Janey. She’s a beautiful woman who I care for in my heart. She is my wife, and I should be able to surpass desires, but (y/n)… my fire, my muse, my reason for waking every morning. She is who keeps me alive. I can picture our lives together. I’d purchase that ranch, buy a big diamond for her finger, and fill the house with any furniture she wanted. Janey would stay with us, on a set schedule arranged with Barb. It could be so perfect, and it should be easy to tell her, but that isn’t true.

I pour myself a whisky, going to rest on the couch. Barb slams the door, causing me to look back with a glare. “Janey is asleep.” “What do you care, Cooper?” Barb slams the everlasting files down with force. “I work my ass off to try and get us a spot in these vaults to be safe, and you think you can go sleeping around with that whore?” I sit up, my face growing red. “She’s not a whore, Barb. I think you should go to bed before you say something you regret.”

She smirks, laughing, “You really think I’m that stupid? Do you think I don’t know who comes and goes in my own house? Did you think our neighbors wouldn’t tell me you fucked her in our hot tub?” My face pales as her words cut me down. I sink into the sofa, a shriveled shameful man. “I watched her walk her ass down the street and get into her car. Jone from two houses down has a photograph. Wouldn’t it just be awful for that to be shown to the tabloids?” Barb stands in front of me, arms crossed and her foot tapping. “It’s me or it’s her, Cooper. You make your choice tonight and that is it.” She leaves with a stomp, going up the stairs and into the bedroom.

I sit there for I don’t know how long. Barb was really threatening her career she worked so hard for. I couldn’t let her dreams die because of me. I run a hand over my face with a groan. I only look up from my now-empty glass to see Janey taking a seat next to me. “What are you doing up, pumpkin? It’s late.” Janey has tear streaks painting her cheeks, she sniffles quietly. “Mommy was yelling.” I hug her close, resting my chin on her head. “It’s okay, Janey.”

“Are you going to leave us, Daddy?”

Fuck. There it was. The only reason for staying. I could have her, I could have the life in the hills, relaxing with my two favorite people. Janey would love (y/n).

Janey leans further into me, sobbing now. “Daddy please don’t leave me.” I hug her tightly. I can see the fantasy slipping away, more and more as I sink into the couch.

“No, baby, Daddy’s not going anywhere.” I pick her up carrying her to her room. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

After settling Janey down, I enter the lion's den, my bedroom with the awaiting wrath. Barb lay under the covers in the bed unmoving. I stare at her with sorrow. I had caused much pain, but my heart could never be closed off from feeling the constant ache for her. I lay down with Barb, wrapping an arm around her. “I choose you, Barb,” I whisper before closing my eyes and averting to my only pleasure, my fantasy of her. My mind is now the only freedom I have to picture her in such a manner. Remembering her soft moans and the arch of her back as she released. It was all just a memory now.

[perfectfangirl]

notes after rewatching fallout s1 ep3

• almost certain that is sugarfoot cooper is dismounting in the scene from the movie he is filming 🥲 • the film cooper was filming here is called "the man from deadhorse", a clear play on the concept of "beating a dead horse" • just realized he [presumably] shot the bad guy character twice • i also noticed that the duster the bad guy character is wearing looks an awful lot like the duster cooper wears as the character he “plays” in the wasteland to cope. is... cooper playing a bad guy character based off one of his movies?? • saw a couple of different variations of "feo, fuerte, y formal" [all saying mostly the same thing] cooper says "he was ugly, strong, and had dignity" wikitionary says it denotes a conception of masculinity. very curious about this these words and the scene because cooper is obviously viewed as a concept of masculinity in hollywood, to the point where he's being asked to essentially engage in statecraft via propaganda as this movie scene is making his character do something completely antithetical--- killing the bad guy instead of solving another way, he basically says a line about "commies" then shoots the him in the head

• what's more is that some are viewing the three concepts of "ugly, strong, dignity" to mean either a variation of cooper, lucy, and maximus or of cooper himself, didn't even think of this and it's a particular interesting trichotomy of cooper pre and post war • "well, joey, i'll give you two out of three on that front" and now i don't know which two out of three • cooper goes out of his way to thank the actor jorge for playing the bad guy in his film • cooper presumably read the script, probably had a table read, rehearsal, and still didn't want to film his good guy character killing the bad guy [perhaps after cadillac bob got fired, there were rewrites and cooper was not told until then] out of context, this is charming, he values his characters so much that they mirror his own values [walton has argued with writers, directors, actors about his characters too!] but in context, it is either the beginning or yet another chapter is cooper's conflicting and morally challenging struggle of "right" and "wrong" in this show • need to know more about cadillac bob! he was doing the moral good type of writing on cooper's programs and i am curious if the firing was an ousting [as being labeled a communist is career over here] because the wiki says he was fired for refusing to write this storyline for the "new america" and then they wrote this character change for cooper to have a firmer anticommunist stance to influence the public. cooper wants to change the scene so bad, he asks for a writer and i find it amusing the director thinks doing a 180° on his character would be good because "the audience knows you're a good man. they want to see that even a good man as yourself can be driven too far sometimes" idk but this is about all the horseshit i can take • [this is precisely post war cooper's arc and character if that wasn't obvious enough] • enter barb. i love the sensual "married couple flirting like strangers" energy behind this scene • lavender flowers are supposed to represent purity, silence, grace, devotion, serenity, calmness--- just a little something for you romance girlies to think about with this scene • "tastes like someone touching you for the first time" and they make it a point to show cooper and barb's hands and cooper purposefully touching barb's fingers as they exchange the candy • hands and fingers seem to be important motifs here and it also seems like hands and fingers are particularly worthy of note for cooper • they kiss each other and they're like "sorry, makeup" and "sorry, lipstick" 😭 • looks like barb secured cooper some vault tec contracts • cooper winds up on siggi's headless body and i can almost see the algebra and trigonometry floating around his brain trying to make heads or tails of this shit • from my understanding, there's no chems that keep a ghoul from going feral within the game universe but there are chems that can and have turned people into ghouls, i see speculation that cooper may have a chem addiction and what we see are withdrawal symptoms, as when lucy finds him outside the super duper mart, he's still on the ground and not acting much feral but [of course coughing, drooling, etc could be the show's symptoms for ferality] i digress • almost think because it's dry and arid af out there, that's why he need a chem

• literally howling because of how lucy was handling siggi's head, she got over the shock and disgust quick 😭 • lucy is crazy for lighting another [camp]fire at night like that • lucy putting a tracker on siggi's head was smart though • lmao did the brotherhood of steel not know lord titus' regular speaking voice or • maximus lying to the brotherhood of steel, maximus selling his teeth for caps instead of literally anything else, maximus thinking he can leave his power suit uncovered and unattended without it being pulled for scrap--- like lord, maximus, please make a sensible step 😫 • the voice modulator mechanic person was very sci fi though • took me a second watch to realize maximus' tooth extraction resulted in a bit of a lisp glfgd • not maximus getting bullied again 😭 • maximus getting a wrench and toilet seat and beating the shit out of them wastelanders with them rotf • crushed that man's head like a watermelon❤️ • thaddeus being sent to inadvertently squire for someone he helped bully is his karma lol • "remnant from the old world" directly implying the enclave is a continuation of the us government • lucy arriving on the serene scene of a fawn near a lake where hollywood boulevard once stood [lucy being a parallel of the innocent doe, doe eyed, and this is bambi ok 🥲] • an undamaged, normal appearing fawn representing beauty and purity can grow in the wasteland and then it being snatched by a gulper likewise demonstrating that it can all be taken away in a blink of an eye • lucy once again being crazy for walking around with the barely contained rotting head, like of course the abomination snatched that too 😭 • cooper conveniently appearing with a cocked gun in her face and she just smiles and says "hello again" like excuse me?? 😭 • cooper's head tilt gets me every time, oof • he ain't have to lightly pistol whip her like that 😭 • lmao poor chet • betty to some degree i keep wondering if she knows extensively about the vaults of 31, 32, 33 or if she is just doing what she is told • norm using the word "escape" instead of perhaps "leave" when describing lucy's departure from vault 33 is intriguing, i think • it took me a minute, and i don't think i've seen much talk about this but i legitimately think norm's lack of enthusiasm and drive for life in the vault is directly connected to his mother's death but i have seen no clear age for him--- they don't show his memories like they do lucy's and i would want an explanation or exploration on his lore here because... he already uncovered vault 31's secret but i don't think he knows what hank has done and him finding out will be huge as well like for lucy • norm is rightfully angry at the raiders for what they did but i am almost willing to bet he might be implicated in their poisonings as a diversion tactic by someone like betty but it's all just a theory [a film theory gldfgldfl] • because someone in the fucking kitchen and handling the food poisoned them raiders... • ghoul prejudice being loud and clear and amongst the brotherhood of steel 😭 • ghouls leaving radiation trails is insane • lmao maximus and thaddeus coming upon siggi's headless body and then trying to compare his mugshot • maximus thinking it was the ghoul who beheaded siggi when it was lucy at siggi's request lol • dogmeat barking up a storm because she wanted cooper's foolishness upon lucy to cease • "you know, they use to do these things called "studies"" like lucy doesn't know what a study is? she's a teacher! 😭 • rads going up because of the water or cooper or both? • ok so i now get why when lucy told cooper torture was wrong that he went into a whole spiel--- not only was cooper in the military but for thirty years post war, dom pedro kept him in a coffin confined on an iv drip to keep him alive but would dig him up and slice pieces of him off and then put him back. cooper's behaviour using her as bait [but not torture] is of course not excusable but cooper is coming from a deep place of hurt and bitterness, this monster was whittled

• cooper goes on to say "it made sense. i mean a man hurts me, i wouldn't want to do him any favours. and yet the practice of torture failed to vanish from the earth. in fact, as time marched on, i've personally noticed a decided uptick in the amount of torture being doled out across the board." oh, cooper 😞 • he says this as he picks what looks like giant leeches off lucy [didn't have to do that] • "well, i ain't torturing you, sweetheart" here go the first instance of familiarity with a patronising pet name in the style of cowboyism and southerness gldgldlf • almost looked like lucy started cooperating when cooper told her he was using her as bait gldgldl • ok so it looks like cooper cut the rope? so lucy could get free i guess idk but then the gulper got ahold of the anchor so he couldn't reel it back? [not sure, anyways, he botched this lmao] • he starts striking at the gulper with what looks like a harpoon i guess when it catches lucy's leg [could've definitely let her get ate but didn't] • lucy basically saves herself with dogmeat biting the gulper and scaring it off • cooper empties lucy's bag and destroys her stuff so it's only right cooper's karma is his vials getting smashed in the process of using lucy for bait lol • cooper getting mad and taking out his gun and cocking it at lucy like it was her fault his shit got smashed 😭 • "oh, i'm sorry, i should just let you use me as bait in the poison river!?" the way she says it always almost brings a tear to my eyes like get his ass 😭 • for the first time in the show, cooper realises he was wrong and/or messed up [and to his detriment] • lucy protests her treatment, "do unto others as you would have done unto you" and cooper starts mumbling to himself "those gulpers digest real slow. you got time." because he already going through withdrawals, help • so he ties her up like a dog and says the wasteland got its own rule and it's "thou shalt get distracted by bullshit every goddamn time" 😭 this is so a reference to gameplay and how they themselves are going on a fucking side quest lmao • lucy asking about dogmeat 😢 dogmeat staying because that gulper has siggi's head ☹️

• lmao maximus masquerading as lord titus asking thaddeus to say something about him • you know? it's good writing to me to explain why a [secondary] character would bully or behave as thaddeus has to maximus--- he's not merely a side character and wanted to say nothing but nice things about maximus when he thought he died, i'll give him that • "we can judge a person and a society by how they treat their enemy" goes boom because of the game lore and also because somebody kills all those raider prisoners lol • this disconnect between the vault dwellers and wastelanders--- they're talking about teaching these people shakespeare when some of them eat people for survival • norm wants the raiders to die and they keep showing steph and this might be a red herring but i think she poisoned them mfs, personally • hmm why does steph know what hank would do in this situation like that flgdlgdl • maximus trying to protect thaddeus from danger • thaddeus calling cooper an abomination because he's a ghoul 😭🖐️ • the little scream thaddeus makes as the gulper gets him ❤️ • dogmeat really loved siggi ☹️ • cooper and lucy walking near an incinerated hollywood tour bus is so lmao why cooper walk past that • at first i thought cooper was displaying cruelty by not letting lucy drink his water but then it occurred to me it might be irradiated, the next scene with water like this, she gets sick from radiation from drinking water • lmao when he emptied the last drops of water in his canteen out in the sand in front of her 😭 • "ain't much stays clean up here, vaulty" he is talking about himself • lucy gazing at a billboard of vault boy, cooper shooting the face, then they cut to vault boy's origins being cooper--- • symbolism and parallels like this can kill a man but i did want to just say there's so many layers to this. to be short he has such contempt, shame for what he thinks he's done, people hundreds of years later worship this thing that represents the end of civilization and he feels responsibility because he was deceived as well. lucy none the wiser. she just thinks he's crazy and horrible for no reason. if only she knew. • the road to hell is paved with good intentions

[juniorfor2]

I’ve seen too many posts on Rhaenyra ‘continuing the cycle of Viserys’ weakness’ or ‘being a bad mother’ without considering the bad writing of House of the Dragon and I am fed up with it. Rhaenyra’s motherhood being stripped from her was nothing more than ignorant and (at times) malicious writing, it is not a true aspect of her character.

First, considering the “parallel” between Viserys and Rhaenyra - where neither truly support their heir’s position - it should be pretty apparent that this wasn’t intentional. The writers clearly had NO understanding of how they wrote Viserys, which in turn meant they didn’t understand how they wrote Rhaenyra. Even back in Season 1, consider the fact that it was the fandom that noticed how weak Viserys was in supporting Rhaenyra, there was little to no framing of this at all from the show itself. He’s portrayed as a man who wished for his family to get along, but failed because they refused to do so - not because of his lack of decision making.

In Episode 8, he’s desperately trying to bring his family together one last time, and he is portrayed as someone who is not at fault; regardless of the fact that he was clearly much too late to change anything, this is a heroic act. Viserys is not at fault, it was Alicent who misheard him, the council who usurped Rhaenyra. Viserys was a ‘good’ man, and the weak and politically terrible attempts he made to secure her succession are instead framed as strong and wise decisions.

Even back in the earlier episodes, this is obvious. When he sends Rhaenyra out on her tour for a husband, this is made out as Viserys helping her. Rhaenyra is terrified of marriage and the childbed, but his ignorance of such isn’t considered at all by the show. And when he sends off Otto, this is shown as an amazing decision that showed his clear protectiveness of Rhaenyra - even though he then took away her choice, sold her off to a man who would have a hard time giving her children, and took away one of the only family members she felt she could rely on. Truly incredible.

And even further back, when Viserys is stubbornly acting as if nothing is wrong during the carriage ride to the hunt, this is framed as Rhaenyra being difficult, not Viserys’ lack of consideration for her feelings. The show had very little idea of who they made Viserys out to be.

In Episode 10, this idea becomes more forceful through Rhaenyra’s sovereignty.

“Rhaenyra is very much her father’s daughter…the way she approaches her duties as sovereign is much more in line with Viserys” - Ryan Condal, Inside the Episode

Viserys is not viewed as weak. He’s a “peaceful” and “good” ruler, one who should be emulated. Season 2 not only confirms this, but also encourages it.

“Do you never think of your father? His…forbearance, his…judiciousness, his…his dignity.” - Otto Hightower, S02E03

“You sound like my father.” - Rhaenyra to Daemon, S02E08

This means that the idea that Rhaenyra’s parenting is a result of Viserys’ is nonexistent. How can her parenting be weak when her father’s wasn’t either? This is a parallel that comes from the fandom, it has no real meaning in the story. That’s not to say the writers weren’t putting Rhaenyra in a situation where her parenting could be questioned - because they were - but this is not a true parallel, it does not exist to affect or even foreshadow the plot.

Rhaenyra does not continue this cycle of weakness. In fact, if the writers or the fandom understood the relationship between Viserys & Alicent’s family, and Rhaenyra & Daemon’s family, they would have understood that Rhaenyra would break any cycle created.

This brings me to the next point - Rhaenyra is not a bad mother. She is being stripped of her motherhood, yes, but she is not a bad one.

Regardless of book or show, it is clear that Rhaenyra raised a good family. In the book Jace, Luke, and Joffrey are noble, caring, and perfect as any man in Westeros could be. Aegon as well, kept constantly by Rhaenyra’s side, is noted to be a good person, even if traumatized. And with no other consistent parenting figure, GRRM clearly credits this to Rhaenyra. The fact that every one of the children she raised turned out so well was not unintentional writing.

When the Prince of Dragonstone took his dragon back into the cold autumn sky, he did so with the knowledge that he had won three powerful lords and all their bannermen for his mother. Though his fifteenth nameday was still half a year away, Prince Jacaerys had proved himself a man, and a worthy heir to the Iron Throne.

His brother Lucerys agreed. “Our uncle calls us Strongs, but when the lords see us on dragonback they will know that for a lie. Only Targaryens ride dragons.” Mushroom tells us the Sea Snake grumbled at this, insisting the three boys were Velaryon, yet he smiled as he said this…“My lord, I am not free to marry,” he replied. “I am betrothed to my cousin Rhaena.”

Prince Joffrey, three-and-ten, donned squire’s armor and begged the queen to let him ride to the Dragonpit and mount Tyraxes. “I want to fight for you, Mother, as my brothers did. Let me prove that I am as brave as they were.”

“There will be no progress.” [Aegon] declared… “I mean to give the smallfolk peace and love and justice.”

And when it comes to protecting her children - well, there is no doubt that she supported their ascension.

Ser Vaemond Velaryon, protested that the inheritance by rights should pass to him…on the grounds that Rhaenyra’s sons were bastards sired by Harwin Strong. The princess was not slow in answering this charge. She dispatched Prince Daemon to seize Ser Vaemond, had his head removed, and fed his carcass to her dragon, Syrax.

“Bastard blood, shed at war,” Alicent replied… The Dowager Queen’s words only fanned the flames of Rhaenyra’s wroth. “I will hear no more lies,” she warned. “Speak again of bastardy, and I will have your tongue out.”

In the show, while these events are somewhat removed/haven’t happened yet, they are somewhat present in S1. Rhaenyra drags herself through the Red Keep minutes after childbirth to ensure Joffrey is safe by her side. She threatens Aemond to keep her son safe, and takes a dagger to the arm to keep Alicent from harming him. When it came to Luke’s succession being threatened, she was willing to beg her father to protect her and her children. She gives a small nod to Daemon, asking him to take Vaemond’s head. She clearly does her best to protect her children in Season 1.

Rhaenyra, also unlike Viserys, ensures her children all love each other. While she had a terrible relationship with her own half-siblings in part because Viserys never cared to ensure Alicent couldn’t influence them against Rhaenyra, the half-sibling children of Rhaenyra clearly do not feel the same animosity.

The Prince of Dragonstone also had a care for the safety of his half-brothers, Aegon and Viserys, aged nine and seven. Their father, Prince Daemon, had made many friends in the Free City of Pentos during his visits there, so Jacaerys reached across the narrow sea to the prince of that city, who agreed to foster the two boys until Rhaenyra had secured the Iron Throne.

Viserys’ return did much to lessen the king’s loneliness as well. As a boy, Aegon had worshipped his three elder half-brothers.

Rhaenyra is not a continuation of Viserys. She is his opposite. She ensures her sons grow up kind and noble, unlike Viserys’ sons who grow callous and cruel to all. She protects her sons from threats of succession, unlike Viserys who sought to please both Rhaenyra and Alicent, putting her in danger. She ensures all her children grow up as one family with no wish to overthrow one another, whereas Rhaenyra’s own half siblings did usurp her. It is very clear in the book that Rhaenyra raised and protected her children in the way Viserys never truly did for her.

Now, in House of the Dragon, the writers changed this aspect of her in two ways in Season 2: by removing her children from her side, and by making Rhaenyra choose the throne over her children.

In the first one, this is easily seen when Rhaenyra willingly sends off all of her children to the Vale. Rather than have this orchestrated by Jacaerys, she sends them off herself, and says that she cannot be a mother to them. To add to this, Rhaenyra hardly has any time with the children, leaving the scenes between them rather cold. We also see the way that Jace, Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys do not mix. They are not in the same scenes most of the time, or they do not interact with one another.

This was mostly just because Condal only cared to develop the Team Green kids over Team Black’s, but it was also set up in order to make the next change easier - and to make sure the audience wouldn’t question it.

The second change was deliberate, and intended to take away Rhaenyra’s motherhood. When they created the dragonseed situation, they specifically gave it to Rhaenyra to carry out in order to put her in a position between power and her children. As if somehow she could not come to a compromise.

She can have the throne or the children, not both.

This show has a serious problem with female autonomy and illegitimate children, so this was done for a reason. To portray bastards as some sort of “sin” that must be given up in order to gain something “righteous.” In the books they cause her 0 problems - the Greens usurped her because of misogyny, the bastardy was simply their cover up that no one else cared to believe, even on their own team.

Ser Criston Cole spoke up. Should the princess reign, he reminded them, Jacaerys Velaryon would rule after her. “Seven save this realm if we seat a bastard on the throne.” He spoke of Rhaenyra’s wanton ways and the infamy of her husband. “They will turn the Red Jeep into a brothel. No man’s daughter will be safe, nor any man’s wife. Even the boys…we know what Laenor was.”

This is changed in the show, where the children are the problem, not the misogyny. This much has been clear throughout both seasons, but it is actively encouraged in Season 2, where the writers’ bigotry and hatred for Team Black was let loose.

They do not like Rhaenyra, and they don’t seem to particularly care for how much this characteristic of hers was loved by the audience. They also don’t like Jace, Luke, or Joff much because they are rather bastardphobic (how that exists now I don’t know, but this show has revealed just how many people believe it). So the writers indulged in their fantasies by taking away one of Rhaenyra’s best characteristics, and by portraying the Velaryon boys as uncompromisable obstacles to the throne just because of their birth. Therefore giving themselves a way to portray Rhaenyra as a narcissistic and religious woman who cares more about power than other people.

This is not Rhaenyra. This is the writers using her face to force in their own political and social ideas - just as they’ve done for Jace and Rhaenys. Rhaenyra’s unintentional parallel to Viserys means nothing, and is just a disguise the fandom made up to let the writers get away with their misogynistic writing. Rhaenyra was written as loving, protective mother, and to consider her otherwise is to engage in the writers’ misogyny, nothing else.

[junimo-plushie]

I just got my Stardew cookbook and I absolutely love it!

Except for one thing. TW: addiction, suic*de

Let me say first:

We know Pelican Town has two alcoholics- Shane and Pam.

Pam is hot tempered and selfish. We don't really know why she drinks. She clearly has a problem managing personal relationships and funds as a direct result of her addiction. A lot of fans hate Pam and are largely unsympathetic to her, which is a reflection of people's view of alcoholics in real life: lazy, mean, self centered and at sometimes even repulsive to the senses. Even after getting her job back and a big beautiful house, Pam can't let go of her pride or stop drinking. She is so deeply ashamed of herself she would be overwhelmed if she took away the crutch that allows her to numb herself to it. I say all this to demonstrate that Pam is an incredibly well rounded and thoughtful character.

She doesn't get a redemption arc. This is who she is in Pelican Town forever.

Shane is a different story.

As we get to know him, we find another extremely well rounded character. We see him struggle with his addiction to the point it almost kills him. His internal battle with depression is exasperated by his addiction and he expresses that to us in a way similar to Pam. Neither of them want this, they don't like how their alcoholism makes them treat their loved ones, they want to change but don't know how-very common issues alcoholics deal with.

The point im getting to is this:

Stardew has given us two extremely well thought out and realistic characters. While alcoholics ( as is the case with most addicts) are often thought of as "lazy" "too dumb to stop/see addiction is destroying them" "unsalvageable", etc., Stardew very clearly RESPECTS these complex characters. Pam doesn't need a redemption arc to be well written, she's realistic.

Respectful is the main word here.

I'm an alcoholic. A lot of people don't know how bad it was and I'm getting better. It's so normalized to shit all over addicts, it's incredibly refreshing to have two relatable characters that are respected.

Ok let me get to my complaint.

This from the book:

From the writers credits it seems like CA was not the only one who wrote villager's lines in the book.

It's like they looked at Shane's Stardew wiki page and said, " ah yes alcoholic. His brain just be soup and he must have no practical instincts." In my opinion, nothing about Shane's character would suggest that he wouldn't have the good sense to go to a sink to wash his eyes out.

It just seems disrespectful. Something that media REALLY struggles with is showing addicts that are dynamic and have any shred of dignity. They usually can't even portray them as humans giving them zombie like qualities.In my opinion, Stardew never had that problem, which is why this so deeply upset me.

Id really like to get some other opinions on this. Is there something in Shane's dialogue lines that I over-looked that would make this make sense for his character? Am I being way too sensitive to this because it's an issue that I'm too close to(probably)? Other addicts in particular, how did you feel reading that?

[thegengarprincess]

“I always thought you looked beautiful in white..&🤍

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Pairing; (🐶🫶🐱) Jure Maček x Bojan Cvjetićanin

Warning; RPF AS ALWAYS! don’t like, don’t ✨read✨! That is all ;3. (⚠️)

Tags; (👗🚬) cross dressing/ mild angst with a happy ending/ misunderstandings/ dialogue light until paragraph 5 cuz author’s has a terminal case of ✨over explainer✨/ tooth-rotting fluff/ the wedding dress photos have been holding my soul hostage since I saw them N this the product of that 🥲👍/ time skip/ Puppy Love™️/ Bojan is literally just a lovestruck puppy boy at his core and I won’t let anyone forget it/ post- midlife crisis kitty + puppy cuddles/ they have a orange cat N beagle puppy by now who follow the two e v e r y w h e r e/ author still can’t tag 4 shit/ BOJAN GIRLYS/GN! PSPSSPSPS COME GET UR FOOD WERE HAVING POST-SHOWER BOJAN 4 DINNER >XD/ author is desperately starved of BoJure content so they took matters into their own hands (💍)

Word count; (🌹💘)

Summery; After a incredibly tiresome day of blitzing the entirety of their cramped apartment together in an attempt to neaten up the humble abode for the couple’s big move to Logatec, Jure takes it upon himself to tackle their shared wardrobe only to stumble across an item that hadn’t seen the light of day in a long, long time. A wedding dress of all things? Tho to some a wedding dress is just a big, white, poofey gown you’ll only ever wear once then only see in dated photo’s. But to the drummer, it was the very same dress he wore for that photoshoot with his now fiancé of two in a half years shortly before they ended up becoming much more than friends(with benefits). “Wonder if it still fits anymore?…” (🚚)

A/N; (👾🎁) *W E L L*- it’s been almost 2/1 months since the last time I’ve came out my self-induced hibernation EXCEPT THIS TIME I come barring a (belated) bday gift 4 my wonderful, amazing, gorgeous, sweet, talented, cat-coded darling of a moot *THE* ✨@j-restlessgeek✨ (who u should ABSOLUTELY be following btw >:3!) N w us both being normal 2 a certain degree over that photoshoot w Jure in a mfn *WEDDING DRESS*, I sprinted 2 my drafts, beat my writers block w a iron hammer N now I’m left w this ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️. THO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO! BONE, APPLE, TEETH N CATCH YA ON THE FLIP SIDE~<3

? _ “ . ^ + * ] 🎀 [ + ^ * . _ !

Switching off the running water, droplets from it’s remains began their journey trickling down the ends of Bojan’s drenched hair and back, swiftly snagging two freshly dried, strawberry pink towels from their nest on-top the radiator and wrapping the larger of the two around his soft, yet still that little bit toned waist as a means of hiding the singer’s (admittedly small) dignity then going in with the same process on his semi-soaked hair. Tussling silky, puppy brown locks till they were restored to their fluffy and water-free glory once more.

After shuffling into a pair of spare grey sweats and his favourite (out of the fifty he used to frequently steal from Kris) Beatles tee, threw on some moisturiser combined with the brunette’s much beloved hair products, he strolled down the boldly patterned hall to his and Jure’s shared bedroom to check with the other what movie he decided they’d be watching that night. Which was Bojan’s plan. Until he locked eyes with the sight said bedroom had so unfairly chosen to lay before him….

He swept open the door with a gentle hand, all knowledge of anything other than the figure that also seemed just as lost in their own little bubble as he was, completely stripped away from him in less than a millisecond. If you asked Bojan what the definition of “perfection” was, his answer would simply be the person he saw in that very moment without a single thought.

Investigating every part of themselves in the mirror, unbeknownst to how they had just effortlessly stolen not only his heart, but every word, thought and breath that hadn’t had time to run away from the home they called Bojan’s body. Tho sooner than later, the trance he’d somehow found himself in a whole lifetime ago by now slowly fizzled out, senses flooding back into their designated stations as he drunk in the utterly ethereal scene of his fiancé adorning what seemed to be a wedding dress?

It wasn’t just any wedding dress he’d found Jure clad in either, better yet the exact same one his lover had worn for a photoshoot that got very popular with a certain crowd which made up a (not all that) small corner of their fanbase almost two years ago if his mind wasn’t subconsciously changing how time worked again. And oh if it didn’t make Bojan want to fall straight to his knees right on this very floor he currently stood upon and worship every single minuscule atom that consecutively came together to create the undeniably gorgeous, talented, amazing, intelligent, beautiful, hot, wonderful, sexy, unreal and down right mesmerising human who only he got to the pleasure N divine prestige of calling “his pretty drummer” for how ever long he’d allow him the privilege to, eternally Bojan wishes. (And he would in a heartbeat if only there was somesort of miracle out there that could grant him permanent immortality to do so).

“Uhhh, m-muca….?” The slightly lovestruck singer spoke up meekly. Causing the bubble to burst completely as his fiancé swiftly quirked around to face him, stare’s ping-ponging back and forth in a short attempt at trying to grasp the signals Bojan’s face was sending the older’s way, a melting pot of surprise and shock swirled in blown chestnut pools while waltzing across the rest of his features but so did another feeling he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Regret? “Geez Bojči, You look like you saw a ghost or Sonček when he catches a bug. Is something wrong or-” “No no! I was gonna ask what movie you picked out for later and then I opened the door and saw ya like…that.” Jure glanced down and then, the realisation dawned on him. It’s the dress. He doesn’t like the dress on him.

Splotches of rose waltzed their way onto his cheeks and neck, almost giving off the appearance the sun has had it’s way with him earlier that day as if they weren’t entering early November in a few weeks. Pacing over to both boy’s wardrobe he prised open both doors and vigorously began undoing the laces that tied the gown together, a subtle frown accenting his lips.

‘What was with that face tho? Is he having second thoughts already?’

‘No that can’t be it! Maybe he was just a little surprised, haven’t worn it awhile anyway.’

‘The first words he said to me after leaving the changing room were I always thought you looked beautiful in white so what else could it be?!’

‘Did I do something wrong? Did he finally get tired of waiting and moved o-‘ “Darling wait! what’s up huh?-“ ‘I can’t be losing him now. How would I even explain it to the kids-‘ “Hey hey, I’m sorry if I looked a little mad but it’s not what you think it is I swea-“ ‘God please don’t say he’s-‘ “C’mon muca! just talk to me I’-“ ‘I should’ve left the damn dress where I found it then left it at tha-‘ “Jurček, wait no! don-“ ‘what have I done, what have I done, what have I done, what have I done, what have I do-‘ “Jur-“ ‘I shouldn’t of proposed in the first p-‘ “JURE.”

The blonde felt a tight sensation in his left wrist out of the blue. Like a weight was tugging at it and refused to come off no matter how hard he tried breaking away from it’s crushing, iron grip. And with that, his sudden mid-life crisis came to a careening halt, tweaking the other way to stare down furrowed browns and warm eyes reflecting into his own murky-tear pricked one’s. Now is definitely not the time to mention it of course, but Bojan had never seen a prettier cryer in all his 30 years, 1,565 weeks and 10950 days of being a resident of this planet we know as earth.

“Oh sweetheart~</3” He enveloped an arm around his lover’s nearly naked waist while another slotted in between short, soft, honey gold strands, cradling the older’s head as tenderly as one could. The more barley audible, soft weeps and sniffles poured out of Jure, the more pieces of the shorter boy’s heart shattered. Each break getting louder and louder till his fiancé’s muffled whimpers calmed down with the help of a few comforting back rubs accompanied by gentle whispers of “everything’s alright now” and “I’m here love, you’re safe” into Jure’s skin, long after all his tears gave out.

Still rubbing his eyes periodically and trembling internally, he intertwined his fingers then let Bojan guide them both to their bedside. Flopping down without hands parting a single time and burrowing themselves into eachother’s side, tracing thousands of nonsensical patterns over the drummer’s exposed chest, shifting upwards to carve a lingering kiss on his darling’s forehead with praises of every kind bouncing off those lips Jure never seemed to ever, ever get enough off no matter how many times he’s felt their heavenly touch. “You’re stunning you know that.” Bojan grinned through slurred words, sleep unwavering in its mission to reel him hook, line and sinker. “There’s no one in this world who’d I’d want as my muse not just now, but forever than my pretty drummer boy alright.”

“You’re pretty drummer boy eh?”

“And once again, I am really so sorry about earlier Muca-“

A chorus of paw prints bustled outside their door. Echoes of panicked meows and barks steeping closer and closer, making themselves increasingly known to the couple. “I’ll go let the kids in..” the blonde yawned, a fond twang lacing his speech as he quietly crawled out of his (quite obnoxiously snoring) fiancé’s grasp and nonchalantly turning the knob as both boy’s pets barged inside to shower their dad’s with a multitude of licks, nuzzles, sniffs and paws for attention. Being mindful not to disturb the lull that’s taken over the singer’s being as usual considering it was vastly approaching 5pm.

There was of course, much more work to be done before they could actually move but that’s one of the many task’s tomorrow’s Jure and Bojan will have to face. Their only task’s now consisting of supplying both animals currently huddled in their arms with everlasting pets while simultaneously keeping the other from hogging the covers, shielding them against the spitefulness that Slovenian winter brings year after year. Perhaps a spring wedding would suit them just fine…..~🔔

[thestalwartheart]

007 Fest 2024: Intro Post

Dossiers, mission reports, political briefings, staff reports, intelligence analysis...if it can be printed on paper, I'm in charge of it. Do you know how many filing cabinets MI6 has? The answer isn't worth thinking about. No, really. Please don't think about it. It's classified.

Hello. I'm The Archivist. I don't have a name, and if I do, people don't remember it. I'm responsible for the arduous task of deciding which files the Service digitises, which ones get redacted, which ones are published as history and which ones get shredded to live a new life as a recycled paper cup or - god forbid! - a roll of toilet paper. Some of the agents write so terribly you'd think they purposefully intend their mission reports for the latter.

I'm running on fumes, and when I say fumes, I mean caffeine and a harmless but life-giving daily game of flirtation with the postman. His name is actually Pat, if you can believe it. I've no dignity left at all, but then I never had any in the first place.

Lovely to meet you!

---

Hello! I'm Mac (she/her). I'm delighted to be a part of Station Pacific during this years Fest. I'm primarily a fic writer, but sometimes I branch out to moodboards and gifsets. I'm excited to see what sparks my creativity during this year's Fest (I see a prompt table in my future!) and to enjoy other people's works and company.

@mi6-cafe

[joannechocolat]

Dear Mr X...

It’s hard to give up a relationship, even when it has become toxic. Even when it brings you no joy, it’s hard to accept the fact that you’re better off without it. To look at the time you spent building it, to write off those years and start again can feel like jumping off a cliff into a bottomless precipice. You start to think of all the things you’ll lose if the relationship ends; the good times, the shared friends, the laughter and the memories. Your heart sinks at the thought of trying to rebuild all that from scratch. The time. The work. The energy. It feels like a bereavement.

I feel like that about Twitter now. A relationship that began fifteen years ago, when I was someone different, and the platform was new and hopeful and designed for communication, rather than spreading division. Sometimes I still find myself mourning that time; the friends I made; the stories I wrote, the thousands of incarnations of the Shed. Some of my friends have been left there for good, their Twitter accounts frozen in time; their words all that remains of them. Perhaps that’s why I’m reluctant to leave, even though the bluebirds have flown, and even the logo is changing to something that looks to me a lot like a modified swastika – an apt comparison, given the way in which certain voices and political views have been given unasked-for prominence, while others seem to have vanished altogether from my feed. Feed someone garbage for long enough, and they start to sicken and die. That’s what happening via this site. I have watched it happening ever since Elon Musk arrived - a man so cartoonishly self-obsessed that it’s hard to even believe he’s real, except that no writer of fiction or game designer would dream of creating such a crass and substandard character.

X. What a choice of symbol.

X marks the spot for pirates in search of buried treasure. X is the mark of a person who is unable to write their name. X is the identity of someone who needs to stay anonymous. It’s a voter’s mark; an erasure; a mystery; a chromosome.

And it’s also an occult symbol, a rune: the rune Gyfu according to the Old English Futhorc, and Gebo in the Elder Futhark; both of which translate as “gift”.

The Anglo-Saxon rune poem that accompanies it goes like this:

ᚷ Gẏfu gumena bẏþ gleng and herenẏs, ƿraþu and ƿẏrþscẏpe and ƿræcna gehƿam ar and ætƿist, ðe bẏþ oþra leas.

which translates as follows:

Generosity brings credit and honour, which support one's dignity; it furnishes help and subsistence to all broken men who are devoid of aught else.

At first glance, this seems the opposite of what Elon Musk has done for the world. A man who sees social media as his own personal platform; a man who sees the cosmos as his own personal joy-ride.

The mistake we made was believing that Twitter was our playground. Elon Musk has made it his, and is currently in the process of breaking the toys, chopping down the trees and nuking the site from orbit, just to prove that play is overrated, and that only money counts. I can’t help feeling sorry for the little boy he must have been, and to wonder what he might have been like if he’d actually had any friends. But it’s time: and the change of branding makes it even easier to step away.

So maybe this is a kind of gift to the ones of us leaving Twitter. Misinformation, misogyny, transphobia, conspiracy theories and other kinds of social media poison have already made it increasingly difficult to feel safe there. (And fun fact, the word Gift in German happens to mean “poison”.) Perhaps the ultimate gift of X is the freedom from the toxicity that has built up in this most volatile of media; the gift of better mental health; of greater connection to our world; an escape from a toxic fantasy back into the open air.

I won’t leave altogether – Threads still isn’t open to Europe, and the jury’s still out on Bluesky - but I don’t want to give any more of my content to a man who values power and money over human connection. I’m @joannechocolat across all my social media - that’s Threads, Bluesky, Tumblr and Instagram – and I’ll still be posting stories on my ko-fi account at: https://ko-fi.com/story. But if you want to know what I’m doing, then sign up to my free newsletter on my website at joanne-harris.co.uk. I’m coming to believe that social media as I once knew it may have run its course for me: I won’t leave it altogether, but from now on I plan to invest more of my time and energy elsewhere.

And as for Mr X - I doubt you’ll be around forever. But while you are, my gift to you is this final story: written live on Twitter, as was, for all the little bluebirds.

There once was a boy who had no friends. His father gave him everything money can buy: toy cars, model aeroplanes, even rockets that really flew, but friends were impossible to buy, and the boy was lonely, angry, and bored. 

One day, when he was playing alone with one of his expensive toys, he saw a group of children playing in a nearby park. They sounded so merry and carefree that the boy was jealous. 

“Why don’t I have friends?” he cried. “I shall buy the park, and then everyone will notice me.”

And so the boy asked his father to buy him the park for his very own; and he settled there with his expensive toys, and put a notice on the gate, saying: Entrance fee, 8 shillings.

The children of the neighbourhood looked enviously at the empty park. Some of the wealthier ones paid the entry fee, but many of the children did not; instead, they waited outside the gates, and looked into the place where once they had all played together.

But still the boy was not content. None of the new children played with him. Instead they played their own games, and climbed trees, or played hide and seek, or lay on the grass watching the clouds. None of this served the boy at all, and he was sulky and discontent.

“If I have all the trees cut down, then maybe the others will notice me,” he thought.

And so he ordered his servants to cut down all the trees in the park. But apart from a few toadies and flatterers, the children still did not play with him, but mocked him secretly from afar, and fell silent whenever he passed by.

“How ungrateful these children are,” said the boy, getting angry. “I bought this park for them, and still they refuse to play with me! Very well, I shall cease to pay the groundsmen and the gardeners. The park will be overrun with weeds. Wild animals will roam there.”

And so the boy did as he had promised, and the park became a wilderness. No-one wanted to pay for it, and even the toadies and flatterers and children of wealthy families went elsewhere to see their friends.

The boy was very angry at this, but there was no-one to be angry with. All the other children had gone. And so he took out his rage on the deer who had begun to roam in the park, shooting them with his toy crossbow, and became known throughout the land as a mighty hunter.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter III. Economic Evolutions. — First Period. — The Division of Labor.

2. — Impotence of palliatives. — MM. Blanqui, Chevalier, Dunoyer, Rossi, and Passy.

All the remedies proposed for the fatal effects of parcellaire division may be reduced to two, which really are but one, the second being the inversion of the first: to raise the mental and moral condition of the workingman by increasing his comfort and dignity; or else, to prepare the way for his future emancipation and happiness by instruction.

We will examine successively these two systems, one of which is represented by M. Blanqui, the other by M. Chevalier.

M. Blanqui is a friend of association and progress, a writer of democratic tendencies, a professor who has a place in the hearts of the proletariat. In his opening discourse of the year 1845, M. Blanqui proclaimed, as a means of salvation, the association of labor and capital, the participation of the working man in the profits, — that is, a beginning of industrial solidarity. “Our century,” he exclaimed, “must witness the birth of the collective producer.” M. Blanqui forgets that the collective producer was born long since, as well as the collective consumer, and that the question is no longer a genetic, but a medical, one. Our task is to cause the blood proceeding from the collective digestion, instead of rushing wholly to the head, stomach, and lungs, to descend also into the legs and arms. Besides, I do not know what method M. Blanqui proposes to employ in order to realize his generous thought, — whether it be the establishment of national workshops, or the loaning of capital by the State, or the expropriation of the conductors of business enterprises and the substitution for them of industrial associations, or, finally, whether he will rest content with a recommendation of the savings bank to workingmen, in which case the participation would be put off till doomsday.

However this may be, M. Blanqui’s idea amounts simply to an increase of wages resulting from the copartnership, or at least from the interest in the business, which he confers upon the laborers. What, then, is the value to the laborer of a participation in the profits?

A mill with fifteen thousand spindles, employing three hundred hands, does not pay at present an annual dividend of twenty thousand francs. I am informed by a Mulhouse manufacturer that factory stocks in Alsace are generally below par and that this industry has already become a means of getting money by stock-jobbing instead of by labor. To SELL; to sell at the right time; to sell dear, — is the only object in view; to manufacture is only to prepare for a sale. When I assume, then, on an average, a profit of twenty thousand francs to a factory employing three hundred persons, my argument being general, I am twenty thousand francs out of the way. Nevertheless, we will admit the correctness of this amount. Dividing twenty thousand francs, the profit of the mill, by three hundred, the number of persons, and again by three hundred, the number of working days, I find an increase of pay for each person of twenty-two and one-fifth centimes, or for daily expenditure an addition of eighteen centimes, just a morsel of bread. Is it worth while, then, for this, to expropriate mill-owners and endanger the public welfare, by erecting establishments which must be insecure, since, property being divided into infinitely small shares, and being no longer supported by profit, business enterprises would lack ballast, and would be unable to weather commercial gales. And even if no expropriation was involved, what a poor prospect to offer the working class is an increase of eighteen centimes in return for centuries of economy; for no less time than this would be needed to accumulate the requisite capital, supposing that periodical suspensions of business did not periodically consume its savings!

The fact which I have just stated has been pointed out in several ways. M. Passy [13] himself took from the books of a mill in Normandy where the laborers were associated with the owner the wages of several families for a period of ten years, and he found that they averaged from twelve to fourteen hundred francs per year. He then compared the situation of mill-hands paid in proportion to the prices obtained by their employers with that of laborers who receive fixed wages, and found that the difference is almost imperceptible. This result might easily have been foreseen. Economic phenomena obey laws as abstract and immutable as those of numbers: it is only privilege, fraud, and absolutism which disturb the eternal harmony.

M. Blanqui, repentant, as it seems, at having taken this first step toward socialistic ideas, has made haste to retract his words. At the same meeting in which M. Passy demonstrated the inadequacy of cooperative association, he exclaimed: “Does it not seem that labor is a thing susceptible of organization, and that it is in the power of the State to regulate the happiness of humanity as it does the march of an army, and with an entirely mathematical precision? This is an evil tendency, a delusion which the Academy cannot oppose too strongly, because it is not only a chimera, but a dangerous sophism. Let us respect good and honest intentions; but let us not fear to say that to publish a book upon the organization of labor is to rewrite for the fiftieth time a treatise upon the quadrature of the circle or the philosopher’s stone.”

Then, carried away by his zeal, M. Blanqui finishes the destruction of his theory of cooperation, which M. Passy already had so rudely shaken, by the following example: “M. Dailly, one of the most enlightened of farmers, has drawn up an account for each piece of land and an account for each product; and he proves that within a period of thirty years the same man has never obtained equal crops from the same piece of land. The products have varied from twenty-six thousand francs to nine thousand or seven thousand francs, sometimes descending as low as three hundred francs. There are also certain products — potatoes, for instance — which fail one time in ten. How, then, with these variations and with revenues so uncertain, can we establish even distribution and uniform wages for laborers?....”

It might be answered that the variations in the product of each piece of land simply indicate that it is necessary to associate proprietors with each other after having associated laborers with proprietors, which would establish a more complete solidarity: but this would be a prejudgment on the very thing in question, which M. Blanqui definitively decides, after reflection, to be unattainable, — namely, the organization of labor. Besides, it is evident that solidarity would not add an obolus to the common wealth, and that, consequently, it does not even touch the problem of division.

In short, the profit so much envied, and often a very uncertain matter with employers, falls far short of the difference between actual wages and the wages desired; and M. Blanqui’s former plan, miserable in its results and disavowed by its author, would be a scourge to the manufacturing industry. Now, the division of labor being henceforth universally established, the argument is generalized, and leads us to the conclusion that misery is an effect of labor, as well as of idleness.

The answer to this is, and it is a favorite argument with the people: Increase the price of services; double and triple wages.

I confess that if such an increase was possible it would be a complete success, whatever M. Chevalier may have said, who needs to be slightly corrected on this point.

According to M. Chevalier, if the price of any kind of merchandise whatever is increased, other kinds will rise in a like proportion, and no one will benefit thereby.

This argument, which the economists have rehearsed for more than a century, is as false as it is old, and it belonged to M. Chevalier, as an engineer, to rectify the economic tradition. The salary of a head clerk being ten francs per day, and the wages of a workingman four, if the income of each is increased five francs, the ratio of their fortunes, which was formerly as one hundred to forty, will be thereafter as one hundred to sixty. The increase of wages, necessarily taking place by addition and not by proportion, would be, therefore, an excellent method of equalization; and the economists would deserve to have thrown back at them by the socialists the reproach of ignorance which they have bestowed upon them at random.

But I say that such an increase is impossible, and that the supposition is absurd: for, as M. Chevalier has shown very clearly elsewhere, the figure which indicates the price of the day’s labor is only an algebraic exponent without effect on the reality: and that which it is necessary first to endeavor to increase, while correcting the inequalities of distribution, is not the monetary expression, but the quantity of products. Till then every rise of wages can have no other effect than that produced by a rise of the price of wheat, wine, meat, sugar, soap, coal, etc., — that is, the effect of a scarcity. For what is wages?

It is the cost price of wheat, wine, meat, coal; it is the integrant price of all things. Let us go farther yet: wages is the proportionality of the elements which compose wealth, and which are consumed every day reproductively by the mass of laborers. Now, to double wages, in the sense in which the people understand the words, is to give to each producer a share greater than his product, which is contradictory: and if the rise pertains only to a few industries, a general disturbance in exchange ensues, — that is, a scarcity. God save me from predictions! but, in spite of my desire for the amelioration of the lot of the working class, I declare that it is impossible for strikes followed by an increase of wages to end otherwise than in a general rise in prices: that is as certain as that two and two make four. It is not by such methods that the workingmen will attain to wealth and — what is a thousand times more precious than wealth — liberty. The workingmen, supported by the favor of an indiscreet press, in demanding an increase of wages, have served monopoly much better than their own real interests: may they recognize, when their situation shall become more painful, the bitter fruit of their inexperience!

Convinced of the uselessness, or rather, of the fatal effects, of an increase of wages, and seeing clearly that the question is wholly organic and not at all commercial, M. Chevalier attacks the problem at the other end. He asks for the working class, first of all, instruction, and proposes extensive reforms in this direction.

Instruction! this is also M. Arago’s word to the workingmen; it is the principle of all progress. Instruction!.... It should be known once for all what may be expected from it in the solution of the problem before us; it should be known, I say, not whether it is desirable that all should receive it, — this no one doubts, — but whether it is possible.

To clearly comprehend the complete significance of M. Chevalier’s views, a knowledge of his methods is indispensable.

M. Chevalier, long accustomed to discipline, first by his polytechnic studies, then by his St. Simonian connections, and finally by his position in the University, does not seem to admit that a pupil can have any other inclination than to obey the regulations, a sectarian any other thought than that of his chief, a public functionary any other opinion than that of the government. This may be a conception of order as respectable as any other, and I hear upon this subject no expressions of approval or censure. Has M. Chevalier an idea to offer peculiar to himself? On the principle that all that is not forbidden by law is allowed, he hastens to the front to deliver his opinion, and then abandons it to give his adhesion, if there is occasion, to the opinion of authority. It was thus that M. Chevalier, before settling down in the bosom of the Constitution, joined M. Enfantin: it was thus that he gave his views upon canals, railroads, finance, property, long before the administration had adopted any system in relation to the construction of railways, the changing of the rate of interest on bonds, patents, literary property, etc.

M. Chevalier, then, is not a blind admirer of the University system of instruction, — far from it; and until the appearance of the new order of things, he does not hesitate to say what he thinks. His opinions are of the most radical.

M. Villemain had said in his report: “The object of the higher education is to prepare in advance a choice of men to occupy and serve in all the positions of the administration, the magistracy, the bar and the various liberal professions, including the higher ranks and learned specialties of the army and navy.”

“The higher education,” thereupon observes M. Chevalier, [14] “is designed also to prepare men some of whom shall be farmers, others manufacturers, these merchants, and those private engineers. Now, in the official programme, all these classes are forgotten. The omission is of considerable importance; for, indeed, industry in its various forms, agriculture, commerce, are neither accessories nor accidents in a State: they are its chief dependence.... If the University desires to justify its name, it must provide a course in these things; else an industrial university will be established in opposition to it.... We shall have altar against altar, etc....”

And as it is characteristic of a luminous idea to throw light on all questions connected with it, professional instruction furnishes M. Chevalier with a very expeditious method of deciding, incidentally, the quarrel between the clergy and the University on liberty of education.

“It must be admitted that a very great concession is made to the clergy in allowing Latin to serve as the basis of education. The clergy know Latin as well as the University; it is their own tongue. Their tuition, moreover, is cheaper; hence they must inevitably draw a large portion of our youth into their small seminaries and their schools of a higher grade....”

The conclusion of course follows: change the course of study, and you decatholicize the realm; and as the clergy know only Latin and the Bible, when they have among them neither masters of art, nor farmers, nor accountants; when, of their forty thousand priests, there are not twenty, perhaps, with the ability to make a plan or forge a nail, — we soon shall see which the fathers of families will choose, industry or the breviary, and whether they do not regard labor as the most beautiful language in which to pray to God.

Thus would end this ridiculous opposition between religious education and profane science, between the spiritual and the temporal, between reason and faith, between altar and throne, old rubrics henceforth meaningless, but with which they still impose upon the good nature of the public, until it takes offence.

M. Chevalier does not insist, however, on this solution: he knows that religion and monarchy are two powers which, though continually quarrelling, cannot exist without each other; and that he may not awaken suspicion, he launches out into another revolutionary idea, — equality.

“France is in a position to furnish the polytechnic school with twenty times as many scholars as enter at present (the average being one hundred and seventy-six, this would amount to three thousand five hundred and twenty). The University has but to say the word.... If my opinion was of any weight, I should maintain that mathematical capacity is much less special than is commonly supposed. I remember the success with which children, taken at random, so to speak, from the pavements of Paris, follow the teaching of La Martiniere by the method of Captain Tabareau.”

If the higher education, reconstructed according to the views of M. Chevalier, was sought after by all young French men instead of by only ninety thousand as commonly, there would be no exaggeration in raising the estimate of the number of minds mathematically inclined from three thousand five hundred and twenty to ten thousand; but, by the same argument, we should have ten thousand artists, philologists, and philosophers; ten thousand doctors, physicians, chemists, and naturalists; ten thousand economists, legists, and administrators; twenty thousand manufacturers, foremen, merchants, and accountants; forty thousand farmers, wine-growers, miners, etc., — in all, one hundred thousand specialists a year, or about one-third of our youth. The rest, having, instead of special adaptations, only mingled adaptations, would be distributed indifferently elsewhere.

It is certain that so powerful an impetus given to intelligence would quicken the progress of equality, and I do not doubt that such is the secret desire of M. Chevalier. But that is precisely what troubles me: capacity is never wanting, any more than population, and the problem is to find employment for the one and bread for the other. In vain does M. Chevalier tell us: “The higher education would give less ground for the complaint that it throws into society crowds of ambitious persons without any means of satisfying their desires, and interested in the overthrow of the State; people without employment and unable to get any, good for nothing and believing themselves fit for anything, especially for the direction of public affairs. Scientific studies do not so inflate the mind. They enlighten and regulate it at once; they fit men for practical life....” Such language, I reply, is good to use with patriarchs: a professor of political economy should have more respect for his position and his audience. The government has only one hundred and twenty offices annually at its disposal for one hundred and seventy-six students admitted to the polytechnic school: what, then, would be its embarrassment if the number of admissions was ten thousand, or even, taking M. Chevalier’s figures, three thousand five hundred? And, to generalize, the whole number of civil positions is sixty thousand, or three thousand vacancies annually; what dismay would the government be thrown into if, suddenly adopting the reformatory ideas of M. Chevalier, it should find itself besieged by fifty thousand office-seekers! The following objection has often been made to republicans without eliciting a reply: When everybody shall have the electoral privilege, will the deputies do any better, and will the proletariat be further advanced? I ask the same question of M. Chevalier: When each academic year shall bring you one hundred thousand fitted men, what will you do with them?

To provide for these interesting young people, you will go down to the lowest round of the ladder. You will oblige the young man, after fifteen years of lofty study, to begin, no longer as now with the offices of aspirant engineer, sub-lieutenant of artillery, second lieutenant, deputy, comptroller, general guardian, etc., but with the ignoble positions of pioneer, train-soldier, dredger, cabin-boy, fagot-maker, and exciseman. There he will wait, until death, thinning the ranks, enables him to advance a step. Under such circumstances a man, a graduate of the polytechnic school and capable of becoming a Vauban, may die a laborer on a second class road, or a corporal in a regiment

Oh! how much more prudent Catholicism has shown itself, and how far it has surpassed you all, St. Simonians, republicans, university men, economists, in the knowledge of man and society! The priest knows that our life is but a voyage, and that our perfection cannot be realized here below; and he contents himself with outlining on earth an education which must be completed in heaven. The man whom religion has moulded, content to know, do, and obtain what suffices for his earthly destiny, never can become a source of embarrassment to the government: rather would he be a martyr. O beloved religion! is it necessary that a bourgeoisie which stands in such need of you should disown you?...

Into what terrible struggles of pride and misery does this mania for universal instruction plunge us! Of what use is professional education, of what good are agricultural and commercial schools, if your students have neither employment nor capital? And what need to cram one’s self till the age of twenty with all sorts of knowledge, then to fasten the threads of a mule-jenny or pick coal at the bottom of a pit? What! you have by your own confession only three thousand positions annually to bestow upon fifty thousand possible capacities, and yet you talk of establishing schools! Cling rather to your system of exclusion and privilege, a system as old as the world, the support of dynasties and patriciates, a veritable machine for gelding men in order to secure the pleasures of a caste of Sultans. Set a high price upon your teaching, multiply obstacles, drive away, by lengthy tests, the son of the proletaire whom hunger does not permit to wait, and protect with all your power the ecclesiastical schools, where the students are taught to labor for the other life, to cultivate resignation, to fast, to respect those in high places, to love the king, and to pray to God. For every useless study sooner or later becomes an abandoned study: knowledge is poison to slaves.

Surely M. Chevalier has too much sagacity not to have seen the consequences of his idea. But he has spoken from the bottom of his heart, and we can only applaud his good intentions: men must first be men; after that, he may live who can.

Thus we advance at random, guided by Providence, who never warns us except with a blow: this is the beginning and end of political economy.

Contrary to M. Chevalier, professor of political economy at the College of France, M. Dunoyer, an economist of the Institute, does not wish instruction to be organized. The organization of instruction is a species of organization of labor; therefore, no organization. Instruction, observes M. Dunoyer, is a profession, not a function of the State; like all professions, it ought to be and remain free. It is communism, it is socialism, it is the revolutionary tendency, whose principal agents have been Robespierre, Napoleon, Louis XVIII, and M. Guizot, which have thrown into our midst these fatal ideas of the centralization and absorption of all activity in the State. The press is very free, and the pen of the journalist is an object of merchandise; religion, too, is very free, and every wearer of a gown, be it short or long, who knows how to excite public curiosity, can draw an audience about him. M. Lacordaire has his devotees, M. Leroux his apostles, M. Buchez his convent. Why, then, should not instruction also be free? If the right of the instructed, like that of the buyer, is unquestionable, and that of the instructor, who is only a variety of the seller, is its correlative, it is impossible to infringe upon the liberty of instruction without doing violence to the most precious of liberties, that of the conscience. And then, adds M. Dunoyer, if the State owes instruction to everybody, it will soon be maintained that it owes labor; then lodging; then shelter.... Where does that lead to?

The argument of M. Dunoyer is irrefutable: to organize instruction is to give to every citizen a pledge of liberal employment and comfortable wages; the two are as intimately connected as the circulation of the arteries and the veins. But M. Dunoyer’s theory implies also that progress belongs only to a certain select portion of humanity, and that barbarism is the eternal lot of nine-tenths of the human race. It is this which constitutes, according to M. Dunoyer, the very essence of society, which manifests itself in three stages, religion, hierarchy, and beggary. So that in this system, which is that of Destutt de Tracy, Montesquieu, and Plato, the antinomy of division, like that of value, is without solution.

It is a source of inexpressible pleasure to me, I confess, to see M. Chevalier, a defender of the centralization of instruction, opposed by M. Dunoyer, a defender of liberty; M. Dunoyer in his turn antagonized by M. Guizot; M. Guizot, the representative of the centralizers, contradicting the Charter, which posits liberty as a principle; the Charter trampled under foot by the University men, who lay sole claim to the privilege of teaching, regardless of the express command of the Gospel to the priests: Go and teach. And above all this tumult of economists, legislators, ministers, academicians, professors, and priests, economic Providence giving the lie to the Gospel, and shouting: Pedagogues! what use am I to make of your instruction?

Who will relieve us of this anxiety? M. Rossi leans toward eclecticism: Too little divided, he says, labor remains unproductive; too much divided, it degrades man. Wisdom lies between these extremes; in medio virtus. Unfortunately this intermediate wisdom is only a small amount of poverty joined with a small amount of wealth, so that the condition is not modified in the least. The proportion of good and evil, instead of being as one hundred to one hundred, becomes as fifty to fifty: in this we may take, once for all, the measure of eclecticism. For the rest, M. Rossi’s juste-milieu is in direct opposition to the great economic law: To produce with the least possible expense the greatest possible quantity of values.... Now, how can labor fulfil its destiny without an extreme division? Let us look farther, if you please.

“All economic systems and hypotheses,” says M. Rossi, “belong to the economist, but the intelligent, free, responsible man is under the control of the moral law... Political economy is only a science which examines the relations of things, and draws conclusions therefrom. It examines the effects of labor; in the application of labor, you should consider the importance of the object in view. When the application of labor is unfavorable to an object higher than the production of wealth, it should not be applied... Suppose that it would increase the national wealth to compel children to labor fifteen hours a day: morality would say that that is not allowable. Does that prove that political economy is false? No; that proves that you confound things which should be kept separate.”

If M. Rossi had a little more of that Gallic simplicity so difficult for foreigners to acquire, he would very summarily have thrown his tongue to the dogs, as Madame de Sevigne said. But a professor must talk, talk, talk, not for the sake of saying anything, but in order to avoid silence. M. Rossi takes three turns around the question, then lies down: that is enough to make certain people believe that he has answered it.

It is surely a sad symptom for a science when, in developing itself according to its own principles, it reaches its object just in time to be contradicted by another; as, for example, when the postulates of political economy are found to be opposed to those of morality, for I suppose that morality is a science as well as political economy. What, then, is human knowledge, if all its affirmations destroy each other, and on what shall we rely? Divided labor is a slave’s occupation, but it alone is really productive; undivided labor belongs to the free man, but it does not pay its expenses. On the one hand, political economy tells us to be rich; on the other, morality tells us to be free; and M. Rossi, speaking in the name of both, warns us at the same time that we can be neither free nor rich, for to be but half of either is to be neither. M. Rossi’s doctrine, then, far from satisfying this double desire of humanity, is open to the objection that, to avoid exclusiveness, it strips us of everything: it is, under another form, the history of the representative system.

But the antagonism is even more profound than M. Rossi has supposed. For since, according to universal experience (on this point in harmony with theory), wages decrease in proportion to the division of labor, it is clear that, in submitting ourselves to parcellaire slavery, we thereby shall not obtain wealth; we shall only change men into machines: witness the laboring population of the two worlds. And since, on the other hand, without the division of labor, society falls back into barbarism, it is evident also that, by sacrificing wealth, we shall not obtain liberty: witness all the wandering tribes of Asia and Africa. Therefore it is necessary — economic science and morality absolutely command it — for us to solve the problem of division: now, where are the economists? More than thirty years ago, Lemontey, developing a remark of Smith, exposed the demoralizing and homicidal influence of the division of labor. What has been the reply; what investigations have been made; what remedies proposed; has the question even been understood?

Every year the economists report, with an exactness which I would commend more highly if I did not see that it is always fruitless, the commercial condition of the States of Europe. They know how many yards of cloth, pieces of silk, pounds of iron, have been manufactured; what has been the consumption per head of wheat, wine, sugar, meat: it might be said that to them the ultimate of science is to publish inventories, and the object of their labor is to become general comptrollers of nations. Never did such a mass of material offer so fine a field for investigation. What has been found; what new principle has sprung from this mass; what solution of the many problems of long standing has been reached; what new direction have studies taken?

One question, among others, seems to have been prepared for a final judgment, — pauperism. Pauperism, of all the phenomena of the civilized world, is today the best known: we know pretty nearly whence it comes, when and how it arrives, and what it costs; its proportion at various stages of civilization has been calculated, and we have convinced ourselves that all the specifics with which it hitherto has been fought have been impotent. Pauperism has been divided into genera, species, and varieties: it is a complete natural history, one of the most important branches of anthropology. Well I the unquestionable result of all the facts collected, unseen, shunned, covered by the economists with their silence, is that pauperism is constitutional and chronic in society as long as the antagonism between labor and capital continues, and that this antagonism can end only by the absolute negation of political economy. What issue from this labyrinth have the economists discovered?

This last point deserves a moment’s attention.

In primitive communism misery, as I have observed in a preceding paragraph, is the universal condition.

Labor is war declared upon this misery.

Labor organizes itself, first by division, next by machinery, then by competition, etc.

Now, the question is whether it is not in the essence of this organization, as given us by political economy, at the same time that it puts an end to the misery of some, to aggravate that of others in a fatal and unavoidable manner. These are the terms in which the question of pauperism must be stated, and for this reason we have undertaken to solve it.

What means, then, this eternal babble of the economists about the improvidence of laborers, their idleness, their want of dignity, their ignorance, their debauchery, their early marriages, etc.? All these vices and excesses are only the cloak of pauperism; but the cause, the original cause which inexorably holds four-fifths of the human race in disgrace, — what is it? Did not Nature make all men equally gross, averse to labor, wanton, and wild? Did not patrician and proletaire spring from the same clay? Then how happens it that, after so many centuries, and in spite of so many miracles of industry, science, and art, comfort and culture have not become the inheritance of all? How happens it that in Paris and London, centres of social wealth, poverty is as hideous as in the days of Caesar and Agricola? Why, by the side of this refined aristocracy, has the mass remained so uncultivated? It is laid to the vices of the people: but the vices of the upper class appear to be no less; perhaps they are even greater. The original stain affected all alike: how happens it, once more, that the baptism of civilization has not been equally efficacious for all? Does this not show that progress itself is a privilege, and that the man who has neither wagon nor horse is forced to flounder about for ever in the mud? What do I say? The totally destitute man has no desire to improve: he has fallen so low that ambition even is extinguished in his heart.

“Of all the private virtues,” observes M. Dunoyer with infinite reason, “the most necessary, that which gives us all the others in succession, is the passion for well-being, is the violent desire to extricate one’s self from misery and abjection, is that spirit of emulation and dignity which does not permit men to rest content with an inferior situation.... But this sentiment, which seems so natural, is unfortunately much less common than is thought. There are few reproaches which the generality of men deserve less than that which ascetic moralists bring against them of being too fond of their comforts: the opposite reproach might be brought against them with infinitely more justice.... There is even in the nature of men this very remarkable feature, that the less their knowledge and resources, the less desire they have of acquiring these. The most miserable savages and the least enlightened of men are precisely those in whom it is most difficult to arouse wants, those in whom it is hardest to inspire the desire to rise out of their condition; so that man must already have gained a certain degree of comfort by his labor, before he can feel with any keenness that need of improving his condition, of perfecting his existence, which I call the love of well-being.” [15]

Thus the misery of the laboring classes arises in general from their lack of heart and mind, or, as M. Passy has said somewhere, from the weakness, the inertia of their moral and intellectual faculties. This inertia is due to the fact that the said laboring classes, still half savage, do not have a sufficiently ardent desire to ameliorate their condition: this M. Dunoyer shows. But as this absence of desire is itself the effect of misery, it follows that misery and apathy are each other’s effect and cause, and that the proletariat turns in a circle.

To rise out of this abyss there must be either well-being, — that is, a gradual increase of wages, — or intelligence and courage, — that is, a gradual development of faculties: two things diametrically opposed to the degradation of soul and body which is the natural effect of the division of labor. The misfortune of the proletariat, then, is wholly providential, and to undertake to extinguish it in the present state of political economy would be to produce a revolutionary whirlwind.

For it is not without a profound reason, rooted in the loftiest considerations of morality, that the universal conscience, expressing itself by turns through the selfishness of the rich and the apathy of the proletariat, denies a reward to the man whose whole function is that of a lever and spring. If, by some impossibility, material well-being could fall to the lot of the parcellaire laborer, we should see something monstrous happen: the laborers employed at disagreeable tasks would become like those Romans, gorged with the wealth of the world, whose brutalized minds became incapable of devising new pleasures. Well-being without education stupefies people and makes them insolent: this was noticed in the most ancient times. Incrassatus est, et recalcitravit, says

Deuteronomy. For the rest, the parcellaire laborer has judged himself: he is content, provided he has bread, a pallet to sleep on, and plenty of liquor on Sunday. Any other condition would be prejudicial to him, and would endanger public order.

At Lyons there is a class of men who, under cover of the monopoly given them by the city government, receive higher pay than college professors or the head-clerks of the government ministers: I mean the porters. The price of loading and unloading at certain wharves in Lyons, according to the schedule of the Rigues or porters’ associations, is thirty centimes per hundred kilogrammes. At this rate, it is not seldom that a man earns twelve, fifteen, and even twenty francs a day: he only has to carry forty or fifty sacks from a vessel to a warehouse. It is but a few hours’ work. What a favorable condition this would be for the development of intelligence, as well for children as for parents, if, of itself and the leisure which it brings, wealth was a moralizing principle! But this is not the case: the porters of Lyons are today what they always have been, drunken, dissolute, brutal, insolent, selfish, and base. It is a painful thing to say, but I look upon the following declaration as a duty, because it is the truth: one of the first reforms to be effected among the laboring classes will be the reduction of the wages of some at the same time that we raise those of others. Monopoly does not gain in respectability by belonging to the lowest classes of people, especially when it serves to maintain only the grossest individualism. The revolt of the silk-workers met with no sympathy, but rather hostility, from the porters and the river population generally. Nothing that happens off the wharves has any power to move them. Beasts of burden fashioned in advance for despotism, they will not mingle with politics as long as their privilege is maintained. Nevertheless, I ought to say in their defence that, some time ago, the necessities of competition having brought their prices down, more social sentiments began to awaken in these gross natures: a few more reductions seasoned with a little poverty, and the Rigues of Lyons will be chosen as the storming-party when the time comes for assaulting the bastilles.

In short, it is impossible, contradictory, in the present system of society, for the proletariat to secure well-being through education or education through well-being. For, without considering the fact that the proletaire, a human machine, is as unfit for comfort as for education, it is demonstrated, on the one hand, that his wages continually tend to go down rather than up, and, on the other, that the cultivation of his mind, if it were possible, would be useless to him; so that he always inclines towards barbarism and misery. Everything that has been attempted of late years in France and England with a view to the amelioration of the condition of the poor in the matters of the labor of women and children and of primary instruction, unless it was the fruit of some hidden thought of radicalism, has been done contrary to economic ideas and to the prejudice of the established order. Progress, to the mass of laborers, is always the book sealed with the seven seals; and it is not by legislative misconstructions that the relentless enigma will be solved.

For the rest, if the economists, by exclusive attention to their old routine, have finally lost all knowledge of the present state of things, it cannot be said that the socialists have better solved the antinomy which division of labor raised. Quite the contrary, they have stopped with negation; for is it not perpetual negation to oppose, for instance, the uniformity of parcellaire labor with a so-called variety in which each one can change his occupation ten, fifteen, twenty times a day at will?

As if to change ten, fifteen, twenty times a day from one kind of divided labor to another was to make labor synthetic; as if, consequently, twenty fractions of the day’s work of a manual laborer could be equal to the day’s work of an artist! Even if such industrial vaulting was practicable, — and it may be asserted in advance that it would disappear in the presence of the necessity of making laborers responsible and therefore functions personal, — it would not change at all the physical, moral, and intellectual condition of the laborer; the dissipation would only be a surer guarantee of his incapacity and, consequently, his dependence. This is admitted, moreover, by the organizers, communists, and others. So far are they from pretending to solve the antinomy of division that all of them admit, as an essential condition of organization, the hierarchy of labor, — that is, the classification of laborers into parcellaires and generalizers or organizers, — and in all utopias the distinction of capacities, the basis or everlasting excuse for inequality of goods, is admitted as a pivot. Those reformers whose schemes have nothing to recommend them but logic, and who, after having complained of the simplism, monotony, uniformity, and extreme division of labor, then propose a plurality as a SYNTHESIS, — such inventors, I say, are judged already, and ought to be sent back to school.

But you, critic, the reader undoubtedly will ask, what is your solution? Show us this synthesis which, retaining the responsibility, the personality, in short, the specialty of the laborer, will unite extreme division and the greatest variety in one complex and harmonious whole.

My reply is ready: Interrogate facts, consult humanity: we can choose no better guide. After the oscillations of value, division of labor is the economic fact which influences most perceptibly profits and wages. It is the first stake driven by Providence into the soil of industry, the starting-point of the immense triangulation which finally must determine the right and duty of each and all. Let us, then, follow our guides, without which we can only wander and lose ourselves.

Tu longe seggere, et vestigia semper adora.

[agentoffangirling]

I feel like we need to discuss how creators' respect for a character influences the project they're doing

If you don't know what I'm talking about, I don't blame you, I had no idea how to word that, but you'll get it in a sec. Let's take a look at both "WandaVision" and "Loki"

See, when Marvel started production on WandaVision and brought in Jac Shaeffer and Matt Shakman and all those people, it was very clear that there was a singular goal among the team: how can we depict Wanda Maximoff well? How can we treat her character with dignity and grace? How can we discuss her psyche in a respectful manner? And everyone delievered

Elizabeth Olsen and Paul Bettany gave downright beautiful performances, the supporting cast played their role well. The writers did research on Scarlet Witch's character and her comics, everyone fully understood what type of project this was and they used it to its full potential. I'm no fan of Olsen for numerous reasons, I'm not even a big Wanda Maximoff fan. But I can fully admit that "WandaVision" is a stellar story, and every person on the team poured their heart into it

And hey, let's also look at the promotions for this show. When Schaeffer and others were interviewed, in no moment did they mock Wanda's character or what she goes through in the series. They treated her very similarly to how they treated her on the show, discussing the deeper parts of her character with an obvious interest. They like Wanda. They want the best for her. They want to make a story Wanda would be proud of

But now to "Loki". I've said my pieces on the Loki series too many times to count, so I will keep this brief. From the very beginning we know that Waldron was not interested in developing "Loki", only to develop his original script (which is pretty shitty anyway). He wanted to make a time-travel, sci-fi, romance type story, and Loki was the character he was saddled with

Now, this doesn't mean that he still couldn't develop his script, in fact he did, and I could think of dozens of ways that type of story could work with Loki. There's a lot of potential there. But Waldron never cared. He never cared to develop Loki. He never cared to examine his character past pop culture. He never cared to make Loki fans happy, only himself

Look at the promos he gives! He refers to Loki as a "little shit" multiple times, talks all about how they're taking him in a different direction (aka completely tearing down his character), it is so obvious he just wanted to fulfill his own personal fantasies. At least Kate Herron treats the subject material with some ounce of respect; Waldron proudly proclaims he's never seen it

And to quickly switch gears here, it's very similar to Kevin Feige vs Brad Winderbaum's view on "Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D." Where Feige dismisses it, giving it general statements and never hinting at a possible future, Winderbaum speaks of it with a clear love of the series. He's all but admitted that he wants the characters back in the MCU, and if someone like him is heading that, I just might trust him with it. Feige is Waldron. Winderbaum is Schaeffer

In the end, it all just makes me wonder, why didn't Loki fans get their WandaVision? Why did we get the creator who puts down his characters? Why did we get the story that only existed to introduce a multiverse? Why did we get the short stick?

Loki fans deserve a WandaVision. After a literal decade of waiting for a solo project, we should've gotten the respectful, genuine creator. Pretty much every other character got it-- why not us?

[greenerteacups]

Hi GT, I was reading one of your wonderful responses and you mentioned you don't love what they did to Remus, and I have to say I 100% agree. In my opinion his relationship with tonks is weird (regardless of whether people think he had chemistry with Sirius) like he's at least 10 years older than her and he tries to leave her and it just seems like he goes along with HER infatuation without really caring about her very much. It also puts Tonks back into JKR's frequent dynamic for women, which is "badass who really wants to be with a guy who doesn't seem to appreciate her much" (see Hermione/Ron).

Do you have any further thoughts on that? I always found JKR's writing about women in relationships/who want relationships really weird. You definitely do it better.

JKR has many strengths as a writer, but I don't think anyone would say her romances are one of them. I think a lot of authors either consciously or subconsciously look down on romance as a genre because it's associated with sensuality and frivolousness, but writing and selling the idea that two people should and do want to kiss each other is like, really fucking hard to do, and it requires a certain set of skill checks as an author that not everyone has. Just like writing good horror or good fantasy, good romance has tenets and rules and things you can do to get the audience on board with you, and JKR didn't execute a lot of those things (to my satisfaction, YMMV) in the books. Bad romance is also a high-stakes problem, because it risks flattening out your characters and pitching them into OOC territory if the audience doesn't buy that the dynamic evolution is natural. But again, that's something you don't know if you haven't written romance, or tried to, before.

Mostly, you have to really lean into the vulnerability of the thing. Romance is silly and goofy and embarrassing. It makes you say dumb things and act in dumb ways. It can't be ironic or chilled or demure. At some point, to make a real human connection, someone has to get down, take off their dignity, and bare the rotten core of themselves. When we propose, we kneel on the ground. We get dirty. And all authors have a great terror of embarrassing themselves. They're doing something tremendously vulnerable; of course they want people to think they're cool and intelligent. It's embarrassing to put yourself in the head of a 15-year-old boy with a crush. It's embarrassing to write about a suitor earnestly confessing their love, because — what if this is too much? What if it's corny, what if it breaks the audience's suspension of disbelief? What if my readers are laughing at me? What if I'm the butt of the joke?

Anyway, I think a lot of really great books have terrible romance subplots for that reason. In The Great Gatsby, we never actually see Gatsby and Daisy alone together. We get their story second-hand, from people who can deliver it in a cool, reflective tone of mystery; we don't see them undressed, undone, emptying their hearts to one another. And Nick and Jordan, the romance we actually get to see develop, are easily the weakest plot in the book. Meanwhile, authors like Tolstoy have an incredible gift for writing romance that feels right, and is sensual without verging into purple prose. But Tolstoy is one of the greatest writers of all time. JKR wrote some very good books that a lot of people loved very much, but for her, the romances were accessories to the story. They weren't a focus. I'm certain she cared about Remus and Tonks's relationship, in the same way she cared about Ron and Hermione's relationship. Both take up too much space to explain otherwise.

TLDR: Writing romance is hard because it's really easy to fuck up, even if you care about it. I don't know that JKR put all that much thought into selling us on chemistry and interpersonal dynamics of the couples she threw together; I think she writes for plot, and the couples emerged as a part of that. That means the couples that don't necessarily make sense on paper lose out majorly because the audience doesn't know exactly what they're rooting for, and the couples that do make sense on paper lack a certain... I dunno, va-va-voom.