#A Paradoxical Theory of Change

[punkrockmixtapes]

Listen/purchase: This Fucking Year by MakeWar

[recordswithgooglyeyes]

MakeWar - “A Paradoxical Theory Of Change”

submitted by @francesco_moz

[zoetalksalot]

🕯️🕯️the timeless children thematic resonance🕯️🕯️

[aquarianlights]

How do you keep going when it looks like 99% of your country has joined a cult whose soul purpose is hatred of everything you & everyone you know & love are when all you're doing is existing just like everyone else?

[abbytism]

WISHBONE — a. anderson

SUMMARY: Everyone in town seems to catch Abby’s attention but you, and you can’t help but wonder why in a drunken haze. Little did you know Abby has to stop herself from taking you exactly how she wants you every time she sees you, but you’ll see soon enough.

GENERAL WARNINGS: no-outbreak!au, AFAB reader, smut (in part 2), drug use (marijuana), r! and a! are both faded in this, jealous! abby?, endless flirting, some angst, reader cries because of abby, abby babies reader, lots of fluff, a lot of ooey gooey feelings from both reader and abby, some alcohol consumption. I’m a florida girl who wrote this totally imagining countryside florida and cuntry ass! Abby. I love it. I won’t stop with Florida Cowgirl Abby now… i’m addicted… Lmk if I missed anything!

PAIRINGS: Abby Anderson x Afab!Reader

WC: 5.6k

A/N: Ahhhhh!!!! I had so much fun writing this, I randomly just couldn’t sleep for like 2 nights in a row and I’ve been wanting to actually sit down and write this for so long but I’ve had so much writers block lately :( But anyway! I’m back and better than ever. Please send me a bunch of requests for some characters you want to see me write for!! Anyway, enough ranting. Enjoy this, reblog, and like!! :) Leave any thoughts 🩶 Pt. 2 coming soon <3

There was a curse put on you.

Or at least that’s the theory you and your friends had convinced yourselves of, because you’d dreamt of her every night for the last four months without ever muttering a word to her. 

Abby Anderson was a paradox. 

She had moved to your quiet, quaint little town six months ago with a group of friends, and the second she arrived, she had two girls on each arm. She was worse than the men you had grown up around, persuading and enchanting the misses to go home with her in two seconds, with nothing but her Cheshire grin and an offer to make their night better than their man at the bar could. The countryside wasn’t exactly full of women-loving ladies, but that changed when Abby arrived. 

Her and her stupid braid and her stupid boots.

Her stupid, big arms that you had seen beat everybody at the bar in arm wrestling. That you had thought of late at night when you were alone. Her stupid, thick thighs that helped her keep her spot as the number one bull rider in your town, mechanical and real. Her stupid, yet perfect, smile seemed to make its way to every pretty girl in town but you. 

You were not jealous-

“You’re so fucking obsessed with her,” interrupted your best friend, Jesse. You had spent weeks trying to convince Jesse that you had not planted this lavender plant just because Abby told him that she had one of your fresh lemon-lavender muffins and loved it. But you both knew it was a lie. Out of instinct, you rolled your eyes and turned around from the beds of your Lavender garden to face him. “What do you want?” You huffed, smacking your gloved hands together to let the soil fall away to the ground. “Now, is that any way to treat your amazing best friend who managed to get you the best shot with the girl you’re not-so-secretly in love with?” Jesse scoffed, following behind you as you put your gloves up in your work shed and opened the back door of your house to the kitchen. 

You weren’t sure what was more annoying, the fact that Jesse was right, or the fact that your heartbeat had already started racing before he even told you what he did. “A shot?” you repeated, trying and failing to keep your voice level as you rinsed your hands in the kitchen sink. “With Abby?” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a smug smirk pulling at his mouth. “You’re catering the VFW fundraiser this Saturday, right?”

“Uhh.. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to this year?”

“She’ll be there. And I signed you up, so you have no choice.”

You turned to him, one brow raised. “Abby goes to VFW fundraisers now?”

“She happens to be volunteering. I signed her up.. she was talking about how she wants to ‘give back’ or whatever.” Jesse made air quotes. “So I figured why not. But giving back is just code for; she’ll be standing behind the beer table all night, flexing her arms and smiling like a goddamn wolf.” You cursed under your breath. Because yeah, of course she’d be there. Of course, she'd be charming old war vets and making every bisexual girl in town drop their drinks and their panties at the same time. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered to Jesse, wiping your hands on a towel. “And you’re gonna wear that blue sundress everyone likes,” he shot back without missing a beat. 

“I am not.”

“You are. You look hot in it.” He was already walking away. “I’ll see you Saturday, lover girl.”

*:·

You hadn’t seen Abby in person since that mechanical bull contest last month, the one where she’d beat the record and high-fived everyone except you, even though you’d made damn sure to stand in her line of sight the entire night. You told yourself it was a coincidence. That you were just thirsty, and the beer tent was in her direction. That you just happened to be wearing lipstick for the first time in weeks. But you saw it. The way her eyes had skimmed all the pairs of legs filling the room. The way her smirk faltered just slightly when seeing you, before she turned away. Like she wasn’t expecting you to look like that. Like she had to collect herself. You told yourself it meant she was out of your league.

You told yourself that again now, standing in the backroom of the VFW hall with a tray of cornbread in one hand and your heart clenching like a fist in your chest. Because Abby was here. And she was dressed like a real cowboy, not the ones you see in TV, wearing jeans slung low on her hips, boots scuffed, hair braided like always. And that same goddamn smile on her face– but this time, it was for you.

You didn’t see her right away.

Too many people, too much chili, and your hands were full, juggling trays and napkins and people trying to kiss your cheek and ask if you’d brought the peach cobbler this time. But she found you. Of course she did. You were in the back hall, crouched beside a cooler, trying to fish out a bottle of water without knocking over the stack of BBQ trays, when her voice found you like a spotlight. “You always work this hard, Angel?” You looked up and there she was. Abby Anderson, arms crossed, shirt sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Braid slung over her shoulder. Grin a little too smug for someone who just watched you almost faceplant into a bag of ice.

“I don’t do anything halfway,” you replied, trying not to sound winded. Or affected. Or like your brain short-circuited at the sight of her in that stupid tight shirt. Or at her harsh voice calling you an angel. “Yeah,” she said, her smile tilting. “I’ve noticed.” She offered you a hand. You stared at it for a beat, then took it. And maybe she pulled a little harder than necessary. Maybe you stumbled. Maybe your palm fit into hers in a way that made your pulse skip.

“I didn’t know you volunteered for stuff like this,” you said once you were both upright.

Abby shrugged, looking around the hall like it was a new world. “First time. Figured I'd give it a shot.” You quirked a brow. “Out of the goodness of your heart?” Her mouth twitched. “Something like that.” There was a beat, then she added, quieter, “My dad used to take me to these shelters. Animals mostly. We’d clean kennels, feed the strays. I hated it when I was ten. Thought it was gross.” She smiled to herself. “But he loved it. Thought it mattered.” You said nothing at first. Just watched her. Something shifted behind her eyes when she talked about him– soft, unguarded, like a part of her was still that kid with too-big gloves and a grudge against wet dog smell. “He still does it?” you asked gently. She hesitated. “No. He died a couple of years ago.” Your heart thudded. “I’m sorry,” you said. She shrugged again, but it didn’t have the bite it had before. “It’s alright. I think he’d like this. All the weird old men and canned beer and baked beans.” She glanced down at you. “You?”

You blinked. “What about me?”

“What brings you to the land of lukewarm hot dogs and raffle tickets?” You smiled quietly, sad. “My parents used to come every year. My mom was known for her cornbread. My dad thought he was a grill master.” 

“Was he?”

“Not,” you laughed. “But he loved it. They both did.” Abby’s expression shifted. “Are they…”

“Gone,” you said softly. “Car accident. A few years ago.” Silence. “I don’t know… I get you, though. It makes me feel like I’m doing something important.” You expect her to nod and move on. To say “sorry” the way people do when they want the conversation to end. But she doesn’t. She tells you more about her dad, Owen, and how he used to drag her to all kinds of things when she was little. How she hated it. How she pretended she hated the circus and festivals when in reality it was her favorite time of year, and how she pretended she didn’t cry when they left the old dogs behind.

“Now I volunteer ‘cause... I don’t know. Still makes me feel like I’m still doing something with him,” she says. Her voice is quieter now. A little rough. Your heart catches. “I didn’t know that,” you murmur. She shrugs. “You never asked.” That makes you flinch. Because you had, or tried to, in your quiet ways. You’d lingered near her at events, tried to catch her eye at the bar. You’d smiled once, and she hadn’t smiled back. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until she looked at you.

“What?” she asked, head tilting. You shook your head. “Nothing. Just… kind of funny, I guess,” you muttered, giggling. “What is?” You looked down at your hands. “I always thought you hated me.”

There it was. Out loud. The thing that had pressed like a bruise behind your ribs for months.

Abby’s expression changed instantly. Gone was the smirk. Gone was the teasing edge. She stepped in — not close, but closer. Enough to lower her voice. “I don’t hate you,” she said, and her tone made your throat tighten. “Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered. “You’ve talked to everyone else in this town but me.” “I was trying not to,” she said, almost like she couldn’t believe herself. “Because when I talk to you, it’s… different.” “Different how?” Her mouth parted. Closed. Opened again. “You make me forget how to be smooth,” she said. “And I didn’t know how to deal with that.” You stared at her. And suddenly it all made sense. The glances. The way she avoided you. Not indifference — fear. Not disinterested — nerves. You weren’t the only one who felt it. You never had been.

She looked like she wanted to say more, but someone called her name. Someone from the beer table, waving a clipboard. She sighed. “That’s my cue,” she said, stepping back. “And hey…” You looked up. “That peach cobbler’s gonna be hard to beat,” she said, mouth twitching. “But you just might be my favorite thing here.”

You froze.

She smiled, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway with your cheeks burning and your heart somewhere near the floor.

Later, you passed each other throughout the night like magnets that never quite touched. In the kitchen, her hand brushed your back as she reached for a crate of cups. You swore you felt it long after she walked away. She smiled at you during cleanup, towel over her shoulder, and you nearly dropped the tray in your hands. You brought her a piece of cake during a lull. She said thank you like it was sacred. You’d bonded. Somehow. Through grief and food, and that thing that always sat quiet and unsaid between you. By the time she found you alone in the kitchen, just you, the peach cobbler, and the hum of old country through the walls, it felt inevitable.

“Hey,” she said when you crossed the kitchen threshold.

It was soft. Curious. You froze mid-step. “Hey,” you managed. She stepped closer, eyes skimming over you. That dress suddenly felt like a terrible mistake and also the best idea you’d ever had. “You made the cobbler?” she asked, gesturing to the pan you were setting down. You nodded. “ And the chilli.” Abby’s smile widened. “You’re dangerous.” That made your breath hitch. You busied yourself with the foil. “You’ll live.” She hummed low in her throat, and god, even that sent heat straight down your spine. For a second, it was just the two of you in the narrow kitchen, the hum of country music floating from the hall, the muffled voices of townspeople laughing over beer and barbecue. Then Abby leaned a hip against the counter and tilted her head.

 “You don’t talk to me much,” she said. 

You blinked.

 “You don’t talk to me much.” She grinned. “Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move.” That did it. You looked up– fully, directly, heart in your throat. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. Abby shrugged, that cocky little smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You’re really pretty when you get all flustered. And you don't look at me like everyone else does.” You swallowed. “I don’t?”

“No,” she said, stepping closer. Her fingers brushed the edge of the table beside you. “You look at me like you see me. And you don’t run.”

You should’ve run. Right then. Out the kitchen door and down the gravel road and straight back to your garden.

Instead, you said, “You don’t scare me.”

And that made her smile for real, wide and bright and terrifying in its own right. “Good,” Abby said. “Because I’ve been trying to get your attention for months.” Her hand brushed yours, knuckles grazing like an accident. Like she was testing something. And maybe she was. Your breath caught, eyes locked on hers, something tight and burning coiled behind your ribs. “You have it,” you said, voice soft and certain. Abby’s smile faltered,  just a flicker. Like she wasn’t expecting you to say that. Like you had caught her off guard for once. She stepped in again, close enough to smell the cedar in her shampoo, the salt of her skin. You could see every freckle, every line, every notch of her jaw as it clenched and unclenched.

“I’m not good at this,” she murmured. “Slow shit. Talking shit.” You tilted your head. “You’re doing fine.” Her eyes darkened. Her voice dropped. “If I kissed you right now, would you stop me?” You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because her hand was already reaching up, slow, careful, and then hovering there, palm open beside your cheek, not quite touching. And right before you leaned into it, right before your lips would’ve met hers, warm and sure and all-consuming, the door swung open.

“Cobbler’s out?” someone shouted from the hall. You jolted back like you'd been electrocuted. Abby’s hand dropped to her side. The moment was shattered, suspended in the thick, charged air between you. 

“I’ll uh– I’ll take this out,” you mumbled, grabbing the tray. Abby didn’t say anything as you left the kitchen.

But you felt her eyes on you the whole way out.

The almost kiss wasn’t sudden. It was the echo of something already decided. It had already started hours before, with soft confessions and shared ghosts. With laughter in the hallway and your knees brushing under the drink table. With the way she looked at you like you weren’t just another girl at the bar. You weren’t. And she wasn’t just some crush.

Not anymore.

*:·

You don’t see her for the rest of the night.

Which, honestly, feels like a personal attack considering how hard it is to breathe after what just happened in that kitchen. You tell yourself you’re grateful for the space. For the break. For the time to cool down. But then you catch yourself standing on your tiptoes near the beer tent, pretending to grab an extra napkin just so you can see if she’s there. You pass the dessert table twice. You even circle the raffle booth, slow and casual, scanning the crowd for her braid, for her arms, for that crooked, cocksure smirk.

Nothing.

She's gone. Or she’s hiding. Or she’s just too busy. You’re trying not to overthink it, truly, when you catch Jesse near the old jukebox in the back, already nursing his third beer and chatting up a girl who graduated high school last summer. You cut in without apology.

“She almost kissed me,” you hiss. He chokes mid-sip. “Jesus. What?” You drag him away from the dancefloor, behind a row of folding chairs no one’s using. “In the kitchen. Right before that idiot from the aux hall came in looking for cobbler.”

Jesse blinks at you, stunned. Then his mouth splits into a slow, gleeful smile. “No fucking way.” You nod. “I’m serious. She said she’d been trying to get my attention. Said she liked how I looked at her.” He whistles low. “Damn. Okay. Big moves, Anderson.” You’re still buzzed with the tension of it, skin prickling from the almost of her hand. Jesse grabs your wrist and grins. “I told you the dress was a good idea.” You laugh despite yourself. Slap on his arm. He catches your hand in return and spins you in a ridiculous mock waltz, and you're both giggling by the end of it, flushed and tipsy and dizzy from everything.

You don’t know that Abby sees it. From across the tent, from behind the beer table she’s been stuck at for the last hour, handing out plastic cups and watching the girl in the blue dress laugh with someone else. You don’t know how her jaw clenches when your fingers stay on Jesse’s arm. How her eyes narrow like a warning shot.

She doesn’t know Jesse is your best friend. That he’s a brother. That he’s the reason she got to see you at all tonight.

She just sees red.

The rest of the night passed with slow agony. You search for her again once it gets late, but she’s nowhere. And by the time you help clean up, your feet aching and your brain spinning from what-could-have-beens, it hits you, she never came back.

*:·

The days drag.

At first, you think it’s a coincidence. Then you think maybe she’s busy. Then, by day four, you realize it’s avoidance. She doesn’t come into the co-op where you work on Tuesdays. Doesn’t ride by the stables on Thursday night like she usually does. You pass by the gym on purpose Friday morning, sunglasses on, pretending to check your phone, and nothing. No sign of her braid. No sign of her boots. And no text. Not that you expected one. But still. 

By the weekend, you’re restless. The buzz from the kitchen moment has curdled into something bitter. Something tight in your throat. So you get dressed. Something stupid and short and flirty. Jesse raises his brow when you meet him at the bar and says, “You’re spiraling, huh?” You are. Obviously. And it’s going okay, kind of. The bar’s crowded and the music’s loud, and you almost forget about her for a second. Until you glance toward the pool tables.

And you see her. She’s standing against the wall. Wearing the same fucking jeans and boots and expression that made you stupid in the first place. Only now, she’s got her arm wrapped around someone else’s waist. A girl. Blonde. Laughing at something Abby just whispered in her ear.

Your stomach drops. Abby leans in closer, hand skimming the hem of the girl's shirt, thumb slipping just beneath it. It feels like being slapped. You don’t remember leaving the bar. Just that the cool air outside stings your skin, and the walk home is slow and silent and awful. Jesse catches up to you on the porch, says your name three times before you look at him.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “You’re crying,” he says softly. “I said I’m fine.” You light a joint on the back steps. You don’t even offer him any. He stays until you tell him to go.

Three more days pass. You tell yourself you're over it. Over her. Then Ellie shows up at your door with that look on her face. “Abby’s a dick,” she says, pushing her way into your kitchen like she owns the place. “You want me to fight her?” You raise a brow. “What?”  

“I saw her. Saturday night. With that girl.” You exhale slowly. “It’s fine.” “No, it’s not. You cried.” “I was high.” Ellie crosses her arms. “You were heartbroken.” You glare. And then you laugh. Not a real one, something mean and dry. “She didn’t owe me anything.”

“Maybe not. But she wanted to. That’s what makes her an idiot.” You wave her off, already reaching for your lighter. Ellie sighs and disappears down the hallway. You’re halfway through your second joint when there’s a knock at the door. Not polite. Not soft. Someone is angry. You open it expecting Ellie again, maybe pissed that you locked her out. Maybe Jesse is coming to check on you. But it’s her. Abby Anderson. Leaning on the frame like she’s not shaking. Like she didn’t wreck you last weekend and disappear. You blink slowly. “Seriously?” you say. Abby looks like hell. Hair loose, dark circles, eyes bloodshot. Her voice is rough when she speaks. “I didn’t know he wasn’t your boyfriend.” You blink again. “What?”

Your stomach flips. You blow out the smoke slowly. Of course, it’s her. You don’t say anything. You just open the door slightly more. Abby stands there looking more unsure than you’ve ever seen her. Hair loose. Face tight. She shifts like she might leave. Then she looks past you, into your living room, and frowns. “You high?” 

You take another drag. “What do you want?”  “I didn’t know he wasn’t your boyfriend,” she blurts. You blink. You grab your lighter and hit your joint again as you watch her quizzically.  “At the fundraiser. Jesse. I saw you laughing with him. Thought– fuck.” She scrubs a hand down her face. “I thought you were into him.” 

“You ghosted me,” you say flatly.

She winces. “I know.”

“I waited days.”

“I know.”

“Then I saw you with that girl.”

Abby looks at you like it physically hurts. “I was pissed.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I didn’t know what to do!” she snaps. “I don’t do this…feelings. This shit. I’m not good at it.” You scoff. “So you made me think I imagined everything.” She’s quiet. You shake your head, stepping back inside. “You should go.” She follows anyway. “I came to say I’m sorry.”

“Too late.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” You blink at her. Abby steps closer. “Since the day I moved here. Since the first time you looked at me and didn’t flirt. Didn’t pretend.”

Your throat tightens. “You don’t get to say that now.” She’s in front of you. Her voice was low. “I’m saying it anyway.” You push past her, but she catches your wrist. You don’t shake her off. You should. “I hated seeing you with him,” she breathes. “It made me crazy. I didn’t know what to do with that.” Your heart is pounding. “And that night at the bar,” she says. “I didn’t even touch her. Not really. I just wanted to see if it would make you jealous.” You stare at her. “That’s fucked,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I was pissed. Jealous. I thought I’d fucked it all up before it even started.” You’re silent. Just watching her. Holding the door half-shut. Then she says it. “I haven’t seen you in days and it’s driving me fucking insane.” You let out a humorless laugh. “Poor you.”

“I thought about coming here a dozen times,” she says. “But I figured I blew it. Then Ellie found me.” You stiffen. “Ellie?” Abby nods, jaw clenched. “Cornered me outside the gym.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“She called me a coward,” Abby says quietly. You lift a brow. “She said I made you cry.” Your stomach drops. “I didn’t know. I swear. I thought you were just mad. That you hated me. That it was over.” She exhales, like it hurts to admit. “But when she said that, when I realized what I’d done, I couldn’t stay away.” You stare at her for a long moment. Then turn, walking back inside. You don’t invite her in. But she follows. Because, of course, she does. 

Ellie had found her that morning. Cornered her between the bench press racks, fury on her face and fire in her voice. “You are a fucking coward. Abby didn’t look up. Kept unwrapping the tape from her fists, slow and tight. “You broke her,” Ellie had said. “She cried. I watched her. I’ve known her for years, and I’ve never seen her look like that.” Abby had frozen. Ellie kept going. “You don’t get to play with people like that just because you don’t know what you want.”

“I wasn’t playing.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ellie spat. “All that tension, that pining bullshit.. then you ditch her and grope the first blonde with two legs?”

Abby had looked up, finally. “I didn’t fuck her.”

“Oh, congrats,” Ellie said, voice dripping with venom. “Medal’s in the mail.” That one stung. And when Ellie finally turned to walk out, she left one last blow. “She waited for you, Abby. She believed in you. Don’t show up again unless you mean it.”

Now she’s here. You’re sitting cross-legged on your couch, joint between your fingers, ashtray full. Abby hesitates by the door before she walks in slowly, like it might detonate. You offer the joint without speaking. She takes it. Inhales. Sits beside you like she’s afraid to touch anything. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. Finally, you say, “I thought you didn’t do feelings.” “I don’t,” she says. You glance at her. She looks ruined. “I don’t,” she repeats, voice low. “But I do you.” Your chest caves in a little. She passes the joint back. You take it, hands brushing. “You hurt me,” you say softly.

Abby nods. “I know.” 

“You didn’t even try to explain. Just vanished.”

“I panicked.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I know.”

You take another hit. Hold it. Let it burn. Then you ask the thing that’s been rotting you from the inside out, “Was it just flirting?”

“No.”

“Then why her?”

“I wanted to forget,” Abby says. “And I thought if I touched someone else, it’d dull it down. Make it easier.”

“Did it?” You smiled at her condescendingly, a hint of disgust written on your face. “No.” Her voice cracks. “It made it worse.” You stare at her. She’s not even looking at you–not really. Just on the carpet. The joint. Her hands. “I’ve never wanted something slow before,” she says. “Never wanted to earn someone. But you..” Abby turns, finally. Meets your eyes. And it’s like her whole face shatters as she looks back down at the floor in shame. “You make me want to try.” That breaks something in you. “Jesus fucking Christ, look at me, Abigail! You can’t even fucking look at me! And you think you can just show up after fucking with my brain like that? Did you know that I’ve liked you since the day we met? Did you?” You scowled at her. She shut her eyes and winced at your voice rising out of frustration. “I didn’t know that.” She mutters, grabbing your wrists and trying to get you to relax, and maybe even listen for once.

“But what I do know is that I can’t let go of you, fuck, I dream of you and every corner I turn there’s something or someone there to happily remind me of your existence. Do you know what it’s like to see the one girl you’ve had an interest in, touching a guy who looks at her like she hangs the sky with her existence? Do you even comprehend the beautiful and amazing woman you are? Do you comprehend that when I saw him there… touching you… I just lost it. I thought I lost it all before it even started, sweetheart.” She inches closer. You don’t stop her. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that night,” she says. 

“How close you were. How soft you looked. How bad I wanted to fuck it up because I knew it’d matter if I didn’t.”

“You still fucked it up,” you whisper.

“I know.”

The silence is so loud it buzzes. She presses her forehead to yours, gently and slowly. “Let me try again.” Your hand finds her jaw. And you kiss her. It’s smoke and apology and everything neither of you could say right. She kisses like she’s afraid you’ll vanish again. Like she’s trying to make up for every hour she wasn’t here. You climb into her lap. Her hands grip your thighs, your waist, your spine. It’s different now, not rushed, not wild. Still desperate, but quietly. You whisper against her mouth, “You made me feel like I didn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry,” she breathes. “You do. More than I know how to handle.”

“I cried.”

“I know,” she whispers, voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

You want to scream. You want to hit her. You want to kiss her until your mouth aches. Instead, you say, “You’re a fucking idiot.” She exhales. “I know.” And then you’re kissing her again. It’s rough and messy and everything you swore you wouldn’t do. Her mouth is warm and desperate. Her hands are everywhere. You back into the wall, teeth scraping, fingers in her hair. She groans into your mouth like she’s been starving. She lifts you without warning, and you wrap your legs around her, letting her carry you across the room, and slam you onto the couch. Her mouth trails down your neck, biting, bruising. “You don’t get to fuck this up,” you whisper. “I won’t,” she breathes. She pulls your shirt over your head. Her hands tremble. You don’t say anything. She kisses your collarbone. Your ribs. Whispers something about missing you so bad it ached. She kisses you again. Slower this time. Like she’s not running. Like, she finally gets it. Like, she finally wants to stay. And just before the rest of your clothes come off, before the night turns into everything you both tried to avoid, she murmurs, “I think I’m in love with you.” You freeze. And then, slowly, your mouth finds hers.

Not an answer. But not a no. Not even close.

Your legs are still bracketing her lap, your knees pressed to the outside of her thighs, but the weight of everything, the silence, the confession, her... has you trembling. Abby’s hands haven’t moved since she cupped your face, her thumbs now motionless just under your jaw, as if she’s afraid you’ll fall apart the second she lets go.

Maybe she’s not wrong. Because you are falling apart, tears slipping down your cheeks without asking permission, your breath catching, your body caught between heartbreak and want, grief and the dizzying, terrifying bloom of hope. You try to laugh, but it comes out watery and thin. “God,” you whisper, wiping under your eye. “I’m a mess.”

“No, you’re not,” she says immediately, firm, low. “You’re- fuck. You’re everything.”

And there it is again, that softness in her voice. That look in her eyes is like you’re made of something sacred. Like you are the thing worth protecting. You lean forward before you can think too hard about it, pressing your forehead against hers, breath mingling between you. Her braid brushes your arm where it falls over her shoulder, and you feel her chest rise beneath yours. You grab the braid, tugging softly at the hair tie before her hair fell out and slowly unravelled itself. 

Abby looks at you wholeheartedly, running her hair through her hands to make it sit better. You smile at her, “I love you with your hair down.” Abbys hums, almost as if in agreement, before wrapping pieces of your hair around her fingers.  “I don’t know how to say it right,” you whisper. “But I need you to know.” Abby blinks. “Know what?” You let your fingers trace down her jaw. “What you mean to me.” Her breath hitches. She doesn’t speak. So you show her instead. You kiss her. Not desperate, not rushed, but deep. Intentional. Like you want her to feel it in her lungs. Like it’s the only language you speak anymore. Her hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips like she’s anchoring herself. You can feel the tension coiled in her, the need just barely restrained. But she’s waiting. For you. You pull back, just enough to look at her. To memorize her face, how wide her eyes are, how vulnerable she looks, mouth parted, skin warm beneath your fingertips.

“I want to give you everything,” you murmur, brushing your fingers along the hem of her shirt. Her throat bobs. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupt softly. “If you’ll let me.” 

There’s a pause. Just long enough for the moment to stretch tight, breathless between you. Then, finally, Abby nods. You tug her shirt over her head, slow, careful, and your fingers follow the path of the fabric as it lifts away. You let your palms map the stretch of her shoulders, the strong slope of her arms, the curve of her waist where muscle meets softness. She’s flushed. Breath heavy. But still watching you, eyes burning like they’re memorizing every second. “God, you’re beautiful,” you whisper, and you mean it like a prayer. You lean in and kiss her collarbone, the edge of her jaw, the scar on her shoulder that you hadn’t noticed until now. Your hands cup her face, smooth back her long hair, touch her like you’re trying to say I see you. I want all of you. And Abby, who never lets anyone touch her first, who never sits still for this long, closes her eyes and lets you.

You undress her slowly– your fingers reverent, your mouth never far from her skin. There’s no rush. No frantic pulling. Just quiet gasps, lingering kisses, the kind of touches that feel like worship. And when you finally press your forehead to hers again, bare and tangled and aching with something far too big for words, you whisper, “I don’t want to take anything from you. I just want to give.” Abby exhales like she’s breaking.

“I want you to take, baby. I want you to take whatever you want or need from me. I want to give you everything, too. Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” Abby presses gentle kisses onto your shoulders and collarbone as you keep your hands fixated on her neck and face. 

“I want you, Abs. I’ve always wanted you.” 

A/N: ahhhhh i hope you guys enjoyed this first part!! please like, leave future story suggestions, comment, reblog!! and follow if you’d like :) sorry if some of it has typos, i proofread but not the best…. anyway the second part with all the goodies should be out VERY SOON! if you want to be tagged, comment and i’ll add you to the tag list for this fic! 🫶

[avelera]

Going along. with my theory that, "Both Jayce AND Viktor think the other guy is out of their league, which is why they never officially dated." I think one of the misunderstandings that keep them from hooking up sooner stems from how we, the audience, and Jayce see his first encounter with Viktor.

We, the audience, and Jayce see a sequence of events where Jayce met Viktor at his absolute lowest moment. His life's work just literally blew up in his face. Then, when he tries to pitch it to Heimerdinger he's immediately shut down, his future hopes are dashed by his expulsion from the Academy AFTER Mel goads him into talking about magic which turns the rest of the Council against him, his patron (Cassandra Kiramman) abandons him, and his mother calls him mentally unwell in front of everyone in the Council chamber and disavows what she's seen with her own eyes about the magic that has inspired him ever since.

Jayce has lost everything and is ready to end his own life in response because he sees no hope for himself, no purpose in living.

From that perspective, Viktor extending a hand, saying he believes in Jayce's work enough to dedicate his life to working alongside him, is a literal godsend. This senior classmate who is smart enough to earn a spot as the Dean's assistant throws all of that away just to give Jayce at his lowest moment his vote of confidence?

I don't think it's an understatement to say that Viktor saved Jayce's life and from that moment, the moment Viktor gives Jayce back the gem bracelet which was a symbol of Jayce's life and life's work, he is literally giving Jayce back his life and Jayce is determined to dedicate that life to saving Viktor's and making him proud with Hextech. He starts with Viktor on such a high pedestal above him as a result.

Ok, so that's all pretty obvious from the show itself. But what about Viktor's perspective?

From Viktor's perspective, Jayce saved his life, or rather, his career and all his ambitions for this world. When we meet him, Viktor had traveled as high as he can as a poor kid from the undercity, with all his disadvantages, using his own ability. He's assistant to the most powerful man (yordle) in the city on just his smarts alone. But now his life is stagnant.

His ambition was to discover a scientific innovation that would change the world and, possibly, cure himself. And here he meets this scientist, who is younger than him who through an independent study, on his own, has created the miracle which will actually transform this age. And he did it without going through the system (yes he had the Kiramman patronage but he was not telling them what he was working on), without telling anyone what he was working on, without the blessing or assistance of Heimerdinger.

Not only that, but this man is willing to stand up to the most powerful people in the city and say his research was groundbreaking. Then, when everything is stripped away from him, he's prepared to die for his convictions rather than live in a world where he can't advance his research.

I can only imagine this was incredibly humbling for Viktor, to see someone else coming up with the world's most life-changing technology while he was fussing around being an assistant. He takes the leap immediately from, again, working for the most powerful man (yordle) in the city to throwing his entire lot, his career, everything he's earned up to that point, in an all-out gamble to support the invention of Jayce's mind.

And then Jayce is generous enough to let Viktor come on board with him. To call Viktor his partner, even though he wasn't the originator of the idea (and oh BOY is that gonna become a time paradox in and of itself later, did Viktor technically originate the idea when he inspired Jayce with that stone? Where does it actually begin??). Viktor might be an assistant again, but at least he's an assistant to the most important and revolutionary work of this age.

But he doesn't see Jayce's rejection by Heimerdinger in the prison cell, or know what the strategy to survive the trial was supposed to be without the fuck-up of falling for Mel's goading, or his subsequent rejection by Cassandra Kiramman outside the gates, or his mother's rejection of the magical event they saw with their own eyes. He doesn't see Jayce's lowest moments, only the two ideological stands he took both in defending his work to the Council and being willing to die when it's taken from him.

Basically, Viktor could very well see himself as second-fiddle to Jayce in accomplishment alone, then throw in everything Jayce has just naturally, like his looks and his background, and you begin to piece together why both of them might have thought the other was out of his league, and why Viktor fought so hard to create innovations to match Jayce's, or seen himself as flawed and a work in progress until he had such independent accomplishments, and why he would hesitate to confess his feelings to Jayce until he felt he had something to offer in return, not realizing he had already given Jayce the world and literally given Jayce back his life.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Why they're smearing Lina Khan

My god, they sure hate Lina Khan. This once-in-a-generation, groundbreaking, brilliant legal scholar and fighter for the public interest, the slayer of Reaganomics, has attracted more vitriol, mockery, and dismissal than any of her predecessors in living memory.

She sure must be doing something right, huh?

A quick refresher. In 2017, Khan — then a law student — published Amazon’s Antitrust Paradox in the Yale Law Journal. It was a brilliant, blistering analysis showing how the Reagan-era theory of antitrust (which celebrates monopolies as “efficient”) had failed on its own terms, using Amazon as Exhibit A of the ways in which post-Reagan antitrust had left Americans vulnerable to corporate abuse:

https://www.yalelawjournal.org/note/amazons-antitrust-paradox

The paper sent seismic shocks through both legal and economic circles, and goosed the neo-Brandeisian movement (sneeringly dismissed as “hipster antitrust”). This movement is a rebuke to Reaganomics, with its celebration of monopolies, trickle-down, offshoring, corporate dark money, revolving-door regulatory capture, and companies that are simultaneously too big to fail and too big to jail.

This movement has many proponents, of course — not just Khan — but Khan’s careful scholarship, combined with her encyclopedic knowledge of the long-dormant statutory powers that federal agencies had to make change, and a strategy for reviving those powers to protect Americans from corporate predators made her a powerful, inspirational figure.

When Joe Biden won the 2020 presidential election, he surprised everyone by appointing Khan to the FTC. It wasn’t just that she had such a radical vision — it was also that she lacked the usual corporate law experience that such an appointee would normally require (experience that would ensure that the FTC was helmed by people whose default view of the world is that it should be structured and regulated by powerful, wealthy people in corporate boardrooms).

Even more surprising was that Khan was made chair of the FTC, something that was only possible because a few Republican Senators broke with their party to support her candidacy:

https://www.senate.gov/legislative/LIS/roll_call_votes/vote1171/vote_117_1_00233.htm

These Republicans saw in Khan an ally in their fight against “woke” Big Tech. For these senators, the problem wasn’t that tech had got too big and powerful — it was that there were a few limited instances in which tech leaders failed to wield that power in the ways they preferred.

The Republican project is a matter of getting turkeys to vote for Christmas by doing a lot of culture war bullshit, cruelly abusing disfavored sexual and racial minorities. This wins support from low-information voters who’ll vote against their class interests and support more monopolies, more tax cuts for the rich, and more cuts to the services they rely on.

But while tech leaders are 100% committed to the project of permanent oligarchic takeover of every sphere of American life, they are less full-throated in their support for hateful, cruel discrimination against disfavored minorities (in this regard, tech leaders resemble the corporate wing of the Democrats, which is where we get the “Silicon Valley is a Democratic Party stronghold” narrative).

This failure to unquestioningly and unstintingly back culture war bullshit put tech leaders in the GOP’s crosshairs. Some GOP politicians actually believe in the culture war bullshit, and are grossly offended that tech is “woke.” Others are smart enough not to get high on their own supply, but worry that any tech obstruction in the bullshit culture wars will make it harder to get sufficient turkey votes for a big fat Christmas surprise.

Biden’s ceding of antitrust policy to the left wing of the party, combined with disaffected GOP senators viewing Khan as their enemy’s enemy, led to Khan’s historic appointment as FTC Chair. In that position, she was joined by a slate of Biden trustbusters, including Jonathan Kanter at the DoJ Antitrust Division, Tim Wu at the White House, and other important, skilled and principled fighters like Alvaro Bedoya (FTC), Rebecca Slaughter (FTC), Rohit Chopra (CFPB), and many others.

Crucially, these new appointees weren’t just principled, they were good at their jobs. In 2021, Tim Wu wrote an executive order for Biden that laid out 72 concrete ways in which the administration could act — with no further Congressional authorization — to blunt corporate power and insulate the American people from oligarchs’ abusive and extractive practices:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/13/post-bork-era/#manne-down

Since then, the antitrust arm of the Biden administration have been fuckin’ ninjas, Getting Shit Done in ways large and small, working — for the first time since Reagan — to protect Americans from predatory businesses:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

This is in marked contrast to the corporate Dems’ champions in the administration. People like Pete Buttigieg are heralded as competent technocrats, “realists” who are too principled to peddle hopium to the base, writing checks they can’t cash. All this is cover for a King Log performance, in which Buttigieg’s far-reaching regulatory authority sits unused on a shelf while a million Americans are stranded over Christmas and whole towns are endangered by greedy, reckless rail barons straight out of the Gilded Age:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

The contrast between the Biden trustbusters and their counterparts from the corporate wing is stark. While the corporate wing insists that every pitch is outside of the zone, Khan and her allies are swinging for the stands. They’re trying to make life better for you and me, by declaring commercial surveillance to be an unfair business practice and thus illegal:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/12/regulatory-uncapture/#conscious-uncoupling

And by declaring noncompete “agreements” that shackle good workers to shitty jobs to be illegal:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#neofeudal

And naturally, this has really pissed off all the right people: America’s billionaires and their cheerleaders in the press, government, and the hive of scum and villainy that is the Big Law/thinktank industrial-complex.

Take the WSJ: since Khan took office, they have published 67 vicious editorials attacking her and her policies. Khan is living rent-free in Rupert Murdoch’s head. Not only that, he’s given her the presidential suite! You love to see it.

These attacks are worth reading, if only to see how flimsy and frivolous they are. One major subgenre is that Khan shouldn’t be bringing any action against Amazon, because her groundbreaking scholarship about the company means she has a conflict of interest. Holy moly is this a stupid thing to say. The idea that the chair of an expert agency should recuse herself because she is an expert is what the physicists call not even wrong.

But these attacks are even more laughable due to who they’re coming from: people who have the most outrageous conflicts of interest imaginable, and who were conspicuously silent for years as the FTC’s revolving door admitted the a bestiary of swamp-creatures so conflicted it’s a wonder they managed to dress themselves in the morning.

Writing in The American Prospect, David Dayen runs the numbers:

Since the late 1990s, 31 out of 41 top FTC officials worked directly for a company that has business before the agency, with 26 of them related to the technology industry.

https://prospect.org/economy/2023-06-23-attacks-lina-khans-ethics-reveal-projection/

Take Christine Wilson, a GOP-appointed FTC Commissioner who quit the agency in a huff because Khan wanted to do things for the American people, and not their self-appointed oligarchic princelings. Wilson wrote an angry break-up letter to Khan that the WSJ published, presaging their concierge service for Samuel Alito:

https://www.wsj.com/articles/why-im-resigning-from-the-ftc-commissioner-ftc-lina-khan-regulation-rule-violation-antitrust-339f115d

For Wilson to question Khan’s ethics took galactic-scale chutzpah. Wilson, after all, is a commissioner who took cash money from Bristol-Myers Squibb, then voted to approve their merger with Celgene:

https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/4365601-Wilson-Christine-Smith-final278.html

Or take Wilson’s GOP FTC predecessor Josh Wright, whose incestuous relationship with the companies he oversaw at the Commission are so intimate he’s practically got a Habsburg jaw. Wright went from Google to the US government and back again four times. He also lobbied the FTC on behalf of Qualcomm (a major donor to Wright’s employer, George Mason’s Antonin Scalia Law School) after working “personally and substantially” while serving at the FTC.

George Mason’s Scalia center practically owns the revolving door, counting fourteen FTC officials among its affliates:

https://campaignforaccountability.org/ttp-investigation-big-techs-backdoor-to-the-ftc/

Since the 1990s, 31 out of 41 top FTC officials — both GOP appointed and appointees backed by corporate Dems — “worked directly for a company that has business before the agency”:

https://www.citizen.org/article/ftc-big-tech-revolving-door-problem-report/

The majority of FTC and DoJ antitrust lawyers who served between 2014–21 left government service and went straight to work for a Big Law firm, serving the companies they’d regulated just a few months before:

https://therevolvingdoorproject.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/06/The-Revolving-Door-In-Federal-Antitrust-Enforcement.pdf

Take Deborah Feinstein, formerly the head of the FTC’s Bureau of Competition, now a partner at Arnold & Porter, where she’s represented General Electric, NBCUniversal, Unilever, and Pepsi and a whole medicine chest’s worth of pharma giants before her former subordinates at the FTC. Michael Moiseyev who was assistant manager of FTC Competition is now in charge of mergers at Weil Gotshal & Manges, working for Microsoft, Meta, and Eli Lilly.

There’s a whole bunch more, but Dayen reserves special notice for Andrew Smith, Trump’s FTC Consumer Protection boss. Before he was put on the public payroll, Smith represented 120 clients that had business before the Commission, including “nearly every major bank in America, drug industry lobbyist PhRMA, Uber, Equifax, Amazon, Facebook, Verizon, and a variety of payday lenders”:

https://www.citizen.org/sites/default/files/andrew_smith_foia_appeal_response_11_30.pdf

Before Khan, in other words, the FTC was a “conflict-of-interest assembly line, moving through corporate lawyers and industry hangers-on without resistance for decades.”

Khan is the first FTC head with no conflicts. This leaves her opponents in the sweaty, desperate position of inventing conflicts out of thin air.

For these corporate lickspittles, Khan’s “conflict” is that she has a point of view. Specifically, she thinks that the FTC should do its job.

This makes grifters like Jim Jordan furious. Yesterday, Jordan grilled Khan in a hearing where he accused her of violating an ethics official’s advice that she should recuse herself from Big Tech cases. This is a talking point that was created and promoted by Bloomberg:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2023-06-16/ftc-rejected-ethics-advice-for-khan-recusal-on-meta-case

That ethics official, Lorielle Pankey, did not, in fact, make this recommendation. It’s simply untrue (she did say that Khan presiding over cases that she has made public statements about could be used as ammo against her, but did not say that it violated any ethical standard).

But there’s more to this story. Pankey herself has a gigantic conflict of interest in this case, including a stock portfolio with $15,001 and $50,000 in Meta stock (Meta is another company that has whined in print and in its briefs that it is a poor defenseless lamb being picked on by big, mean ole Lina Khan):

https://www.wsj.com/articles/ethics-official-owned-meta-stock-while-recommending-ftc-chair-recuse-herself-from-meta-case-8582a83b

Jordan called his hearing on the back of this fake scandal, and then proceeded to show his whole damned ass, even as his GOP colleagues got into a substantive and even informative dialog with Khan:

https://prospect.org/power/2023-07-14-jim-jordan-misfires-attacks-lina-khan/

Mostly what came out of that hearing was news about how Khan is doing her job, working on behalf of the American people. For example, she confirmed that she’s investigating OpenAI for nonconsensually harvesting a mountain of Americans’ personal information:

https://www.ft.com/content/8ce04d67-069b-4c9d-91bf-11649f5adc74

Other Republicans, including confirmed swamp creatures like Matt Gaetz, ended up agreeing with Khan that Amazon Ring is a privacy dumpster-fire. Nobodies like Rep TomM assie gave Khan an opening to discuss how her agency is protecting mom-and-pop grocers from giant, price-gouging, greedflation-drunk national chains. Jeff Van Drew gave her a chance to talk about the FTC’s war on robocalls. Lance Gooden let her talk about her fight against horse doping.

But Khan’s opponents did manage to repeat a lot of the smears against her, and not just the bogus conflict-of-interest story. They also accused her of being 0–4 in her actions to block mergers, ignoring the huge number of mergers that have been called off or not initiated because M&A professionals now understand they can no longer expect these mergers to be waved through. Indeed, just last night I spoke with a friend who owns a medium-sized tech company that Meta tried to buy out, only to withdraw from the deal because their lawyers told them it would get challenged at the FTC, with an uncertain outcome.

These talking points got picked up by people commenting on Judge Jacqueline Scott Corley’s ruling against the FTC in the Microsoft-Activision merger. The FTC was seeking an injunction against the merger, and Corley turned them down flat. The ruling was objectively very bad. Start with the fact that Corley’s son is a Microsoft employee who stands reap massive gains in his stock options if the merger goes through.

But beyond this (real, non-imaginary, not manufactured conflict of interest), Corley’s judgment and her remarks in court were inexcusably bad, as Matt Stoller writes:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/judge-rules-for-microsoft-mergers

In her ruling, Corley explained that she didn’t think Microsoft would abuse the market dominance they’d gain by merging their giant videogame platform and studio with one of its largest competitors. Why not? Because Microsoft’s execs pinky-swore that they wouldn’t abuse that power.

Corely’s deference to Microsoft’s corporate priorities goes deeper than trusting its execs, though. In denying the FTC’s motion, she stated that it would be unfair to put the merger on hold in order to have a full investigation into its competition implications because Microsoft and Activision had set a deadline of July 18 to conclude things, and Microsoft would have to pay a penalty if that deadline passed.

This is surreal: a judge ruled that a corporation’s radical, massive merger shouldn’t be subject to full investigation because that corporation itself set an arbitrary deadline to conclude the deal before such an investigation could be concluded. That’s pretty convenient for future mega-mergers — just set a short deadline and Judge Corely will tell regulators that the merger can’t be investigated because the deadline is looming.

And this is all about the future. As Stoller writes, Microsoft isn’t exactly subtle about why it wants this merger. Its own execs said that the reason they were spending “dump trucks” of money buying games studios was to “spend Sony out of business.”

Now, maybe you hate Sony. Maybe you hate Activision. There’s plenty of good reason to hate both — they’re run by creeps who do shitty things to gamers and to their employees. But if you think that Microsoft will be better once it eliminates its competition, then you have the attention span of a goldfish on Adderall.

Microsoft made exactly the same promises it made on Activision when it bought out another games studio, Zenimax — and it broke every one of those promises.

Microsoft has a long, long, long history of being a brutal, abusive monopolist. It is a convicted monopolist. And its bad conduct didn’t end with the browser wars. You remember how the lockdown turned all our homes into rent-free branch offices for our employers? Microsoft seized on that moment to offer our bosses keystroke-and-click level surveillance of our use of our own computers in our own homes, via its Office365 bossware product:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/25/the-peoples-amazon/#clippys-revenge

If you think a company that gave your boss a tool to spy on their employees and rank them by “productivity” as a prelude to firing them or cutting their pay is going to treat gamers or game makers well once they have “spent the competition out of business,” you’re a credulous sucker and you are gonna be so disappointed.

The enshittification play is obvious: use investor cash to make things temporarily nice for customers and suppliers, lock both of them in — in this case, it’s with a subscription-based service similar to Netflix’s — and then claw all that value back until all that’s left is a big pile of shit.

The Microsoft case is about the future. Judge Corely doesn’t take the future seriously: as she said during the trial, “All of this is for a shooter videogame.” The reason Corely greenlit this merger isn’t because it won’t be harmful — it’s because she doesn’t think those harms matter.

But it does, and not just because games are an art form that generate billions of dollars, employ a vast workforce, and bring pleasure to millions. It also matters because this is yet another one of the Reaganomic precedents that tacitly endorses monopolies as efficient forces for good. As Stoller writes, Corley’s ruling means that “deal bankers are sharpening pencils and saying ‘Great, the government lost! We can get mergers through everywhere else.’ Basically, if you like your high medical prices, you should be cheering on Microsoft’s win today.”

Ronald Reagan’s antitrust has colonized our brains so thoroughly that commentators were surprised when, immediately after the ruling, the FTC filed an appeal. Don’t they know they’ve lost? the commentators said:

https://gizmodo.com/ftc-files-appeal-of-microsoft-activision-deal-ruling-1850640159

They echoed the smug words of insufferable Activision boss Mike Ybarra: “Your tax dollars at work.”

https://twitter.com/Qwik/status/1679277251337277440

But of course Khan is appealing. The only reason that’s surprising is that Khan is working for us, the American people, not the giant corporations the FTC is supposed to be defending us from. Sure, I get that this is a major change! But she needs our backing, not our cheap cynicism.

The business lobby and their pathetic Renfields have hoarded all the nice things and they don’t want us to have any. Khan and her trustbuster colleagues want the opposite. There is no measure so small that the corporate world won’t have a conniption over it. Take click to cancel, the FTC’s perfectly reasonable proposal that if you sign up for a recurring payment subscription with a single click, you should be able to cancel it with a single click.

The tooth-gnashing and garment-rending and scenery-chewing over this is wild. America’s biggest companies have wheeled out their biggest guns, claiming that if they make it too easy to unsubscribe, they will lose money. In other words, they are currently making money not because people want their products, but because it’s too hard to stop paying for them!

https://www.theregister.com/2023/07/12/ftc_cancel_subscriptions/

We shouldn’t have to tolerate this sleaze. And if we back Khan and her team, they’ll protect us from these scams. Don’t let them convince you to give up hope. This is the start of the fight, not the end. We’re trying to reverse 40 years’ worth of Reagonmics here. It won’t happen overnight. There will be setbacks. But keep your eyes on the prize — this is the most exciting moment for countering corporate power and giving it back to the people in my lifetime. We owe it to ourselves, our kids and our planet to fight one.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/14/making-good-trouble/#the-peoples-champion

[Image ID: A line drawing of pilgrims ducking a witch tied to a ducking stool. The pilgrims' clothes have been emblazoned with the logos for the WSJ, Microsoft, Activision and Blizzard. The witch's face has been replaced with that of FTC chair Lina M Khan.]

[artbyblastweave]

Here's one change made by Watchmen (2009) that's basically a microcosm of everything I dislike about the film. After the reveal that Comedian was Laurie's father, Manhattan espouses the idea that in spite of his search for thermodynamic miracles in contexts devoid of life, his detachment from humanity blinded him to the chain of remarkable circumstances necessary for Laurie to exist; he returns to save earth because Earth produced Laurie, specifically, his ex-girlfriend and superheroine extraordinare.

In the comic, Laurie points out that the unlikelyhood of her own specificity isn't actually less unlikely than the circumstances by which billions of other people came to exist- and that, exactly, is Manhattan's point. He expressly extrapolates this logic to the rest of humanity- Earth is a miracle factory by virtue of being the one place that can support humans, all of whom have the exact same kind of contradictory history and interiority as Laurie, all of which he was paradoxically blinded to due to his power-induced self-absorption.

This, in turn, ties into one of the biggest ideas that the comic has regarding the superhero genre, which is that it's necessarily myopic, because it's very difficult to tell a superhero story that doesn't on some level implicitly buy into the idea that the superhero specifically is uniquely worthy of attention- the world contorts itself around the person who's name is on the cover. Structurally, non-superhero characters in superhero stories find themselves in an orbit; supporting cast members, love interests kept in the dark, civilians to be saved. Cape stories that deliberately defy this dynamic exist- Watchmen itself is one of them!- but are visibly positioning themselves opposite the standard assumptions of the genre by doing so. Many of the other characters embody this myopia. Rorschach's whole opening spiel is about how intellectually and morally elevated he is over the teeming masses, and his mask killer theory is fundamentally motivated by an ego-flattering desire for the neutered institution of costumed heroism to be relevant enough to sit at the center of a widespread conspiracy. Comedian's gleeful amorality is a means of justifying his horrible actions as the work of a man who's fundamentally above and smarter than every convention and concern of the little people. Dan is the most "normal" and in ways the most cynical about the change-making potential of heroism, but when he finds out about Hollis's murder it takes less than a second for him to start throwing his weight around and threatening Comedian-tier atrocities against the entire neighborhood- because Hollis was one of the characters who mattered. And, of course, Ozymandias, who positions himself as above the sophomoric dynamics of traditional superheroism, is nonetheless still pursuing a plan by which he, the Big Man Of History, unilaterally sacrifices countless nameless NPCS in order to trick the rest of the unthinking hordes into behaving themselves, eschewing anything remotely involving collective action. Almost everything untoward that happens in the book can be directly tied to a failure to internalize what Manhattan did- that other people are important. That everyone who gets blown up at the end of issue 11 could have been the subject of a whole comic book themselves.

But in the movie- which, for space, axed most of the supporting cast even in the ultimate cut- Jon's epiphany stops and starts with Laurie. She's not a microcosm of the miraculous phenomena of humanity at large, no, she specifically- a badass superheroine played by a Hollywood starlet- is just so very special and worth saving the planet over. The scene is adapted almost word for word, right up until the part about "you and everyone else." I guess you can infer that bit, given that from there Manhattan is still out to preserve human life in general, but nonetheless the scene now feels like it's reinforcing the exact logic that it was supposed to be arguing against- that only superheroes matter, and that only the interiority of superheroes can move the needle.

[scliffe]

I know how the current relationship between r!Ciel and o!Ciel looks like, but here is a sentimental theory on our little twins’ relationship:

They used to be inseparable, two peas in a pod, and our Ciel seems to be the more sensitive one compared to his older brother, but if you look closely, r!Ciel was the one more deeply attached to his younger twin.

Now, from our point of view, this older twin rises up from the dead in such a disconcerting manner; leaving piles of dead bodies sacrificed for his resurrection. Since he was supposed to be the sacrificial lamb required to summon the demon, it becomes a question of whether r!Ciel even still has a soul, or if he has become something else entirely. This “soulless” brother killed Agni then proceed to frame o!Ciel for his crimes and ousted his twin brother and the servants from the manor.

But what was it like from r!Ciel’s point of view? After being cruelly murdered on the altar, his body was butchered to retrieve the Phantomhive ring from his stomach. His younger brother was consorting with the very same demon who ate his soul. Not only does o!Ciel not seem to resent Sebastian at all, he trusts and relies on the demon, treating him like a most trusted confidant, the only person o!Ciel allows to carry and touch him in such a familiar manner. From all manners of appearance, it seems almost like his younger twin has been coveting his position from the start, using the chance given through his demise to usurp his rank, steal his name, his position as the heir, and even his fiancé.

From our Ciel’s point of view, Sebastian is merely a demon summoned by the people who killed his brother: he does not begrudge Sebastian for being what he is. He negotiates a fair contract with terms of service clearly defined and a promise for the payment to be delivered at the end. Our Ciel cannot trust other people, but he can trust the contract; thus making Sebastian the only person worthy of his trust, the only one who can’t abandon him, can’t betray him, and will definitely stay by his side until the very end. From r!Ciel’s point of view, this is the demon who consumed his soul and stole his younger brother. After all, before Sebastian was there, they used to be each other’s closest confidante.

His little brother has changed so much, and he seems to be living happily as the Earl of Phantomhive with this filthy demon by his side tending to him, catering to him, touching him so familiarly with the same hands which ripped Ciel’s stomach apart to dig for that ring; the ring that was supposed to be their promise to return home together. His little brother left him behind on that altar and told the demon to reduce everything to ashes. He couldn’t even be bothered to give him a proper burial. He acted like he never had a twin brother in the first place: nobody aside from their closest family friends and relatives even knows that the Earl of Phantomhive had been born with a brother.

While he was left for dead, forced to become an undead abomination prolonging his miserable existence by stealing the life and blood of other people, his twin took his place and denied him of his existence. It was the pain of betrayal like no other, from his most trusted and beloved brother.

But therein lies the paradox: who was it that our Ciel truly buried, with no sentimental feelings left, given that he took the name of his brother?

We don’t even know the birth name of our Ciel. Rather than Ciel Phantomhive has disappeared, it was more like his brother has disappeared. Almost without a single trace.

Why did the little brother choose to take his older brother’s name? The readers know that it was not only for the inheritance; but this is because we read what was going on in his head. The real Ciel does not necessarily know the reason why his brother chose to take his identity; and by saying that he does not intend to pursue it, he likely does not dare to hear the reason why.

Our Ciel was haunted with the guilt of being the only one who survived. The spare should have died in the place of the heir, not the other way around. Even when making the deal with Sebastian, he constantly thought of ‘what would Ciel do?’—but Ciel is gone, and he’s the only one left. No matter how difficult and insurmountable it seems, he had to live in the place of his twin, acting like it was Ciel Phantomhive who had survived.

So he has killed himself and removed all traces of his existence; all for the sake of revenge—in order to let Ciel Phantomhive rise from the ashes and restore honor to the name of the Earl of Phantomhive. There is no use for the spare, there is only place for Earl Ciel Phantomhive. The only remnant left of the person who used to be Ciel Phantomhive’s spare was the toy company. It was a silly childhood dream, and our Ciel has accomplished it true to his words… in the place of his brother.

The toy company was perhaps the last remnant of his selfish desire; the wish that if his brother had been the one to survive, he would fulfill the childish dream of his dead younger brother. If the real Ciel was truly the one who survived that night, maybe he would also think to remember his little brother this way. Even if the spare was to disappear without a trace, with his soul gone into the bowels of the demon, surely his older brother will commemorate him so, letting him leave their mark in the world; symbolized by the rabbits that were their tenth birthday present.

It’s just such a shame that the spare was not the one who died and the dead does not remain dead, so both were left hurting each other; each thinking the other wants him to be gone, leaving their brotherly affections broken beyond repair.

[1000rh]

In the twentieth century, few would have ever defined a truck driver as a ‘cognitive worker’, an intellectual. In the early twenty-first, however, the application of artificial intelligence (AI) in self-driving vehicles, among other artefacts, has changed the perception of manual skills such as driving, revealing how the most valuable component of work in general has never been just manual, but has always been cognitive and cooperative as well. Thanks to AI research – we must acknowledge it – truck drivers have reached the pantheon of intelligentsia. It is a paradox – a bitter political revelation – that the most zealous development of automation has shown how much ‘intelligence’ is expressed by activities and jobs that are usually deemed manual and unskilled, an aspect that has often been neglected by labour organisation as much as critical theory.

�� Matteo Pasquinelli, The Eye of the Master: A Social History of Artificial Intelligence (2023)

[softringing]

The thing that's so off putting about Sampo is that he's willing to go really far to make others happy, even at the cost of becoming a punching bag. But at the same time, he's been warning us about himself purposely, masked fools and the dangers of becoming too selfish when it comes to elation.

It's obvious he wouldnt harm ordinary people in a serious way but at the same time, we don't know if he's actual hiding evil intentions.

Remember that sampo has dead snake imagery in his design, and usually, snake imagery isn't used on moral characters, it's used on evil, morally grey or manipulative characters.

It's telling you not to trust people who hide things easily behind a disguise but at the same time, Sampo has a "line he won't cross".

He's so paradoxical that it's actually hard to tell what his motive is. I feel like he might have split personalities because of his mask's influence or just him as a very odd and mysterious character.

I went though the trashcan lore (I feel stupid) BC in his event, after you sell items it gives you these random texts and one of them has "Diagonese's Utopia" achievement that you get from searching belebogian trashcans.

I posted this on twitter and my theory revolved around the fact that Sampo's mentality may not be the same as a normal human's.

I always felt that his odd behaviour of acting like a "fool" was genuis. Because the best way to fool someone is to make them believe that YOU ARE the fool. They won't doubt you because in their eyes you're less intelligent or less complex than them.

But when I dug deeper, I realised that Sampo actually ENJOYS being hated. This is where my search through the Belebog trashcans apply.

(some of these are out of order sorry 😔)

I initially thought Sampo was Tatalov, the Garbage King because of Sparkle's portrayal of him in the dream bubble. And as you can see in the above images where there's a story of a trashcan being stabbed by someone they raised (Tatalov/Garbage King), you can link it back to the fact that Sampo MAY have betrayed someone he once loved. "The moment of betrayal" also closely aligns with this!!

"Wind of change" "snake", these elements are all mentioned in the above story of Tatalov stabbing someone--> sampo's wind is element, he has snake imagery!! Should be straight enough to say HE IS TATALOV RIGHT?

Now listen closely, in the DREAM BUBBLE, Shentana (aka Natasha) talked about how Tatalov was once a great ruler who cared about equality and justice (sampo behaviour) but was blinded by "the thing beyond the sky" (stelleron). => Now it's making a reference to cocolia rather than SAMPO. Which DOES NOT ALIGN WITH SAMPO BEING TATALOV/GARBAGE KING and hence the "backstabbing " story gets muddled and confusing.

My theory was that Sampo killed the person that made him (Seppo Illmarinen) according to the Kalevala story, after he realised that no one truly LOVED him for who he is, but rather only his ability to bring wealth and fortune. Hence, he felt vengeful, and decided to kill Illmarinen as a revenge because of how others saw him as an object (maybe including Illmarinen too). But in that story, it's mentioned Tatalov said "you will collapse beside me" to the dying trashcan (Seppo).

That's when I went back and looked at "Garboski" (Koski) from Sparkle's dream bubble. Garboski mentions that Tatalov betrayed them, and sealed them for 10,000 years. Garboski also mentions that he will reward the people who found them with WEALTH (sampo's function in Kalevala) and then he decided to eventually give anyone who found them a painless death. You can clearly see over time that Garboski's mentality went lose. I tried to link Garboski's story of being sealed for 10k years to Tatalov's betrayal but it said 15 years since the dying trashcan hadn't seen their face. That's when everything got far too confusing for me to comprehend and link together but the only thing I was able to TAKE from these stories is that they are both about BETRAYAL.

The consumable above depicts a colorless rose. You can only see it's reds in the reflection on the dagger. Which led me to think-> Sampo's eidolon "the deeper the love the stronger the hate" might refer to the fact that he despises being loved by others because he had lost trust a long time ago from the events that happened to him, how he was betrayed by the people he thought loved him but turned out to be just to use him for their convenience and selfish desires.

Remember that red roses represent passionate love and that Firefly mentions Sampo looks like he'd been training to use daggers all his life. So the symbolism of that consumable might be that Sampo trusts people's hatred more than their love because when you hate something, the hatred is (mostly) sincere. Why would you pretend to hate something you love? Sampo ENJOYS this sincerity.

He hates love because you can always hide things behind it under selfish pretense. Why else would that consumable reflect a red rose 🌹 ONLY on the dagger and not the rest of it? Because as soon as Sampo was betrayed/betrayed someone, it became clear to him/them that their true emotions towards him are HATRED not love. And SAMPO LIKES THAT!! HE LIKES BEING THE FOOL, HE LIKES BEING DESPISED BECAUSE YOU CAN'T DECEIVE HIM AND HURT HIM WITH LOVE.

He uses roses to decorate his packages in the event, also his suitcase and he uses roses to attack in HI3.

He hates love because the more someone loves him the further he will doubt them.

And that's pretty MESSES UP! To have a mentality like this means he you must've gone through some messed up crap, just like how he mentions at the end of his event that he had a "Hot-blooded past". If you didn't know, "hot blooded" usually means feeling complex emotions all at once, like anger, love, hatred, doubt, pain.

The description of the consumable sounds so warm in the begging and suddenly shifts to a tense mood? Did you notice that? It's so paradoxical. So hot-blooded. And it says "that person" so speficially!!

I'm still not sure what to believe about sampo's past, but I'm sure that his idea of love is completely messed up. In HI3, as you fight him during his boss battle, there's a bar called "depth of love", which is UHH WHAT THE HECK?? IT TELLS YOUTHE MORE YOU HURT HIM THE MORE HE LOVES YOU.

In his beta lines that were removed Sampo says something along the lines "Sampo gives all the affection yet never receives anything in return *sigh* but I'm used to it anyway 😃👍"

Ummm?? OKK?? IM SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE HE IS SANE? HE IS MENTALLY STABLE AND UR TYPYCAL CONMAN? NO WAY IM NOT!!

I hope this theory makes sense. I just need everyone to know this man has some screws lose but I love him anyway!

[cyberdragoninfinity]

I really truly still can't get over the Legends Z-A announcement. Everything about it. ULTIMATE Crazy ass moments in Pokemon history. We had Unova game vs. Johto game rumors and theories flying around for half a goddamn YEAR. People were pointing out paintings of Lugia and Ho-oh in Detective Pikachu 2, Kitakami's dex full of Johto 'mons, Indigo Disk's 32847872 Unova references, the Paradox Legendary Johto AND Unova Trios. The OFFICIAL POKEMON TWITTER was posting cryptic gifs of Reshiram and Zekrom in the weeks leading up to Pokemon Day. The day before the stream people were waving around 4chan "leaks" of Legends Celebi, ILCA BW remakes, Black & White 3. None of us went into that direct knowing what we were gonna get.

And then it was Pokemon Day and the Pokemon Presents premieres and it's start to finish full of Johto nods, Unowns bouncing around and Raikou in Pkmn Sleep and Silver in Masters. They slap THIS FUCKER up there seconds before the final teaser trailer of the stream.

And then we get that teaser.

And then we get hit with "Lumiose City"

And then It's not Johto. It's not Unova. It's the region we haven't seen in an actual literal decade.

And then a single letter changes everything.

AND THEN THE HITS JUST KEEP COMING ONE AFTER ANOTHER. Legends "Z-A." The A looks like the Ultimate Weapon. Releasing 2025. Not this year. For once in so, so long a Pokemon mainline game isn't coming this year. It's like exhaling a breath I didn't know I was holding. The screen goes black and every expectation we could have possible have has been flung out a Kalos-shaped window.

And then they give us one last little treat for the road

Just an absolutely unbelievable presentation. They played us like complete fiddles. They're sending our asses to FRANCE. And I can't help but smile so big just thinkin about it!! This is the first Pokemon announcement I've seen in YEARS where the majority of folks have been not just surprised but this joyful, EXHILARATED surprised, just absolutely going nuts over 10 years of memes and jokes and game wishes that are finally getting their due. And it's just infectious. There's something really magical in the comradery and shared excitement and I'm never gonna forget it. I love Pokemon. Welcome back and welcome home, Zygarde.

[lesbianjohnlennon]

It's queer! by Nelson Motta (O Pasquim)

"o pasquim" was a brazilian alternative weekly, known for its paradoxical and satirical nature, published between 1969 and 1991. it was recognized for its engagement with the brazilian counterculture scene of the 1960s and for its role in opposing the military regime. in 1970, the magazine published an article about john and paul (and brian) affair, written by nelson motta. here's the translation (with adicional notes) 👇

It’s queer! by Nelson Motta

Paul McCartney loved John Lennon, who loved Brian Epstein, who loved Paul McCartney. All the whole London music scene (1) knows this, and there, the famous suspicion about Paul's “death”, which originated with an American DJ, didn't catch on.

The "death" theory is well-constructed, but the true story (the one about their faggotry (2)) makes much more sense. And it's much spicier. I prove what I said (3):

Everything was going great in the John-Paul-Epstein triangle. Everyone loved each other, they adored jelly beans, everything was rosy, smoke and mirrors, etc. Ringo and George Harrison were always on a different page. The duo was Lennon and McCartney — they sang together, composed together, did everything together. Together with Brian Epstein, of course, who was openly queer and quite relaxed about it.

Everything was fine until Paul and John decided that two's company and three's a crowd, etc., and kicked Epstein out of the bed.

It's not proven, but many serious and well-informed people claim that Epstein committed suicide after a fight with Paul. Epstein supposedly gave Paul a very valuable gift, which Paul not only ignored but also hung up on Epstein, who, in despair, killed himself.

But John and Paul had many arguments, especially when Paul was still single and John was already tied down with the Japanese woman. The nippo, who is very wild and forward-thinking (4), didn't mind sharing John with Paul, but McCartney (that face never fooled Sérgio Cabral (5)) had jealousy issues. They fought and made up many times, even through music.

To "show the proof"(6) (I'm not sure why this phrase keeps coming up): Paul made up by composing Get Back (To Me) (7), and Lennon responded with a passionate interpretation of Oh Darling that everyone thought was "darling" (in the female sense) but was actually "darling" (in the male sense)(8). These are some of the great ambiguities of the English language.

But the Japanese woman really tied John Lennon down; no one knows exactly how. Or rather, everyone knows how.

The press started reporting that they were fighting a lot, and the explanations were always about "business and musical matters." Only a fool would believe that, since it's known that Apple was never in danger, none of the Beatles were at risk of starving, and the duo's musical production never suffered any drop in quality or sudden change in style.

After his last fight with John, Paul met Linda Eastman, who, through talks and things like that, convinced him to re-establish his heterosexuality (9). Probably out of revenge, Paul ended up marrying her to get back at John with a "for your information, I've already found someone else to replace you." (10)

The final result: John recording solo (Instant Karma is third on the American charts) while Paul is also making waves as a solo artist with Let It Be, first place on the American charts, and Paul's solo album has already been released.

Some clueless people might ask, "But how do Lennon & McCartney songs keep appearing?"

Elementary, my dear Jaguar (11): The duo has an exclusive contract with the music publisher Northern Songs until 1972, and everything one does will carry the other's name, at least nominally, as a partner. This practice is very common among songwriting duos where both contribute to the lyrics and music interchangeably.

You must admit that, at the very least, this is a respectable theory. I can't prove it because I've never been involved in this affair, which is absolutely not my specialty.

They’re the ones who are queer; let them figure it out.

notes:

(1) in the original, “patota musical de londres”. “patota” has a kind of pejorative meaning of a group of people. also means a group of friends or colleagues.

(2) in the original, “bichisse”, and it was the best way of translation that i could find.

(3) in the original, “mato a cobra e mostro o (the) pau”. again the best i could find.

(4) in the original, “superprafrentex”, which was a common slang in brazil in the 70s, used to describe someone who was modern and progressive.

(5) sérgio cabral was a famous journalist in brazil, and one of the founders of “o pasquim”.

(6) again, in the original, “mato a cobra e mostro o (the) pau”.

(7) in the original, “Get Back (Volta pra mim)”, which is funnier in portuguese and i tried to keep the tone.

(8) in Portuguese, every noun has a gender. darling can be translated to “querida” (feminine) or “querido” (masculine). 

(9) in the original, “restabelecer a mão única”. “mão única”, which literally translates to “one-way street”, makes a reference to paul’s sexuality, implying he was going (or into) on both “ways”, men and women.

(10) in the original, “pra teu governo já tenho outra em teu lugar”, another idiom. but works in english, anyway.

(11) in the original, “Elementar, meu caro Jaguar”, a playful reference to sherlock holmes’ line.

disclaimer: this was written in 1970, so is full of outdated expressions (and slurs) so read carefully!

[demonslayerunhinged]

Unhinged Cracknalysis

The Many Voices of Sanemi (Part 2)

I previously talked about my observations on Sanemi's voice and how it changes depending on his emotional state, this is a continuation of those observations. This post can be read as a standalone, but if you want proper context, go here.

Okay so…

I was watching the HT arc for like the thousandth time (as you do) when I noticed another 'Sanemi Voice'. So like usually Sanemi's voice is cool, deep and levelled but during these three separate scenes his voice sounds uneven.

When he confronts Giyuu during the meeting.

When Tanjiro cock-blocks him during their 'training'.

During his Taisho secret segment, here and here.

*The remaining two scenes are links cuz of that fuckass Tumblr one limit video bullshit 🙄

Anyway, notice how his voice gets comically high-pitched like he's going through a second round of puberty?😂 Why would his voice pitch change in these scenes? What's so special or particular about them? Well, one thing I noticed was that in all three scenes, Sanemi was in a situation that I can only describe as 'uncomfortable'.

Let me explain.

first scene

In the Hashira meeting, he confronts Giyuu about leaving the meeting. I think this is the first time he's directly addressing Giyuu about this since their breakup. So, it makes sense that he'll be emotionally distressed as he publicly questions his former booty call on what is obviously a pain point for him that caused friction in their relationship.

Yes, I will make everything about GiyuuSane. Yes, Sanemi and Giyuu are exes. I will die on this hill. don't like it? eat a dick.

second scene

During the 'training' when Tanjiro 'interrupts' them, Sanemi was partaking in an emotionally charged fight-conversation with Giyuu that was obviously meant to be private as he's mad at Tanjiro for 'spying' on them.

It could be that he was nervous by Tanjiro(bestest boy❤)'s presence and him watching this supposed intimate moment between them. Then we have Tanjiro(bestest boy❤) revealing his love of ohagi in front of the guy he wants to get with. His anxiety levels must've been through the roof!

third scene

In the Taisho Secret segment his voice is all over the place and I also noticed something weird: Sanemi doesn't look at the camera, like ever. Not. Even. Once.

Compare this to the other Hashira who have no problems looking at the camera and even addressing the audience. Gyomei was distracted by innocence and pussy, so he doesn't count.

Don't believe me? Watch the whole video here. This scene below doesn't matter because he was obviously looking at and addressing Tanjiro.

Sidenote: The Taisho Secret segment that had all the Hashira in it sorta doesn't count either because he wasn't the focus except in the beginning. Even then, his voice isn't as cool as it was in the main episode. Proof here.

I mean, you could interpret it as Sanemi not wanting to take part in the segment or that he doesn't have time or him just being grumpy, but here's what I think:

I think Sanemi was nervous. My baby girl was nervous! Cue audience AWWWWWWWW! soundtrack.

ok, why tho?

So like, I have this theory that Sanemi has anxiety and how his anger, impulsive actions and behaviors are a reflection of that. Knowing that, it would make sense that he might have a bit of social anxiety as well, which gets triggered when he's the center of attention. Kinda paradoxical for a guy who proudly displays his tits, but alas we contain multitudes.

Gyomei also mentioned that Sanemi is shy or easily gets embarrassed-depending on which translation you read. In the group photo they took in the final chapter shows him looking away like he's indeed shy or embarrassed.

Another sidenote: There's an ask I got (I'm so sorry, anon! 😭) Where the op asked if he was turning his face to the right because that was where Genya could've been if he was alive or something. I think he was just camera shy and probably wanted to hide his scars 🥺

Soooooooooo with all the evidence provided, my deduction is:

Sanemi's voice pitch gets higher when he's nervous, anxious, or uncomfortable!

He's a nervous bebe! He's a shy boy!

Why you no face the camera, Shy Boy? Why your voice turn zesty, Shy Boy? Why you turn away, Shy Boy? Why you shy, Shy Boy? Shy Boy! Shy Boy!

Just another thing to add to my Sanemi Gap Moe list! So cute! Ahhhhhhhhhhh! ❤🥰

In Conclusion, Sanemi is a shy bbg whose voice reaches near dog whistle levels of squeak when he's nervous or uncomfy, and he needs to be protected at all cost. Thanks for reading!

Also, I'll be referring to my analysis posts as cracknalysis from now on, cuz that's basically how they feel atp.

[mysterialistic]

Is Cheng Xiaoshi's death a paradox?

Why do I say this? Because of this specific line of dialogue said by Vein:

Specifically, I’m talking about about the “grandfather paradox.” This paradox is one of the most common dilemmas in time travel stories and scenarios. It illustrates a problem arising from the effect of time travel on causality—the principle that a cause must precede its effect. The paradox suggests that a cause is eliminated by its own effect, preventing its own existence and creating a loop of reverse causation. For example, if someone were to travel back in time and prevent their grandfather from meeting their grandmother, they would never be born, which would make it impossible for them to travel back in time in the first place.

In this case, Vein knows that Lu Guang altered the past, so he arrives at the photo studio and shoots Cheng Xiaoshi. However, Vein is probably unaware that this very act will ultimately be the catalyst for the time-traveling events in the first place. This creates a classic “chicken-or-egg” problem: Did Vein kill Cheng Xiaoshi first, or did Lu Guang change the past first?

The actions, effects, and consequences are all interlinked, trapping them in a paradox that Lu Guang is desperately trying to break. Yet, his efforts are inherently contradictory—attempting to prevent Cheng Xiaoshi’s death is the very thing that ensures it happens. This vicious cycle highlights the core dilemma of the grandfather paradox: any attempt to change the past creates a self-defeating loop.

And to support my crazy theory, here’s what Vein’s character description says:

Vein knows what will happen. How? I’m not sure, but my guess is that it has something to do with Liu Xiao—perhaps he provides the information, and Vein acts as the executor. Or maybe it’s connected to Vein’s own powers.

[This is a mess. I might be wrong, and maybe this scene isn’t the first time Cheng Xiaoshi died, but I like paradoxes, so I had some fun writing this lol].

[odileeclipse]

What classes does our glorious king take? If any?

So, our glorious king is past that I know I said he's loosely based off of a grad student, but I think that being who he is, he's beyond it so that's why he teaches lectures and stuff, unlike a regular grad student who would only teach discussion sections and just be a TA to the professor. If there are discrepancies pls forgive me this whole fanfic and all the information is made up and just for fun thank you!

(however these are made up classes for this specific question asked that's why it took me a bit to reply but potentially what he might teach there is sort of a reference to what he teaches in chapter 7 though it's only touched upon briefly.)

TRTH 704: Dimensional Epistemology and the Nature of the Known

“To know is to unravel the self, layer by layer.”

A philosophical and magical dissection of knowledge itself. Students examine how truth operates across dimensions. Heavy focus on paradoxes, metaphysical debate, and the ethics of forbidden knowledge.

TRTH 731: Constructs of Reality and Astral Logic

“You perceive the world through your truths. What happens when truth shifts?”

An exploration of astral mathematics, illusion theory, and the fragile seams between what is and what is believed to be. Known for its mind-breaking final exam: a verbal argument with the Sage himself.

TRTH 798: Truthbinding Rituals and Declarative Magic

“A truth spoken thrice under starlight binds stronger than steel.”

A practical course focused on advanced spell-work using truths as magical anchors. Requires students to reveal a deeply personal truth to pass. Many drop out. Those who remain often say the course changed their lives or destroyed them.

TRTH 771: Historical Omissions and the Ethics of Forgotten Truths

“History is written by survivors. What of the silenced?”

An elective seminar where students work through archived forbidden texts in the Nightmare Archive and uncover deliberately erased parts of magical history. Some have walked out sobbing. A few never returned.

Special Seminars (Invite Only)

“The Moonstone and the Portal: Truths from the Other Side”

“A Debate with the Sage: Can You Prove Him Wrong?”

“The Scholar's Gaze: Finding Certainty in Chaos”

These are one-day intensive debates, often unannounced. The Sage arrives mid-lecture, rearranges the room, and begins. Attendance is a rare honor.

 Okay, I hope this answers your question I wrote them in the style I usually see my own courses...and they're pretty advanced courses as u can see by the 700's for those who don't attend college or know anything about how it is for me 100's=beginner/(easier but not always) courses and just increases from there <3