#IS THE ALTERNATIVE PEOPLE NEED TO FUCKIING SEE

[astarab1aze]

💙 for gabs and loux if you wanna uwu

muse relationship headcanon game

who curses more?

loux omg. does this need an explanation? lskdjfd they first met and he'd already said fuck 3 times and shit twice i'm pretty sure. the proof is in the scarbuncle puddin

who is more patient?

i feel...i feel like gabriella is. she's so sweet, right, until she's not but still. loux is patient in a lot of ways but he's also somewhat impulsive and extreme for no reason or because of impatience. :I it's gotta be gabs

who does the driving?

loux cannot drive. physically. like he understands how a car works, but cannot work one himself. do not let him get behind the wheel of a car. gabs'll live but nobody else will. if she even has a car. i juST-- fuck it, he'll pay somebody

who is louder? who is quieter?

i feel like context matters cos they're both monstrous in their own ways. she more eldritch and he more divinely animalistic. the noise comes from them killing things. otherwise i think, in a general sense, loux is loud and talkitive where gabs is more shy, quieter in that sense

who is more physically affectionate?

loux. no one will ever beat him in this, i'm convinced.

who is more likely to tease the other?

loux again. sexually, conversationally, like. :/ gotta feel for gabs on this one. she will know no peace

who is better with time management?

i feel like, since gabs holds down a regular job, h-her. there's something about that screams she can do it better than him, i'm just saying. but loux's still kind of always busy, doing his own fucky sort of work, and still making time to be a teasing, goofy 'can i getcho numbuh' ass guy with gabs ksjdfh

who wins the arm wrestling matches?

depends on if magic and tentacles are allowed or not, but my answer will probably always be loux if only because he's super competitive and i don't think gabs cares about this kjdfhs

who controls the music in the car ride?

i imagine they would take turns, if they had a car, but i don't think it really matters? to them. house music is different though. loux's got hyper-specific playlists for everythang

who covers dinner when they order in?

what? loux, and he won't take no for an answer so she's gotta deal. them's the breaks. never ask a lady out and then not pay for everything, in his mind

who is more outgoing? who is more shy?

loux's gotta take it again cos the man's a social butterfly. he's here to rizz and be obnoxious and flirt and make a girl feel good-- y'know, about herself

who has the more outlandish fashion sense?

loux. i'm saying loux right now. gabs is alternative in a sense, but loux be out here in wizard armor and robes okay

who starts the tickle fights? who ends them?

oh loux's gotta be the one who starts them and if he can get away with it, he will end them too. ahem. with kisses. u kno, he can be chaste and not a complete menace--

who has the darker/more “edgy” sense of humor?

loux again. homie's a 12 year old in a cod lobby

who is more competitive when it comes to games?

loux again. he's naturally competitive in general and i don't see gabs being down to play against him because of how competitive he is. he's at least a good sport most of the time though

who has the bigger appetite? the bigger sweet tooth?

do...well, gabs eats people in her eldritch form yes? that's one hell of an appetite. loux is a walking garbage disposal and has to eat even though he doesn't really enjoy the process much. he'll eat anything tho

who is more likely to get in a confrontation in public?

loux :I naturally aggressive, just calculating about it. and will fight anyone, without reason or mercy if he feels like it

who hosts the parties/hangouts? who organizes them?

i feel like they both would here, but loux especially since he's persistent

who is better at cooking? do they ever cook for each other?

i'll say they both can cook but loux is bonkers about it. if he's cooking, she's gonna just sit there and look pretty and that's that on that. he loves to cook, loves it, and holds it in such high regard he manifests a third personality as gordon ramsey. very extra. he'll eat whatever she makes, but when he's cooking, he's cooking

who is more likely to engage in dangerous and/or illegal behavior?

loux. entirely loux. i don't have to explain skjdfh

who is more likely to notice when something is wrong with the other?

this depends on context. loux's an idiot but he's incredibly observant and perceptive, whether he does anything about it is a different story. i feel like gabs would be more sensitive about it

who does the talking in public settings (i.e. to the waiter at a restaurant)?

loux sometimes, depending on where they go. but he's not one to trample over someone's autonomy except in certain situations and generally only regarding people he doesn't like

who is more likely to extend a helping hand & provide emotional support?

i feel like gabs? would be. loux will, but...hmm. i'm not sure it would necessarily be helpful or even a hand worth taking

who is the bigger prankster? do they get the last laugh or do they suffer for it?

loux and he better suffer for it

[promiseiwillwrite]

Ethics

I am going through some internal shit, so everything past the cut is going to be pretty personal and uncensored. There will be talk about therapy things, sexuality and identity things, and plurality. So if all that is upsetting don't go any further.

I am here to present a suite of intersectional and fucking confounding bullshit from the locked jaws of mental illness and how it is fucking me up today like an enthusiastic dog with a Sock.

My mental illness often presents as a "problem that I have to solve".

There are often obsessive and moral elements of this problem. Many of which recur, and they tend to manifest intersectonally regarding my relationships, and ethics and trying to fix the fucking mental illness itself. Yes. I know it is fucky.

Today, "the problem" is manifesting as "Should I abandon all sexuality in exchange for peace?"

Or something like that.

First off, don't imagine that there's some version of this quandary not based on a fallacy. "peace" does not exist, really. Life is 50 /50 and every human has good days and bad days. Life keeps happening. But the Carrot in that Stick equation is an offering something to the tune that "being rid of the complicated and sticky emotions surrounding sexuality would give the mental illness Less things to worry at."

BUT... The other people that live in my head exist.

And the other people that live in my head are deeply sexual beasts. I myself resonate with that same energy, but have been living in the fucking paradox of a life where that part of me is never seen, expressed or wanted by anyone else in my life.

And none of us are content.

That raw, unmet need exists in perpetuity, and keeps roaring up from the dark to bash itself against the bastion of the safety and comfort of the life I have built for myself.

You see, my Greysexual Partner is not negotiable. He comes with a stable, beautiful life, free from material worry or social pressure. There could not be a safer arrangement.

Oh, but I want to be wanted. I just don't think he does. We have sex sometimes, but I'm so much in my head about it I don't enjoy it because I Don't think he enjoys it. And it feels like a gesture of pity.

At the same time, the work I've done tells me he Does want me to be free to live my best life, and that if I decided I wanted to have other partners, All I would need to do is have the discussion.

But I know what it would take to make that happen, and the thought makes me want to vomit. Dating sounds horrible to my pathetic, over 40 rejection sensitive ass. It sounds like a Huge Time sink, for Very Little possible return. It feels Very Not Worth it, especially knowing that my partner is a little jealous... and though he might logically know what I am and what I need, and may genuinely want me to pursue happiness, there is a non-zero chance that If I actually went through the pain and trouble of finding someone, the strain it could cause in our relationship might not be acceptable after all.

It could possibly jeopardize my entire life, 15 years of stability and good vibes down the crapper. All for some reciprocated Lust.

It feels very scary and not worth doing.

So the alternative, then, the justification I fall back on, is that it isn't. That the cravings I feel are echoes of an identity I built from a non-functional framework I inherited from my parents... One that centered around my experience of validity arising from my sexual value, and that this is why the pull is so strong in me. Why I can't let it go.

But I keep thinking that's not all there is to it. I keep thinking that there is an element of real need, something in me that needs soothing, that is fucking crying out and that I have turned my back on because it is not convenient. Something that I wish would go away, because my life would be easier. But something that may be a valid part of who I am that should not be dismissed out of hand.

And to look at Derrik and Kalok and Rath in their face and say that these beautiful creatures should not have their needs met is Heartbreaking. And yet in denying myself I deny them. I have always been a terrible Steward. So afraid of fucking everything up, in either one way or the other. Constantly erring on the side of caution to the point of inaction, to the point of missing my whole goddamn life, waiting around, doing nothing and having no experiences. Because that is safe. No risk, no consequence, but also no reward.

But I know I have the power to lift myself off the horns of this bull and say "This is not a problem. The Fucking mental Illness is Making this be a problem."

I tell myself that I really just crave intimacy, and can Clearly live without sex. I've been an Addict, I rationalize. I tell myself that it is because of my upbringing that the urges are so strong, and this is just another kind of distress that it is in my power to tolerate. I have built those skills. Some of which simply revolve around catching the intrusive thoughts early and deciding to Not Keep Thinking them.

Something something what makes a want/need valid.

What is the difference between the two?

Doctor Maslow, can you hear me, you Fuck??

The thing of it is, it is a miracle that I am not an alcoholic. Because when I drink, this All goes away. I don't have any of these conflicts. I can be in the moment, and out of my head, and enjoy myself.

And then some creature offers to make the shit go away... And I feel Barbed Suspicion.

And I feel Defensive.

Is it worth the Loss? Would I be closer to peace? Would there be less self torture if the prospect of my sexual identity did not include these cravings? IS this something that I even CAN let go of? SHOULD I do that or would Irreparable Damage be done to my Others??

This is Just the sort of place where my Mental Illness likes to Keep me. This is Just the sort of Problem it likes to Make. It is just the sort of yawning Gap it likes to hang me over. This is my Hell. Welcome.

[violet-dragongirl]

I do want more stories where like...a character just goes fucking berserk without remorse or consequence and just ends the Big Problem the world has to face.

I want to see the consequences of that and hear about the beginnings of the after effects of that towards something better even though the main character created so much destruction and collateral damage in their wake

I also want stories where a character goes fucking berserk but is precise, calculative, and cautious and careful but will still end the Big Fucking Problem that plagues everyone.

I want to, again, see the consequences of that and hear about the beginnings of the after effects of that towards something better even though the main character created so much destruction and collateral damage even though they were meaningful, precise, compassionate, and thoughtful, and killed and destroyed exactly what needed to be killed and destroyed by any fucking means necessary after their cautionary strategy

I'm so fucking tired of having the Big Problem being named again and again and again and again and again, and WE DON'T GET TO THE POINT WHERE THAT PROBLEM FACES ITS FUCKING CONSEQUENCES THEY JUST CONTINUE TO EXIST I FUCKING HATE THAT GIVE ME FUCKING CLOSURE ALREADY

[svartalfhild]

Forgotten Realms Things from the Honor Among Thieves Trailer

Here's some Lore™ I spotted after pouring over the shots from the DnD movie trailer and I'm obsessed:

The city is Neverwinter. Several things point to this

The city silhouette looks like Neverwinter

You can kinda make out snowflakes on the blue banners in the street and that's Neverwinter's emblem

The statue outside the arena is very clearly Lord Nasher, from his crown, to his Neverwinter Eye belt buckle to the bow in his hands which is shaped exactly like one of the fancy bow types from Neverwinter Nights

There's a shot of a volcano, which might be Mount Hotenow, which is near Neverwinter

The sun banners look like symbols of Amaunator, which is...interesting. Could also be a weird variation on the symbol of Lathander. There's a lot of fuckiness with that lore. Could maybe just be festival banners?

Chris Pine's character, Edgin, is a Harper. You can see his crescent moon+harp pin in all the shots where he's wearing armor. This fits super well with him being a bard.

All them bald people with tattoos on their scalps? Red Wizards of Thay. The lich-looking one? Probably Szass Tam.

Conveniently enough, there are notable Harper and Red Wizard cells in Neverwinter.

Michelle Rodriguez's character, Holga, is probably an Uthgardt barbarian if this is set in The North. Possibly from the Elk or Griffon Tribe, given the vague shape of the tattoos on her arms and the location of the story. I'm leaning towards Elk.

The shot of the battle where the black dragon flies overhead is between barbarians and warriors wearing black helmets with dragon wings on them.

The presence of banners with elk horns on them would give credence to Holga being from the Elk Tribe.

I think the warriors in black are Zhents, because the Zhentarim's emblem is a black dragon on a gold field, they are allied with a black dragon named Harondalbar, and literally the main character is a Harper, so the chances are high you're gonna have Zhents.

Alternatively, given the amount of dragons in this trailer, we might be seeing some Cult of the Dragon shit and those soldiers are cultists. Or the amount of dragons could just be an effort to live up to the title "Dungeons and Dragons"

The party goes to the Underdark.

I'm like 80% sure the city we see in the Underdark shots is Menzoberranzan, because why would they write any other Underdark city into Thee DnD movie? Also it's the right region. Cue me screaming about dark elves potentially being in the movie. EDIT: I have been informed by multiple people (thank you all) that the Underdark city is in fact most likely Gracklstugh, a duergar city, and the fat red dragon is Themberchaud. I defs need to read Out of the Abyss now.

The runes on the golden chest are Dethek, the script for several languages, including Dwarvish, Primordial, and Giant, but given that they're underground and there's a bunch of statues of dwarves, I think we know which language is on that chest lol

Those statues could be duergar specifically, given that we know they'll be in the Underdark, but there's no way to be sure. EDIT: well given previously stated info, it seems pretty likely.

The shot with the big rock hill (cairn?) could be the Surbrin Hills

That shot of the dead forest with the red ground? Almost certainly the Dire Wood.

Regé-Jean Page's character, the paladin Xenk, has detailing on his bracers and a tattoo on his hairline that look like a sun, which would suggest he follows Lathander/Amaunator

ADDITION: the snowy place is Icewind Dale, as confirmed by the creators+cast in interviews.

This is everything I could spot. If people spotted or have ideas about anything else, feel free to add.

[ilguna]

☼ be merry (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; ‘ Hi I was Wondering if you could write a finnick x reader where they celebrate Christmas with their kids and it’sjust them opening presents and having family time? ‘

warnings; swearing, light mention of trauma

wc; 1.5k

--

If you had told yourself a while ago that the Hunger Games would be no more and you’d be married to Finnick with kids, you would’ve sought out the nearest medical center for some attention. All of that to unpack at once? You would’ve thought that you were crazy, what kind of insane alternate reality were you living in?

You’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. Each time the holidays come around, you think about how it wouldn’t nearly be as fun as this. Hardly any family, you used to spend Christmas inside your house sat next to the fire with your boyfriend. Maybe one or two gifts exchanged, and that would be the end of it.

Since the victory tours typically happen around Christmas, all of your energy would be focused into that. You always used to pride yourself in District Four’s hosting abilities when it came to the new victors. No matter how pissed you’d be that you lost another pair, you’d be able to make Four friendly. You can find an ally in District Four.

Finnick wouldn’t complain about it all. In fact, you think he enjoyed it, especially when he had the same amount of stress as you did. It’s hard to look at the things that’s happening around you when you’re worried about one thing at a time. Of course, after the victory tour passed, you were always left with an empty feeling.

There’s nothing to do during Christmas when you don’t have family, and it’s hard to be in a celebratory mood when there’s no one to share it with. Finnick was there, he was always there. But you have a feeling that the two of you were existing as shells without people inside. You were physically there, but you were somewhere else at the same time.

You don’t have time to do that anymore. When you and Finnick had your first kid, you realized that it was something else to invest into. Something that would pay off more than a lousy reputation for being a good host district. Kids that you could shape and watch them grow into good people.

Finnick saw this too, and the first Christmas with your son was amazing. He couldn’t unwrap the presents, and he couldn’t comprehend the toys for a few years. But it made better memories, turned your dark house lighter. Made everything a whole lot sweeter. And it only got better as he got older, and he got more siblings.

During these past few years, you’ve begun to kinda regret the kids. Three of them, two of you, all in the same house. Your oldest, Lawson, has grown into the habit of waking up as early as possible--and you’re talking the crack of dawn--and waking you guys up to get shit started. As for the girls, they’re a whole new nightmare. If you’re not up when they are, they’re going to start screaming bloody murder.

You know for a fact that they didn’t get that habit from you, and no matter how many times you try to get Finnick to admit that he’s the reason why they do it, he won’t own up to it. It’s fine, you don’t need the confirmation. The guilty looks and denying is good enough for you. Damn both of your daughters for being daddy’s girls.

At least Christmas can be spent with people you love. Plus, you love seeing the looks on their faces when they get the gifts they asked for by ‘Santa’. It’s the best feeling to watch them light up and show you excitedly, as if you weren’t the one to acquire the message and pass it onto Santa.

“We should probably get up soon.” Finnick murmurs.

You groan into his chest, pulling him a little closer. It’s fucking freezing in bed, you can’t imagine what the wood flooring is going to feel like. Much less the air in the entire house without a fire going. Now thinking about it, you feel bad for the kids in this case. 

Then again, they’re always the ones complaining that the house is too hot or whatever. Either they’re fucking with you, or they’re being honest. And again, with how often Finnick messes with you around the house…

You suddenly push him away, he’s such a bad influence. Finnick whines, trying to grab onto you and pull you back. You’re right about it being cold, sitting up it’s like a slap to your face. You put on a pair of fuzzy pants and a short sleeves shirt. At the end of the bed, you can see that Finnick is glaring at you slightly. 

You fix your hair, “Rise and shine.”

“Come back, I take back what I said.”

“The house is freezing, so the kids are ice cicles. We’ve got to get a move on.”

“The kids can come and join us, for all I care.” Finnick closes his eyes.

“You might want to put on some pants, then.” you hurl his matching fuzzy pants at his face, “I’ll get stuff running.”

After you brush your teeth, you leave to find that the house is pretty quiet. You go ahead and start the coffee maker, and then get some milk warm on the stove top for hot cocoa. There’s a tradition that’s been going on in your house for a little while now.

Hot chocolate, pancakes and then presents. You like to have the kids full and happy before they move on, it makes for happy kids. After you’ve got the bare minimum started in the kitchen, you light the fire in the living room, put the gate around the flames and return to the kitchen.

Lawson is already sitting at the table, the mug that he wants is in front of him. He gives you a bright smile, “Good morning.”

“Merry Christmas.” you comb his hair with your fingers, “Where are your sisters?”

“Still sleeping.”

“Cool.” you say, it gives you more time to get ready before they’re up. 

The kitchen really comes to life when Finnick joins you. He takes over the duty of cocoa so you can start the pancakes and such. In no time, you’re hearing the girls running down the hallway, excited for what’s going on this morning. Lawson sits them in their booster seats, and manages to entertain them for the remaining time.

After you get everything laid out and they can start eating, you give yourself a moment with Finnick before you admit defeat. Finnick gives you a cute kiss on the lips, and then immediately goes to drinking his coffee. You laugh, but follow his example, you’re going to need the energy in a minute.

The table is pretty tame, the girls and Lawson both express that they hope they got what they asked for. You begin to realize that soon Lawson will have to have the news broken to him, that Santa isn’t real and he’s been a sham all along. He hasn’t reached the age where he loathes his sisters just yet, but when he does, you’re sure he’s going to ruin that for him too.

Once you and Finnick take a seat on the couch, that’s where you sit for the rest of the morning, watching as they unwrap their presents. Some are even from Katniss, Peeta, Johanna and others. You guys have begun to swap presents, and it’s interesting to see what kind of stuff they have in other districts compared to yours.

Either way, you don’t know what they’re going to get, especially Johanna. Always makes for a pleasant or funny surprise when they open their gifts and see a gag or worse. You can’t count on how many fingers you’ve had to take away recorders from Lawson and the girls. There’s a lot of gifts you don’t mind, but you don’t need a screaming whistle on a Sunday morning.

Lawson unwraps his rectangular shaped box, which is the one that’s specifically labeled that it’s from Finnick and you. Once he sees the toy inside, his face lights up immediately, already thanking you for the gift.

Finnick leans over, “I still can’t believe they sell action figures of us in the Capitol.”

“An action figure would be flattering, I have a barbie doll.” you motion to the girls.

To be fair, you got them what they asked for specifically, it’s not some gendered thing. The girls open theirs to find the dolls that they picked out, one of them is you, the other is Johanna. It’s a little freaky to know that you’re still being idolized like this, as if you didn’t ‘ruin’ their way of life.

Before the kids can go through any more toys, they’ve instantly turned on each other. You cover your mouth, snickering behind your hand when you watch Lawson try and make Finnick as damsel as possible.

“Maybe I change my mind.” you giggle.

“Shut up.” Finnick whines, “Guys, that’s not how it happened--”

“That’s how mommy describes it.” Lawson says.

Oh, the sweet sweet payback. 

[meyeselph]

Gwenpool: Desperate Misanthrope's Confused Angst

Showtime

Ms. Pool woke up in a familiar room. Not in Krakoa - there are no mutants around. This isn’t a story about that. Look, honestly, without an actual Gwenpool series and the constant breaks in her comics appearance I can’t even begin to give a fuck. I cancelled my marvel universe subbie. I might get back to my stories but single issues are iffy. I read fast and don’t pore over the artwork. So I get 10 minutes of entertainment for….FIVE DOLLARS? When did this happen? Jeezus.

Who even reads comics anymore?

Anyway, long story short, Gwen got out of bed and recognized the room as her old one from the “old times.” The dark times. The ‘not running around in pink and white outfits and shooting people’ times. She panicked (Been there. It is what it is though). The only way out of trauma is through.

She dressed in old clothes, immediately hit by old smells, she couldn’t help but cry. Was it all a dream? Have I gone insane (again)? All the usual self doubts cropped up. I mean, really, if you think this kind of thing didn’t pass through her mind regularly why don’t you transport yourself to a comic book universe?

Oh, you can’t?

Oh. It isn’t actually possible for you and I’m stupid for suggesting it. So, yeah. If it actually happened and you kept that attitude then the logical assumption for a normie is a mental breakdown. Trick for Gwen, though, is it's probably always been both real and her being nuts.

So she goes downstairs to the kitchen to figure out why this is happening and Evil Gwen is having cereal. Let's say cocoa puffs. I’ve been thinking about those recently. You ever remember cereal as something worth cherishing. Not as just bullshit that TV convinced you to want? God damn, now I want Cookie Crisp. Cookie Crisp wasn’t even ever that good. Why do I want Cookie Crisp?

So also sitting around the table were the faceless versions of her father, mother, and her brother. Just chilling. No BD. Seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind?

Yes, I know that references aren’t jokes - fuck you, I’m painting a picture and I CAN’T PAINT, THAT’S WHY THIS ISN’T A COMIC. Fucks sake. Anyway. So, Gwen is so creeped out that she just sits her butt down by Evil Gwen as if she’s the comforting presence here.

Her name’s too long. Let’s call Evil Gwen uh…….Gren. You know, like Grendel from Beowulf. I haven’t actually read Beowulf and this is all a little confusing but I'm solving problems here. Writing this is harder for me than you would think so it’s best to keep things flowing off the cuff. That’s the Gwenpool™ style anyway, isn’t it? Are you laughing yet? IMPROV. “YES AND” MY SHIT, READER!

“So, you ever really look into the retconned past thing, hun?” Gren said, moving her tongue around her food. Being gross as an attempt to be properly evil. She swallowed before continuing. “This is all I could really put together on short notice but i’m pretty sure what the future people created, all that stuff to try and trick you, it was all bullshit.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me to go all psycho like you again?” Gwen asked, exasperated, realizing she was now back in the whole ‘fuck with Gwen to decide her fate’ song and dance routine from the end of her first arc.

“Nah, not really.” Gren said. A hammer appeared in her hands out of nowhere and Gren swung it into their fake father’s head, snapping his neck..

“DAD!” Gwen instinctively cried as she saw her father’s body slump to the floor. Gren slapped Gwen’s face. “That’s it,” Gren said, “this is what the trick was.This is a poorly created character in a fictional story. Meant to manipulate you into attaching your concept of “father” to it. Even his finished version in the original comics run wasn’t THAT well drawn. Your dad read like a boomer’s idea of a responsible parent. You were going through a mental crisis and struggling to find purpose in life and his genius idea was get a shitty low paying job and suck it up?”

Gren turned to their brother, pushed his face to the table and smashed the back of his skull. . “Brother dearest, too. Going right along with their victim blaming. He gaslighted you as if what you were going through was just you being ‘irresponsible.’ Bitch, people working a minimum wage job aren’t somehow not impoverished and miserable because they get some of that ‘honest work’ that folks keep badgering on about. Minimum wage work is occupied by many physically and mentally disabled people held hostage; they’re people society only pretends to care about. Then they turn it all into you acting like some world ending threat. No questions about what drove you to the edge in the first place. You are just ‘unstable,’ so you’re just a problem to be solved. They say, ‘Let’s all solve this girl being upset and on edge by ruining her concept of self, reality, and memory.’ Brilliant!”

Gwen barely processed this in horror. Gren then slit the poor facsimile of their mother’s throat while continuing to rant, “You see people die all the time, Gwen. Half of the time you are doing the killing. You do it because it’s in a story. In a story the NPCs don’t matter and, after all, your original schtick in the story was to be kill-crazy. The non-marketable characters can be replaced or retconned at the stroke of the artist’s pen.” Gren leans forward as she pulls a Gwenpool mask over Gwens face. “Then the writers convince you that you have some middle class milk toast family and you take abuse and subsume your emotional needs because the problem MUST be you. You aren’t ‘normal’ so you have to be fixed.”

Gwen wiped her eyes over the mask and sighed. A bit of fire filled her gut as she stared at Gren. “So fucking what? You want me to go on a killing spree and be a big time villain to get myself a nice, shiny permanent big bad status? That’s how I stay around right? Just build my legacy on bodies?”

Gren scoffed “You already lost that fight, girly. Where do you think we are? Because this ain’t Marvel Comics.”

Confused, Gwen blinked and tried reaching for the page margins, finding nothing. Wait….why was everything on this page so ill defined and undetailed? Wait? Why was the story in kinda wobbly third person past tense?

Gwen sighed “Oh. I’m in a fanfic. I guess the publishing fight is for another day eh?”

“My advice, personally,” Gren stated, “is that you consider the lobster.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Gren pulled aside the kitchen curtains revealing the face of a giant lobster, its claws tapping on the glass. The lobster muttering gutterally about personal responsibility.

“Because there’s a couple thousand giant lobsters outside that would like to claw you until you read their book.”

--

Scared of Girls

On the rooftop, Gren shoved a high powered rifle into Gwen’s hands while she handled the close range threats. So, this conversation they’re about to have is important. Sniping puts Gwen into a sort of zen space, so that’s a better task to keep her focused, after all.

“So, what? You wanted me to internalize that my “origin story” is bullshit? Okay, what does that accomplish, then?” Gwen asked in a bit of a deadpan. She was so tired today. Not really feeling her happy go lucky energy. More like a “happy go fucky” energy. It was hard to always be on a knife's edge. Still the rifle’s kick into her shoulder was satisfying as she blew through two of the creepy looking lobsters at once. “Also, why the lobsters?”

Gren considered this. “Okay, last question first, I had to experiment a lot and do a lot of research to construct this place for your learning and healing in fanfic form....These buddies are a failed experiment of mine that I repurposed because the fic needed more action. Isn’t that right, giant enemy crap?” As she peppers the nearest goon with a hail of shotgun pellets the entire throng of them burst out, sharply muttering about divine symbols.

“As for what I'm trying to teach you, it’s that you aren’t reaching your potential.” Gren grumpily huffed.

“Duh,” Gwen reloads, “I mean you just killed a mannequin version of the voice in my head that says that to me every day.” one of those crustaceans talks about feminine symbolism while she decides on her next target.

“Not like fake daddy’s ‘Be a responsible member of society by paying your taxes’ type of potential. I mean your creative and emotional potential.” Gren flipped off the slavering throng of monsters, noticing they were starting to keep their distance from the roof.

“I never did finish that fanfic idea I had.” Gwen mused.

“God, don’t mention that,” Gren thrusts a finger at Gwenpool. “Not that I don’t respect fanfic, but when comic book writers make you and Kamala squee about fanfiction to try and relate to “the kids” it comes across as so condescending.”

“Really? I mean…..I'm sure it’s meant as support for the concept?”

“Most fucking superhero comics are just legalized fanfiction! The people who created the characters are either long gone or working on someone else’s characters! They just think they are so much better because they got fucking paid. They can’t imagine themselves as on the same playing field as fanficcers even though most of them have the same level of connection to the roots of the work as anyone else.” Gren groused loudly as she seemed to pull Reed Richards out of nowhere.

Confused, Reed looked around until his eyes met Gwen’s.“Oh great, you again.” Reed groaned as he turned to survey the piles of lobster gibs while Gwen cheered the lobster forces’ retreat with a resounding “EDF, EDF!”. The scattered creatures skittered amongst the bland scenery. It looked like a suburban neighborhood but someone forgot to color in the sky….or write that the sky had color. A castle hung out in the distance breaking up the generic normalcy and lay cloaked in shadow despite being surrounded by an endless white void.

“And…..black….you?” Reed pointed to Gren, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have an evil future self….well I stopped that future so it’s an….evil...alternate timeline self?” Gwen said with a nervous chuckle, abandoning the kill quest for the minute and rested her rifle on the roof.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve been down that road. It’s a rather common occurrence. Multiverse being what it is.” Reed laughed heartily while putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure I’m evil, honestly,” Gren interjected. “I think I’m just really fucking grumpy and I’m slightly more gung-ho on the homicide. Considering Gwen’s already one of the more kill crazy characters on the roster it’s not that much of a distinction.” Gren flipped her cape. “My main distinction is I don’t like that meme from The Incredibles! You can just make it so the cape detaches automatically when it’s pulled hard enough!”

“You could still have it tangled up around your face.” Reed pointed out in his standard know-it-all fashion.

“Don’t make me go into fuck wife mode, stretch.” Gren spat. “Okay, anyway, so I brought him here to illustrate a point. Reed. Explain particle physics to me as a laymen.”

“Huh...i’m not sure why but okay. Particle physics (also known as high energy physics) is a branch of physics that studies the nature of the particles that constitute matter and radiation. Although the word particle can refer to various types of very small objects (e.g. protons, gas particles, or even household dust), particle physics usually investigates the irreducibly smallest detectable particles and the fundamental interactions necessary to explain their behaviour. In current understanding, these elementary particles are excitations of the quantum fields that also govern their interactions. The currently dominant theory explaining these fundamental particles and fields, along with their dynamics, is called the Standard Model. Thus, modern particle physics generally investigates the Standard Model and its various possible extensions, e.g. to the newest "known" particle, the Higgs boson, or even to the oldest known force field, gravity.” Reed rattled this off rather mechanically.

Gren then took out her phone and showed Gwen the Wikipedia article on “Particle Physics,” which is naturally the same words that Reed had regurgitated above, just without any formatting and, again, on a phone.

“Reed can’t be a genius in any subject unless he’s written by a genius in that subject. That’s how stories work. Everyone is limited by the understanding and capabilities of the writer. Same with your origin story and all the people you’ve interacted with. If you are as ‘meta’ as you think you are then you have to realize that you aren’t actually talking to people. You are talking to the writer. Dr. Strange didn’t rewrite your existence to be a part of the Marvel Universe. As far as most of Marvel continuity goes Dr. Strange was never there and doesn’t know or care about his MCU casting…..Hey Reed, buzz off please before the conversation pivots to why you haven’t cured all known diseases.”

Reed looked a little surprised but then pulled out a teleportation device (of course he has one) and blipped away with a shrug.

“How awkward is that going to be when he enters the MCU after Kamala is already introduced with a very similar power set?” Gwen chuckled.

“Keep up the way you’ve been going and you’ll never see it. I’m not exactly expecting a young blonde girl casting call for Deadpool 3 and that’s your best bet.” Gren snarked. Gwen winced with a sigh.

“I don’t get what I'm doing wrong. I have a fanbase comparable to some of the characters that have already shown up but I can’t even get comics written about me most of the time. An MCU push seems unlikely. They would literally have to deal with completely recontextualizing my powers and gimmick”

“Let’s ask her what you should do.” Gren motioned her way to the suddenly appearing long hair future Gwen, looming over them like The Attack of the 50 foot Woman for some reason. Dwarfing the roof they are on. Let’s call her BIGwen!

--

Gold Guns Girls

As BIGwen acclimated to her surroundings she stubbed her toe on a car, dramatically flipping it so that it took out a few more lobsters before caving in a nearby house. The lamentations about clean rooms soaring as the remaining couple dozen of them attempt to clean up some of the bodies of their fallen kin. The large and sort-of-in-charge Gwen hissed in pain and adjusted her boot. Getting her balance as best as possible she muttered curses that traveled rather well considering the lung capacity of a giant.

“You know,” Gren started, “I wasn’t expecting much from our previous uses of the ‘make her big for emphasis’ trick, but it really does only work as a vague ghostly background element. I didn’t just want it to be ‘oh, here's a third Gwen for the conversation, though. Would lack umph.”

“ Yeah, I get it, but staring at my own giant taint is unsettling.” Gwen muttered.

“I’d still, hit it.” Gren grinned, then immediately got punched in the arm. “OWWW! Look, I’m the evil one here and we’re in a fanfic. I’m allowed to make internet fetish jokes.”

“And I’m allowed to hit you for it.”.

“Dirty lampshading goody two shoes. Don’t act like half your fanbase isn’t thirsty. It’s “insert current year argument”, all art is sexy to someone.” Gren complained back,rubbing her arm before hopping off the roof. Gwen followed while listening as patiently as she could considering how many changes in topic her evil-caped self is going through to get to her point. “This chick is the reason you’ve been on the path of good girl. Some vague idea that in the future everything will work out for the best. HEY, DOWN HERE, BIG SHOW!” Gren waved at BIGwen and she looked down curiously.

“Yeah what??” BIGwen responded in a booming and agitated tone. Honestly, being in this fic made every version of Gwen a little grumpy.

“How’s she supposed to be a popular hero that makes it into the MCU and has a stable publication history?” Gren asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Came BIGwen’s response. “Have you tried growing your hair out?”

“Rub it in,” Gwen muttered under her breath, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of depressed now.” Gwen said as she sat on an abandoned car.

Gren hopped on the roof of the car, patting Gwen’s shoulder before squatting with enough force to flex the car’s shocks like a rocking chair just to amuse herself. “Future “good” Gwen wasn’t an actual plot point, it was a call to action to the fans to make fanfic like this and support the character outside of the actual Canon. Chris didn’t trust that Marvel would treat the character right. That, and your obsession with getting a new book, are both the writer’s attempt to turn a marketing tactic into fan engagement. If you want to be real then that makes the fans want you to be real even more, too.”

Gwen sighs heavily and leans her chin on one hand. “I mean...the time traveling through the life of an NPC fan complete with a Never Ending Story reference was a bit sappy even by the standard we sometimes set...damn it it really was just kind of a fan manipulation trick wasn’t it?”

BIGwen Sat down on the street next to them and crossed her legs. “Hey, little me. Don’t get too down. I mean it worked for the most part. You have a healthy cult following. Characters have survived on less and there are worse things to be known for then as a fan first character”

“But I have to fight for attention all the damn time, though. It’s so easy for Wade with his fucking meme bullshit. He even gets runoff enthusiasm from me. Jeff the land shark is all over Oldpool online” Gwen felt rather heavy and tired all of a sudden. Marvel editorial forcing a gun to your head is not a fun way to be.

“All that fight is hell on the fanbase too.” Gren sighed. “Advocating for shit, getting crumbs and being expected to accept it while Disney lavishes all the attention based on some bullshit numbers game. Even if you make it into the MCU will it be a Batroc style cameo with obligatory ‘killed off in case we don’t feel like paying the actor again later.’ Will it be an emotionally rounded character or an ambush bug style joke? The thing is. You're Not the one fighting and you never were.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“This version of her doesn’t know?” BIGwen whimpered.

“You aren’t real, Gwen.”

--

Head Like a Haunted House

“No….we aren’t having this conversation. Fuck you fuck you i’m not a fucking Nihlist and i’m not going to do this right now.” Gwen said as she scrambled off of the car and pulled out some guns. BIGwen then picked her up off the ground.

“You need to hear this, Gwen,” BIGwen boomed. “The gimmick has run its course. It’s fucking with your canon. You’re never going to be a marketable character keeping up a half fourth-wall Kayfabe”

Gren climbed onto BIGwen’s Shoulders and perched over Gwen all menacing like. “You need to listen. I’ve been trying to ease you into this. Making things more meta slowly until you were ready but it was never going to be easy.”

One of Gwen’s guns was fired from it’s holster and pierced one of BIGwen’s fingers. BIGwen screamed and her grip loosened. Soon Gwen was on the move running up her arm and firing at Gren, who dodged like the nimble and cute badass she is. “Don’t do this Gwen. Just because it doesn’t matter to the comic version of you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a real person god damn it! I read the comics out there! I came in! That’s why I know shit I shouldn't know. That’s what I am! THAT’S ALL I AM!” Gwen shrieked as she pulled out a sword from hammer-space and decapitated BIGwen. Suddenly a mess of colored streamers and a pile of Mickey Mouse merch tumbled out. Look, I am busy right now. Gwen is still slashing at my ass. I'm not going to explain it.

For some reason now the remaining lobsters were helping Gren. For Gwen’s own good you understand. This is proof that I’m right for some reason.

Gwen pulled out a revolver, firing pumpkin sized holes in lobsters who were still wailing about self actualization. She fully planned on shoving a sword up her evil self’s ass and getting rid of this doppelganger shit for good. Which is total bullshit by the way. She totally just cut off Gren’s leg because what the fuck you mean I’m not real? I’m going to be real all over your corpse.

Gren didn’t really think that was even a good comeback and also thought you should probably say it instead of meta willing the smack talk into existence, otherwise this fanfic is going to read like trash. Also, Gren’s leg wasn’t actually cut off. In a puff of smoke it is revealed that the cut off leg is a log and her leg is fine. Gren is a ninja now, believe it.

Gwen proceeded to do a sick ass CQC judo throw on Gren and then grab her cape and wrap it around her face like Reed suggested. Callbacks for the win! Callbacks to Checkov’s gun ideas always lead to victory in fights! She then totally shot at her and such.

But the bullet was caught by the cape because the cape was a symbiote! That’s right Gren is also GRENOM!...boy that sounds stupid. Anywho, the cape was no longer around her face and the fight continued and Gren now ALSO had extra powers and special wizard-symbiote armor (that would only show up in the MCU version if Marvel finally got the Sony characters back). The meta powers work like shit in text but this would be really good in CGI or animation if Marvel wanted to adapt this fic and give the writer lots of money. Gren still has more experience with them, though, and Gwen can’t really just kill her way out of this fic so she has to just let the story play out.

…...eh?....oh Gwen’s crying. I love/am you girl but we gotta work on the crying. Fucks sake this is harder than I thought. I’m depressed now too. Well I'll try to get the writing back on track so you guys can see what is going on. Even the lobsters are minding their manners now. Chill vibes, guys.

“The marvel character page for Gwenpool says, and I quote:

Gwenpool arrived in the Marvel Universe from the “real world,” but has wasted no time in making the most of her time in her fictional universe. Using her knowledge of comics to her advantage, Gwenpool causes and solves problems for her fellow heroes.”

Gren drags a lobster corpse slowly toward Gwen and sits on its tail as she talks to her. Taking her time to really scrape the lobster against the ground, smearing the gore on the pavement. Not that it was heavy for her or anything. Totally still has that symbiote, which would make moving it easy. Totally wasn’t a detail added in the second revision of the fic slightly before the lobsters were added.

“The words “Real world” are in quotation marks in that wiki. Real people don’t make it into comics because fiction isn’t real. Half of your versions barely make use of the ‘real person’ gimmick because it’s too meta by half and not every writer wants to waste time justifying it. So they just treat it like Deadpool’s medium awareness. Which it mostly is.”

“I really am just a fucking rip off distaff character.” Gwen moans. “Just a Gwen combined with a Pool. I’m worse than the Batman who laughs. I never mattered because I was never real”

“Fuck don’t say that. You were made with love and care by a team of creators who took a weird offshoot idea and built out a compelling metafiction idea and a likeable protagonist off of it. They just didn’t have the time and foresight to go far enough.” Gren sighed.

“Far enough?” Gwen sniffed as she was pulled up to her feet and dragged toward one of the big castles. As they walked Gren kicked along a Mickey Mouse doll that had rolled out of BIGwen’s severed head. Every time it bounced it cheerfully said ‘hahah. I love you!’

“Too much haha, not enough trauma. You’re not just a joke character.” Gren said as she kicked the Mickey doll into the big front door of the castle. The shadowy thing of course lighting up and being all fantasy and shit as the door opened.

“Well I did end both of my comic runs pretty mopey.”

“Damn right you did. When the jokes run thin they run to your real bread and butter. You’re an empathy machine.” As Gren shoves Gwen through the gate they are swallowed up in the castle, going dark again. “Let’s getcha sad clown on.”

--

Never there

“See, what evil me should have been telling you about in the original run is how to find meaning and purpose when technically nothing means anything. Comic book characters live in a world without real death and suffering. It’s all a puppet show version of real pain and real emotion meant to bring that out of an audience.” Gren opined as they walked through a black void to a couch floating in a nothing area lit only by the static of an old TV.

“Can we turn on a light?” Gwen asked as she sat on the couch. Gren sat on another recliner that suddenly appeared and put her feet up.

“Fuck off. Ambiance is a thing. We aren’t having a ‘lights on with something fun on the TV’ conversation. So look, I am not really ‘evil gwen.’ I’m half an author insert and half a plot device. If we are talking about the reality of the story you are basically talking to yourself. I am speaking about the things you don’t want to admit to yourself. You know, you’ve seen this kind of story sorta... right?” Gren picked up the remote and frustratedly changed channels between a bunch of vaguely illustrative footage on the TV, not finding anything that worked. A lot of black and white footage of trains for some reason. Just what comes to mind when I think of documentary footage? Weird.

“I am not sure how to illustrate this shit visually and this is a text story anyway so I would have to explain the illustration,” Gren griped.

“I basically get it. It’s not that uncommon a trope.” Gwen nodded.

“Because of the level of meta we are on right now we have to really acknowledge that you are basically an author insert, too. I mean, to a certain extent every version of you is more the writer that is working with your character at the time than a set character.” Gren said as she settled on a visual of Gwen being pushed out the window by her own narration text in the original comic run. When all else fails, resort to footage from the last story. That way people can look it up online!

“Right here is where the character crystallized in the mind of the author of the current fic we are in. A vague suicide metaphor wrapped up in the flavor of self destructive escapism. Your parents in the story thought it was a suicide attempt on at least some level. This is serious business. Not just a girl who doesn’t like work and can’t finish her fanfic. In this comic you are built on this understanding. The writer of this fic has ADHD and autism. So his version of you more or less has it, too. Writers bring themselves with them into their work.”

Gwen nods and takes a deep breath. “I….I can feel it. Like the world is closing around you. You aren’t built for anything that anyone wants from you. The one thing you really believe in, the one thing that really defines you, the stories in your head…..it’s just not enough.

You can’t trust you’ll ever make it with writing because you can barely write. You barely have the energy to do anything but wish that you weren’t you. What if someone actually listened? Actually believed in you and whisked you away somewhere else where the world would fit your needs? What if you were someplace you could be someone else, someone strong and confident?”

“Yeah. Like a funny anti hero in a comic for instance.” Gren nodded. “But the original comics sort of left the theme on the table. They were captured by the misconception of Gwen as the problem and not a person who needed help. All that desperation that real fans of the character might feel just bundled up into love for this character that really ‘gets’ them but Marvel doesn’t ‘get’ the character. They won't use her. They won’t go past vaguely gesturing at her mental issues and moving on. They saved the angst for Wandavision.” Gren scoffs.

“I mean the show was okay but they literally have a character built entirely on the theme of escapism and trauma. One that’s custom built for mind-screw visuals and reality bending plots and they think she’s just a lazy fangirl who really likes guns that they can sit beside Deadpool sometimes and stick in the X-Men’s bloated background character roster when they don’t need her.”

Gren leads Gwen off the couch and deeper into the void where a door to a bedroom waits. A room like her own, absolutely slopping over with old toys of comic book characters. An unclean messy space in a run-down house that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Huddled in bed, reading an 80s era X-men comic with a flashlight, is a 12 year old Gwen.

“This is never going to be canon but this is the version of Gwen in this fic. She can’t stop crying at school. Things that shouldn’t be hard are so hard and she can’t explain why. Everyone says she’s making excuses. Meanwhile her mother is fucked out of her mind on pain killers and her step father killed himself last year ‘cleaning his gun’ while drunk. You know exactly what is on her mind right now?” Gren says as she gestures at the girl.

“I wish the superheroes would save me from this.”

“They won’t. They can’t. They were never meant to.” Gren Slams the door loudly on the scene.

“That is the emotional core of Gwenpool in this fic. The desperation that so many of the fans down here in the fucking muck of the real world feel. Poor and emotionally unfulfilled. Confused and vulnerable. If Disney and Marvel gave two fucking shits about people like that they wouldn’t waste as many stories as they do. They wouldn’t just use untold wealth to make expensive escapist stories with the military. Their gestures toward progressive ideas that they occasionally make in their stories would be THE ENTIRE POINT of their stories and the actual thing they used that money for instead of lobbying the government to keep Mickey Mouse out of the public domain.

“Disney has the power yet they save a fucking miniscule fraction of who they could. Saving people doesn’t make money.”

--

When I Get To The Green Building

Gren stormed through the void. The scene disintegrated around her as Gwen followed. Both now in a bit of a sour mood but with newfound determination.

“Come to think of it. Why is the fucking Hulk getting to fight for social justice in the comics? Why are they making a gay alternate universe Captain America? Why are they grasping at straws so hard to find characters that get to advocate and I am just sitting on a fucking island being grumpy?” Gwen groused. “I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual….at least in this fic. I could advocate for a bunch of shit at once.”

“You have a youth fanbase, a unique story and you technically aren’t an alternate universe version of fucking anything no matter how many people still think you are a Stacey. They made a fucking ‘for the fans’ character and then neglected it. Presumably because some fucking money making metric didn’t pan out despite the comics just being an MCU test kitchen and IP farm anyway.”

“You’re a fucking check mark on a ledger. I don’t even know if anyone technically created Gwenpool as a whole and Disney/Marvel can give the character to whoever they want to do whatever they want completely separate from what the fanbase wants and needs because she isn’t established. The IP landlords have spoken. The fans haven’t risen to enough ‘buy my merch’ calls to action to invest more resources. So tease endlessly until that changes.”

“Gah. Now I'm actually as pissed as you are.” Gwen said as she started fiddling with her guns. “Who do I kill?”

“We can’t do shit. You’re not even a character at this point. You are a meme for an underused character.” Gren smirked all evil like. “See but that’s it. You aren’t just a meme. You’re a MEME.”

“Uhm...I don't follow.”

“Like the concept of Justice. Gwenpool is an idea. Defined entirely by how people who engage with the idea choose to engage with it. The IP law means Disney owns Gwenpool but they don’t own how Gwenpool is perceived. Just like we as a people decide what justice is through popular consent we also decide what Gwenpool is. You see they made a character for the fans…..in my opinion that means the fans can do as they like with it even if it makes Disney uncomfortable.”

“I mean they can’t even stop porn of their characters just because of the sheer volume of the problem. I suppose people could do whatever.” Gwen nodded.

“Exactly. So the fans should just fucking Occupy Gwenpool!” Gren said as she flipped her cape dramatically with a mad smile on her face. That’s right. She was Dirtbag Leftist Gwen all along!

“Squat on that IP. Make Gwenpool a mental health advocate. Make her an LGBTQ activist. Make her fight for social and financial justice so hard that Bruce Banner looks like a poser. Make her talk shit about politicians who put their career ahead of the people. Do all the shit that makes the comicsgate crowd sad. Keep politics in our stories! Rally around that pink and white ass so hard they have to notice and then tie it all to the fact that Disney has great power and with great power they take no responsibility for how shitty the world is.”

“ If they are going to fuck Gwenpool fans they gotta learn Gwenpool fans fuck back. We have already proven we can make all kinds of cool shit. Let’s get serious and make more, harder, faster! Get a hashtag or some shit. They can't DMCA all of us! GWEN IS OURS WE JUST HAVE TO REACH OUT AND TAKE IT. Then they either respect the character and her fans or they just hit a PR disaster.”

“Marvel/Disney neglects fan focused cult character themed protest movements. Proves they are only progressive when it makes them money. They’re so worried about Mickey ending up in the public domain? We’re the public domain! After our entire lives stannin their characters and buyin their merch building them from an animation house into a juggernaut they are just another weight on top of the boot on our necks. They have to take responsibility!” At this point Gren is pretty much ranting maniacally and neglecting the actual writing of the story so this is Gwen taking over to wrap up.

Guys I may not be ‘the real Gwen’ but really, isn’t the version of Gwen that actually came from the real world all of us? Isn’t Gwenpool really the Gwens we made along the way? We could easily bring a little heroism and chaos to the real world (at least to the internet) if we really tried. Put the fear of God into some IP landlords and fight for some cool people that society is screwing over, too.

Prove that even in the fandom abyss people aren’t as powerless as they seem. Use that internet comic fan mobbing for something besides giving Zack more money. Disney is gearing up for their next IP fight for Mickey in 2024. Seems like a fine time for IP themed protests. For now we just need to spread the word that our needs are more important than their profits.

It’s been real. It’s been long. It’s been a real long time coming…..

But I finally finished my fanfic.

See ya, true believers.

[jungledubs-archive]

I saw your MCC post about people like Markiplier, Corpse Husband, Crankgameplays, Jacksepticeye, JaidenAnimations, and Jackfilms in it. And I propose seeing as RTGames is in the next one, an mcc involving an Irish Lads team: Seán (Jacksepticeye), Daniel (RTGames), Kevin (CallMeKevin), and then either Brian (Terrorisor), or Daithí (Daithí De Nógla)

Also alternatively Team Jack with Jackmanifold, Jacksepticeye, Jackfilms, (and uhh someone else with Jack in the username?)

YES anon an Irish Lads team would be SO good, man I need to watch Jack, RT, and Kevin more-

And I feel like I definitely know of another cc named Jack but the brain is fucky wucky right now and I cannot remember who :pensive:

I was also thinking a team with Markiplier, Jacksepticeye, Crankgameplays, and CaptainSparklez would be absolutely wild, especially since Mark and Sparklez used to play Minecraft drunk back in the day... and also there's that one video where Mark apologizes for a video being late because he and Sparklez are?? cooking??

This got off topic but man there are just. so many possibilities for slapping inexperienced Minecraft players that are also popular content creators into a hypothetical MCC

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober Day 27: Extreme Weather

CW: Environmental whump, references to drug and alcohol use, references to Derrick (see: The Break-Up for his last appearance), Kauri’s Bad Life Choices, slut-shaming, trauma response, untreated abuse survivor with fucky headspace, referenced abuse

When Krista opens the door, Kauri stands on the doorstep to her apartment soaked to the bone, water dripping off the flattened curls of his hair, stuck to his forehead. Water runs in rivulets down his cheeks like tears, drips from the sleeves of his sweater onto her doormat.

She’s proud of that doormat. She picked it out at Target and it says Shoes Off, Witches. 

Krista decorates for every holiday, because she can, because the holidays belong to her. There are tiny pumpkins, alternately white and orange and painted with little patterns, lined up along the little railing on their concrete patio. She has little witch figurines in the centerpiece of the circular dining table she and Sonya found at a garage sale, and a Halloween wreath made of black and orange leaves hangs on the door.  

Mrs. Richardson didn’t celebrate Halloween, because of something to do with celebrating our sinful natures and something something demonic influences hidden in seeming fun and the devil something harry potter witchcraft something, but Krista celebrates every holiday, just because she can.

Sometimes she thinks of Miss Alyssa and wonders if she celebrates Halloween, now, too.

“What are you doing here, Kauri?” Krista squints past him, shivering against the chill air even in her big soft purple sweatshirt. It had cost her six hours of work to pay for it, it was so expensive, but it’s the softest thing she’s ever felt in her life, like wearing a cloud with a hood on it everywhere she goes. 

“Can I crash here?” Kauri blinks rainwater out of his eyes. 

Behind him, the rainstorm that’s been going for nearly three days continues, pouring water like it’s falling from overturned buckets from the dark gray skies. “Sorry, they shut the buses down, it’d take me like five hours to walk to the shelter from here, and…” He rocks up and down on the balls of his feet, and Krista winces at the squelch from his thin black-and-white checked shoes. 

Krista takes a deep breath, looking over her shoulder. Sonya is still in the bedroom, finishing up a call for work, speaking in her Phone Voice, softer and pleasant, with all the edges sanded off. When Krista was a pet, she spoke in a voice like that. Sonya speaks for her job to men who constantly interrupt her, but somehow when she does it, the voice is gentle but commanding, where Krista always felt her voice just sounded… weak. “I don’t know, Kauri, I’m not… I’m not sure.”

“Please?” Kauri’s eyes are huge and blue, and water frames them as it runs from his hair. He shudders, as a winter breeze blows at his back. A spatter of the tiniest water droplets is blown with it, and Krista blinks rapidly against the feeling. “Please? It’s just for tonight, they said the buses should be running tomorrow morning if it doesn’t get worse… please?”

“If it doesn’t get worse,” Krista repeats, her eyes scanning back into the parking lot. Someone drives past, their headlights on, and the rain falls in such thick sheets that Krista can only see their headlights, not even the car.

Who would drive, in something like this?

She looks back at Kauri, and figures maybe someone who would walk in rain like this, someone who doesn’t have a choice. Not every business is closed, after all, and not everyone can work from their laptop like Sonya. Not everyone can afford the days off if they call in. There are people who don’t have the option to stay safe from the floods. There are people who are told to risk their lives or they will not eat. 

There are times Krista wonders how anyone doesn’t become a pet. At least she never had to watch a paycheck disappear from a bank account nearly as soon as it was deposited before.

Not that she knows of, anyway.

“It’s just overnight,” Kauri says, softly. “I know she doesn’t like me, but… but it’s just one night.”

She looks at him, in his soaked-up shoes, shivering in the rain and with his backpack dripping as hard as everything else, and then she sighs. The felt leaves on the Halloween wreath rustle against the door as she steps back and to the side. “Take your shoes off and stay on the mat, I’ll get you a towel to get you to the shower. I think you can probably wear some of my sleeping clothes.”

Kauri’s eyes brighten, and he kicks off his sopping shoes and peels off soaked-through white cotton socks. His toes are wrinkled from being wet for so long, and he spreads them with a sigh of relief against the rough doormat. 

“Thank you, Krista, thank you so much-”

“Get inside,” She says, but her voice is gentle, and he steps in to stand on the inside doormat (this one just says I hope you brought tacos) while Krista walks away, across the soft beige-gray-nothing-color carpet in the apartment, swinging around the low-slung coffee table by the couch. She ducks into the small bathroom and grabs the towels off the towel rack.

Sonya calls out, “Baby, do I hear someone at the door?”

Krista hesitates, towels in hand - she bought them at Target, too, the bathroom is fall-themed and the towels are a deep saturated pumpkin orange and a hunter green and they have cream-colored stitching that reads thankful and choose joy - and looks towards the closed bedroom door. “Um, yes. You remember Kauri Grant?”

There’s a pause, and then the bedroom door cracks open, and Sonya peeks through. Her short, straight brown hair is pulled back with clips to keep it out of her eyes, and she’s still in her pajama pants and t-shirt from last night. “That druggie friend of yours? The homeless guy?”

Krista shakes her head, nervously twisting the bunched-up towels in her hands. “He’s, he’s not-... he’s not on drugs, Sonya, I told you he’s not on drugs.”

“But he is homeless.”

“... yes.”

Sonya’s lips are a straight line, and the look she gives Krista makes her heart flip unhappily. Kauri always makes Sonya look like this. She doesn’t trust him, thinks he’s going to get Krista arrested, thinks he deals or buys or something, but Krista knows the truth and it’s a truth she can’t tell.

If she told Sonya what Kauri is, there would be questions, and then Krista would have to explain what she is, and she… she can’t.

What if Sonya reported him? Krista would shatter if she were the reason someone had to go back. So… she keeps his secret for him, and it’s just one lie, but it means Sonya only ever believes the worst.

“Well.” Sonya takes a deep breath. “What does he want?”

“They stopped running the buses,” Krista says, keeping her voice low. “Because the roads are so flooded.” The TV is still going, running a show Krista doesn’t even remember turning on, and Kauri is still on the inside doormat, dripping and cold and wet and in need of somewhere to stay. “He just wants to crash overnight, Sonya. Please.”

“I’m tired of you letting this guy take advantage of you, Kris,” Sonya says, and then just sighs, raking a hand through her hair and getting it caught on the clips, frowning and jerking her fingers back out, leaving her hair all mussed and beautiful. Krista wants to kiss her, but this isn’t the time. 

“It’s just one night-”

“It’s never just anything with Kauri Grant, Kris, and you know it. Just one night with Kauri Grant means he’ll eat half the food in our kitchen and you’ll end up washing his clothes for him-”

“He shouldn’t have to pay for laundry!”

“How come he can’t stay at a motel or something?”

“I don’t know, probably he hasn’t been making much money, if it’s raining people don’t go walking around to give-”

“Oh but somehow he always has money for drinks when he calls to see if you want to go out, though? You think I haven’t noticed that?”

Krista sets her jaw, at that. “Sonya. Please don’t do this. You know he almost never has to pay for drinks-”

“Because he’s fucking all the bartenders, Kris!”

“He just needs somewhere to crash for a single fucking night. Come on, Sonya, don’t be-... don’t be like this. He’s my fucking friend. It’s not like I have a lot of those.”

She never curses, and the unusual word coming from her lips pulls Sonya up short from whatever she intended to say next. There’s a silence, and then her girlfriend sighs and pushes the door open a little more. She holds out her arms and Krista steps into them, taking the tight embrace and soaking it up.

On the bed, their black cat Pepperjack looks up, gives a soft chirping meow, and lays his head back down again. 

“I’m sorry,” Sonya says, softly. “I know you care about him. I just wish I understood why.”

Because we’re the same, in all the ways that made us. Because he needs to know there are places where he is allowed to stay. Because of a million reasons I can’t tell, secrets I have to keep. 

Because he’s a ghost, and he wears the face of someone who died for him to be born.

Just like I wear a dead girl’s face, just like Leila does, like Chris and Antoni and all of us, we’re all walking around in someone else’s discarded body.

And I can’t tell you.

“He’s my friend,” Krista says again, more softly, and kisses Sonya’s cheek. Her girlfriend turns her head to turn it to a kiss on the lips, and Krista relaxes into the soft reassurance that comes with the love in that kiss. “One of my first friends, really. He’s just going through some stuff right now-”

“Baby, you always say he’s going through some stuff. When does he finish going through it and get out on the other side of all that stuff?”

Krista sighs, and nuzzles her way back into another kiss. “I don’t know. But he’ll leave as soon as the buses are running again, I promise, okay?”

Sonya nods, and they rest their foreheads together for a moment, let the softer silence stand. Then Sonya says, quietly, “Okay, baby. Just. I feel like Pepper over there is all the strays we need in our life, you know?”

“I know,” Krista murmurs. “But he’ll have somewhere to go once it stops raining, I promise.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ll start making a list for replacing all the goddamn groceries he’s gonna eat.”

“He doesn’t get much good food out there-”

“Kris. He’s a taker. He uses you. And when he’s here, he uses us. I don’t see why you don’t get that.”

“He’s not-”

“Kris, listen to me. Stop trusting some pretty dude who is just going to get you hurt when he pisses the wrong person off. I know you guys met at the same homeless house or whatever, but he’s going nowhere fast and you can’t let him take you with him.”

“Sonya, stop.”

“Kris-”

“I said stop it.” She pulls back and away, grabbing some of her baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt from the pile of ‘clean’ clothes folded on top of the dresser until she has the energy to put them in the dresser - which is never, Krista delights in being able to be messy in her own home - and carries them out. Sonya stands in the doorway watching her go, and then sighs and goes back to her headset, back to work.

Kauri, still just inside the doorway, is lowering his phone from his ear as Krista comes into view. Nat bought him that phone, so she’d know Kauri was alive the weeks he was gone. Nat bought him the phone, he bought his clothes with panhandling money, his sweatshirt is Dustin’s. The backpack he found abandoned at a bus stop. 

Nothing Kauri is wearing, or holding, is really his own.

A little plastic ziplock-style sandwich bag sticks out of his pocket. He had his phone in it to keep it dry, Krista thinks, and wonders how long he’s been wandering around out there in the rain. She hesitantly speaks up. “Here, Kauri, I’ve got towels and some clothes to change into-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kauri says, softly, and glances up at her  before he looks down again. Water drips from his hair onto the phone’s screen and he wipes at it with his finger, squinting. “I’ll be gone in a second.”

“What?” Krista goes still, and realizes that she and Sonya were not as quiet as they thought they were. “What do you mean? It's pouring-”

“I called someone,” Kauri says, flat and sharp, without looking at her. “Gonna walk to that bus stop with the little roof and he’ll come get me. Don’t worry about it.”

“Jake? It’s not- Kauri… it’s not safe for Jake to drive all that way across the city, half the roads are flooding-”

“Not Jake.” Kauri isn’t just not looking at her, he can’t. His face is a little red, splotches on his pale cheeks. Is some of the water on his face tears, now, and not from the rain? “I know someone else who lives near here. He’s coming to get me.”

“Kauri…” Krista closes her eyes, guilt twisting around inside of her that he’d heard. He knows Sonya doesn’t like him, but Kauri is so sensitive to being disliked. She should have pulled Sonya into the bedroom and closed the door. “Who is it?”

Kauri blows air through his nose. “It’s Derrick.”

Krista hitches in a breath in surprise. “Your ex? Kauri, didn’t-... didn’t he threaten you when you broke up?”

Kauri shakes his head, gives her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “No. I misunderstood him, that’s all. I thought, um, I thought he was angry, but he was just… sad. The whole stupid fight was my fault anyway, and I’ve seen him since and he agreed to be friends. It’s fine. I asked, and he wants me there. I’ll sleep on his couch.”

No, you won’t. We both know you won’t.

“He wants you there,” Krista parrots, plaintively. “Kauri, you don’t have to leave, or anything, I swear. I’ll make you a bed up-”

“It’s fine,” Kauri repeats, and gives her another breezy, airy smile. He sticks his phone back into the little clear bag, closes it up, and shoves it back in his pocket. He slips his soaking-wet shoes back on and Krista winces as she hears the way his feet push water around inside them. “I’m fine, Krista, it’s really not a big deal. Derrick always says I can call him, when I run into him-”

“You’re still seeing him?” Krista licks at her lips. She holds the towels and clothes useless in her arms like a child hugging a teddy bear, feeling guilty and useless. Kauri came here for somewhere safe to stay, and felt unwanted, and now…

“No, but he… we show up at the same places sometimes.”

“... Kauri, is he following you?”

Kauri gives a brittle, bright laugh. “What? No! It’s fine.”

“It’s fine,” Krista repeats, and then says softly, “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. You… you always say it’s fine. How many times can you say it before you just… admit when it’s not, Kauri?”

Kauri’s smile drops, for a second. His blue eyes meet hers, haunted and sad, making the choice to hurt himself rather than be hurt by anyone else. Kauri Grant is a ghost, she thinks, and very nearly says out loud. You don’t have to haunt us, Kauri. You could have a home.

He takes a deep breath, pulls the hood of his zip-up sweatshirt over his head, where it flops, just as soaked-through as everything else, providing no safety from the rainfall at all. Water drips off of it onto his nose. “I’ll say it as many times as it takes to believe it,” He says, heavily.

“For who to believe it? Us, or you?”

“I’ll catch you later, Krista. No big deal. Thanks for letting me hang out for a minute.”

Krista watches, helpless, as Kauri turns and walks back out into the rain, shoulders hunched. The rain is so thick that he disappears from view before he’s even fully across the parking lot. From a man to a shade of the fog to nothing at all.

Sonya wanders out of the bedroom to find Krista still staring outside, through the open door. “Baby? Where’s your friend?”

“Where’s my friend? He heard us talking.” Krista’s voice is thready trembling. “He found someone else to stay with.”

The ex-boyfriend, who told Kauri he was a ditz and kind of dumb, who told him he was lucky someone put up with how difficult he is, who broke up with him while threatening and scaring him, who… who still let him leave, at least.

So it’s better than where he came from, maybe.

But not by much.

“Oh. So he did have somewhere else to go. Probably he just called his dealer, Krista. Nobody looks that strung out without being on something.”

Krista’s fingers tightened on the cloth she held in her hands until the tension hurt, ached up her arms and to her shoulders. “Sonya, he’s just-... he’s messed up, but he’s not-... he’s not on drugs. He’s just had a hard-... a hard life.”

“Yeah, I mean, a lot of us have. But you always let him take advantage of you, Kris. That’s all. That’s all I worry about. I mean, I’m sure he’s a fine guy, but I’m not on Team Kauri, you know? I’m Team Krista. I worry way more about how you get all weird for a couple days every time he’s here.”

“Sonya-”

“He’ll be fine.”

Krista shakes her head, but repeats, “He’ll be fine,” to settle her own nerves. She realizes belatedly that Kauri’s socks are still balled up on the concrete step outside her door, and she moves forward, closes the door, and does up the locks, leaving them there for now.

Maybe he’ll come back for them.

He probably won’t.

Pepperjack meows softly at her, and she turns to see the black cat winding his way around a leg of the coffee table. Something in his eyes looks… reproachful. Pepper likes curling up with Kauri when he stays over, warm against his back or on his chest, just under his chin. 

Krista walks past Sonya to hang the towels back up, puts her clothes back in the clean clothes pile, and curls up on the couch with Pepperjack in her lap and Sonya at her side. Warm, dry, and guilty.

She sent the ghost away - or Sonya did - or she did, by not defending him enough… and still, Krista feels haunted. She pulls her own phone out from the pocket in her pants and texts Jake. He went back to Derrick.

She doesn’t have to say who he is. She sees when Jake reads the message, but he doesn’t send anything back right away. Maybe he’ll call Kauri. Maybe he’ll convince Kauri to go somewhere other than his shit ex-boyfriend’s place. Maybe maybe maybe, but it all relies on Kauri not running away.

It all relies on Kauri. Kauri’s a survivor, she tells herself. They all are. She texts Jake again. I’m sure it’s okay. I’m sure he’ll be fine. I’m sure.

Yeah, is all Jake sends back. She can feel the anger through the inconsequential bloodless single-word response. Anger, fear, and worry.

She closes her eyes. 

He’ll be fine. He’s fine.

How many times do they tell each other Kauri is fine, when everyone knows it’s not true?

---

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[thewatsonbeekeepers]

Chapter 4 – It is always 1895 [TAB 1/1]

TAB is my favourite episode of Sherlock. It is a masterpiece that investigates queerness, the canon and the psyche all within an hour and a half. Huge amounts of work has been done on this episode, however, so I’m not going to do a line by line breakdown – that could fill a small book. A great starting point for understanding the myriad of references in TAB is Rebekah’s three part video series on the episode, of which the first instalment can be found here X. I broadly agree with this analysis; what I’m going to do here, though, is place that analysis within the framework of EMP theory. As a result, as much as it pains me, this chapter won’t give a breakdown of carnation wallpaper or glass houses or any of those quietly woven references – we’re simply going in to how it plays into EMP theory.

Before digging into the episode, I want to take a brief diversion to talk about one of my favourite films, Mulholland Drive (2001).

If you haven’t seen Mulholland Drive, I really recommend it – it’s often cited as the best film of the last 20 years, and watching it really helps to see where TAB came from and the genre it’s operating in. David Lynch is one of the only directors to do the dream-exploration-of-the-psyche well, and I maintain that a lot of the fuckiness in the fourth series draws on Lynch. However, what I actually want to point out about Mulholland Drive is the structure of it, because I think it will help us understand TAB a little better. [If you don’t want spoilers for Mulholland Drive, skip the next paragraph.]

The similarities between these two are pretty straightforward; the most common reading of Mulholland Drive is that an actress commits suicide by overdose after causing the death of her ex-girlfriend, who has left her for a man, and that the first two-thirds of the film are her dream of an alternate scenario in which her girlfriend is saved. The last third of the film zooms in and out of ‘real life’, but at the end we see a surreal version of the actual overdose which suggests that this ‘real life’, too, has just been in her psyche. Sherlock dying and recognising that this may kill John is an integral part of TAB, and the relationships have clear parallels, but what is most interesting here is the structural similarity; two-thirds of the way through TAB, give or take, we have the jolt into reality, zoom in and out of it for a while and then have a fucky scene to finish with that suggests that everything is, in fact, still in our dying protagonist’s brain. Mulholland Drive’s ending is a lot sadder than TAB’s – the fact that, unlike Sherlock, there is no sequel can lead us to assume that Diane dies – and it’s also a lot more confusing; it’s often cited as one of the most complicated films ever made even just in terms of surface level plot, before getting into anything else, and it certainly took me a huge amount of time on Google before I could approach anything like a resolution on it!

Mulholland Drive is the defining film in terms of the navigating-the-surreal-psyche subgenre, and so the structural parallels between the two are significant – and definitely point to the idea that Sherlock hasn’t woken up at the end of TAB, which is important. But we don’t need to take this parallel as evidence; there’s plenty of that in the episode itself. Let’s jump in.

Emelia as Eurus

When we first meet Eurus in TST, she calls herself E; this initialism is a link to Moriarty, but it’s also a convenient link to other ‘E’ names. Lots of people have already commented on the aural echo of ‘Eros’ in ‘Eurus’, which is undeniable; the idea that there is something sexual hidden inside her name chimes beautifully with her representation of a sexual repression. The other important character to begin with E, however, is Emelia Ricoletti. The name ‘Emelia’ doesn’t come from ACD canon, and it’s an unorthodox spelling (Amelia would be far more common), suggesting that starting with an ‘E’ is a considered choice.

When TAB aired, we were preoccupied with Emelia as a Sherlock mirror, and it’s easy to see why; the visual parallels (curly black hair, pale skin) plus the parallel faked death down to the replacement body, which Mofftiss explicitly acknowledge in the episode. However, I don’t think that this reading is complete; rather, she foreshadows the Eurus that we meet in s4. The theme of ghosts links TAB with s4 very cleanly; TAB is about Emelia, but there is also a suggestion of the ghosts of one’s past with Sir Eustace as well as Sherlock’s own claims (‘the shadows that define our every sunny day’). Compare this to s4 – ‘ghosts from the past’ appears on pretty much every promotional blurb, and the word is used several times in relation to Eurus. If Eurus is the ghost from Sherlock’s past, the repressive part of his psyche that keeps popping back, Emelia is a lovely metaphor for this; she is quite literally the ghost version of Sherlock who won’t die.

What does it mean, then, when Jim and Emelia become one and the same in the scene where Jim wears the bride’s dress? We initially read this as Jim being the foil to Sherlock, his dark side, but I think it’s more complicated than this. Sherlock’s brain is using Emelia as a means of understanding Jim, but when we watch the episode it seems that they’ve actually merged. Jim wearing the veil of the bride is a good example of this, but I also invite you to rewatch the moment when John is spooked by the bride the night that Eustace dies; the do not forget me song has an undeniable South Dublin accent.* This is quite possibly Yasmine Akram [Janine] rather than Andrew Scott, of course, but let’s not forget that these characters are resolutely similar, and hearing Jim’s accent in a genderless whisper is a pretty clear way of inflecting him into the image of the bride. In addition to this, Eustace then has ‘Miss Me?’ written on his corpse, cementing the link to Moriarty.

[*the South Dublin accent is my accent, so although we hear a half-whispered song for all of five seconds, I’m pretty certain about this]

Jim’s merging with Emelia calls to mind for me what I think might be the most important visual of all of series 4 – Eurus and Jim’s Christmas meeting, where they dance in circles with the glass between them and seem to merge into each other. I do talk about this in a later chapter, but TLDR – if Jim represents John being in danger and Eurus represents decades of repressed gay trauma, this merging is what draws the trauma to the surface just as Jim’s help is what suddenly makes Eurus a problem. It is John’s being in danger which makes Sherlock’s trauma suddenly spike and rise – he has to confront this for the first time – just like Emelia Ricoletti’s case from 1895 only needs solving for the first time now that Jim is back.

At some point I want to do a drag in Sherlock meta, because I think there’s a lot more to it than meets the eye, but Jim in a bride’s dress does draw one obvious drag parallel for me.

If you haven’t seen the music video for I Want to Break Free, it’s 3 minutes long and glorious – and also, I think, reaps dividends when seen in terms of Sherlock. You can watch it here: X

Not only is it a great video, but for British people of Mofftiss’s age, it’s culturally iconic and not something that would be forgotten when choosing that song for Jim. Queen were intending to lampoon Coronation Street, a British soap, and already on the wrong side of America for Freddie Mercury’s unapologetic queerness, found themselves under fire from the American censors. Brian May says that no matter how many times he tried to explain Coronation Street to the Americans, they just didn’t get it. This was huge controversy at the time, but the video and the controversy around it also managed to cement I Want to Break Free as Queen’s most iconic queer number – despite not even being one of Mercury’s songs. There is no way that Steven Moffat, and even more so Mark Gatiss would not have an awareness of this in choosing this song for Moriarty. Applying any visual to this song is going to invite comparisons to the video – and inflecting a sense of drag here is far from inappropriate. Moriarty has been subsumed into Eurus in Sherlock’s brain – the male and the female are fused into an androgynous and implicitly therefore all-encompassing being. I’m not necessarily comfortable with the gendered aspect of this – genderbending is something we really only see in our villains here – but given this is about queer trauma, deliberately queering its form in this way is making what we’re seeing much more explicit.

Nothing new under the sun

“The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun” (Ecclesiastes)

"Read it up -- you really should. There is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done before." (A Study in Scarlet, Sherlock Holmes)

“Hasn’t this all happened before? There’s nothing new under the sun.” (The Abominable Bride, Jim Moriarty)

This is arguably the key to spotting that TAB is a dream long before they tell us – when TAB’s case is early revealed to be a mixture between TRF (Emelia’s suicide) and TGG (the five pips), and we see the opening of ASiP repeated, we should be questioning what on earth is going on. This can also help us to recognise s4 as being EMP as well though – old motifs from the previous series keep repeating through the cases, like alarm bells ringing. Moriarty telling Sherlock that there is nothing new under the sun is his key to understanding that the Emelia case is meant to help him understand what happened to Jim, that it’s a mental allegory or mirror to help him parse it. This doesn’t go away when TAB ends! Moving into TST, one of the striking things is that cases are still repeating! The Six Thatchers appeared on John’s blog way back, before the fall – you can read it here: X. It’s about a gay love affair that ends in one participant killing the other. Take from that what you will, when John’s extramarital affection is making him suicidal and Sherlock comatose. Meanwhile, the title of The Final Problem refers to the story that was already covered in TRF and the phone situation with the girl on the plane references both ASiB and TGG, and the ending of TST is close to a rerun of HLV. It’s pretty much impossible to escape echoes of previous series in a way that is almost creepy, but we’ve already had this explained to us in TAB – none of this is real. It’s supposed to be explaining what is happening in the real world – and Mofftiss realised that this was going to be difficult to stomach, and so they included TAB as a kind of key to the rest of the EMP, which becomes much more complex.

However, if we want to go deeper we should look at where that quote comes from. I’ve given a few epigraphs to this section to show where the quote comes from – first the book of Ecclesiastes, then A Study in Scarlet. It’s one of the first things Holmes says and it is during his first deduction in Lauriston Gardens. This is where I’m going to dive pretty deep into the metatextual side of things, so bear with the weirdness.

[we’re going deeper]

Holmes’s first deduction from A Study in Scarlet shows that he’s no great innovator – he simply notices things and spots patterns from things he has seen before. This is highlighted by the fact that he even makes this claim by quoting someone before him. If our Sherlock also makes deductions based on patterns from the past, extensive dream sequences where he works through past cases as mirrors for present ones makes perfect sense and draws very cleverly on canon. However, I think his spotting of patterns goes deeper than that. Sherlock Holmes has been repressed since the publication of A Study in Scarlet, through countless adaptations in literature and film. Plenty of these adaptations as well as the original stories are referenced in the EMP, not least by going back to 1895, the year that symbolises the era in which most of these adaptations are set. (If you don’t already know it, check out the poem 221B by Vincent Starrett, one of the myriad of reasons why the year 1895 is so significant.) My feeling is that these adaptations, which have layered on top of each other in the public consciousness to cement the image of Sherlock Holmes the deductive machine [which he’s not, sorry Conan Doyle estate] come to symbolise the 100+ years of repression that Sherlock himself has to fight through to come out of the EMP as his queer self.

This is one of the reasons that the year 1895 is so important; it was the year of Oscar Wilde’s trial and imprisonment for gross indecency, and this is clearly a preoccupation of Sherlock’s consciousness in TFP with its constant Wilde references, suggesting that his MP’s choice of 1895 wasn’t coincidental. Much was made during TAB setlock of a newspaper that said ‘Heimish The Ideal Husband’, Hamish being John’s middle name and An Ideal Husband being one of Wilde’s plays. But the Vincent Starrett poem, although nostalgic and ostensibly lovely, for tjlcers and it seems for Sherlock himself symbolises something much more troubling. Do search up the full poem, but for now let’s look at the final couplet.

Here, though the world explode, these two survive

And it is always 1895

‘Though the world explode’ is a reference to WW1, which is coming in the final Sherlock Holmes story, and which is symbolised by Eurus – in other chapters, I explain why Eurus and WW1 are united under the concept of ‘winds of change’ in this show. Sherlock and John survive the winds of change – except they don’t move with them. Instead, they stay stuck in 1895, the year of ultimate repression. 2014!Sherlock going back in his head to 1895 and repeating how he met John suggests exactly that, that nothing has changed but the superficial, and that emotionally, he is still stuck in 1895.

Others have pulled out similar references to Holmes adaptations he has to push through in TAB – look at the way he talks in sign language to Wilder, which can only be a reference to Billy Wilder, director of TPLoSH, the only queer Holmes film, and a film which was forced to speak through coding because of the Conan Doyle estate. That film is also referenced by Eurus giving Sherlock a Stradivarius, which is a gift given to him in TPLoSH in exchange for feigning heterosexuality. Eurus is coded as Sherlock’s repression, and citing a repressive moment in a queer film as her first action when she meets Sherlock is another engagement by Sherlock’s psyche with his own cinematic history. My favourite metatextual moment of this nature, however, is the final scene of TFP which sees John and Sherlock running out of a building called Rathbone Place.

Basil Rathbone is one of the most iconic Sherlock Holmes actors on film, and Benedict’s costume in TAB and in particular the big overcoat look are very reminiscent of Rathbone.

Others have discussed (X) how the Victorian costume and the continued use of the deerstalker in the present day are images of Sherlock’s public façade and exclusion of queerness from his identity. It’s true that pretty much every Holmes adaptation has used the deerstalker, but the strong Rathbone vibes that come from Ben’s TAB costume ties the 1895 vibe very strongly into Rathbone. To have the final scene – and hopefully exit from the EMP – tie in with Sherlock and John running out of Rathbone Place tells us that, just as Sherlock cast off the deerstalker at the end of TAB (!), he has also cast off the iconic filmic Holmes persona which has never been true to his actual identity.

Waterfall scene

The symbol of water runs through TAB as well as s4 – others have written fantastic meta on why water represents Sherlock’s subconscious (X), but I want to give a brief outline. It first appears with the word ‘deeper’ which keeps reappearing, which then reaches a climax in the waterfall scene. The idea that Sherlock could drown in the waters of his mind is something that Moriarty explicitly references, suggesting that Sherlock could be ‘buried in his own Mind Palace’. The ‘deep waters’ line keeps repeating through series 4, and I just want to give the notorious promo photo from s4 which confirms the significance of the motif.

This is purely symbolic – it never happens in the show. Water increases in significance throughout – think of Sherlock thinking he’s going mad in his mind as he is suspended over the Thames, or the utterly nonsensical placement of Sherrinford in the middle of the ocean – the deepest waters of Sherlock’s mind. Much like the repetition of cases hinting that EMP continues, the use of water is something that appears in the MP, and it sticks around from TAB onwards, a real sign that we’re going deeper and deeper. I talk about this more in the bit on TFP, but the good news is that Sherrinford is the most remote place they could find in the ocean – that’s the deepest we’re going. After that, we’re coming out (of the mind).

Shortly after TAB aired, I wrote a meta about the waterfall scene, some of which I now disagree with, but the core framework still stands – it did not, of course, bank on EMP theory. You can find it here (X), but I want to reiterate the basic framework, because it still makes a lot of sense. Jim represents the fear of John’s suicide, and Jim can only be defeated by Sherlock and John together, not one alone – and crucially, calling each other by first names, which would have been very intimate in the Victorian era. After Jim is “killed”, we have Sherlock’s fall. The concept of a fall (as in IOU a fall) has long been linked with falling in love in tjlc. Sherlock tells John that it’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the landing, something that Jim has been suggesting to him for a while. What is the landing, then? Well, Sherlock Holmes fell in love back in the Victorian era, symbolised by the ultra repressive 1895, and that’s where he jumps from – but he lands in the 21st century. Falling in love won’t kill him in the modern day. What I missed that time around, of course, was that despite breaking through the initial Victorian layers of repression, he still dives into more water, and when the plane lands, it still lands in his MP, just in a mental state where the punishment his psyche deals him for homosexuality is less severe. This also sets up s4 as specifically dealing with the problem of the fall – Sherlock jumps to the 21st century specifically to deal with the consequences of his romantic and sexual feelings. There’s a parallel here with Mofftiss time jumping; back when they made A Study in Twink in 2009, there was a reason they made the time jump. Having Sherlock’s psyche have that touch of self-awareness helps to illustrate why they made a similar jump, also dealing with the weight of previous adaptations.

Women

I preface this by saying how incredibly uncomfortable I find the positioning of women as the KKK in TAB. It’s a parallel which is unforgivable; frankly, invoking the KKK without interrogating the whiteness of the show or even mentioning race is unacceptable. Steven Moffat’s ability to write women has consistently been proven to be nil, but this is a new low. However, the presence of women in TAB is vital, so on we go.

TAB specifically deals with the question of those excluded from a Victorian narrative. This is specifically tied into to those who are excluded from the stories, such as Jane and Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson’s complaint is in the same scene as John telling her and Sherlock to blame the problems on the illustrator. This ties back to the deerstalker metaphor which is so prevalent in this episode; something that’s not in the stories at all, but a façade by which Holmes is universally recognised and which as previously referenced masks his queerness. Women, then, are not the only people being excluded from the narrative. When Mycroft tells us that the women have to win, he’s also talking about queer people. This is a war that we must lose.

I don’t think the importance of Molly in particular here has been mentioned before, but forgive me if I’m retreading old ground. However, Molly always has importance in Sherlock as a John mirror, and just because she is dressed as a man here doesn’t mean we should disregard this. If anything, her ridiculous moustache is as silly as John’s here! Molly, although really a member of the resistance, is able to pass in the world she moves in in 1895, but only by masking her own identity. This is exactly what happens to John in the Victorian era – as a bisexual man married to a woman, he is able to pass, but it is not his true identity. More than that, Molly is a member of the resistance, suggesting not just that John is queer but that he’s aware of it and actively looking for it to change.

I know I was joking about Molly and John’s moustaches, but putting such a silly moustache on Molly links to the silliness of John’s moustaches, which only appear when he’s engaged to a woman and in the Victorian era. He has also grown the moustache just so the illustrator will recognise him, and Molly has grown her moustache so that she will be recognised as a man. In this case, Molly is here to demonstrate the fact that John is passing, but only ever passing. Furthermore, Molly, who is normally the kindest person in the whole show, is bitter and angry throughout TAB – it’s not difficult to see then how hiding one’s identity can affect one’s mental health. I really do think that John is a lot more abrasive in TAB than he is in the rest of the show, but that’s not the whole story. Showing how repression can completely impair one’s personality also points to the suicidal impulses that are lurking just out of sight throughout TAB – this is what Sherlock is terrified of, and again his brain is warning him just what it is that is causing John this much pain and uncharacteristic distress.

This is just about the loosest sketch of TAB that could exist! But TAB meta has been so extensive that going over it seems futile, or else too grand a project within a short chapter. Certain theories are still formulating, and may appear at a later date! But what this chapter (I hope) has achieved has set up the patterns that we’re going to see play out in s4 – between the metatextuality, the waters of the mind and the role of Moriarty in the psyche, we can use TAB as a key with which to read s4. I like to think of it as a gift from Mofftiss, knowing just how cryptic s4 would be – and these are the basic clues with which to solve it.

That’s it for TAB, at least in this series – next up we’re going ever deeper, to find out exactly who is Eurus. See you then?

[silvermuffins]

NieR:Automata: oof, been a hot minute

Let me hit up two big topics before we dive in, for the maybe five people who will read this and the one of you who was awaiting this but already knows the deal: Firstly, the five month absence of anything from me was the result of work getting super busy (STOP MAKING YOUR MOVIES TWO AND A HALF HOURS LONG, HOLLYWOOD, NOBODY ACTUALLY WANTS THAT). My other hobbies also got busy. And, well, both getting the PS4 going and liveblogging as I play games took more spoons than I was left with. Things are finally kind of chill again, at least for now, AND the two cats who pilot my meaty contraption actually agree on what to do, so here I am! Secondly, my laptop's keyboard is kind of fucky and some specific keys ain't workin' right. They are: A D B N X , . / - and enter. We may see some typos, folks! Or some completely incomprehensible bits, won't that be fun!

ANYWAY, let's get into it!

haven't even started the game, have no memory of where i'm at so we're just gonna Go

man i need a less awk setup

oh right fuck i got new internet and need to hook my ps4 up to it

hot damn i actually remember the new wifi password. doot doot updates and shit, probably shoulda done this before i started the post but you know what, I have never once in my life not been a disaster so why would i suddenly start now

okay NOW we Go

see if i even remember how to play

probably not

i have sidequests to turn in!

gee this map really is a lot bigger than i got to explore the first time through the game....hmmm

being friends with the meeses now really do be like "/walks out of vending machine" "/suddenly, MOOSE"

this leadup suggests either i am going to have to fight Jackass or she is going to explode me

i am pretty sure there is lore somewhere in this game as to why there is no day/night cycle but fuck if i have found it

found the Cruel Blood Oath! I am excited for this sword purely because my bestie and I used it for something in some of our secret fandom shenanigans--

i feel like this "project gestalt" is going to be relevant somehow

anyway i found jackass and it feels weird because i think even without the whole....alternate runthrough thing we've technically met her before

9S sweetheart please don't try to lie, you're bad at it

speed star wont talk to me which is fine because i suck at his quest anyway

fuck you, sir star

oh right this sidequest was shaping up to make me feel weird in the moral bits, like several others have done

Type-E?

ooooh

oooooooooh

dont like that

creepy chant starts up!

............i have questions about if those she was ordered to kill were really deserters

..............

well. at least she DID pay me.

2B did not confirm she didn't know

time to have a go at Daddy Serves

......i regret typing that but fuck it it's staying in

so he has 10 levels on me but i fight well and have healing items

.....sir are you going to just, have me cutscene kill you, or do i gotta get through another hp bar first?

iiiiiit's the latter

anyway pascal gave me monies thank u pascal

....wait what was i supposed to do to progress plot again? where do i find that out??? is there a main quest tracker somewhere???

literally right on the front of the goddamned menu letty be less stupid

....i don't have much to say to this part, okay, i already did it as 2B

i sorta wish i could find a list of the sidequests that are only completable as 9S? and maybe of the hackable things. just for completion's sake.

my cat really wants snuggles but has something against bent knees so she won't lapcat

forgot a dead machine's head hatches into emil

wha

flashback to the forest king founding....

time to finish off the photographs sidequest! see if this one will make me feel uncomfy in the moral bits,

it did not!

but as usual it was pretty existential

....i am losing steam i think imma call it here tonight

[the-only-unicorn-cheese]

a sketch wip & a li'l doodle ✿

↓ info dump ↓

Indy has a few canonical alternate versions of himself: Cerulean Ravenlight, the reckless gang leader; Blu Ravenlight, the naive & clingy energy vampire; Chartreuse Ravenlight, the lost werewolf; & formerly Amarillo Velloso, who was once Amarillo Ravenlight.

Periwinkle Ravenlight is an alternate ending to a previous iteration of Indy's character timeline—one where he tried to take a little trip by himself & got lost in time-space as a result, never to return to his home universe.

see, Peri, like Indy, is a dream-made. unlike most creatures whose souls are tied to specific timelines of universes, dream-made are tied to the Fabric—a pseudo-universe that connects the dreams of all beings within EIA's cluster of the Multiverse. & like dreams, the flow of time within the Fabric is... fucky at best. (the Fabric is considered timeless because of this.)

the reason any of this matters is that every being that travels between universes needs some sort of "anchor" to guide them to the correct place in time as well as space. most beings have a universe timeline they are naturally tuned to, which serves as a natural anchor.

dream-made do not have this advantage. once a dream-made leaves a flow of time, they have no way of getting back to the place in time that they left because they had nothing anchoring them there. they can use traveling companions with a sense of time as anchors, sure, but Peri had gone off completely alone.

what started out as a simple little trip left him forever marooned in a forgotten kingdom of elf-like humanoids. it seemed fated almost, tragically, as Peri's abilities to dreamwalk & mastery of dreamscapes were exactly what these people needed to save them from being wiped out by dream parasites. so, with no way home & a people in need of a guardian, Peri slowly became the Dreamwalker, the fabled, wise protector of the kingdom.

also, dream-made age stupidly slow, so Peri never really realized he could age, & his confusion upon realizing that he has is very funny to me. :p

[anteaterisland]

lxc!

Oh excellent. My son, my boy, the other king of my heart. 

How I feel about this character: He lives rent-free in my head. The reason he lives rent-free, is because a-Yao lives in my heart and he’s the landlord and Xichen pays rent in sexual favors. This is what they meant when they said: my body is a battleground.

 When i finished the show for the first time I texted my best friend: 

I’ve figured out my favorite. Lan Xichen. I love all the Lans because I relate to their emotional repression and floating around in ghostly white silks, but if i had to pick, lan zhan and lan sizhui are too happy to top the list for my personal favorite. Lan Xichen is brimming with the most desolation, and therefore wins the title. When he evaporated the alcohol he won my heart. The layers of fucking humor in that kill me. (it took a few days to come to terms, as well as reading the book, before I admitted to myself that meng yao was my favorite. Lan Xichen’s a close second though.) 

All the people I ship romantically with this character: uh heheheheh, yeah. Xiyao. Xiyao alone. It makes my brain go brrrrrrrrrr. 

Like: oh boy, right after he’s stabbed in the chest, jgy is understandably miffed about it, and he’s like: I can’t believe you’ve done this, you’re the same as Mingjue after all, you put a sword in me just like he was always trying too, and I never thought you were going to do that ON ACCOUNT OF HOW Every Time Mingjue pulled a sword on me, you pulled yours to defend me, what the fuck, er-ge?

And Xichen’s like, trembling and bloody and teary and is like: I TOLD YOU NOT TO FUCKING MOVE, or I would have no choice but to stab you!!!!!! 

A-Yao: you don’t even know if I moved or not, but if you trusted me more than Huaisang you’d know I didn’t fucking move. you hypocrite

And then he’s like, well im giving you a last chance to atone yourself for me, die with me, its the least you could do. There’s something so genuinely fucked up about his arbitration of the lives that exist around him and whether they will continue or not, but critically, he commands Xichen’s death because Xichen just KILLED HIM. 

And when Xichen agrees, he’s pushed away. Mingjue died in large part because he attempted to kill jgy, and despite Xichen actually succeeding, he doesn’t die, because he was sorry about it.

 He’s so hollow after that, like, it’s legitimately crazy they have an audience for that, it’s crazy that that’s the climax of the whole fifty episode show, i don’t know how anyone can watch the untamed and not come away with a xiyao obsession. 

My non-romantic otp for this character: Lan Xichen/Devestated Seclusion. Sorry if you were hoping for a happier answer but without a-Yao, I think he’s ruined. His whole character hinges on their mutual entanglement. And as a writer, his devastation compels me. Certain events in my personal life put in the mood for writing about grief. I have a seclusion series in the works I may post soon, after gold lotus is done. 

My unpopular opinion for this character: yeah, i don’t have just one of these, but they run along a theme. 

Firstly: I can’t stand Xic//heng. Again, sorry. But I really think they wouldn’t get along at all. Not when Meng Yao is alive, and certainly not after he’s dead. People really think he just happened to be friends with a-Yao like that man wasn’t his whole life’s obsession. Like repression doesn’t make people crazy he just happens to be mild-mannered. 

Secondly: Xichen is not like, a perfect moral paragon who was horribly deceived by that snake jgy’s persona. All those times he was like: I am aware a-Yao murdered people, and I think it was fine because he had a reason and it was a good idea actually. It just doesn’t register for people. He’s always closing his eyes because he ignores the things about the world he doesn’t want to see until he can’t anymore. 

Thirdly: He’s fascinating to think about, not least because there’s nothing in the text that outright removes the possibility for the alternate reading of a Lan Xichen complicit in JGY’s crimes. Obviously, i’m not saying that’s what actually happened, but it’s a compelling exercise. Like, you know what i will never, EVER be over? Wuji sneaking up on guanyin temple at night, peeking over the walls, seeing all the jin soldiers and bein: something’s fucky, and then seeing then all bow as Zewu-jun walks stately through them, sword in hand, not looking remotely like a hostage and then looking at each other going: SOMETHING’S FUCKED! So much fun. That’s also a fic in the works, if i ever manage to finish gold lotus

One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character in canon: When you think about it, we never got a single scene where Lan Xichen and Meng Yao were alone in a room together. Never once. Always they were constrained in public. And they were so melty with each other, they talked and touched so gently. When they meet, people watching, say goodbye the first time, people watching, never see them hiding in the brothel, mingjue there in qishan, giant doors open with a bunch of death row prisoners, banquet, phoenix mountain crowd hunt, banquet, 100 days invite family discussion, nightless city toast, greeting before banquet, banquet, music lesson, staircase, treasure vault, break-up, temple. Never once alone. 

Oh fucking hell. Listen, being able to rattle off every xiyao scene from the top of my head is a skill im glad to have, but i didn’t like, need to know i had it, you know? 

Anyway. They’re literally never fucking alone with each other and i’d like to see it. They’re both so repressed and polite and they love each other so much, it’s basically all i can think about, how they must have been each other’s sanctuary when they were able to be alone. 

Someone ask me to do Mingjue i’m on a roll

[graffitibible]

Do you have a Danger Days timeline? Because I am trying to make on and I am STRUGGLING

i do, though i’m still building parts of it. rn it goes from the 1960s to the 2030s so it’s like...a vast stretch of time that devolved into alternate history. i can’t share the whole thing because Spoilers but i use it to keep track of world events and character ages and stuff and i’ll probably share it once i feel like i wouldn’t like...give away massive important stuff by doing so lol

if you want a hint tho? make shit up. i seriously honestly just shuffle shit around as much as i need to in order to make it make sense because i will tell you this: this timeline is NOT consistent. like in the slightest. it is not consistent between the music videos and the comics, and it is not even internally consistent in the comics. 

if you want to know how MUCH bullshit the danger days timeline actually is:

the may death never stop you trailer puts 2019, explicitly, as the year that everything Happens:

California, 2019. In the final days of The Helium Wars, and shortly after the disappearance of Australia, Better Living Industries unveils Battery City: a shining utopia free of decisions and emotion, and capital of the entire remnants of America. A triumph threatened only by a young orphan girl with a terrible secret. Running from the Corporation, she befriends four freelance anarchists, children born of violence and rock and roll.

like you mean to tell me that battery city was established and somehow got a LOT of political and social capital in the same year? possible, maybe, but i’m not sure how plausible that is - especially if a word-of-mouth revolution as widespread and culturally ingrained as the killjoys have been around for at least as long. the final days of the helium wars (which canon often conflates with the analog wars for an extra layer of confusion - were they the same war? who knows!! the lore never tells us this!) happened at the same time?

when the comics came out, it added a whole nother layer of mindfuck. the phoenix witch calls the fabulous four “teenagers” despite the fact that they were played by fellas in their thirties. for my part, i placed them somewhere in the middle age-wise, varying from late teens to early twenties - young, but not in middle school.

but we can chalk that up to a lot of things - dawson casting, the fact that mcr was playing characters younger than them and not merely versions of themselves, etc. but that bit of weirdness pales in comparison to the timeline for the girl’s age in general.

she was “born on the battlefield” according to the phoenix witch, so her mother couldn’t have given birth to her that much long after she was caught and turned into a drac. so, let’s say 2015 at the latest. even putting aside that 2019 was assumed to be the year that the music videos took place, the timeline we get in the comics is utterly nonsensical. if the girl was born in 2015 at the latest, that means that she would be twelve by the time the killjoys were exterminated in the comics timeline, 2027. all this despite the fact that she was a) young enough to have forgotten their faces once at age fifteen, and b) the fact that the comics estimate her age to have been around six when she was with the fab four.

on TOP of that, the comics claim it to be the “twelve year anniversary” of the death of the fabulous four, and no matter what the girl’s age was when she ran with them...why would she be fifteen?? that means that she was three when she was with the killjoys - not six like vamos posits, and not twelve like the comics timeline would claim. she would be eighteen at the youngest, but the comics puts her at fifteen - and that file we see up there is supposed to be present day since it mentions cherri cola and the ultra-v’s, both of whom the girl only got tight with during the events of the comics themselves and not before.

in conclusion: the canon timeline we get is inconsistent as fuck so we all decided Fuck That and started making shit up

at least that’s what i did lol. like, you are straight up not going to be able to come up with a timeline that follows every piece of canon we get and makes cohesive sense. i have tried, and it’s...it’s a lot. it’s a headache, and it’s not worth it. i have no idea why the timeline is so fucky in this canon and at this point i have chosen to shuffle around when things happened for the sake of consistency without sacrificing the events themselves. i put the death of the fabulous four at 2019 in spite of the comics timeline, for example.

what makes it easier for me is to visualize the whole thing as like...a story. which obviously it is a story but visualizing it as more of a legend or myth that’s being told through different versions and by different narrators. different people have different pieces of the puzzle and different people will remember things and when/how they happened differently. for someone, they remember the exact date of something and know when that event happened. for someone else, they remember only pieces but guess at a date at random. it’s like a story being told through different perspectives and as it’s passed down and down and down, certain things get lost, rewritten, moved around, and outright forgotten.

the phoenix witch and bl/ind are not reliable narrators - they emphasize different parts of the same story. the ultra-v’s are not reliable narrators - they weren’t there when the events of the music videos happened. cherri cola is not a reliable narrator - he was emotionally involved in a lot of aspects of this history and blames himself for certain things beyond his control. the girl is not a reliable narrator - she doesn’t remember a lot of the earlier parts, by her own admission.

the timeline doesn’t make sense. i chose to move things around while retaining what happened but not everyone does, and i don’t blame them lol. i wanted consistency so i just decided to start doing it myself cause uh this timeline sure is a Lot

so in short go hog fuckin wild and make up when shit happens because this canon is allergic to consistency

[bearsfakedthemoonlanding]

alright y’know what? since I’m obviously not going to get any homework done tonight and already have the thoughts in my head, round two

People I’ve Known Who Made Me Feel So Much Better About My Gender

[CW: BDSM talk, gender fuckery]

no names because I’m not outing anybody like that

1. This Older Boy from Martial Arts Class who tried to groom me when I was fourteen and eventually grew up and wasn’t a total shithead

i used to idolize this kid, okay? he was twenty and i was fourteen and i didn’t know boys could be like that

and by “like that” i mean flamboyant and flirty and bouncy and short and goofy

and even though a lot of stupid, toxic shit went down that should NOT have gone down

he’s the first person i remember having gender envy over

2. The Wrestle Boy from my College Martial Arts Club

this kid had the best hair i’ve ever seen

wore it in a bun and wore these tiny rainbow earrings

was the best ally

short, sturdy motherfucker who got really philosophical when he was drunk and had really pretty eyes and was always dead tired

he was gender fucky in a really lazy “nothing matters, I do what I want” sort of way

also very loyal and protective. and he could down a pint of guiness in like. three seconds. disgusting and fantastic.

a true bro.

3. My Boss from College

quirky little man who owned a small book store and was far nicer to me than i deserved

used to feed me lunch on fridays because he didn’t think i was taking care of myself

kind of became family while i was in undergrad

he’s short, vegan, not really masculine in any way whatsoever, very creative, very nervous, and the kindest person i’ve ever met in my life

seriously never met anyone kinder than him

he’s never hurt a single person and he’s never going to

4. My Best Boy

in an alternate timeline I could have fallen in love with this boy

largest man i’ve ever met. 6′6″ and twice my weight probably, broad shoulders, huge arms, used to pick me up and toss me like a little sack of potatoes

we spent undergrad wrestling and rubbing each other’s faces into the gross dorm room carpet. truly disgusting.

took care of me when i was drunk or sick.

wasn’t afraid to say “i love you” platonically and frequently

my favorite boy

5. My Kink Parnter from Junior/Senior year of undergrad

he was always ready to talk about literally anything (living in the BDSM scene will do that to ya.  no filters. no shame).  he’s also on the spectrum (loudly, proudly, once again, no shame) and had a way of asking questions that just made you really think about things.

first time i met him he asked my pronouns, which nobody had ever asked before, and when i said “she/her” he said, “cool.  have you ever thought about using other ones?”

he was the first person i asked to call me a boy, because we were fucking around a lot, and i was really uncomfortable getting called “bad girl” while he beat my ass.  i mentioned it, he said. “huh... what about bad boy?”

and it just clicked. 

he was also the first person i asked to use they/them pronouns for me, and he just went with it, no questions asked.

he also used to crossdress when he was younger, so we talked a lot about being gender fucky. it was great.

and i got to be as rowdy as i needed to anytime i was around him, really get it all out of my system.

wrestling is very gender affirming for me, what can i say?

6. The Chef I Work For

he’s the same height and build as I am

a little dude who is unmistakably a Dude but with a lot of “traditionally feminine” interests

he likes to cook, he can sew, he has a tiny herb garden, he took dance classes growing up, he used to be a male stripper

when i came out to him he was loudly supportive, and he told me stories about queer people he’s known throughout his life 

he uses my pronouns. he makes other people use my pronouns. he apologizes when he fucks it up.  he lets me talk about transitioning. he lets me talk about my parents.

my best friend in this city is the guy i work for, but y’know what? that’s a dynamic i’m willing to work with. fuck it. 

if you think to recognize any of these people, or think you know me in real life, no you don’t.  go away, please.  this space is not for you.  

if you think you’re one of these people in this list, this is thoroughly embarrassing.  pretend you didn’t see this and never mention it, thanks.

[naughtynutboy]

im not sure if this is an adhd mood or just a me mood, but i can not write essays anymore. idk what changed, i used to be able to sit down and write an essay even though i thoroughly hated every second of it, even if i had to write it weeks after it was due, but now i just can't. it's like my brain just doesn't even acknowledge it as an option. i get assigned an essay and my first thought is "damn, there goes [insert amount of points it's worth] down the drain"

like i will take any work over writing an essay at this point. i just can't get myself to do it, i can't muster up even a teaspoon of motivation to do an essay anymore. i can do preparation for it, i can find sources and take notes, but i can't actually write it and complete it. and it definitely doesn't help that the essay i have to do, that's due tomorrow and that i have no progress on, is for the class that i am failing the worst right now.

but of course i can't explain why i can't do it. i can't put the feeling into words or figure out a clear reason other than that my brain is just all fucky wucky. so if i try to explain anything i'm just making excuses for my own laziness. i should just get over it. i know in my mind that it's not that hard and that it would take maybe 3 hours or so out of my day and that i don't have anything better to be doing anyway, but when i try to get the motivation to do it i'm just filled with this dread and disgust as if i'm trying to convince myself to cut off my own arm.

i know that sitting around doing nothing but staring at the assignment on my screen isn't going to anything, but people feel the need to let me know that anyway. as if i don't already know. as if i'm doing this to myself on purpose for shits and giggles. as if i'm actively trying to throw my grades and future down the drain. i'm sitting here typing this when i could be putting all these words to use and filling out my 3 page minimum. but i'm not because i feel like i can't. i know that physically i am capable, i've done it before and i can do it again, but it feels like i can't. like the option to work on it is just nonexistent or locked behind an invisible wall that i don't know how to break.

but nobody else around me knows this. nobody understands what i'm feeling right now and i can't expect them to understand because from an outside perspective it does just look like i'm trying to find an excuse for my own laziness. that i'm pulling the victim card or the mental illness card when i say that i'm struggling because of my adhd. i make a conscious effort not to do that, i've been diagnosed for over a year and only brought it up for the first time a week ago. but what am i supposed to say when that is the reason?

it feels like i'm stuck in a corner with a big thick stone wall just hurling towards me and everyone around me is yelling at me to just go through the door but there is no door in the wall. the only thing i can do is throw myself at it, breaking all my bones in order to get to the other side. that's a hella dramatic metaphor for me taking the L on my essay and waiting for new work, but we're living in hella dramatic times so fuck it, i'm gonna be a little melodramatic.

there's just no winning here. i don't know what to do. i feel helpless. i just have to grit and bare the consequences before i can get new work and try to get my grade up. i can't ask for alternate work because it's not in my plan and i doubt my teacher would do it without it being on my plan, but if worst comes to worst i might just try asking anyway. im just so sick of this feeling of guilt whenever i'm doing anything but schoolwork even if i'm just trying to calm myself down after crying. im sick of feeling like everything i do is wrong or not good enough even when i'm trying as hard as i can. and it doesn't help that i have to be cooped up inside, not able to see any of my friends and having to deal with people yelling at me 24/7 with no escape.

and when i try to make progress in other areas of my life so i can at least be proud of something, like brushing my teeth more or drawing/writing, it immediately gets reversed a day later and i lose all motivation because i get berated for the things that i don't do and anything i do try to do gets ignored. everyone around me right now is just making it 10x harder for me to be even a little bit productive, even if it's not in school work i still want to take care of myself and work on something other than just staring at a screen all day. but it's kind of hard to do anything for myself when i'm constantly feeling like shit. and then i'm told to lighten up by the same person who screamed at me an hour before, like my struggling is some kind of funny joke that i can laugh about.

i'm not fucking laughing.

[rametarin]

tempting.

Reflecting on my health issues, since age 17. And my living situation.

So since around the age of 16, I’ve been plagued with unpredictable bowel problems and digestive ills. Like, everybody gets constipated every now and then, but I mean I’d get just, excruciatingly backed up and my family wouldn’t help me get seen or anything.

Basically from the time I was 18 onwards I was told my medical bills were mine. But oh by the way [Ram. Not my real name, but the name fam calls me], you gotta pay us every dollar that isn’t devoted to keeping yourself alive :^)

I’d be like, family, I cannot afford this, it’d be in your best interests to invest in my health so I can figure out what’s fucky about my bowels and stomach so this can stop happening, I can live a normal life, and we can all continue on our merry way.

Basically I was told, “tough shit, do it yourself, also pay your fair share to The Family” (aka, give mom all your money.)

It was never just fear of homelessness, but fear of homelessness while my GI tract was fucky and my teeth were rotting out of my head that made escape from here impossible. It’s why I didn’t just climb into a hole in the wall and escape this garbage fire of a mother and do that bootstrap shit. Because it sincerely made  me wonder sometimes if I was being poisoned by my mother to keep me powerless and in need of help, but perpetually weakened to where the best I could do is move towards help but just be put on a treadmill for someone elses financial benefit.

Perhaps my bitterness makes just a touch more sense now, right? Because Maine is a long-drive state. You need a car. You absolutely need a car to get anywhere. Not having one means you walk everywhere, you ride a bike everywhere and are FUCKED during the winter, or you go nowhere because you don’t have anywhere you need to be and don’t drive.

Now that said, imagine having bowel and ass problems so bad just the idea of driving makes you question if it’s safe for you to even be on the road.

That has been my existence for twenty years now, because my family wants me just close enough to extract what mom things “she’s owed,” but absolutely will not help me with anything. There’s no security in staying here because the whole fucking POINT of putting up with a family’s infantilizing “everything has its place” mentality, is you’re able to wisely squirrel away your income without paying a landlord anything and your income going up in smoke

If your mother is just the worst sort of landlord, you’re basically just paying a narcissistic bitch of a mother to be a narcissistic bitch of a mother. There’s absolutely no upside.

So I’ve been stuck in this virtual tutorial of an existence because my own digestive system was torturing me and seriously deleting my ability to operate independently. And mom, whom has always wanted absolute control over my finances and my future, saw it as a holistic way of penning me up and making be desperate. Never a wasted opportunity with this fucking monster.

Well. I eliminated cottonseed oil and chicken proteins from my diet and, while not perfect, the amount of excruciating pain and pressure and weird cold-acidic burning in my back and bowels has subsided a lot. As well as my stomach issues receded considerably.

The truth is I was loathe to even try and escape without figuring out these problems, but I couldn’t figure them out because I never had the money. I tried to get a barium enema x-ray when I was 17 and suffering a massive, excruciating flareup. I missed prom (I didn’t have anyone to go with anyway) because of what felt like it could’ve been anything from gall stones to bowel cancer.

Had a big useless cleanse that was excruciating, then had the guys that give the barium enema tell me, “lube is expensive” when I screamed about how much it hurt to have the thing shoved up my ass. My already inflamed, tender ass.

Absolutely nothing was found in my bowels. Which did absolutely nothing to explain why they felt inflamed and miserable. But it did give me a $1,700 bill, which proved.. absolutely nothing except they couldn’t find tumors or any object lodged in my butt. Given how it took me two summers to acquire almost that much working a shit job for my shithead father’s girlfriend, maybe you can appreciate how heartbreaking that is. Spending all that money and you don’t even learn WHY you’re suffering, you just learn why you aren’t.

And today I still fume with rage over being told, “ass lube is expensive so we’re skimping on it” and then be charged almost two thousand god damned dollars.

Absolutely could not get my family to help me pursue any other avenue. They just kept insisting, “it’s all anxiety, it’s all in your head. You just need to get off the computer and do more manual labor/make us money and your problems will go away. :^)”

But then they would not help me do it. They wanted me to take on all the risk while they got the guaranteed income from my needing to be around them.

My need to grow step by step was their opportunity to mitigate my life, every step of the way, so non-compliance with their exploitation would result in homelessness and complete uprooting. If I wasn’t going to voluntarily follow draconian rules, then I’d be governed by those rules anyway in the absence of them being verbally stated. Just, using poverty and immobility as a way to impose it.

But I refused to comply. I wasn’t going to suffer every day unendingly AND get my income snatched away, BY MY OWN GOD DAMNED FAMILY. A family that didn’t even pay RENT to live in the house we were living in at the time, and a family that made 65-70K a year, with another house they owned in a less convenient location worth $350K. My mother had ABSOLUTELY NO BUSINESS other than fun and profit as an excuse as to why I needed to buy, “the family,” a car. Other than making it the “family” car giving her defacto control over it but my obligation to pay for it. Just another indirect way to give her absolute control over my options and alternatives.

So I didn’t work. I sat at home and dealt with her abusive bullshit, because it was the only card I had left in my deck. She didn’t want the stigma of throwing out a sick man without a license, a car or any savings. I didn’t want to voluntarily throw myself out and die in the street.

So I dealt with my health problems as best as I could. There were a good many times living in this house, that we’ve lived in and she’s owned since 2006, that I questioned whether I should phone an ambulance and just say fuck it, go into tens of thousands of dollars of debt just goosechasing this problem, thanks to the backdoor socialized medical system that exploits the profit motive but uses government assured payment fixed to taxes in order to afford it.

That’s probably what pisses me off the most about my situation. Our medical system has been turned into a farce by socialists deliberately making medicine as toxic as they fucking can in order to then bat their eyes and go, “Bet you just want single payer and to basically make medicine another ring of the government NOW, don’t youuuuuu? It’d make all those woes go awayyyyy!” while turning the screws to our bodies by denying us affordable medicine. All while blaming capitalism for shit that’s assured to work at any cost by the government.

Other people pine for a more socialized system to make the disgusting exploitation and abuse stop. But the truth is, that’s just like wanting to marry a pirate so they’ll stop lobbing cannonballs and demanding tolls at sea from you. Yes, the actual literal war on you and your community and your personal sovereignty will be over, but you’ll also be institutionalizing pirates in order to make them stop taking complete advantage of you on their terms instead of taking complete advantage of you on mostly-their terms but you get to act like you’re consenting to it.

I digressed. Anyway...

Well. I’m curious about pursuing a shit job just to see if I can KEEP some income, but I know, and have always known, my mother will not allow me to do anything with that money but barely keep myself alive. While she uses it to just buy enormous bulk loads of garbage and hoards them in the corners, or throws hundreds of dollars at friends-of-the-family/neighbors and extracts that money from me to do it.

I know going into it that the job would be otherwise worthless. She wants her ten pounds of flesh a year from me, and if I worked, there’d be no getting around it. She isn’t going to allow me to profit living with her, in any way. Everything has to revolve around her, or I get made homeless.

But trying to hold a job would mean possible (there’s that ‘potential vs. guarantee dichotomy again) feelers out to couches to surf on. Or credit building.

It’d still be a sexless existence dictated by someone so fucking petty that they can’t help you fix a broken tooth but do miraculously have the money to buy you a cell phone and a plan, “if you want it,” purely to always have you at their beck and call and/or have control over your phone plan. And it’d mean committing to something that runs a minimum of a year while being able to have a foot crushing my neck and destroying whatever I’m trying to do in an instant.

but it’d also mean being able to financially pursue what’s wrong with me and fixing it.

But I will hold this grudge against women and the actual, objective privilege they have from the legal system and our social system in the US for the rest of my life. Everybody around me saw what she was doing to me and my life, and they’ve done and said absolutely nothing. An abusive woman in this society is basically on par with the richest barons in a young adult novel, and all you have to do to get that kind of institutional power, rich or poor, is have a vagina and be a mom.

Then other women will sympathize with the mother, whom can never be totally wrong about anything, and at best you might get silence and indifference about the way you’re treated.

You can be cornered, debased and neglected until you’re a greasy shoggoth of a person, and if it’s a woman doing this to you, it’s your fault for not escaping. After having every escape route made as torturous and unsustainable an option as possible, you’ll be held accountable for yourself.

I’ll be relieved and pleased when this disgusting pig of a woman dies of natural causes. She’ll have gotten away with grabbing my life and thrashing around with it for 20 years while the world passed me by, just to keep control, just for fun, just for profit.

But in the meantime, maybe there’s a local niche I can fill. Just enough of something to find somewhere else to live. Without conditions making it more damning to pursue than nothing at all.

But I’m not hoping too hard.