#ITS NOT EVEN SUBTEXT ANYMORE

[notebookpapers]

so we all agree they fucked in that Honda Odyssey right

[snoikie14]

How dare people say we're crazy for imagining Destiel for all those years,, Dean is Bi, Cas is gay

You can rip this truth from my cold dead hands

[eremin0109]

Not to dunk on the worst of evil on the eve of its finale but like gurl, you could never be the absolute whoreslut that is evilive.

[na-na-namine]

Welcome to tumblr 2024, where we've moved past elaborate character analyses and indulgent readings into queer subtext to… ignoring subtext entirely and shipping a lesbian icon with a gay cowboy.

[ezralva]

You know seeing all those cute fanarts about Geto, Haibara, and Nanami cheering Gojo's fight with Sukuna from up above always makes me wanna shed a tear and also all those teacher!Geto au where Gojo always looks so happy teaching alongside him...and how all that now turn out to be like foreshadowing next chapter...like I'm really sad rn especially when he said he wished Suguru was there to motivate him before the fight...damn Gojo, no need to worry cz your Suguru is definitely cheering you on, you just didn't see it back there... and like, man, it's okay if you wanna rest now and join your Suguru, you've done so much and worked so hard...

Once again we are reminded how for Gojo, it always always comes back to his Suguru, no matter how many other of his friends and allies still there with him or recently passed away or even the fact that Suguru's body is literally still up and about and very much alive as the man who sealed him. Yet Gojo's heart and mind are still always on the man who, he of all ppl knows best, has died by his own two hands...for a year.

I mean seeing his face while he lies there and 'meets' all his late friends hurt af but at the same time I want him to rest...

It also throws back to when he said to Megumi about winning by dying is different than dying for winning (or sth like that) and how you'd always die alone no matter how many allies you got... Kinda wanna point out as well about that q&a where Gege said Gojo basically couldn't be killed...but that was years ago...so idk myb things have changed in their mind... Anyway who knows myb it's not definite yet...

[violentlydefending]

genuinely always so shocked to see mirei hate. like literally god forbid women do anything.

[many-gay-magpies]

neil what the fuck

[surreallyy]

you're crying about getting queerbaited. I'm enjoying the homoerotic subtext. We are not the same

[attila-werther]

pointing a loaded nerf gun at my own story like subtext is for cowards actually. immediately unloading the nerf gun because I forgot how maps work. followed by reloading it and repeating the first statement with enthusiastic confidence

[betawooper]

i am so fucking obsessed that the longest arc in this story so far is about dokja being so aromantic that is the actual stake in the plot like KJSDHJFKSJKDHJD

[some-murmurings]

now im not saying that this was the most cathartic thread ive ever read

Your personal triggers and squicks do not get to determine what kind of art other people make.

People make shit. It's what we do. We make shit to explore, to inspire, to explain, to understand, but also to cope, to process, to educate, to warn, to go, "hey, wouldn't that be fucked up? Wild, right?"

Yes, sure, there are things that should be handled with care if they are used at all. But plenty more things are subjective. Some things are just not going to be to your tastes. So go find something that is to your tastes and stop worrying so much about what other people are doing and trying to dictate universal moral precepts about art based on your personal triggers and squicks.

I find possession stories super fucking triggering if I encounter them without warning, especially if they function as a sexual abuse metaphor. I'm not over here campaigning for every horror artist to stop writing possession stories because they make me feel shaky and dissociated. I just check Does The Dog Die before watching certain genres, and I have my husband or roommate preview anything I think might upset me so they can give me more detail. And if I genuinely don't think I can't handle it, I don't watch it. It's that simple.

[ruvi-muffin]

Hey hey hey

Just don't like... accidentally call autistic ppl stupid for "not having reading comprehension" when in fact, i read it, and took it litterally.

My bad. It's on my medical record i do that sometimes.

[meowmeowfication]

holy shit theres no way theyre NOT gay

i mean the scene of them alone in the office together and then playing the lyrics "we might kiss/when we are alone/when nobody's watching" is INSANITY

the middle age yaoi doctors make me want to kay em es

[nedlittle]

it drives me bonkers the way people don't know how to read classic books in context anymore. i just read a review of the picture of dorian gray that said "it pains me that the homosexual subtext is just that, a subtext, rather than a fully explored part of the narrative." and now i fully want to put my head through a table. first of all, we are so lucky in the 21st century to have an entire category of books that are able to loudly and lovingly declare their queerness that we've become blind to the idea that queerness can exist in a different language than our contemporary mode of communication. second it IS a fully explored part of the narrative! dorian gray IS a textually queer story, even removed from the context of its writing. it's the story of toxic queer relationships and attraction and dangerous scandals and the intertwining of late 19th century "uranianism" and misogyny. second of all, i'm sorry that oscar wilde didn't include 15k words of graphic gay sex with ao3-style tags in his 1890 novel that was literally used to convict him of indecent behaviour. get well soon, i guess...

[hideousocean]

Many people are noting that Nimona isn't very subtle about its message and themes (cue the rainbow breathe weapon). And you know what, I think it's awesome. We're used to thinking subtlety is good, and even queer people frequently agree that queer stories should be "well made" and "not too preachy". That's not wrong in itself, but here's the thing: after spending millennia as "the love that dare not speak its name", we desperately need stuff that isn't subtle, but loudly, blatantly, obnoxiously queer... AND well made, because these are not opposites. Subtlety for its own sake becomes just another closet. After realizing it, I won't be comfortable writing queer subtext anymore -- not until I see queer text become commonplace.

[mad-hunts]

as far as jack could tell, jervis was really out of it; and it made him wonder it was due to something that had happened while he was out with his father, or when they'd gotten here. perhaps both. jack gnawed on his bottom lip, his eyes darting to jervis's hands, which were flexing like he was struggling with something. an eyebrow rose as jack contemplated asking whether he needed some pain medication.

since he didn't receive an answer to his question yet, jack figured he might as well introduce himself. ❝ uhh, well, you don't have to talk to me if you aren't feeling up to it. my sister told me that you fainted in front of her out there — so, i understand if you're still feeling sick. my name is jack, ❞ he scratched at the back of his neck as he continued to observe jervis. whenever the man tried to get up, jack approached him and was about to caution jervis that maybe he shouldn't by lightly touching his shoulder.

but he remembered matilda telling him something about the other really not liking to be touched, so he merely was going to verbally tell him. up until jervis laid back down himself, anyhow. jack couldn't hold himself back from frowning at his poor present state before venturing out of the room with a 'i'll be right back.' and indeed he had been, with two different vials, alongside a few syringes to inject into that IV bag: should jervis want to be medicated. jack figured it'd be easier to just do that rather than forcing him to swallow anything.

he placed those also on the table before tilting his head at the quote jervis had said until it clicked a few seconds later, ❝ that's a quote from through the looking glass, isn't it? and one that the red queen said in the story if i remember correctly. she was basically teaching alice that staying in the same place is falling behind, right? ❞ jack squinted his eyes at that before a thought came to mind. a soft snort left him, but one that was done of an innocent sort of amusement rather than malice. ❝ that is a kind of roundabout way of talking about survival of the fittest. but hey, lewis carroll was all about the whimsy of things, i guess. and its no big deal. ❞

jack pretended not to see the tears that the other shed for jervis's own sake. the blood on his lips was something he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried, though. jack grabbed a washcloth from his pack and held it out towards's jervis's hand. once it was out of his hand was when jack set down that teacup, the slightly too long stripped pants he wore swaying across the ground. ❝ mm, you and dad were both asleep for nearly four hours. sure — i don't think that's silly at all. i keep something on me all the time from when my brother, julien, was still around. ❞ the bracelet he showed the other on his right wrist then seemed to be made up entirely of tiny conch shells.

julien was a big fan of the sea, which jack thought made his death all the more crushing. after seeing the state that the stuffed animal was in, he figured that that bunny must've been really loved; though it didn't really matter by whom it was. the end result was the same, as love changes you. jack knew this well as he'd never wanted anything more than to be embraced by the warmth of it.

he quickly shook that thought off, only to grab the two vials he got from the fridge once more. ❝ eh... the four hours actually went by rather fast. ❞ jack cleared his throat then, ❝ you know, i couldn't help but notice that you aren't looking so hot still, and so i grabbed some meds for you. but i won't force you to take them. i have a pain reliever as well as something that relieves vertigo. are either, or both of these, something you want? ❞

Eigengrau.

A faint hum buzzed in his ears; his mouth was so dry it felt like he’d swallowed a wad of wool.

The thin sheet beneath him brushed his fingertips as Jervis flexed his hands, cracking his eyes open a sliver. The room tilted, everything blurring at the edges. Ah… so he had fainted. Just as he’d suspected. No glasses, then.

"Hey. Ahh, you're awake… That's awesome. How are you feeling?"

The new voice was barely a whisper, young and uncertain—belonging to a boy, maybe sixteen or eighteen by the timber. Was this another of Barton's assistants, a friend of Matilda’s, or perhaps her brother? Jervis couldn’t quite remember; hadn't Barton mentioned something about having more than one child?

He winced, his body feeling heavy, leaden; aching everywhere. Slowly, he exhaled and tried to push himself upright—tried being the keyword. The effort brought only a wave of vertigo, dizzying and blue-hot, making his vision swim.

… ohh, god…

He swallowed thickly, curling into himself. Something wasn’t right. His glasses and gloves weren’t the only thing missing. He was in his socks, jeans, and a now damp charcoal t-shirt, his body slick with cold sweat. His graying auburn curls clung to his neck in tangled ropes. His boots were beside the cot, his messenger bag on a desk across the room. His overcoat and maroon button-down were draped over a chair.

A flicker of discomfort in his right arm. Burning. Tugging.

Jervis glanced down at the source: a plastic tube. A peripheral IV catheter.

"Ah, you know... 'It takes all the running you can do, to stay in the same place,'" he muttered, his voice clipped and hollow; Bermudian accent casual, almost detached. He turned his eyes to the boy; offered him a faint, strained smile. "Keeps things interesting, I suppose... but I appreciate your concern, lad."

He lifted his fingers to his cheek, feeling the moisture trickle down—salt on his lips. Tears, sharp and stinging. Jervis flinched and quickly scrubbed them away with the heels of his hands.

Cold metal pressed into his spine, tight around his neck—the chain with his and Sylvie’s wedding rings twisted against his skin. He must’ve been thrashing in his sleep. There was blood on his lips.

"Forgive me…" His vision swam as he watched the boy set a teacup on the small table beside the cot, just within view. "But I'm afraid I've rather lost my sense of time. How long has it been since I…?" He paused, his voice barely steady. "... if... if you don’t mind, could you please reach into my coat pocket? You'll find a small cuddly toy. A rabbit..." He rubbed his mouth, lowered his eyes. "It sounds foolish, I know... but it... it was my daughter's, you see..."

The boy nodded, moving quickly to retrieve the toy from Jervis’ coat pocket, and placed it on the table beside the teacup. The bunny was missing one of its button eyes, its white fur faded and matted. A pink satin ribbon around its neck was frayed and tattered.

“Thank you,” Jervis said hoarsely. “I must have been out of it for quite a while.”