#NONE OF THIS REFLECTS THE REAL PERSON THIS IS JUST FICTION !!!!!! they follow their world equivalent of these versions

[solargeist]

the religious hermit list is growing slowly 👍

Grian - Catholic

Mumbo - Mormon

Skizz - Protestant 🎉

[enemiestolovershoe]

Subtle's Overrated Part 2

Noah Sebastian x bsf!dierkes!reader

Part 1

Summary: Y/N and Noah navigate their growing connection during the tour, balancing passion, privacy, and the playful chaos of their close-knit bandmates.

Words: 4k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected p in v (wrap it up pls), oral receiving (f and m), use of y/n, language, teasing, suggestive themes, getting 'caught', lmk if i missed something

Disclaimer: While the characters in this story are inspired by real people, the events and interactions are purely fictional and not reflective of reality.

It had been two weeks since you and Noah officially got together, and things had somehow only gotten more intense. The teasing from the band had reached an all-time high, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You and Noah were practically inseparable now, a fact that Matt and Folio had coined as being “superglued together.”

“You two are like one of those old-school cartoons where the characters’ hands get stuck together with glue,” Folio said one afternoon, smirking as he leaned back on the bus couch. “I’m just waiting for the part where you try to pull away and end up with your faces stuck together.”

“Very original, Folio,” Noah said dryly, though he didn’t move from his spot beside you, his arm draped over your shoulders as you leaned into him.

“Hey, I call it like I see it,” Folio said, grinning.

Jolly walked in, holding a soda can, and immediately jumped into the conversation. “Calling it ‘superglued’ might actually be an understatement. They’re practically one person at this point.”

“Jealous?” you shot back, earning a round of laughter from the group.

Despite all the teasing, you and Noah had your moments, though not without their share of interruptions. The bus wasn’t exactly known for privacy, a lesson you’d learned the hard way more than once.

Flashback: The Couch Incident

It had been late at night, and most of the band had either passed out or holed up in their bunks. You and Noah had decided to take advantage of the quiet, slipping into the living room section of the bus for some alone time.

You had straddled him, your lips locked in a heated kiss, his hands running up and down your sides. The world outside the bus ceased to exist as his mouth moved against yours, and you’d let your guard down completely.

That is, until the door swung open.

“Yo, anyone up for Mario Kart?” Nicholas Ruffilo’s voice boomed as he barged in, Jolly trailing behind him.

The two of them froze mid-step, their eyes widening as they took in the scene.

“Uh…” Ruffilo started, clearly unsure whether to laugh or apologize.

Jolly, ever the calm one, raised an eyebrow. “Well, this is awkward.”

You scrambled off Noah’s lap, clutching your shirt to your chest in a feeble attempt to preserve some dignity. Noah groaned, his head falling back against the couch.

“Ever heard of knocking?” he muttered.

“We didn’t think we needed to,” Ruffilo said, smirking now. “Apparently, we do.”

Since then, you and Noah had been trying to pick your moments more carefully, though it hadn’t exactly worked out as planned.

Flashback: The Greenroom 

It was the third show of the week, and you’d barely had any alone time with Noah. The greenroom seemed like a safe bet—everyone else was busy getting ready or dealing with soundcheck.

You’d pinned him against the couch, your lips traveling along his jawline as his hands gripped your hips. His low groan sent shivers down your spine, and you were just about to palm him through his jeans when—

“Hey, has anyone seen—oh, come on!”

Matt’s voice rang out, followed immediately by Folio, Nicholas, and Jolly filing into the room. They all stopped short, collectively groaning in mock disgust.

“Seriously?” Matt said, his arms crossed.

“I thought we agreed the greenroom was a neutral zone,” Folio added, though he didn’t seem particularly surprised.

You scrambled off Noah once again, glaring at the group. “Do none of you knock?”

“Not when we don’t think we need to!” Matt retorted, throwing his hands in the air.

“Alright, that’s it,” Noah said, standing and brushing off his jeans. “We’re getting a lock for every door on this tour.”

The interruptions had become something of a running joke, but they’d also solidified one thing in your mind: you weren’t going to let anything happen until you had real privacy—preferably in a hotel, where no one could barge in unannounced.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Noah’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

You glanced at him, his expression amused as he sat beside you on the tour bus couch. “Thinking about what?”

“Every time we’ve been interrupted,” he said with a knowing smirk.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “How could I not? It’s like they have some kind of radar.”

“No kidding,” he muttered. “But hey, next week we’re staying in hotels for a few nights.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the implication, but before you could respond, Matt’s voice rang out from the front of the bus.

“Alright, lovebirds, let’s go! Soundcheck time!”

You sighed, shooting Noah an apologetic look. “Duty calls.”

He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “We’ll pick this up later.”

With a grin, you followed him off the bus, already anticipating whatever chaos the day would bring.

The Toronto skyline loomed in the distance, and you couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief. After days of being cooped up on the tour bus and countless interruptions, the idea of staying in a proper hotel felt like heaven. This stop was a multi-day event, and you’d made it abundantly clear to Matt that this time, privacy was non-negotiable.

“Alright,” Matt said as the bus rolled into the hotel parking lot. “We’ve got the rooms sorted. Two doubles for the guys, and one for me.”

“And one for me and Noah,” you interjected, arms crossed as you stood in front of your brother.

Matt’s eyebrows lifted in faux surprise. “Oh? Why do you need your own room?”

You rolled your eyes, already sensing where this was going. “You know exactly why.”

“Do I?” he said, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “Just seems like an odd request, that’s all.”

“Matt,” Noah groaned, stepping up beside you, clearly already exasperated. “Man, stop being a cockblock already. It fucking hurts.”

Matt smirked, pulling a room key card from behind his back and holding it just out of your reach. “You mean like this?”

You glared at him, but Noah was quicker, snatching the card from his hand with an annoyed grunt. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Have fun, lovebirds,” Matt called after you both as you headed for the hotel entrance, his grin practically splitting his face.

The memory of his smirk stayed with you as you and Noah made your way to your room, but the moment the door clicked shut behind you, all thoughts of Matt or the band vanished. Noah turned to you, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite describe but definitely felt in the air between you.

“We’re finally alone,” he murmured, stepping closer.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though your voice came out a little breathless. “It’s been days. Weeks. It feels like years.”

His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him. “You’re telling me,” he said, his lips brushing against yours.

Before you could respond, he kissed you, and any coherent thought flew out of your head. His lips were firm and demanding, his hands roaming up your back as yours tangled in his hair. The tension that had been building between you two for days finally found its outlet, and it was electric.

Flashback: The Bus Incident

A few nights earlier, after a show, the two of you had rushed back to the bus, desperate for some alone time while the rest of the band went out for drinks. The bus was dark, quiet, and it felt like the perfect opportunity.

You’d barely made it to the couch when Noah pressed you against it, his lips trailing down your neck as his hands slid under your shirt. Your breath came out in soft gasps, your body arching into his touch.

And then, the bus door opened.

“I’m too tired for the bar,” Matt said, stepping inside and flipping the light on. He froze when he saw the two of you tangled together, blinking in surprise before bursting out laughing. “Oh, come on! Can’t I leave you two alone for five minutes?”

“Matt!” you groaned, scrambling off Noah.

“Really?” Noah muttered, his head dropping back against the couch in defeat.

Flashback: The Salt Lake City Studio Incident

You’d managed to convince Matt to book a hotel in Salt Lake City, thinking you’d finally have some privacy. What you hadn’t realized was that Matt had booked a studio apartment for the entire band—and himself.

You and Noah had shared a tiny corner of the room, and every time you thought you might sneak a moment alone, someone was always there.

“Who books a studio apartment for six people?” you’d hissed at Matt as you passed him in the kitchen.

He smirked, clearly enjoying your frustration. “Hey, it’s cozy.”

“Cozy?” Noah had said from the couch, his voice filled with irritation. “We can’t even breathe without someone hearing it.”

Those moments felt like a cruel joke now, but here, in this hotel room in Toronto, it was just the two of you. No interruptions, no teasing bandmates, no cockblocking brothers—just you and Noah, finally free to be together.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath. “Worth the wait,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with meaning.

You smiled, your hands resting on his chest. “We’ve only just started.”

Noah smiled against your lips before pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was intense, filled with hunger and adoration as he leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss—this one deeper, more urgent. His hands found your waist, guiding you back until the back of your knees hit the bed. You stumbled slightly, falling back onto the mattress with a soft laugh.

He followed immediately, pinning you beneath him as his weight settled on top of you. The two of you couldn’t help but giggle, the sound breaking through the tension for a moment.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” you teased, your hands coming up to cup his face.

“Dangerous?” he repeated with a smirk, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “Says the girl who’s been driving me insane for weeks.”

You grinned, leaning up just enough to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I love you,” you murmured softly, your eyes locking onto his.

The smirk softened into something more tender, his lips quirking up into a small smile. “I love you too,” he said, his voice just as quiet, before leaning down to kiss you again.

His lips moved against yours with a slow intensity, the kind that made your whole body hum with anticipation. You felt his hand drift down to the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing your skin lightly as he paused.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, his voice low and filled with both need and care.

You nodded quickly, your own hands moving to help him as you pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside. Noah’s lips found their way to your neck almost immediately, leaving a trail of soft, warm kisses down to your collarbone.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

His kisses continued downward, his lips grazing over the swell of your breast before he pressed a lingering, wet kiss there. You let out a soft gasp, threading your fingers through his hair as he moved lower, stopping briefly to kiss your belly before his mouth hovered over your shorts.

Noah rested his head there for a moment, looking up at you with a playful smirk. “You know,” he began, his tone teasing, “I’ve thought about this exact moment way more than I probably should’ve.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your hands brushing through his hair. “And how does it compare?” you asked, matching his teasing tone.

“Better,” he said, his smirk growing as his eyes sparkled with mischief. “But it’d be even better if these weren’t in the way.” He tugged gently at the waistband of your shorts. “Can I take them off, baby?”

“Please,” you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of nervousness and excitement.

He didn’t hesitate, pulling your shorts down in one smooth motion, leaving your panties in place. His hands brushed along your thighs as he slid back up to you, his lips finding yours once again in a deep, lingering kiss.

“You wear too much,” you murmured against his lips, tugging lightly at the fabric of his shirt.

Noah pulled back with a chuckle, the corners of his lips twitching up into a smirk. “Better get rid of it then, huh?” he said, sitting up just enough to tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside.

Your eyes roamed over his toned chest, and you couldn’t help but grin. “Much better,” you said, your voice teasing but full of appreciation.

“Glad you approve, princess,” he replied with a playful wink before leaning back down to kiss you again.

As his hands slid up your back, his fingers found the clasp of your bra. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes meeting yours as if silently asking for permission.

You nodded, your breath catching as he unhooked it with practiced ease. Slowly, you slid the straps down your shoulders, letting the fabric fall away to expose yourself to him for the first time.

Noah’s breath hitched slightly, his eyes widening as he took you in. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his words, but the way he looked at you made you feel anything but shy. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you said with a small smile, your hands brushing along his chest as he leaned down to kiss you again.

Noah’s lips began their journey down your body once more, leaving soft, deliberate kisses that made your skin tingle. When he reached your chest, he paused, his warm mouth enveloping your nipple while his other hand massaged the opposite breast with care. The contrast of his lips and his hands sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, and a breathtaking moan escaped your lips.

Hearing your reaction, Noah smirked against your skin, clearly satisfied with the effect he was having on you. His kisses trailed lower, his lips and tongue mapping out every inch of you as he went. When he reached the hem of your panties, he stopped, his warm breath ghosting over the thin fabric.

Without warning, his hand cupped your covered core, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. The teasing look in his eyes as he glanced up at you was enough to make your heart race. Taking the hint, you lifted your hips slightly, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your panties and sliding them off.

The moment you were bare, Noah wasted no time. His mouth descended on your core, his tongue working magic as he explored every sensitive spot. Your back arched off the bed as a moan spilled from your lips, your hands gripping the sheets for support.

His tongue moved with purpose, drawing out gasps and whimpers as he worked. After a moment, he slid two fingers inside you, the sensation making you cry out. His movements were precise, his mouth and fingers working in tandem to push you closer to the edge.

It didn’t take long before the tension coiled tightly in your belly snapped, a wave of pleasure crashing over you. Your body trembled as you came undone, your cries filling the room as Noah held you steady, guiding you through the high.

When you finally came down, your breath was ragged, your body flushed and buzzing with aftershocks. Noah pressed a soft kiss to your inner thigh, looking up at you with a proud, mischievous smile.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice low and full of admiration.

You pulled Noah up by the shoulders, your lips capturing his in a heated kiss. The moment your tongue slid against his, he froze for a brief second, clearly caught off guard. Most of his past partners had refused this kind of intimacy, but you didn’t hesitate. Instead, you deepened the kiss, your taste still lingering on his lips.

“Damn,” Noah murmured when you pulled back slightly, his voice low and almost disbelieving. “You’re full of surprises, princess.”

You smirked, brushing your nose against his. “You like that?”

“Like it?” he said with a breathless chuckle. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

Your lips met again, tongues tangling in a battle for dominance. In the heat of the kiss, your hands moved with purpose, sliding down his chest and expertly undoing the button of his shorts. Noah groaned into your mouth as your hand slipped beneath the waistband, brushing against him.

“Shit,” he hissed, his head tilting back slightly. Not wanting to waste time, he kicked off his shorts and boxers in one smooth motion, leaving him completely bare in front of you.

Now both naked, you kneeled together on the bed, your hands exploring his tattooed chest. “You’re unreal, you know that?” you said softly, your fingers tracing the ink along his torso.

“Me?” Noah laughed breathlessly, his hands gliding over your hips. “Look at you.”

Instead of replying, you leaned in to kiss him again, trailing your lips down his chest. Your kisses became slower, more deliberate as you moved lower, worshiping every inch of him. When you reached his length, you paused, glancing up at him with a questioning look.

His breathing hitched, and he nodded quickly. “Go ahead, baby,” he said, his voice strained.

You wrapped your hand around him first, stroking him slowly before taking him into your mouth. The reaction was immediate—Noah’s head fell back, and a low, guttural groan escaped his lips.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, his hand tangling in your hair.

You worked him with confidence, your tongue and lips driving him closer and closer to the edge. His breathing grew heavier, his hips starting to move slightly in time with your motions.

“Fuck, princess,” he groaned, his voice shaking. “I’m so close.”

You hummed around him in response, which only made him gasp louder. But then his grip on your hair tightened slightly, pulling you back gently.

“No, you need to stop,” he said, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I want to cum inside you.”

Reluctantly, you released him, a long string of saliva still connecting you as you sat back. The sight made Noah groan again, his eyes darkening with desire.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you into another searing kiss.

As his lips moved against yours, he guided you down onto the mattress. His hand slipped between your thighs, his fingers brushing against your slick heat. You gasped at the contact, your hips arching instinctively toward him.

“You’re so ready for me,” he whispered, his voice full of awe as he lined himself up at your entrance. He paused, his gaze meeting yours. “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” you replied softly, your hands cupping his face. “I love you, Noah.”

His expression softened for a moment before he leaned down to kiss you deeply. “I love you too, princess,” he said against your lips, and with that, he pushed into you slowly.

The stretch was overwhelming at first, but the way he held you—his forehead pressed to yours, his hands cradling your hips—made it feel perfect.

The room filled with a symphony of groans and moans as he moved, your bodies finding a rhythm together. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, pulling you closer to the edge once again.

“You feel so good,” Noah rasped, his voice strained as he buried his face in your neck.

“So do you,” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders.

It didn’t take long for the pleasure to build to an unbearable peak. Your body tensed as you cried out his name, your release washing over you in waves. Noah wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as he groaned loudly, spilling into you.

Both of you lay there for a moment, panting heavily as you came down from the high. Noah stayed above you, his forehead pressed to yours as he caught his breath.

“Damn,” he finally said with a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “That was... everything.”

You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along his back. “Worth the wait?”

“More than worth it,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again.

“Don’t move, princess,” Noah said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he stood and disappeared into the bathroom.

You lay there, your body still tingling, as you watched him return moments later with a warm, damp towel. Gently, he cleaned you up, his touch tender and caring. When he finished, he tossed the towel toward the bathroom door without a second thought and crawled back into bed beside you.

He pulled the blankets over both of you and immediately wrapped you in his arms, your head resting against his chest. His fingers traced lazy circles on your shoulder, and you felt completely at ease.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before,” you murmured after a moment.

“Like what?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

“Safe. Loved. Like everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be,” you admitted, your fingers toying with one of the tattoos on his chest.

Noah’s hand stilled for a moment before he tipped your chin up to meet his gaze. “That’s because it is,” he said simply.“You’re everything, Y/N. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner, but now that I do? I’m not letting go.”

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. “You’re stuck with me, Noah Sebastian. Better get used to it.”

“Already am,” he teased, grinning against your lips.

The two of you talked for a while longer, sharing stories from the past and dreams for the future. The conversation eventually slowed, and you reached for your phone while Noah grabbed his from the nightstand.

The moment you unlocked your screen, you froze, your heart sinking. There was a message from Matt, and as you opened it, your jaw dropped.

Matt: Okay, if I had known you’d get that fucking loud, I wouldn’t have taken the room next to yours. I never want to hear those noises from my sister again. #traumatized

Your face burned with embarrassment as you stared at the text. “Oh my god,” you whispered.

At the same time, Noah let out a low groan, his phone lighting up with a message. He glanced at it, and then his head fell back against the headboard with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Folio,” he muttered, turning the screen toward you.

Folio: Dude, WTF. Are you murdering her?!

You and Noah locked eyes, both of you holding up your phones to show each other the messages.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, burying your face in your hands. “I can never leave this room again. Never.”

Noah laughed, pulling your hands away from your face. “Come on, princess, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?!” you squeaked. “My brother heard us, Noah! He’s scarred for life! And Folio? Oh my god, I’m never going to live this down.”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. “Fuck them, princess. Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, running his fingers through your hair. “But seriously, let them tease. They’ll get over it eventually.”

You sighed dramatically, but his calm reassurance did help ease the embarrassment a little. “Fine. But if Matt brings this up, I’m denying everything.”

“Good luck with that,” Noah said with a laugh, pulling you closer. “Matt doesn’t let anything go.”

You groaned again, but Noah’s arms around you made you feel a little more confident. Maybe, just maybe, you’d survive the teasing. Eventually.

Taglist: @courta13

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Marilyn Monroe… a Jhea fanfic.

Chapter 1: Selfless..

WARNING:

This fanfiction explores sensitive themes, including mental health struggles, trauma, mentions of past sexual abuse, suicidal ideation, and things of that nature. Moving forward this fanfiction will contain intense emotional moments and depictions of characters navigating complex personal challenges such as suicide attempts & self harm. This is a work of fiction and does not reflect the real life characters or lives of any individuals depicted in this story. Please proceed with caution, and if you or someone you know is struggling, consider seeking support from a trusted professional or helpline. National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255 & 988

February 5th, 2025 5:52 PM

The community center loomed in front of her like some ancient relic—worn bricks, faded signage, and a cracked sidewalk leading to the glass double doors. Rhea stood at the edge of the parking lot, her black combat boots scuffing the gravel as she debated for the hundredth time whether to turn around.

The cold wind bit at her exposed skin, cutting through the oversized hoodie she’d thrown on in a rush. Her dark hair hung loose, half shielding her face, as if the strands could somehow hide the swirling mess inside her head.

She stared at the doors, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her hoodie. This is pointless. It’s not like sitting in a circle with a bunch of strangers is going to fix me.

And yet, she didn’t move.

The sound of a car pulling into the lot behind her snapped her out of her daze. She glanced over her shoulder as a beat-up sedan parked nearby, an older man with hollow cheeks and tired eyes climbing out. He gave her a brief nod, then shuffled toward the entrance, leaving her standing there alone again.

“Fuck it,” she muttered under her breath and forced her legs to move.

The doors were heavier than they looked, groaning as she pushed them open. Inside, the air was stale, carrying a faint mix of disinfectant, burnt coffee, and something she couldn’t quite place—something that reminded her of hospitals and waiting rooms.

Her boots squeaked against the linoleum floor as she stepped inside, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. She spotted a sign taped to the wall with an arrow pointing toward Meeting Room B. The letters were smudged, as if someone had tried to wipe them clean but gave up halfway through.

She followed the arrow, her stomach tightening with every step. Her breath felt heavier, her chest constricted like a vice. When she reached the door, she froze again, her hand hovering over the handle.

Through the small glass window, she could see them—rows of chairs arranged in a circle, people slumped in their seats, a few chatting quietly. None of them looked up, too caught in their own worlds to notice her standing there like an outsider.

Why am I here? The thought surged again, louder this time, clawing at the walls of her mind.

The door opened before she could finish spiraling, and she stumbled back as the same hollow-cheeked man from earlier walked through. He didn’t even glance at her, just nodded politely and moved past.

Rhea clenched her jaw, forcing herself forward before she could chicken out. She stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit, a single row of fluorescent lights flickering slightly above. A cheap coffee maker sat on a plastic table in the corner, next to a tray of mismatched mugs and an open box of stale-looking donuts.

“Hi,” a voice greeted her.

She turned sharply to see a man standing near the table, holding a clipboard. He was in his forties, with a friendly but tired face and a lanyard around his neck that read VOLUNTEER.

“First time?” he asked. His tone was warm but not intrusive, as if he’d learned how to walk the fine line between welcoming and overbearing.

Rhea nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“That’s okay. No pressure to share or anything—you can just sit and listen.” He handed her the clipboard and a pen. “Just sign in, and we’ll get started in a minute.”

The clipboard felt heavy in her hands. She stared at the list of names, each one scrawled in different levels of legibility. For a moment, she considered signing something fake, some anonymous name she could disappear behind. But her hand moved on its own, and before she could stop herself, her real name stared back at her in uneven block letters.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, shoving the clipboard back into his hands.

The man nodded, stepping aside as she made her way toward the circle. The chairs were cheap plastic, the kind that dug into your back after five minutes. She picked one on the edge, as far from the center as possible, and sank into it, her arms crossing over her chest like armor.

Rhea remained slumped in the plastic chair, letting her eyes drift around the room. The people in the circle were all so different, yet the same. An older woman in a floral dress sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, staring blankly at the floor. A teenager with bleached hair and torn jeans scrolled through their phone, the screen casting an unnatural glow over their face. A man in a suit sat rigidly, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests of his chair.

They’re all just like me, she thought. Broken pieces pretending to fit somewhere.

Her gaze dropped to the floor. The scuffed linoleum felt safer to focus on than the strangers around her. But as her mind started to wander, the weight of the room seemed to press down on her chest. The air felt too thick, and the faint hum of fluorescent lights above grated against her nerves.

And then, like a dam breaking, the memories started to flood back.

She was back in her bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. Her reflection had been unrecognizable that night—red-rimmed eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, and a hollow emptiness that swallowed everything else.

Her hands shook as they fumbled with the pills, scattering a few across the counter. She remembered the way her stomach turned when she swallowed the first handful, the bitter taste burning her throat. She remembered sinking to the cold tiles, her vision blurring as the walls seemed to close in around her.

Her phone buzzed somewhere in the distance, but she couldn’t reach it. The sound felt miles away, like the rest of the world, leaving her alone with her pain.

And then, nothing.

Rhea blinked hard, pulling herself out of the memory. Her nails dug into her palms, grounding herself in the present. Her breath came fast and shallow, but she forced herself to focus on the room. She wasn’t in the bathroom anymore. She was here.

The facilitator’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, steady and calm. “Alright, everyone, let’s get started. For those of you who are new, welcome. This is a safe space to share your feelings, your struggles, or just listen if you’re not ready to talk yet. There’s no pressure here, just support.”

Rhea barely heard him. Her heart still pounded in her chest, the ghost of that night clinging to her like a shadow. She forced herself to look up, her eyes flicking to the people around the circle again. Most of them seemed indifferent, nodding absently or staring straight ahead.

The facilitator continued, his voice a dull hum in the background. “Today, we’ll focus on gratitude. Even when things feel dark, finding something—anything—to be grateful for can be a powerful way to—”

The door creaked open, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Everyone turned, the quiet murmur of the room shifting into silence.

Rhea turned too, her brows furrowing as she watched a man step into the room. He was tall, his broad frame filling the doorway. His long hair was tied back, a few loose strands falling against his face, and he wore a simple black hoodie and joggers.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, his voice low and rough. He gave the facilitator a nod, then glanced around the room, his dark eyes scanning the circle.

The facilitator smiled faintly. “It’s alright, Jey. Go ahead and take a seat.”

Jey. The name lingered in Rhea’s mind as she watched him move. He walked with a quiet confidence, not in the way of someone arrogant but of someone who had done this a thousand times before. He didn’t flinch under the weight of the group’s eyes; he didn’t hesitate or falter.

He chose a chair across the circle from her, dropping into it like he belonged there. He glanced around once, making brief eye contact with everyone before settling back, his expression unreadable.

Rhea’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. He didn’t look like someone who would end up in a place like this, but then again, neither did she. Guess pain doesn’t discriminate.

The facilitator cleared his throat, drawing the group’s attention again. “Alright, let’s get back to it. Does anyone want to start?”

Rhea shifted in her seat, her arms tightening around her chest as she tried to focus. But her eyes kept drifting back to Jey, and for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, the weight on her chest felt just a little bit lighter.

—

Jey leaned back in his chair, his body sinking into the familiar discomfort of the hard plastic. He’d been here so many times, the routine etched into his mind like a second nature. Show up, sit down, listen. Sometimes he’d talk, sometimes he wouldn’t. But just being here—being around people who understood without him having to explain—had kept him from stepping off the edge more times than he cared to admit.

But tonight wasn’t the same.

His gaze drifted around the circle, settling briefly on each face before moving on. The same people, the same broken stories. And then, his eyes locked on her.

Rhea Ripley.

Jey felt the air catch in his lungs, his heart stumbling over itself for a split second before settling into an uneasy rhythm. She was sitting across from him, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her posture rigid like she was trying to fold in on herself. Her head was slightly bowed, dark hair falling into her face, but he’d recognize her anywhere.

She didn’t look like the Rhea he knew.

Gone was the towering presence, the unshakeable force that strutted down the ramp under flashing lights and roaring crowds. Gone was the bold makeup and the confident smirk that seemed to dare the world to challenge her. This Rhea was quieter, smaller, like a shadow of the woman he’d shared locker rooms and backstage banter with.

Her hoodie swallowed her frame, and the dark circles under her eyes told a story that even her usual persona couldn’t have hidden.

Jey tore his gaze away, staring at the floor as his jaw tightened. What the hell is she doing here? The question thudded in his mind like a drumbeat, growing louder with each passing second.

This group—this weekly meeting—was supposed to be his escape. The one place where he didn’t have to keep up the act, where he could leave the “Main Event” and the cameras behind and just be himself. Broken, battered, tired. It wasn’t much, but it was honest. And it was the only thing that had kept him going.

Now she was here.

Jey risked another glance, his eyes darting back to her before he could stop himself. She hadn’t looked at him yet, her focus fixed somewhere in the middle distance, but he couldn’t help noticing how out of place she seemed. Not just because she was new, but because seeing her here didn’t add up in his mind.

Rhea? The Rhea who carried herself like nothing could break her? The Rhea who could level anyone in her path without breaking a sweat? It didn’t make sense.

But then again, neither did his own reflection most days.

The corner of his mouth twitched—a bitter almost-smile—as the thought sank in. He’d learned the hard way that pain didn’t care who you were or how strong you pretended to be. Everyone had their breaking point, and maybe Rhea had reached hers.

He didn’t know why, but the thought sat heavy in his chest.

Jey clenched his fists against his thighs, his fingers digging into the fabric of his joggers. He couldn’t be here, not tonight. Not with her sitting there, looking like the weight of the world had crushed her just like it had crushed him.

He stared at the facilitator, who was speaking again, his words a blur of sound that Jey couldn’t focus on. His thoughts churned like a storm, a mess of emotions he didn’t have the energy to untangle.

The silence in the room shifted, and Jey realized too late that someone was speaking. His head snapped up just in time to catch the tail end of a question.

“What about you, Jey? Anything you’d like to share tonight?”

The room went still, every pair of eyes turning to him.

For a second, he thought about saying something—about opening his mouth and letting the truth spill out. About the sleepless nights, the suffocating emptiness, the gnawing urge to just end it all that crept in when he was alone. About how he came here because it was the only thing keeping him alive.

But then he glanced at Rhea again.

She wasn’t looking at him, but her shoulders were hunched, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. She looked like she wanted to disappear.

So he shook his head. “Not tonight,” he muttered, his voice rougher than usual.

The facilitator nodded, moving on to the next person, and Jey let out a slow breath.

He leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to stare straight ahead. But even as he tried to focus on anything else, his mind kept circling back to her.

Rhea could feel his eyes on her.

The weight of Jey’s gaze wasn’t new—she’d felt it before, in passing glances backstage or when their paths crossed on the road. But this was different. There was no playful banter, no teasing smirk or nod of acknowledgment. This wasn’t the Jey Uso she knew.

She kept her head down, staring at the chipped polish on her nails, but the heat of his stare crawled up her skin. It wasn’t judgmental, exactly. More like curiosity, laced with something deeper that made her stomach twist.

Rhea risked a glance in his direction, catching the moment his eyes darted away, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. She clenched her fists in her lap, trying to ignore the gnawing discomfort.

Why is he here?

Jey Uso—the life of the locker room, the guy everyone gravitated toward, who always had a joke or a story to lift the mood. It didn’t make sense for him to be here, in this room full of broken people. But then again, nothing about her own presence here made sense either.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she barely registered the facilitator’s voice breaking through the quiet.

“This week, we’re going to do something a little different,” the man said, his voice calm and measured. “I want each of you to share a song that’s been resonating with you this week. It doesn’t have to mean anything profound, just something you’ve been drawn to more than usual.”

Rhea tensed, her fingers digging into the fabric of her hoodie. She hated being put on the spot, especially here, where every word felt like it carried more weight than it should.

The facilitator’s eyes landed on her. “Rhea, why don’t you start us off?”

She hesitated, her mind scrambling to come up with something. A song? What had she even been listening to this week? Her heart thudded in her chest, and for a moment, she thought about passing. But then, almost without thinking, the words tumbled out.

“Snuff,” she said quietly. “By Slipknot.”

The room was silent for a beat, the name of the song hanging heavy in the air.

And then she heard him.

“Slipknot, huh?” Jey’s voice cut through the quiet, low and slightly rough, but there was something in it that made her look up. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve been getting into them lately. They’re pretty good.”

Rhea blinked, caught completely off guard.

Jey Uso? Slipknot? The two didn’t belong in the same sentence. She’d always pegged him as someone who leaned more toward rap and R&B, not someone who’d even give metal a second glance.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him for a moment. He looked different tonight—more subdued, less polished. His usual swagger was replaced by something quieter, more restrained.

“You?” she said, her tone laced with genuine surprise. “You’re into Slipknot?”

Jey shrugged, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “Yeah. Got some good stuff. ‘Snuff’ hits, though.”

Rhea didn’t know how to respond to that. She’d actually spent the last few weeks drowning in that song, letting the raw emotion of it pull her under because it felt like someone had put her pain into words. The idea of Jey feeling the same way was… unexpected.

The facilitator nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Snuff is a powerful choice. Thank you for sharing, Rhea.”

He turned his attention to Jey. “How about you? What’s your song this week?”

Jey leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke. “Under the Bridge,” he said. “Red Hot Chili Peppers.”

Rhea felt her chest tighten. She hadn’t heard that song in years, but the lyrics came rushing back in an instant. The loneliness, the yearning for connection—it was all there, laid bare in every note.

“Another strong choice,” the facilitator said, nodding. “Thank you, Jey.”

Rhea couldn’t stop herself from glancing at him again. He caught her eye this time, holding her gaze for a moment before looking away.

For the first time since she walked into the room, she felt a flicker of something other than dread.

Curiosity.

Before Rhea knew it, the meeting wrapped up. Conversations softened into whispers as people began to trickle out, some lingering in small groups near the chairs. The facilitator’s voice faded into the background, thanking everyone for coming, but Rhea barely registered the words.

Her chest felt heavy, like she’d been holding her breath for the past hour. The tension in her shoulders was so taut it almost hurt, but she told herself she’d survived. That had to count for something.

She slipped her bag over her shoulder, intending to leave without making eye contact with anyone. But as she neared the door, something on the wall caught her attention.

A corkboard.

It was cluttered, messy even, with pictures, notes, and small trinkets pinned at odd angles. She paused, drawn to it almost against her will. It wasn’t until she stepped closer that she realized what it was—a memorial.

Her eyes scanned the photos: strangers’ faces, hand-written notes scrawled in shaky penmanship, and a few Polaroids that looked decades old. And then her gaze landed on one photo in particular, and her stomach dropped.

Hana Kimura.

Rhea’s breath hitched as she stared at the image. The pink hair, the soft but mischievous smile—it was like seeing a ghost. Memories of the headlines hit her all at once, like a wave she hadn’t been prepared for. She remembered how the wrestling world had been gutted, the tributes pouring in from everywhere, the outcry about the toxicity of online hate.

She also remembered how it made her feel. Like it was a warning.

Rhea clenched her fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She’d seen herself in Hana—young, ambitious, headstrong—but she’d also seen her fears, her struggles, her pain. Seeing her picture here, on this board of loss, felt like a slap in the face. A grim reminder of how close she’d come to ending up like her.

“Hit you too, huh?”

The voice startled her, and she whipped her head around to see Jey standing next to her. He was quiet, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, but there was something unguarded about the way he looked at the board.

“Yeah,” Rhea said softly, her voice cracking despite herself. “She was only 22.”

Jey nodded, his gaze still fixed on Hana’s photo. “I remember that day. Threw me off bad. She was badass in World Wonder Ring Stardom.”

Rhea blinked, momentarily thrown. She didn’t expect Jey to know who Hana was, let alone speak about her with such familiarity.

“You watched Stardom?” she asked, her voice tinged with surprise.

“Not all the time,” he admitted with a small shrug. “But I’d keep up here and there. Hana… she had something, you know? She wasn’t just good—she was special. Could’ve been one of the greats.”

Rhea’s throat tightened. It wasn’t just his words—it was the way he said them, like he truly meant it. She felt her guard slip a little, even as she tried to hold it together.”

“She didn’t deserve what happened,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Jey’s jaw tightened. He exhaled sharply, his breath heavy in the silence between them. “None of ‘em do. But life don’t care about fair, does it?”

Rhea’s stomach twisted at his words. She wanted to argue, to say something optimistic, but the truth was she couldn’t. He was right. Life didn’t care.

Her eyes drifted back to the board, and for a moment, it felt like the room was closing in on her. The faces on the wall seemed to blur, a collage of loss and despair that felt too close to home. Her breath quickened, and she fought the urge to leave right then and there.

“You gonna be back next week?”

Jey’s question pulled her out of her spiral, and she turned to look at him. He stood there, quiet and unassuming, but there was something in his expression—an openness, maybe even concern—that caught her off guard.

Rhea hesitated, the words caught in her throat. She’d barely made it through tonight; the idea of coming back felt both impossible and… necessary.

“Yeah,” she said finally, her voice steadier than she expected. “I’ll be back.”

Jey gave her a small nod, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “Good.”

And just like that, he turned and started walking toward the door.

Rhea stayed where she was, her eyes lingering on the board. Her gaze drifted back to Hana’s photo, and for the first time in a long time, she felt something other than emptiness.

It wasn’t much—just a flicker. But it was enough to make her take a deep breath, square her shoulders, and follow Jey out into the night.

Rhea followed Jey out of the community center, her feet moving instinctively as she caught up with him, the chill of the night air brushing against her skin. The weight of the meeting still lingered, the words, the faces, and the overwhelming sense of being surrounded by people who understood her—yet somehow, she still felt alone.

She had come here hoping for some kind of relief, something to latch onto. A connection, even if it was just temporary. She glanced at Jey’s broad shoulders ahead of her, the way his posture seemed to carry a weight she couldn’t fully comprehend. It was hard to believe this man, who exuded so much strength and confidence in public, was the same person she’d seen today—quiet, thoughtful, and almost fragile in his own way.

Something stirred within her—a deep, gnawing need to reach out.

“Hey, wait up.”

Jey didn’t immediately respond, but his pace slowed, and his head turned just enough for him to acknowledge her. Rhea took a deep breath.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice still steady, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his gaze.

Rhea didn’t know why she felt the urge to ask him to grab a coffee. It seemed like a simple gesture, but her insides were still on edge, as though the weight of the conversation they’d just shared was too much to carry on her own. She needed some kind of bridge—a way to hold on to that fleeting moment of connection. She could feel the heaviness of her own thoughts creeping in again.

“You want to grab a coffee?” she asked, her voice tentative, almost shy. It sounded natural enough, but the vulnerability behind the question was all too apparent.

Jey’s eyes softened slightly as he processed the invitation, but then his expression hardened just a little. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze dropping for a second before meeting hers again.

“I appreciate the gesture, Rhea, but no.”

Rhea felt a strange twist in her gut, a subtle sting at the rejection. It wasn’t harsh, but the silence that followed was filled with a weight she wasn’t sure she could bear. She fought the urge to flinch or say something stupid to cover the hurt, but she knew better. The distance between them felt… necessary.

“Oh… okay,” she said, her voice quiet, betraying a bit more of the vulnerability than she wanted to show. She wanted to make a joke, something to mask the disappointment that was blooming in her chest, but the words didn’t come.

Jey seemed to sense her discomfort, his shoulders relaxing just a little as he took a small step toward her. He wasn’t the type to get caught up in things like this—his presence was always calm, controlled. But something about the way his eyes softened when he spoke made Rhea feel like he was letting her into his world, even just for a moment.

“I like to keep this my safe space,” he explained, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. “It’s not bad will towards you.”

Rhea nodded slowly, understanding the need for boundaries. She respected it. But still, a small, aching part of her longed for him to say yes. To feel that connection deepen into something more tangible.

“No worries,” she replied, offering him a smile that felt more fragile than she intended. It was a smile meant to assure him she was okay, but the truth was, she wasn’t. She wasn’t okay at all. She hadn’t been in so long, but here she was, still standing.

Jey’s lips twitched, the faintest curve upwards, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He gave her a small nod, acknowledging her response before turning away.

Rhea watched him walk down the sidewalk, his steps steady, confident, like he wasn’t carrying the same burdens she was. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy, but also a strange sense of camaraderie. Maybe that’s why she had asked him. She didn’t want to be alone in this anymore—not really.

But the truth was, she wasn’t ready. Not yet. And neither was he.

Rhea stood frozen for a moment, watching him disappear into the night, the sound of his footsteps slowly fading away as he approached his car. The silence around her felt louder now, pressing in on her from all sides. She took a shaky breath, the cold air filling her lungs as she turned away and started walking in the opposite direction.

The familiar weight of loneliness settled over her once more, but there was something different about it tonight. It wasn’t as suffocating as it had been before. Maybe it was the meeting. Maybe it was the small, quiet moments she’d shared with Jey.

Whatever it was, it was enough to make her keep going, one step at a time.

Rhea finally turned away from the spot where Jey had left her, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket, the weight of the evening still clinging to her. The cold night air bit at her skin as she made her way to her car, each step echoing a hollow rhythm. She slid into the driver’s seat and let out a long, shaky breath. The drive home was mostly silent, save for the hum of the engine and the steady rush of air. Her mind replayed fragments of the meeting, bits of conversation, but mostly the feeling of Jey’s eyes on her. It lingered like an unspoken question, a connection she couldn’t quite grasp, yet it stayed with her.

She needed to drown it out for a moment, something to fill the empty space in her mind.

“Siri, play Under the Bridge by Red Hot Chili Peppers,” she muttered softly, her voice a little rougher than usual.

Within moments, the familiar chords of the song filled the car, the sound wrapping around her like a soft, distant memory. Rhea’s fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel, her head bobbing gently with the rhythm, a slight comfort that felt like something more. Maybe it was the song, or maybe it was the fact that, for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel completely alone.

As she neared her apartment complex, the weight in her chest remained, but it was bearable now. The song continued to play as she pulled into a parking spot, her hands moving automatically to turn off the engine. A quiet sigh escaped her as she stepped out of the car, the night air still sharp on her skin, but it didn’t sting as much.

Rhea walked up the stairs to her apartment, the familiar smell of home greeting her as she unlocked the door. Inside, the sounds of the television greeted her first.

Raquel and Liv, her roommates, coworkers, and, above all, her best friends, were sprawled on the couch, their attention on the TV, but both of them turned as she entered.

“Hey,” Raquel greeted her softly, her voice gentle, careful, as though she didn’t want to intrude on whatever space Rhea was in.

“Come sit with us,” Liv added, her voice a little more cheerful, but still laced with an undercurrent of concern.

Raquel shot Liv a knowing look, but there was a quiet understanding between the two. They knew how to tread lightly around Rhea these days.

Rhea smiled faintly, the gesture small but sincere, and it warmed her more than she cared to admit. She needed this—these quiet, grounding moments.

“Only if you want to,” Raquel added, her eyes searching Rhea’s face, reading her like she always did.

“I do,” Rhea replied, her voice barely above a whisper, but she meant it. She settled between them, the familiar comfort of her friends wrapping around her like a safety net.

Raquel’s gaze was steady, yet soft as she asked, “How was it?”

Rhea stared at the TV for a moment, watching the images on the screen without really seeing them. She had to think about the words she wanted to use. She couldn’t rush this.

“It was different,” she said finally, her voice quiet and far away, but there was a trace of something in it—something almost like hope.

Liv leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing in on Rhea. “But do you feel…?” She trailed off, her words hanging in the air, like she was afraid to push too far.

Rhea exhaled softly, shaking her head, but there was something in her eyes that wasn’t there before—something more alive. “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” she murmured, almost to herself, but loud enough for them to hear.

Raquel nodded knowingly, though she could tell that Rhea wasn’t fully at peace with it. “We know,” Raquel said gently. “But we just like your input.”

Rhea appreciated the way they took care of her, how they always seemed to understand when she wasn’t quite ready to say everything. It was easier with them. They didn’t try to fix her. They just listened.

“I’ll go back next week,” Rhea said, her voice firming slightly, as though making that promise to herself. “How about that?”

Liv smiled, relief flooding her features. “That’s a step,” she said softly, and Rhea could hear the unspoken weight behind the words. The way they were all treading lightly, trying not to push too hard.

Because Liv and Raquel weren’t just her friends. They were her keepers. After her third suicide attempt in two months, they had both been assigned the legal responsibility to watch over her. To make sure she didn’t slip away into the darkness again.

And though Rhea appreciated their love and care, a small, resentful part of her wondered how long it would last before she found a way to escape it all.

But tonight, for just a moment, she let herself feel the warmth of their presence. Let herself settle into the comfort of knowing they were there.

And that was enough.

[scr-ppup]

@ Scr-ppup | 🪦👁️

—"Even the divine of the mercy and prayers will not help you..

"For I will still smite your ass to the oblivion's growing hunger."—

- liomogai: neogenders, general & alterhumans flags and terms.

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Creds; PFP mask.

Coinfight info link; team Villains.

Anons; 🌊🐈‍⬛,

— "sir, If the hounds don't kill you, I will make sure I have your head at my feet by sundown."

"You hear me, old bastard?"—

> my main is @ Reveseke and that's where I'll be interacting from. Don't get spooked lol.

> here's my pronouns cc & pronouns.page

> I am neurodivergent & disabled, 06/18 & genderqueer, Finnish entity, transspecies, alterhuman & holothere.

> Call me mainly Koiri or Ashlin on this blog, or Kalma.

> I don't have a DNI for my terms and flags, but I do block folks that are specified in my BYF if following. :)

> please use tone tags with me, it makes it easier for me to interpret y'all when it comes to answering questions and interactions in general. I have a tendency to interpret the tone wrong in text. Also please don't use fonts or colored text in the asks, thanks.

Masterlist nav. — req list - tag nav.

— "The world didn't go too easy on you, did it, Kalma?"

BYF

- I belong into quite a few blankqueer/-punk stances in some way; reclaimed feralqueer, hallowpunk, redemptionqueer, darlingqueer, yandequeer, (ally) rabiespride, eepyqueer, para-health, Beastpunk, mangledqueer, Sataniqueer & freakqueer.

None of these labels will override *my* stances that I've laid in my BYF. Beware of this. (Also I'm going to get all the links in a bit lol.)

I am anti harassment, pro-para - anti-contact (+ a para myself) & pro- safe recovery, anti-censorship & I'm peacefic. I'm pro good-faith / contradicting terminology, I believe everyone has a unique sense of self and should be able to use the terms and call themselves what they want to reflect themselves. I stand with the 4B, land-back, black lives matter movements, and pro decolonization.

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Also, those who cannot separate fiction from reality or glorify and romanticize real-life murderers, S/A, mafias, criminals, and so on, you're not even on the thin ice if you follow me you will be blocked.

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—"you look like an animal, a cornered hound baring its teeth in front of certain death..."

Themed after a CoD oc named Kalma.

—

Questions are always welcome, but please bear in mind that if the question is asked in noticeably bad Faith it will not be answered unless I feel the need to answer it because it's important.

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🦇 The Most Famous Girl in the World Book Review 🦇

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐

❓ #QOTD Are you a true crime fan? OR What conspiracy interests you the most? ❓ 🦇 It's been two years since Rose—a first-generation Middle Eastern American, functional trainwreck, and reporter for online journal The Shred—wrote the investigative article that exposed Poppy as a socialite grifter. Normally, one of her articles going viral would be cause for celebration, but the highly publicized trial that followed turned Poppy into the internet's favorite celebrity. And Rose has been reeling from the aftermath ever since. Although Poppy served her time for defrauding some of the richest, most powerful men in the world, Rose knows this is only the tip of the iceberg for Poppy's crimes. She just can't prove it yet…At least not without the help of a devilishly handsome FBI agent gone rogue.

💜 The Most Famous Girl in the World is loudly and proudly satire. The novel is entirely self-aware, which is quite a feat to write while straddling the line where the fourth wall used to stand. There are so many interesting, complex themes explored in this book that it will no doubt become an interesting read for book club circles. For example, why does society hyper-fixate on certain people? Why do we practically worship actors and musicians? There's a moment during Poppy's confession that's quite interesting. Rose's article paints Poppy as callous, cruel, deceptive--a villain--and Poppy is glad for it. She says society puts too much emphasis on being perfect, that people prefer 'bad' people because she's a mirror, reflecting the worst versions of themselves. "If I can get away with murder and still be beloved, there's hope for them yet." Social media glamorizes people. We see a pocket of their world, perfectly cropped, and see roses instead of the thorns beyond the frame. The Most Famous Girl in the World is a fun, exhilarating ride, but its exploration of fame, mass hysteria, identity, and conspiracy can't be ignored.

💜 I love that Rose is a messy protagonist. As a Middle Eastern American, I've been shoved into boxes and plastered with labels. She recognizes she's hit rock bottom and relies on self-deprecating humor to survive it. Is she a little exhausting at times? Yes, absolutely. Does that make her all the more real as a protagonist? Definitely. However, I do wish we'd seen more depth to her character beyond the mess. No person is one thing. We focus on Rose's substance abuse and obsession with Poppy, her pessimism and disdain for the world around her, but none of the positives that make her equally human.

💙 I have a love-hate relationship with the story's satire, which leaves it riddled with purposeful cliches. The campy-ness ("I've always had villain monologues in fiction. They feel too convenient. Unrealistic.") feels like the fourth wall is constantly getting broken down and resurrected again. And Poppy's confession is exactly that: over the top and unrealistic. All of the pieces are so obvious (Rose getting tipped off twice would mean it was someone at the publication [ie, Cat] or someone close to her [ie, Antanova]). It's possible to write this as a satire without it being so predictable at every turn. The whole "pranks" thing (aka "lies") made the characters seem juvenile, rather than adding levity to their world.

💙 As a Middle Eastern American journalist, I wanted to connect to Rose so much more than I did. The self-reflection about being a child of immigrants could have built Rose's character, made her question her sense of belonging (reflecting the ease in which Poppy assimilates into the world of one-percenters). Instead, it's randomly inserted into the story, added in as an afterthought. There's a brief mention of Rose's articles about her upbringing--feeling like an outsider, an observer straddling the line between two words. Giving us snippets between chapters from those articles would have humanized Rose more. Instead, we dive RIGHT into the drunk, drugged-up, self-destructive version of Rose, which makes her unlikeable and unreliable as a narrator. Rose and Poppy share that mentality of nonbelonging--it should have been a focal theme for the story all along.

🦇 Recommended for fans of true crime and satire.

✨ The Vibes ✨ 💋 Satire/Witty 💋 Anna Delvey/Inventing Anna Vibes 💋 Journalist/FBI Agent 💋 Drug & Alcohol Use 💋 Child of Immigrants/Inherited Trauma 💋 Murder & Conspiracies 💋 Smut

🦇 Major thanks to the author and publisher for providing an ARC of this book via Netgalley. 🥰 This does not affect my opinion regarding the book. #TheMostFamousGirlintheWorld

💬 Quotes ❝ Reality really can write itself better than any great American novel. ❞ ❝ That article I’d written about Poppy set me on fire. I was forged but also burned in the process. ❞ ❝ It was strange and disorienting growing up with a foot in each world. My sourdough-skinned peers could tell I wasn’t actually a blue-blooded American. My skin was brown, and my arms were hairy, and my parents talked funny when they came to pick me up in their Kia Rio. The other Iranian kids didn’t quite recognize me as their own, either. I was too westernized to understand their jokes, to fully feel the weight of their dysphoria. Since I couldn’t be an active participant in either world, I grew into a silent observer. And I began to write everything down. ❞ ❝ I keep them at arm’s length, never letting them get to know the real me. And in turn, they embrace the fake me. ❞

[nashidakyouko]

No, I do not think that liking a problematic or even evil character means you're a bad person.

I'm not condoning the character's actions—often not even in the context of the show. And certainly, I'm not approving those actions in the real world.

But it's a story. The world won't end if someone likes a character. Sometimes they are just well-written characters (obviously not all are well-written, but that's not the point of this mini-essay). Even if they are pure evil, if that is the purpose, then good! Achieved! (i.e. Lion King's Scar, Fullmetal Alchemist's King Bradley, Buffy's Glory, Avatar's Ozai, and many more) (then some characters who are not pure evil, but treated as irredeemable or just scum, i.e. She-Ra's Catra, Princess Mononoke's Eboshi, Buffy's Faith Lehane, etc.)

I can appreciate them for what they are while still not touching them with a 39-and-a-half-foot pole if they were real.

This goes double for characters that could reasonably have redemption arcs (or who have redemption [with varying degrees of success], but for half the fans it isn't ever good enough [sometimes even for me, I admit]—because apparently bad actions make a bad, unchangeable person, forever. But that's another post).

Evil exists in every world. Only shaming it when it's convenient (such as attacking fans of a thing), does very little to help any real victims.

Instead of screaming about an evil character, consider putting that energy into helping real people, real victims, and trying to stop problems (i.e. assault, genocide, misogyny, war, official/unofficial slave labor, hate groups, etc.) in whatever little ways you can. Find a good charity and donate. Give food and money to shelters and victims. Listen to their stories. Some of them might even tell you that the fiction you are so opposed to actually helped them feel less alone. Or any number of things that might have made the story cathartic for them, making it so they like the bad guy as a bad guy. Or, hey, just ignore the people who are bugging you and enjoy whatever media you want. Put your energy there instead unless the truth isn't that you don't care about victims, and you're just virtue-signalling.

*This is not about actual victims who are being upset or triggered. The only thing I have to say there is that you can go to a different media. Be safe, but don't tell OTHER POSSIBLE VICTIMS that the way they cope is inherently bad.

**ABSOLUTELY you can dislike characters or whatever. You can entirely judge them as evil and immoral. I am not saying you have to go along with every single thing. ABSOLUTELY you should not have to engage with things that you hate or make you uncomfortable or even triggered! None of this was meant to undermine any of that. I mostly just mean that everyone has their own experience AND fiction follows different rules, usually for the sake of telling a story. You do NOT have to engage or fake being comfortable. You CAN say you have issues with something. You should say! But your experience is not EVERYONE'S experience, so everyone—on both sides of this—needs to be more mindful of that.

***writing essays about the evils of characters and even how they may reflect or affect the real world is totally a different thing than screaming endlessly about it online. No problem there.

[wirewitchviolet]

Some thoughts on Nazi morale

That earlier reblog about bullies and leverage coupled with some recent news coverage has me in the mind to do a little public educating about the complete lack of a spine any given nazi out there has, the weird rituals and behaviors this leads to, and how some basic knowledge about all this leaves them a completely toothless threat in the vast majority of situations.

The really important thing to remember here, and I always have to remind people I’m not saying this to be mean, but because it is true, and genuinely important to understand, is that to become a nazi you first have to be just the most absolutely pathetic loser in the world. For real, it’s baked in. They have this whole mythology about their own innate superiority and right to rule over everyone else in the world based on some pure magical bloodline BS, but that’s inseparable from the fact that none of them actually have any sort of real power or success or happiness or friends. It’s not some class of nobility making stuff up about traits they have that justify their position. It’s just pathetic losers imagining all this secret untapped potential they have and then a whole second set of fictional beliefs about how everyone else in the world is keeping them back from realizing that potential by cheating at life somehow, all as a pretense for how they’re going to actively do every underhanded thing they can to get to their “rightful” place.

The two important takeaways here are that from the get-go the whole experience of being a nazi involves just this constant immersion in propaganda, self-delusion, and keeping up kayfabe that they have no barometer for what the reality of any situation is (our enemy is simultaneously weak and strong, etc.) and that there are in fact many very real reasons a given nazi’s life falls so short of the life they tell themselves they “should be” living which they’re never going to examine.

All in all, they just... don’t do well in reality. They don’t know anything, they have no social skills, they don’t really have the drive to actually do anything with their lives. They need hype and propaganda like a normal person needs oxygen. And while they’re never going to sit down and really self-reflect on that, they at least get that getting all hyped up and having people cheer them on is important for some reason or other. So here’s how that works out in terms of interactions with the real world.

Most of the time, a nazi just kinda sits around in their little isolation bubble where they don’t interact with anyone besides other nazis, and most of that is one-sided in the form of watching propaganda videos and following simple instructions. Every so often, one of them gets hyped up enough by the bootlicking the rest do to delude himself into thinking he has some sort of actual power to flex, and it’s time to plan an attack. “An attack” can take a lot of different forms. Might be a big organized effort to do something that gets national media coverage, might be terrorizing a single arbitrarily selected teenage girl. Might be a weird elaborate prank. This year for pride month for instance, some nazi had the bright idea to set up a website selling poison as fake HRT drugs and having followers hype it up with impersonations of trans people. The one important thing though is that unless the target is proven and tested as “safe” previously, it’s always going to take the form of something with basically zero risk of blowback or personal harm.

Letter-writing campaigns are a very popular choice. It’s pretty trivial to set up a burner e-mail account (or several thousand even) paste a form letter in, and hit send. Tracing it back to you would be a huge pain, and not something most people would even be inclined to do if you don’t use overtly violent language. This has been the absolute backbone of nazi attacks for the past decade or two at least. Other stuff gets more sensationalized, but if you look at the internal operations of something like Gamergate, 98% of it has always been form letters addresses and quota goals, trying to get various organizations to make public statements or fire people they’d arbitrarily chosen to target.

Now, this is the really important part. People often mistake nazi letter writing campaigns or similar activities for the real thing. When actual normal people organize a letter-writing campaign, it’s collective action. Can we show that enough people care strongly about this thing the company is doing that they reconsider if it’s worth it? If so, hey, mission accomplished, score one for direct feedback over flawed marketing research, everyone moves on with their lives. I feel like legitimate letter writing campaigns are pretty passe, with social media attention grabs having taken over the niche (which nazis will also imitate, but random burner accounts have less impact there). Still, people in positions to field these e-mails are largely still trained, I assume, with metrics like “if X number of e-mails come in griping about something, tell management, we’ll do what we need to to shut people up.”

Nazis however do not organize campaigns like this for the same reason, and capitulating is a tremendously bad idea.

Nazis do letter writing campaigns as a safe form of organizing an attack. It’s testing the waters. The entire purpose is to determine if and how the target will react to what perceived weight they are able to safely through around. If they go, “hey, video game company, apparently one of your employees once did a risque photo shoot, are you OK with values like that?” or “I don’t like seeing a bunch of queer pride stuff when I walk into a store” those aren’t customers you have to worry about losing if they don’t get what they want. That’s a predator in the woods staring you down to see if you’re going to hold your ground or if you’re going to try to run.

See, the whole “our enemies are both weak and powerful” thing completely destroys nazis’ risk assessment capabilities, so they’re relying on yours instead. If they try to scare you with a letter writing campaign about lost sales (or for that matter, if they’re trying to scare you with anonymous letters threatening you with violence), they aren’t making a demand. They’re asking if you are afraid of them. Because if you’re afraid of them, that means they can escalate to attacks that carry more personal risk to them, with the confidence that you aren’t going to fight back.

So what happens is you have the mistaken impression that you can just fire this one employee or pull this one marketing promotion and that’ll be the end of it, but now suddenly you have people showing up in your spaces acting violent. Not so violent it’s likely going to lead to a physical altercation (they’re still testing the waters and building up to that), they’re probably just going to shout slurs at your actual customers to scare’em off, or camp out like they own the place, maybe they smash up some products on shelves if they’re feeling really spicy. And if you don’t respond to THAT in a way that makes them think twice about messing with you, they’re going to keep on escalating, with threats to your employees and families, actual physical attacks, maybe some fires or bombs.

Also every time they take a bite out of someone and it doesn’t turn out to be more than they can chew, it’s just this huge rallying moment they use to do more recruiting and pushing for bolder attacks elsewhere, so they just become more of a threat to the whole world because you went and flinched.

On the upside, you can pretty much always deescalate things no matter how far they get just by demonstrating you aren’t afraid. You just have to do two things. Forcefully rebuke them, and loudly and publicly acknowledge that what you are doing is showing nazis that they can’t push you around. No euphemisms. If you don’t explicitly specify “nazis” or some more specific organization (Proud Boys, TERFs, whathaveyou) they’re going to internally spin that as you secretly being on their side. People constantly falter here and get stuck dealing with the same attacks forever as a result.

Also when I say “forcefully rebuke them” there’s a lot of ways you can do that, but you will need to step it up based on how far you’ve let things go. If you’re just course correcting because you realized you caved to a nazi letter writing statement, a big public retraction should have you covered. If they’re showing up on your doorstep in riot gear, you might need to get a little physical. You don’t have to like, walk up to whoever’s at the front of the crowd and see how many times his head bounces when it hits a concrete slab (although I’m sure that would be quite effective. You can literally throw a milkshake at one of these losers and he’ll start crying and run away like you threw a brick.

[construingseacats]

Umireread: Legend of the Golden Witch - Chapter 14: Boiler Room

Sun, Oct 5 1986 - Indeterminate

The following contains spoilers for the entirety of Umineko. Please do not read if you are yet to finish it.

And we’re off… with another Wikipedia section.

I kind of let it slide last time, when they were talking about Maria and childhood development, but I want to take that back now. George lost both his parents in a horrific murder moments ago. There is absolutely no way he would be engaging in intellectual discussion about the specifics of locked room mysteries, in the same way that the trio shouldn’t have been going “this is also interesting from a sociological standpoint!” a couple hours after they saw their parents/love interest mutilated in an abhorrent murder scene. Bad writing.

Gonna be real: this is fairly uncomfortable. It’s played lightheartedly, but hitting Maria several times, even semi-playfully, feels very inappropriate after the scene in the rose garden. None of these characters are acting anything like they should under the current circumstances.

This story is very obviously fictional and fantastical in nature.

And so we get to the big scene. While the first twilight is my personal highlight of Episode 1, I’m pretty sure most people agree that this one is probably the most important.

So, Yasu throws away the title of furniture, and sacrifices the Kanon persona, knowing there is no turning back now - there’s no shortage of analyses for that. What really stood out to me here was the roulette discussion - it’s something that has been brought up quite a few times, as the concept of the Demons’ Roulette is pervasive throughout Umineko, but I haven’t had any major thoughts on it so far. Here, as the focus, I think the roulette is a reflection of the massacre as a whole.

Yasu wants to be stopped - but she, at this point, knows that’s almost certainly not going to happen. The family are too caught up in their own drama, they’re too self centred, their thoughts have turned to staying alive rather than solving the Epitaph. They want to solve the murders, but they’re not on the right wavelength to understand Yasu. Her motive is inscrutable, her methods esoteric. The Ushiromiya family is doomed. The roulette is red or black.

She, however, is the zero on the roulette. Yasu is the green. When Kinzo spoke earlier of the high risk, high reward of the roulette, this is what he meant - either everyone dies, Yasu gets her revenge, we see the likely outcome of red or black. But if someone solves the Epitaph - if someone understands Yasu - if someone discovers her, this extra spot on the roulette, they win. And she wants to be understood. By someone - anyone. She wants them to win.

Beatrice’s game is one where she always wins; she casts a dice and cares not for the result, as she is content with any. If the roulette is red or black, the house wins, she profits. But if the house loses - and the family are rewarded with their 10 ton payout - she still wins. Because she has traded all the gold for an honour that no money could ever buy.

Man, it always feels unfortunate when I have to go directly from making a deep point to a more surface level observation, or comedic note - but I do like the consistent use of “makeup” across the murders. Very funny when it’s quite literal for the faked deaths. But even for the real bodies - earth to earth - it adds this layer of doubt and fantasy to the level which should have none.

Yasu has had little control in her life. She has suffered because of the actions of others, from the moment of her conception to where she is now. The events of October 4 and 5 - presuming the roulette hits red or black - is a final gambit to wrestle control back from the world that denied her. And just as Yasu decides to go out on her own terms, Kanon wrestles the stake from his chest, a final action that gives him the say in his own demise. It is an act of agency - an act of one who is no longer furniture.

Kumasawa, once again, is having WAY too much fun with this. She can’t even hide the smile this time.

I think there’s something to say about the Ushiromiya pride being their downfall here - bodies are dirty. They don’t want to disgrace their own hands with them. They must send for the doctor so that they may make the inspection. If any of them had taken a pulse, checked for themselves, or even tried to rush to assist - the plan would be over. But Yasu knows that these people will fall prey to the fantasy. Why would they help her? No-one ever has. This must have been cathartic to write.

So given the Kinzo situation, this must be the moment that Natsuhi immediately clocks the servants as being culpable. Being aware of what she knows, and aware of what she knows they know, contextualises a lot of her upcoming jitteriness towards them.

You know, we haven’t had Kanon’s death tip yet. I suppose it might be because they’re going with the whole “he could be alive in Nanjo’s office”, but it’s another cute little hint that something’s off here.

Oh we have it again with the characters going off about the history of polydactyly in the family. Umineko is at its best when we are really feeling the human behind these characters. It’s at its worst when they’re listing off facts in a scientific manner right after someone close to them just died.

Oh yeah we get Kinzo’s death tip before Kanon’s. This scene is so suspicious before you even start to really think about it.

So that means Krauss and Shannon are in the clear, right? After all, we saw Krauss with half a face, and Hideyoshi told us that Shannon was there with half a face as well. It’s a good thing that there are no co-conspirators here who would lie to us to preserve the mystery.

Oh, the clock’s getting bigger as we progress through the Epitaph. I like that a lot. Very imposing.

[alexsfictionaddiction]

Alex Recommends: April Books

This month has been full of my last few assignments for my MA. I can’t believe that I’m so close to the end of it already -it has gone SO fast! I am also starting to sort out my dissertation now, which I’ll be working on over the summer. It sucks that I won’t be able to have any proper time off this year but I am actually quite excited about my topic, so it shouldn’t be too bad.

My brother Luke turned 30 this month. Having a younger sibling in their 30s does make you reflect on your own age and life stage, so I have been doing some self-assessing recently. I am definitely not where I thought I’d be at 32 but I’m actually the happiest that I’ve ever been. I am still trying to be OK with my body and I am forever working on becoming a better person but I am certainly much happier and (I think!) wiser than I was five years ago. So, it seems like I’m on the right path!

I have been continuing to make my way through the Women’s Prize longlist and just like March’s recommendations, that’s where all of this month’s books come from too. Although there have been a few books on this list that I thought were questionable additions, I’ve really enjoyed the majority of them. It’s a real eclectic mix this year and on the whole, I was really happy with the shortlist. I’d love to know your thoughts on it, if you’ve also been following the prize and reading the nominees. I’m really looking forward to the winner announcement in June, so roll on the summer!

-Love, Alex x

FICTION: Wandering Souls by Cecile Pin.

At the close of the Vietnam War, young siblings Anh, Minh and Thanh make the journey across the ocean to Hong Kong, knowing that their parents and younger siblings will follow. But when their family fails to make it to safety, 16-year-old Anh becomes the sole guardian of her younger brothers but their lost loved ones never really leave them. As the years go by and the siblings settle into 1980s London, plagued by xenophobia and inequality, they begin to wonder if love and history is enough to keep them together. This heartbreaking story of unimaginable strength and resilience is the true story of so many immigrants of war-torn countries. I loved the fact that the book’s focus was on a young migrant family who made simple lives for themselves. None of the siblings went on to have high-flying careers and lots of money but they did all find some kind of peace and happiness, meaning the characters felt very real and were so easy to connect to. There are also some beautiful friendships and family bonds forged by displacement and a search for belonging. I was so moved by the message that our dead loved ones are constantly there and will never stop loving us. It’s a highly emotional yet hopeful novel that I strongly believe should have been shortlisted!

LITERARY FICTION: Black Butterflies by Priscilla Morris.

Sensing that things are escalating in Sarajevo, artist and teacher Zora sends her husband and elderly mother to her daughter in England. But as divisional lines become clearer, random killings become commonplace and their city begins to deteriorate, Zora and her friends must learn to survive and persist within a world that is becoming increasingly hostile. Black Butterflies is a unique story from a unique perspective. Both the setting (the siege of Sarajevo) and the narrative voice (a woman in her 50s) are rare in popular fiction, so it was really refreshing to learn about a part of history that I knew literally nothing about. I also greatly appreciated that it’s a book about the people who stay behind rather than those who flee war, as that brought yet another fresh take. It also explores the power of art and the horror of losing one’s culture. The actual meaning of ‘black butterflies’ is such a heart-wrenching image, when it’s revealed and I’m pretty sure I literally gasped when that whole concept hit me. The lightness of the book comes in its celebration of community and their coming together in times of crisis to try to find pockets of hope. It was an altogether very well-written and singular book that I’m delighted was introduced to me by the Women’s Prize.

HISTORICAL FICTION: Trespasses by Louise Kennedy.

Cushla is a primary school teacher and barmaid amidst the horror and violence of the Northern Irish Troubles. In her family’s pub, she meets an older, married man called Michael, a barrister who defends members of the IRA. Finding herself drawn to Michael, he and Cushla begin an affair. But when one of her students’ father is brutally attacked, Cushla finds that everything she knows and loves may be about to collapse. Trespasses came to me with some very high praise from multiple sources, so I was very excited to read it. It’s a heady story that depicts 1970s Belfast perfectly. It tackles some heartbreaking themes such as poverty, social divide and of course, war. It’s also an exploration of crossing forbidden lines in the name of love and this takes several forms throughout the book (hence the title, I imagine!). Cushla is a thoroughly likeable heroine who clearly wants to do the right thing in a world where she is an underdog. I wasn’t expecting it to have thriller-esque vibes towards the end but I really appreciated it and it definitely had me completely hooked.

MYTHOLOGY: Stone Blind by Natalie Haynes.

Following her brutal rape at the hands of Poseidon in the temple of Athene, the youngest Gorgon sister Medusa is cursed by the goddess. Now she can kill with her stare, Medusa resorts to a reclusive, solitary life with only her immortal sisters for company. But then a young hero on a quest shows up, needing a Gorgon’s head to prove his worth. The cover of Stone Blind pitches the book as Medusa’s story and while it is that, it isn’t just that. We also get chapters watching the gods and chapters that tell the story of Perseus’ mother, Danaë. It’s an equally funny and equally tragic book that paints a far less than flattering portrait of the ‘hero’ Perseus. I really enjoyed the dialogue between the gods, particularly when Athene was involved. She is completely unreasonable in this tale but still somehow a figure of wit, sass and wisdom. There are also some fascinatingly unique perspectives, such as Medusa’s severed head. Even after its separation from her body, it continues to narrate part of the story, which is incredibly macabre while making some kind of horrific sense. 

COMING OF AGE: Homesick by Jennifer Croft.

Sisters Amy and Zoe are homeschooled in Oklahoma, as Zoe suffers from seizures, the cause of which can’t quite be determined. While Zoe is in and out of hospital, Amy begins to fall in love with her Russian tutor Sasha and nurtures a deep love of languages. When her academic talents send her to university at just 15, Amy’s life changes drastically. Homesick is a touching story of sisterhood and the powerful bond that can forge. It’s also a book about guilt and family duty, which continuously shows itself throughout the narrative. In places, it is full of humour and in other places, the story becomes very tense. Homesick is about learning who you are, what’s important and the realisation that sometimes that journey can take us to dark places.

[inawickedlittletown]

Queerbaiting and Buddie

(word count: 1,900)

I keep saying that I don’t want to spend any more time on 9-1-1 meta or fic, but the events of this weekend made me open up a document where I had some unfinished meta and in light of the S4 finale airing tonight, I thought I might at least write this: 

“Queerbaiting is a marketing technique for fiction and entertainment in which creators hint at, but then do not actually depict, same-sex romance or other LGBTQ representation. They do so to attract a queer or straight ally audience with the suggestion of relationships or characters that appeal to them, while at the same time attempting to avoid alienating other consumers.” 

That is how Wikipedia defines queerbaiting. And I really feel like everyone needs to read that and then read it again and realize that what is happening on 9-1-1 with Buddie is NOT queerbaiting. 

I don’t want to go into the long history of queerbaiting because we would be here all day and anyone that wants to do some research should go and do so. There are a lot of resources out there. Use them. 

But the short of it is this: queerbaiting has a lot more to do with the way a show is promoted, with the way that anyone involved in the show talks about a queer ship, and with the show deliberately scripting scenes that hint at a relationship without any intention of following through. Expectations and wanting a queer ship to go canon and those expectations not being met do not alone equate to it being queerbaiting. 

For any of us that have been around a long time there are a lot of perfect examples and if you compare Buddie to any of them, they are very different. I’ll name a few:

Merlin/Arthur

John Watson/Sherlock

Emma Swan/Regina

Derek/Stiles

Castiel/Dean Winchester (though they did go canon...barely)

Lena/Kara

Buck and Eddie do not fit into that list. Which isn’t to say that someday they could belong there, but I just do not believe that they will even if Buddie never becomes canon. And this all lies in how Buddie as a ship has been treated both on screen and off. I’ll break it down by season. 

S2: 

Eddie is very clearly introduced as a new character, a straight Army veteran with a disabled kid and family drama. He and Buck have immediate chemistry. We can’t deny that, or deny that from that first episode there are immediate sparks. Unintended sparks, but sparks nevertheless. And it is easy to tell that no one on the production team expected that and the story reflects that. 

Yes a foundation for their friendship is formed and yet the season long story focuses on Eddie’s relationship with his estranged wife and Buck is dealing with his own growth after being left by Abby. Their friendship shines and their scenes are great but none of them suggest romance and there are actually a lot of episodes where Buck and Eddie barely interact in S2 aside from in the background or for small work related moments (this mostly happens after Shannon returns). 

S2 does give us the first acknowledgement from the powers that be aka Tim Minear that they know what the fans have seen. This is why the elf scene exists, but it exists in a space where it’s a nod to the fans and not meant to do much more than that. The other moment is during the call with the livestreamer. But S2, places them completely and without question on a strong friendship. 

S3: 

We see a lot more conflict for Buck and Eddie in this season and we see how close and important they are to each other. Those are the two main things. That can be read as friendship easily and it’s a season where both Buck and Eddie deal with their pasts and in one way or another start to get closure while their friendship remains intact. 

Yes there are some scenes that make us squint and go huh, wtf? (I’m looking at you kitchen scene), but narratively we also know that neither of these boys is ready for a real relationship with anyone, let alone each other. But we can bask in how close they are as well as how Christopher fits in into all of it. 

But in S3 we are also introduced to Ana and we see the return of Abby. We also get to see that Buck and Eddie have become closer than ever and that the lawsuit only serves to highlight the importance that they both feel about having the other available to them. I’ll also quickly mention that Eddie Begins worked hard to highlight Buck’s devotion to Eddie. 

S4: 

Without considering the events of the finale (I am avoiding spoilers and know nothing about it or the speculation), we’ve seen Buck and Eddie both grow and get further closure on their past. This season has paralleled them well and their friendship has not faltered, they’re as close as ever. 

The beginning of the season was heavily focused on Buck and we saw him grow as a person and begin to work on himself in a healthy way and we’ve seen Eddie be supportive of that. 

We also have Ana to consider and her relationship with Eddie as well as the return of Taylor and yet the appearance of these women has not changed the Buck and Eddie dynamic. And I find it fascinating that Eddie beginning to date Ana, is the thing that prompted Buck to start dating. The parallels are all over the place but it is the strength of the friendship and the way they care so deeply about each other that remains whether that becomes romantic is still to be seen, but it could still go either way.  

Off-screen by the end of S2, Tim Minear had already addressed Buddie by throwing in that elf scene in a wink/nudge fashion that said “I see you” and in the scene with the girl with the livestream with the comments. During S3 he tweeted about being frustrated by the fans demanding and being hostile and thinking that that would make him more likely to do what they want (I’m paraphrasing what I remember seeing). Tim has never once said that Buddie will happen or shut the door on the ship entirely, but he did say he did not want to engage in conversation about it because he doesn’t want to get into arguments with fans. 

Oliver has always been enthusiastic about Buddie and has even said that he would be perfectly fine with it happening both a while ago and more recently in promo for S4. Conscious of queerbaiting and not wanting to give fans false hope, he has specifically said that he does not know if it will or won’t happen and that he wouldn’t speak on that as he’s not the one making that decision. His support for it happening does not mean he has any sway one way or the other. He’s said this a few times and even wrote a letter to the effect to make it clear to fans that the last thing he wants is to disappoint someone due to something he’s said. 

All in all, it just isn’t a constructive environment for anyone working on the show to interact with fans on this topic because any time that they do, they get attacked by overly enthusiastic buddie shippers that in many ways are making everything worse. 

In all of the interviews from Tim that I’ve seen, he has always been very quick to hint at what was coming up on the show in a way that at times has been misleading on purpose. The number one thing that comes to mind is early in S4 where Buck was said to get a new woman in his life. Tim absolutely made it out to seem like it was a girlfriend while knowing fully well that it was a therapist. This is an excellent example of what promoting and hinting is actually like. No one from this show has done that in regards to Buddie. 

No one has gone out of their way to hint that it may happen in a way that excites the fans. And this is one of my main reasons for knowing that Buddie is not a queerbait. At no point in the life of the show so far has anyone used Buddie in a promotional way to bring in viewers. Because THAT was the whole point of queerbaiting in the past. 

It was a way that some showrunners found to bring in a lot of viewers when they needed to up their numbers in order to show networks they were worth keeping around. Someone figured out that LGBTQ people wanted to see themselves represented so much so that they would tune in to anything that promised an LGBTQ character in some fashion. It was a tactic that worked well in the landscape of tv where there was so little LGBTQ content on mainstream media that anyone wanting it would latch onto anything. And then they just wouldn’t deliver on those relationships or characters. In 2021, that is not the world we live in any longer. 

In today’s tv landscape there is so much to watch and so much to pick from and diversity has grown, it is celebrated. Queer characters are well represented as are queer relationships and queer stories. The times are different. A while back I was listening to a podcast (Bait: a queerbaiting podcast) and something I found interesting was how the hosts both agreed that in today’s tv landscape there is no more real queerbait and that we won’t easily find anything like the ships I mentioned above. I think I agree more with this than I expected to, because I do think that it exists in some spaces, but it definitely isn’t what it used to be. This is a good thing. 

Specific to 9-1-1, this is a show that has that diversity and that isn’t afraid of tackling that diversity and giving us interesting and nuanced perspectives and stories embracing that. We have characters of color, women in positions of power, a F/F relationship, two multi-racial relationships, a disabled character, other queer characters including a M/M relationship. There is so much in this show that embraces diversity and that embraces the reality of what the world looks like. To call it queerbait is to disrespect everything else that this show is and has done and the hard storylines that have been tackled that we would not have seen on tv ten years ago. 

And I get that Buddie would be another breakthrough. It would be a novel way to tell a queer story, and it would be amazing if it were to happen. The set up is there, but it isn’t fully realized, and Buck and Eddie can still be read as just friends if we take off the shipping goggles. But it also isn’t queerbait or likely to become queerbait and people have to stop calling it that. 

What Buddie resembles is one of the many unintended slow burn ships that have frustrated viewers in many forms across fandoms and we just have to go along for the ride and maybe it will happen. Or maybe it won’t. But if we know anything about relationships on tv, it is that a lot of the fun comes from the journey, even if the destination is good too. 

[queenshelby]

The Singer – Part Four

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 2,483

Warning: Smut, Semi Public Sex

 ***The Interview***

It’s been three weeks since Kurt’s stunt and things between you and Cillian couldn’t have been better. Whilst you struggled with comments from the press and the public initially, calling you a home wrecker and making an issue out of the age gap between you, it brought you and Cillian closer together and he even defended your relationship in a recent interview.

Whilst you still hadn’t talked about what you were and where you were at, it was clear to you that you were officially dating. But no one really took you seriously. You were seen as Cillian’s midlife crisis.

Cillian cared very little about the press, ignoring the bad rumours and assuring you that none of this mattered.

He was right. It didn’t matter. People were still buying your new album which, under contract, was unfortunately being produced by Kurt. Under the same contract, you were also obliged to engage in interviews and promotional events.

Whilst you were very eager to simply break your contract, Cillian reasoned with you. He was sensible and you were impulsive.

He assured you that breaking the contract would simply mean more bad press and you engaged Cillian’s agent to help you with media engagements. He seemed to take a sensible approach and asked interviewers to not ask you any personal questions.

But this didn’t always work out, especially when you had an interview scheduled with a London based program whose interviewer just loved to get under your skin.  

This interviewer managed to ask you about your alleged affair by referring to some lyrics of one of your songs.

‘Look, my private life is private and I will not discuss my relationship on this show. But what I can assure you is that there was no affair. We both had separated from our partners when we got involved with each other. The song you are referring to was written over a year ago and doesn’t reflect any of my personal experiences. It was written for a movie and just like the movie, it’s fictional’ you explained in response of the interviewer’s intrusive question.

‘There are many other songs you’ve written which come to mind indicating that you do in fact prefer to be with men who are older than you. These songs were all well received but your relationship is not. How do you feel about this?’ the interviewer than asked, not giving up.

‘Again, the songs are fictional, but my private life is not. That might be the issue. It’s all good if it’s fictional but as soon as it’s not, people get curious. Perhaps there is a lack of understanding surrounding relationships that aren’t the norm. Maybe people’s perceptions will change over time. I certainly hope so. After all, there are so many relationships in the history of the world where people have large age gaps and I believe that every adult has the right to date whoever they want without being criticised about it’ you explained before taking a short pause. ‘Anyway, I would prefer if we could chat about my music now rather than my private life. That’s why I am here’ you said bluntly.

The interviewer finally backed off after your request and your agent had already called in, putting the producers of the show into their place.

Cillian had also listened to the interview and texted you, making sure that you were alright and telling you that he thought that your response was well placed.

Kurt, on the other hand, was once again annoyed with you and sent you a rude text message shortly after the interview and he couldn’t help but try to get under your and Cillian’s skin.

***The Function***

Later that day, the studio was hosting a release party to celebrate your new album which Kurt had organised at the theatre complex function rooms.

It was a beautiful venue but you knew that Kurt would be attending which could end up being a complete nightmare.

This was also the first official event which you were attending together with Cillian and you raised the question whether this meant that you are his girlfriend now.

‘I suppose….I don’t know…do you want me to be your boyfriend?’ Cillian chuckled as he buttoned up his shirt.

‘I would love you to be my boyfriend’ you giggled before giving him a kiss and asking him to zip up your dress.

‘Well, I suppose I am officially off the market again then’ Cillian chuckled before returning the kiss, which was also when you heard the taxi pull up in front of his house.

Your agent has taken the liberty to invite several producers to the party, much to the dislike of Kurt. Kurt was even more irritated when you finally arrived, together with Cillian who was holding your hand.

‘Y/N…Cillian’ Kurt said greeting you both, wanting to shake Cillian’s hand but all he got in return was Cillian raising his eyebrow.

‘Kurt’ you responded with an almost evil grin on your face and just before Kurt leaned in and kissed you on the cheek.

You didn’t stay to talk to him and it wasn’t long until you were inundated by other producers, wanting to talk to you.

‘I told you, she can be a real slut’ Kurt said to Cillian as Cillian gave you some space to mingle, unbothered by the attention you were receiving by several of the producers your agent had invited.

‘And you wonder why she left you?’ Cillian chuckled, thinking that Kurt is an absolute douche.

‘You know she sucked my cock just before I signed her’ Kurt said with a smug face and it was obvious to Cillian that he had been taking some coke again.

‘Nice talk’ Cillian laughed before walking away, getting himself a drink and talking to some of the other artists.

After about thirty minutes you sought out Cillian who was standing next to the buffet talking to two female artists and you decided to give him the same space he had given you. Jealousy wasn’t your thing and you knew there was no need for it.

Eventually, however, you received a text message from him which said nothing but ‘HELP’, making you giggle. He obviously didn’t enjoy himself talking to these women and was being polite, hanging out with them and engaging into some small talk.

Just as you were going to get Cillian away, Kurt approached you.

‘Found a new producer yet?’ he asked and you responded with a quick ‘maybe’.

‘You won’t get the same sweet deal you had with me Love…’ Kurt went on to say, causing you to laugh.

‘You remember that night in the record studio together?’ he asked sheepishly.

‘Yes, I do. You lasted a total of ten minutes which was quite something Kurt’ you chuckled.

‘And I bet these were the best ten minutes of your life’ Kurt said just as Cillian approached you, listening into the conversation and taking in a deep breath.

‘Would you please give us a minute’ Cillian asked somewhat angrily.

‘I will…because my date is here’ Kurt said sheepishly.

‘What, did you hire an escort?’ Cillian asked, looking over to the woman Kurt pointed at.

‘She’s a model’ Kurt explained, not realising that Cillian was being sarcastic.

‘Of course she is’ Cillian chuckled before saying bye to him and this is when you broke out laughing.

‘He’s got the IQ of an ape’ Cillian huffed as Kurt walked away, shaking his head in disbelieve.

‘You are being so polite sweetheart’ you giggled.

‘I am sorry, but he just makes me fucking angry. You know what he said earlier?’ Cillian said but, before he could tell you, you crashed his lips onto yours.

‘Are you angry?’ you asked as your lips drifted apart.

‘At Kurt? Yes’ Cillian said.

‘Good. Come with me’ you winked as you pulled him away from the function.

Without questions, Cillian followed you upstairs where the offices of the producers were located.

‘I saw you talking to these women earlier…tell me about them’ you said as you led Cillian towards the back of the office area.

‘Sorry Y/N, I don’t know much about them, they just…’ Cillian said but, before he could finish his sentence, you interrupted him with a passionate kiss in front of the door leading to Kurt’s office.

‘Don’t apologise, just tell me. I think there is nothing more sexy than seeing other women want what I have’ you smirked, your hand moving to his crotch.

‘Seriously?’ Cillian asked, causing you to nod and bite your lips suggestively.

‘Well, unlike you, I don’t like seeing other men want what is mine now, especially not this smug bastard’ Cillian said before pressing his lips back onto yours for an urgent kiss.

‘Please tell me this makes you angry’ you giggled as you pulled a white card out of your handbag.

‘Of course it makes me angry and, if I wouldn’t be so fucking complacent, I would punch him’ Cillian chuckled just as he watched you swipe the card through the black machine on Kurt’s office door before putting in the PIN on the security keyboard.

‘I’ve got a better idea’ you smirked as you pulled Cillian into Kurt’s office.

‘What are you doing?’ Cillian asked and all you did in response was looking over to Kurt’s study desk.

Cillian’s eyes lid up and, before you knew it, you felt your lower back pushed against the desk while Cillian lifted up your dress and pushed aside your panties.

‘You are so wet’ Cillian growled with excitement as, without warning, he pushed two of his fingers deep inside you, causing you to moan loudly. He was so aroused and rock hard, ready to take you, but he wanted to play with you first.

‘You do this to me Cillian’ you moaned, throwing your head back and taking in the sensation of his fingers deep inside your tight entrance.

Cillian continued to slide his fingers back and forth within your wet folds, hearing you moan and gasp at the sensation. He then slipped his middle finger inside you. You cried in pleasure. He loved pleasing you like this and started to thrust his fingers inside you faster and faster, watching your body pulsate with his movements.

He hit your g-spot over and over again and you knew what this meant. He was doing this on purpose, making sure to mark what is his and, in the process of it, possibly also mark the carpet in Kurt’s office if he kept going like this.

‘Oh god Cillian’ you cried, your eyes closed as he was manoeuvring his fingers tilted up to get the pleasure spot over and over again until your legs began to shake.

‘You like that?’ Cillian asked softly as he continued thrusting his finger into you and you barely managed to nod.

You fluttered your eyes open and looked at him as he confidently smiled at you. His unabashed confidence was turning you on even more. He knew that no one else ever made you cum like this.

As he continued to finger you, sending waves of pleasure over your body, you could feel yourself getting close to your orgasm and just as you were about to scream in pleasure, Cillian pushed his other hand over your mouth firmly as you came over his fingers, a wet puddle immediately forming on the office floor.

While your head was still spinning and without allowing you to come down from your high, Cillian spun you around and pushed you down against the cold oak table.

He certainly was angry and you loved every moment of it.

With one swift movement, he lifted up your dress again and pushed down your panties.

‘Spread your legs’ he instructed and you obliged, hearing his belt unbuckle and the zipper of his jeans opening.

‘That’s good’ he said as he was positioning his cock directly at your entrance, ready to push in.

Your heart started pounding with excitement and with one hard and powerful thrust and one loud groan Cillian buried himself deep inside you.

You shrieked at the sensation as he immediately and forcefully bottomed out inside of you. It took your breath away and he gave you no chance to adjust as he began to thrust in and out of you.

‘You are all mine’ Cillian moaned as he hit your cervix with the tip of his cock for what felt like the hundred’s time.

‘I am yours Cillian, oh god yes, fuck me hard’ you moaned.

Cillian grunted with each thrust, getting more aroused by the second as he was taking you over Kurt’s desk.

Each thrust was igniting a fire in you. It felt so good and you cried at the inexplicable pleasure consuming you, calling Cillian’s name multiple times.

Cillian was grabbing your thighs, prying them apart, and opening you up to him even more. He thrusted deeper and harder into you in this position.

You cried, your nails digging into the wood of Kurt’s desk while your pussy clapped against Cillian with each thrust.

‘I am coming Cillian, fuck’ you moaned and just, like that, another loud moan escaped you and your orgasm washed over you, your legs quivering and shaking as a result.

Cillian exhaled and groaned loudly, leaning in and filling you with his warm cum at the same time. You felt yourself fill up with his seed, exhaling at the sensation. He stayed inside you for a minute, then slowly pulled out. He watched his cum flow out of your opening ecstatically, running down your thighs.

You then turned around and grabbed one of the tissues from Kurt’s desk, wiping your legs clean before throwing the tissue into the bin.

His desk was covered with some of your sweat and juiced and Cillian looked at your flushed, glistening, beautiful face as you were still panting and kissed you softly on the lips.

‘Should we clean this up?’ Cillian chuckled as he closed up his belt.

‘Oh god no’ you smirked before collecting a good amount of Cillian’s cum that had pooled inside you and then licking your finger suggestively before pulling your panties back up.

‘Let’s get back to the party and say goodbye, shall we?’ you giggled.

Cillian followed you and the first person you chose to say goodbye to was Kurt, which surprised Cillian.

Giving Kurt a big kiss on his cheek, you wished him a pleasant evening and Cillian’s chin dropped immediately.

He couldn’t help it but laugh, shake Kurt’s hand, with the same hand that had pleasured you just minutes earlier, and wish him a pleasant night also.

‘You are so fucking bad, you know that?’ Cillian laughed later in the taxi on your way home.

‘He deserved it’ you giggled.

   Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03  @deefigs @theflamecrystal   @desperate-and-broken  @weepingstudentfishhorse   @livinginfantaxy  @rosey1981  @atomicsoulcollecto  @peakyboyslover  @nerdy4itall  @elenavampire21  @hanster1998  @mariapaiva13  @fairypitou  @harry-is-my-sunflower  @zozeebo  @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa  @littlewierdalien  @sad-huffle-nerd  @theflamecrystal   @peakymalfoyscullymulder  @themissthang  @0ghostwriter0  @stylescanbeatmyback  @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni  @momoneymolife  @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03  @mcntsee​@cloudofdisney​ @missymurphy1985​​ @peakymalfoyscullymulder  @otterly-fey janelongxox  @uchihacumdump

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @margoo0 @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee  @daydreamingnymph  @fookingshelby   @chocolatehalo

[hamliet]

Musings on Redemption + Narrative Obligation

This isn’t a meta but rather musings on a disconnect I see based on takes about Ruby’s role in saving Cinder Fall in RWBY, and Deku/Shouto/Ochaco’s roles in saving Shigaraki/Touya/Toga in BNHA.

Of course Ruby has no moral obligation to forgive, or even save (which is not equivalent to forgiving) Cinder. Shouto has no obligation to forgive Endeavor or Touya, and Deku has none to forgive Shigaraki, and Ochaco none for Toga.

But as the main heroine/heroes of a “save the world” story? Narratively, well, yeah. They do. Saving X character is their (literary) responsibility. That is their job.

This is one of the places where people blurring the line between fiction and reality creates  disconnect in conversations. Fiction does not occur in a vacuum. It is a part of reality and is influenced by and influences reality. However, it is not a 1=1 parallel to anything in real life. (Like, that’s why books almost always include a statement about how “This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”)

So when people talk obligation/how Hero will save Villain (tbh I usually don’t like to use the term obligation because the connotations don’t really fit and bring to mind real world issues that are best left out of it), they’re (mostly) not talking about a moral necessity. The expectations (“obligations”) here are in terms of how writing works, not in terms of how life goes or real world morality . It’s not “they’re a bad person/character if they don’t save X,” it’s “the story doesn’t make much sense if X, which has been set up, does not eventually happen. So here’s how the path might look to get there.” BNHA and RWBY are stories. Stories play with tropes, often following them well. Tropes are like markers that help readers navigate through a story to understand its meaning.

This doesn’t mean I think Ruby should be condemned in story or out of it for however she feels about Cinder, or even for hating Cinder (imo she won’t forgive her, either way). It does mean that people recognize where the story’s trajectory is going, and that Cinder’s arc is set up with classic redemption tropes albeit quite possibly without ending up “buddy buddy” with the heroes (that’s imo for Emerald and Mercury). Same for Deku, Shouto, and Ochaco, even if I do think Shouto and Touya will end up as brothers (Deku + Shigaraki and Ocahco+Toga might end as friendly, but we’ll see).

It’s also foolish in real life and out to assume that people can change without anyone else playing any sort of role. This is a purity culture real-world reflected thing I see in progressive circes (literary and elsewhere) that I think is often harmfully oversimplified. No person is an island. Now, that does not mean every single individual on this earth has an obligation to feel empathy for, much less forgive, even more much less reconcile, with people who hurt them or others. However, it does mean that someone probably will feel this way at some point, and whether it’s romantic love--requited or unrequited (Buffy and Spike, Sonia and Raskolnikov), platonic familial love (Luke and Vader, Nina and Johan), or even just simple pity on the basis of both being human and principles based on that (Tenma and Johan, Sing and Yut-Lung), someone’s gotta reach out to a spiraling person.

Generally characters are main heroes because they are that special someone. They’re chosen as the protagonist for a reason, even if they’re not “the chosen one” (like Ruby, Shouto, and Ochaco; Deku is the chosen one i guess shouto kinda is in his family?). That doesn’t mean heroes do the redeeming for them, but instead that kindness or some other positive trait inspires change. There’s nuance there, but there are reasons people expect this type of thing from a heroic protagonist especially in stories with themes of rebirth and hope. It would be far different if this was a postmodern tragedy.

Stories allow us to portray human nature in a blurry reflection, where there are set paths that there might not be in real life. Saying that Ruby will save Cinder/the BNHA kids will save the League of Villains is not saying that real life individuals are under obligations to save real life people who have hurt them. I get why that is triggering, though, because irl ppl do try to weaponize beautiful things to make sense of the senseless. You are not obligated. Let me be blunt about that. Anyone who tries to force you to do such a thing is wrong. It’s your choice, it’s your power, it’s your human free will that allows you to decide what to do with your pain and how to heal.

But most forms of storytelling, when redemptive tropes like “save the cat” and “stop the cycle of abuse” and themes of hope are introduced, it’s fair for readers/viewers to assume that the writers are doing so because they plan to fulfill these tropes. You don’t hint at something you don’t plan on satisfying; that’s Bad Writing 101 (see, Game of Thrones season 8).

Fans analyzing and predicting based on the narrative set up (as well as contemplating what “needs” to happen for a hero to get to a place of saving someone--it’s called an arc because most protagonists don’t start in such a place of extreme empathy and mercy) are not telling fans that you’re bad or that the characters are bad. (Well, I’m sure some ppl are, but to hell with ‘em). It’s merely a prediction based on story tropes.

[choicesarehard]

I keep my streams about Wolf Bride light-hearted. It’s been a hell of a year, and I think we all need a space where we can laugh together. But part of responsibly consuming problematic media is being aware of where it fails. And that’s why I think it’s important to talk about Morgan, and Wolf Bride’s troubling depiction of blindness. 

Morgan is one of the first Love Interests in Choices to have a canon disability. She is representation many players with disabilities, like myself, are eager for. But like any form of representation, writing a blind character requires research. A quick google search will lead you to numerous visually impaired voices who outline the tropes and stereotypes that harm their community. Wolf Bride has included nearly all of them. 

signal boosts are appreciated

Not All Blind People Wear Sunglasses

Morgan is shown wearing dark sunglasses from the moment she appears on screen. And there are certainly blind people who wear sunglasses — particularly those who (unlike Morgan) can still perceive some degree of light and dark, and experience painful light sensitivity. But no context is ever giving for Morgan’s use of sunglasses. In fact, they aren’t even addressed for four chapters. 

[ID: Two screenshots from Chapter Four of Wolf Bride. The first features a text box over a forest background, and reads “You glance at Morgan, and are surprised to see the dark glasses still covering her eyes.” The second features a labeled image of her sunglasses, placed over a black background, with a selectable button that reads “What does Morgan look like without these?”] What follows is a scene Pixelberry could have used to provide insight into an assistive device the sighted community may not be entirely familiar with. They could have touched on degrees of visual impairment, or why some blind individuals need dark lenses while others don’t. They could even have explained that for some individuals with visual impairments, dark lenses make tasks like reading or navigating dimly lit spaces harder.  Instead, and far more troublingly, MC is given the option to ask Morgan not to wear them anymore. And depending on your choice, the book is coded to remove the sunglasses from her sprite in future scenes. This reduces an assistive device to a fashion choice, something our MC can wish away if they don’t find it attractive. And that isn’t okay. 

Unusual Eyes

[ID: Two side-by-side screenshots from Chapter Four of Wolf Bride. The first features a text box placed over a forest background that reads “With a start, you realize her pale eyes aren’t looking at you, aren’t seeing you, aren’t seeing anything.” The second features Morgan’s sad sprite in the same forest setting, and a text box that reads “...I’ve been blind since birth.”] Morgan has a customizable sprite. But regardless of the ethnicity you select for her, she is depicted with pale blue eyes. And that troubles me. Because the stereotype that all blind individuals have cloudy, distorted, or unusual eyes is pervasive and harmful. 

Even when it isn’t tied to another harmful trope — the blind character as mystical seer or psychic — this stereotype create an expectation that blindness is something that always manifests in a visible way. And for millions of blind individuals, that isn’t the case. 

And while cataracts, trauma to the eye, and corneal infections can all cause the clouded effect most of us recognize from media, none turn your brown eyes into blue.  Heightened Senses

Another common stereotype in media is the blind character who’s remaining senses have become heightened as a compensatory mechanism, often to a supernatural degree.

[ID: Two side-by-side screenshots from Chapter Four of Wolf Bride. The first features Morgan’s surprised sprite in a forest setting and a text box that reads “I guess I sort of...feel things. Like the place on my cheek where the branch blocked the wind.” The second features Morgan’s neutral sprite in the same forest setting, and a text box that reads “I can smell the dew on the leaves, and the moss on the bark. Can’t you?] Individuals with visual impairment may learn to rely on their other senses to navigate the world around them. But they do not suddenly gain the ability to sense the location of a branch based on wind patterns, or to accurately throw a dart at a carnival game ballon based on its smell. 

[ID: Two side-by-side screenshots from Chapter Eight of Wolf Bride. The first features a text box placed over a carnival background that reads “Pop! Pop! Pop! Three darts fly through the air, striking their targets.” The second features the white MC with straight blonde hair. Her sprite is surprised, and beneath it is a text box that reads “So you did that by smell, too?]

This trope may seem harmless — after all, it gave us Daredevil, a beloved blind superhero — but it contributes to the unachievable expectations we often place on real-world individuals with visually impairments. And that isn’t fair. 

Of course, we all suspected Morgan’s abilities were due to something other than heightened senses. And that in and of itself is a problem. 

Magical / Supernatural Abilities

To the surprise of no one, Morgan exhibits these unusual abilities because she is a werewolf. But choosing to give a blind character magical abilities should only be done after asking yourself some challenging questions. As visually-impaired Tumblr user @mimzy-writing-online explains:

Your blind characters don’t need a magical ability that negates their blindness. [Ask yourself why it’s so important to you to give them one]. If it’s because they can’t do all the things you want them to do without it, then should you really have written them as blind in the first place? 

And that’s the thing. Morgan isn’t actually written as a blind character, not when it counts. Morgan shoots bullets with accuracy, runs through unfamiliar terrain, and navigates moving objects with ease. She doesn’t use common assistive devices like canes or screen readers. Her sunglasses are discarded at MC’s request. The scientific papers that fill her research facility are not digitized for accessibility or written in braille. 

Even her dreams, which should be reflections of how she perceives reality, look identical to Bastien's — which makes no sense for someone who has been canonically blind since birth. 

[ID: Two side-by-side screenshots from Chapters Five and Eight of Wolf Bride. The first features a scene from Morgan’s lucid dream. Set in a glamorous hotel, it includes visual details like twinkling lights, and patterned carpets. The color is tinted a grey-blue and the exposure on the image has been increased to an unnatural level. The second features a scene from Bastien’s lucid dream. Set in a forest, it shares the same tinted and over-exposed qualities as the first.]

Her blindness isn’t an integral part of her character. Instead, it’s a narrative device, paraded in front of the reader when it can further a central — and deeply disturbing — plot point. [content warning: discussion of discrimination and child abuse / abandonment ahead]  Morgan Was Left to Die Because She Was Blind 

And Jesus, what a plot point it is. In Chapter 11, we learn that Morgan was left to die in the woods because she was born “wrong, sickly, blind.” But the only canonical disability or illness she is ever shown to have is her blindness. 

[ID: Three side-by-side screenshots from Chapter Eleven of Wolf Bride. The first two feature the white MC with straight blonde hair’s shocked sprite in front of a forest background. The first text box reads “I don’t understand...” followed by two dialogue options “Why was Morgan abandoned?” and “Is that what you do to full moon babies? Kill them?” The second panel’s read box reads “Just because she was blind?” The third panel features  the old woman Noemi’s sad sprite, placed over a forest background. Her text box reads “If we know an infant will not survive, it is best to let it die quickly.”]

I...am frankly having a hard time thinking through the screenshot-induced fury to make a coherent argument here. To imply that blindness is an impairment so limiting that death is the only foreseeable outcome? That being born blind somehow makes a child “wrong”? The ignorance and prejudice shown in this scene is staggering. 

But equally troubling is the response of the main characters to this revelation. Yes, in fiction, bad people sometimes do bad things. But Noemi isn’t shown to be a bad person. Neither is Bastien, who knew what his pack had been guilty of in the past, and even seeks to justify it to a limited degree. 

Most shockingly, Morgan herself, who in the second screenshot below has just overheard that she was left to die as an infant because she is blind, isn’t angry or upset. She’s almost apologetic, still seeking a place within the pack. 

[ID: Two side-by-side screenshots from Chapter Eleven of Wolf Bride. The first features Hispanic Bastien’s sad sprite in front of a forest background. The text box beneath him reads “It doesn’t happen often, Clara, but...” The second features white Morgan’s sad sprite in front of the same forest background. The text box beneath her reads “I didn’t mean any harm. Especially after...what I just overheard.”]

By introducing the idea that a child born blind cannot survive, let alone thrive, without superhuman abilities, and then failing to soundly and thoroughly refute that idea through the characters we identify with, Pixelberry is unintentionally perpetuating the same false beliefs that have led to real-world instances of infanticide for centuries. And that isn’t okay. 

I don’t know where Pixelberry will go with the story from here. Perhaps in today’s chapter some of these concerns have been addressed...but I doubt it. In the meantime, I’ve also written to their support staff to express my deep concern and disappointment in the treatment of Morgan’s character. And I’d encourage you to do the same. 

Will I continue to keep streaming Wolf Bride? For now, yes. My VIP subscription is already paid for, and frankly, I want to see Morgan’s arc through. I guess the small part of me that was excited for the representation is still hopeful the narrative can be corrected. 

But I’ll be adding a content warning at the start of each stream for ablism, and that’s something I never thought I’d have to do.  Screenshots courtesy of CrimsonFeatherGames on Youtube

[juliabohemian]

oh dear

I have noticed a number of posts circulating which imply that ANY character being mean to Loki EVER and for ANY reason = abuse.

I will admit that I initially felt mostly irritation at what appeared, on the surface, to constitute such a complete and utter lack of critical thinking. What I’ve realized, though, is that people who make such posts definitely believe what they are saying. And like everything people do and say, there’s a deeper reason for it. The fact is, traumatized characters attract traumatized fans. And not all of those fans are in a good place, emotionally. And those people are perfectly valid, even if the conclusions they draw are not.

When it comes to fiction, good characters are complex. That means they are conflicted and flawed. They make mistakes. They lash out when they are afraid or hurting. They sometimes hurt other characters. Loki fits that bill very well. It’s one of the reasons he is so popular. Not just with traumatized people, but with people in general. He’s relatable.

The problem comes when fans relate to fictional characters, but really aren’t conscious of why, because they aren’t all that conscious of themselves. They haven’t done a whole lot of self-reflection. Maybe because they aren’t ready, because their trauma is too fresh. Or maybe they are still living in crisis and don’t have the freedom to self-reflect. Those possibilities are all valid.

But very often, when a person goes through trauma and doesn’t have the luxury (and yes, it is a luxury) of working through it, their reasoning skills can become flawed as a result. Trauma, especially childhood trauma, tends to have a negative effect on our ability to socialize and form intimate relationships, because it damages our ability to interpret the intentions of others. We call this hostile attribution bias.

The problem with hostile attribution bias, is that it makes it difficult to tell when people genuinely mean you harm. If a person’s words, actions, or facial expressions are ambiguous in any way, they will be interpreted as being hostile in nature. This keeps one on the offensive, constantly, always anticipating the next blow. Very often, no such blow is coming. But it doesn’t matter. Fear is real, and the experience of it is real.

It stands to reason that someone who struggles to interpret the intentions of real-life people would also experience the same difficulty with fictional characters. For instance, fans who identify with Loki because they perceive him as being a victim will have a hard time seeing him as anything else. Thus, anyone who harms Loki in any way is just further proof that the universe is against him and always will be.

This is referred to as an external locus of control. It means that a person sees life as something that is happening TO them, and that they are powerless to affect the outcome. It’s also important to note that people with this mentality struggle deeply to heal from their trauma. They are stuck in a sort of Groundhog Day scenario, living the same thing out over and over again. Because of their flawed perception, everything that happens to them feels like an extension of that initial trauma.

So, it would make perfect sense that a person with a history of trauma, who suffers from attribution bias, and who has an external locus of control, would be extremely uncomfortable watching anything bad happen to Loki. In fact, it would probably be traumatic for them.

And while their feelings and their experience of those feelings are 100% real, their perception of reality is not entirely accurate. In other words, what they think is happening is not necessarily what is happening.

Loki’s initial trauma, believe it or not, was just being abandoned as an infant. Even though he can’t remember it, that experience alone can result in lifelong emotional struggles. In real life, we refer to this as an attachment disorder. A person with an attachment disorder usually develops major issues with abandonment. They also suffer from (wait for it) attribution bias. And that bias absolutely affects their perception.

Loki’s next trauma was being raised in a dysfunctional family. Not only were they dysfunctional, but they weren’t a very good fit for Loki. Loki was a quiet, contemplative person. He was a thinker, an intellectual. He would rather read or do magic. So, not a good fit for Asgardian society. The combination of Loki’s initial trauma, with his inherent temperament, and his dysfunctional family is what led to the inevitable breakdown that is regarded as Loki’s “villain” arc. I’d like to point out that, in reality, such a person would have probably suffered a breakdown much sooner than that. Typically, prior to reaching adulthood.

Loki’s next trauma was encountering Thanos. Now, we have no idea exactly what happened between Loki and Thanos. We know only that it wasn’t good and that it resulted in Loki being absolutely terrified of him. Other than that, details are fuzzy. I think it’s fair to assume that whatever mistreatment Loki endured probably qualified as torture. Whether it was physical or psychological, we cannot know for sure.

While Loki’s Thanos-related trauma was NOT an extension of his family-related trauma, his decision to entangle himself with Thanos was a product of that trauma. By which I mean that his willingness to align himself with someone like Thanos came from a place of desperation, and a desire to prove himself to someone who he perceived as being qualified to validate him.

So, fast forward to the LOKI show. Our version of Loki never returned to Asgard in chains, was never told that it was his birthright to die, nor endured any gaslighting from Ragnarok-Thor. He never got his neck broken by Thanos. He never went through any of that. He arrived at the TVA, fresh off his failed attempt to take over planet Earth. He was all fired up and defensive, as anyone in his situation would probably be.

Now, here’s where we need to put our critical thinking caps on. Because, I hate to tell you this, folks...but unlike most of the Loki content we’ve gotten prior, this content is actually well written. It’s VERY well written. And while it might be tempting to respond to it with pure emotion, it is imperative that we don’t abandon all logic and reason. This show is not an extension of the gauntlet of trauma we’ve watched Loki endure since he first appeared on screen. The creative minds involved in this venture ALL care deeply about Loki’s character and want to see him succeed (whatever that means for him).

Enter Mobius. He’s a cog in a very big machine. He likes to think of himself as being more than that. He establishes a rapport with his boss in the hopes of distinguishing himself from his peers. His interest in his work is personal. He likes what he does.

From Mobius’ point of view, Loki is an asset. He has information that could help solve the bigger puzzle. But Mobius exists in a world that affords him access to multiple realities. He has probably met dozens of Lokis. And he has probably seen hundreds of people casually pruned or executed or reset. It’s just part of the world he happens to be in. And he doesn’t question it, because he has been brainwashed.

So, does Mobius attempt to manipulate Loki? Absolutely. Just another day at the office. And it works, because he knows Loki better than Loki knows himself, has studied him and other Lokis. And it’s hard not to be mad at Mobius for causing Loki pain. Especially when that is followed up by Loki eagerly taking Mobius up on his offer to help track down the other Loki variant.

I think some people might find Loki’s enthusiasm disconcerting. And there are certainly aspects of it that can be considered such. Loki, at his core, just wants to be told that he is doing a good job, that his contributions matter. That part of him is definitely a product of trauma. But is Loki motivated entirely by his trauma? Not really. Despite his manipulations, Mobius offers Loki the closest thing to warmth and compassion that he has seen for a while. Some of that is genuine and some of that is not. And faced with the reality that everything he knows is gone, Loki does what most people in his situation would do, he tries to be productive. He gets busy. He distracts himself. Because at the moment, little else is under his control.

Despite all of that, you simply cannot have compassion for Loki and none for Mobius. Because Mobius is a victim too. He was abducted from his own reality. He is living a lie. He is part of something that, upon deeper reflection, he realizes he doesn’t agree with. He is so very much like the Loki we first met in 2011. He is such a well-written and multi-faceted character, I thoroughly enjoy his on screen time with Loki.

But I understand that there are people who are not in a place, emotionally, where they can overlook such plot devices. And I sincerely hope that those eventually people find healing. In the meantime, let’s try to remember that this is a work of fiction. And unlike real-life trauma, when it becomes upsetting, we can turn it off and walk away.

[kellyvela]

There was one person who commented on grrm blog about Dany being their most hated character and hoping she would die. Grrm replied 'tsk tsk'. Do you know about that post?

This one?

The comment, now deleted, is from this post: Dany and the Dragons - Jul. 8th, 2013.

What about it? Is this about targies clinging to that "tsk tsk" for their lives?

I remember that the user belomor555 wrote that comment as an answer to another user mentioning them, as you can see here:

I like the conversation under grrm's comment, because those users didn't assume that George was saying he won't kill Dany:

We also know that when someone said to George that he’s not allowed to kill Dany, he answered that "Parris has proclaimed that Arya cannot die!" [Source]

Classic George!

But what is that "tsk tsk" compared to all this:

July 21, 2018

In the earlier published Targaryen family tree as found in The World of Ice & Fire, Princess Daenerys did not exist. In her place was Prince Aeryn Targaryen, Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s sixthborn son who died young. Besides Aeryn having been exchanged for Daenerys, several other children of Jaehaerys and Alysanne were shifted in their order of birth.

Regarding these changes, Elio Garcia has stated the following:

… George had some new ideas for some of the names and the stories of the children who died young, and corrected some issues that came out of his original birth order (we actually got the names of all the kids quite late in the production of TWoIaF—literally a month before we had to finalize the book—so there was not much time to interrogate it). However, the stories of those who live to adulthood, as published in TWoIaF, do remain the same (just, of course, much more detailed).

[Source]

November 20, 2018

Jaehaerys loved all three children fiercely, but from the moment Aemon was born, the king began to speak of him as his heir, to Queen Alysanne’s displeasure. “Daenerys is older,” she would remind His Grace. “She is first in line; she should be queen.” The king would never disagree, except to say, “She shall be queen, when she and Aemon marry. They will rule together, just as we have.” But Benifer could see that the king’s words did not entirely please the queen, as he noted in his letters.

(…)

It was the hour of the owl when Queen Alysanne was awoken by her daughter shaking her gently by the arm. “Mother,” Princess Daenerys said, “I’m cold.”

There is no need to dwell on all that followed. Daenerys Targaryen was the darling of the realm, and all that could be done for any man was done for her. There were prayers and poultices, hot soups and scalding baths, blankets and furs and hot stones, nettle tea. The princess was six, and years past being weaned, but a wet nurse was summoned, for there were some who believed that mother’s milk could cure the Shivers. Maesters came and went, septons and septas prayed, the king commanded that a hundred new ratcatchers be hired at once, and offered a silver stag for every dead rat, grey or black. Daenerys wanted her kitten, and her kitten was brought to her, though as her shivering grew more violent it squirmed from her grasp and scratched her hand. Near dawn, Jaehaerys bolted to his feet shouting that a dragon was needed, that his daughter must have a dragon, and ravens took wing for Dragonstone, instructing the Dragonkeepers there to bring a hatchling to the Red Keep at once.

None of it mattered. A day and a half after she had woken her mother from sleep complaining of feeling cold, the little princess was dead. The queen collapsed in the king’s arms, shaking so violently that some feared she had the Shivers too.”

—Fire & Blood - Volume I

May 19, 2019

Standing before the Iron Throne, Dany steps forward and kisses the man she loves. A perfect kiss, an expression of pure love and passion.

We push in on them until we’re tight on their faces – their eyes closed, his hand behind her head, her hand on his cheek.

Dany’s eyes open suddenly as she draws a sharp breath.

Jon’s eyes open as well, already filling with tears. For a moment, neither moves, as if moving will make this real.

In a wider angle, we see Jon with his hand still on the hilt of the dagger he just lodged in Dany’s heart.

Her strength leaves her and she collapses to the marble; he keeps her in his arms as she falls, kneeling down to the floor beside her.

He looks down at what he’s done. Terrible. And necessary. He hopes for one last moment with her.

But her eyes are already glazing over. Winter has come to the Throne Room. Dany lies dead in his arms, Pieta-style, as the snow drifts down.

—GAME OF THRONES “The Iron Throne” - Written by David Benioff & D.B. Weiss - Based on A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin

January 19, 2020

WELT: Again: We know what will happen to the Mother of Dragons. How do you want to surpass that in a novel – with an alternative literary version?

GRRM: Counter question: How many children did Scarlett O'Hara have? In Margaret Mitchell’s novel “Gone with the Wind” she had three children. But in the cinema version of the novels she only had one child. Which version is the only one valid - the one with one or the other with three children? The answer is: neither. Because Scarlett O'Hara never existed, she is a fictional character, not a real person, who would have had real children. Or take “The Little Mermaid”. We know her from the fairytale of the same name by Hans Christian Andersen and from the Disney movie. Which one is the true mermaid? Well, mermaids do not exist. So you can chose the version that you personally like the best. Changes are inevitable in this process. Even if the adaption is as faithful to the literary source material as it was the case with “Game of Thrones”.

—GEORGE R. R. MARTIN “Die Leute kennen ein Ende – nicht das Ende” - WELT 2020 - (Translation)

April 18, 2021

Q: It is my impression that there are parallels between Westeros history and current events in ASOIAF. so in your opinion to what degree is George martin’s history cyclical? Because we have a lot of parallels. For example with the current history and the dance of the dragons.

Elio: You know George even uses that line from talking about the the arms of house Toland, the dragon eating its tail, but it was from the Archmaester Rigney which is a reference to Robert Jordan the writer of the wheel of time, that history is a wheel or time as a circle. I think George certainly deliberately sees, creates parallels. I mean this is a very obvious example, you know if you read The World of Ice and Fire, you saw the family tree of the Targaryens, and the family tree for Jaehaerys and his offspring changes quite a lot when fire and blood comes out. Because George realized that he wanted to create a kind of parallel by introducing another Daenerys. and he said like, i like the symmetry of it, I like the the sort of the way. You could perhaps read it as reflecting on Daenerys’s story, maybe. I wish it was true. I mean I think fans of Daenerys need to be really worried about what’s going to happen to her. Although I guess Game of Thrones maybe has revealed kind of where things may possibly end. Again the journey is going to be very different. I think you know circumstances, things are going to be very different. So there’s a journey that matters. But in any case, so yes I think George uses cycles and things a bit. He likes setting up parallels of events, he likes paralleling characters, he likes paralleling events, and he likes paralleling the past and the present as well.

Linda: I think certainly that when he fleshed out the details of Fire and Blood, even when he first did the sidebars for The World of Ice and Fire, and they just grew. We could see that, okay here he’s looking at foreshadowing or commenting on current events by doing a similar scenario in the past and he definitely likes to play around with those aspects.

[Source]

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[themadamespod]

The Great White Gripe

A lot has been said about the “social commentary” within The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. 

“Since when is Marvel a bunch of SJWs? I don’t need this shit.”

“All this race stuff feels SUPER forced.”

“Oh here we go Marvel tryin to be all woke to get the libs on board.”

If you personally know anyone who spews this brand of ignorance, we’re sorry. 

Let’s make one thing perfectly clear: there is no social commentary on TFATWS. Showrunner Malcolm Spellman and director Kari Skogland simply show the reality of life in America. It’s not their fault that so many (white) people (men) don’t like looking in the mirror.

And some people claim they have no problem with film and television addressing politics and social change.

“Just keep it out of my comic book movies. It doesn’t belong there.”

They could not be anymore wrong, even if Chandler Bing himself was lecturing them. 

If you asked 100 people to name the top ten movies of all time, you’d get 100 different lists. But one thing we can all agree on is that film has power. It has the power to move us, to divide us, to unite us. Entertainment can lead to the kind of discourse that prompts action and positive change.

And that’s why The Falcon and the Winter Soldier and the conversations it’s sparking are so important.

One World, One Reality

“Marvel has always been and always will be a reflection of the world right outside our window.” - Stan Lee

There are two takeaways from that statement:

One: Stan Lee didn’t say that in the 1960s, 1970s, or even the 1980s. He said it in 2017.

Two: Our window, not your window, is a subtle but important distinction, particularly as it relates to TFATWS. The Flag Smashers, led by Karli Morgenthau, live by a simple creed: “One world, One people.” The core message of the show is that white Americans and Black Americans experience the world very differently, but there’s still only one world, one reality. 

It’s just a matter of people opening their eyes and seeing it.

TFATWS is an extension of Marvel’s early support of the Civil Rights Movement. In 1963, Stan Lee created the X-Men as an allegory for the ongoing struggles of the African-American community. Though he didn’t explicitly base Professor X and Magneto on Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X, there are ideological similarities.

Five years later, following the assassinations of Dr. King and Robert Kennedy, Stan wrote the following:

“Bigotry and racism are among the deadliest social ills plaguing the world today. It’s totally irrational, patently insane to condemn an entire race—to despise an entire nation—to vilify an entire religion. Sooner or later, we must learn to judge each other on our own merits. Sooner or later, if a man is ever to be worthy of his destiny, we must fill our hearts with tolerance.”

In 2021, Stan’s words still resonate. Racism in the United States is as virulent and damaging as it’s ever been. Black Americans are facing deadly policing, Jim Crow 2.0 voting laws, mass incarceration, and countless other roadblocks to mobility that most white people have never encountered.

Through the journeys of Sam and Sarah Wilson, Lemar Hoskins, and the heartbreaking Isaiah Bradley, TFATWS shows the unvarnished truth of what Ira Glass might call Black American Life. And through John Walker, the writers nail home the message that’s really making certain people squirm:

White men are the greatest threat not just to Black Americans, but all Americans, because TFATWS is as much an indictment of toxic masculinity as it is of bigotry. 

As aggressive racism has spread like wildfire since 2016, so has hostile sexism towards women of all colors. John Walker is the embodiment of the hyper aggression that the Proud Boys applaud. The clearest example of this comes when Walker dares to clap the shoulder of Ayo, one of Wakanda’s Dora Milaje.

Her swift and, ahem, pointed response had women the world over screaming like they’d just won the lottery. 

One could also argue that Walker’s dogged pursuit of Karli and displaced peoples supporting the Flag Smasher cause mirrors the Trump administration’s war on immigrants. 

There are plenty of parallels to draw. The point is, none of them are forced or manufactured or exaggerated. And whether we’re talking about a fictional road in Latvia or a real street in Minnesota, white Americans need to stop avoiding conversations that make them uncomfortable.

The Politics of Comics 

In 1938, Americans were still reeling from the Great Depression. Enter Superman, the everyman hero, who made his comic debut while the nation was facing widespread unemployment, rampant poverty, and blatant corruption at every level of government.

Superman could have faced off against any number of supernatural villains. But Siegel and Shuster went a different route, setting a precedent for comic books that has prevailed to this day:

They got political. 

Throughout Superman’s earliest adventures, he fought against evil politicians, apathetic bureaucrats, aggressive police officers, greedy businessmen, and even a Washington lobbyist. 

Then in 1941, Joe Simon & Jack Kirby introduced Captain America just in time to fight the nazis and free the world from fascism. A couple decades later, Kirby and Stan Lee would tell the tale of the aforementioned Erik Lehnsherr, who survived the horrors of Auschwitz. These comics endured because their passion and nuance transcended entertainment. So what was the secret sauce?

Like Siegel and Shuster, Simon, Kirby, and Stan Lee were Jewish. Representation matters, folks. 

Later on, the X-Men weren’t the only conduit through which Marvel supported Civil Rights. In 1966, on the heels of the “March Against Fear” from Memphis, TN to Jackson, MS, Stan Lee & Jack Kirby unveiled Black Panther. When African-Americans were fighting harder than ever, Black children could suddenly read a comic book about T’Challa, the noble warrior king of a highly advanced African nation. 

Marvel has never been shy about critiquing foreign policy either. Tony Stark and Iron Man debuted in 1968 as the conflict in Vietnam was escalating. And let’s not forget, Tony made his MCU debut in a film that is a clear indictment of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

We could do this all day, but you get the idea. 

Comic books have always reflected the politics of our times, and so has the MCU. Fanboys can’t start crying now just because they’re on the wrong side of history. And when they do, we defer to the great Jon Bernthal when asked about alt-righters appropriating the Punisher symbol:

“Fuck them.”

Life Imitates Art

In 1986, American men felt the need for speed. After Top Gun was released, applications to U.S. aviation forces increased by a staggering 500%. 

Two years later, Errol Morris exposed police corruption in his film The Thin Blue Line. The documentary prompted a new investigation that eventually exonerated death row inmate Randall Adams for the murder of a police officer.

That same year, the Polish government ceased all executions after leaders were swayed to do so by A Short Film about Killing.

Following the release of Michael Moore’s Bowling for Columbine in 1999, Kmart bowed to public pressure and stopped selling handgun ammunition. 

And 5 years ago, Pakistani Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif changed the law on honor killings in response to the critically-acclaimed film A Girl in the River. 

Like we said earlier, film has the power to spur social change. Even if the effects aren’t always so direct and immediate, television and movies have always contributed to the process in America. 

Seeing the Ricardos sharing a bed allowed some Americans to start relaxing their prudish ways. 

The Mary Tyler Moore Show and Maude empowered women as they fought for reproductive rights.

The Jeffersons and Good Times facilitated calmer discussions about race relations.

And The Ellen Show led to greater representation of queer people on screen and greater acceptance of queer people in society. Though Ellen herself has become a problematic figure in the last year, that legacy still remains.

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is hardly the first show of its kind. And given the impact film has on society, we believe Hollywood has a moral obligation to produce content that exposes society’s ills and fosters productive debate. 

Stan Lee would be very proud of the team behind TFATWS for bringing the stark reality of American life into people’s living rooms. The next time you see someone bitching about it, remind them what Stan himself said just a few years ago: 

“Those stories have room for everyone, regardless of their race, gender, religion, or color of their skin. The only things we don't have room for are hatred, intolerance, and bigotry.”