#also you said no one wants to engage with me but here you are longposting in my inbox 😭😭

[ly0nstea]

Now,

I've seen people not engage with Goro Akechi's real self behind the mask of a detective prince before.

But you? You haven't even engaged with the mask he wears.

What do you mean he doesn't have charisma?

He has a fan club? He’s a “pretty boy”, He's intelligent, he's talented at almost everything. He can bitch about people to their face and get away with it because he’s said it polite enough.

What do you mean he doesn’t have the facade of nobility?

He’s the detective prince? He’s an ace student, a celebrity.

The interesting thing about his relationship with Akira is that of course, he, “criminal trash living in an attic” would be the one to break down that mask and see the revenge fuelled, undesired child underneath.

Like it's fine to be a hater, you can love him or hate him. That's not my issue, but understand his character first before you start making flop ass 20 note posts of you replying to yourself: nobody in the fandom wants to engage with you- because you yourself have failed to engage in the media you post about.

Nobody is bothering with you because it's not even that you lack the ability to comprehend the deeper message.

You are simply failing to comprehend.

I could respond to this, truthfully i could, i could go into every point you made but that'd disqualify the point of my post entirely which was not to make some deep undercutting analysis on Goro Akechi's character, I can't, truly, i never hung out with him once, i'm not even finished the game I just got to Shido's palace I have nothing qualitative to say about Goro Akechi, i just hate him, and by extension his fans.

But just like akechi you fell for my trap, all I wanted was to make akechi fans mad and I have succeeded in my goals, thank you for this ask, i know responding at all diminishes it, it makes it less personal, but God, it was too fun not to

[ironwoman359]

Hello. I saw the post you reblogged about toxicity in the TS fandom. And as someone who is relatively new (Just over 2 months, heyo!), may I ask what kind of toxic behaviour do you see in the fandom? I hope this isn't too much for me to ask, I was just a bit curious and wanted some clarification on the matter. Please feel free to ignore this if it bothers you!

Well, welcome to the fandom, first of all! I hope you’re having fun so far. 

In regards to the post you’re talking about, I think @izzyfandoms said it best: “...most fandoms are okay but have a loud toxic minority, but for us the not-toxic people are often the loudest so we can come off as pure and perfect...” 

Most fandoms do have an amount of toxic behavior in them, it’s very rare (I’d say impossible, actually) to find one with zero problems, but it’s also usually more noticable in other communities than in this fandom, as we have been fortunate to have the non-toxic majority also be the louder voices most of the time (most often in fandoms, toxicity is a loud minority, though there are of course exceptions to this as well). 

The other thing I think is important to remember is that this fandom started out smaller than it is now. I’ve been a presence here since november 2017, and there are other who have been around even longer, and back then, the fandom was much smaller and therefore the toxic minority was even harder to notice. This led to us gaining a reputation of “purity,” which in turn made issues more complicated when they started to crop up. Every fandom is going to have issues, things that people in it disagree about, and people who try to stir up trouble. This is normal, and a fandom displaying those traits is not immediately a bad fandom. What can shift a fandom into an unhealthy one is when issues, disagreements, and drama become the focal point and people begin to treat each other poorly over these things. And I would say a majority of fanders are good at not falling into that type of thinking or acting. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, and it doesn’t mean that the fandom as a whole can just stick our heads in the sand and pretend everything is fine. 

So, you asked me what toxic behaviors I see. I’m going to talk about some examples I’ve seen in this fandom, and before I do I’d like to state first off that it is not my intention to attack anyone specific, or to shame people for their tastes in characterizations, ships, or their triggers or squicks. This is me trying to give my open and honest opinion about this community while being as respectful and tactful as possible. 

Also going forward, every time I say “the fandom” or “people” or refer to the community in some other all encompassing way, know that I do not mean every single person in it, or even a majority necessarily, just enough people to make it noticable. If you exhibit some of the behaviors I’m talking about, I’m not saying you’re a bad person or that you shouldn’t be here, far from it. But everyone has flaws, and these are just some common things that I see in this community. Maybe if you see yourself in this post, you can take a step back and consider your thoughts and actions to see how they may be harming you or others. 

Regardless of everything I’ve said and am about to say, I really love this fandom and the people in it, and I’m incredibly grateful for the impact it’s had on my life. Some bumps in the road aren’t going to change that. (Also I don’t engage with the fandom much outside of tumblr, things may be different on twitter, discord, or other places, this is just my experience with this platform specifically. Okay? Okay.)

So...here’s what I see in this fandom:

It is quick to judge. Anyone been here long enough to remember the week when Roman was “cancelled” between Accepting Anxiety part 1 and part 2? I came into the community later that year, but the fandom elders can tell you, there was a rally against Roman as a character, and a slew of people calling out prinxiety shippers for shipping such a “toxic ship.”  You’d think after that first time, the community would have learned to perhaps be not so quick in its judgements, but we’ve seen the same pattern over and over again.

People were quick to judge Deceit when his character was introduced, which was followed by a back and forth where people argued about what was and wasn’t “sympathetic” content, how things should be tagged, and 

People were quick to judge Virgil after Embarrassing Phases

People were quck to judge Patton after SvS and Patton AND Virgil after DWIT. 

People were quick to judge Remus after DWIT.

And here’s the thing, it’s fine if you have different interpretations of characters, or prefer certain versions. You see Patton’s character flaws and decide “you know what, this character isn’t for me now” or want to explore those flaws taken to their extremes? That is okay. What is not okay, and what this fandom does a lot, is insisting that YOUR interpretation and version of the character is the correct one and shaming people with different ideas. It’s fine if you don’t like Patton or take issue with his current flaws being displayed. It’s NOT fine to attack people who disagree and send anon hate to blogs who speak out in support of Patton. It’s fine if you don’t like unsympathetic sides content. It’s NOT fine to shame people who do or send anon hate to unsympathetic sides blogs. There are lots of different ways to interpret all SIX sides, and yet so often I see people go on some sort of crusade to defend their opinon and insist that it’s canon. 

But that’s all just the characters, this fandom also is very quick to judge the individuals in it. Real, breathing people with lives outside the internet are often shamed or attacked for their opinions about the characters, different ships, the way they’ve chosen to portray the characters in their art or stories, I could go on. Purity culture and cancel culture are prevalant in all areas of the internet, and this fandom is not exempt from it. Demonizing people for making small mistakes, or even for just disagreeing with you, is never okay, and yet it is something I’ve seen again and again in this fandom. Which leads me to my next point...

Anon hate. God, it makes me so angry, and this is the only one that I won’t try to portray both sides of or be diplomatic about, because it is flat out unacceptable no matter the circumstance. There are so many blogs in this fandom that have horrible anon hate problems, and I am sick of seeing it. I don’t care what a person has done or what opinions they have that you may disagree with, I don’t care if they’re the worst person in the world. It’s not okay to send anon hate, and it’s not okay to tell people to kill themselves. You find a blog in this fandom that you just Do Not like, either because of their content, their opinions, hell, just their personality? Unfollow them. Block them if you want. But sending anon hate over ships, characters, opinions and statements, it’s just childish and unacceptable. And it happens enough in this fandom that there are people who are afraid of making statements about things for fear of attracting more of that energy. Love always follows the hate and drowns it out in this fandom, for which I’m grateful, but the hate shouldn’t exist in the first place. Cut that shit out. 

In general, this fandom has not handled differing opinions well, be it opinions on how to tag content, disagreements over characterizations, or encountering an idea that you personally may not care for. It is ultimately up to individuals to curate their online experience, by unfollowing blogs they don’t like, blocking tags and blogs they don’t want to see, and reading summaries and content warnings before opening fics. Often in this fandom I think people get upset if something isn’t tagged the way they want it to be (and I’m not talking about not tagging triggers, I’m talking like, someone insisting a blogger tag deceit content as #ts deceit when they already tag it as #deceit sanders. In situations like that it is the responsibilty of that someone to either block the tags a blog is using or not follow blogs whose tagging system doesn’t work for them), or if someone disagrees with them and we forget that it is okay to just...unfollow people. You don’t have to follow every blog in this fandom to be a part of the community, and if a blog is making posts and content you don’t like, unfollow them, don’t attack them for it. Accept that they have as much a right to their opinions and their space in the fandom as you do, and adjust your block and follow list accordingly so that you can get the experience that YOU want out of this fandom. 

I hope this was helpful, and I hope it didn’t get too long for you. I’m not putting this under a cut because I think it’s important, but I will tag it as #longpost so my mobile users don’t suffer too much. If you want to discuss this in the notes, please keep it civil, and remember that we all are fans of Thomas here, and that we probably have more in common than we do differences. I love you guys, stay awesome

[saintlier]

My current main gacha rotation is as follows: fgo, bandori, priconne, and proseka. Though more heavily priconne bc it’s basically the sole autobattler i play, and proseka bc im just now leveling up and min-maxing. Who knows how it will continue to evolve

Now, to pour some out for our fallen: [longpost i.e. me yelling at a wall about nothing in particular, for my own posterity]

(these are all games i’ve played for a considerable amount of time, or at least enough to know that it’s not for me)

love live sif: super retired from this one, not only is the ui relatively aged but i’m done with this game’s gacha system. Plus im not super passionate about the new generations past sunshine. i really loved and have a lot of fond memories of playing it, and at least i finished u’s story ig

pocket camp: yo i am all but retired here. as nice and sweet of a game it is to look at and keep on my radar, their monetization model and delegating most of the best items to spur you to buy a lot of in-game currency is not to my taste, and it took me like three years of almost consistent play to come to this conclusion. The amount of free currency you earn is not nearly enough to viably pull/buy for things you want. At least it has a low storage requirement and is around if i just want to run around for a bit

feh: i forget when i truly dropped off but i think it was because i got tired of running stages to get my characters to a good level and fell behind in the story. the gameplay loop just didn’t do it for me

dragalia lost: i’d really cite this as The One that i really was excited for, especially bc it was releasing at a time when i was already pretty familiar with gacha. again i didn’t click with the gameplay, the auto battle wasn’t a viable method for me starting out especially with f2p ok units, and i’d be damned if i said that the game would not give me a 5* rare no matter how much i begged. i never did get one naturally before i came back briefly for a 5* guaranteed, and that’s when i knew i’d been cursed lol

granblue fantasy: i really wanted to like this one since the character designs are great and varied, and the collabs are super nice, but i think the gameplay again was just not doing it for me. i dropped off the story but keep it on my phone because why tf not, it’s literally a browser game. i do remember i played gbf while staying in akiba and my internet speeds were lightning fast compared to when i play in america, so that was cool. i still go in to pull during free pulls (if i remember my login info)

genshin: man o man. again the character designs are the best part but this game has the double whammy of not having a super satisfying game loop and having a story that’s all over the place. i mostly got pissed that free gacha currency was sparse and progressing through the game was near impossible if you save currency like i do, unless you whaled for the proper units. i might still return if it releases on switch given how much i’ve begged for it, but honestly i’d be ok if i didn’t. also cmon, the storage requirement was HUGE and every update requires you to have double its requirement or smth... man

dreamy vocal: this one’s a weird one but i’m pretty sure i played enough of it to know that it’s like every weird a*s tencent game you’ve ever seen and it gives me pain, miku or no miku. i’m just eternally grateful we were given proseka by the lovely geniuses at craft egg instead

mario kart tour: man what da hell. how is this actually not as satisfying as console MK. i can’t even form a well-rounded opinion on it, it just strikes me as weird

bsd tales of the lost: no particular reason here. the story was the same as the anime so it kept reminding me that i hadn’t finished the anime i guess lol. the gameplay was engaging enough but i grew tired of it at some point or hit a wall when my progression started really getting held back by my units or just level requirements. rolled some pretty nice units tho

magia record: i feel really awful about the fate of the EN server but similarly the gameplay just felt so weird. like fate but not? and now especially since the EN server died and the main reason i’d want to play is to read the story... this is pretty much a dead end :( i can appreciate from afar i suppose

revue starlight: wrowww also thought this might be The One because i really liked the starlight anime. but i was honestly a little disillusioned once it was established strictly as a battler game than one with some rhythm elements? mayb i wasn’t versed enough in autobattlers at the time but again the gameplay failed to capture my attention, and it seemed to be exploiting the openendedness of the anime’s ending to just retcon the stage girls’ suffering idk lmao help

There’s probably way more games i’ve played and have just relegated to the back of my mind. Regardless

Stuff I briefly touched, and could come back to if i suddenly had a change of heart, but for the most part i’ll pass

pokemon master S*X: pokemon gacha shouldve been a slam dunk for me but the combat system that was not as reminiscent of the base franchise as i’d hoped was enough to turn me off :( tis a shame, i definitely liked the concept of key characters returning as summonable

touken ranbu: ahhhhhhh man again this’ll prbly remain a game that i look upon from afar, even after begging for it for literally years. i played for a few hours and couldn’t get the hang of the gameplay loop even with guides. the browser version will hopefully stick around in case i want to pick it up again

imas: ok this is also starting to age rapidly but it’s cute and a huge franchise. i’m not sure if that’s for better or worse. i’m sure the story isn’t too deep and am definitely not a fan of their manager character (?) being a lawless horny self insert (at least in the fan material lol)/the characters fawning all over them, but the live graphics and costumes were nice.

argonavis: had relatively high hopes for this one but again it ended up getting handled by a different studio than craft egg, and i wasn’t super impressed by the gameplay. no EN version was enough for me to at least hold off for the time being, i’d be more than willing to come back for nayuta

i7: i’ve actually tried the jp version and the gameplay was alright. knowing myself i was only there to adore gaku but the menu ui was both aged and confusing, and the main reason i’d need an english version is for the story, so i ended up dropping :( i’d easily return if an EN version came out

sifas: mannnn why does this take up SO much storage. i’ve again fallen off of caring too much about the new generations of love live, but i really tried to get on board with this game. even understanding that this was more of a unit leveler, i still couldn’t get the hang of it or understand the seemingly complex leveling system. which is a shame because they have some great riko cards :C

nier reincarnation: i wasn’t going to go down with this ship but definitely wanted to give it a try. some of the pain points were the dark ui (true to the aesthetic, not a bad point per se but just enough to turn me off) and its nature as an autobattler, but autobattles were kind of tedious? somehow? and the story and especially the voice acting was good but not enough to sell me. also i just feel bad for en on the rushed release schedule to try to catch up

d4dj: dang it i also wanted to like this one a lot especially as another bushi franchise but, i can’t help it, the character designs are kind of offputting TT_TT what’s more the dj mechanic of the gameplay is kind of fun but somehow more frustrating and a tad gimmicky in the face of missed input. ... also u tellin me these catholic school girls are all dj’s? wh-

Stuff i want to at least try dammit

uma musume: man wtf is this game even about. why does it take up just as much storage as priconne, cygames. why must i suffer. i just wanna know what’s going on with these horse girls or w/e (chara designs are undeniably p nice. world flipper [cmon lets go haruhi collab] will hopefully tide me over?)

pripara/prichan: i also don’t know wtf this game is about but i see it mentioned pretty often with other cutesy idol games. i wanna know

twisted wonderland: euhghuaghga pls give me actually good EN joseimuke. pls. i need it

assault lily: i have hopes that because it’s a bushi franchise we may see it soon. it’s hard to get info on the gameplay but i’d like to give it a brief shot

[whipplefilter]

People keep mentioning Lightning calling Doc "dad" by accident, and I like that idea, but.. I wonder what the very first time that happened was like? Like, what even brought it on? What was Doc's reaction? I bet it was after a win or something, sometime when he was either very emotional or very distracted. I bet Lightning must have been pretty tired to have let that slip.. like me right now.. Sorry, the ramblings of a tired fan here xD

Oh my god, anon, I got stupidly carried away with this… /O\ APOLOGIES. Here is my ridiculous thousands-of-words response. I’ve always wanted to write something that could explore a little bit of the high-pressure atmosphere of professional racing, and some of the aspects of the profession that might be somewhat maladaptive for a young racer, and figured the path to this hc might be the place to do it. But ultimately, this is Doc’s story.

Fanfic: Your Name in Lights

Summary: Racing’s changed a lot. Or maybe it was always changing, change pouring from the racers, the race itself, and into the fringes of sponsorship and spectator and spectacle. Maybe this is where it was always headed.

At the start of his first season as Lightning’s crew chief, Doc reflects on how the sport has changed, and what he and Lightning will need to be for each other. The aftermath of last season’s tiebreaker race presents new challenges–challenges Lightning’s not quite ready for.

* If longposts on Tumblr are death to you (as they are to me), vision/attention-friendly versions of this can be found on AO3 & Fanfiction.net!

They’re still learning each other.

Lightning’s ability to listen, while much improved, remains variable.

And Doc’s ability to teach–and this is according to Sally, whose tetchy ‘maybe don’t talk like you’re from Mars’ was then vetted and seconded by Sheriff–doesn’t always help. Maybe one in twenty of Doc’s directions, Lightning loses his line for thinking so hard, as though he’s convinced Doc’s words are an enigma he must first unravel.

But when Doc says “hit it with your purse” he means exactly that. Plain and simple.

Granted, in retrospect, that sort of direction makes less sense if you’d never known the woman Doc learned it from. Nothing has ever made Doc feel quite so old as that.

All this notwithstanding, at the pole qualifying for Florida Lightning posts just shy of the top. It means he’s got a good angle on that third slot if he can nail the Duel. Doc’s not concerned about the racing.

Before that, though, there remains the hassle of the start-of-season publicity junket. Naturally, Doc declined all invitations; he’s not here for the crowds or the rumor mills. Never has been. But he might have reconsidered–shared the burden–if he’d known Lightning was going to say yes to every single one.

“You got brakes, son. You’re allowed to use 'em,” Doc points out.

Lightning just says–as though he’d never once considered saying no, and isn’t sure why he’d need to defend this–“Yeah, but they asked!”

Maybe he simply hadn’t anticipated the onslaught.

Whatever fame Lightning had enjoyed as a promising rookie’s got nothing on his Year 2 as proven contender–especially not with last year’s tiebreaker and the enigma of the Fabulous Hudson Hornet still very much on the racing world’s mind. Harv, whom Doc has recently come aware of in all his bombastically East Coast glory, has Lightning’s week scheduled solid:

- Monday 5AM-10PM

- Tuesday, 6:07AM-11:15PM

- Wednesday, 9AM-2AM

- Friday, 8:30AM-11:45PM

Wedged into the fray is one empty Thursday, which is “TBD, see Cup practice lap schedule.” Which all sounds like hell to Doc, but hey, the kid’s got energy to burn.

–

Sometimes, when answering questions for the press, Lightning’s gaze will shoot toward him. Never for long–Doc suspects Lightning never means for him to see–but long enough for his eyes to speak loud and clear.

Lightning is embarrassed by how much he still enjoys this part.

The captivated reporters, the ardent fans; he eats it all up.

Shouldn’t he be above this, though? Now that he knows what real love feels like? Shouldn’t this feel superficial now? That’s what his eyes say. Or perhaps they’re only reflecting what Lightning thinks he sees in Doc’s.

But if the kid ever found the guts to ask, Doc would say no. No. Cherish that feeling. You never know when you might lose it.

–

After the first day, Lightning passes out in his trailer immediately upon re-entry.

Old habits die hard, and under the blaze of camera flashes it’s easy to reach for certain unbearably cocky personas. Certainly, he’d given the cameras some of that. But other times he was Lightning–just Lightning. Which was harder.

Still, he reached.

The novelty of that does him in, and he sleeps like the dead.

(“Oh, don’t worry,” Mack assures him, when Doc is unable to rouse him. “He always sleeps like that.”)

–

Day 2 is easier. Lightning settles some, and Doc determines that even if he’s personally refused all speaking engagements, the least he can do is show up for the photographs. It takes some of the heat off Lightning, and spares him from the more probing lines of questioning. (Even the most aggressive tabloids back down if they have to look you in the eye.)

Then Doc loses an entire afternoon to a commercial spot, wherein Lightning spends four hours reading the same four lines as gaffers swarm around the outskirts of the shot. Apparently certain things will only read on television, and they need something a little different for their MySpace audience. (Whatever that is.) And Apple, Inc., of course, has purchased exclusive rights to something or another, so they need to do a full redesign if they wanna advertise with them.

Heretofore Doc hadn’t been aware that someone could give a performance best described as both wooden and exuberant. Lightning manages this feat. His acting ain’t worth the film it’s printed on. Doc finds this endearing in its own way.

Regardless, Lightning is obliging enough and not difficult to work with, which surprises the AD, who is obviously a veteran of past McQueens. On their way out, the sun having long since set, this year’s McQueen’s only gripe is a hushed, “You know how long it should take to film a twenty-second commercial? Twenty seconds! In twenty seconds I could be done with an entire–”

“Hey, look at you!” someone shouts from across the intersection. Doc notes with some amusement that Lightning automatically assumes they’re talking about him.

To Lightning’s credit, they are. The stranger blows the stoplight and maneuvers an absurd U-turn to end up in the lane adjacent. “Huge fan,” he explains. “Huge huge huge huge!”

In the span of a signal pattern, one red light holding the world in abeyance, he then proceeds to tell Lightning his whole life story. This is how it ends:

“And like, hit-and-run, you know? We couldn’t have known. Us all chasing after the guy, figuring you know, Alonzo’s gonna be okay, he always okay. We got a good set-up, working at the garage–all kinds of parts, all kinds of tools, you know? But after we lost the dude we go back and Alonzo’s just gone, man. He’s just metal. And that was it. So I guess I just wanna say like, thank you, you know? I’m not saying it makes a whole lotta sense or nothin’ but I dunno, like. Mad props, I guess. What you did in that race like. I just thought that was tight.”

“Thank you,” says Lightning, a little stiffly. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to say more. Then he adds, “Sorry to hear about, um, Alonzo.”

“Don’t sweat it, bruh,” says the stranger, dead Alonzo’s cousin. “Mad props!” he repeats, before speeding off when the light before them flicks blue-green.

Lightning jerks off the road and pulls into a nearby parking lot, visibly shaken. “That’s–” he starts. “Uh, never happened before.”

“You’re real to them now,” says Doc, though he doesn’t remember that happening to him before, either. “Congratulations.”

But Lightning doesn’t throw the look for the rest of the evening. He’s quiet and restive and it’s as though he’s either witnessed a crime or drive in on two cars in a scandalously intimate moment, or maybe both.

He has absolutely no idea what to do with a stranger’s personal business.

Mack asks him if he’s okay, and he says yes.

Lightning asks, “Hey, d'you think Sally would pick up if I–”

Then he trails off. Turns back to Doc to give him a funny look. Doc’s not sure if the question was directed at him, or at the empty air. (He knows the answer, though: Yes, yes she would.)

“Nah,” Lightning decides, independent of the facts. “It’s late.”

–

Doc’s not sure why, but it echoes. Not the life story of faceless cars, the names of whom he has already forgotten, but Lightning. The look on his face as he realized that caring is not always pleasant. There’s a lot of damage in the world.

Caring can hurt.

By the next morning, Lightning has forgotten all about it. Which is fortunate, because if Harv scheduled things any tighter he’d strip a lugnut. Lightning needs to be good to go.

–

Lightning’s fading. It’s working hour 33 on Day 3 when he stops trying to answer questions well and instead repackages what he’s already said, and said again, and said again. This isn’t at all a failing; it’s strategic and–finally–something actually smart, but it also doesn’t have the blazing excitement of Day 1, which is what sustains Lightning in the first place. And so it becomes a self-defeating cycle, and more often than not Doc finds Lightning staring down the clock as the hands make their slow and deliberate way around the field. His eyes beg them to move faster.

They’re far from done, though. Next up, sponsor appearance.

Lightning doesn’t do or say much, just last year’s lines, now flavored by his palpable shame at his past behavior, but none of the rust buckets seem to notice. For some reason, they love him, and always have. They have a golden vision of Lightning in their minds and that’s all they’ll ever see.

Rusty–or maybe it’s Dusty–winks at Doc. These two are Bostonians, unflappable, and Doc respects them. They knew Lightning was a child–and frankly, still is–but they were willing to be patient about his growing up. They weren’t surprised when eventually, he did. Which means they’d read him better than Doc had. They’ve got the knack.

As Lightning prepares to take his leave of the stage, Dusty (or Rusty) whispers, “Here, kiddo!” He slides a can toward Lightning with his back tire. “You’re gonna need to eat something before the meet n’ greets. It’s a long-haul!”

Lightning’s eyes widen, as though he’d forgotten sustenance was a category that existed. “Oh! Thanks!”

But when the two are out of eyeshot, Lightning throws the can in the trash.

“Not hungry?” Doc asks.

Lightning looks around him, dramatically surreptitious. “Are you kidding me? I can’t drink that out here. I’m not sponsored by that. Someone will see!”

Doc looks back at the Rust-eze tent, where Rusty and Dusty are still hamming it up on stage. “Aren’t they your sponsors?”

“Uh, yes,” says Lightning. “But I think sometimes they forget how this works.”

–

Doc thinks he, too, must have forgotten how this works, because “meet n’ greet” is a misnomer if ever there were one. There’s nothing at all casual about the autographs Lightning’s firing off, and it’s a wonder he can see anything at all with all the camera flash. “Kachow,” indeed.

One after another the queue of meet n’ greeters comes, exchanges a word or two or gaping silent awe with meteorological sensation Lightning McQueen, gets an autograph for his trouble and a picture for his scrapbook, and is shepherded right along to make room for the next car idling in line, assembly line quick.

Racing’s changed a lot.

Or maybe it was always changing, change pouring from the racers, the race itself, and into the fringes of sponsorship and spectator and spectacle. Maybe this is where it was always headed.

–

Millennium Club dinner. Some corporate thing, so upper-crust exclusive that Lightning’s sponsors are not actually invited. But Lightning is.

“Actually, you are,” Lightning notes. “It says here I’m just your plus one.”

They don’t stay. They have another dinner to get to, anyway.

–

Sparklers on the ground. Cars popping wheelies as they dance away from the leaping colors, which leave thin trails of smoke in their wake. Guitar. Truckbeds filled to the brim with all manner of confection–mostly Dinoco Lite, but also festive lookalikes, for the children.

The children, to speak of them, are playing a made-up game that involves hurling small chunks of broken asphalt at each other. The smaller ones are playing with tire marbles.

This feels more like home.

Here, The King presides, looking hale and gleaming, which is good to see.

“Heard you were lookin’ for me back in town,” Doc says when Strip Weathers idles up to them.

“Paying my respects,” Weathers says. “You did the sport a world of good. Made it into something worth keepin’ alive.” He smiles at Lightning. “Long day?”

Lightning laughs faintly, and Doc turns to him. He does look a little shaky.

“I’d stay away from Claude’s homebrew,” Weathers warns, very seriously. “It’s turning everyone silly, as always.”

Lightning’s gaze darts to Doc. Kid’s not sure what to make of the fact that he’s been suddenly inducted into the club where The King makes casual jokes. It doesn’t compute, it doesn’t compute, and then it doesn’t compute.

Ultimately, however, the strangeness isn’t enough to hold his interest. As Weathers heads back to Lynda, Lightning confesses, “I, uh, really need to eat someth–”

“THERE HE IS.”

Photos, ecstasy. A distinct lack of personal space. Lightning could run, but he doesn’t. Or maybe he can’t without his engine seizing. He probably needed more oil a good long while ago.

Doc shakes his head. He is not in the habit of delivering drinks to people, but as one of Lightning’s fans begets another it appears he might have to.

He rolls through the crowd like an untouchable force, eliciting wide eyes but none brave enough to approach.

–

Of course! I can’t believe I didn’t see it before! You’re the Hudson Hornet! The Fabulous Hudson Hornet! Oh, you gotta–

–

So far, returning to the track is easier than Doc had ever dreamed, because–and perhaps this is ironic–of how precious little there was to return to. He doesn’t miss it because he’s never known it; you can’t yearn for rules you’ve never bucked, asphalt you’ve never burnt. It’s all-new, right down to the smells and sounds of the track, vibrations through earth and the motion of the guy next to you. Never mind all the hoopla off the track, the business side of which has grown up even quicker than road.

And perhaps more surprising than all the change is Doc’s utter lack of nostalgia. He doesn’t wish all this around him were otherwise, or quail at the thought that it isn’t. His racing world is hermetically-sealed and six feet under and when he speaks of it, it is another beast entirely. Somehow, this makes is unpainful to speak of now.

The track doesn’t wrench him back those fifty years; it does not unbury that pain and betrayal; it does not validate the bitterness he’s spent so much of his time since curating. Lightning does not remind him of any of that, the way he surely had in the courtroom that first day. Teaching Lightning does not feel like a poor substitution for what should have been. This is different. This is something–

And that, Doc had never dreamed.

–

When he returns with a quart of oil balanced on his hood, Lightning is exactly where he’d left him, surrounded by a new constellation of fans. He’s wearing a look of extreme distress, masquerading poorly as something other than, and the Mitsubishi nearest him is weeping.

As Doc draws nearer, he understands why. More crash stories. More dead loved ones. More trauma, more pain, more loss. Stories without happy endings–or without endings at all. The Mitsubishi is still crying.

This goes on for hours. It seems everyone has some dark and metal-rending history that they would like for Lightning to know. That tiebreaker was a standout; it clearly shook a lot of feelings loose. Now Lightning has become their outlet.

Lightning is not handling it well. He’s only just learned how to listen, how to care; he doesn’t know how, or when, to stop.

That night–if it can be called that; it’s 3AM, and Lightning drew his first practice round for 7–Doc learns that Lightning does not always sleep heavy. Sometimes he does not sleep at all.

Doc has three regrets, as they pertain to docking his trailer next to Lightning’s:

1. The blare of Lightning’s television, which has been advertising hemorrhoidal tailpipe lotion for the past hour straight.

2. All the pacing. Just when Doc thinks he’s settled for the night, Lightning’s engine blares to life, and metal creaks softly as his weight shifts up and down the length of his trailer. His is not a quiet engine.

3. All the shouting. Forget the engine; Lightning’s just all-around loud for a sleeping car. Keeps yelping himself awake.

For his own self-preservation, Doc moves his trailer. For Lightning, Doc figures the best kindness he can do him as his crew chief is not expect much from their 7AM.

–

“Sleep well?” Doc asks. “Handling it,” Lightning scowls (or maybe he’s just squinting. It’s a bright morning).

Lightning posts a 196.349 average.

One of this season’s rookies, yellow bumper strip blending well with his purple paint job and gold highlights, whistles in appreciation. “I’ve definitely made it to the big leagues now,” he whispers to himself. “Hot dang!”

But Lightning all but flinches away when the rookie shouts “HEY!” Lightning swerves and mutters something incomprehensible as he drives past without making eye contact.

“Oka~y! Whatever then,” the rookie shouts after him. “Guess I’ll have to smoke you on Sunday, cupcake! Then we’ll see who gets ignored!”

“You all right?” Doc asks, when Lightning draws nearer.

“Is this over yet?” Lightning asks back, again without making eye contact.

“Sure,” Doc says. “Ten months and thirty-six races from now.”

Lightning brakes–he keeps forgetting someone is here now, to answer his rhetorical questions. Then he glares at Doc, lips pursed sour, and speeds away without another word. For the next eight hours, he’s nowhere to be found.

–

Doc must admit, he’s only half-expecting Lightning to show up for their 4PM. He hadn’t felt the need to read back on Lightning before they’d met–he figured he could guess at his behaviors well enough. After all, he’s said it before: Racecar.

And he knows from personal experience that Lightning has a tendency to go missing, and that he also has a predilection for nearly missing things that he probably shouldn’t. All behaviors a crew chief won’t typically abide, even if his racer doesn’t beat him to the punch and fire him.

If you want to race with the pros, you need to act the part. There are no exceptions.

Doc own crew chief would have shown him the door if Doc had ever given him lip. There’d have been hellfire and fury. But it’s been a while since Doc’s thought about any of this, and in a moment of deep personal honesty, he has to admit: Oh, he gave plenty of lip, and Smokey plenty of fire. They don’t call him Smokey for nothing. It had been different, though–he and Smokey were nearly contemporaries, grown men and good ol’ boys together. Lip and fury were part of the dance. It’s what they’d needed from each other.

Whereas Lightning–

For the first time, Doc thinks about what Lightning actually needs in a crew chief. It’s not that the list isn’t a mile long–the kid is undeniably talented, and undeniably smart; but he’s also undeniably stupid, and if Doc starts contemplating Lightning’s many contradictions he’ll be here all day. But maybe it’s not what Lightning needs so much as who.

Doc sighs. He’d hoped he could have stepped to the role with only a modicum of soul-searching. Clear out the cobwebs, beat the nostalgia, focus on the racing. But who’s stupid now? he chastises. The rules and the smells and the crowds can change like no tomorrow but at the end of the day, the heart of the sport will always be the same. And real racing? You race with everything you got. Everything you are. It don’t matter if you’re on the track or the infield. In this sport, there is no room for reticence. There are no exceptions to that, either.

So, Hud, he thinks. Who are you gonna be?

–

At exactly 4PM, Lightning does show up. The first thing he says is, “I’m sorry.”

It’s the only thing he says.

When Doc asks again, “You doin’ okay?” Lightning takes a rolling start from the road up to the track and he’s off to the races.

–

You’ve been here how long? And your friends don’t even know who you are?

–

Lightning’s driving sloppy. Extremely sloppy. Which isn’t a trouble when you’re alone on a track, but they’re not here to practice bad habits. When Doc tells him so, Lightning’s only response is to drive worse, and faster. Faster. He cracks 200. 201. 203, for consecutive laps. And again. Then a fourth.

“Control,” Doc reminds him, but Lightning’s past the point of responding even recalcitrantly. He’s pure, raw force, swinging around the turns, every atom blazing forward. There’s nothing left for anything but power and speed. It’s terrible but beautiful, but terrible.

Lightning leaves the track gasping for breath and on the verge of tears and absolutely every other part of him left on the asphalt behind him. The forklift posting the times does a double-take.

Doc’s not thinking about those, though.

“Come here,” Doc says, but Lightning is as insensate now as he was at 200 miles an hour. He mumbles something Doc finds incomprehensible, only willing to wheel himself in any direction but Doc’s.

Lightning closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, but immediately lets it out, sharp, and continues to dance away. 'Calm’ isn’t really an available gear after a run like his.

“Come here,” Doc repeats, and this time all but herds Lightning in the appropriate direction.

“Oh, stop,” Lightning mutters, as he shies away from Doc’s bumper taps. “I can drive myself, Dad.” But the second Doc stops prodding Lightning stops moving, so Doc keeps on.

Dad, huh? Doc mulls this over. Interesting choice, Mr. I-Can-Drive-Myself. The way it had slipped out, Lightning probably didn’t even realize. Certainly, he won’t remember.

That train of thought stretches long across the circus that is the Florida Speedway, but eventually they end up at Doc’s trailer, quiet and plain-painted and unassuming.

They don’t talk much. First it’s just Lightning muttering incoherence, as far as Doc’s concerned–likely a continuation of some long epic he’s been self-narrating for the past year or so. Then genuine silence. Lightning dozes, waking long enough between bouts to look extremely annoyed with himself.

When the ratio of rest to annoyance turns in castigation’s favor, Doc intervenes.

“You wanna tell me what just happened, kid?”

“Don’t turn this into a life lesson,” Lightning snaps, still surly. Lightning knows, and he knows Doc knows. No one needs a play-by-play. That’s why Lightning’s so annoyed–he knows what he should be able to handle. Sponsors, commercials, interviews, spotlight after spotlight after spotlight–he can dig in, he can do it. He excels at it. His name in lights? Bring it on.

But this time, he’d been wrong.

Doc tries to be less pedantic. “You can’t keep making yourself sick over this stuff.”

Nope, still pedantic. Maybe it’s just his way; Doc’s his crew chief, after all. He’s supposed to be pedantic.

“But I can’t just make them stop,” Lightning protests desperately. “All these horrible things– and then they tell me– and then their friends tell more– why would I wanna hear about all these crashes? Even the press guys will– I’m just– and I can’t–”

He reigns it in. “I can���t take that,” he summarizes, now sedate. “I can’t sit there, listening to all these horrible things that have happened to all these cars and all their entire families, and then just be okay. I can’t.”

You have to, is something Doc might say, as a crew chief. Are you made of steel or not? You have to. Just shut it out. And if you don’t know how, then you’re gonna have to learn. You’re a professional, and this is the game.

But Doc doesn’t think he can say that to Lightning. Lightning, who feels so young because this care and all its pain seems so new, so surprising to him. Lightning, now old enough to know that caring is professional.

Lightning, who is more than just his racer.

You can’t control the game, or what it sees in you. Be it an underestimate of what you’ve got left, or an overestimate of how many stories you’re able to bear, it’s all the same.

“So give 'em something else to talk about,” Doc says finally. “If you love this, then show 'em joy. Give them a win. Give them a hundred more things to remember you by.”

There’s that look again–Lightning thinking very hard, wondering if Doc’s advice is a puzzle. Trying to solve it just in case. Then his brow unfurrows. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “That makes sense.”

Doc’s expression must convey doubt, because Lightning clarifies his epiphany. “Surpass yourself, right?”

Then he grins devilishly. “Consider it done, old man!”

–

On Friday, Lightning wakes up for his 8:30. It’s a morning show–not RSN, but Florida local. They have to drive out to the studio. There will be sound stages and harried PAs and several hundred thousand cars watching from the comfort of their own garages. There’s an in-house audience as well, the hopefuls for which were wrapped clear around the building before they arrived.

Lightning yawns wide, says something about getting it out of his system before they head inside. But he hesitates at the threshold of the studio. For the briefest flicker of a moment, Lightning looks up at the glinting neon above the door and becomes betrayal incarnate. This thing had wronged him, this thing had hurt him, this thing he loved so much, it had–

Then he lets it go.

He doesn’t bury it.

He really, truly, lets it go.

And only then does Lightning roll through that door.

–

At 8:30 on Friday morning, just before the cameras start rolling, the Fabulous Hudson Hornet joins his protege Lightning McQueen on the stage of the Daytona Daily Dose–a tiny channel that only broadcasts as far as the county line. It is his first public speaking engagement since 1954.

They won’t be talking about 1954, though. It’s 2007. Doc has a hundred more things he’d like to be remembered by.

Doc glances at Lightning, who seems even more delighted by this development than the staff of the Daily Dose, and he thinks, And then some.

[scarluxia]

I figured something out about myself. (Longpost)

When I was 17, I was really outgoing and oblivious. I let people take me out, was ok with sleeping with anyone who asked me because I wasn't aware that "no" was an option, and I wasn't used to having friends, having people actually like me, so I'd do anything for anyone and got really distressed if I couldn't help them.

By the time I was 21, I was a lot colder. If someone said hi to me, I'd greet them with suspicion and then get mad if they went "oh there's NO NEED to BE LIKE THAT". I didn't want anyone to talk to me unless they were my comfort person, and I'd gone back to how I was at 11, that is, not really wanting friends other than that one person and whomever I latched onto romantically. I still tried to be celibate for the sake of someone I'd latched onto (long-distance was the norm for me by then), but my libido and need to be desired were stronger than my willpower, and anyhow, we weren't *really* together or he wouldn't have gotten engaged to someone else. I had some friends, a group of people I hung out with at college, and I didn't really care what anyone thought of me, but when someone started getting needy in my direction I had to make it clear they weren't my priority because they weren't That Person.

When I was 23, I got into a face-to-face relationship for the first time in a while with someone who was attending the same vocational school as me. As I said, I was used to distance, but we spent 6+ hours a day together when we met and there was a strong mutual attraction. I couldn't handle separation because now I had someone to BE with and I wanted to be WITH him and, because of how things ended with the last person, I was irrationally afraid that if he went away for a week I'd never see him again. Unfortunately, he was a bit younger than me and still wanted to explore things I'd outgrown, and basically no-one liked my neediness and desire to be the #1 in his life. So ultimately it didn't work out.

I fell in love with someone else when I was 25 and basically panicked when he didn't take up my offer, because no one had turned me down since I turned 18 and I just assumed I was getting old and losing my appeal...even though this person's older than me by about fifteen years. I frantically tried to move on and it was impossible because everyone I was with left me as soon as they started to become my focus and not him.

I'm 29 now. I'm friendlier externally, but still suspicious of new people, especially men. I'm now perfectly comfortable being abstinent, and when men show interest in me, I tend to freeze up, run away, or go on the offensive. I realized it's because I don't want to meet their physical needs when my emotional needs haven't been met in a long time. Whether it's my body or my time or my willingness to listen to their problems, I can't give pieces of myself away when all I get in return is what they'll give anyone who passes through their line of sight.

I've mentioned before that my relationships with women have generally been worse than my relationships with men. There have also been significantly fewer of them. Yet I still tend to trust women more, even though I feel I have higher expectations of them, and I think that's because not all of my relationships with women have had a sexual aspect. They always ended on a moment of dramatic emotional conflict, rather than "I thought we were together but as soon as I started getting your name right in bed you ghosted me", so maybe there's just generally more closure.

If I'm honest with myself, as suspicious as I am of anyone who's interested in me, I got tired of running and chasing and striving even though that's the kind of person I've always been. I was always in the top 2 academically, if not first by a landslide (good grades got me praise and that meant my family loved me; bad grades made them not do that). Falling and remaining in love with James, who was 40 when I was 25, might have just been me giving up. I don't try to talk to him anymore; I don't even keep up with his public Facebook posts anymore, because everyone's tired of me talking about it and I'm tired of thinking about it. Being in love, yearning, having someone to direct what's left of my libido at even if they're not physically involved, it feels like my natural state of being. I can't just not love anybody (and for the purposes of this musing, other forms of love don't count). Since we were never a couple, we never broke up, so there's no reason for me not to feel my feelings even if he doesn't. Actually, the fact that he was never all over me went from being a source of agony to making me like and trust him more. I know he wouldn't touch me, so I would feel safe with him if we were ever alone together, unlike with his son.

So, I did try to move on, but never quite managed it because no-one else would have me long-term or provide me with an equal amount of effort to what I give. My friends swear up, down, and sideways that I deserve "better", but that's not realistic. It's probably true, but where is "better"? Because I've been searching for years and not found it. I've searched everywhere and I'm just tired. I especially don't want some male distracting me from the needs of my baby because he's too selfish to understand that the baby has to come first and that I'm too tired to put out. I don't think looking for a co-parent would be wise because from what I've seen, men are selfish and demanding and don't fully comprehend feminine pain or exhaustion. Piffy's lucky enough to have found a husband who's nothing like that, but I mean, they met in high school and got married at 22. It's a little late for me for that. I'm too old to keep looking and, I think, too old to be Found.

Sometimes I wish I could have the charm I had when I was 17. I may not have grown into my face yet, but being painfully oblivious and carefree did have its perks. I didn't mind being ghosted because there was always someone else right around the corner, and back in 2008, men on dating sites actually knew how to hold a conversation and it was like talking to an actual human being, not a droid programmed to Find the Pussy. I didn't know the risks, so I wasn't cautious about anything other than condoms. Several men had asked me to move in with them and I didn't comprehend the implications so it was always, "Let me ask my grandma", and not, "I don't know, I've built a life here and I have a whole studio set-up and pets who depend on me being in the same place, they really don't travel well..."