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beauty-and-passion · 1 year

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Eurovision 2023: the show of unfairness and the triumph of people’s hearts

My god, this year left me exhausted.

It’s 1:30 am, the Eurovision Grand Final just ended and I am starting to write this post now, because I need some time to calm myself before going to bed. And maybe putting down some thoughts about this year will help me find some peace - at least for a couple hours.

This year has not been what was supposed to be, starting from the show and ending with the winner.

But let’s start from the beginning.

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Ukraine: robbed of their own show

We all know Ukraine couldn’t host Eurovision in their country because of the war, so they asked the UK to do that.

And the UK tried to be a good host. They reminded us of the reason why Ukraine couldn’t do it, they tried to call Ukrainian artists and make the show about them... only to systematically forget it two minutes later and start acting as if they won and this was their show.

I hope now you understand why last year I said to not give them power over anything. The UK has a tiny little problem called “massive ego” and if you give them a little crumb, they will immediately scarf the whole cake down.

This year should’ve been 70% Ukraine themed and 30% UK themed. What we had instead was the other way around: the UK gave us a tiny little interval show in the semifinals about Ukraine, then a massive show all about the UK.

The Gran Final has been the icing on this disgusting cake. It started with a bang, featuring all of our favourite Ukrainian artists in the span of five minutes: Tina Karol (I had no idea she was Ukrainian, what a nice surprise!), goddess Verka, my beloved Go_A with The Only Queen That Matters, aka Kateryna Pavlenko. And, of course, our favourite winners: the Kalush Orchestra. Man Carpet is still an icon and I still wonder what the singer sees behind that pink hat, but I don’t care. It’s perfect, it’s great, I want this but 200x more. I want them to steal the show, I want them in all interval acts. But no worries, I’m sure they will definitely appear more during the final. I mean, there’s no way the UK called them just to appear for 20 seconds, right? Right?

Oh sorry, my bad. I forgot this isn’t Ukraine’s show, this is UK’s show. We should definitely have Sam Ryder in the interval act and we should definitely make it all about English songs. I mean, it’s not like there are four of the most beloved Ukrainian artists in Liverpool. Let’s make it all a huge masturbation session of the UK instead.

I apologize if my metaphor offended someone, but this is what I felt while watching the UK celebrating itself. Like... can’t you do this in a private room? Do I really have to watch it? This is just one step below Portugal’s show, which showed a massive ego as well and tortured me for three nights straight, by repeating how cool they were and how nice they were and how I would’ve done a great choice visiting them.

But even if that was torture, at least Portugal was the winner of the previous year, not a host masturbating over the fact they are allowed to host a show they didn’t win.

The only choice I fully approve of in this show is the postcards idea: that was very elegant and respectful and I want to thank the person who thought about it. The cards show Ukraine’s beautiful places, UK’s beautiful places and every country’s beautiful places. It’s all beautiful and it’s a great way to both honor Ukraine and emphasize UK’s hosting role, since it looks almost like the UK acts as a “connection” between Ukraine and every other country.

Unfortunately for us, this is the last proof of elegance we will see for the rest of the show.

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Danemark and Poland: robbed even before starting

Do you remember Danemark’s and Poland’s entries? I know, me neither. Bland, forgetful, two huge balls of nothing.

Well, I have a good news and a bad one. The good one is that Danish and Polish people are not insane and their musical tastes are actually way better than this. The bad news is that the two entries we got (Bejba and Tiktokkid) were not supposed to win their country’s competition, because the public’s favourites were different. But, like, VERY different.

Same thing happened last year for Spain, but at least Chanel was able to put on a great show - even if her song was boring. Danemark and Poland didn’t have that either: one gave us a meme, the other gave us nothing. Disappointing.

So let’s clean Danemark’s and Poland’s names, by listening to the artists they were actually supposed to bring. Let’s start with Danemark and please, tell me if the tiktok kid is better than this (if you dare):

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And before you think: “oh my gosh, this could’ve been a great entry for Danemark!”, please listen to what Poland was supposed to bring:

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I love this song. I love this cute nice boy. I love the classical vibes. And when I played this song for my father, my 70-year-old father told me, with no hesitation: “Oh, this is way better than the other one!”.

So if a 70-year-old can recognize how good this song is, then there’s no generational gap and it’s not true that people are accustomed to the same boring stuff. If a song is good, is good. If a song is bland, is bland.

By now you probably already heard from Polish people about how the voting system of their competition was rigged and how Blanka won thanks to the power of nepotism. So our duty as Europeans (and as people with some fucking taste) is to stream Gladiator, listen to all of his songs and shower this boy with love because he needs to know the world loves him.

And for you all, Polish people: thank you for making us know about your true winner. He really looks like one and we love him too.

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Germany: robbed while trying

I really cannot understand why people keep hating Germany this much. Is it still because of WW2? What did they do, to deserve the bottom of the chart? I know it’s funny, I know it’s for the memes ah ah ah, but also... come on. Come. On. Are you really telling me that Poland was better than Germany? Are you really telling me that the UK was better than Germany?

I can assure you that if Sweden brought this exact same song, the jury would’ve given this song 300 points. But hey, ThE jUrY iS iMpArTiAl, right?

German people: I don’t know why the world hates you. I think you would’ve gotten more votes, if only the system wasn’t so stupidly rigged and forced everyone to choose one winner only, hoping to defeat the jury’s sheer power. Personally, I enjoyed your song and I enjoyed Lord of the Lost and I will definitely listen to more of their songs to add to my playlist.

However, I also understand your frustration. So you know what? Just go nuts. Choose whoever the fuck you want to represent your country, attend Eurovision whenever you want and do whatever you want, give us insane shit and amazing stuff. You will be treated the same either way, so why give a fuck? Have fun showing your insane side, I will support you 100%.

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Italy and Israel: what did they ever do to deserve these places?

As an Italian, I am honored people gave so many votes to Italy. Seriously, thank you all, nice to know people appreciate our singers.

But also: why so many votes? Why? I know Mengoni is a good singer, he has a great voice and if this was a real singing competition he would’ve probably deserved to win.

But since Eurovision is not a singing competition, why all these points? Were people really so in love with this ballad? Why? What does he have I cannot understand?

Even more important: why Israel, with their stupid unicorn song, got all these votes? Why? Is it because she’s good-looking? Seriously? Are we still stuck thinking with our genitals, instead of using our brains? I thought Europe moved past the need of thinking with genitals only and started developing some good fucking taste.

Or did her amazing “dance moves” get the public? Ok, she’s very flexible... but do I really really have to remind you of Chanel? A small dance segment is really worth so many points, when last year we had someone who was able to sing AND dance as she did for the entire song? I didn’t even like Chanel, but I am mature enough to recognize that THAT was a show, while the unicorn lady did nothing more than a small dance. Definitely not worth 185 public votes.

At least I know that my country didn’t go insane and the true points (aka the public’s points) didn’t go to the unicorn but to Moldova. Thank god, we are still able to recognize what’s good.

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Finland: the real winner

When Eurovision started, I was sure Czechia would’ve been the winner. However, their performance wasn’t enough to grant them victory.

Finland, however, had everything a winner needs. And now I will explain to you why, because I love this funky green man and you should love him too.

1) “A little man from Vantaa”

Käärijä is a rare gem, not just for Eurovision, but in general. He’s a simple, genuine, silly guy, who comes from a city few people knew before. He doesn’t speak English too well, but he tries and fails in comically sweet ways. He’s a huge fan of Rammstein, so he’s a man of culture. He became besties with Bojan from the Slovenian band Joker Out and their bromance has been the best part of this Eurovision: these two share one single braincell and I love them for this.

But, most of all, he’s humble. He never considered himself above all others, even after his victory. He knew right from the start that it would’ve been a battle between him and Loreen and yet, he never grew arrogant about it. He always talked about their rivalry in funny ways, through memes and by treating her nicely. But he also never underestimated her: he always put his whole self into every performance, knowing full well he had to give everything, to reach the public’s hearts.

And he did. He reached the public’s hearts and like many others all over the world, I also love this little man. He’s genuine, he’s honest, he’s a fashion icon (Finland changes their flag to green when), his dancers are funky and nice like him. You look at him once and all you can think is: “I want to protect him at all costs”. It’s just impossible to hate this man.

2) His song is a banger

Not only his song is a fusion of three genres (industrial metal, hyperpop and hip-hop/rap), so he’s already serving you three songs in one, but the language he used is Finnish.

I’ve heard Finnish people saying that they never used their language because it’s “too weird”. People, that’s exactly because it’s weird that you should use it! You have this gem and you hide it to us?!

If you don’t know why Finnish is so great, please consider that while all other European languages are part of the Indo-European family, Finnish, Estonian and Hungarian are not. They are part of a completely different family (the Uralic languages).

That means they have nothing similar to any other European language. They are something completely different and new, a whole new world to explore. And they’re here, in our continent!

In addition to that, Finnish is an agglutinative language, which means words are formed by stringing together morphemes. How fucking cool is that? I love this kind of language!

As someone who studied English, French, German and Russian, Finnish is something that gets my attention. I can recognize similarities between Germanic, Slavic and Italic languages and I love them, but Finnish is an unexplored world. It’s made of sounds that well, sound familiar even if they’re not. It’s a constant surprise, you know?

Also, I love that it’s a language full of vowels because it makes me think of my own mother tongue (Italian). It’s a bit like feeling at home, even if our languages have nothing in common <3

3) The best performance of Eurovision 2023

I love the Croatian daddies like the next person (and I’m glad the public gave them the top 10 because they deserve it), but Käärijä’s performance had everything: it told us a story (i.e. how Käärijä slowly emerges from behind his barriers to join the party), he gave us the best stupid dance moves and there’s even a family-friendly human centipede. What else do you need, to start dancing?

Also, another shoutout to his dancers, because I live for those shocking pink dresses and for their immensely creepy expressions. And I live for the public always welcoming them with screams: they deserve it.

I know you already enjoyed it 200 times, but you know what? Let’s fucking destroy the views of this video and let’s watch it again. And also, let’s notice how much the public enjoys it. How much they screamed, how they sang with him, how they enjoyed this party.

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Even without knowing Käärijä, you can feel he put his whole self into this. And the public felt it too.

And the final result was astonishing: he got 376 points from the public. It’s the second-highest public score, after Kalush Orchestra, who got 439 points.

If you notice, Käärijä’s percentage is even higher than Kalush Orchestra’s! And such a high result means one thing and one thing only: the public has chosen its winner. He is the winner. People are sovereign and people’s will has been very clear about it. So when I say he’s the winner, it’s not because I want to indulge him: it’s because it’s the fucking truth.

Also, please notice the kind of songs the public chose as their top 3 favorites: songs with nothing mainstream and native languages. All while the jury thinks what we want is the same boring shit we can hear on the radio 24/7.

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A painful evening

Let me start by making something clear: I don’t hate Loreen and I don’t hate Sweden. It’s not their fault if they win. They are just exploiting the situation, because they learned what the good formula is and keep using it over and over.

Loreen knows that if she sends another song that is just like all the others she made, she will get a high position. And now, thanks to yesterday’s victory, she knows she doesn’t even have to try. Why should she do something different, when doing the same thing twice made her win twice? Why try something different, why step out of her comfort zone? If she does the same thing, she can win. So she will keep doing the same thing.

Same goes for the entire country of Sweden. They learned that if they bring the most boring, generic pop song you can listen to on every radio on planet Earth, you will win. So, they will keep sending it. After all, a bland pop song is what the world is more accustomed to, so why change? Why do something different, when they can be teacher’s pet and always get a high score? This isn’t being stupid, this is being clever.

But is it elegant and fair too? Oh honey, absolutely not. This is the exact opposite of what elegance and fairness are.

On Saturday evening, when we reached the voting part of the show, the crowd literally CHEERED AND SANG Käärijä’s name or “Cha Cha Cha”. Multiple times.

Once the public clearly states who they want to win, then the competition is over. When the consensus is unanimous, there’s no competition anymore. The winner is already here. Everything else is just white noise and bureaucracy.

That’s what I felt, while I was forced to keep listening to a bunch of people loudly kissing Sweden’s ass. The public had already decided, we already have a winner. Why are we still wasting time?

And if forcing us to keep listening to this pitiful charade was not enough, the hosts decided to lose that shred of elegance that was still left on this joke of a show and not only shushed the public all time but even said “just ignore everyone”, as if their voices didn’t really matter. It’s not like this is a music competition and the public is the final receiver of said music, after all.

I don’t know you, but I don’t like to see the sovereign public being silenced and told they do not matter, all while a bunch of people takes the decisions for them. Maybe the Brits are accustomed to being silenced because an old rich man has to decide for them, but other countries don’t work like that. Like, you know, the one they’re hosting the competition for.

There was nothing democratic about Saturday evening. There was nothing fair in silencing the public and pretending they haven’t chosen their winner one hour ago, because teacher’s pet had to win again.

Do you really think Sweden deserved this victory more than Finland? Do you really think that a country that won six times needed to add this victory to their list, so they can say “ah ah we won as many times as Ireland”? Or just because they can do their stupid ABBA anniversary next year? Is this the reason why we choose our winner, now? The past glories of a country? Well, then in 2048 is the anniversary of Dana International’s winning song, let’s all go to Israel! And in 2056 we’ll go to Finland, because it’s the anniversary of Lordi’s winning. And in 2071 will be 50 years from the Maneskin’s victory, so let’s come back to Italy.

What, does that sound ridiculous? Tell that to the jury, then.

I feel immensely sorry for the Finnish people, because I read online how much this victory could’ve meant for them. This could’ve been so important, such a good chance to shine for a country that considers their language “too weird” and who hasn’t won in 17 years. And since they are stuck between that ticking bomb that is Russia and the always perfect Sweden, they really needed something that gave them more positive attention.

And it broke my heart even more to see Käärijä suffering. He even apologized to his nation. He did something amazing and he still apologized. He literally won and apologized for not winning. That’s unfairness to its finest.

And if all of this is not enough, the results of the public’s vote came out and oh, look, not a single country gave 12 points to Sweden, while almost every country gave 12 points to Finland. Wow, who would’ve fucking guessed that teacher’s pet won because of the teacher.

Again: does that seem fair and democratic to you?

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Oligarchy masqueraded as democracy

Let’s do a little bit of math, shall we?

Each national jury consists of five people + one backup juror. They supposedly vote for the best singer and performance- AHAHAH great joke, very funny.

But let’s not focus on this, now: let’s focus on numbers.

37 countries participated this year. So 37 x 6 = 222. The jury is made up of 222 people in total.

The entire population of Europe is around 451 million people, but let’s keep it low because Eurovision isn’t watched by all Europeans. Let’s take just the number of views on the Youtube streaming of the Grand Finale: 9.5 million people. Let’s round up to 9 million, okay?

Okay, so now we have 222 people on one side and 9 million people on the other. Let’s pretend that less than half of them voted at least one time.

Okay, now look me straight in the eyes and explain why the votes of 222 people should have the same weight as the votes of 4 million people. Please, explain to me how democratic this decision is, can’t wait to hear it.

But you know what? Even if it was 1 million voters only, that wouldn’t have been fair either. In no universe is fair to put one million voters on the same level as 222 voters.

There’s only one possible scenario in which this is fair: if Eurovision was a talent show specifically centered around performances and voices, with a jury made of vocal teachers and choreographers, and all I have to do is passively watch it on my couch.

But from the moment you gave the public the power to choose who the winner could be, then why do the votes of all the people from Europe (and Australia) have the same weight as what 222 people decided?

This isn’t a democracy. This is an oligarchy masquerading as a democracy: a bunch of people decides what you should like, basing their decision on their own interests. And you have no way to oppose them, unless you focus all your votes on one single artist, hoping it would defeat the one the jury chooses.

But this deprives Eurovision of the competition aspect. It’s not a competition if I have to endure a tug-of-war against the jury. It’s not a competition if I am forced to give all of my votes to one artist only, instead of spreading them out to all my favorites. And even in that case, basically all of Europe should vote for that specific artist to try and overcome the sheer power the jury has. Again: does this sound democratic to you?

Now you may say: but the jury is made of experts. Oh, you mean the same experts that proved multiple times they base their votes on politics, who their neighbor is and who can corrupt them better? Or do you mean the same experts that in the past made their choice even without listening to the songs?

The truth is that we have 222 people who can easily be influenced by anything and their power is as strong as the power of 4 million people at least. Four million people, who got invested and followed the entire show from start to finish, if I may add. Please, tell me about the fairness of this system again.

And before you say “but Eurovision is a music competition and we need experts”... sorry, but no. According to Wikipedia, the jury was present before televoting was born, but once televoting was extended to all competing countries (1997 ca.), the jury was no more. It came back only in 2009, with this unfair compromise of 50/50 between jury ad public votes.

So there was a period of time in which there wasn’t a jury and in that period we had the first win for Estonia, Turkey, Latvia, Greece, Finland, Serbia and Russia. How weird that, once the jury isn’t there, other nations have a chance to win too.

The thing is: Eurovision isn’t a simple music competition. It’s more like a window. A window where anyone can have their chance to shine. No matter if you’re from a well-known country and everyone knows who you are or if you’re from a tiny piece of land in the middle of nowhere and all you can do is speak your native language: if you have the right combination of song+performance+voice, you can win.

And it’s beautiful we have this window, because it allows us to see something we’ve never seen before: rock bands, silly songs, folk songs and straight-up weird songs. In Eurovision, you don’t have to listen to just the same generic bland song, but you are allowed to listen to different artists and different cultures - and if you like them, you are free to choose your winner, no matter how not mainstream it is.

And we Europeans need this. We need to celebrate the diversity of Europe and embrace them. We need to see people from different countries hanging out, having fun and becoming best friends. For a continent that has always had (and still has) a problem with wars, we need something that allows us to look at each other and not see a piece of land to conquer, but a place full of life and culture to learn about.

And since we pride ourselves to be the continent where democracy was born, let’s put this democracy in the show we’re so proud of. Do we really need the jury vote? Do we really need the vote of this bunch of people? Okay, let’s have them. But it’s not acceptable to give them the same weight as the public’s vote. 50/50 isn’t acceptable anymore. 20/80 is fairer. I’m feeling nice, we can even do a 30/70. It’s just not acceptable that 300 people should have power over millions over something those same millions will enjoy. As always, the public is sovereign.

And if the public’s taste is shit, at least we will be free to blame ourselves for something we brought unto ourselves - and not feel sick and angry over something others forced upon us.

Or everything can stay the same and the 50/50 system will keep going. But at least, be honest enough to not waste everyone’s time, by pretending the public can do something more than watch what a bunch of people decide for them. Do not pretend to be righteous and democratic, when you’re not.

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The triumph of people

This finale drained me. If it were just a little fairer, I would’ve been thrilled to see Luxembourg coming back after years. But right now I don’t feel like watching next year’s show. I know it will probably be amazing, because Sweden is very good at hosting. But I don’t want to see them masturbating over how good they are and how much they deserved to win - even if they didn’t win.

And, honestly, I don’t care about ABBA either. I don’t give a damn about them, nor about their anniversary. I’m definitely not looking forward to that either.

I will listen to the songs as always, then I might give it a try and watch the semifinals. It depends on how bitter my grudge will be, after one full year. If it will still be very bitter, I will probably spend my time better, by listening to the songs more times, watching the performances and making my own personal final chart. I won’t have ABBA or funny interval acts, but I can try my best to make it enjoyable to read. And it won’t be a fucking charade, at least.

Sorry, but I will keep being bitter for some time. And if you feel bitter too, you have every right to be, no matter what people say. Your voice has been silenced and ignored and numbers don’t lie. It’s very understandable you feel bad.

But you know what you can do? Use your anger in a positive way. And no, that doesn’t mean sending death threats to Loreen. You can accuse Sweden of its lack of elegance and decorum if you want, but always be polite. Don’t be like some of them, who are such sore losers they had the guts to be angry at Finland because it didn’t give Sweden any public points. Bo-hoo, may I add.

What you can do instead is make some noise: ask for the jury to be abolished or for this shitty system to change. And, even more important, support your winners. A lot of amazing artists have been wronged this year, so shower them with love.

And send your love especially towards our winner. Stream Cha Cha Cha, check his other songs, shower him with love and support, make a statue for him in Vantaa, pay me a plane ticket because I need to tackle him in a hug and tell him how much the world loves him. Let’s show the world that he slaps, Finnish slaps and we want more of this.

Do you still need more Cha Cha Cha in your life? Good news: Lord of the Lost made a cover for Cha Cha Cha and OH MY GOSH it’s insanely good. It has a lot of Rammstein vibes, it’s cool and it slaps even harder. Check it out because it’s amazing!

Also because the German singer learned some Finnish, just to spell every word correctly and, according to the Finnish people in the comment section, he did a great job. What a wholesome guy, I love and stan him and his band - and you should do the same, because they are amazing and they don’t deserve last place <3

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And if you need more Käärijä in your life, there are amazing Youtube channels with great collections of his moments, like Eurovision Is Ambition and Uni Dash Corn. I especially suggest you see his bromance with Bojan - and speaking of him, another shoutout to Bojan! He’s such a nice, wholesome guy with great charisma, you cannot hate him. I am not head over heels for his song, but he’s so fucking wholesome, he deserves good things only.

And I also suggest you see how Käärijä has been welcomed in Helsinki. He has been welcomed like a fucking hero, a national treasure. And of course he was: he is the true winner after all, he deserved the welcome only winners get.

It’s a bit like he said in his apology: the better one won. And so he did.

You know, I think the only good thing that came out from this shitshow that was Eurovision 2023, is the people’s heart. People showed their kindness, their love, the best of humankind. We saw acts of friendship, we saw empathy and appreciation. The hug between Käärijä and Bojan, despite its sad meaning, is also a perfect example of what we all should be: kinder, softer, more empathetic, together, no matter how far and different our countries are.

In a way, I am happy that Ukraine’s message of unity was still carried out, even if indirectly and definitely not the way the UK wanted.

And in the end, the trophy isn’t so important: it’s just a piece of glass after all. And no piece of glass is worth the impact one little man from Vantaa left on so many people all over the world.

I know you will never read this post, but I wish you a lifetime of success, Käärijä. You have everything a winner needs and, in fact, you are one. So don’t be too hard on yourself, because the world still needs to show you how much it loves you. Take your time, relax, have fun and come back when you’re ready - just don’t leave us hanging for too much, ‘kay?

And you, Finnish people: please treat our beloved winner with love for us too. We will do our best from afar, so let’s be together on this as we should <3

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fursasaida · 6 months

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Emma Saltzberg: Your book chronicles a longstanding struggle over public opinion in the American Jewish world. What are the top-level conclusions you draw from this history?

Geoffrey Levin: The first big takeaway is that this history of American Jewish concern for Palestinian rights isn’t something that started yesterday, or even in the ’60s or ’70s. It goes back to 1948. As long as there has been a Palestinian refugee issue, there has been American Jewish concern for Palestinians, especially coming from Jews who spent a lot of time in the region and were deeply exposed to Israel and to the Palestinians. The second is that this American Jewish engagement with Palestinian rights was frequently influenced by state actors. Sometimes it was the Arab League [an organization of Arab states formed in 1945 to advance their shared interests], sometimes it was the CIA—but most often it was the Israeli government. I uncover this long record of Israeli diplomats trying to manage American Jewish discourse. And the last key point is that American Jewish groups were having nuanced and complicated debates in this period, as early as the ’30s, about the relationship between anti-Zionism and antisemitism. A lot of the groups that are arguing today that there’s a strong overlap between those two things, like the AJC and the Reform movement, didn’t hold that position 70 years ago.

[...]

ES: You also write about some Jewish figures whose anti-nationalist position led them to maintain their opposition to Israel’s creation even after 1948.

GL: A more extreme version of the AJC’s position emerged through the American Council for Judaism, which was an anti-Zionist group originally formed by Reform Jewish thinkers. Before and after ’48, they were against the creation of a Jewish state, but they were not focused on the Palestinian question initially. They opposed Israel because of their anti-nationalism, thinking the state would be bad for Jews. These anti-Zionists were focused on keeping Zionism and Israeli and Hebrew culture from dominating American Jewish life. They were concerned that doing so diverted American Jewish loyalties. Yet ultimately, some within the American Council for Judaism, mostly leaders like Rabbi Elmer Berger who had a lot of exposure to Palestinians themselves, did become strong advocates of Palestinian rights. And then they got kind of nudged out of the organization.

ES: You tell the story of Breira, an anti-occupation Zionist group founded in 1973 that tried to advocate for Palestinian rights in this context of increased Jewish nationalism. What happened to them?

GL: Breira was the first national American Jewish group arguing for what we now call the two-state solution. The leaders had gone to Israel and heard from Israeli leftists and had become convinced that Palestinians couldn’t be ignored forever. They framed themselves as nice Jewish boys and girls—people who wanted what’s best for Israel and for Jewish politics. And every chance they could, they highlighted Israeli voices. But they still ended up getting eviscerated as “Jews for Fatah”—Fatah being the leading PLO [Palestine Liberation Organization] faction—after just a couple of members met with a few moderate members of the PLO. It was an early example of how no matter how much American Jews who want to recognize Palestinian rights try to burnish their Jewish and even Israeli credentials, people will push against that and question their Jewish identity. And that hurt people a lot. A lot of those figures in Breira could have contributed a lot more to the future of the American Jewish community, but they felt really burned.

ES: As you note in the book, some analysts today describe American Jews’ increased criticism of Israel and Zionism as a product of distancing from Israel. But, as the Breira story shows, this stance is often a product of very close engagement with Israel.

GL: I think this is crucial. Millennial and Gen Z Jews who are involved in the Jewish community are far more likely to have gone to Israel than people of older generations, because of all these newer subsidized programs, like Birthright. They are far more likely to have met Israeli shlichim [young adult “emissaries” from Israel] through camp or through campus Hillel, and far more likely to watch Israeli stuff on YouTube and enjoy Israeli cuisine. Younger Jews are far more likely to know Palestinians as well. In contrast, many in earlier generations may have had more positive views toward Israel, but less deep engagement with the actual place and the people living there, both Israelis and Palestinians.

In my book, those from the earlier generations who engaged with Palestinian rights did spend a lot of time over there. They knew Hebrew. When they were advocating for Palestinian rights, whether that meant self-determination, or civil rights for minorities in Israel, or a different approach toward Palestinian refugees, they often came to those conclusions from going there and talking to Israelis and talking to Palestinians.

ES: Why is it important to know this history, as we contemplate different American Jewish responses to Israel’s onslaught on Gaza today?

GL: The characters in this story are people that a lot of experts haven’t heard of before. By unearthing these stories, I show how seriously people were thinking through some of these same questions 70 years ago. I think that one of the most important chapters is this one where I am able to use the archives to put a Palestinian voice at the forefront. Fayez Sayegh was struggling to find a way that was acceptable in American public discourse to talk about Palestinian issues and Arab issues. I think it’s important to write these people back into history, because they were so eager to change the discourse.

These people all kind of failed; they were pushed out. The critical American Jews were fired. I think a lot of American Jews thought the problems would just go away. And I can’t tell you that we would have had peace if the dissenting voices had succeeded. But I do think if they had been successful in getting a more open discourse within the Jewish community 70 years ago, that we would probably be in a healthier place right now, both in terms of the American Jewish community and American discourse more broadly.

#USA #israel #palestine #zionism #jewish antizionism

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waynes-multiverse · 5 months

Text

Plastic Hearts – Part 25

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, a tinge of angst, FLUFF

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: I'm not sad... 🥲 Honestly, I don't have words beyond gratitude and cliché goodbyes, so let's end this journey together 🤍

<< 24 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

25. Dare

“Ugh, I can’t believe you convinced everyone to come out here,” Jo groans and raises her flat palm to her brows, shielding her eyes from the scalding desert sun. “What the fuck is wrong with Palm Springs, huh?”

“C’mon, we’ve always wanted to go to Joshua Tree together since we moved to LA. This is like the perfect time,” Y/N argues cheerfully and nudges her friend with her elbow. “Look! It’s so peaceful.”

“There’s a dead carcass over there. Looks like a symbol of my marriage,” Jo deadpans.

Y/N purses her lips before compelling another positive smile to her face. “We can get rid of that. The girls really needed this after the whole Crowley debacle.”

The group left straight after the network meeting in Dean’s office this morning, which didn’t go as planned, to say the least. While several executives were surely interested, Crowley and H-ELLTV put an abrupt end to it. Apparently, they sold their fucking souls by signing a contract with the devil. Crowley’s words still rang in her ears on repeat.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, ladies, but H-ELLTV owns your characters, which means you can’t sell them to another network. You all signed a contract and made a deal. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, fucking asshole…” Jo huffs her agreement but then throws her friend a suspicious sideways look. “What’s up with you, though? Why are you so chipper and cheerful like a fucking Disney princess? I thought you of all people would be fucking depressed and devastated about the stupid show ending.”

Y/N shrugs. “I am. I’m just trying to make the best of our last weekend together. Can’t I be happy?”

“Fuck no.” Jo shakes her head. “Something’s up with you. Usually, when you’re like this, it’s overcompensation ‘cause you’ve fucked something up. If I were still married, I’d think you’ve fucked my husband all over again. So, what did you do?”

Y/N shrugs once more and keeps her eyes trained on the sprawling desert landscape in front of her. “Nothing.”

“Dean also was a bigger asshole than usual this morning. So, I’m asking again, what shit did you fuck up now?”

“Nothing, okay? Dean’s always an asshole,” Y/N deflects defensively. Although, even she has to admit – those were some spectacularly icy green eyes this morning. Not that he ever looked directly at her or spoke with her even once. She probably would’ve turned to stone if he did.

“Fine, don’t tell. God knows I don’t fucking care,” Jo says indifferently and joins the other women as they set up their tents on the campground.

Y/N lets out a small sigh as she stares at the bluest sky she’s ever seen while the hot desert sun beams down on her. She watches the girls for a while, her heart slightly cracking at the thought this might be the last time they all hang out together. This year has been the best one she’s ever had.

But then, her heart stings even more when she thinks about the one person who isn’t here, wondering what he’s doing right now. If anything, she owes it all to him.

Dean nurses his beer with a sigh, his green eyes barely paying attention to the half-naked girl who’s winding herself up and down a silver pole in front of him. This used to bring him joy – day-drinking at a strip club and watching tits bounce. But now all he thinks about is how that girl looks nothing like Y/N. None of them do.

“Hey, son. Startin’ early today,” Bobby notes with a chuckle as he sits down next to him.

“Yeah, they canceled the show.” And while that’s certainly true, it’s not the reason why Dean’s sulking at a titty bar.

“Too damn bad. I loved the show!” Bobby tells him enthusiastically. “It was insane. Good insane. It had everything – comedy, drama, heartache, tits, violence, a fucking wedding? There’s something for everyone there.”

“Well, uh, thanks, Bobby. Really appreciate it,” Dean tells him politely. He likes the guy, but he’s not in the mood for chitchat. He’s barely in the mood for naked women, for crying out loud. This is a deep fucking depression.

There are only two promises he’s made to himself: One, he won’t slump like he did after his last divorce. There will be no excessive drinking, which leads to excessively pathetic crying, which leads to a myriad of bad choices out of sheer desperation. Remember that awful dating videotape he made? Yes, there will be no more of that. And then there’s of course two, no drugs – no matter how much he tells himself he wants or fucking needs them. A tiny dot of hope seems to be still dormant in his plastic heart, reminding him that she might come back, and he doesn’t want to risk disappointing her once she does.

Dean has worked fucking hard to be the best version he can be – a version she doesn’t seem to give a shit about. But even he has to admit: He likes himself a lot better now, so he refuses to turn back to old comforts, albeit it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

“You guys interested in doing a floor show?”

Bobby’s words pull him from his reverie. Dean arches a brow at him, straightening a bit in his seat. “What? Here?”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “No, idjit. My wife Ellen has some stakes in a club on the Vegas Strip. She manages the hotel there, too. They’re looking for a new headliner. Just do the exact same show, night after night, 300 miles east. Vegas is where the money is. Headliners make at least 25 grand a week. You think that gym is big? We have to fill 1,100 seats.”

Dean stumps and blinks at the old man a bit baffled. “Well, uh… I’ll think about it. Talk to my partner, the girls…”

Bobby smiles and pats his shoulder as he gets up. “You do that. I’ll call you tomorrow. Now, how about a lap dance? On the house. Can pick any girl that fancies your heartache. You ain’t foolin’ an old man like me.”

Dean chuckles. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks. Think I’m gonna head home and drink myself into a coma there.”

“It’s getting dark soon. How much longer?” Jo’s brown eyes dart to Y/N as she drags her feet over a rocky path. The sun stings less than it did when they started their little hike, but her skin feels perfectly tanned by now and the water is running low.

“Uh, I think it’s supposed to be just up ahead that hill,” Y/N muses and swirls her head around the formation of rocks that all look the same, squinting her eyes into the distance.

Jo sighs, and her stare intensifies. “You’ve been saying that for over an hour. Are we lost?”

“Noooo…” Y/N doesn’t sound convincing and surely doesn’t fool Jo with her reply.

“Alright, gimme the map.”

“I don’t have the map. I gave it to Meg.”

Jo groans and rolls her eyes, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

“What? Meg’s the trail leader. Trail leader gets the map,” Y/N defends her faux pas with reason.

“Great! So we’re fucking lost in the desert,” the blonde huffs.

Y/N chuckles lightly, mostly out of uncomfortableness and panic she tries to hide behind it. “No, there’s a trail marker right over there,” she says, pointing to a pile of rocks. “That looks manmade.”

Jo quirks her brow. “You mean like that pile of rocks? Or that one over there?”

Y/N follows her friend’s gaze, only to realize that there are lots of piles of rock that all look too fucking similar. She purses her lips and scratches her head before resting her arms on her squared-off hips. “I think we’re lost.”

“Yeah.” With an exhaustive sigh, Jo plops down on another pile of rocks and watches as the orange sun dips behind the horizon, shadows of blue slowly crawling across the desert floor and swallowing the light.

Y/N clumsily lowers herself down next to the blonde. Her leg hurts like a bitch, and the desert sand that has wound its way into her cast itches a good deal. Her hands and arms hurt as well from clinging to her crutches all afternoon. Maybe Dean was right, and this was a bad idea, after all. Why does he always have to be fucking right about everything? How can one person be so annoying and frustrating all at once?

“Well, you finally get your wish,” Jo deadpans. “We’re gonna die together.”

“I’m sorry,” Y/N says ruefully and looks at the first stars appearing in the night sky. “Maybe the stars will guide us home.”

Jo just looks at her, unamused and unsurprised. “You’ve never been camping, have you?”

Y/N twitches her shoulders apologetically. “It was only supposed to be a three-mile moderate beginner’s trail to a beautiful vista. It’s what the guidebook said.”

Jo shakes her head and blows a raspberry, hugging her knees. “Joanna Wesson, 27, found dead near a random cluster of rocks that might have looked like a trail marker. She was best known for playing Beth Crowne on the soap opera Paradise Bay before trying to revive her career on an unsuccessful wrestling show. She is survived by her son, Sammy, and her bitter ex-husband Sam with his secretary Jessica.”

“Well, at least you get an obituary,” Y/N quips. “Mine would just read: Soap Star Found Dead Next to Unidentified Woman in National Park.”

Jo even snorts at that. “Well, I’m sure Dean would cut and edit an adorable video tribute with a bunch of B-roll about you at your funeral.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Y/N pensively licks her lips, her heart doing those painful twinges again whenever she thinks of him. “You know yet what you’re gonna do next?”

“No, I-… I think I wanna produce,” Jo announces with determination in her hazel eyes. “I don’t wanna ask permission. I’m so tired of it all. For once, I wanna boss people around and tell ‘em what to do. You know, you were right.”

Baffled, Y/N raises a brow. “About what?”

“Men,” Jo says simply and then spits with fire, “I fucking hate them all. The Crowleys and the Dicks and the Cases and the Sams and the Deans… They make the choices. They dictate the terms… I’m sick of it all. I just hate asking them for anything.”

“Dean’s not so bad,” Y/N says quietly but doesn’t look at Jo. Her heart stings for the millionth time. “I got that role for the Sondheim musical. They called this morning.”

Jo’s lips curve into a soft smile that reaches her eyes. “Congrats. I’m not surprised. You were really fucking good.”

Y/N’s heart flutters a little at the compliment. Tears begin to sting her eyes. She can’t remember the last time Jo was nice to her. “Thank you.”

“You don’t seem happy about it,” Jo notes attentively.

“No, I am,” Y/N manages to choke out, but the sniffling betrays her intentions.

“But?”

Y/N bobs her head, swallowing. “I think I’m ready to talk about it now.”

“Fucking finally,” Jo huffs and rubs her cold and goosebump-littered arms as the heat disappears, the nightly air bringing a fresh breeze.

“Dean told me he loves me,” Y/N confesses. “He’s in love with me.”

“Yeah, no shit. Kinda obvious,” Jo says without a twitch of surprise. “Don’t feel bad for not loving him back. That’s what they want… For us to feel bad about every single fucking thing.”

“That’s just it. I don’t think that’s how I feel,” Y/N replies and lets out a jittery sigh.

Jo’s head turns to her, eyeing her friend up and down. “And how do we feel about that? I can’t tell. It’s too dark to see your face.”

“I-, uh, I don’t exactly know,” Y/N says, which is partially true. She might know how she feels about the green-eyed director, but not how she feels about the situation overall.

Jo purses her lips and nods. “Alright, here’s a couple of options: happy, excited, scared, or… repulsed?”

“Well, uhm… scared,” Y/N admits slowly and gulps. “And excited… happy.”

Jo throws her arms up, shaking her head at the stars. “Jesus fuck! Then what the fuck are we doing here?! Is that why you dragged me all the way to the fucking desert? Because you’re running from your feelings?”

“Kinda. I thought the peaceful quiet and beautiful nature would bring me some much-needed clarity,” Y/N explains.

Jo lifts a brow but tries not to seem too annoyed. She’s accustomed to her friend’s theatrics, after all. “And? Did it?”

“The hike didn’t, but facing death kinda does,” Y/N jokes and begins to laugh a little, Jo soon joining her. When their laughter dies down and the desert sounds of chirping crickets and screeching eagles remain, Y/N exhales a shaky breath. “I’m in love with him, too. He makes me really fucking happy. But… I finally feel like I’m on the right track with my career. I am where I’m supposed to be, you know? I don’t wanna throw that away for a guy.”

“Who says you should?”

“I don’t know… Isn’t that how it goes? You did it,” Y/N argues.

Jo licks her lips and clicks her tongue. “Yeah, ‘cause I chose the wrong fucking guy. Sam made me give up everything I ever loved and told me what to love instead. If you pick the right guy, he won’t make you do that.”

“How do I know it’s the right guy, though?”

Jo smiles softly. “Look, I’m not Dean’s biggest fan, but he’s yours. You know that, right? He’d never hold you back. He adores the ground you walk on. Yes, he’s an asshole with so many fucking issues, and he’s goddamn annoying most of the time, but he’s always had your back, even when he pretended that he didn’t. The guy would probably sell every limb and his fucking soul to see you get everything you ever wanted, Y/N. He wouldn’t be a mistake. You know what would be a mistake? Not trying because you’re too scared of making one. Don’t be fucking stupid.”

Thoughtfully, Y/N nods in agreement and grabs her crutches, rising from her rocky seat. “I need to see him. We have to head back to the city.”

“Finally! Thank fucking God.” With a grunt, Jo jumps to her feet and helps Y/N to steady hers. “Maybe the girls made a fire bright enough, so we can find our way back.”

“Shit.”

“What? They have matches, don’t they? I’m sure these bitches can manage a simple fire, right?” Jo then notices Y/N’s hand curling around her bicep, her grip tightening. And then, Jo glances in the direction of Y/N’s eyes and sees the same damn thing. Her brown eyes widen.

“Mountain lion.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” the blonde hisses and holds on to her friend as well. Both women freeze on the spot. “What-, uh, what should we do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should throw a stick?”

“A stick?” Jo arches her brow. The big cat snarls and stalks a little closer, making the two women jump back. Their hearts are thumping in their throats at this point. “It’s not a fucking dog, Y/N. It won’t play fetch with you.”

“I know that. How about you come up with a better idea, then?” Y/N snaps through gritted teeth. The lion hisses again, causing the women to tremble down to their bones and hug each other tighter. “I think I should jump it.”

“Are you nuts? No!”

“Look, while it eats me, you can flee. I can’t run with my cast anyways. This is the best option,” Y/N insists, but Jo vehemently shakes her head.

“Fuck no! You’re not sacrificing yourself. We die together. You’re not leaving me behind,” Jo maintains. “I always knew my death would be your fault. Don’t ask me how, but I knew you’d get me killed somehow.”

The wild cat takes another step forward and lowers to the ground as if to get ready to jump its prey – them. But then a few tumbling rocks and breaking twigs draw its attention behind the women. Is there an even bigger cat here?

And suddenly, Meg leaps forward from above them with a loud howl and snarls at the cat, which hastily tucks its tail between its legs and flees down the hill into the dark night. Y/N and Jo expel a big breath of relief and a shaky laugh as they find Meg.

“Meg, what the fuck? Did you just scare away a mountain lion?” Y/N gapes at her friend in utter disbelief.

Meg only shrugs her shoulders. “I hate cats. What are you guys doing out here so long?”

“We got lost. Couldn’t find our way back to camp,” Y/N explains.

Meg furrows her brow and thumbs behind her. “It’s just over there. You guys have been hiking around the same hill for five hours.”

Jo shoots Y/N a small glare of annoyance and blows some loose strands of blonde hair out of her face. “Of course we did…” she mutters.

“We have to get back to LA!” Y/N declares eagerly, trying to climb the small rocky hill with her crutches, foregoing the more suitable pathway.

“Right now? It’s probably 3am when we get to Burbank. Can’t this wait till tomorrow?” Jo says as she attempts to climb after her friend.

“No! I almost died! Twice… Dean needs to know how I feel before I get bit by a rattlesnake, too,” Y/N reiterates passionately.

“It’s probably for the best,” Meg chimes in. “We kinda forgot to pack food. I was about to hunt something for us when I ran into you guys. We have tons of drugs and booze, though.”

Y/N’s knuckles thunder persistently on Dean’s door and conjure up a storm. She has jumped out of Ruby’s limo so fast, the girls are still scrambling out and flooding Dean’s front lawn one by one. They’re loud and obnoxious, but the ringing in her ears makes their chatter barely noticeable.

The lock clicks and the door opens. Dean stands in front of her with weary green eyes, heavy with sleep, tousled bed-head, and a furiously scrunched brow. He half yawns and half grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Once he feels clearer, minus the soft buzz of whiskey remnants in his bloodstream, he blinks at the young actress in front of him and then tilts his head at the circus show behind her.

God, between his punk rock daughter and this, his neighbors must really hate him.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you guys supposed to be camping in fucking Joshua Tree?” His voice is a gravelly bark. He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, especially when he just woke from a dream about her, but he’s not as masochistic as he used to be. He’s not a fan of torturing himself with the image of her any longer.

Y/N’s heart somersaults as soon as she sees him, even though his apprehension hurts a bit. “Look, I almost died tonight. We got lost in the desert and then a mountain lion almost fucking ate us.”

Dean licks his lips, nodding. “Yeah, I’m not fucking surprised. Told you Palm Springs is the better option. So, did anyone fucking die? What’s the head count?”

“No one died.”

“Huh. Then why the fuck are you here in the middle of the night, Y/N?” Dean bites, his brow creasing in anger. He can’t even fucking look at her for a second without his heart being on the brink of an explosion. Even saying her goddamn name hurts like needle pricks in an abused vein.

“I–” Y/N swallows thickly. Her drumming heart is stuck in her airway along with her words.

“She’s here to tell you she loves you!” Ruby hollers behind her before several girls tackle her and clasp her mouth shut.

Dean’s heart twists upon the sick joke, his frown deepening. But then he glances at Y/N and thinks he can spot the truth in her eyes. He thought that once before, though, and was terribly wrong.

Y/N gives a shrug of one shoulder with tears brimming in her eyes. A small smile forms on her lips. “What she said.”

Dean nods and drags a hand over his freckled face, feeling the tears well in his eyes, too. Fucking whiskey. Always renders him goddamn sentimental. “Look, uhm, you kinda gotta tell me this yourself. Otherwise, I won’t believe it, okay?”

Upon his request, Y/N takes a deep breath and looks him into his eyes. “I’m in fucking love with you.” As soon as the words are out, she starts crying and the tears fall down her cheeks. Meanwhile, Dean’s heart tumbles into free fall, and he’s sure not even a parachute can stop it. “I’ve never said that to anyone in my life. Is-, is it too late?”

Dean snorts and shakes his head, grinning brighter than the California sun on the longest day of the year. “Fuck no. Even if it had taken you thirty years, I still would’ve taken you back. That’s kinda how once-in-a-lifetime love works, sweetheart.”

“Okay. Sounds like a good movie,” Y/N jokes between her tears, her fingers tingling to touch him.

“Yeah, best one there is.”

His hands grab hold of her and pull her into his embrace. He claims her lips, Y/N eagerly parting her mouth as his tongue slips between. The kiss is rushed and fervent and perfectly desperate. They’re both so gone they can’t even hear the girls cheering and applauding them in the background.

“You’re gonna come inside?” Dean asks in a murmur against her lips, barely letting her breath.

“Uhm…”

“Hey, Lothario, you got space for us, too?” Cassie shouts with a wide smirk.

“Yeah, we’re fucking starving,” Ruby adds with an impatiently arched brow.

“We, uh, forgot to pack food,” Y/N explains with a chuckle.

Dean sighs and smiles knowingly. “Of course you did.” He then turns to the women waiting on his lawn. “Alright, get in. I’ll order some pizzas.”

The women then proceed to brush past the couple and filter into Dean’s house. Missouri pinches his cheeks, Ruby pats his head, Cassie fist-bumps him and sends Y/N a flirty wink, Meg tousles his hair, Charlie shrugs apologetically, and Jo offers an annoyed eye roll.

“I’m never gonna get rid of them, am I?” Dean looks down at her and tightens his jaw, even when a grin is visible.

“No, I’m afraid not. It’s like you’ve adopted twelve strays. One of which actually turned out to be your long-lost puppy. They’re gonna be here until you die and then eat your corpse,” Y/N quips.

“Funny.” Dean clicks his tongue, his dimples itching to form a grin.

“Oooo! Let’s call the guys!” he hears Ruby exclaim from inside his living room. “It’s a fucking wrap party at the boss’ house!”

“No! No party! Guys, c’mon!” Dean storms inside after them, leaving Y/N giggling on his doorstep.

“Let’s call Garth, Kevin, and Benny!” Donna suggests, ignoring his protests. It’s like they can’t fucking hear him.

“I’ll call my husband, too!” Bela adds and eagerly dials Cas’ number on his landline.

“Oh, right, Cas…” Dean mutters with an eye roll as he remembers the impromptu wedding. “No fucking Benny!”

Y/N joins his side and rubs his back in comfort as he watches his house sink into female doom. “You okay?”

The deep trenches in his brow flatten into soft valleys as his green eyes lock on her. He dips his head and pulls her to his lips, kissing her slow and reverently. “Better.” He smirks. “Just gonna have to sage the whole house tomorrow.”

That earns him a playful slap on his chest. He laughs and pulls her closer with an arm around her waist.

“Hey, uh, speaking of party…” Dean mumbles before he addresses the whole room, grabbing their attention with an authoritative clear of his throat. He’s still got it. “You guys wanna do shows in Vegas?”

“What?!”

Dean’s eyes find Y/N’s gaping face. He chuckles a little. “Yeah, uh, Bobby offered me a deal. There’s nothing in the network contract about live shows. I already went over it with Cas this afternoon. It pays well, too. You guys interested? It’s not like any of you have actual jobs lined up, right?”

Y/N closes her mouth. “I got that Sondheim musical in San Diego. It’s a workshop production, but if it goes well, it could go all the way to Broadway. I could end up in New York.”

“Good,” Dean says and smirks. “You’re fucking fired.”

“WHAT?!” Y/N’s mouth falls open again. “You said you’d never fire me!”

“Yeah, well, this is for your own good,” Dean reasons. “You think I’m gonna let you quit Sondheim for some stupid wrestling show in Vegas? You gotta be fucking nuts! This is what you fucking wanted. Don’t make me kick your stupid ass onto that stage. It’s gonna look embarrassing for you again…”

Y/N bites her lips to conceal her grin. Her eyes meet Jo’s, who mouths ‘I told you so’ at her. “Thank you,” she tells Dean and kisses his cheek. He furrows his brow at her in suspicion. “But rehearsals don’t start until June. Still gonna need a job till then.”

“Oh.” Dean’s brow shoots up in realization. “The June in nine months?”

“Yeah, the June in nine months,” Y/N confirms with a laugh.

“Whoops. Well, consider yourself rehired till June, then,” Dean relents.

“So, if I ever have to work in New York–”

“Then we’ll go to New York. Big fucking whoop-dee-doo. You know I hate LA.”

Y/N giggles, nodding. “What would you do in New York?”

“Same I do here, just on a little balcony instead of a backyard. I sit with my typewriter by a table and smoke and drink,” Dean retorts. “I’ve actually been working on a new script. I’m moving away from horror and into Western.”

“Got inspired by the motel’s wallpaper, huh?” Y/N teases. “What’s it about?”

“Father-daughter storyline. Thought I’d give that a shot…”

1990, 5 years later…

“Dean! We’re gonna be late!” Y/N reminds him and holds the blindfold in place over her eyes as he drags her somewhere by the hand. Her heels can barely keep up with his fast pace. “You know, check-in at LAX is the worst. Our flight departs in two hours. I’m nominated, Dean! I can’t reschedule! The girls are all flying in, too…”

“I know! I’m fucking hurrying, okay?” Dean assures. However, she can hear the stress and tension in his gravelly voice. He then suddenly halts and positions her into place by her shoulders before carefully taking off the blindfold. “Alright, here we are.”

Y/N blinks her eyes open and recognizes blurry shapes of purple and gold. She lifts an eyebrow as ornaments on the walls and a big stage come into view as well. “The Aztec porno theater?”

“Mayan,” Dean corrects her and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he gets down in front of her on one knee and tries to fumble out the too-big ring box from his too-tiny suit jacket pocket. “Son of a bitch!”

“Dean, wait!” Y/N stops his endeavor with raised palms, her eyebrows meeting her hairline when she realizes what he’s about to do.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N!” Dean frowns in frustration and rises to his feet with a huff and a shaking head. “I know you’re against marriage and the patriarchy and all that bullshit, but c’mon… We’ve been dating for five years. We have a good thing going, right?”

After spending a whole year in beautiful Las Vegas – the Paris of Nevada – the two of them moved to New York. Dean sold his house in Burbank and opted for a Brooklyn apartment instead. Claire also studied film at NYU before she graduated last Spring. But every few months, the couple finds themselves back in LA – for interviews, for business, for friends.

“Dean–”

“No! You know me. I’d make a great fucking husband. You love it when I make reporters laugh on the red carpet. I’m an awesome trophy husband, okay?”

“DEAN!”

“WHAT?!”

Why the fuck is she angry now? He should be the one that’s angry. She’s turning down the best opportunity of her life. She should consider herself lucky he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. He even had an amazing speech prepared to knock her right off her feet, but does he get to say it now? How he wanted to grow fucking old together and support each other? How he wanted to marry her all those years ago when she told him she was pregnant? Nope...

“I’m fucking pregnant!”

Dean blinks at her in confusion before his eyes begin to wander around the familiar theater. Did he take something? Drink too much? Did he actually travel through time or is this a weird fever dream on his deathbed?

“What’s it with you and this theater? And why do you always yell that?”

“Because you never listen.” Y/N giggles and bites her lower lip. “And I’ll gladly marry you if that’s what you were going for. I just figured I’d tell you before in case you wanna change your mind and bail.”

“Why the fuck would I bail?” Dean’s brows knit together, close to offense.

She shrugs and holds up her palms in surrender. “I don’t know! I didn’t want you to feel trapped.”

“Why? Isn’t it mine?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, a grin twitching on her pink lips as she slaps his arm. “Yes, of course it’s yours.”

“And you’re keeping it? You sure?” Dean throws her a quizzical look.

Her brow furrows. “Why, you aren’t?”

“No, I am!” he assures her swiftly, realizing how it sounded. “Hell yeah, I want another kid! You know I always wanted to make up for missing out on Claire so much! I finally get to change a diaper, go to the park, or the fucking zoo while my wife works… It’ll be so fun!”

Y/N tries to stifle her laugh. He seems happy, judging by the joyful glint in his green eyes. They resemble sparkling emeralds.

“But are you sure, y' know?” Dean checks with a deep look into her eyes. “I mean, I do what I can to support you and keep the thing alive in your absence, but you know you’re still gonna be benched for a couple of months, right? I’m not a fucking seahorse.”

Y/N laughs a little at that. “I know. I’m fine with sitting on the bench for a little while. I’m kinda exhausted. I did two Broadway musicals almost back to back, three off-Broadway shows, all the workshops and the rehearsals and Matinees and the dancing and the singing… Not to mention I’m nominated for a fucking Tony tonight,” she says and is close to out of breath by the time she finishes her list of accomplishments.

“Which you’re gonna win,” Dean reassures her persistently. He’s been telling her since the nominations were announced (and even before that when he first saw her in the role on the first night).

“We’ll see,” she brushes him off, although her blushed cheeks betray her words. In her heart, she hopes so as well. “Anyways, I could use the break,” she admits and takes his hands in hers, interlacing their fingers. She places a loving kiss on his lips. “Right time, right guy, right baby,” she says, smiling.

Dean squeezes her hand happily and pulls her to his lips for a searing kiss. “So, where did we land on that whole marriage thing?”

“See? You’re never listening,” she teases, laughing. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Under one condition…”

Dean smirks. “I've had the same exact thought – Vegas. It’s perfect!”

“What, no! I don’t wanna get married in filthy Vegas, you dork!” Y/N frowns playfully, shaking her head. “I wanna get married in Nebraska. I want my dad to marry us."

Dean’s brow creases. He chuckles in amusement. “What, like a shotgun wedding? Could be fun… Pastor marries pregnant daughter to older man. Is this gonna make headlines in the townie paper?”

Y/N snorts, shaking her head at him. “No, it’s a shotgun wedding. It’s very common,” she deadpans.

“I’ve never met your parents,” Dean realizes then. “Why have I never met your parents? It’s weird they never come visit you,” he ponders.

“Oh no, they do,” Y/N tells him, pursing her lips as she twirls her hair around her finger. “They’ve seen me both in Into The Woods and Gypsy.”

“Really, when?” Dean narrows his eyes at her.

“Whenever you were in LA, visiting Claire,” Y/N admits ruefully. She never told them she was dating the director, not sure if they’d approve – not that she gives a shit, but she wanted to spare herself all the sermons and the exploring of the Sunday school dating pool. Whenever they asked who owned the men’s clothes in her apartment, she lied and said she had a gay-but-in-the-closet roommate. “But you can meet them now,” she promises with a reassuring smile on her lips. Thank God she’s an excellent, Tony-nominated actress. “I’m sure they learn to love you just like I did.”

“Learn to?”

“I love you.” Y/N smiles mischievously and shuts up any further comments by kissing him.

Dean grins and relents with a blissful sigh. “I love you, too.”

THE END 🌅

Thank you all so much for reading and making me laugh with your comments and screams throughout! 🤍

Are we done with these two for good? Probably not. I've left gaps and doors open on purpose, so I'm sure they'll make an appearance again at some point in the future 😉

TAGS:

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70

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calxkrbd · 2 years

Text

dawn of love (genshin characters are your classmates)

classmate!venti who’s always late and out and about. unlike most students who study until the early hours when finals week is around, you’re more likely to bump into him at the town’s local bar, wine in hand, and with the least of worries for his barely passing grades.

classmate!venti who became your partner for a project worth 70% of your grades. you’re a high academic achiever, and it's safe to say you were worried. he doesn’t have the best track record as a groupmate, so you could only hope he lessens his drinking and won’t be a freeloader.

classmate!venti who surprises everyone one day when he’s on time for his morning classes, as he was notorious for skipping them every monday for a quick nap. he has also been a great help with your schoolwork, so maybe your partner isn’t as bad as you think he is.

classmate!venti’s gaze wanders to your figure from across the room, and he could only shake his head at your denseness. he hoped that he wouldn’t have to resort to flat out kissing you just so he could set his feelings straight.

classmate!xiao who’s fiery glare intimidates everyone, and you weren’t an exception, as he scares you with how much he stares when he thinks you’re not looking. does he hate you that much?

classmate!xiao who lives just right across your street, but you never see him outside of school. it’s weird how as soon as the bell rings, he’s bolting out of campus. maybe the rumours of him doing sketchy business were true?

classmate!xiao who you encounter one day under a misty sky, rain entrapping the both of you under a waiting shed. he sighs upon seeing your wet clothes and stands up, taking you off guard. you almost flinched when he made the move to remove the blazer from his shoulders and wrapped it around your own.

classmate!xiao bit the inside of his cheek to reign in his giddiness. you looked so cute wearing something of his. one day, he'll finally be able to gain the courage to confess to you, and maybe then, he’ll allow you to steal all his clothes, very much like how he allowed you to take his heart that was solely yours.

classmate!heizou who has everyone swooning. self proclaimed as the best criminology student in school, he was thrown off his high throne when you entered the picture, a young exchange student deemed a prodigy, originating from his rival school.

classmate!heizou who you hated with your whole being. He’s egoistic, harsh, and doesn’t take no for an answer. you’ve come to realise of the third fact, as he didn’t even let you have a say on his proposal to you two fake dating. it was beneficial for both of you, he argued. he gets to shake off the girls after his tail, and the people who bother you won’t dare lay a hand on someone who’s romantically associated with him.

classmate!heizou who kisses your cheek the moment he walks into your classroom, resulting in your classmates being rendered speechless. you fought the urge to roll your eyes at his gestures; he was always so dramatic.

classmate!heizou whose eyes soften as he starts to think that maybe, asking to fake date you was only a way for him to feel what being your boyfriend would’ve been like. Who would’ve thought that while you saw your "relationship" as mere acting, he was never pretending in the first place.

classmate!kazuha who considered the campus his second home, for even during the weekends he could be found cleaning the school library and assisting his professors. It was endearing, so whenever you have free time, you accompany him.

classmate!kazuha who catches you off guard when he’s suddenly at your doorstep, soaked in the rain and eyes brimming with tears. you were dumbfounded, for you were used to seeing him so composed. nevertheless, you welcomed him with open arms, and you found yourself wrapped tight around his that night.

classmate!kazuha who shares that he’s been financially struggling, which is why he takes any job available at your school. heartbroken, you offer to just live together and split the rent. He tried declining at first, but after much insisting, he said yes. after all, he could never say no to you.

classmate!kazuha who sees you as his angel, who knew ever since you first met that he’d fall hard. you were with him during his long days, and at first he was afraid of being too clingy, but now he could get used to basking in your presence every day.

#( 🤍 ) - calxkrbd #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #heizou x reader #xiao x reader #kazuha x reader #venti x reader #4nemo #4nemo x reader #xiao fluff #heizou fluff #venti fluff #kazuha fluff #4nemo fluff #dawn of love series

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dearweirdme · 4 months

Note

I was just curious about you and other followers and supporters of Taekook, how we’ve all felt about their relationship the further in we’ve gotten from the beginning of their enlistment. To put into context: despite Paris and T*ennie and everything, 2023 really did come close to convincing me 100% of Taekook, though most days I still tried to retain a healthy sense of skepticism about them.

These days though, we haven’t seen them in a while, so now I feel probably closer to 60-70% that they are SOMETHING more than friends. Like I almost ask myself each day, could they really be that? Isn’t that a little impossible? And if they are… can they manage to make it through this difficult period of extended separation? What would they even be like when they come out of the military?

It’s not like I’m having doubts, but it does just seem too good to be true the further away we get from seeing them in the present time.

I wonder if you or your other followers are feeling this way…

Hi anon!

My feelings and ideas about them haven’t changed. My expectations about seeing them together or hearing about them together during enlistment were very low even before they left last december. To me this is a period of time in which we will most likely get nothing to base our understanding of the current state of their relationship on. My state of mind going through this period is basically that I believe they were probably together before they enlisted, I am aware of the possibility of them not making it through this, but I have high hopes that they will. I think a possible breakup will be noticeable when BTS reunites.. and in the meantime all we can do is base our thoughts on whatever we might get to see.

I’ve seen comments about them having broken up because Tae hasn’t posted Jk yet and on them having not seen each other yet. To me those things mean nothing. Would it surprise me if Tae posted Jk at one point.. no, but at the same time I’m never expecting him to. Even last year, though it was a great Tkk year, we probably saw them together way less than they actually were. Just like all members probably saw each other more than we were aware of. They choose when to post about each other, they do not only post about each other when they actually meet. People will call me an idiot for this probably, but Jk doesn’t seem to want to be seen at the moment.. and I think all members would probably be aware of how the others want to be present in fandom right now.

It’s a hard time for those who like to have reassurances every now and then. Selfdoubt is a thing and it very often occurs when looking back at things. It does not surprise me that Tkk fandom has become a bit.. quiet lately. It is something we have to deal with though, because I truly think we won’t get much realtime Tkk for another year. Personally I’m not bothered much, because I always deal well with not knowing everything. I did not become a Tkkr without looking into things extensively first, and my ideas about everything I’ve seen have not changed. To me all the Tkkry from the past is still as valid as it was before enlistment.

I always kinda wonder about the ‘good to be true’ aspect I see sometimes (and I’m not wanting to be critical here, I just truly wonder), because to me that seems like people think Tae and Jk are this magical fairytale come to life. If we are correct about them I do feel we are seeing something unique, but to me it does not carry much of the magical fairytale. I think what we have spotted is the very cruel treatment of two boys/men in love. Sure, they are rich and famous and handsome and their love ia of the greatest kind, but a lot of the things we have spotted is actually signs of closeting, of two sensitive boys having to hide their feelings. While I do get the romantic side of seeing Tae and Jk together (obviously I do 🥰🥰🥰), I have at times thought that maybe if I were wrong about them it wouldn’t be a bad thing.. because that would mean that they didn’t go through some of the hard stuff I think they went through.

#taekook #fandom shenanigans

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mari-lair · 2 years

Text

Teru is less fake than people make him out to be.

He has plenty of secrets and visibly avoids confrontations but he is surprisingly open about his views. He carelessly admitted one of the main reasons for sparing Hanako on the young exorcist arc is because he doesn’t want Kou to hate him, a relatively personal motive. He even shares his work ethic in that very same chapter.

When he goes on his tirade about Hanako being a dangerous ghost, he doesn’t end his rant with “you’re evil and must be erased”, he says his situation, his existence “It’s painful to look at”

Some supernaturals are violent and monstrous, Teru has fun destroying them, as shown in chapter 70, but others feel like distorted people and are less fun to kill.

Teru has been an exorcist for a while, he knows by now that not all supernaturals are evil, or mean harm.

He has admitted that.

This is why Hanako’s screaming that he only wants to atone doesn’t shake Teru, who is already aware many supernaturals have their own goals and don’t intend to be a problem. This is why he tells Kou “There is no such thing as a good supernatural” instead of simply “All supernaturals are evil”.

For Teru, nothing that can be a danger to the living, proposital or not, can ever possibly be good. He has told us his priorities time and time again.

Which lead me to the way Teru values people.

Teru can be reckless and selfish, a real asshole, but he genuinely cares about the living. He doesn’t want to hurt them, be it physically or emotionally.

When he deals with nameless background characters, he is very careful. You’ll never see him being annoyed or even tense up at a fan, at most he is confused or awkward, and while he might play along to the princely title he was given at times, it never feels like a persona.

Unlike Aoi, who is trapped in her facade, never breaking character, Teru’s princely charm is not a burden, is not even a mask, is just an easy way to socialize that he was offered and occasionally take it. Teru may propositionally up the charm at times, but it is a part of him, he is not always putting up a show.

Just because Teru doesn’t broadcast that he is an exorcist doesn’t mean he traps himself in this ‘princely persona’.

Teru says a lot of rude things in public just cause he feels like it. He isn’t scared or pressured into fitting a certain image.

He is cruel with Akane in front of Nene many times.

In chapter 28, his fans spotted him collecting bugs with Kou, which is an activity that is not associated with ‘charming’ or ‘dreamy’, and yet, they didn’t bat an eye, eager to help him collect bugs: The students may not be close to Teru, but they are very nice to him.

Teru is nice to them too. Genuinely nice.

When Natsuhiko used his popularity to slow Teru down in chapter 40, Teru is openly glaring at Natsuhiko, he doesn’t try to hide his bad mood even when surrounded by his fans, nor does he redirect any of his frustration at them.

Mitsuba, Teru’s target, is right in sight! But Teru doesn’t even try to push his fans away, he prioritizes the people over the supernatural.

The best scene to show how careful he is to strangers is the scene where he is being confessed in chapter 1.

Being confessed must happen every month or so considering his absurd popularity, but he still close the book he was reading to give the girl his full attention. He still gets nervous and does his very best to turn her down gently.

I won’t get into if there truly is someone else he likes or if he is simply using it as a convenient excuse, I just want to show that he isn’t being fake here, he is genuinely trying.

This is a type of confrontation, which is something he is uncomfortable with, and he understands that his rejection will hurt this girl’s feelings, which he doesn’t like.

Just look at him! He is scracthing his head, and his neck, with a lot of ‘...’ in his dialogue, and he can’t look at this girl in the eye, he has a very awkward energy to it, even saying ”sorry” twice since he doesn't know what to do.

But for as sweet as he can be, he rarely became close with people.

He is being honest when he says this to Kou.

Liking people and liking an individual are very different things and Teru is a nightmare when it comes to forming attachments.

His care for any person only last for as long as they interact with him, is a very “out of sight, out of mind” mentality. He doesn’t prioritize forming new connections because he barely has time to cherish the ones he already has with his siblings.

This lack of attachment to any individual translates into him having no idea how to make friends, which furthers make him clueless on how to interact with other people, something his exorcist upbringing doesn’t help with.

He must have been taught lessons that are different from what most kids would get, more serious topics than ‘math’ or ‘literature’. It creates a disconnect between him and his peers, make him somewhat used to things others would be shaken or even traumatized by, so is no wonder he can come off as extremely arrogant and prideful, while having no idea on how some things that are common sense work, but we will talk about his destructive approach to making connections another time, this post is just about his relationship with people he isn’t close with.

Maybe his job made it so it became impossible for him to not be hyperaware of the value of life. Maybe he has always liked people but since he doesn’t connect with anyone he feels unsure about it, is hard to say, but regardless, he seems to value life even outside of professional lenses.

Which brings me to how he treats Nene and her lifespan.

Let’s rewind to chapter 29. When Nene is looking for Hanako everywhere, she eventually visit the student council, where Teru told her this:

And then told Akane this:

The speech he gives Nene is about Akane's glasses, but he also had her lifespan in mind, is no wonder he couldn’t look her in the eye when saying “Not knowing can be our best defense”.

It’s worth noticing that Teru has leagues more knowledge of the supernatural and its rules than the rest of the cast, and his mentality ends up being very similar to another character that also knows far more than he lets on:

Both are not satisfied with this solution but they accept it. Hanako has more investment and cares for Nene, he is in love with his assistant, but his initial core belief is the same as Teru’s: “There is nothing we can do to change her fate, so is better she lives happily in ignorance.”

Teru gave her accurate directions to where Hanako is when asked, because Nene and Hanako are friends, and even if Teru dislikes it, he won’t try to take that away from Nene. Every time he visits Nene with Hanako, he is cruel to Hanako but gives Nene smiles, he doesn’t try to change her mind, not even once, which is not normal. For comparison: Telling Nene to not hang out with Hanako had been the very first thing Kou did in his intro chapter, and something Akane questioned her on later, (which made her uneasy or distressed)

He doesn’t like it when her mood drops, and he notices quickly, but he doesn’t know how to help. At all.

He wants to cheer her up, but he is too awkward and prideful to risk trying to help and facing her sadness if he fails. No doubt having her break down would be ‘painful to look at’

So he runs away like a coward and passes the responsibility to Akane.

When Teru comes back, he sees that Nene ate his sugar toast and is happy the treat made her feel better.

The sweet could have been ordered for her from the start, he is a schemer so is not impossible, but I personally feel that the sugar toast was indeed a treat for himself: He got a free day and he decided to make the most of it, go all out and just do what he wants to do! He dragged Nene and Akane to the arcade, and the karaoke, and got plushies, and explored everything! So of course he would want to get the most ludicrous sweet on the menu too, something so appallingly unhealthy that Kou normally wouldn’t have allowed him to eat at home.

And yet, when Nene ate it, he did not care about losing this special sweet, focusing only on her. He want her to have fun too.

He wasn't serious when he claimed he would have killed Nene in chapter 85.

He is angry by Hanako’s actions, and the whole point of his monologue is to reprimand Hanako for resorting to murder to solve his problems, without taking anything besides his wish to ‘save nene’ into account, which is a very narrow view.

Teru only threatened Nene’s life because he wanted Hanako to realize how reckless his actions are, but since spealing it out wasn’t reaching him, he had to change his approach.

He explicitly told us it was a made up scenario to knock some sense into Hanako

He despises Hanako's idea that murder might solve someone’s problem. So of course he would never kill Nene, or any other person.

Because he values life.

#minamoto teru #tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #jshk #teru minamoto #jibaku shounen hanako kun #you all have no idea how many tangents I had to cut #and it is still pretty long #character analysis

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eundiarys · 2 years

Text

21. this is cruel

genre : idol! au, fake dating au to actually really dating, fluff, no angst i think, my humor (sorry)

warnings : none im pretty sure, pls tell me if there’s any!

summary : in which — yn who just debuted gets into a dating scandal with one of the most famous group members because of a misunderstanding and is forced to fake date with him. what happens if it isn’t as bad as she thinks? and and what if she finds comfort with him?

“taehyun, can we go to the cafe lounge for awhile?” hueningkai asked the now pink haired boy, who is lazing around in his bed.

“the private one? why?”

“i lost something and i think i need your help to find it. can you please help me?”

taehyun slightly hesitates before getting up and walking out of the dorm with hyuka, he doesn’t want to bump into a certain someone in the building. especially since that someone is making a comeback soon, meaning there’s about 70% chance he’ll bump into her.

taehyun and hyuka arrived shortly after, quick getting into the lounge to find hyuka’s “thing” that he lost.

after about 10 minutes, he said he’s gonna check the room beside the lounge. taehyun replied with thumbs up before continuing the search.

after taehyun was tired of searching, he found himself laying on the couch and almost napping — until he heard a door creak open. he quickly jumped out of the couch but then quickly went back to it to hide.

“hello? is someone there? im really sorry, i just need to take something.. i’ll be quick!” she apologises.

what? is that yn?

“yn? is that you?” taehyun got up, and quickly looked at the girl that was standing near the door.

taehyun could clearly see that she was suprised, possibly even uncomfortable with the situation.

“im sorry. i’ll leave” she quickly tried to end the conversation, but she can’t seem to leave.

not because taehyun stopped her, but because of the door not being to open.

“shit. it’s locked. this is the room with the door that has to stay open”

he saw that you looked worried. “don’t worry. i’ll call someone to come to us and i’ll stay away from you.”

“no um.. you really don’t have too. it’s just that we haven’t seen eachother in awhile.”

“you’re right. how have you been?”

“i’ve been okay. you seem to be doing well too.”

“i guess so.”

the atmosphere was filled with very, very awkward silence.

“is it just me, or it’s really cold in here?” you mumbled, slowly starting to feel the cold breeze, rubbing your palms together in a desperate attempt to receive warmth.

“the heater probably broke too.” taehyun reached out his hand to you, asking for your hand.

“what’s that for?”

“oh come on yn, we both know my hands are warm and yours are always cold.” he replied, but he sees your hesitation to hold his hand.

“i get that you might be uncomfortable with it considering our situation right now but im not letting you freeze.”

“um.. my hands are sweaty.”

“ive been dealing with them when we fake dated, im sure i can deal with it now.”

“oh shut up… why didn’t you tell me? that’s embarassing” you covered your face in embarassment.

he chuckles and reaches out his hand again, and this time you took it. and didn’t let go.

from holding hands from a distance, to you laying on his shoulder, him hugging you to keep you warm, until you both doze off.

“why the hell are they here, sleeping together? hyuka, i thought you sent taehyun here to find your “thing” and you could come to me to talk about how to get them together!

“i did! but i didn’t know you sent yn to the room next to him!” hyuka replied.

“did they get back together? i mean, the door was locked!”

“i don’t think so. they probably got stuck here or something and dozed off.” hanni said disappointingly.

“well, atleast they probably talked a bit” hyuka sighs.

though this was not part of hyuka’s and hanni’s plan, but you and taehyun definitely weren’t complaining. because maybe, in a way, the universe is slowly bringing you and him back together.

masterlist ʚ♡ɞ next

authors note , YNHYUN TALKS AGAIN WHO CHEERED!! also to those people who asked for taglist and didn’t get in its cuz u didn’t send an ask (i got an anon ask abt this 🤓)

taglist , @kiribirien @wccycc @hanniluvi @imhuh @ashxxgyu @zuyairus @suburbiataehyung @jungwonj @eveyi @taekwondoes @mirula @aestheticsluut @lcv3lies @iirene304 @curly-fr13s @luvdokja @forever-in-the-sky2 @sserafimez @cha0thicpisces @hawkins-hs @whippedforbeomgyu @hoonfever @stepout-09-15 @yuhjoeyuh @nyujjan @qluvrv @vixensss @viagumi @captivq @ttyunz @luvkait @foxsunoo @emohazuzworld @smg-valeria @ja4hyvn @tmrx2gther @reverbtunes @xiaoderrrr @catsyoon @soobsdior @iad0ru @wonyofanclub @lonewolfjinji @chaeey @fzy-b3om @itskpopular @dimplewonie @haknom @bwljules @vuiom @cashew00nut @fanfangying1304 @soobisrealgfnotfake @telengraph (thank you for reading!)

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domini-porter · 3 months

Text

Little Fic For You: My Neighbor the Cop (PG, I guess?)

NOTE: as you may know, I’m a compulsive writer (not being self-deprecating; sometimes it sucks when I’d rather, like, sleep in), and I have a complex about it! I wrote this (other) little one-shot today, and it’s kind of stylistically different, and also I just don’t really feel like posting it to AO3, so it can just be for us locals, yeah?

————————————————-

My neighbor the cop has lived in the unit next to mine longer than I’ve lived in Boston at all, and I’ve lived here way too long. I’d move—somewhere cheaper, or nicer, or quieter—but it’s close to my work. And, okay, because of my neighbor the cop.

I’ve only talked to her a few times over the years. Usually when she’s apologizing for having her door kicked in by some psycho, like that’s her fault, but if we see each other in the hall it’s always one of those little half-nods that say I acknowledge you, but let’s leave it there. I don’t mind, since I don’t, like, love cops. My parents thought it was great, that I had the police right next door, especially since they’re convinced I’m gonna get murdered every time I even think about going outside, until I told them she was the kind of cop who attracted psychos who kicked in her door all the time; they were less excited after that.

She’s hot, I guess, even though she’s a cop. Tall, like model-tall, and skinny. Long curly black hair that she always seems to wear down, even though it seems like it would get in the way when she’s, like, chasing bad guys, but what do I know. She almost never smiles, which isn’t any of my business, but it does keep me from smiling at her, too, so it’s this weird mix of courtesy and being what seems like kind of an asshole. Maybe because she’s a cop, or maybe it’s the reason she became one, but she doesn’t seem to really like her life, at least from what I can tell. It’s not like I love mine either, so no judgment.

Except sometimes she seems really, really happy. Which is part of why I keep renewing my lease, even though the landlord’s a real deadbeat piece of shit. This thing next door, it’s better than cable.

She’s got this one friend—she’s got a brother too, another cop; I only know this because they don’t so much talk to each other as shout, but I’m from a chaotic Italian Catholic family too, I get it. And he seems nice enough. Way nicer than her. Except when her one friend—“one” meaning “only”—comes over.

She’s also really hot, but more like some European movie star from the ‘70s, when Halston jet-setting va-va-voom was the thing. Or maybe she’s just rich, but—and I know this makes me at least kind of a creep—I was three days from signing a lease on a place in Somerville when I saw her come over for the first time, and it made me call and cancel. Not in a pervy way, but because even though my neighbor the cop has made the local news more than once, her pretty friend was immediately the most interesting thing about her. Again: not in a stalkery, mouth-breathing way, it’s just that when she started showing up, the whole atmosphere shifted. My neighbor the cop actually smiled at me once. And anyway, this place really is close to work.

She came over a lot for a while, like twice a week, and I noticed my neighbor the cop would be gone a lot, too, like twice a week, and once I saw her getting dropped off by her pretty friend after a couple days, which seems like something totally obvious, right?

Except one night my neighbor the cop came home drunk—stumbling into the walls, dropping her keys, having a one-sided argument with her pretty friend loudly enough for me to hear through my bedroom wall as soon as she’d slammed her door behind her.

Her pretty friend didn’t come back for a long time after that night, so I figured they’d broken up—cop’s loss, obviously—so it was more surprising than maybe it should have been, and way more shocking, when a week or so later she dragged some bland-faced dude up to her place while I was picking up a package in the lobby. Surprising, because it was way faster than I would have expected. Shocking, because I would have sworn on a stack of bibles that she was your stereotypical dyke cop—the swagger, the sneer, the high-femme girlfriend—but she must have been on some kind of extreme rebound since I heard them later that night, the bed thumping against our shared wall as she—unconvincingly—panted and moaned his name.

Casey. Like my youngest female cousin. Probably some Freudian coincidence. Or some Freudian intention, I dunno. I’m not the one faking it with some crew cut to get back at my super-hot ex.

He came around for a while, pretty regularly for a few weeks, but one night there was some sort of fight—a bad one, the kind where everyone’s talking low and quiet—and then he stopped coming over, too.

My neighbor didn’t even nod at me in the hallway for months after that. Her pretty friend eventually started coming over again, though not nearly as often, and for not nearly as long—they didn’t really laugh together any more, either, which made me sad, which made me realize how invested I was, which made me feel weird, but I was in too deep. Meaning I’d just renewed my lease a month before, after another place fell through.

But then something really bad happened to my neighbor. Some new psycho. She was gone for a long time, and then when she came back her brother was with her, and her mom—who’s really nice; at least she reminds me of my own nosy aunts—and, trailing behind them, looking both kind of nervous and also like she was trying to look like she wasn’t scared to death, her pretty friend, a leather duffel bag over her shoulder.

The brother gave me a friendly greeting when I went to take out my trash; we shook hands, I wrote down my number to give to his sister in case she needed anything. We both knew I was just being nice, but he seemed to appreciate it, anyway. Told me his sister would be laid up for a while, but her friend would be around a lot to take care of her, so I didn’t need to worry.

Then later, when I was cleaning up after dinner, her friend knocked on my door. Introduced herself as the cop’s co-worker—I’m pretty proud of how I managed to not snort a skeptical little uh-huh, but she seemed pretty stressed out—and thanked me for offering to help, that my neighbor really appreciated it.

That time I did snort, my neighbor’s pretty friend grimacing, apologizing for attempting to lie, that she literally couldn’t, but she wanted to make sure I knew she, at least, appreciated my thoughtfulness.

She smelled really good. I always assumed she would.

Listen—I admit I have a crush on her, but I’d seriously dare anyone not to. But not in a gross way, I swear—more like she seems fascinating, and kind, and like the sort of person you just hope everything goes well for. So maybe less of a crush than an admiration, while also not being able to help imagining what she might look like naked.

We only talked that one time during my neighbor’s recuperation, but she always gave me a smile if we ran into each other in the hall, one that got more and more genuine as the days went on. Not because she liked me any more than usual, but because my neighbor the cop was obviously recovering nicely—not three weeks later one of my picture frames rattled off the wall as she crashed into it from her side, whooping about a home run. It should have been annoying, bad-neighbor stuff, but honestly I was mostly relieved that she was feeling better, if only because it seemed to make her pretty friend feel better, too.

It was obvious her friend was trying to delay the end of her tenure as nursemaid, and that my neighbor the cop didn’t really seem to mind. She kept staying over even after I saw them hauling armloads of groceries up the stairs, the cop carrying a full rack of beer under her arm, not even winded. I admit, seeing them seemingly back to their old selves—well, what I considered their old selves, before that business with the Freudian rebound—made me feel like something nice had happened to someone I actually knew, cared about, instead of some parasocial creep eavesdropping on her neighbors.

But I suppose it’s not a terrible thing to feel happy for relative strangers, and again: they’re both, like, improbably attractive, and there’s always high-stakes hijinks going on, it seems like—I didn’t even mention the Mafia stuff, like I wouldn’t recognize a goon anywhere—and like I said: better than cable, especially now that it’s nice enough to open the windows again.

I get that deliberately eavesdropping is both shady and distasteful, and I really wasn’t even trying, it’s just that they were hanging out as usual—this was after the cop had fully recovered and they’d sort-of-pathetically ended their temporary sleepover, so it was back to the occasional clink of glasses and snatches of my neighbor’s pretty friend laughing at something she said, interspersed with my neighbor’s occasional whines about something or other, usually having to dress up.

I’d still, even now, love if someone would explain to me how these two weren’t in a committed, hetero-coded relationship straight out of a 90’s cable show, one that was maybe a little too heavy on the male gaze. The sporty-butch cop moaning about wearing a dress, her lipstick wife cooing and cajoling until she inevitably relents and they go out together, looking like a screenshot from a Bette and Tina episode of The L-Word. This happened all the time. Way more than any girlfriend and I had ever squabbled-as-foreplay.

But they weren’t fucking, somehow. I acknowledge it did take me until Boy Casey to realize I’d never actually heard my neighbor the cop have sex before. Not that I had to make an effort; our walls are basically Kleenex wrapped around balsa wood. It had simply never occurred to me; I guess I’d figured if she and her pretty friend were dating, they just never had sex at the cop’s place, probably because of the walls. Instead, it turned out they just . . . never had sex, a realization that made me grab my metaphorical popcorn, especially after the unceremonious exit of Boy Casey and the gradual return of Pretty Friend.

But. It was a nice late-spring evening, my neighbor in a grand mood because the Sox won—something I appreciated too, which I think my neighbor knew because if I could hear her TV, she could hear mine, so I figure she felt comfortable being a little more cheerful than usual—and she and her pretty friend were talking and laughing in the living room, which I could hear since I was in my own living room, waiting to see what came on after baseball, when everything suddenly went quiet.

Not like they were both looking at something on a phone. Like, quiet-quiet. Something’s-happening quiet. So quiet I held my breath in my own apartment, feeling like an idiot but still afraid to move, in case whatever quiet thing going on next door would be spoiled by me scratching an itch on my foot.

I’m not into any of that spiritual astrology shit, but I have been a lesbian for a long time, and I could tell—with certainty—that something was happening next door. It was like the air changed, so dramatically it was leaking through into my apartment. The vibe had gone from chatty cheerfulness to . . . whatever it was now, something that made me hold my breath, just in case.

Either my neighbor the cop or her pretty friend had to—had to—be finally, at last, making a move. There was no other explanation for the abrupt silence except both their mouths being occupied—whether it was the cop who kissed her pretty friend or vice versa wasn’t important in the moment, except to them of course, but I couldn’t help wondering.

I still haven’t found out, because that would be unquestionably creepy, but as time has gone on I’m coming down on the side of the pretty friend finally figuring out how to lay the groundwork obviously enough for the cop to figure out that groundwork had been laid; she’s been decorated by the city and the Commonwealth, so she has to be good at her job, but the way she wandered around in a daze for like two weeks after made me think it’s one of those scenarios where the femme finally realizes the butch is too afraid to make the first move. Classic fairytale stuff.

So the whole will they/won’t they arc is done, and thank god they will, because I’ve watched this whole thing unfold for years and they’re both miserable when they’re trying to pretend like they’re not in love. And the best part is I just signed a lease on a newer place even closer to work; it’s not because one day I woke up to my neighbor the cop’s stuff being moved out, her pretty girlfriend standing in the hall with a tray of iced coffees for the movers, but it did make it easier.

I’ll miss my next-door soap opera—well, not the part where psychos kick the door in—but it feels nice, somehow. Like I got to watch—hear, at least—two crazy kids finally figure out how to make it in this crazy world, which doesn’t happen very often.

And they really are both improbably good-looking, and equally improbably representative of your classic butch-femme dichotomy. So honestly, it just seems right. Like the universe is balanced at last.

I really hope they make it, but I’m pretty sure they will. As long as no more psychos try to kick down their door, at least.

#rizzles #rizzoli and isles #fanfiction #tumblr fic #I only respect canon when canon respects me

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tartsinarat · 10 months

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To continue with that battle of the bands! Luz post, here’s a Pip edition,

He’s obviously modeled after David Bowie in his design, I particularly took inspo from bowie’s ziggy stardust era because of the fact that the band that Nimbus, luz, Willow and him are apart of is completely inspired by after 70s glam rock musicians and bands (also the story behind Ziggy fits pretty well in specific parts to Pip but anyways)

I’m probably going to do Willow next which I’m pretty excited for

Also yes he did dye his hair for this and regretted it immensely after finding out the hair dye was permanent rather than just being temporary which is the context behind the Bowie edition of “oh, Ariana were really it now” image from the good place redraw, he eventually just makes it brown again by using a concealment stone until it fades out

Fun fact, his eye make does in fact foreshadow something that I’m currently working on properly planning it out and eventually posting it

Another fun fact, Raine was one of the judges of the battle of the bands (this is because they were the only witch ever to win single handily without another band member,Eda was supposed to be alongside them but got banned for some silly antics that snowballed heavily) so when they saw Eda who was attending to see her two favourite knuckleheads and after some high jinks of trying to avoid each the eventually get forced to talk to each other so both Raine and Eda then have to have the worlds most awkward conversation as Raine puts two and two that the kid with bright orange hair is probably Eda’s kid and the conversation would probably go along something like this:

Raine: Eda, I didn’t think I would see you here after what happened last time, did the ban get lifted?

Eda: nope, but if you see the the security around my name isn’t Eda it’s Evelyn *winks*

Raine: *laughs*

Eda: so your judging, right?

Raine; yeah… but it’s not something I personally wanted to do, I kinda got forced into it by kikimora because it’s something to do with finding the best members for the bard coven and she didn’t give me a chance to say no :/

Raine:*sighs*

Eda; yeah that makes sense, you know I thought they finally got to you and brainwashed you into doing this *snorts*

Raine: *laughs* nope just peer pressure for now

Raine: soo what brings you here?

Eda; you see the the kids up there dressed like a unicorn vomited glitter and rainbows on them?

Eda: *points at luz and Pip* Those two in particular are my knuckleheads and I couldn’t pass up a chance to watch them beat a bunch of stuffy band kids *snorts*

Raine: *has finally clicked that the kid with ginger hair who got caught by them while trying to cheat by setting up traps in the arena is probably Eda’s kid*. . . I didn’t know you had kids?

Eda; oh titan no, they’re actually my two weird workers who mooch off of me

Raine: really? The kid with ginger hair looks a lot like you and he even tried to bribe me after I caught him boobytrapping the arena stage

Eda:*snorts and bursts out laughing*

Eda: you mean Pip? no he’s not my kid, he’s not a natural red head that’s a really bad dye job he did to look like some human musician

Eda: and not to brag but I taught him all my secrets and tricks well.

Raine: oh

Eda: I get the confusion but nah I found the kid in the trash haha

Raine; o h?

au masterpost link? or is it? it is /gen

#the owl house #original character #toh #art #toh au #golden heir au #oc #the owl house au #oc stuff #owl house au #toh fan art #the owl house fanart #digital art #the golden heir au #my ocs #toh fanfic

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learnyouabiology · 2 years

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Fun fact: Wood Frogs Survive Icy Winters via Frog-sicle status

The wood frog, Rana sylvatica, is scientifically referred to as “iconic” (source: Costanzo 2019).

The reason they are iconic is because they are famously able to freeze into a literal block of ice in the winter, remain frozen all season long, and then thaw out in the spring without any of the expected dying of cold! Incredible!

(you can recognise a wood frog by they lil mask by its eyes! Naturalists call it a raccoon mask, and honestly, 10/10 excellent raccoon disguise, completely indistinguishable)

I’ve known about this for years, because I spent a not-insignificant part of my childhood OBSESSED with frogs, but even 8-year-old me didn’t know that these frogs live north of the arctic circle.

That’s right! They live in Alaska! Where winter lasts more than seven months.

Wood frogs are actually the only amphibian in North America to live this far north. (there are a few species in Eurasia but THIS ISN’T ABOUT THEM 😉 source: x).

(I’m not saying Ohio wood frog are wimpy, but I AM calling them “““““delicate”””””. Image from Costanza 2019)

As winter approaches, wood frogs create little furrows in the forest floor, just big enough for them to wedge themselves into, and cover themselves with fallen leaves and other forest detritus (Costanza 2019). They then settle into their little shelter and begin to go through what I assume is a traumatizing experience.

(she loves a good furrow)

The furrow provides a small amount of insulation from the outside air, but even inside their shelter, it can get pretty cold.

In fact, wood frogs can survive temperatures as low as -16°C (3°F for the people who use the other system).

Generally, if you are a water-based organism, being exposed to temperatures so far below the freezing point is... bad. And if the water inside of a water-based organism freezes? That is Extra Bad.

Luckily, wood frogs have a foolproof way to stay safe: they are absolutely FULL of sugar and urine.

(I would have said “piss and vinegar” but the vinegar part is technically untrue 😔)

Specifically, the frog increases the concentration of urea in their body tissues before winter sets in. Urea, which is what urine is made of in humans, is commonly used by amphibians to protect themselves from losing too much water to the environment (Costanza 2019). However, wood frogs take it to the Extreme.

Additionally, as the frog begins to freeze, the liver begins to break down the glycogen stores that had been built up in advance, releasing high concentrations of glucose (aka sugar) into the bloodstream of the frog, (Costanza 2019).

By changing the properties of the internal fluid, the urea and glucose protect the frog’s cells from being damaged by ice, protecting various internal structures and even helping to regulate their metabolism (Costanza 2019).

(there’s also some stuff with nitric oxide and membrane adaptation but it’s A Lot and if you’re interested I recommend Constanza 2019. see bottom of post for references!)

(frog: *is flat and frozen*)

While frozen, the frog doesn’t need to eat, or even to breathe, because their metabolism is comes to a near-standstill. Their heart stops beating, and they can survive having up to 70% of it’s body fluids completely frozen (Costanza 2019).

There’s still a little bit of metabolic activity happening, just to keep the frog alive, but this allows the frog to live for months while frozen (nearly) solid until the spring melt comes!

The frog will generally stay in its little burrow for a few hours as it thaws, presumably processing the trauma of what just happened (also making a few physiological changes to survive the transition from ice cube to frog, I guess), before heading outside to immediately reproduce with the snowmelt.

(a photo of bliss)

This has been fun fact friday!

Hey y’all! As winter turns to spring, I wanted to do a little series of how animals survive cold, snowy winters when they are unable to migrate. Today was a frozen frog, and next I’ll talk about how turtles survive under the ice all winter long!

Stay tuned!

References under the read more

Smithsonian channel (2015) Frogsicles: Frozen but still alive. https://youtu.be/pLPeehsXAr4

Costanzo, J. P. (2019). Overwintering adaptations and extreme freeze tolerance in a subarctic population of the wood frog, Rana sylvatica. Journal of Comparative Physiology B, 189(1), 1-15. doi: 10.1007/s00360-018-1189-7

Kuzmin, S.L & Tessier, D.F. (2013) Amphibians and reptiles. In: Arctic Biodiversity Assessment 2013 http://www.arcticbiodiversity.is/index.php/the-report/chapters/amphibians-and-reptiles

Layne Jr, J. R., & First, M. C. (1991). Resumption of physiological functions in the wood frog (Rana sylvatica) after freezing. American Journal of Physiology-Regulatory, Integrative and Comparative Physiology, 261(1), R134-R137.

#biology #fun facts #science #sciblr #science side of tumblr #zoology #herpetology #physiology #winter #frogs #frog #fun fact friday #im on a new medication and it's so good u guyz :3

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clatoera · 1 year

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Always Remember We’re Burned for Better Chapter 15: If I’m On Fire, You’ll be Made of Ashes Too

...Hey y’all. Sorry I sucked again and didn’t post for 17 days. I had a literal breakdown over boards and worked 70 hours a week two weeks ago and! Yeah! Here we are! Back to full length chapters too so! woo.

Direct quotes from Mockingjay are not mine!

TW for Glimmer’s speech at the end (Finnick’s speech in the book/movie)

Title from My Tears Ricochet (T swift of course)

AO3

Masterpost

As always. thank you to my besties, who I feel bad tagging every week, but I don’t feel bad tagging @kentwells ever so!

Anyway...let's do it.

“We’re never going to lose these ‘mentally unstable’ bands if you keep taking a swing at everyone who looks at us wrong.” Finnick flicks a shred of bread in Cato’s general direction, sure that no one would see him dare to waste food, even if that food was a glorified crouton. “You know she isn’t here for you to impress, right?”

“Leave him alone, Finnick.” Glimmer sighs, tired of yet another version of the same conversation. Cato’s unhinged. Glimmer’s unstable. Cato’s a loose cannon. Glimmer’s not to be trusted alone. “Gale deserved it, anyway, he’s running his mouth that the two of us are together-“

“And we would never.” Cato stabs the slightly sharper end of his spoon into the tray of lunch, having lost his privileges to any further utensil when he threatened to carve out Gale Hawthorne’s eyes with the spork he had just been upgraded to. “No offense, of course, Glimmer.”

“Oh, none taken! You were never my type anyway.” She offers over her full fledged fork and goes back to ripping up the stale roll to toss back at Finnick. “Besides , they were starting the same rumors about me and you Finny, that's not a rumor we need Annie to hear when we get her back.”

Such is how they, as the surviving victors, had decided to talk. It had to become when we got them back, not if. False hope or not, it was all they had to get them through day to day life in the hell hole that is District 13. It was a light at the end of an impossibly long tunnel that was the other side of this great war.

“I’ve had worse. He doesn’t even leave a mark.” Cato brushes off, taking Glimmer’s offering with an appreciative nod. “His only value is fawning over Fire girl anyway.”

“He keeps her stable enough. Which, you know you aren't getting any closer to getting them back by going after her personal attack dog, right ?” Finnick warns, noting how Katniss sits a safe distance away from Gale at their assigned table entirely across the room, firmly lodged against her little sister’s side.

“I find it hard to believe she cares about Peeta if she’s so easily moving on.” Glimmer huffs before she rests her left elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “I’ll never be able to love someone else. And I don’t want to. You’d have to kill me before I'd just…move on that easily. She changes her man more often than she changes her braid.”

“Oh he wants her, but she doesn't feel the same.” Finnick assures, fingers falling into a familiar pattern of braiding his napkin. It was obsessive and unintentional, but it kept him in one piece. “She feels like she owes him, I think. For getting her family out…”

“And he left Peeta’s behind.” Cato reminds, a tone in voice that could nearly be disgust if someone really wanted to call it such, if they really wanted to look for meaning in the way he refers to the families from Twelve. “Seems like a low blow, leaving behind the family out of jealousy.”

He’ll deny it, fervently, to anyone who even suggests it, but there's something about the bombing of District Twelve right off the face of the map that settles inside him wrong. Sure, they were an outlying district, but wasn’t that the whole point of Panem? All the districts contribute to a greater good, providing some sort of service to the others. Twelve and Two, while plenty different, are both the mining districts after all. Maybe the mountainside villages of Two make the shantytowns of Twelve all the more desolate, but at their core, were they really that different in what they provided to the capitol?

If twelve was so expendable..what really makes the others any different?

Glimmer is the next one to renew the lease on her ‘mentally unstable’ armband, and lose their utensil privileges, when she actually uses a fork and goes after the same insufferable district twelve boy for having the audacity to insinuate that her relationship was fake.

–

“You two are wanted in the conference room.” A guard, maybe twice their age, announces at the door of their cell– room, okay fine it’s a room, but it may as well be their prison cell.

Glimmer shoots Cato a hesitant look– noone has ever wanted them in a conference, noone has ever given a single fuck about what they have to say about anything that happens to or around them. At this point though, what would the benefit of executing them be?

“Sorry, Conference call isn’t on my schedule for the day.” Cato holds up his left arm, with their printed schedules tattooed in for the day. Not that either of them followed them– ninety nine percent of their time was spent inside these four walls of this room. “Maybe if you factor it in we’ll consider–”

“It is not an option. You are expected promptly. Failure to attend will be seen as a direct act of discompliance and will have severe consequences.”

Cato tightens his jaw before he slips his feet over the edge of the bed, nodding to Glimmer to do the same. The narrowed look of her green eyes in his direction tells him all he needed to know– she can imagine the same consequence as him, which isn’t a direct threat to the two of them at all.

They say nothing as they follow this armed man, weaving through halls and up elevators, a route they could not re-create on their own even if they combined their brain power with the intention to do so.

The door has a keypad, opened only with a scan of the guard’s eye rather than any code they can memorize and exploit later.

Glimmer glances out of the corner of her eyes as she is ushered into the room a step in front of Cato, fully taking in the physicality of the guard as she passes him. They could probably take him, if one dispatched the gun from his hands and the other got him down.

Glimmer’s mental notes were tossed to the wayside when she saw the contents of the room.

Around a conference table sat Miss Mockingjay herself, Finnick Odair, a newly sober Haymitch Abernathy, Plutarch Heavensbee, Beetee, and a gray haired woman Glimmer could vaguely identify as the president of District 13.

Her eyes must betray her absolute distrust in the members of the room, as the guard behind her grabs her by the shoulders and goes to push her to the table, when Cato’s hand encircles one of the man’s wide wrists.

“Don’t touch her.” He warns, though it comes out as a warning growl. Cato would fight, that much he had proven over and over during their months long stint in the pit of hell that is District Thirteen.

“Now there’s no need for any of that–” Plutarch interrupts, and with a wave of his hand Glimmer’s shoulders are released and she steps forward on her own accord. “Please, sit. You two were invited here as guests for this conversation..”

“Oh, Guests? That's what we are here now? Guests?” Glimmer quips, but settles herself down in one of the conference chairs furthest away from anyone else, anyone who could reach up and grab at her. Guests, sure, of the local psychiatric lock down unit maybe.

“You have both been extended a generosity by District Thirteen under our protections. And you were both granted an even larger generosity under Miss. Everdeen’s Mockingjay deal. It would behoove you both to listen to the expectations that are required of you both.” The gray haired woman begins, addressing them both. However, it is like she sees through them both, refusing to look either in the face and instead staring through as if they are beneath her, unworthy of her attention.

Something about her steely gaze and underlying threats in her tone feels familiar to Cato, and for the briefest second it is like he is back in President Snow’s office being given an ultimatum with Clove at his side.

What he wouldn’t give to have her at his side now.

“...requested of you.” Plutarch intervenes, holding out a hand to stop the president from continuing on with what Cato assumes would be demanded. “We believe that having two victors from previously Career districts openly on the side of the Rebellion could help the cause, especially in District Two.”

“And before you start with the ‘we aren’t on the side of the rebellion’ crap,” Comes from Haymitch, who is more sober than either of them have ever seen him, looking dare they say well shaven and clean, “Remember who the Capitol has. If you think they’re being treated well out there… you’ve got another thing coming. This is how we get them back.”

“The faster we bring in the districts, the closer we are to Annie. And Clove. And Marvel. And Johanna and Peeta.” Finnick offers, also somehow miraculously looking healthier than he has since their time in Thirteen began. He had mentioned being allowed outside with Katniss for a few hours– the sunlight did him some good, clearly.

“It is expected that you will do your part to help this Revolution.” The cold voice of President Coin cuts through the warmer tones of past victors and a gamemaker, staring right into the center of Cato’s face. “If you give us cause to believe that you would in any way be a threat to this cause, we would have no choice but to remove that threat, and the threat your respective partners would present as well, once we got our opportunity.”

The threat is not even veiled, but before Cato can give her the rise and reaction Coin is prodding out of them, Katniss herself chimes in.

“That’s not part of the deal. The victors are pardoned. All of us.” Her tone is not the young girl who won the game, or the girl who gave everything for the sweet little sister that even Cato couldn’t hate, no, that was the voice of the leader of this rebellion. The power and insistence of someone with a lot more pull than she’d give herself credit for.

“Everyone is doing some part,” Plutarch interjects, attempting to assuage the underlying power struggle between the President and the Mockingjay. “Katniss is going into the battlefields, she’s shooting rallying calls on the front lines. Finnick has agreed to begin doing special features on fallen tributes from each district. Pulling on the heartstrings of every district one by one.”

“Glimmer, you were very popular in the capitol, maybe you could reach them.” Haymitch suggests, with a wave of his hand. “Smile, toss your hair, whatever it takes..”

Before Glimmer can snap back in response Cato takes over, despite how she deserves to say whatever the hell she wants at this point.

“How are you even getting in? Doesn’t Snow control the airways?” Cato leans back, arms crossed over his chest firmly, a stance of both disbelief and judgment. “Do districts even have televisions for this to get across?”

“I am responsible for the creation of a lot of the airways.” Beetee explains, wheeling his chair over to access a remote before clicking on the screen. “Here’s what we have so far.”

They watch the reel of Katniss in District Eight, as a hospital is obliterated in the background. They watch her on the front lines rediscovering District Twelve, and most notably, they hear her voice filling the air as she sings a song of rebellion and lovers running to their conjoined deaths.

“...maybe your talent should’ve been singing, not Fashion.” Glimmer comments, though there is no sarcasm or venom in her own tone. It’s a compliment, a genuine one, when she says, “you have a lovely voice, Katniss.”

“Peeta thought so too.” Katniss admits, finally making direct eye contact with the career girl for the first time. “It just..it wasn’t for everyone else.”

“Look at that, this government can exploit you, too. It’s not just the Capitol!” Glimmer snorts, shaking her head before glancing at Cato out of the side of her eye.

His jaw is locked, his knuckles nearly white from how tightly he is squeezing his fist together. Something in the conversation had successfully gotten to him, and while the source of all of his self control is locked in a cell in the captiol, he somehow manages to hold himself back for once.

“Katniss…let us talk. Alone. Finnick too.” Glimmer requests, glancing between the other two young victors in the room. There’s only four of them left, maybe only four left in the whole world for all they know.

Now is the time to make new alliances.

“Absolutely not.” President Coin interjects, shaking her head furiously. “The safety of Katniss is too important–”

“They won’t hurt us.” Finnick assures, giving a knowing nod to Glimmer and Cato both. There is an understanding, an agreement, amongst the victors. “Let us talk.”

Haymitch puts his hands up to prevent any further debate or questioning. “I say we give them ten minutes. We can wait right outside the door for them, come in the minute we hear a raised voice for something being thrown.”

“Ten minutes.” Plutarch agrees, and that seems to convince Alma Coin to eventually agree as well.

“You get exactly ten minutes. Nothing more.” She pushes herself back and the elder men at the table agree, shooting Glimmer and Cato a look of diluted venom, not quite a snake but maybe a scorpion instead.

The immediate second the door is closed, Glimmer lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t like her at all.”

For the first time ever, Katniss smiles at Glimmer, in a wordless agreement. Maybe the leader of the rebellion couldn’t say it, but the unhinged victim from District One certainly could.

“What the fuck is going on out there?” Cato immediately presses Katniss, the only victor who has seen beyond the perimeter of thirteen and into the real world. “Who’s fighting, is there an actual war happening?”

“All of the Districts have joined, except for District Two.” Katniss begins, oddly at ease with two of the people who were most determined to kill her. “Two provides the army, I guess–”

“Peacekeepers, yeah.” Cato agrees, giving an unsurprised nod. That was always the other option– you either went in the games and won or the high level of training guaranteed a higher rank in the peacekeepers upon graduation. There were the outliers, training partners who resented each other for not getting into the games, who married and tried to combine their mediocre genetics to create a victor child. That had not been successful, possibly ever, but every year there were one pair who tried it. “Two won’t be easy.”

“....even One is in the war? On our side” Glimmer pipes up, for the first time verbally acknowledging that yes, she is with the Mockingjay, too. “That’s a loss for the Capitol, they rely on us for..just about anything they enjoy.”

“It was you and Marvel, Glimmer.” Finnick reaches forward to grab at the remote, shuffling through additional propos as they talk, an audio buffer to protect their conversation from the inevitable listening ears just outside the door. “It had to be everything you said before the games. They had enough of sending their children to be trafficked. They’ve sent enough luxury goods, their sons and daughters aren't going to be added to the list of their hottest commodities anymore.”

“....do you know if Cash and Gloss are…”

“We don’t. But what we do know is that the Capitol is completely cut off from everyone but Two.” Katniss adds, looking between the two.

“You two need to see this.” Finnick interrupts, before he settles on a hidden file of a recording deep in the depths of a desktop folder . “They already think Katniss hasn’t, and I know they kept this from you two. You’re a liability when you’re angry.”

“What do you mean they’re keeping something from us, they keep everything from us, what else could it be-” Glimmer is cut off by her own gasp of shock, when the screen lights up with a scene in the President’s mansion. Peeta– looking far worse for the wear, fifteen pounds lighter than he had been just a week ago on the recording, with deep dark circles under his eyes– is flanked on either side by two other victors.

Their other victors.

Glimmer is on her feet first, a look of pure horror on her face as she reaches out to the screen to touch the ghost of Marvel’s face.

Like Peeta, he is easily fifteen pounds lighter than he had been when they were lifted from the arena. And though the collar of his shirt doesn’t seem to conceal bruises the way Peeta’s does, he looks overall limp. Lifeless. As if the fight has been sucked right out of him. Most notably to Glimmer, of course, is his eyes. The shining blue of his eyes lacks the joy and brightness she had come to find her home in, the one constant source of comfort ripped from them both.

“What did they do to him?” Glimmer whispers, frantically looking around the duration of the screen for any other clue. “Are they starving them? What are they doing to him?”

Clove does not look as distinctly ill to the untrained eye. Always small, the drop in weight is not as blatantly apparent on her. Sure, the darkness under her eyes is abnormal, but anyone would see it as a normal response to lack of sleep and stress. There is some purple discoloration at the top of her black dress, that may even be passed off as a shadow rather than bruising.

But when she slightly tilts her head to the side, Cato recognizes in an instant the way the corner of her lip twitches downward for the slightest moment. It was a tell, a tell only to someone who had spent the majority of his life pulling from her.

Pain.

Clove was never one to show it, not in the academy, not in the games, and surely not for the nation.

Cato, though, knew her tells and her secrets more than he knew his own.

“What the fuck did they do to her.” Cato pushes himself to a standing position immediately, his voice barely above a whisper. For all he can growl and scream, there's something almost more haunting about the way he whispers in this moment, like a man possessed. “Why the fuck did he touch her–”

“It’s a message to us,” Finnick has to explain, as Katniss locks her gaze on her feet and never at the screen. “They don’t say anything, Peeta does all the talking, but look at them. It’s a message, Cato. You’re here, you are guilty, and she is going to pay for it.”

Katniss does not look up, she can’t stomach to watch the violence that has occurred to Peeta yet again. Peeta, who has suffered for the crime of loving her, for the crime of being too good.

“I’m going to kill him.” Cato snarls, and though it isn’t said it is immediately understood who he means.

“You’re going to have to fight me for it.” Katniss chimes in, though she continues her lock on the floor while Cato and Glimmer keep their eyes locked on the screen.

“Why aren’t they speaking?” Glimmer half whimpers, unable to tear her eyes away from the remnants of her loved ones on the other side of the screen. “Why aren’t they saying anything!”

“Because Peeta’s the mouthpiece. Peeta is to the Capitol what Katniss is here. They started this rebellion, they have to represent it. They’re a message to you two, and you two only.”

“...has there been any sign of Annie? Or Johanna?” Glimmer tries, though her heart is with the dulled eyes of the man she loves on the screen.

The silence that follows provides the answer they needed, without ever needing to even be said.

“...I’m in.” Glimmer agrees in an instant, backing away but not breaking her gaze. “Whatever you need from me, I’m in.”

“We have to get them back.” Cato begins, though he has also moved to a standing position right in front of the tv. “I’m going to get her.” And though he’s made the threat before– and been shot down at the idea– the demand has new meanings. They need to get them and do it fast. “....I don’t know what I can say or do on these stupid videos. I have no big story. I don’t think I’m much help…”

He wants to argue, he wants to come up with an excuse as to why he’s no use, but he can’t. He’d do anything for that psychotic girl, walk to the ends of the earth for her, if it meant she was safe in his arms.

“Fuck it, I’m in.”

They never planned to die by being suffocated alive in the tomb that is the bowels of District 13 in a bunker, if they were dying it was in glory in the games or at their own hands on their own terms.

Cato, Glimmer, and Finnick were resolved to their own tiny corner, much like the lunch table, where none of the other citizens would dare come near them.

Cato sits on the floor, the heels of his hands digging so deeply into his eyes that it stung. If there were any light– which there is not– Glimmer would have been able to see the way he is digging into the skin of his hairline, like he wants to peel his skin from his skull.

It had been a nightmare to get him to agree to come under ground after the disastrous interview.

Peeta had been flying solo in an interview yet again, though Clove and Marvel must’ve been nearby. When whatever trance Peeta was in broke, he had warned them of their impending death, and the feed cut out as fast as the Capitol could manage.

Not fast enough, of course, to drown out the blood curdling scream in the background of Peeta’s broadcast. It would have been ambiguous enough, with no face to the name of an anonymous woman, until the single word she managed before the broadcast cut came across clear as day.

Cato.

Him. She was calling for him. Screaming for him, really, and here he was. Unable to get to her. Unable to help her.

“She called for me.” Cato repeats, over and over and over again, bordering a state of catatonia and hysteria as he refuses to get off the ground.

“I know.” Glimmer sighs, a half hearted agreement. There was nothing she could do, to ease his comfort. It was clear as day– Clove had screamed his name from deeper inside the President's mansion, and it was clearly a call of desperation.

Clove would kill her if she called it a cry for help, even if for all the world that is exactly how it sounded.

While it could have been a warning, like Peeta had given. A dead girl walking calling out in warning you too, Cato, he’ll kill you too. It could have been confirmation of what Peeta was saying.

No matter what her intention, it did not change all Cato could hear.

She had been his longest friend before she was his world, his longest ally, and they had always had each other’s backs. That was a plea rooted deeply in their childhoods, deeply in the core of who they are.

That was not a cry of a desperate girl, that was not the scream for her lover. That was a scream and cry for her partner, the one person in two she was supposed to be able to rely on to be there if she got in too deep of trouble.

And he failed her.

Not as her life long best friend, or as the man who married her.

He failed her as her partner.

He is only pulled from his self effacing spiral by the feeling of something soft brushing against his calves.

He nearly flinches when he realizes it is the tail of a soft little animal against his legs, and not some sneak attack.

A purring noise immediately betrays the creature as Katniss’s sister’s cat, the only pet in all of thirteen. The little thing didn’t like Katniss and so it already earned a bonus point in Cato’s book, and he thinks of his own little sister every time he sees the little blonde that belongs to the girl on fire. He gives the cat a half-hearted pet, remembering how desperately his sister had begged their parents for a cat for her fourth birthday, and how he nearly bought her one with his winnings a few years prior.

He lets himself think of the dog he and Clove will never get to have and begins to give the cat a more diligent pet in honor of the future they have lost.

He failed her. He failed her. He failed her.

He’s lost her.

The four of them, the surviving, youngest victors, are led above ground before anyone else is given clearance. It of course had to be deemed safe before they let precious Katniss Everdeen step foot above ground.

“What the fuck.” Is the first thing Cato thinks to say, when he takes in the surrounding destruction. Where as he had expected the smoke and ash, nothing could have prepared him for the blanket of white that littered the smoking land. For a second he wonders if it is snow, if somehow a nuclear winter has fallen upon them, but the warmth of the air pushes that idea right out of his head. He’s acutely aware of the team of videographers focused in on Katniss, priming and prodding her to make some statement about surviving an attack by the capitol.

There is a soft crunching under his foot, and when he sees the slightly luminescent spray of white rose petals under his heels, he realizes (though he does not understand) that they are walking in a sea of white roses. He is about to pick one up, to run the unnatural petals between his fingers, but he is immediately startled by the panic coming from Katniss just over the rocks.

“He’s going to Kill Peeta. I can’t do this–”

Cato steps forward, over the edge of the rocks to catch a glimpse of Katniss, as she slowly starts to unravel before the cameras.

There is a woman with a half shaved head with a camera in the girl’s face, prodding and poking at her to brag about the survival of the center of the rebellion against a direct attack from the Capitol, but Katniss is fading fast at their insistence.

“He’s going to kill him, because I’m the Mockingjay. I can’t do it.” Katniss utters as she staggers away, trying to avoid the cameras shoved in her face and their persistence.

Haymitch Abernathy takes her by the shoulders, and leads her out of the way of the Camera, but it isn’t enough for Cato.

Because if they’re going to kill Peeta, they’re going to kill Clove too.

He pushes the camera out of the woman’s hands, not enough to break but enough to be indisposed just for a little while.

“She isn’t fucking doing it,” Cato reaffirms, hand still resting on the camera equipment, not breaking it but not opposed to doing so.

Finnick leads the camera crew away before Cato can make any permanent damage to the equipment or the war effort.

–

“Why the fuck didn’t you let me go, I’ve been threatening to go for months and you left us behind!” Cato pushes firmly in the middle of Haymitch Abernathy’s chest, cornering him into the wall. “I should be there! It’s my fucking job, she’s mine.”

“You couldn’t be trusted not to go off on your own, Cato.” Haymitch explains, gently placing his hands on the young man’s shoulders. “It was impromptu, there wasn’t time to get you properly trained.”

“Properly Trained? I gave my entire life to training for this! I know what i’m doing–” He snarls at the older victor, and without Enobaria and Brutus here to cool him off he might just carry through on his most intrusive of thoughts, the ones that say to crush the man’s skull against the concrete wall. “I’m better trained than anyone in this hell hole.”

“You aren’t reliable. You’ll throw the whole mission to get to that girl, they couldn’t risk it.”

“Let me make something so incredibly clear. I will throw any mission, I would throw this entire district, I would let this rebellion burn to the ground if it meant getting to her. I do not give a single fuck about any other person in this entire district, but her.” Cato drops his grip on Haymitch, letting the man relax against the wall. “If they leave her behind, I am going to kill every single one of them. That’s a promise, Haymitch. I don’t need a sword or a knife or a gun or a fork. I will kill them.”

“That's exactly the problem, Cato”

“What is he doing..” Glimmer whispers, wiggling her thumbnail between her bottom front teeth. Her nails bleed from her biting to the quick, watching as Finnick commands the attention of the camera and the media screen behind them.

“It’s to distract while they’re in the training center,” Someone, Glimmer doesn’t care who, informs her.

Listening to his words, with his allusions and language with only insinuation, she wipes the blood of her fingers on the sad gray of her clothes, and steps forward.

“Put me on.”

Beetee quirks his head at her, and Plutarch gives her an unsure look, not quite trusting she knew what she was offering to do.

“Finnick has it.” Plutarch assures with a patronizing half smile, before redirecting his attention to Finnick and the broadcast going out to all of Panem.

“We were told to do our part, this is mine. Put me on.” Glimmer once again insists, this time walking herself right into the eyesight of the camera.

They cannot stop her when she steps in directly next to Finnick, as he recalls stories of secrets shared as late night pillow talk, as the exchange for his service.

“Stop sugar coating it.” Glimmer demands, stepping into the light of the camera.

The girl presented to Panem is a far cry from the beautiful bombshell of a victor she was once paraded around as. Once perfectly manicured nails bleed from the quick she had bitten them too. Once perfectly shiny, bouncing curls fall in two half braided pigtails, with crinkled waves going the length of her hair, frizzy ringlet curls framing her eyes. There is no perfectly winged eyeliner, eyelash extensions, or expertly applied blush.

She is not a shimmering shining prize, but she is still Glimmer.

“Finnick is so considerate as to give you a filtered version of what happened to us. I’m not. We weren’t just ‘sold’ to the highest bidder. I was brutally, violently raped. From the time I was fifteen years old. I have been held down until I screamed, and I have bled and begged people to stop. My sister, my brother, Finnick, Marvel..and countless others. We are not being rented, we are being violently abused. There is a trafficking ring of Victors. Starting from our childhood. I was fifteen. Fifteen years old! Finnick was Fourteen! We were children!” Glimmer catches Katniss out of the corner of her eye, who has a whole new layer of horror painted on her features. Katniss nods at her, to keep going, because if she is enraptured so is the entirety of the capitol.

“It doesn’t stop there! My entire life has been this. I’ve been sent to procedures where I don’t even know what they did to me! I’ve been drugged unconscious for days! I have sat in bath tubs full of my own blood, and woken up in sheets so wet with it that I couldn’t stand the next day! We lose our childhood to the games, but we lose our innocence to them! Seven years. Seven years of horrific abuse, and if I didn’t? Then my parents die. Then my older sister and brother, who already did all of this to protect me. They go after the people you love. Call this what it is. It is violence and it is abuse.”

Together, Glimmer and Finnick offer a passionate plea.

Finnick exposes name after name of a capitol official and bought him, listing the secrets of each and every one. Between stories Glimmer accounts graphic details of a girlhood lost, of specific moments of begging for death after fighting so hard for her life. Finnick exposes the President himself and his history of poisonous treachery, while Glimmer recounts the long nights and the aftermath of such horrific, harrowing moments of her young life.

Ultimately they lose the broadcast until Katniss steps in and directly asks for the President himself.

Glimmer steps out of the light, and realizes for the first time that she has tears running down her face, uncontrollable and unstopping.

Cato can’t help it, when he grabs her and pulls her in what could pass for a hug. He’s seen Glimmer as, well, Glimmer, for a long time. A career victor from One who had gone through a little too much at the hands of the capitol. Something about her now, though, goes deeper than that. She is someone’s little sister, someone’s little blonde sister who was robbed of the sweetness his own was so remarkable for. He is all too aware that he may never see his own again.

She is a brotherless sister and he is a sisterless brother, who would give just about anything to make sure his little blonde baby sister never even knew the kind of horrors Glimmer experienced even existed.

He watches over Glimmer’s head, as Katniss pleads her case to the president directly.

“You asked me to convince you I was in love with Peeta. Haven’t I at least done that?” Katniss questions, and there is an earnestness in her voice that even Cato cannot ignore.

Maybe she had convinced them all.

The next words Cato picks up on send a chill to the very root of his spine.

“Don’t you think I know your friends are in the tribute center? Cut them off.”

If his blood could run cold, it would have. As the feed cuts out, and Katniss begins to spiral- “He was taunting me, he knew the whole time!”-- and the reality starts to come from Beetee– “we can’t communicate with them” it all falls into place. The seemingly unbroken communication, the opportunity to plead directly with the president of the country..it all made more sense as reality set in.

It was a trap.

They were never getting them out.

“They’re dead.” Glimmer whispers, pushing him back and turning to face the screen. Her sob catches in her throat before she even realizes it is coming. “They’re dead, we aren’t ever getting them back!”

The four of them are corralled into a single, padded, locked room on the same level of the command center using various levels of sedatives.

Hours pass, maybe. They can’t be sure, in their windowless room, with some drug coursing through their system.

Finnick rocks and ties his knots, and Katniss has gone catatonic, resting her chin on her knees, humming that creepy death song from the propo she filmed what seemed like ages ago.

Glimmer lays against a wall, tears freely flowing from her eyes, matching the level of helpless she feels deep in the core of who she is.

Cato paces. Whatever they calmed them down with has started to wear off in him, based on his sheer size alone.

“When did you know you loved Annie?” Katniss nearly whispers to Finnick, voice and face flat in affect. “Was it immediate?”

“No. It was gradual. She snuck up on me.” Finnick nearly smiles, but then passes the question on to Glimmer. “What about you? When did you know?”

“We were friends for a long long time at first. I would sleep in his room a lot. Nothing ever happened and then..well It was actually during Clove’s games. I looked at him one morning and I realized that I wasn’t afraid when I was with him. He was right there, right in front of me the whole time.” Glimmer nearly smiles, but the tears do not stop. “Come on Cato, like we weren’t all there.”

Cato stops, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand for a moment. “We uh..we were fifteen. We trained together since we were ten, you know? She was at my house with my baby sister and I realized that I knew exactly how many freckles she had on her face. One hundred and forty seven. That isn’t a normal thing that you notice about someone.”

There is a soft silence that befalls them, as if it hits them at once that they are giving eulogies to the love they have lost.

“....It was on the beach in the Quell. That's when I really knew.” Katniss offers without prompting, the softness in her voice confirming what they had slowly grown to accept.

Somewhere along the line- during the quell, apparently– life began to imitate the art of the star crossed lovers' performance.

Time passes slowly in thirteen.

How long exactly, none of them know.

The door swings opens without so much as a knock, and Haymitch lets himself into the room of sedated, miserable victors, before he announces:

“They’re back.”

#clato #cato and clove fanfic #clato fanfiction #thg fanfic #thg au #ARWBFB TAG #always remember we're burned for better tag #glimmer and cato are bonding #trauma bonding besties #its almost time for..the reunitings

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danaedanette · 6 months

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Final review of ACOTAR

Sooooo. I finished ACOTAR. Disclaimer, the pages referred here are from the French translation.

It's a massive review, (9k caracters and 3 hours, I really didn't think I would write something this long) so I put it under this "read more" thing.

I already mentioned in another post the book is really slow paced during, like, 70%, because it’s focused on Feyre and Tamlin relationship and budding romance. It’s not necessary a bad thing, but it get a little boring after a while. But I already read the book once ; I knew what was going to happen, and it certainly played a part in my boredom (is it the right word ??) so I’ll be indulgent about the pacing.

I picked up one little inconsistency toward the end of the book : on page 452, Tarquin is described as having “almost white hair, striking cristal blue eyes and warm ebony skin” (an rough translation back to English by myself lmao). And later on page 508, he is described having “tanned skin, a blue and green tunic, a roses crown on his blond hair” (still a rough translation). Honestly, it isn’t too bad, Tarquin isn’t an important character yet (or at all), he isn’t even named, only called “Summer High Lord”. I picked it up because Tarquin is more present in the following books and I frowned on the description page 508, and I remembered that he made another short appearance sooner in the book so I checked it up.

So onto the characters and what I thought about them !

Let’s begin with Rhysand, at least it’ll be done faster. No surprise here, I didn’t like him. I’ll admit all the seeds for Feysand are planted here so it's smoother on the next book, something I hadn’t saw on my first reading 7 years ago. But alas, Rhysand is desesperatly Rhysand, so all the signs of abuse that will (in my opinion) define the character and the Feysand relationship are all here too. Nothing new : the forced deal with the broken arms, the drugging and dancing, the eye that spy on Feyre,… I know it’s all explained (and immediately brushed under the carpet) in the next book, even if I don’t remember the details, and obviously Feyre forgives him, but I simply can’t condone Feysand with a history that heavy between them. Especially as we know that there will be… questionable actions on Rhysand’s part later on. Either he doesn’t learn of his past mistakes or they’re not mistakes at all and he knows perfectly well what he’s doing. I think (to no one surprise) that the latter is true, and here an example why : the first time Feyre is painted in preparation for her nightly dances, Rhysand shows her how, when the paint is damaged by contact, he can fix it with his magic. And later on, when Tamlin and Feyre are kissing and Rhys interrupts them, Tamlin has paint on himself and Rhysand made it disappear. Or maybe Tamlin does it himself, but either way it doesn’t matter, my point still stand : Rhysand can fix the paint on Feyre, he doesn’t have to kiss her to explain that the paint is blurred when Amarantha comes in the room. So Rhysand lied to kiss (read : sexually abuse) Feyre. He’s a dick. (Or it’s another inconsistency on Maas part, who knows ?)

Still, I liked him better in this book that I will in the next, because here we don’t have the narrative and Feyre telling him that he’s a poor, poor baby who never, ever did anything wrong in his life (or else he was forced and he didn’t want to do it :( ). Here, he’s still a villain/really morally grey character. (I keep making assumptions about what I’m gonna find in ACOMAF, and I should stop because I want to go in with an open mind.)

Amarantha is caricatural. That's all she inspired in me.

Then Lucien, because I wanna keep the two main protagonists for last. I remembered that he was one of my favorite characters, and so I was quite disappointed with my rereading. He is not nice with Feyre – which, understandable. She killed Andras, who was his friend, and he had to be at least helpful/civil toward her because they needed her to break the curse. That’s a horrible situation to be in. But all the times he insulted her… It was, at least 50% of the time, insults about her being mortal. To me, it feels like Lucien’s hostility toward Feyre was born of racism, and not of a personal history (her killing his friend). He did helped her UTM, but honestly with how their relationship was before that, I interpreted this help as him doing a favor to Tamlin/helping the only person who had a chance at freeing them from Amarantha. I do think that SJM intended for Feyre and Lucien to be friends, I just don’t think I read the book the way she wanted it to be read. And also, to be fair, Lucien wasn’t exactly really developed. Even his relationship with Tamlin was lacking, in my opinion. Lucien was sometimes (rarely) making fun of Tamlin, as friends do, or he was doing his report about sentry duty. Aaaand… that’s it. Tamlin reacted most of the time by being like “shut up, Lucien” and growling menacingly, which is, for one, not nice to threaten a friend, and two, all the time ? Come on, I understand the situation is really complicated, but be nicer to your friend, talk and joke with him, you’ll feel better Tamlin !

This will be our transition on Tamlin. He was quite nice during the majority of the book. I’m not exactly sure about UTM, but more onto that later. It was nice reading about all the efforts he kept making to get to know Feyre, and hilarious how bad he was at it. The Summer Solstice was one of my favorite scene, Feyre was so free and happy, and the idea of Tamlin playing violin for her on his knees… Yeah, I melt just thinking about it. He was a lot more anger-proned that I remember, but never toward Feyre, and she never felt threatened, and even if Tamlin did threatened Lucien, well,… Lucien always came back to annoy Tamlin, and when Feyre, talking about Lucien’s eye, asked if Tamlin did it, Lucien was quite shocked, almost horrified, that she would think that. So I take it Lucien wasn’t feeling threatened or afraid of Tamlin, and therefore, despite being angry most of the time, Tamlin knows how to keep his temper under control and it wouldn't surprise me if he's the "quick to anger, quick to appease" type. (It’s still not nice to threaten people, especially friends). About UTM, I don’t know what to think. Tamlin does know how to control his temper… to a certain point. He was never violent toward anyone during the book, but he did have difficulties to hide his anger, notably his claws which were almost always threatening to break out. And yet, UTM… nothing. He gives strictly nothing. No claws poking, no growling, nothing. I’m REALLY conflicted about it. It is, as Lucien said, a way, as small as it is, the only possible thing Tamlin can do to protect Feyre from Amarantha. But is it in character for Tamlin, who doesn’t seem to struggle to keep his poker face, even when he was an open book the whole time ? Was he so open with his emotions during the book because he was at home, with people he trusted and in a place where he was in control ? And so does it mean that UTM he wore a mask to protect himself and Feyre ? (this one should appeal to Rhys’s fans.) I DON’T KNOW. Maybe I think too much and it’s just an inconsistency/retcon on Maas part to justify Feyre leaving in the next book because “you did nothing to help me UTM”.

Either way, I liked Tamlin (and Lucien) less than I remember liking them the first time. But I have a theory : it’s quite possible that the unfairness and retcon that they both suffer in the two next books had me so offended on their behalf that I decided I would love them twice as much for every character who would treat them unfairly based on strictly nothing.

AND FINALLY FEYRE. Even if…, to be honest, I don’t really know what to say about her. She really is quite the typical YA female protagonist. She slayed the first challenge, it was one of my favorite scenes. And the last challenge was really poignant. Even if it was MORE than time that she used her brain. Seriously, this riddle was easy. Or maybe I read too much fantasy books, I don’t know. She was too complacent (not sure this is the right word, but nice is not right either soooo) with Rhysand. A guy that treat me like that, I hate him with all my guts, no matter what “helps” he gives me in the middle of all the abuse he inflicts on me. But well. Seeds for Feysand and all that. On that note, I think I read somewhere on Tumblr that Rhysand knew as soon as he met Feyre for the first time (on Calanmai) that she was his mate ? Not sure tho. In any case, it can’t be true because during their last conversation, just before they leave UTM, Rhysand says goodbye, then freezes and looks at Feyre with, uuuh, big surprise (stupeur in French). Sorry, my brain is melting, I have worked on this review for way too long. So I guess this is the moment Rhys knows she’s his mate. Which, now that I think about it, is really weird that he would be nice to her before that because let’s be real : Rhys don’t give a fuck about people not close to him. Oh, well. Either it’s a retcon, an inconsistency, or anything else, I’m done with this book. Next step : ACOMAF. Maybe I’ll find some answers. Maybe I’ll find more questions, more retcons, and a sudden want to cry. (Open-minded, Danette, remember that you must be open-minded).

To conclude, I was not surprised about Feyre and Rhysand, they were pretty much what I remembered/expected. Lucien and Tamlin were a little disappointing, but honestly not by much, because I knew my memories might be askewed and I know not to expect too much from SJM. This was a very mid read. Not too bad, not good either. 2, 2.5 stars.

Oh, and sorry for any mistakes. This post was long and I really don't have the strengh right now to proofread it. Maybe later, but probably not. I hope it's not too hard on the eyes.

#anti acotar #sjm critical #anti rhysand #feyre archeron #tamlin #acotar reread #acotar analysis

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ribbonsandhair · 1 year

Text

LATE NIGHT THOUGHTS WITH MISSY!!!1!1!1!1!1!

this is about atsv and just the spiderverse in general cause I just love it sm BUT ANYWAYS!!!!!

has anyone ever realized just how like CREEPY the concept of the spiderverse is? like if I was in a room where it was different versions of me, who have lived different lives and made different decisions along with its consequences, I’d be freaking tf out 😭😭😭 especially when miguel brings up the canon event theory and how in the end spiderman looses SOMEONE. it’s like the spiderperson is bound to suffer no matter what they do just because they got bit by a spider.

also what got me thinking about this and how existential it is was when in the comics of the spiderverse (idk which it was but I kinda remember what happened) pavitr was talking to another spiderman about how they’re all different variations of one person and aren’t completely unique or original. he even thought he didn’t do enough as spiderman and just felt like he wasn’t achieving as much as the others. which leads me to my other point as to how overwhelming it can be to be a spiderperson. like not only is it kinda unnerving knowing that there’s another you somewhere in the universe and also along with the fact that ur made for suffering, but there’s different spidermen and women who have probably done more than you and it just leave you like “oh wow im pretty fucking bad at this lol!”

and then along with atsv, it’s even creepier when you think that maybe, before miles, there were other spiderpeople who were against Miguel’s canon event theory. his theory barely makes sense but it also does??? but how can you even begin to use logic on the multiverse, which (in the wise words of dr strange) “we know terrifyingly little of.” like ik that Miguel’s universe is way more advanced than the others, but again the universe is constantly changing and expanding, which can cause new ways and concepts that we probably won’t be able to figure out for years. and what ended up happening to those spiderpeople who were against him?

ALSOOOO let’s talk about Pavitr’s dimension because JESUS CHRIST???? ITS LITERALLY GETTING SUCKED IN BY A BLACK HOLE (LIKE HOW OETER WARNED IN THE FIRST MOVIE) AND NOBODY IS WORRIED??? ALSO UHH CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE FACT THAT IN HIS EARTH’S ALCHEMAX, THEY WERE BUILDING A FUCKING COLLIDERRRRRRR?!(&3@2@2 LIKE WHO AUTHORIZED THAT?? was it mfin KINGPIN or did scientists feel a little silly and decided to build a whole ass machine that can create a rip in the fabric of space. AND THE FACT THAT IT ALSO WORKED TOO BRO…. LIKE UHMMM???

and then what’s gonna happen to pavitrs dimension bro 🤨 because I’m sure we’ve all seen that one picture from one of the artists giving a whole visual set to how the spiderverse net thing works. dimensions aren’t completely gone, but rather disconnected…. so what about gabi’s too 😭😭 it literally said that it was just snapped off, and spiders can always weave their webs back together. in the image we also show how pavitr’s isn’t completely unattached, but holding on by a few threads. would they end up finding a way to fix it???

also I’ve had this unrealistic theory lmao where they travel back in time and the entire story just resets!!!! it’s silly but tbh since we know time traveling is possible since Hobie’s universe is based in the 70s? im pretty sure AND GWEN TIME TRAVELED A WEEK WHEN SHE FIRST WENT TO MILES DIMENSION BRO. like maybe the way to fix things is if the collider never happened, because that was the root of the entire problem, right? idk man but it’s just there’s so many possibilities and i cannot fucking wait 😭😭😭

#atsv #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #miles molares #spiderverse #miguel o'hara #late night thoughts #going insane #:3

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fanficfanattic · 10 months

Note

For word Wednesday-

Word, ask, answer, or accept

I’ve got snippets for each word below the cut.

Word:

‘Shit’ he thinks as that registers. He hasn’t moved this fast in a while. But he can’t feel his knee, can’t feel the tightness in his chest. Because the second the door to the room is open he can hear that the screaming has stopped but now Jamie is just saying “no no no” over and over.

No one is in the room when Roy bursts in, something he didn’t even realize he was worried about until the relief swamped his body. It was short lived, though, because Jamie was trapped in whatever nightmare had its grip on him. He didn’t wake at Roy’s extremely loud entrance.

“Said no. Said no,” is somehow worse than just the single word had been. Is worse than the screams had been. But worse by far are the whimpers that are now scraping from his throat now that he isn’t talking anymore.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Roy allows himself that moment before pushing himself into action. He pulls from the well he uses with Phoebe. Because a screaming child is a screaming child. And whatever torture Tartt’s brain is putting him through is bad.

Ask:

He ignored the silence of the dressing room, didn’t let his brain take in what was probably a sea of stunned faces, and he continued his favored behavior of pretending Ted Lasso didn’t even exist.

His focus was 70% on the girl, 10% on her mum, and 20% on himself because he could be prone to sort of turning whispy as a human if he let himself get too distracted. Best to always know where his body was and what his hands were up to on good days. And a day where Roy Kent had already body checked him was not a good one.

Still, now that the girl’s mum was walking over to them, he could see the way her stride reflected her brother’s. Or, he had no idea who was older, maybe Roy’s stride reflected hers. Either way, now that he knew, he couldn’t unsee it. And he was developing a fear that he’d idly ask Roy something about her in the future and end up murdered for it.

That was a problem for future Jamie, though.

Answer: two snippets that are both from the same fic as this one

“I suspect I know the answer but have any of you heard from Jamie?” Ted had been upset at the Watford FC half to see Jamie had actually left. Someone explained that was a fineable offense, which didn’t make much sense to Ted. They were all rich. But he had planned to talk to Jamie about it during today’s practice. Except he didn’t show up.

“The fucking pre-madonna is probably trying to get back at you for benching him.” Roy grunted in annoyance to punctuate the end of his sentence.

Colin whispers to Isaac, “Ohhh Jamie is fucked,” and has a quiet laugh. Not quiet enough, as Ted hears it and orders them both to do a lap. No one else cracks a joke the rest of the day. They barely survive training. While everyone blames Jamie for Ted’s shitty mood, without him there it manages to remain internal. Thankfully. No one wants to miss lunch to run punishment laps.

On the way in, the only person willing to be anywhere near Ted and Beard is Roy. The lads are in front of him, with the coaches behind, and Roy would not admit on pain of death that he was eavesdropping.

“I told Rebecca that this isn’t something that I ever have or ever will find acceptable. So I’ll be joining her for lunch to discuss options.”

“Options?” Beards quiet question still managed to be heard by Roy.

“I still don’t fully know how loans work. But we cancel it from our end, right?” Ted’s voice couldn’t properly be described as venomous, but it was sharper than Roy had ever heard it. Sure, he had wanted to murder Tartt, but he couldn’t be the only reason Ted was so on edge.

“Yes, but maybe-“

“Unacceptable means not accepting it, Coach.”

Which was an extreme that Roy wasn’t aware Lasso was capable of being. He was a little impressed, and under almost any other circumstance he’d enjoy Tartt reaping what he’s sown. But this didn’t feel like a Tartt move. He wasn’t here to enjoy the chaos he was creating. And for all his faults he was a hard worker. He trained like every day was a match day.

Being ahead of them meant Roy had only a few extra seconds to see Rebecca, and Keeley -who was crying- with the entire dressing room silent. Either because of Rebecca, a crying Keeley, or both.

“Hey boss, you ready to-“ but Rebecca interrupted him smoothly.

“Coach Lasso, I looked into what might be delaying Jamie, as you asked, and found out it’s because he’s in hospital.”

He looked gobsmacked and Roy didn’t know if it was because Rebecca was making it appear as though he’d been concerned for Jamie rather than pissed, that he was injured in some way, or if he didn’t understand ‘in hospital’ as opposed to the America’s ‘in the hospital’. He wasn’t even going to try. Instead he focused on the person he actually cared about.

“You okay, Keeley?”

“No, not really.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t planned a follow up for whatever she was going to answer and none came to him with that.

“It’s being reported now, but only because The Sun apparently has someone recording police scanner communications…”

Accept:

The rest of the afternoon went normally. Except while going over his plan in his head, again, he thought of something new to consider. He needed to decide if he should drive himself or get an uber, so looked up the address, only to realize it was for a secondhand charity shop.

He told himself that maybe the listing hadn’t updated, and tried to look that up too. Then realized it would be easier to call the number to see if it got answered and what they’d say the address were.

It was still a second hand charity shop. And that fucking hurt, because he’d never done that to none of them. He was a prick to their faces.

Once he stopped himself from spinning out at that, he had to piece through what his response should be. Figured that just pretending like he forgot wasn’t the best choice. Cause that would make it obvious he knew he was tricked or, worse, that he had never intended to go at all. They’d tell Ted he was being a prick again.

But oh fuck, Ted said he wanted to hear about it. And Ted is exactly the kind of fake tv dad that would walk in the next day and be like “hey, son, did you and your buddies have fun?”

Jamie calls him half back into a panic to ask that he don’t say anything cause then they’d know that they had (kind of) successfully pranked him. That he had actually believed they’d started to accept him.

Ted starts in with “That doesn’t sound like a prank, it sounds cruel-“ but Jamie cuts him off. He can’t deal with that conversation right now. Maybe never.

“I know I weren’t good to them, so they’re still mad. And if they’re still mad, that’s on me, I’ll keep working at it. I’m not trying to get no one in trouble. Just. Don’t make it weird, please?”

And on the one hand, that is a mature thing for Jamie to realize, but Ted had been upset with Jamie when he was being mean. It isn’t any more acceptable for others to be mean now. But in the end, Ted does agree to not make it weird.

Unfortunately, Ted is a deeply weird person.

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