#but the lack of one is almost an admission of how gay they are

[warlenys]

greatest tragedy of all time is that the c-word’s patient plot is so fucking bad. house and wilson are lying entwined and dying in house’s apartment talking about how they don’t need wives they only need each other house won’t stop making gay jokes whilst placing the last of his painkillers into wilson’s mouth and then it cuts to a 5 minute scene of divorced straight parents arguing. where’s the patient hilson parallel magic?? they couldn’t have knight falled it?? or were they holding back on purpose because if they did implement a patient plot that in any way resembled house and wilson’s situation it would’ve exemplified the already criminal levels of their love to extremes that would kill everyone watching….. like imagine if the plot was patient’s partner is scared patient might die. maybe they gave us divorcees because they knew if they gave us a couple it would be too fucking much. house and wilson would be even gayer. somehow. would’ve reached gay levels that might’ve wiped out the population if they’d done anything like that. maybe the shitty patient plot was a mercy. and or maybe the broken family shows that what house and wilson have got going on is actually better. like getting divorcees in the “you have everything you need right here” episode is crazy. marriage is a scam. hilson’s codependent workplace situationship is unparalleled. but yeah imagine if the c word had a deeply emotional patient plot about a couple. we would all be dead

[steveyockey]

Non spn anon: thank you for answering my confusing question, sorry it was confusing 😅 I must say I’m so intrigued by all the Dean gender discussion posts I’ve seen so when I learned there was a satin underwear moment I was like ?!?!?!!!!! On SPN of all shows? Just so much to unpack here. Anyway thank you again 🙏🏻

okay like I know you didn’t actually ask a question but this ask has been driving me crazy because “on SPN of all shows” non spn anon you wouldn’t know this because you, of course, do not watch spn, but this sort of slippage occurs all the time with dean! as was written in the gospel of dean by tumblr user marcusantonius, the slippage occurs so many fucking times (he likes to wear nightgowns! he knows purgatory is name of a gay club in miami! he’s made everyone he lives with watch lost boys over thirty times! he recites rent lyrics! soft spot for dirty dancing [“swayze always gets a pass”]! loves doctor sexy aka the in universe equivalent of greys! weird kinky sex references about zorro masks and whips!) and with such an earnestness that it actually actively reconstitutes dean against the superordinate classification of Absolute Heterosexual Male the narrative leans on as his assumed identity! 

the thing about a lot of meta on gay/bi readings of dean is that. well. da miller has a piece called “anal rope” where he uses this understanding of coding as a difference between connotation and denotation, basically things that have the potential for a certain reading vs the literal text,

 “connotation... excites the desire for proof, a desire that, so long as it develops within the connotative register, tends to draft every signifier into what nonetheless remains a hopeless task — hence the desire assumes another, complementary form in the dream (impossible to realize, but impossible not to entertain) that connotation would quit its dusky existence for fluorescent literality, would become denotation.”

it’s the same problem sedgwick refers to as “We Know What That Means” in epistemology of the closet, 

“to have succeeded... in cracking the centuries-old code by which the-articulated-denial-of-articulability always had the possibility of meaning two things, of meaning either (heterosexual) ‘nothing’ or ‘homosexual meaning,’ would also always have been to assume one's place in a discourse in which there was a homosexual meaning, in which all homosexual meaning meant a single thing.”

and I have to say anon that back in fandom circa 2014 the panties thing drove me CRAZY because I felt like it was everywhere all the time in every post about bi dean or gay dean or queerbait or queercoding or endverse spiral but NO ONE would ever explain it! “We KNOW What That Means”!! it filtered out into every single fucking fic where dean discovers his sexuality, I swear to god I read so many stories where he had this big sexual identity crisis during which part of the realization would be the panties, just the panties, the fact that he liked them an illumination in and of itself. exactly as you articulated it, a “satin underwear moment.” most interestingly (to me, at least), the idea of the panties makes an appearance in twist and shout but in REVERSE with cas being the one wearing the panties (almost as though through some sort of metacognition the writers understood they were making a work so profoundly out of step with the actual characters the meaning of the panties no longer aligned with the dean they had written - but what about the panties had aligned with dean in the first place!?). 

what DO the panties mean! they could mean a lot of things! sexual domination symbolic castration transgenderism kink fantasy shakespearean crossdressing something something gender roles battering rams to masculinity redefinitions of masculinity transgression of masculinity permeability of the borders of masculinity — nothing about the panties is inherently anything, it’s just about what you as the reader understand their meaning to be, the connotation YOU confer onto the text on the basis that rhonda hurley made dean try on her panties and he “kind of liked it,” and, somehow, and perhaps this is the key, this knowledge is what will convince a future self of dean winchester that his present self is the same self. and of course on the one hand it’s obvious that the assumed private nature of this knowledge, that dean would not have told this story to anyone else and thus only dean and rhonda can confirm its veracity, is the motivator for dean’s admission, but where’s the fun in that! and besides, that does nothing to explain how it come so easily, and so comfortably, which is how a lot of dean’s sexuality is supposed to come to him and part of the project he is cultivating as the Absolute Heterosexual Male! he’s a womanizer he’s a ladies man, again, to quote the gospel, “lovable fucker, always fuckable,” and something about the panties does fit into that, into what has been denoted about dean and sex and how he desires, but! it’s been denoted so thoroughly to collapse the image onto itself, so insistently proffered over and over again that it begs a question of itself and of the very comfortability that dean purports to have in his sexuality and the manner in which he wants you to think he wants the girl in the zorro mask to slap him. so the panties, which could be a reassurance of this comfort in this firm Heterosexual-Though-Non-Normative-Sexually Identity, instead become an object that connotes, along with every other little tic, every slippage, every glance, a hidden truth, a discomfort, a necessity to insist that there is not a secret buried beneath the open-bookedness of his sex life. it isn’t even actually about the connotation striving to become denotation, but rather that the denotation itself lacks stability and so connotation becomes identity as the performance of this heterosexual self tips into parody. masculinity. what a beast.

[moiraineswife]

Jasnah - The Facade Meta

Today we’re going to discuss the stormlight of my life, your life, your cat’s life: Jasnah Kholin. Topics of discussion include (but will likely not be limited to): the face she wears, the effect her childhood and what we know if it has had on her, madness, her mother, her perceived invincibility, and whatever else strikes me as relevant in the midst of this chaotic clusterfuck of yelling tarted up as character analysis. 

Now. To business:

Let us begin at the beginning (of what we know) and talk about Jasnah’s childhood illness, and what this has done to her in terms of her relationship with her mother, her outlook on life, and her perception of, well, perception…

“It’s your daughter,” Dalinar guessed. “Her lunacy.”

“Jasnah is fine, and recovering. It’s not that.”  (OB, 49, Born Unto Light)

Peppered through Dalinar’s flashbacks in Oathbringer are small hints at the dark side of Jasnah’s childhood. We’ve had hints before that Jasnah’s life has not always been...entirely typical for a princess.

Her existence as a radiant was a hint itself, as it's implied most of them are ‘broken’ in some way.

The others are more obvious: Kaladin’s depression, Shallan’s PTSD, anxiety, and DID, Dalinar’s repressed memories, and alcoholism etc,etc.

With Jasnah, you know it has to be there, but it’s harder to see. To use Shallan’s metaphor, she’s like a cracked vase, but the cracked side has been turned to the wall, so the outside world sees only smooth perfection.

This flashback comment is the most obvious indication at what caused Jasnah to break. A fairly shocking one for a reader as 'Jasnah' and 'lunacy' seem to match as well as chasmfiends and tea parties.

It also provides some rather awful context for this segment a few chapters earlier:

“Something stirred deep within her. Glimmers of memory from a dark room, screaming her voice ragged. A childhood illness nobody else seemed to remember, for all it had done to her.

“It had taught her that people she loved could still hurt her.”   (O, 47, So Much Is Lost)

We know, given Shallan’s research into Taln at the behest of the Ghostbloods, that the current treatment for madness involves confining the person in darkness.

It seems like far too much of a coincidence that Jasnah, diagnosed with lunacy, would have memories of screaming herself hoarse in a dark room that could somehow be unconnected to this.

Based on my shoddy maths, she was around 11 or 12 at this point, which is marked by many, especially Navani, as a turning point in her life. There was a profound change in how she acted with those around her following this.

“She wouldn’t let me be a mother to her, Dalinar,” Navani said, staring into the distance. “Do you know that? It was almost like . . . like once Jasnah climbed into adolescence, she no longer needed a mother. I would try to get close to her, and there was this coldness, like even being near me reminded her that she had once been a child. What happened to my little girl, so full of questions?” (WoR, 67, Spit and Bile)

It seems like too much of a coincidence, again, to assume that Jasnah’s childhood illness and her confinement had nothing to do with her reluctance to allow Navani to mother her any more.

Jasnah herself reflects that her imprisonment, for lack of a better word, taught her that people she loved could still hurt her. It seems very likely that this refers to Navani and Gavilar, as they would have allowed this treatment to continue. It’s also likely the reason for the change in their relationship afterwards.

Navani's presence didn't remind her she had been a child; it reminded her of what had been done to her.

Navani’s little girl was branded insane and locked away in a dark room with her parents' consent. This removed her ability to trust in Navani to mother and protect her. She kept her distance, she kept herself aloof and removed from everyone, and that’s something that hasn’t changed over twenty years later.

She takes no wards, an expected thing for a woman of her rank. She's unmarried, well past the age she should be. She has no friends, the closest she has are both "pen pals" she communicates with via spanreed.

Jasnah, of all the characters in Stormlight, is the one least emotionally connected. She clearly loves her family, and is devoted to them...But again it's from a distance.

She works in the shadows with assassins to protect them. She studies the end of the world a world away from everyone she loves.

When we see her in Kharbranth for the first time with Shallan, she’s alone.

The servants she uses seem to belong to the Palaneum. She travels alone, she researches and works and bears her burdens alone.

The sole exception is Ivory and she doesn't really have a choice with him BUT to have him with her.

I am NOT suggesting that Jasnah doesn’t actually care about her family/Shallan - we see repeatedly that she absolutely does.

Poignantly, the first thing Renarin’s visions predict that turns out to be false is the lack of love that Jasnah has - they claim she will choose logic and kill her cousin, but she chooses to save him instead.

It’s clear that Jasnah cares very deeply...but she also deliberately distances herself, both physically and emotionally, from other people.

(continued below)

Jasnah is so independent that it’s almost a flaw. She’s an interesting opposite to Kaladin, in this regard.

Kaladin defines himself so much by those around him, his family, his men, those under his care and protection, that that almost becomes a flaw in him. He destroys himself to protect them, and every failure wrecks him.

Jasnah keeps everyone away. She operates alone, in secret, and she clearly struggles to let people get close to her.

The reasons for this are twofold, I feel.

The first one is assassins: Jasnah has been ‘killed’ by one such assassination attempt, has survived another, who made multiple attempts on her life in the form of Kabsal, and has almost certainly experienced more beyond that.

Her casual expectation that Kabsal is trying to use Shallan to get close to her, likely, though she doesn’t say it, to kill her - which turns out to be true.

She knows firsthand how easy it is for someone with enough money and influence to place spies and assassins into a setting- she does it herself all the time. And it resulted in the death of her father.

In a lot of ways, she’s as paranoid about assassination as Elhokar is - she just expresses it in a far more subtle/rational way. Where Elhokar rants and panics, Jasnah blocks up air vents and rejects rooms in the 90000 foot, lost for centuries, tower with balconies because they're a security flaw.

The second reason for her emotional isolation, I believe, is what caused her initial withdrawal from Navani.

Being believed mad, locked in a dark room, screaming for help and being ignored, and knowing that your parents, the people whom you went to with questions and looked to for safety and protection are at least partially responsible, all at the age of eleven is...fairly damaging.

Jasnah hides the effects of her trauma far better than Kaladin or Shallan. This is probably partially because she’s older and has been dealing with it for longer.

By this point, her trauma reactions (which went, by her own admission, unaddressed by her family after what happened, which is traumatising in itself), have melded in with her personality/are brushed off as simply Jasnah being Jasnah.  

“I know what people say of me. I should hope that I am not as harsh as some say, though a woman could have far worse than a reputation for sternness. It can serve one well.”  (TWoK, 8, Nearer the Flame).

As a matter of fact, we know full well that Jasnah ISN’T as harsh or stern as she’s claimed to be. Shallan repeatedly affirms to Kabsal, and to a reader, that Jasnah is not what she expected - a stern, harsh mistress. She also notes that Jasnah believes herself to be one - likely due to everyone else perceiving her that way.

I think the perception of Jasnah is one that she’s cultivated deliberately - a stern, aloof, even harsh person. Not one anyone would want to be close to. Also not someone anyone would associate with weakness, or needing to be cared for or protected.

More than assassins, I think Jasnah fears people who love her with good intentions, and the ability to assert those good intentions upon her, because it's "for her own good".

When she was a child it led to her imprisonment, something which still triggers traumatic flashbacks over ten years later. She fears having people she loves hurt her. And so she keeps them away, and cultivates for herself a presence that doesn’t need to be cared for, that almost doesn’t need or want to be loved, so that can never happen again.

She rejects, most notably and strongly, her mother, and any implication of a husband. This has led to speculation about her sexuality - maybe she’s gay - though it seems fairly acceptable in Alethkar for a person to be gay (they don’t even have to fill out social reassignment forms!). I

It might be more frowned upon in noble society, due to the expectation of forming political marriages, and while I don’t necessarily doubt it (give me queer Jasnah, Brandon, I beg of you, I’m a starving lesbian and I need this) the only commentary we have from Jasnah on the subject sems to suggest a different, sadder, motive:

Jasnah relaxed visibly. “Yes, well, it did seem a workable solution. I had wondered, however, if you’d be offended.”

“Why on the winds would I be offended?”

“Because of the restriction of freedom implicit in a marriage,” Jasnah said. “And if not that, because the offer was made without consulting you.

[...]

“It doesn’t bother you at all?” Jasnah said. “The idea of being beholden to another, particularly a man?”

“It’s not like I’m being sold into slavery,” Shallan said with a laugh.

“No. I suppose not.” Jasnah shook herself, her poise returning.

(WoR, 1, Santhid).

This is the only time, after an entire book of content in which Jasnah, amongst other things: Soulcasts three men into oblivion, is almost assassinated repeatedly, is betrayed by the first person she’s taken in and trusted in a long time, and is researching the literal end of the world, that Shallan notes Jasnah looking nervous/uncomfortable in discussing anything.

And it’s about marriage.

Jasnah views marriage as being a ‘restriction of freedom’ and finds it distasteful because it encompasses the idea ‘of being beholden to another’.

Anything that even implicitly binds her to another or puts them in her power is something she wants nothing to do with. And, legally, if she were ever to be accused of lunacy again, the two people most likely to have the authority to make a decision on her treatment/send her back to the ardents would be either a parent, or a husband.

The first she’s distanced herself from in pretty much every way since the first event, and the second she’s refused to entertain for years, to the point that high society whispers that she must be gay.

I also think she's uncomfortable because she sees what she did here - setting up a betrothal, which she views as a restriction of freedom - for Shallan, without consulting her, as the same thing that was done to her as a child.

A restriction of freedom for Shallan’s own good. The same justification that was used to imprison her. It's obviously not the same, but Jasnah views marriage as a kind of imprisonment. So in her mind it is.

Jasnah also has huge trust issues. She just covers them with what appears to be personality traits - of being independent, and aloof - but that’s largely just a cover for her own insecurities, and her fear of ever having her freedoms restricted again.

This idea also gives a little bit more of a twist (or dramatic gut punch, thanks Brandon), to her advice to Shallan about perception and power:

“Power is an illusion of perception.”

Shallan frowned.

“Don’t mistake me,” Jasnah continued. “Some kinds of power are real—power to command armies, power to Soulcast. These come into play far less often than you would think. On an individual basis, in most interactions, this thing we call power—authority—exists only as it is perceived.

“You say I have wealth. This is true, but you have also seen that I do not often use it. You say I have authority as the sister of a king. I do. And yet, the men of this ship would treat me exactly the same way if I were a beggar who had convinced them I was the sister to a king. In that case, my authority is not a real thing. It is mere vapors—an illusion. I can create that illusion for them, as can you.”  (WoR, 1, Santhid)

Jasnah is talking here with Shallan about being more confident, assertive, and being able to have people do what you want (Something Navani later notes Jasnah is very good at doing).

But I think Jasnah uses this same idea - the power of perception, as a defence mechanism against her trauma, a way to protect herself.

We dismiss her isolation as aloofness. We dismiss her lack of emotional reaction as a cornerstone of the "strong female character" trope. But I think it's deeper than that. Because Jasnah isn't ACTUALLY like that deep down. It's a perception she works very hard to achieve.

Jasnah uses logic in a similar way to how Shallan uses art and drawing, or how Kaladin uses training with the spear. It’s a distraction, a grounding technique, something she can calm herself with. It’s an anchor and a crutch all at the same time.

Jasnah is logical to a fault, to the point that it makes others see her as a monster lacking empathy. I don’t think, at any point in the last few books, we’ve seen Jasnah genuinely distressed/angry/displaying emotion to the point she’d be considered out of control.

Almost all the other POV characters have had moments of weakness/breakdowns/extremely poignant emotional displays. But not Jasnah. All we ever see from Jasnah is the controlled, cultivated perception that she wants us to see. Something which I think is rooted in her trauma.

Logic is the antithesis of lunacy. Rational thought is the direct counter to madness. If the whole world sees Jasnah as logical, utterly in control of herself, if that is the perception she has everyone believe at all times then she can’t be accused of madness again.

Madness, at least in Jasnah’s mind, is an outburst of excessive, uncontrolled emotion. It is the opposite of logic. It’s acting impulsively, without thought, based purely on emotions. Ivory supports this idea:

“Ivory, you think all humans are unstable.”

“Not you,” he said, lifting his chin. “You are like a spren. You think by facts. You change not on simple whims. You are as you are.”

She gave him a flat stare.

“Mostly,” he added. “Mostly. But it is, Jasnah. Compared to other humans, you are practically a stone!” (O, 39, Notes)

Even Ivory, who has been closer to Jasnah in recent years than anyone we know of in the series so far, characterises her this way.

She rejects this idea, telling Ivory that:

 “You call me logical,” Jasnah whispered. “It’s untrue, as I let my passions rule me as much as many.”  (O, 39, Notes)  I think this is true, she does let her passions rule her, but she doesn’t let anyone, even Ivory, see that from her.

That's deliberate. She deliberately makes herself out to be this logic-driven robot, with no feeling or passion.

To the world, Jasnah Kholin is the consummate scholar, the eternally logical thinker, untouched by empathy or feeling. This is how she wants them to think of her.

We know that it’s not true. We know that Jasnah is driven by emotions - her guilt at feeling like she failed Gavilar, her fear for what’s coming for the world, her love for her family, her true passion for scholarship and knowledge.

This is particularly notable when set against a character who exemplifies the opposite in so many ways: Kaladin.

“Yes. The answer is obvious. We need to find the Heralds.”

Kaladin nodded in agreement.

“Then,” Jasnah added, “we need to kill them.”

“What?” Kaladin demanded. “Woman, are you insane?”

“The Stormfather laid it out,” Jasnah said, unperturbed. “The Heralds made a pact. When they died, their souls traveled to Damnation and trapped the spirits of the Voidbringers, preventing them from returning.”

“Yeah. Then the Heralds were tortured until they broke.”

“The Stormfather said their pact was weakened, but did not say it was destroyed,” Jasnah said. “I suggest that we at least see if one of them is willing to return to Damnation. Perhaps they can still prevent the spirits of the enemy from being reborn. It’s either that, or we completely exterminate the parshmen so that the enemy has no hosts.” She met Kaladin’s eyes. “In the face of such an atrocity, I would consider the sacrifice of one or more Heralds to be a small price.”

“Storms!” Kaladin said, standing up straight. “Have you no sympathy?”

“I have plenty, bridgeman. Fortunately, I temper it with logic.”  (O, 39, Notes)

Ah, the old ‘punt the Heralds back to Damnation to buy us time’ argument. Lovely.

Jasnah and Kaladin are at two different ends of the sympathy-logic spectrum and it was kind of inevitable they’d clash. But I think it makes Jasnah’s assertions more...Stark and shocking, when she pitches them to Kaladin.

What she suggests IS logical. And it’s actually the same sort of logic that led the Heralds themselves to abandon Taln to Damnation in the first place: “better that one man should suffer than ten.”

It’s a cold, harsh, brutal logic, and it’s very typical of how Jasnah likes to present herself when she’s speaking to others.

The killing of the footpads in Kharbranth is another prime example - it’s all cold, dissected logic when she reasons through it with Shallan afterwards. (Though I imagine if we saw Jasnah’s POV of it in the moment, it would be very different than what she presents).

Because what I find most interesting about the Heralds argument is that we get Jasnah, just Jasnah, away from anyone who has to view her performance of perception, reflecting on the situation. And her internal thoughts/her private reactions are very different from those she displays in public.

“These words trouble you,” he said, stepping up to her again and resting his jet-black fingers on the paper. “Why? You have read many troubling things.”

[...]

Something stirred deep within her. Glimmers of memory from a dark room, screaming her voice ragged. A childhood illness nobody else seemed to remember, for all it had done to her.

It had taught her that people she loved could still hurt her.

“Have you ever wondered how it would feel to lose your sanity, Ivory?”

Ivory nodded. “I have wondered this. How could I not? Considering what the ancient fathers are.”

“You call me logical,” Jasnah whispered. “It’s untrue, as I let my passions rule me as much as many. In my times of peace, however, my mind has always been the one thing I could rely upon.”

Except once.

She shook her head, picking up the paper again. “I fear losing that, Ivory. It terrifies me. How would it have felt, to be these Heralds? To suffer your mind slowly becoming untrustworthy? Are they too far gone to know? Or are there lucid moments, where they strain and sort through memories … trying frantically to decide which are reliable and which are fabrications…”

She shivered.  (O, 39, Notes).

In an ironic (fuck you Brandon) twist: I think Jasnah knows EXACTLY what she’s suggesting they do to the Heralds. She’s also probably the person in that room who has the most experience with/has contemplated most what they would be condemning them to, and who therefore empathises with them the most.

It’s STRONGLY implied in this passage that Jasnah has experienced some sort of hallucinations in the past. Possibly this is connected to some kind of neurodivergence. I think this more likely than the alternative - that she was seeing into Shadesmar, because I believe that her imprisonment was what caused her to ‘break’ and enabled her to form her spren bond in the first place. But it’s possible. 

Regardless of what’s happened in the past, now, Jasnah’s mind is her sanctuary. If she only ever knows one thing it’s her own mind. She’s a rationalist. She puts her faith in things that she can know intuitively, via logic, like maths - things that exist independently of god, that cannot be doubted. Their truth is tied to their very existence. All that's required to know it is to know her own mind and reason. Losing that is quite literally the worst thing she can think of.

And honestly? Taln’s story probably really fucks with her. Because what he went through is what she went through, too, as a child.

Taln was dismissed as a madman, because no one believed what he said, even though it was true. Truth doesn’t matter; not when it comes to being perceived mad. Nor does being right. Taln was telling the truth. Taln was right. Taln was a goddamn Herald. And they still decided he was mad and locked him away in a dark room, alone, the same way they did to her.

Jasnah knows what that feels like. Jasnah empathises with Taln and the other Heralds more than probably anyone else. But she speaks of condemning these people to that fate, to the greatest hell she can think of, calmly, and rationally. But that’s absolutely not what she really feels/thinks. There is...Such a stark difference, when you really sit and think about it, in the Jasnah that she lets everyone see, and the Jasnah that exists only behind closed doors.

She could see Jasnah’s face, hand against her temple, staring at the pages spread before her. Jasnah’s eyes were haunted, her expression haggard.

This was not the Jasnah that Shallan was accustomed to seeing. The confidence had been overwhelmed by exhaustion, the poise replaced by worry. Jasnah started to write something, but stopped after just a few words. She set down the pen, closing her eyes and massaging her temples. A few dizzy-looking spren, like jets of dust rising into the air, appeared around Jasnah’s head. Exhaustionspren.

Shallan pulled back, suddenly feeling as if she’d intruded upon an intimate moment. Jasnah with her defenses down. (WoR, 6, Terrible Destruction).

The text itself characterises Jasnah’s mask as a defence. A defence against being known, a defence against being seen as anything other than perfectly logical. Having this mask so firmly and so constantly in place is a lot of work. It’s almost a compulsion for her at this point - the refusal to let anyone else in, the strict adherence to logic, regardless of her own feelings or how it makes others see her. Better to be emotionless and in control, utterly, unquestionably sane and rational, than to ever go back to being considered mad.

This, ironically, isn't rational behaviour. It's a trauma response. I'm stating this, the idea that being emotionless/always rational prevents anyone viewing her as insane again (though, again ironically, this is exactly what Kaladin accuses her of being (OUCH)). But I think these are facts in Jasnah's mind? It's her coping mechanism. It's a really bad one. But that's what it is.

As an interesting side note - I think the only time we ever see Jasnah draw emotion spren is when she’s on her own (or assumes she’s on her own, as in this passage, or too exhausted to keep them away entirely - like the single fearspren she draws later in this chapter).

This feels notable because every other character who features in the books, even minor side characters, draws emotion spren of one sort or another at some point in the text.

Jasnah, for all that she’s on screen, draws very little. This may be a function of her ability to tap into Shadesmar, to keep them away, remove any trace of emotion spren from spawning around her. That or she just has such a tight hold on her emotions that she doesn’t draw them.

Either way, I think it’s (another) sign that her behaviour isn’t entirely natural. Spren are everywhere on Roshar, you draw them when you feel a powerful emotion - that’s a natural day-to-day occurrence there.

Unless you’re Jasnah.

Maybe that’s straying a little too far into the realms of what’s reasonable, but I do still think that Jasnah’s output, especially when it contrasts, often very strongly, with her internal feelings, is a coping mechanism/a response to the trauma she endured as a child.

Madness is a fairly strong theme in Stormlight, a few of the characters discuss it/experience it. Syl asks Kaladin fairly directly what it is:

“What is madness?” she asked, sitting with one leg up against her chest, vaporous skirt flickering around her calves and vanishing into mist.

“It’s when men don’t think right,” Kaladin said, glad for the conversation to distract him.

“Men never seem to think right.”

“Madness is worse than normal,” Kaladin said with a smile. “It really just depends on the people around you. How different are you from them? The person that stands out is mad, I guess.” *(TWOK) 

Dalinar’s TWOK arc deals very strongly with madness and the ability to trust your own mind. Taln is, as has been noted, locked away for being mad. Several of the Heralds and the Fused are described as mad after what they've been put through. It's something I expect to be explored further as the series progresses.

Jasnah, I think, is the character who tries so hard never to seem that way. Never to be unhinged, or unbalanced, or affected by what's happened to her. But of course we know that she is.

I think, though, that it’s easy to write off Jasnah's trauma. The other characters all have flaws that are very obvious/things that make them obviously ‘broken’ in terms of their spren bond and the oaths they need to speak.

Kaladin suffers from depression, and from crippling guilt, and taking on too much responsibility. But also with his anger, and his hatred towards those who have wronged him, and how that can push him to blame them/avoid responsibility for what’s happened to him. Basically, his inability to let go or move forwards.

Shallan has the opposite problem, and an inability to look back/face the past. She repressed memories of trauma, and wove lies over them to protect herself, which she had to overcome to progress.

Dalinar had his alcoholism, and prior to that, his ‘addiction’ (which I think is absolutely how it’s written/the parallels are pretty obvious) to The Thrill. He had to accept responsibility, and guilt, and grief, and pain. He had to acknowledge that he had been a bad person, who was not worthy of Evi, but also that he’s capable of change, and improving himself, and becoming a better man.

Their trauma responses are loud, and obvious, and messy. They're aware of them, a reader is aware of them, the other characters are aware of them. "They stand out" if you like.

Jasnah does everything she can to ensure the effects of her trauma never stand out. To the point that other characters fairly consistently characterise Jasnah as perfect/an ideal woman.

I’m NOT saying that the text ACTUALLY presents Jasnah as being perfect/without any flaws (that’s...that’s kinda the point of this entire meta) but the characters gloss over these things/her flaws are perceived as good things?

She’s seen as so aloof, so unflappable, so commanding, and in control. She’s highly intelligent, she’s beautiful, she’s a cunning tactician and politician. Shallan claims that she’s almost always right, which Renarin backs up. Dalinar trusts and respects her, and wants her back at the war camps to aid them. She’s a highly revered scholar, respected, and brilliant. She is, in a way, almost beyond human, let alone being flawed or broken like the rest of them.

Jasnah grimaced at the thought. Shallan was always surprised to see visible emotion from her. Emotion was something relatable, something human—and Shallan’s mental image of Jasnah Kholin was of someone almost divine. (WoR, 1, Santhid).

Shallan reflects that seeing her as divine is a weird way to consider a heretic, and we’re kind of led along into that thread. But it’s also very...Othering?

It’s a “positive” kind of othering: she’s divine/superhuman, that’s great! Only it’s...It’s not? It’s so easy to see Jasnah as beyond human, and that makes us forget what she’s endured, and ignore the walls she’s put up and the profound effect that it’s had on her. And the fact that this is not healthy at all.

It's so unhealthy to be put on a pedestal this way. And it's unhealthy to cultivate a persona that makes the only response to you one that sees you as beyond human/without typical human reactions and emotions?

Shallan can be a bit whimsical and can romanticise/idealise people, but even Navani, another deeply scholarly, rational, and logical thinker, categorises Jasnah in a similar way.

She’s dismissive of the idea that Jasnah can have died. Even when others (like Adolin) start getting worried about the ship’s delay, Navani is sure that Jasnah is fine.

Part of this is, I assume, due to the fact that Jasnah is a radiant and, as the Diagram predicts, they survive when they should have been killed - so Navani has had this idea reinforced with empirical evidence over the years, which is noted in the text.

However, when Shallan first brings her the news of Jasnah’s death she refuses to believe it. Even after Shallan tells Navani she watched Jasnah stabbed through the heart, Navani still refers to her as being ‘unconscious’ (which...is actually correct, in this instance) but that is besides my point: regardless of reason or logic, people presume that Jasnah is beyond such mortal, trivial, human things like death:

‘Though Jasnah had been away for some time, her loss was unexpected. I, like many, assumed her to be immortal.’

If she’s beyond death, she’s certainly beyond something like trauma, or being broken, or damaged.

“You’re still human,” Shallan said, reaching across, putting her hand on Navani’s knee. “We can’t all be emotionless chunks of rock like Jasnah.”

Navani smiled. “She sometimes had the empathy of a corpse, didn’t she?”

“Comes from being too brilliant,” Shallan said. “You grow accustomed to everyone else being something of an idiot, trying to keep up with you.”

[...]

How surreal it was to imagine Jasnah as a child being held by a mother. (Wor, 77, Trust).

More ‘othering’, less positive than the divine, but it clearly categorises Jasnah as something other than human, and in this case, it fixates on her lack of (perceived) emotion.

Jasnah has so defined herself by her lack of emotional response to things that even those closest to her -her ward and her mother - view her as emotionless, like a rock, a corpse, dead. Ivory also says this in a previous quote “you are like spren” / “you are practically a stone.” Jasnah is categorised as strong, invulnerable to emotion, beyond human, something other. 

Though Jasnah, as she herself admits, makes decisions based on emotion.

For all that she says about pursuing the footpads in Kharbranth as purely an act of logic/civic duty, I think you can sense the emotion in that moment.

“Besides, men like those…” There was something in her voice, an edge Shallan had never heard before.

What was done to you? Shallan wondered with horror. And who did it? (TWOK, 36, The Lesson)

Shallan can sense it. This is the point where Jasnah’s mask is at its most strong. She defends, calmly and rationally, what she had done. But I think at this point Shallan, and the reader, gets the sense that when Jasnah is her MOST logical and composed, she’s also her most vulnerable and emotional.

She does the same thing in the scene with Kaldin discussing the fates of the Heralds - yet we actually see later, not just through Shallan, the emotions, and the turmoil, and the direct, traumatic flashbacks Jasnah is experiencing in that moment. All covered up with logic and reason.

I think what Brandon is doing with Jasnah is really clever. Because I think media has conditioned us to accept these cold, aloof characters.

Characters who have become hardened to the world, and numbed by their experiences with violence and trauma. So we accept these things more readily as personality traits/a symptom of modern media.

I think especially with female characters. The "strong female character" who isn't allowed to cry lest she be called hysterical, who can't react to trauma or she's weak, who can't have an outburst of emotion or she's mad.

With Jasnah, I think Brandon is continuing to show how trauma expresses itself differently in different people. And I think, once explored more directly, Jasnah will become a condemnation of the easy acceptance/idealisation of these kinds of traits. What she’s doing is not okay. It’s not healthy. It’s as self-destructive as what Shallan, or Kaladin, or Dalinar was doing, we've just been conditioned to accept and even praise it.

Jasnah has so much pressure piled upon her to be perfect. She’s made an illusion so believable even those closest to her can’t see through it. She comes across as divine, as something other than human, as emotionless, and absolute. She’s become a constant in the world of those around her. She’s a law of nature more than a person - like a spren.

Except she’s not.

She’s human.

And she’s broken.

And she’s suffering a trauma that makes her afraid to be even a little bit human - because then they might think her mad again, and she’ll lose everything, and she can’t handle that.

I’m FASCINATED to see Jasnah’s interactions (if we get any on-screen) with Taln and Ash. It will probably give a big insight into her character, her relation to madness/her past illness, and I think it will bring out an interesting side of her, which I’m curious to see.

But I'm also really interested to see how Brandon explores the idea of the "ideal traumatised woman' and how that's absolutely bullshit and completely unhealthy.

Jasnah is, on the surface, everything men demand from a "strong female character". She's been exposed to trauma but she doesn't "let it define her" (ie she doesn't seemingly react to it at all). She's beautiful, and she's intelligent, she's a (literal) Queen, she's a fighter/skilled warrior, she's never "overly-emotional" - she reacts to trauma exactly as she's "supposed" to - as defined by men, she's the epitome of a stereotypical "strong female character".

Except there are obvious flaws in that ideal. The first one being: she does not exist for men. Fairly obviously. She point blank refuses a husband.

Also: it's been implied, as per this meta, that this is NOT an ideal anyone should aim for. It's actually very unhealthy and self-destructive and I really, REALLY hope that when Brandon finally digs into Jasnah that this is something he explores.

Jasnah is not perfect. She is not unbreakable, and invincible, and beyond emotion. And she shouldn't be. She shouldn't be idealised.

She's a person. A human being. And she should be able to express herself and process her trauma in a healthy way that allows her to heal and grow. She shouldn't be forced into anyone's ideal of who or what she should be.

I'm just...Really really excited for Jasnah's arc and what Brandon can say through her and the harmful tropes regarding women's trauma he can explore and god...can I just have the next six stormlight books now please?

[tomatograter]

Do you think it was intentional to have dirk and jake never actually talk to each other in hs proper (always AR, brain ghost dirk, trickster mode etc) to highlight that a big issue with them is communication?

"Intentional" is a charged word when talking about a comic which is by concept and admission improvisational, though that atmosphere of missed connection was definitely intended. The intermissions and lack of contextual material to fill in the HUGE gaps the alpha session has are also because their session is void-y in nature. No growth can happen, when it happens its almost by mistake. A lot of people do not count baby jake + dirk's 30ish page conversation as a true dirkjake log, since it is set in the past and being rehashed by brain ghost dirk, and they're half right.

But look at it this way: not only is that conversation only faithfully happening beat by beat because jake committed it (and DIRK) to memory, the one thing that interrupts the flow and tips him that this is not real is that... he remembered the compliments the real dirk paid to him, years in the past.

It's kind of ridiculous in retrospect. Even the set up to it - the gay jokes, the teasing, jake being 90% sure dirk was going to confess to him then being lampshaded into a much more brolike subject that is Safe To Discuss and not personally compromising at all, the ribbing and rapport of two thirteen year olds, this is like a little snapshot that perfectly encompasses their dynamic before the game throws a wrench into their relationship and amps their insecurity. I like it a lot.

It also perfectly exemplifies how willing dirk is to not be open about his feelings, even when he has a chance to be, and will dutifully spin the situation into an intensive hours long discussion of hyperimportant worldly subjects whose mere mental mass completely eclipse anything else in his life. It's got everything, including jake's performative lies and deeply buried grandma trauma.

But aside from that conversation, we (WE the audience) are not privy to any other tender moment between current dirk or current jake. The plot throws said developments so far down the backseat we can only see the consequences of their poor choices. The 'camera' purposefully focuses on jake's most unflattering and pathetic angles, as is his narrative burden, and dirk is caught in a loop of destructive self-discourse. This helps build tension for the alphas in the sparse moments we're seeing them, and effectively show us How their session went wrong without spending as many pages repeatedly rehashing SBURB mechanics. Jake complains often about how he's swamped in fake dirks but never with the "real" - the implication is that compared to that 13 year old dirk, the one from before Hal or any other Dirk was a thing (which is dense with implications by itself) their communication is now too caught up in misdirections to count as the Real Deal.

But they do remember how it used to be. They're just too deep into this game of chicken.

[mr-walkingrainbow]

cooking for abimel!

Cooking. Aka STRESS BAKING.

Oh hell I loved this prompt Gracie. (Your in my head as that, or Shawgroves, cause you changed from Shawgroves to gracepeirce? Sighhh this is life with an Autistic person who identifies someone’s names differentlyyyyy)

Mel walks In the door, half expecting to be pummeled with a hug from one of her two sons.

Probably Luchario, he’s more of a hugger.

Though Jordy sometimes got clingy, so she wouldn’t count him out just yet.

She pauses, a moment of confusion running through her at the lack of physical contact.

Then she smells the air.

Ohh that makes so much more sense.

The smell of something sweet and delicious wifts through the air. An aroma so delectable it has her mouth watering already.

Luke and Jordy are probably snarking down scraps or begging for raw samples if not flat out inhaling everything.

Her mouth twitches as a second thought crosses her mind.

Could this be...?

No,

so far, their was nothing that would lead to that.

Maybe something good happened. Her wife was known for celebrating the small things, especially if it made her family happy.

Thoughts currently at bay, she pulled off her favorite leather jacket, (Lovingly named ‘Spell’ by Abigael. Who had taken a fierce attachment to the item, treating the garment as if it was family).

“Lovely! Guys! I’m home!” The Latina called out, haphazardly kicking off her shoes.

“MAMI!” She hears her kids cheer from the kitchen.

Even after hearing it for seventeen years, it doesn’t stop the jaw breaking smile from taking over.

“Hello Mijos! -Oh! Hello Jordy!” She speaks to the now empty space behind her.

They had mastered their Whitelighter powers by now, so if she randomly felt a hug from nowhere, she wasn’t to be alarmed.

Mel walks into the kitchen, smile immediately dropping at the site before her.

Their is layer upon layer of sweets, cakes, and cookies . everything imaginable scattered across counter space.

Her kids are in the middle of a sugar high in the bar seats, giggling maniacally over a pile of assorted cakes.

“Hey Mami!” Luke calls again, she forces a smile just for him.

“Hello Caro,” her voice turns warning, “You two shouldn’t eat too much more, wouldn’t want to get stomach aches?”

“Aw come on!” Jordy waves, one hand filled with cake, a lollipop permanently between their lips, “Well be fine! Besides! Mom said we could eat whatever we want!”

“Yeah..that’s what I’m worried about.” Her admission is small, and doesn’t reach her teens ears.

So she quickly turns in search of her wife. Knowing exactly what had happened.

She’d only seen it a number of times, one actually being in the Tomb. It was something you’d never assume she’d do, and you didn’t hear this from Mel, but her wife,

Was a stress baker.

Yup. You heard her.

A Stress Baker.

The demon overlord and gateway of magic, was a literal Stress Baker.

“Cariño?” She calls out to the brittless Kitchen.

“Oh! Melanie!” Abby pops out from behind the counter, covered in flour and sugar, “I didn’t hear you arrive! How was your day?”

“Um,” Mel bit her lip, approaching hesitantly, “It was good. Kevin actually payed me a visit today! It was really nice seeing him again!”

“Oh that’s wonderful sweetie!” Her wife crows.

She then seems to notice the assorted items around her, “Oh! How atrocious of me! Please. Help yourself to anything!”

The Latina could feel her expression strain, along with stress baking, Abby usually donned a strictly polite attitude, treating her almost as a guest rather then her wife.

It was shutting down, she’d actually learned. When something was bothering her so much she’d put on the perfect act, cookie cutter if you will, to pretend everything’s ok.

“Honey, sweetie angel, my one and only Wife,... what happened?”

“Whatever do you mean Mel?” Abby rings in a near robotic way.

Mel gets up, crossing the counters so she’s standing in front of her wife. Reaching out and gently enveloping the laters busy hands in hers, stilling them.

“Cariño,” she spoke warmly, “I know you. I’ve been married to you for twenty years. And your stress baking again. I just want you to know that whatever is wrong I’ll be here with you. You don’t have to shut down to survive.”

Abbys frozen expression wavers, gazing at her surroundings with new eyes.

“Bloody hell, I really let it get away from me this time.”

Her eyes are filled with shame, something Mel kisses away on her lips.

“It’s ok.” She assures, “I’m here now.”

The tension in Abigaels shoulders sag, as she slumps forward into the latinas awaiting embrace. One hand around her waist, and the other stroking her forehead just as she knows she likes.

“Today was... difficult.”

“Oh?” Mel hums, “How so Cariño?”

“Demons, people, arguements,” the Britt moans vaguely, Mel understands she’s probably going partially nonverbal, “They wanted the impossible. Got mad when I couldn’t make it happen. They-“

She abruptly cuts herself off. Presumably shutting off all verbal communication now.

The Latina could feel her wife tremble slightly, straining with the urge to continue talking and explain.

“Hey,” she cooed, continuing to stroke the laters forehead, “It’s ok. I understand. I’m sorry they did that to you.”

Abby just nodded miserably against Mels shoulder.

“No wonder you were stress baking,” the lesbian muses to herself, “I still don’t know how you mange being in charge of everything.”

Mel takes notice of the obvious silence, “Yeah I’m probably not helping.”

“No,” Abby finally states, “Just being with you helps. It always does Atlantis.”

She smiles warmly, giving a final kiss to her wife’s crown, “Ok then. Let’s clean up a bit, pick one of these random desserts, snuggle on the couch with your favorite blanket, and have the teens pick out some movie id probably disapprove of.”

Abigael smiles greatfully, eyebrows crinkling, “You always get me, Melanie.”

Mel grins, “What is a wife for?”

“Helping me eat all of this?”

“Ha!” She scoffs, “As if I’d let it all go to the kids! Their already halfway to a sugar Coma and a door away from heart attacks.”

Her wife laughs joyfully, almost lightly, as if a heavy weights been lifted off of her.

And the two of them go off and have a super gay snuggle fest and watch Miss Peregrines home for peculiar children, and Carmilla.

(Because I live for shoutouts to other fandoms and I hope that made @transmazikeen smile)

HAHAHAHA BASKOOSH! HOW YOU LIKE THAT???? Sorry it wasn’t technically cooking, but since Abby is like canonly a stress baker I’ve been dying to write something like this.

[serenlyss]

Parallel

Fandom: The Owl House Rating: G Relationships: lumity, luz & her mom, amity & her family Summary: Luz and Amity have more in common than just their favorite book series. Crossposted to AO3: Parallel

This one-shot is set between Enchanting Grom Fright and Wing it like Witches. I just can't stop thinking about how Amity and Luz are kind of foils for each other and how their families are so different but similar in certain ways. I feel like they'd bond over their respective parental drama. Anyway this show has stolen my heart and Lumity slays me so have some gay bonding.

---

Something’s off with Luz.

It isn’t difficult for Amity to notice. She’s a perceptive young witch; it’s a quality she’s always considered to be a strength of hers, and she knows more than she lets on, but Luz is also notoriously easy to read. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and she doesn’t mince her words--not when she really means it. It’s a trait of hers that makes Amity feel simultaneously warm and envious, but it also means that Amity is acutely aware of every shift in her friend’s moods and mannerisms. Today, it would seem, her balance is especially skewed.

The two of them had retreated to Amity’s library hideout after classes for their now-frequent reading sessions, a tradition Luz had dubbed the “Azura Book Club” despite the fact that Amity’s personal collection is far larger than just a handful of fantasy novels. Over the past few sessions, Amity had begun to introduce to Luz a few of her favorite novels that originated from the Boiling Isles itself, and for the last few sessions, the human girl had been practically glued to her side while she eagerly read over Amity’s shoulder. Amity would swear up and down that the close proximity definitely does not make her so nervous that she can hardly focus on the page in front of her, but if Luz notices her slower reading pace and persistently flushed face, she has yet to comment on it.

This afternoon, however, Luz is keeping her distance. She still sits close enough to Amity that their knees touch where they’re sharing the same giant beanbag chair, and it’s still intimate enough to set off the alarm bells in Amity’s definitely-not-distracted mind, but she’s been uncharacteristically quiet all afternoon. There are no excited comments, no involuntary noises in response to the surprising events happening in the narrative, not even a quiet chuckle at the book’s various jokes and hijinks. In fact, now that Amity reflects on the prior school day and even into that morning, Luz has been kind of spacey and distracted all day. Well, more than usual, and in a different way than Amity has learned is typical of her. She keeps pulling out her phone and fiddling with it, unlocking it with some kind of purpose only to hesitate and return it to her pocket every time. Even now, when Amity turns her head to see if Luz has finished the page they’re on, she sees that her friend isn’t even looking at the book at all, and she’s holding her phone in both hands. Her gaze has wandered over to a shelf to her right, but when Amity tilts her head to get a better look, she sees that Luz isn’t looking at anything in particular at all. She seems lost in her own head, unfocused. From this angle she even looks a little sad, her mouth turned down into a persistent frown that Amity doesn’t see very often.

Amity swallows, contemplating what she should do. Should she play dumb and act like nothing’s wrong, try to smooth things over? She’s never been a very… emotionally intimate person, at least not on the outside, and she doesn’t want to pry into anything personal Luz might be experiencing for fear that it might drive her away. Stop overthinking things so much, she mentally berates herself, recognizing her bad habit and attempting to squash it. Luz isn’t the kind of person to get angry over something like this. It’s Amity who dislikes the prying.

“Um,” she finally speaks up, attempting to grab Luz’s attention. It works, and she watches Luz blink and straighten up in her seat, as though awakening from a trance. Immediately, the sad fog that had been enveloping her gaze subsides, and she musters a meaningful--if unusually small--smile, quietly prompting Amity to continue. Once again, Amity considers playing it off, turning the subject to a new book or a happier, more lighthearted conversation, and again she corrects herself. “Are you okay?” she asks instead, nervously thumbing the corner of the book’s page to release some of her apprehension. “You’ve been spacing out, and you keep pulling out your phone. Are you expecting a call or something?”

Amity’s never seen a person stuff their phone into their pocket faster than Luz. Her smile turns sheepish, and Amity almost misses the flash of guilt that passes through her expression for just a moment. “Oh! Nah, I’m not expecting anything. Just antsy, I guess,” she deflects. It only serves to make Amity more worried.

“Are you sure? You just seem… out of it, I guess.” She turns her gaze down to the book still open in her lap, frown deepening. “I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, especially if it’s something personal, but, um…” She trails off, feeling the telltale rise of a blush on her face. What a time to start feeling bashful! “W-we’re friends, right? You can tell me if something is bothering you. Because we’re friends.” She stumbles over her words a bit, wincing internally at her own lack of tact. Could she be any more awkward?

Still, Luz does look a bit relieved to hear this, and she nods her head. “Yeah, of course,” she says immediately, with full confidence in the statement. It eases Amity’s nerves every so slightly, but it also brings with it a tinge of disappointment. Somehow the word “friend” doesn’t feel quite right. But now isn’t the time for that, Amity reminds herself, pushing that thought out of her mind for the time being.

Luz lets out a loud sigh and flops back on the beanbag, jostling Amity in the process. “I really am okay,” she continues, her voice more self-assured this time. “I just… I’m worried about my mom.”

Amity blinks, a little surprised by the admission. Luz doesn’t talk about her parents very often; it seems to be a sore subject for her, and Amity doesn’t dare bring it up with her, not after Grom. Apparently it’s been eating at her more than she’s let on, for it to lead to this. “What about her?” she prompts, swallowing back her own worry. She slips a bookmark between the pages of the novel they’d been reading to mark their place, then sets it aside to focus all her attention on Luz. “Is she not responding to you?”

Luz musters up a wry smile. “Kind of the opposite, actually. She sends me texts almost every day,” she replies, an obvious fondness creeping into her voice.

Amity is… confused. It’s obvious that Luz loves her mother, and from what little Luz has said, her mother loves her just as much. “I don’t understand,” she says with a shake of her head. “Do you not like getting messages from her?”

“I do!” Amity says quickly, almost in a panic, like she’s afraid of anyone thinking otherwise. “That's not what I meant.” She lets out a groan of frustration, giving her legs a kick and scrubbing her hands over her face. She’s silent for a moment, hands hiding her expression, before she finally peeks out from under them to glance in Amity’s direction. “Hey, if I tell you something, can you, um, keep it between us?”

Her voice is quieter now, layered with an air of secrecy, and it just makes Amity more curious. Still, she suppresses her inner gossip for the sake of respecting Luz’s feelings. “Of course,” she responds honestly. “What happens in the club, stays in the club.” She recites a line Luz is fond of repeating whenever their club discussions turn more personal, but this feels like an extra weighty secret for Luz to be sharing.

Still, her attempt at humor pays off, winning a genuine smile from Luz, who immediately blurts out, “My mom doesn’t know I’m here.”

Amity blinks, shocked, and is quiet for a few seconds as she processes this information. “Wait, what? How does she-I mean, she knows you’re not home, right?” she presses, frantically trying to wrap her head around this situation.

“She thinks I’m at summer camp,” Luz clarifies, clear disdain for the camp tinging her words. “She’d freak out if she knew I was here!” Guilt starts to take over her expression again, tugging her lips into a deep frown. “You saw her at Grom, right? That’s what I’m afraid will happen when she finds out I ditched her camp. I’m supposed to be learning boring adult stuff, like how to be polite and not say weird things and, I dunno, file taxes? Adults do that, right?” She throws her hands up in the air, huffing.

Amity shakes her head, a little overwhelmed. Sure, she’d suspected something was up at Grom, but she hadn’t known just how deep her rabbit hole goes. “Taxes?” she mumbles to herself in confusion, then gives her head a shake. That isn’t the important part. Staring down at Luz’s expression, Amity feels bad. Luz is obviously agonizing over this on the inside, and has been since the day she’d arrived at the Boiling Isles. Something in Amity really hates seeing the way Luz avoids her gaze, like she’s ashamed to be admitting this. She’s twitchy, too, looking for any way to let out her nervous energy. At the moment, she fiddles with her fingers, crossing and uncrossing them, and picking imaginary dirt from underneath her fingernails.

Amity lets out a long breath, steeling her nerve, and flops back onto the beanbag at Luz’s side. The force of it jostles them both, and despite herself, Luz can’t help but let out a little laugh when she’s nearly thrown onto the ground. She wiggles around to reposition herself, and Amity nearly chokes on a breath when Luz’s arm presses against hers and comes to rest there. She’s suddenly very aware of how hard her heart is beating, sitting so close to Luz like this, but she doesn’t dare move, for fear of disrupting the moment. Her voice cracks just a bit when she says, softly, “Why are you so intent on hiding it from her? I don’t know much about humans, but is it really so bad for you to be spending time here, with us?”

Luz sighs dejectedly. “That’s the thing. Everything about this place, everything that I love, is the reason she wanted to send me away in the first place!” she says. “You may not get it, but I’m not just a weirdo here, Amity. I’m a weirdo on Earth, too.”

“Of course you’re a weirdo, I already know that,” Amity says before she can stop herself. She can’t hide the snickers that bubble up in her throat when Luz hits her on the shoulder good-naturedly.

    “Not funny,” Luz complains, but Amity can see the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

    Amity swallows down her laughter. “Sorry, sorry. It’s not an insult, promise. I like your weirdness,” she admits, hastily turning away before Luz can see the easy blush that comes to her face so often these days.

    She hears Luz laugh softly beside her, and takes it as a victory. “Thanks,” she murmurs. “I wish everyone could accept it like you and Willow and Gus do. My mom sent me away to camp because she wanted to fix my weirdness. No fanfiction, no cat ear sweaters, no fantasy novels. I know she’s just worried about me, but it’s not like I’m hurting anyone! Is it really so bad that I like nerdy things and want to geek out about them?” Turning to look at Amity, she forces a grin. “Don’t answer that. I promise it’s no big deal, it’s just something I worry about sometimes-”

    Luz keeps talking, but Amity is frozen. She hesitates to admit it out loud, but Luz’s words hit a little too close to home for her liking. Flashbacks of her younger self being scolded by her parents crop up in her mind, punishments for silly things; associating with the wrong people, participating in activities they didn’t approve of, ditching her studying in favor of something fun. Instances where her parents had pushed her away from what she wanted and towards their own ideal. It all made so much sense now. “I totally get it,” she blurts out, surprised and astounded that she and Luz, from two completely different worlds, maybe even different dimensions, could have something so intimate and personal in common.

    Luz looks surprised, too. “You do?” she says.

“Yeah, I really do,” Amity echoes, and a smile breaks out on her face despite the heaviness of the topic. Of everyone she’s ever met on the Boiling Isle, only her own siblings have really related to her family’s… complicated dynamic, and Edric and Emira aren’t exactly people Amity is keen on confiding in. “My parents do it too. You saw them, in Willow’s mind. They do stuff like that all the time. I’m a Blight, after all, I have a reputation to uphold on their behalf. If you don’t do things their way, you get scolded, right? Can’t go giving off “the wrong impression” or it reflects badly on them. Your mom wants you to do what she wants, not what you want. That’s exactly how my parents are with me and my siblings.”

Luz is staring at Amity in stunned silence, sympathy clouding her gaze. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it’s like,” she sighs. “It’s hard, trying to live up to her expectations without feeling like I’m giving up everything I love. Is it hard for you, too?”

Amity shrugs. “I guess. My parents are easier on me than on my siblings, though,” she admits, clasping her hands over her stomach. Her elbow rubs against Luz’s in the process, but her friend doesn’t seem to notice. “Ed and Em were under super strict control when they were younger. I guess they coped with it by rebelling wherever they could. They still do.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Mom and Dad still try to keep them under control, but, well, you’ve seen them. They don’t take orders easily.”

Luz giggles softly at this, nodding her head. “I’m an only child. I think Mom feels like if I keep going down the path I’m on, that I’ll somehow ruin my life and make her out to be a bad mother, but it’s not true. I don’t know how to explain to her that I’m just fine the way I am, and that I’m not going to end up a failure just because I still like to read fantasy books.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Amity reassures her. “In the meantime, you can be as weird as you want around me.”

To her surprise, Luz actually blushes at this, her tan face going ever so slightly darker. It’s so unlike Amity’s own pale skin, which could and would turn bright red at the slightest provocation, that she can't help but stare. “Thanks, Amity. I'm really glad that you're my friend,” Luz confesses.

Humbled and more than a little embarrassed, Amity opens her mouth to deflect, but her words get tangled up in her mouth when Luz suddenly reaches into the space between them and takes her hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. All coherent thought immediately leaves Amity's mind, and she's certain that she's red to the tips of her ears from the way her face burns. “N-No problem,” she manages to stutter out breathlessly, and she thanks whatever gods are watching that she’s able to string together a reply at all.

Amity has held Luz’s hand before, but it’s never been like this. She sees now how big of a difference there is between grabbing someone’s hand to help them stand up, or to steady them, or to keep from being separated in a crowd, and holding hands just because you want to. Luz’s palm is warm and firm against her smaller, daintier one, and she’s fitted their fingers together in a way that is decidedly, unnecessarily intimate. There is no practical reason for Luz to make this kind of gesture, she just does it because she wants to, and because it feels right to her. Amity can’t help but admire how brave she must be to make such a gesture so casually, when Amity herself can barely share the same space with Luz without combusting into a stuttering, rambling, disorganized mess. “Did you, uh, want to keep reading?” she asks, her voice soft in the hidden room, but the close proximity means her voice doesn’t have to carry far.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to stay like this for a little while,” Luz replies. It’s not often that Amity hears the rambunctious human speak so quietly. Luz shifts to get more comfortable, slipping her cell phone into her pocket and out of sight. Her shoulder presses against Amity’s and stays there as the two of them stare up at the glow-in-the-dark stars Amity had once climbed the shelves to stick on the ceiling.

“Okay,” Amity says, turning to give Luz a small smile. She wonders if Luz notices how red in the face she is. She wonders if Luz recognizes what it means, if she’s known all along, or if she writes it off as some magical quirk or another, oblivious to the way her actions make Amity feel.

Right here, in the moment, Amity can’t bring herself to care whether or not she notices. She holds Luz’s hand, looks up at the ceiling, and feels that everything is going to be okay.

[caffeinated-yearning]

Confessions and (Bad) Dancing

In which pieces of the puzzle slot into place, feelings are lain bare after a year of working together on cases, and some people are better at dancing than they have any right to be (but unfortunately I am not one of them).

Word Count: 2103 Warnings: uhhh aside from crippling embarrassment as a center-stage piece, none I can think of.

“Slow dance? No, sorry, I don’t know how.” It was ironic, the tone Mark used- but he was sincere; not for lack of trying, but a waltz was simply outside his dancing expertise. So was pretty much every dance step ever; he had never been very skilled with dance. I’ll step on your foot and scuff your shoes, or I’ll fall into you, or “it will be unsightly,” and that’s a promise. A low hum as the half-smile fell from something almost sincere into a flatter expression that looked more unyielding than it was.

Mark’s eyes remained on the offered hand, still outstretched as Mr. Edgeworth spoke; “I promise it’s easier than you think.” For one half-second, Mark actually considered it. Considered it carefully, from every angle- and from all perspectives foresaw himself getting embarrassed. Either through his own inexperience, or some comment thereupon. If nothing else, being that close to Miles- to Mr. Edgeworth would destroy the easy-going facade that he so carefully kept. A quick one-two and done, Mann overboard. 

Miles added, after a half-second of silence; “consider it a request; it has been a while since I’ve had the opportunity, and I can think of no one I’d rather share it with.”

…

What?

Operation ‘try not to think gay thoughts’ has been blasted wide the fuck open, and all smashed to smithereens; what does that mean? What does that mean?! Dumbstruck, feeling his hands and feet go ice-cold and at the same moment his chest and face start to burn, Mark was… Passingly aware that he’d accepted Edgeworth’s (Miles’?) hand. 

-

What???

What a terribly foolish thing to admit. Miles chewed his lip, hoping that that specific admission would pass cleanly over Mark’s head. The opportunity, hah! No one he’d rather share it with— a request?! How utterly embarrassing to have said so much. He considered himself lucky, and unlucky, that this Mann was so incapable of noting any act of affection leveled toward him.

Not… not that Miles was well known for being terribly affectionate. Still.

And, likewise now, Mark seemed wholly preoccupied with other things. Perhaps his utter obliviousness would continue to spare Miles the indignity of having to discuss any matters of the heart. 

… That there were matters of the heart which needed discussing was… well. It certainly wasn’t something he wanted to acknowledge.

-

Mark didn’t have the emotional wherewithal to hold his head up on the path to the dance floor- normally he wouldn’t dream of hanging his head, but the ground became very interesting when one needed to focus on one’s step, and even if he didn’t need to focus, meeting the eyes of (not allowed to think ‘crush’ but) Miles Edgeworth was dangerous enough.

Ah- oh no. They really had crossed that distance rather too quickly for Mark’s liking. Hand-on-back that rested warmly against this, his body, and it suddenly felt cumbersome to be- just to be. Mark’s own hand held feather-light over Miles’ shoulder; unwilling even to touch- to touch Miles. His hands were so cold and his face so warm- God, if there be any mercy in the world, may lightning strike me down here and now. 

Alas, no such luck. 

As the music started, step-one-two, don’t mess this up and stumble as Miles pulled him closer-; hand landing like lead to stabilize himself, and Mark felt his brain go absolutely empty- empty and full of static at the same time. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, pulling back just to see where he was stepping- to see he was trodding on Miles’ feet and step-step stumble off. “I’m sorry—.” Sorry sorry sorry fuck.

-

“You really are unfamiliar with this,” Miles almost found it amusing, how little coordination there was. It- the dance- was all an excuse to be close to Mark in an otherwise over-crowded venue; he almost certainly should not have done this, should not even have admitted that he wanted to do this, but he had. While it was clumsy, it was still enchanting- just to be there together. 

If only Mark were slightly more aware of the situation. 

Miles sighed lightly, watching Mark glance one way, then the next- evidently searching for something, though what exactly he was looking for was beyond Miles’ kenning. Looking up, then down, then up again; it was a wonder he didn’t get dizzy.

A tense voice, anxious; “I said I’m bad at dancing.” Not exactly… ideal, for a (not a date but) dance.

“You’re not the worst,” Miles offered.

“But I’m not the best.” Quickly dismissed.

“Do you need to be the best at everything?” 

“You can’t tell me you disagree- that you don’t want to be the best at everything you touch.”

That was… A fair enough point, he supposed. “But it’s an unreasonable standard to hold yourself to.”

Mark laughed at that- rude enough, tonight; “from you? From you?? We’re the same in that regard, at least. Neither willing to be less than the best, and neither expecting the world to live by the same standards.” At least he wasn’t still so stressed. And he’s back to watching our feet.

-

Mark felt himself pulled along at an unfamiliar speed; again he had been pulled a little too close, the dizzying steps tossing him face-first into Edgeworth’s cravat with a muffled ‘oomph.’ Despite all his struggling, he managed to scowl up into the grey above when he recovered his legs. So much struggling, with this dance thing. Struggles to meet a gaze, struggles to match the step. Infinite struggles, it seemed. Terrible! 

Miles looked away too quickly when the glare was cast- had he been looking at me? “It gets easier with practice, you know.”

Mark grumbled and huffed and felt very inelegant as he tried not to step on any shoes without looking. “Which is useful if you are inclined to practice- so, not useful to me.”

“Hmm. Perhaps you would be so inclined if you had someone to practice with?”

Mark glared back at his feet with that; to look at Miles when his face was this bright (step over, Rudolph,) would convey only that he found the notion embarrassing- and master of logic that Miles was, surely if he didn’t put it all together by now, he’d have the final piece of evidence in the long and storied history of Mark has a big ol’ stinkin’ crush on pretty boy Miles Edgeworth like some kind of gay dweeb or something. Mark was sure he hadn’t been found out, but just as sure that it was only a matter of time. Damned if he would speed that along by actually showing off his embarrassment like some neon sign over his head. Over his face. Whatever.

“What-? Practice with you?” He tried not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

-

“Is that so bad an idea?” Oh Miles was on fire with suggestions that would be impossible to explain away in the future, when they had work tomorrow and had to act like nothing happened. 

��It’s a terrible idea!” Despite the words, Miles could hear the smile in Mark’s voice; like it was all a joke. 

“Oh?” He tried not to take offense to that- the offer was genuine, even if it would have been hard to explain away in the future. “And what’s so terrible about it?”

Mumbling, as though trying to speak under his breath and not accounting for the fact that they were less than arm’s distance from each other; “I’m gay; you figure it out.”

This time when Mark walked into Miles’ chest, it was less because of his own inexperience, and more to do with Miles coming to his own screeching halt. 

“… What?”

“What?” Mark looked up, and reflexively Miles looked away again. 

While blushing might have been a bit too strong a word for it, Miles felt his throat, face, and ears burn with… hmmm, embarrassment? Something more akin to sudden, unwanted understanding, as all the pieces fell in place. “Wh-?! What does- what does that have to do with it?!”

“I said I’m bad at dancing! You’ve noticed!! You can’t tell me that you haven’t noticed. Perhaps I am completely without rhythm, perhaps I am wholly incapable of such things as stepping around a room elegantly!”

“That’s definitely not what you said,” he started moving again- but this time, it was less of a dance and more of an attempt to hurriedly get out of the center of the room, get off the dance floor and into a place slightly quieter, slightly less in the view of everyone around. The appreciation in Mark’s expression was subtle, once he realized they were leaving- only for it to get suddenly screwed up into apprehension. 

Miles supposed it was probably because Mark had put together that they were leaving for the sake of a slightly more serious discussion.

-

The evening breeze was lovely, Mark supposed; it was cool enough that he could almost radiate away all the embarrassment without having to go shove his entire head under a cold tap.

Almost.

“Now,” Mark refused to look at Edgeworth- not that looking would have been so difficult in the dark of the night, but the idea that Edgeworth would be able to see Mark’s own face was enough to keep him looking to the side. “Mr. Mann, please.”

He glanced over in spite of himself- and though it was dark, something in Miles’ stance, or gestures, conveyed the same unease. “This is he who’s speaking.”

“This is not the time for jokes, sir.” 

Miles groaned, and despite the fear sense in the air, Mark cracked a smile. “But I am such a jester! It’s only natural that I crack a joke to lighten the mood.”

“I— even so,” Miles sat on the steps, gesturing for Mark to join him. “Please explain why your being gay is relevant.”

“You’re clever; can’t you figure it out?” Mark had almost sat down, and then the question (request?), and he elected instead to lean against a pillar and not, in fact, sit at all. “Surely something like that is obvious.” The smile had faded, that much was obvious in his tone.

“You’re not afraid to fall in love with me,” Miles posed it as though it was a question, rather than a statement of fact; attached to the end was an ‘are you?’

“Far worse,” Mark breathed; a whisper directed away that didn’t land upon any ears at all.

“Since that’s not an issue, I’m afraid I don’t see the logic.”

“I already…” have. 

“Hmm?”

“Your logic is faulty. It’s well past your statement.” 

“My… Do you mean ‘afraid to fall in love’?”

“That one, yeah.”

“Well past, then…” The silence sounded almost like disbelief; not that Mark was going to look over and see for himself. “You—?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t—!”

“For a long time!!” Mark wanted to laugh and scream all at the same time. God, what a terror this was! To admit to a crush one’s feelings, to acknowledge—.

“You didn’t notice either—?”

Wait what??? Mark turned around so fast he got dizzy and fell over. Miles was standing, having stood up at the revelation, and now he was leaning over Mark to help him get back up on his feet, and oh what a humiliating thing— “what do you mean ‘notice either’??? What’s that supposed to mean???”

“I knew you were oblivious but I was certain at least by tonight you’d have figured it out-.”

“Figured WHAT out?! What are you talking about?! Is this a dream? Am I dying and dreaming or something??”

“When I asked you to dance I was certain that would have clued you in-.”

“Oh my GOD whAT no I’m surely dying this is it, goodbye sweet world!”

“I can’t believe you would just throw away all evidence that pointed to my liking you at all!” By now they were both standing, and the panicked stream of words that had seemed never-ending had slowed to a point where they once again took turns speaking. “You really had no idea, then?”

“No. I’m a clown, remember?”

“Hmm. Well.”

“Regretting saying anything?”

“No, I think not.” 

Hand in hand, a moment’s pause before clearing of throats and suggestions that perhaps they ought to return inside.

“I still think I’ll simply die if you try to teach me how to dance.”

“Well we certainly wouldn’t want that. Very well, you are free of such an obligation.”

“Good. I’d rather not have any more heart-attacks for a while.”

[literalite]

dmitri popovskij for @eslanes‘ eagle search

dmitri is twenty five years old and knows no life but the criminal one. his family has, for generations, been deeply ensnared in the underworld of the city, and he has grown up watching his loved ones either take or lose their own lives. while he was still a teen, his entire world crumbled when a large portion of his family were taken away as the authorities cracked down hard on the notorious group. fifteen at the time, he was sent to foster homes where he showed no signs of wanting redemption or a different life. just like the rest of us, he’s a creature of habit. it was almost inevitable he would fall back into a life of crime, which was how he ended up with the eagles.

dmitri is, by his own admission, not the brightest, although he is quietly perceptive in his own way. he lacks finer attention to detail but makes up for it with his ruthless nature and capability for violence, often choosing to barrel through life’s problems with all the subtlety and brute force of a tank. despite this, he has no stomach for torture, preferring to just beat the shit out of anyone who needs it and leave. the few “legit” jobs he’s had in the past ran along the lines of personal security and even then he hasn’t been able to keep them. his friends describe him as quiet and dependable, and his enemies don’t live long enough to weigh on his temperament. he’s a loyal companion, with no aspirations of rising up the ranks or taking over. he keeps his personal life close to his chest, for the most part, but he’s gay and not really into one night stands or casual relationships. oddly, he doesn’t dabble in alcohol or drugs either, which helps maintain his level temperament and calm demeanor.

[theabominableblogger]

Rewatching “Fright Night” (the 1985 version)

No I ain’t watching the remake with David Tennant.  ‘Cause I said so.

*does Borat impression while loading the movie on Amazon Prime*

“Sit here beside me on the veranda.”  Is this the... TV show scene?  The show with Roddy McDowall?

SCARE CHOOORD!

“So... luminescent.”  *laughs*

Those were some... horrible kissing noises

I like the out of context implication that as soon as the woman asks the dude to lay on her chest, Peter Vincent’s like “NONE IN THIS HOUSE!”

“IF SHE BREATHES...”

What idiot puts their smelly ass soccer cleats on their headboard?

“We’ve been going together almost a year, and all I ever hear is ‘Charley, stop it.’“  Well then maybe that’s a you problem

Also what the hell is that map thing next to Amy?

“Let’s get into bed.”  *bug eyes*

Amy, that is not the look of someone who is ready to have sex.

“It says right here that the divorce rate is 76% higher among couples who don’t argue before marriage.”  Shut up, Mom.

“Thank you [Amy] for helping Charley with his homework.”  ...I was gonna make a sex joke here but nah.

Oh I hate Charley’s friend in his movie.

Charley’s car, while super nice, looks like a sunburnt cow

“My luck.  He’s [the neighbor] probably gay.”  AAAAAHHH THEY EVEN SAID IT!

I really Charley to slap Teach [Ed] at some point but I know it’s never gonna happen.

For a moment, I thought that the carpenter dude partner was gonna be like Kenny from “The War at Home” but nah.  He probably just uses his teeth a lot.

*silently jamming to the background synth music*

*Charley spots a woman removes her bra in the window*  What was this rated again?

AN:  It’s rated R

*yells when Jerry looks over to see Charley through the window*

*Shot of Jerry’s hand pulling down the window blind*  That... is a lady hand.

AN:  They were actually extensions that Chris wore and he helped apply them himself so that he could just rip them off after a day of shooting

*Charley’s mom ruins Charley’s cover*  DAMN IT MOM

This movie is basically “Who Cried Wolf” but with vampires?

“I’m his roommate Billy Cole.”  Can you believe just that the fact that this movie was made in the mid 80s when the AIDS crisis in the US was getting ready to happen and director Tom Holland and the screenwriter went “YES they’re gonna be GAY and THAT’S FINAL”

“You actually saw the body, Charley?”  Uh doesn’t that tone raise any suspicion from the detective STANDING NEXT TO HIM?

*snorts in hilarity when Billy jokingly does the sign of the cross*

Charley, I would not trust anything Teach tries to tell you.

AND OF COURSE CHARLEY’S MOM INVITED JERRY OVER

OMINOUS SYNTH CHORD

My God, Chris Sarandon...

What’s with the celery?

Charley’s mom is the most oblivious character in this whole movie, I swear

FISH EYE LENS

I forget, do we ever see Jerry in vampire bat form or do we just see him as Chris Sarandon with fangs the entire movie?

Why yes, Charley, use your tiny crucifix.

Doesn’t the whole “enter with permission” count with bedrooms too or just the house in general?  If it counted with bedrooms, couldn’t Charley just put up a sign on his door that said “NO ADMISSION WITHOUT PERMISSION” and that would keep Jerry out?

Jerry is the most casual vampire I’ve seen so far.  Someone would just throw a chair at him and he’ll just No-Sell it like “Listen... I was just saying...”

There’s got to be a logical way to explain this Christmas thing.

We just need a vampire that’s like Catherine O’Hara from “Schitt’s Creek”

I love how Charley’s like 80% out the window and yet he can still reach for an entire mug of pencils

NO WAIT WE SEE HIS [Jerry’s] VAMPIRE FACE NEVERMIND

Valium?!?

Christopher Lee!

THAT FRAMING [of Billy kneeling directly in front of Jerry’s legs] ISN’T OBVIOUS AT ALL TOM HOLLAND

The logic for this movie is something else.  Charley sees someone on TV perform a vampire killing ON A TV SHOW and thinks “YES I’m going to ask him to help me with this vampire situation!” 

This is like asking Drew Carey if he can assist in a vampire hunting

*imitates Peter Vincent shooing Charley away*

*snorts at Teach and Amy walking in on Charley setting holy stuff ALL OVER HIS HOUSE*

Also I absolutely forgot about the weird side plot with Amy being an incarnation of a past love.  What is it with this and Bram Stoker’s Dracula going this route?

Man, Roddy McDowall is just a masterclass in classical acting.  You can tell the different style between him and the other actors.

There’s a bust of Klaus Kinski’s Nosferatu in the glass box!

AN:  *in best Janet from ‘The Good Place’ impression*  Fun fact, Klaus Kinski was actually an asshole

I like the red and black plaid night coat

God, all those clocks going off at once reminds me of the scene in Pinocchio.  That would give me so much anxiety in real life.

WHO TOSSED JERRY THE APPLE?!?

OH AND THEY [Jerry and Billy] WALK OFF TOGETHER OF COURSE

*imitates Peter Vincent saying “Good evening good evening”*

*going through AO3′s Fright Night 1985 tag as Peter explains what he’s doing*  Wow there’s four pages.  I might have to bookmark some of these.

Ohhhh kay, nevermind on half of these.  Not into that.  Nope nope nope.

I forget, is Billy also a vampire?  Or is he like some ghoul?  Werewolf?

...Interspecies romance?

For a fact, I know that if CinemaSins covers this movie, they would award Jerry the “eating an apple because he’s an asshole” sin and I would laugh

Oh he’s [Jerry] gonna go for the hand kiss, isn’t he? 

OH GOD DAMMIT

*has to still register it*

Wait, did Jerry hold the bottle up in front of the fire in case there was actually holy water?  Would heating it up counteract the holy water inside?

WAIT DOESN’T PETER CATCH JERRY’S LACK OF REFLECTION IN THE MIRROR AS THEY LEAVE?

How did they do that?  Did they just... comp Chris Sarandon out or did they have him tuck out of frame but still say his lines?

AN:  Tom Holland originally goofed up the shot I guess but they ran with it

JERRY IS BI HEADCANON CONFIRMED

WAIT HE FOUND THE MIRROR SHARDS

The overhead tracking shot following Ed in the alleyway is actually pretty good.  And the way it slides to a normal shot is great.

Oh they do the creepy Dracula fog!

Wait, this movie came out the same year as Nightmare on Elm Street 2.  Dang.

And that movie also had a weird homoerotic tone to it.

You know what, the way Jerry offers Ed salvation only to attack him was actually pretty solid.  Just good acting from both of them.  I was sold.

WAIT IT’S THE CLUB SCENE!

*Peter presses a cross to Ed’s forehead*  Great prosthetic too, holy crap!

*jams out to the song playing at the club*

Why do Jerry’s dance clothes look like either my pajamas or really lame exercise clothes?

God, it’s [Jerry pacing back and forth watching Amy] like a cat stalking a bird holy crap

NOOOO I DON’T NEED TO WATCH THIS SHE’S LIKE SIXTEEEEENNNN

*jaw drops when Jerry runs his hand up Amy’s leg*  NOOOOOO

Not gonna lie, this song almost sounded like a remix of the Nightmare on Elm Street theme

NOOOOOOOO STOOOOOPPPP CEASE DESIST

Amy’s hair just gets wilder and wilder during this dance sequence

STOOOOOOPPPP

Quick, Charley, start a fight!  Just... punch someone!  Commotion!

*just yells when Jerry steals a kiss from Amy*

*Amy wakes up in a white dress in Jerry’s house*  NOPE

God and he [Jerry] took off his shirt too just *hides face in hands*

*covers mouth with hand in attempt not to say anything*

*Jerry’s dragging finger scrapes off wood on the banister*  Oh that’s just mean

*Jerry drapes his arms over the back of Billy’s shoulders*  HMM

They would be that duo who would pick up a phone and take turns to go “...surprise, Sidney...”

*A wolf walks out of Mrs. Brewster’s room*  WHAAAAATTT?!?

Dang they really just tossed a plushie wolf off the stairs

WAIT the guy that did the VFX for this movie also did “Ghostbusters” if I remember correctly

AN:  Yes

They are just... really dragging out Ed’s death scene

That kinda exasperated look Peter gives the smoking house is great

Wait is Billy a vampire too?  Zombie?  What is he?

I really just want Charley to reach out and just slightly poke dying Billy in the chest so that he crumbles backwards.  That would have been hilarious.

How long is Amy’s hair?

HE [Jerry] DOES TURN INTO A BAT!

Real plot twist would be that the bat bite also starts turning Charley into a vampire so Peter would have to kill three birds with one stone (heal Charley and Amy and kill Jerry)

Boss move:  Peter closing the coffin in front of Jerry

And it ends with the same shot as the opening!

“Oh, you’re so cool, Brewster.”  So is Ed alive?

[eryiss]

Chapter Two - The Handyman

Summary: Freed and Laxus live incredibly different lives. Freed is a corporate lawyer in the capital city, and Laxus works as a handyman in a countryside hotel. Despite their differences, their lives collide when Freed inherits a house in Laxus’ village, and hires him to make the derelict building liveable. But the closer they get, the more they seem to offer each other. [Fraxus Multi-Chapter]

This was written as my admission for Fraxus Day 2020, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus​. This is the second chapter, and from now on it’ll be updated weekly. Hope you enjoy it.

You can read this under the cut, on Fanfiction, or on Archive of Our Own. You can find the chapter masterpost here.

Chapter Two – The Handyman

"Fucks sake. Fucking bitch."

"That's not the way to talk to a lady, Laxus. Damn."

"I ain't talkin' to a lady, I'm talking to this piece of shit."

With an angered huff, Laxus slammed down the screwdriver and allowed it to clatter against the small tray of tools. On the table was the industrial toaster that Laxus had been attempting to fix for the better half of the morning, with an only slightly warm piece of bread resting pitifully on the wire rack, practically mocking Laxus with its lack of any toast-like qualities. It was the sixth time that year that the machine had decided to work, and Laxus had grown to have a vendetta against the fucking thing.

But he wasn't going to let it win. He had singlehandedly fixed practically every electric device in Fairy Tail since becoming the handyman, and he would be damned if the fucking toaster was his downfall. He'd conquered faulty boilers, crappy wiring and, on one condition, a disgusting issue with sewage backup over the past year alone. A toaster was nothing.

"Just make your grandad buy a new one," Cana laughed as she walked further into the hotel's breakroom. "It's like twenty years old, probably only makes the bread darker because of an oil leak."

"I ain't getting it replaced," Laxus snapped, glaring at the open circuitry of the machine with probably too much hatred for what the situation deserved. "If it gets it replaced, then the fucking things knows that it's won."

"It's a toaster dude," Cana deadpanned.

"Don't give a shit," Laxus groaned, leaning back in the chair so the forelegs left the floor, resting his arms behind his head. "You meant to be working today?"

"Yeah. Apparently there's some big group coming for lunch and they need extra wait staff, so Gramps called me. And I'm working the bar later," Cana shrugged, taking out a chair and straddling it; because of course she did. "You?"

"Room seven had a flickering light, needed fixing," Laxus sighed. "Thought I might as well work on this thing while I'm here."

The blonde looked around the small room, eyes flittering towards the clock and sighing. He'd been drinking the night before and had it not been for his grandfather's seven AM phone call worrying about the supposed 'lawsuit waiting to happen' he would probably only just be getting out of bed after nursing a light hangover. He'd been able to wrangle a free breakfast from Mirajane, at least, but he would trade that in for his covers at that moment. At least when he was planning to feel sorry for himself about his hangover, he had something to do. Now he just had a day of nothing.

His work was fine, but inconsistent. He did any repairs that was needed at his grandfather's hotel, be that plumbing, electric work, or just helping out when it was understaffed. But Makarov kept a tight ship, and had good relationships with his staff so absences only happened when needed. So, Laxus was often left with little to do.

It was a nice problem to have, but Laxus didn't intend to be impartial.

This was the issue in living in a small town for all of your life, being forced to either thrive there or break free from it. He liked Magnolia, the area was beautiful and his childhood there had been good, but he was limited by living there. A degree in electrical engineering wasn't worth much when the only relevant job available was at a mechanics shop where he'd once bashed in the teeth of the owner's son. The miserable old bastard should have forgiven him by now; it'd been six years.

Which was why he was grateful for his grandfather giving him the job. He got to put his degree to use, even if on crappy toasters, and made a living. But it was a boring existence, and the reason why Laxus found himself on job searchers websites at least twice a week.

"You gonna eat that?" Cana asked, going towards the warmed but not toasted bread.

"No," Laxus furrowed his brows. "Are you?"

"I'm poor, man," Cana laughed, picking up the bread and eating it.

"I've seen the cupboard where you keep your booze, you ain't 'stealing warm. crappy bread poor' yet," Laxus deadpanned, and Cana laughed as she ate her bread; she didn't even put fucking butter on it. "And you get twice the number of tips than me when we work the bar together. Where's it going?"

"Booze cupboard," Cana grinned.

"You'll fuck up your kidneys, you know."

"I'll get an operation and replace 'em," Cana laughed, swallowing a bite of bread. "Speaking of being split open and things going inside, you fucked anyone lately?"

"Fuckin hell!" Laxus exclaimed, wide eyes darting towards the woman who was now openly laughing.

This was something that his friend brought up often, and as such she had lost all tact about it. The two of them were some of the only openly gay people in Magnolia – at least to their knowledge – and therefore had some annoying kinship when it came to their relationships. It had started as them both feeling sorry for themselves, as they had nobody to date. Somehow, it had devolved into a friendship where Cana felt perfectly comfortable talking about what Laxus was planning on doing, or had done, in his bed.

Worse still, Laxus didn't have the same opportunity to make fun of her. Cana was openly besotted with Mirajane, and had long since lost any shame about it. Cana could joke about Laxus falling in love with any man he saw, but Laxus couldn't do the same because they both knew Mirajane was the only woman for her.

Selfish asshole.

"You're gonna fuck all of hell? You must have more time on your hands," Cana laughed, and Laxus stood up with a groan. "Aw, come on man, don't leave."

"I'm gonna go see if one of the toilets needs to be unblocked," Laxus grunted, walking towards the door of the breakroom. "Seems more pleasant than talking t' you."

"Oh how you wound me, I think I might cry," Cana spoke in possibly the most sarcastic voice possible.

"Go suck on yer crushes clit," Laxus muttered.

"Had a good few dreams about that, my man," Cana grinned, before adding in a less teasing tone. "And Lisanna said she wants to talk to you later, so find her once you're done scrubbing the shitter," A smirk formed on her features again. "Maybe she wants to set you up with her brother. You'd be a hot ass couple."

"Fuck yourself."

"Imagine the carnage though. The two of ya could break beds faster than an over eager lumberjack."

Laxus didn't respond, and lifted his middle finger to the woman as he left the room.

~~~

There had been no toilets in need of being cleaned, thankfully, but Laxus had been able to keep himself busy for the morning. It had been mainly small and inconsequential jobs, such as removing leaves from the guttering before a build-up formed and checking that supply of complimentary soap wasn't running low, before he ended up back in the break room and working on the toaster.

It wasn't going well, and the patrons would have to deal with the break rooms single slice toaster for at least another day, but at least Cana was working the restaurant for the lunch shift rather than being there to annoy him. He hoped that the table was full of obnoxious people who didn't know what they wanted and refused to tip.

He gulped down half a can of Red Bull, and groaned as he fought the urge to check toaster prices online.

After cracking his back, he stood up and ran a hand through his hair. He quickly checked himself out in the mirror to make sure he looked presentable before leaving the break room; he may not be part of the service-staff, but he still needed to look good to represent the hotel. Normally he wouldn't have to worry about this – his contact with guests was limited – but if he was going to speak to Lisanna, as Cana had claimed he should, then it was almost definite that he'd be in the public eye for a few minutes at least. He didn't look too bad for someone who'd nearly vomited over a plate of cheese fries the night before.

Lisanna was working at the office attached to the front desk, doing some kind of admin that Laxus didn't care enough about to understand. He walked in and, once she looked up from the monitor, she grinned at him. Laxus didn't frown, but the urge was there. The two of them weren't particularly close.

"Hi," She greeted, annoyingly cheerfully. "I didn't know if Cana had passed on the message."

"Well, here I am," Laxus shrugged.

"There you are," She said with a smile, then waved towards one of the other desk chairs populating the cramped room. Laxus took a seat. "So, I've got something I thought you could help with. A proposition I guess."

Laxus paused for a moment. She wasn't actually going to try and set him up with Elfman, was she? That would be weird, Elfman wasn't Laxus' type.

"There's this guest, you see, who checked in yesterday," She began, before stopping herself. "No, that's not important. Well it is, but not right now," Laxus stayed quiet. Lisanna was a talkative person, and could probably have an entire conversation with herself. "You know Albion house, the old cottage on the outskirts of town that's' all run down."

"Yeah," Laxus nodded, confused. "Think I made up some crap about it being haunted when I was a kid."

"That's the place- that was you! Mirajane told me when I was eight and I had nightmare for weeks, you asshole," Lisanna chastised, and Laxus didn't hide the smirk at the admission. "Whatever, we can talk about that later. Anyway, it recently got a new owner, you see. And I was talking to him last night and a bit during breakfast. So he doesn't know what to do because he can't knock it down and sell the land, and the house is kind of crappy so nobody's actually gonna wanna pay any real money for it, right. So he's kinda stuck; I think he needs the money for something, I didn't wanna ask."

Did she talk to the guests this much?

This was why Laxus always booked into big corporate hotels whenever he stayed away.

"Getting off topic, sorry," She shook her head. "So, I was talking to the new owner, and he thought maybe he could get it sold for more money if it was more functional. Not a total refurbishment or anything, just making sure the lights work and the floorboards won't crumble underfoot. And he's not from the area, so he doesn't know any builders or plumbers or anyone he'll need."

She then stopped talking, and began grinning at Laxus expectantly. "And?"

"Really conforming to the stereotype of strong men being dumb," She muttered, and Laxus found himself happy that his ghost story had apparently given her nightmares. "And I said that we've got a kickass handyman working here part time who could probably help you out. I told him about all the stuff you do around here, and he said he'd be interested in meeting with you!"

"You got me a job interview?" Laxus said, taken aback slightly.

"Well, I don't think it's that formal, but kinda," She grinned. "I heard you're looking for a project to work on, and he said he's willing to pay you for your time if you're any good."

Laxus leant back in the chair, closing his eyes slightly. He didn't have a reputation for reacting particularly well to surprises, and this was rather a big one. Because a woman he barely actually knew had done something pretty damn big for him.

Working on property was something Laxus had been curious about, and it had seemed to be plausible for him. It was essentially what he was doing in the hotel, just on a larger scale and possibly with more of a challenge, which Laxus liked the sound of. There had been a few months where he'd watched house renovation shows when he could, to see if he could get a better understanding on how the field worked. He very quickly learned that, to do what he wanted, he needed the money to buy some run down property to renovate. Money which he didn't have, given he was a handyman working part time in a hotel.

So to have an opportunity given to him out of nowhere was a little overwhelming.

Because it could really help him out. He was more than qualified to modernise a house's inner workings, and was willing to put the work in. And if it went well, he would at worst end up with more experience, some extra money and perhaps a good reference he could give to some other housing developers. It could actually be really good.

Of course, that meant Laxus was immediately distrustful of the offer. Because things didn't just happen.

"So this guy is just gonna trust some random stranger?"

"I think he's kind of desperate, really," Lisanna laughed, a pitying expression on her face. "I think he wants to get out of here as quickly as he can, he's a city boy. But that doesn't matter. He seems like a nice man, and it's not like you can't do the work he wants. You might as well talk to him, see if it works out," She shrugged. "He's in the restaurant I think. I said I'd bring him over if you were interested."

"Erm," Laxus mumbled. "Fuck it, why not?"

The majority of the walk towards the restaurant was spent with Laxus trying to rationalise exactly what had just happened. He glanced at his reflection whenever he could, because if this was as much an opportunity as Lisanna seemed to think that it was, Laxus needed to make a good first impression.

When they walked into the restaurant, Lisanna seemed to scan the room before spotting the person she was looking for. She started to walk again and Laxus followed, eyes eventually settling on the man sitting at the window table.

He wasn't what Laxus expected.

Having expected a stuffy old man, in his fifties and balding, Laxus felt wrongfooted. The man was almost certainly a few years younger than Laxus. He had long and green hair, tied high in a ponytail. He was wearing a sharp looking suit that Laxus didn't recognise the brand of. His facial features were sharp and well structured, no doubt the rest of his body just as maintained under his clothing. As Laxus got closer he could smell a mix of some sharp and cool cologne, and the floral scent left by the clothes' steamers put in every room. When he looked up to Laxus he had sharp and inviting blue eyes, and a somewhat enigmatic expression.

Laxus might be inclined to call him a pretty boy, had his expression been a little less intense.

Just his type. Aesthetically, anyway.

"Mr Justine," Lisanna said in greeting. "How'd your lunch?"

"Very pleasant," The man said, glancing for a second to the chicken salad he was eating and then back to Laxus.

"This is the man I told you about, our handyman," Lisanna explained, nudging Laxus. The blonde stepped forward and offered his hand to shake. The man did so, with a firm grasp.

"Laxus," The blonde said. "It's nice to meet you, sir."

"You too," The man replied, and Laxus couldn't help but notice how smooth his voice was. But it wasn't the time, so he retracted his hand as the other man spoke. "I'm Freed, as you've perhaps been told. I expect your colleague has explained why I wish to speak with you?"

"The Albion House, right?" Laxus asked. "You got lumbered with the place and need help with the electrics."

"Essentially, yes," Freed nodded. "The only thing that's actually remained intact is the building's structure. The wiring, the plumbing, the heating system, and I'm sure there's a lot more that I'm not aware of that has also been destroyed. I wish to get the building to a point where it's functioning so I can sell it. It doesn't need to be nice to look at, just work. Is that something you think you can do?"

"Well, I'm good with all that shit- stuff," Laxus winced, glancing at the table, and missing the amused expression on Freed's face. "I've done a lot of work here, and in some other houses when they need it. Unless there's some really unusual crap, I should be fine."

"Take a seat, Mr Dreyar."

At the sudden request, Laxus found himself doing what he was told. He sat opposite Freed, and waited a little awkwardly while Freed ordered another tea for himself. He thought about telling him that Lisanna wasn't actually part of the wait-staff, but she smiled and said it'll be right out before retreating to the kitchen. He frowned as she walked away, only to quickly turn back and give him two thumbs up and a large smile. He almost rolled his eyes at the stupid action, but looked back to the man who might soon employ him.

"I think it's best we be honest with one another," Freed continued, and Laxus nodded slightly. "I have no interest nor practical skill when it comes to homeownership and renovations. I can learn, and I'm not an impractical man in general, but a lot of the work will be done by you."

"I can do that," Laxus said with a nod. "How would that work with the, erm… payment, if that ain't too forward?"

"No, that's fair," Freed said, pulling out his phone from his breast pocket. "I haven't had long to look into it, but I plan to pay you by the hour; I don't know how long it will take, so I thought that made more sense than a single payment. I'll clarify how much you get each hour when I find out the average pay a skilled workman gets. Of course we can debate this if you don't think it's fair, but I expect it'll be a good wage"

Laxus probably looked a bit stupid for a moment. He was expecting either a vague answer or a simple 'I'll pay you a grand and expect it to be done by the end of the month.' Not a lot of… legal sounding crap.

"That sounds good," Laxus said after a moment, nodding. "How bad's the house, if y' know? The outside ain't great but I'd like to know what I'm getting into."

"The outside is the best part, I'm afraid," Freed chuckled a little bitterly, and Laxus glanced up at his face again. On his handsome features – and damn, up close they were pretty handsome – there were slight lines of worry beside his eyes. "I didn't take many pictures as I wasn't in the best of moods, but this is fairly reflective of the entire place."

Freed flicked on his phone a few times, and then showed his screen to Laxus. It took a few seconds for Laxus to actually understand what that was, and when he did he let out an almost impressed sigh and leant back in his chair.

"That's the circuit box?" He laughed, and Freed nodded. "It looks like…"

"It had a violent orgy with a jackhammer, baseball bat and a box of explosives?" Freed completed, and Laxus let out a short bark of laughter, shocking himself.

"Fuck, sorry. I shouldn't laugh," Laxus winced, though he was grinning. When he glanced towards Freed again, he openly saw him smirking at him. If nothing else, at least this proved his boss had a sense of humour. "I didn't expect it, sorry. It does look pretty bad though, if the rest of the house is like that then it's probably gonna take a while to get the place in a liveable state."

"I assumed as much," Freed said with a sigh. "I only intend to stay here for a week, I should clarify. My office may allow me to extend that for another week. I'm hoping that, by then, you'll have begun work and can do so without me. I'll keep in regular contact of course, but I won't be here in person often."

"That's okay. I can deal with that," Laxus nodded as he spoke. He liked working alone. "What do you do, if you don't mind me askin'?"

"I'm a lawyer," Freed waved his hand as he returned his phone to his jacket pocket.

"Fuck. That's pretty-" Hot. "Impressive."

"Thank you," Freed nodded a little. "I don't mean to be abrupt, but I've got to clear some details up with my office, so I'll have to leave you," He pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket. "Here's my card, call me in the evening. We'll discuss things further then. Good day, Laxus."

"Yeah," Laxus nodded. "Speak later."

Freed nodded, and left the restaurant. Laxus allowed his eyes to trail over his retreating figure, roaming over his broad shoulders to his taut waist, then, for a split-second, to his ass. He glanced away, only to see Cana watching him with a judgmental, shit-eating grin.

"I'm gonna fix the fucking toaster," Laxus muttered with a slight blush, standing abruptly. Cana kept smirking. "Fuck off."

[and-it-freezes-me]

AUgust Day 1 - Coffee Shop

Content: brief alcohol mention, bullying mention, divorce mention, fluff

Words: 3,456

Nobody is quite sure when the café became their haunt.

It couldn’t have been when Logan suggested making the front left table, the one beside the large potted fern and next to the window, their designated study space. He was determined to drag Patton through Geometry if it was the last thing he did (although, he would remind them, he would really prefer it not be the last thing he did), and Patton was paying him back by bribing Roman with chocolate cookies to tutor Logan in literature. Back then, the café had been a convenient place to spread books over a table, to spend an hour complaining that Shakespeare knew far too many words for his own good, to spend another complaining that Euclid was far more interested in circles and straight lines than was entirely healthy. It hadn’t exactly been somewhere they wanted to go: nobody, Logan included, wanted to leave at the end of a seven hour school day and immediately study more, no matter how good the hot chocolate was.

It wasn’t really their haunt when one of Patton’s moms had left out of the blue - it had just been somewhere they could sit and comfort their friend, Virgil with his arm around the tall boy’s shoulders as he shook, Roman bribing his then-boyfriend with kisses to get Patton extra cream on his hot chocolate, Logan torn between scolding Roman for making out with Remy over the counter and trying to find the right words to say to Patton. There hadn’t been any ‘right words’, of course - but his efforts had been met with a huge, tearful hug. They had all slipped into the same side of the booth that afternoon, Virgil with his scalding coffee and six sugars, Patton with his unbearably creamy hot chocolate, Logan with his mint tea, Roman with his raspberry frappé (Logan insisted that it was unethical that Remy give him free drinks just because they occasionally kissed, but Roman argued that they kissed slightly more than occasionally, and anyway, Logan’s dad gave him free drinks whenever they kissed, and Logan countered with the firm statement that this wasn’t the time for ‘your parent’ jokes, then threw a packet of salt at Roman when he cocked an eyebrow and replied, “that’s what he said last night”).

By the day in their junior year when Roman dragged himself there half an hour after than the rest, lip split, eye blackened, and limping and they hauled him into their booth and fussed over him, they had been going almost every day after school. It was where they blew off steam, complained about teachers and their peers and their homework and their extra curriculars and Logan’s college admissions essay and Patton’s mom’s new girlfriend and his other mom’s new boyfriend; that evening, it was where they took a dishcloth full of ice from Roman’s ex to press against the swelling on his face, and where they borrowed the first aid box from the other part timer and stuck plasters all over the grazes on his knees and elbows. Virgil had sworn vengeance against the seniors that had taken issue with Roman’s rainbow-dyed hair, Logan had moved a finger slowly back and forward in front of Roman’s nose before finally announcing that he (probably) didn’t have a concussion, Patton had made bad puns about the coffee (“it tastes like mud! Well, I suppose it was only ground this morning…”) until Roman had smiled again. Then he had sworn when his lip cracked open again and more blood trickled down his chin, and Patton had pulled their portable swear jar out of his bag and tapped it menacingly against the table until Roman had dropped a coin into it.

When Virgil’s acceptance letter arrived, he didn’t bother messaging anybody: he knew they’d be at their booth in the café, waiting eagerly for his news. He had thrown himself down on one of the cracked vinyl seats and tossed the opened envelope on the table. Only Logan had bothered opening it to read the words. Patton and Roman had taken one look at his beaming face and thrown themselves across the table to hug him. His letter had been the last to arrive, and they had all known how anxious he had been about it. When they had eventually emerged from the hug pile, Virgil had raised an eyebrow at the empty table, wondering why drinks hadn’t gone flying, and Logan had smirked broadly before pointing first at the lack of baristas behind the counter, and then at the café bathroom. When a scarlet Remy and an Emile who was making no attempt to hide his cheshire-cat grin finally emerged, they had each ordered a coffee, and Patton had pulled a flask from his bag and discreetly topped up each mug with vodka. “We’re celebrating,” he had explained earnestly, but nobody had been about to argue. All Virgil had wanted to know was how long he had been carrying the flask around and waiting for the opportunity, and he had sheepishly admitted that he had swiped it from his mom’s cabinet over a month ago and had been carrying it around with him ever since.

In between those big moments, the café had seen all the little ones, too. It had watched Virgil finally shrug off his black hoodie and replace it with the purple one his dad had bought him when he started therapy; it had watched Logan pour over countless charts and biographies before finally giving up and flipping a coin to choose between medicine and engineering, knowing that he would be thrilled to be doing either. It had watched Roman bury himself in scripts as he auditioned for school play after school play; it had watched Patton grow his hair long, cut it short, and then grow it out again. It had watched Logan shyly voice the idea that he might be gay, to be greeted with Virgil slinging an arm around his shoulder and telling him to join the club, Roman shooting him with finger guns, and Patton nod enthusiastically. It had watched Virgil flit from music production to programming to archeology, his passion never wavering as it changed forms. It had watched Roman moon over Remy, watched them flirt and date and break up as amicably as ever two people have, watched them flirt even when they were no longer interested in one another. It had watched Patton teach everyone to play poker, and to proceed to absolutely annihilate them every time after, and then count the buttons they used as chips back into a jar as though they were made of gold.

This evening, it watches the four of them sprawl in the booth, a milkshake the same mint green as Patton’s tie on the table in front of him, Roman’s crimson jacket a twisted mess on the seat beside him and his white shirt rumpled and untucked, Logan’s clothing as neat as ever but his hair no longer slicked back as it had been at the start of the evening, instead falling over his face and into his eyes, Virgil cradling a cup of black coffee (six sugars) in his hands, socked feet curled up beneath him, his dress shoes empty under the table.

It’s almost midnight - by all rights, the café shouldn’t be open. It isn’t, not really: the sign on the door is flipped around to closed, and everybody who was supposed to be working that afternoon has gone home. Remy, however, has a key - there are benefits to having his parents own a small coffee shop, after all - and let the six of them in; he’s leaning against the back wall, chatting quietly to Emile, occasionally blushing crimson at something his datefriend says. They dressed to match: a handkerchief the same hot pink as Emile’s ballgown is folded over the breast pocket of Remy’s leather jacket (he flatly refused to wear a proper suit jacket). The top few buttons of Remy’s shirt are undone, the edges of several hickies visible around his collar; Emile leans forward and rests a hand on Remy’s shoulder, running a thumb slowly over one, and Remy goes red again. For all his bravado, Remy is very easy to tease.

Smirking, Roman turns his attention back to his friends. Patton is watching him - he winks at him, and the tips of the taller man’s ears go slightly pink. Logan is doing an impression of their head teacher. If he hadn’t been so set on becoming a doctor, Roman thinks, Logan could have made a killing on the stage: he never misses a single tick in his impersonations. Virgil is resting his chin in his hands now, empty cup on the table in front of him as he watches ‘Mr. Hammond’ deliver his end-of-year speech with wide, coffee-dark eyes.

“... done well, very well, superbly well, in fact,” Logan continues. His tongue darts briefly over his lower lip. “These past four years will be ones you, all of you, I am sure, remember for the rest of your lives. Tonight -” he slips his glasses from his face, polishes them briefly on his tie, and then balances them precariously on the end of his nose once more. “Tonight is the time to celebrate your accomplishments, your friendships, the lasting bonds you have made here at Kilahaede High. To the class of -” he licks his lower lip once more, and Roman imagines leaning in and kissing him. “- the class of 2019!”

Patton applauds enthusiastically, and Roman joins in, nudging Logan gently with his shoulder as the bespectacled man allows his posture to straighten once more, Mr. Hammond’s mannerisms dropping away. Virgil is grinning lazily, the caffeine clearly doing very little to counteract the weeks of late nights and early mornings as their final exams had loomed, broken over them, and then passed by.

They are quiet for several long seconds, during which Virgil shuffles a little closer to Patton and rests his head on his shoulder. He’s so relaxed that he doesn’t even flinch when a clatter echoes through the quiet room; only Roman glances around, rolling his eyes when he sees that Remy, clearly distracted by Emile’s tongue in his mouth, has managed to knock a tin of tea bags from the countertop.

Then Patton speaks up. “Feels like the end of an era, doesn’t it?”

“Our time in highschool is not really long enough to be called an ‘era’, Pat.” Logan removes his glasses, cleans them properly with a small cloth he keeps in his pocket, and settles them firmly on the bridge of his nose. Roman rolls his eyes and nudges him.

“I just meant… Everything’s gonna change now. We’re not kids anymore.” He’s staring at his milkshake, half finished now, as though it holds every answer he has ever wanted.

Virgil shifts a little, and Patton wraps an arm around him almost without thinking. “Yeah. Things are gonna be different. But that’s not a bad thing, you know, Pat?” Patton nods automatically.

Leaning across the table, Roman takes one of Patton’s hands and squeezes it between his own. “And we’re not going anywhere, padre. We’ve got all summer together before anybody moves away, and every holiday after that…”

“Virgil and yourself are even going to the same college,” Logan adds. “Roman and I will be in cities adjacent to the two of you. This summer won’t be the last we see of one another…”

“I know… I’m gonna miss this place, though.” Roman isn’t surprised to see Patton’s eyes begin to water, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. He slides out of his and Logan’s side of their booth and slips in beside Patton, so that he’s sandwiched between him and Virgil, and wraps an arm around his waist. The café has truly become their place now, and none of them can really imagine not coming here to relax after a long day. “I’m gonna miss you guys.” Patton finishes in a whisper, wiping the sleeve of his pale blue jacket over his face.

“Why, Patton,” Roman jokes automatically, “It almost sounds as though you like us.”

Logan rolls his eyes.

Patton butts his head gently against Roman’s shoulder. “I do like you, dummy. All of you. So much. You’re my best friends.”

They’re all silent again, a comfortable silence, one that drapes around them like a blanket at one of their many movie nights.

This time, it’s Roman that speaks up - he doesn’t think about it before opening his mouth, but that’s pretty normal for him. “I like you too. All of you. Like, as more than friends.” The silence that follows is slightly more charged than before, but still not uncomfortable. Not quite.

“Like… You want to date us?” Virgil. Roman had half thought he had fallen asleep, but apparently not.

“That’s the gist of it, Hot Topic.”

“Aw, you think I’m hot.”

“Given that Roman just expressed a desire to date you, Virgil, I don’t see why that fact causes you surprise.” Logan is looking at the three of them. An outsider might say that his expression is unreadable, but Roman knows him well enough to catch the way his eyes flicker between the three of them, the way his fingers are pressing lightly against the plastic table between them.

Roman is about to say something back when he feels fingers against the back of his neck, and then Patton’s hand is in his hair and tugging his head toward him. The kiss is sweet, gentle - Patton taste like mint and ice cream and -

“Whiskey? Have you been drinking?”

Patton looks vaguely guilty, then shrugs. “Just a mouthful after the dance.”

“And you didn’t sh-”

“Wait, time out.” Virgil sits up properly now, staring incredulously at him; a look of mild amusement has crossed Logan’s face, twitching the corners of his mouth skyward. “Patton kisses you, and all you can do is ask if he’s been drinking?”

“I tasted alcohol,” Roman protests, but the rest of his words splutter into silence when Virgil practically climbs into Patton’s lap to kiss him.

Their kiss is significantly longer than Roman’s, and he’s almost beginning to get jealous when they finally break apart. Patton is still grinning, glasses slightly crooked, but Virgil just nods as though kissing Patton is something he does every day. “Yep. Definitely whiskey. Shut your mouth, Princey, you’ll catch flies.”

Roman collects his jaw from the floor and attaches it back to his face, but almost loses it again when Virgil leans in and presses a small kiss to his cheek. “That’s better. You’re much more handsome when you’re not clueless.”

“I’m never clueless!” Roman protests, and Virgil merely rolls his eyes.

Logan clears his throat, and all of them look up, Patton with the slightly dazed expression of somebody who had forgotten that there was a third person at the table. A pink blush is creeping up Logan’s throat. When he realises that he has everybody’s attention, it spreads to his cheeks. “You are… Um, you are all aware of the strain that long distance relationships put on their participants, correct?”

Roman can’t help the grin that’s spreading across his face. “Are you aware that I don’t give a damn as long as I get to kiss you?”

“Besides, kiddo, we have all summer before we move. You were just saying how close we were gonna be…” Patton is shifting, and after a second Roman realises that he’s trying to move up to make space on their side of the booth for Logan to join them. He follows, and the three of them squish against the window.

Logan hesitates.

Then Virgil reaches out, managing to grab Logan’s tie from across the table and tugging him forward slightly. “Just get over here, nerd.”

Logan does, tugging his navy blue tie out of the grip of Virgil’s painted nails so that he can move around the table without strangling himself or abandoning his straight-backed, perfect posture.

That posture evaporates a moment later when Roman reaches for him, resting one hand gently on Logan’s cheek. He can feel Virgil’s hand resting lightly on his shoulder, can feel one of Patton’s arms around his waist, can feel sunlight melting slowly over his insides. He guides Logan closer as the dark haired man slides onto the seat, pausing when their faces are only millimeters apart. Logan’s breath dusts his lips when he parts them to speak. “May I kiss you, Pocket Protector?”

Logan’s eyes flicker over his face. Then he nods, and Roman leans forward to press their mouths together. Like his kiss with Patton, it is gentle, warm, affectionate: there is no slide of tongues or clacking of teeth, and Roman wouldn’t have it any other way. Patton sighs behind him and he feels Virgil’s hand tighten slightly, further rumpling his dress shirt - when he and Logan draw apart for breath, they turn to find that Virgil is kissing Patton again.

Roman laces his fingers between Logan’s as he waits for them to surface, and Patton is the first to speak when they finally do. Virgil looks as though he’s seeing stars - Roman has the feeling that Patton is a far better kisser than he would have expected. “Are we dating now?”

“I believe that is the case, Pat.” Logan looks as though he’s about to lean across Roman to kiss Patton as well, but pauses when Virgil tilts his head.

“The four of us?”

“Duh, Wuthering Frights.” Roman nudges his shoulder gently. “You know I don’t like half-measures, right? I can’t imagine only picking one of you…”

“Polyamory, whilst not common, is not unheard of, Virgil. In fact, there are multiple studies-”

“Ey, Sanders!” Remy cuts across the start of Logan’s speech with all the tact of a herd of rhinoceroses, slamming his elbows down on the table. His shirt is all but completely unbuttoned now, eyes bright, face flushed, and there are several new hickies on throat. “Past closing time. Get out.”

Emile is leaning against the door behind the counter, the one that leads to the staircase to the part of the building where Remy lives. Thair hair is ruffled, glasses askew, and quite obviously staring at Remy’s ass as their boyfriend leans over the table to grab the empty coffee cup and the milkshake glass.

Logan and Virgil raise single, cool eyebrows at Remy, who has never had the grace to look ashamed in his life and certainly doesn’t now. Patton smirks at Emile over Remy’s shoulder.

“Whatever happened to mates before dates, dude?” Roman argues, though he’s getting up as he speaks. “I can’t believe you’re kicking us out just so you can get laid.”

“Like y’all weren’t about to get busy right here by the window,” Remy quips back, and Virgil responds with a time saving gesture that relies heavily on his middle finger as he slips his feet back into his shoes. “See you tomorrow, gurl. Call me with all the deets, yeah? Ciao!”

Roman barely has time to grab his jacket as Remy herds them toward the door.

The door slams behind them. A second later the lights flick off.

The four of them exchange a long look, Patton clearly struggling to keep a straight face, Logan faring only slightly better until Roman snorts. Then they’re all laughing, and Patton is clinging to him for balance, and Virgil is practically doubled over and leaning on the wall. It wasn’t really that funny, but they’re floating on the sugar high that is happiness, and every time they start to calm down, one of them snorts and sets them all off again.

Eventually, their laughter stops, and Roman finds himself with Virgil’s hand tucked in his left, Patton squeezing his right. Logan is on Virgil’s other side, one arm draped over his shoulders as they turn their feet in the direction of Roman’s home - they were planning on sleeping over together already.

As they round the corner, the café disappearing into the night, Patton sighs a soft, happy sound. “It feels right, you know?”

“What does, Patton-cake?” Roman stands on tiptoe to press a small kiss to Patton’s temple.

“That that happened there.” Patton tugs his hand from Roman’s and wraps his arm around his waist instead. “It’s our place. It’s only right we start a new era in our café.”

“Again, Patton, I’m not sure that you can count this as an ‘era’ by the official definition,” Logan starts, and the four of them are absorbed into the caffeine city to the sound of his voice, the simple pleasure of being in each other's presence, and the sweetness of something new on their lips and in their hearts.

[chikkou]

someone probably asked this already but would u feel like writting on your thoughts on dingalings opinions/statements about buddy? i never got to around to play the lisa games after the first one but im getting the context both from the stuff uve written on it and my gf who played the game and she seems like the best character in the game imo

well im glad u asked.... (does a gay little walk over to the keyboard)

ok so as was mentioned by the last lisa anon i got, buddy is austins least favorite character. i cant recall if he ever specified why exactly in public, but i have seen an interview that he did shortly after the painful came out, so i think i have a LITTLE more context for his thought process (and please remember this is all conjecture, i literally dont know this man LMAO)

so first, for some background: buddy was adopted by brad when he found her abandoned as a baby, but her birth father is dr. yado, the man who created olathe (with buzzo!). she bears a notably striking resemblance to lisa, especially as she gets older - in fact, i think thats part of why brad chose to keep her. for reference, heres lisa, and heres buddy. obviously these are sprites and not indicative of their exact appearance, but this should make it pretty obvious what i mean. note that, even though brad knows how unsafe it is for buddy to “look like a girl,” he still keeps her hair long like lisas was. buzzo noted the similarity between them in the joyful as well. brad also treats her in a similar (but NOT the exact same) manner that marty did to lisa, but i will get into that in another ask i got LMAO

now, as to why austin doesnt like her. so, this may be reading into things a little too much, but i know for a fact that brad is austins favorite character, AND that austin based brads character and experiences on that of his own father, whom he had a sort of mixed relationship with by his own admission (and i believe his dad was also named “bradley” skjfsds). i dont know any details about this at all, but to my understanding, austins dad also wrestled with addiction, and had a bit of a “rough” personality like brad. austin mentioned in that interview dealing with resentment toward his father for a long time, but that he eventually realized that his father was doing the best that he could in spite of his own upbringing, and even though it didnt excuse the shitty stuff hed done, it made austin somewhat more understanding of the difficult position he was in. so, if brad is austins dad.... well, its not that far of a leap to speculate who buddy likely represents. and it colors a lot of the way he depicts her actions.

the painful, for all its amazing content, sort of dropped the ball on showing why buddy hated brad so much. the only things we know about buddy and brads relationship in that game come from the intro or directly from buddy, and since she never goes into detail (which is fair in-context since brad clearly knows the intricacies of their relationship LMAO), it makes it seem like the worst thing brad has done is forced buddy to stay inside and occasionally passed out from substance abuse. however, as we learn in the joyful, that is not true at all. brad insulted buddy (called her an idiot for asking about brads estranged son), forced her to kill at least two innocent men because, and i quote, “my daughter will not be weak,” and tried to isolate her from the only other people in her life (her uncles, rick, sticky, and cheeks) after they DARED to tell her a small tidbit about brads past. brad may not have been anywhere near as abusive as marty, but if i described all of these things together and asked a random person if they considered them abusive behaviors for a parent, i think id be likely to get an affirmative response.

now, this is not to say that austin doesnt make it a point to show brad mistreating buddy in the painful proper - in the marty scene, brad literally punts buddy across a room because she begs him not to kill him, and then when she throws herself between marty and brad to get him to stop, brad doesnt hesitate to beat the fuck out of her until she has to withdraw. remember too that buddy is not an adult, by any stretch of the imagination - austin confirmed on twitter that she is nowhere near 18. i personally put her age in the 10-12 range, but ive seen people go as high as 14 or 15. in either case, though, this is a fucking CHILD, and beating her like he did is no different than what marty used to do to both him and lisa.

even in spite of this stuff, though, fans are so much more willing to forgive brads behavior than buddys. there are a few reasons for this, but in a more meta-sense, theres a pretty clear reason why buddy is less sympathetic - because we spend WAY less time with her. in the painful, buddy is not on screen until maybe 5-10 hours into gameplay, and we dont even get any real time with her until the games second half. the joyful, in addition to that, is an EXTREMELY short game; the painful is about 20-30 hours, but the joyful runs about 5 hours max. it was a kickstarter stretch goal, and i honestly wish austin hadnt made it a stretch goal and had spent more time working on it, because while it does some really interesting stuff story-wise, it is severely lacking the run time to make buddys story as compelling as brads.  

primarily, though, i believe its because brad gets freudian excuses that at least EXPLAIN his behavior and also show just how many demons he has been fighting. while buddy has just as good of a reason to be the way she is, we never really get to SEE this stuff point blank like we did with brad. we witness him being hurt and mistreated as a kid, and more still as an adult in flashbacks. we get almost nothing from buddy, even though it is obvious that she is suffering in a very unique way. 

so, circling back to your question - why is buddy austins least favorite? i think, quite simply, he seems to identify with her character in the context of buddys relationship with brad, and that actually makes him like her LESS because he has the benefit of hindsight and experience-based wisdom to empathize much more with the brads character and experiences than buddys. so even though brad and buddy are the same in many ways, where he can see brads actions as understandable (if a bit extreme), he cant see buddys in quite the same way. it would be fine if he just felt that way privately, but unfortunately it leaks into the games themselves and leads to many fans not being able to see her perspective and empathize with her, either. and it really does suck bc buddy is definitely one of the most interesting video game protags ive ever seen LMAO

tl;dr austin probably dislikes buddy because brad is based on his own father, and the relationship between brad and buddy is very likely based on his own relationship with his father. there also wasnt enough time in buddys game for her to become more sympathetic, so if ur not really paying attention, it seems like shes just being a bratty teenager instead of, u know. a victim of abuse on a massive scale. so yeah 

[crimsonbluemoon]

Kiss prompt thingy- h2ovanoss, 10 or 11

Number: 6Prompt: Person A teaching person B how to kiss and getting way too caught up in the kissPairing: H2O Vanoss

Warning:  A tad bit steamy. Nothing crazy.

No matter how childish Jonathan acted, one thing was fact; he was and always would be older than Evan. It had been a constant between them since they first met in the neighborhood seventeen years ago; Jonathan had just turned eight, while Evan still sat at five. Evan could get taller, smarter, more mature than his neighborhood buddy, (turned rival turned friend turned best friend turned…yeah) but that one fact still remained. It had been tossed around and hung over Evan’s head forever, and even when they went to college, it just didn’t go away. He wasn’t even sure why it bothered him so much. Maybe because people tended to see him as Jonathan’s ‘little brother’, and the familial twist on their friendship didn’t sit well in his stomach. 

Because Evan had stopped seeing Jonathan as just a friend four years ago. He’d known he was gay before that, and he’d had some minor crushes come and go in middle-school. But it was the summer after his senior year, right when he’d been accepted into the same college as his friend, that his whole world shifted. Jonathan had been so happy, not showing any of his twenty one years jumping around Evan’s bedroom in excitement. Evan had laughed, which caused Jonathan to pounce. Before he knew it, he’d had his arms pinned over his head and solid weight against his hips. Blue eyes looked down at him with power and mischief and maturity-

Evan really struggled to sleep in that bed the rest of the summer. 

Time had passed since then, his crush blooming into far deeper feelings that made him drink more than he’d planned to during college. He hooked up with guys when he flew too close to the sun; letting Jonathan wrap an arm around his shoulders or sleep in his bed when Luke, his roommate, was having Ryan over ‘to hang out’. Evan did his best to keep his distance, to push his feelings down under his skin and let them remain an ache he’d never sate. 

“You want me to kiss you.” But there was only so much a warm-blooded man could take. Jonathan looked flustered squirming on his bed, legs crossed and lip worried between sharp teeth. Evan’s eyes tracked the motion from the corner of his eye, hands twitching on the keyboard of the laptop covering his lap. “Why?” 

“Because I need practice.” Which could be true, since Evan couldn’t remember the last person he’d seen his friend with romantically. It’d been a few years, at least. Sighing, Evan closed his computer, pushing it to the side. His fingers had barely left the laptop before they were captured between Jonathan’s, and he let out a yelp when he was yanked forward on his bed. In seconds, he was corralled into his friend’s lap, strong arms seeming far too casual wrapped around his waist. He was forced to put his bent legs on either side of Jonathan’s torso, knees brushing the side of his ribcage. 

“Hey-”

“Just one kiss! You-you always look so g-good at it, so…” Jonathan’s eyes glanced away at the admission, and Evan felt his heart squeeze with bittersweet emotion. On one hand, it was nice to hear that Jonathan liked his technique. On the other, he didn’t seem to care Evan was kissing other people. It was another slap of reality for him, which he didn’t remember asking for. Holding back his sigh, Evan pulled himself together and gave a slight shrug, hand smoothing over Jonathan’s shoulder to hook around the back of his neck. 

“You’re an old man by now; shouldn’t you have better moves?” His murmur was soft, trying not to show his own excitement as he leaned closer. The angle made him taller, for once, and he had to dip his face down to brush their upper lips together. A jolt of static rushed through Evan’s veins, and he had to force himself not to tremble at the slow brush of hot air that billowed over his parted lips. 

“Maybe.” The word felt amazing against his mouth. Evan’s eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, releasing any of his doubt or logical protest to sink into their kiss. The mouth under his was already open, letting Evan’s tongue slide evenly across the soft lip he sucked on. If this was going to be the only time he got to kiss Jonathan, he needed to make it count. His chest pressed closer to Jonathan’s, arousal and affection intertwining themselves through his spine at the first brush of their tongues. Hands he’d dreamt of slid up his back slowly, as if tracing each inch of skin through his shirt. Mouths opened and closed with the roll of their kiss that seemed to linger far beyond innocent. Evan’s hips lacked restraint, a brush of Jonathan’s thumb along the nape of his neck making them move lower in need. From how quickly they were rutted against in return, the motion wasn’t rebuffed. In fact, from the heavy palm that curled over his hip and arched it back into another slow roll, it was almost encouraged. 

Pulling his bruised mouth back, Even let out a soft gasp when lips trailed down his throat, open kisses leaving his mind fuzzy and warm. 

“You didn’t…need practice,” he said, a moan catching the end of his sentence at the nip over his racing pulse point. They didn’t stop moving, Evan easily arching back to let Jonathan’s hands slide his shirt up. Blinking to focus his eyes, he lolled his head back down to take in Jonathan. His flushed cheeks and sheepish smile told the truth; Evan was more than just practice. A thrill licked up his stomach at the thought, eyes wide and plush lips parted in shock. But Jonathan only laughed, pushing Evan back flat onto the bed to whisper his answer against Evan’s ear. 

“Guess this old man still has some moves, after all.” 

[skinks]

alright, alright, listen up. i have yet to see the second movie (mainly cos i cant find an illegal version>:() but i know the spoilers. so. joe. what the HELL happened to eddie. i'm: furious. please break down what went wrong. i'm procrastinating on an english essay and am about to lose my damn mind a) why is this essay due tomorrow and b) why'd andy do this to us?

fhdkhfksd sorry this is late! I hope your English essay got done in time :0

valid of you not to have seen the movie, unlike some idiots (me) who paid to see it twice in the cinema

it probably all boils down to the difficult task of trying to adapt even one half of a novel as huge as IT into a single film. There just isn’t enough time to really delve into the characters, which is really imo one of the book’s strengths. The characters all feel very solid and distinct because we get so much insight during their chapters, and Eddie’s passages are probably the most engaging. He’s so interesting! He’s so curious and conflicted, so determined and brave and defensive and funny and full of so much love for his friends

There’s an interview Muschietti did at what I think was a book launch q&a for the movie companion book, where he said that he didn’t pick up on any of the repressed sexuality subtext in Eddie’s story. And y’know, I find that odd because to me it’s blatant and widely written about, but whatever. THEN he said he thought Eddie had “enough issues” already without adding the sexuality angle, as if Eddie’s repression couldn’t possibly be deeply linked to his obsessive health anxiety or his struggle for autonomy from the controlling memory of his mother

And so the movie, I think, fails to really delve into the reasons for any of the adult characters’ problems, except for maybe Bill and to some minor extent, Richie.

It’s just that Eddie (and Mike, who’s COMPLETELY sidelined) gets the worst of this lack of characterisation, and instead suffers from mischaracterisation. He’s turned into total comic relief, his hypochondria and “mommy issues” are there only as shallow backdrop for the bullshit “overcoming his cowardice” arc that the screenplay gives him.

I KNOW that this is most likely a runtime issue, and because of the change in screenwriters between ch1 and ch2, but it’s still galling. Eddie’s robbed of all his moments of poignant catharsis that make his arc so satisfying and fascinating and tragic in the book.

Bowers’ death, for instance - Eddie kills him in the book and we’re meant to read it as a mirrored conclusion to the set-up where, as children, Henry breaks Eddie’s arm. Eddie is particularly targeted with homophobia from Bowers in the book. By giving that entire plot to Richie, wherein it’s Richie we see receiving homophobic abuse as a child, and it’s Richie who kills Bowers, the filmmakers are by their own admission showing that they lifted entire chunks of Eddie’s sexuality narrative and just... gave them to Richie instead.

This isn’t to say that Richie isn’t targeted with homophobia in the book - he is, and it’s interesting that he and Eddie are iirc the only two who are - OR that they shouldn’t have given Richie the closeted narrative. I’m very glad we got canonically gay Richie. I just don’t see why we couldn’t have had some canon acknowledgement of Eddie’s many telling moments, many of them shared with Richie, especially his dying words scene. His last words are a cheap joke, and his last WORD is literally “mother”, which will never stop pissing me off lmao. You’re allowed more than one gay character in a story, hollywood

The film’s lack of any reciprocity of Richie’s feelings on Eddie’s end, or in fact the lack of any of the tenderness book!Eddie shows for his friends is the most annoying thing about how they handled ch2 Eddie, in my opinion. It speaks to a fundamental misunderstanding of Eddie’s feisty, passionate character.

That’s why I still like ch1 better. Not only is it just a more solid film in almost every way, but Eddie’s always been my favourite from the book and I feel like they did his arc justice in the first movie. Ch2 was attempting too many things, and failed at most of them

[dreamingsnowflake2013]

Type has always thought that the worst thing that could ever happen to him was being near to a gay person, only while lying in someone else’s arms does he realize how terribly wrong he’s been all along. It was losing Tharn’s love and tenderness, which he took for granted and never cherished properly until it’s almost too late, and the thought of Tharn touching someone else the way he touched him. The mere idea of a life without Tharn and a world without Tharn’s love sends him rushing back to him, back to his arms and bed where he curls up against his side, holding onto him for dear life and desperately begging for Tharn’s forgiveness. He is so panicked and frightened that it’s too late and that Tharn has finally given up on him and decided he isn’t worth it after all the rejections and pain he caused him. It’s the possibility of losing Tharn which ultimately makes Type accept what he’s already known in his heart for some time now - that he is deeply, unconditionally and irrevocably in love with Tharn. He completely lets go of all that stubborn pride and bravado, which almost cost him Tharn’s love, and all the words and emotions that used to be so impossible to voice come pouring out - all the regret, need and longing, fear and confusion, desperation and affection. He can’t hold them back, he can’t contain this all-encompassing, reason-defying love he feels for Tharn anymore. He can’t stop the onslaught of brutal honesty. Type speaks to Tharn with so much urgency because after all the refusals, rejections, indifference, denials and lies and the pain he brought Tharn, nothing but absolute sincerity would do, nothing else could salvage their relationship, which is at stake, and bring it from the brink of destruction. Tharn is being bombarded by one confession after another; it’s everything he ever wanted but thought he could never have. Here is the proud, guarded Type begging for his forgiveness, telling him how he can’t bear the mere thought of Tharn sleeping with anyone but himself. The mere possibility of it is tearing him apart and sickens him.

I love how Type keeps comparing Tharn, a man and a gay, to a woman and in every aspect he finds her lacking because no one can hold a candle against Tharn. And she isn’t the only one lacking, it’s everyone else, as well. What Type feels for Tharn goes beyond physical pleasure and cannot by defined by sex, gender or sexual orientation, just as Tharn cannot be defined by these labels. Large hands, smiling eyes, large embrace, aching tenderness, the unconditional ability to love and accept everything about his lover,…. - all these facets make the wholesome, perfectly imperfect human being that is Tharn. There are millions men and women out there Type could be with, BUT THARN IS ONLY ONE. THE WORLD DOESN’T HOLD ANOTHER PERSON LIKE HIM. He is singular and irreplaceable. The love he has for him is such that at this point Type can’t imagine himself being with anyone else but Tharn. To Type, Tharn represents safety, love and home.

What’s so striking about the whole bed scene is that it takes place on several levels. The verbal one, with all the pledges of love, forgiveness being asked and granted,…and the non-verbal one, which is much more subtle. There are hundreds little moments and details, each more poignant and symbolic than the next and together their create this underlying theme of Tharn and Type bridging the distance between them. At first, Tharn has his back turned towards Type, he is silent, swallowing his pain and tears, eyes closed, headphones in his ears, barely breathing. He is basically unresponsive, pretending to be asleep. He is shutting Type out. Until Type begins to talk, and with each new admission and apology, with each new sentence he always craved to hear from him, Tharn slowly, gradually turns towards him. He opens his eyes, takes off the headphones, starts asking questions and as Type continues his epic love confession, Tharn gradually forgives him for everything and slowly shifts and turns more and more towards him, while touching Type’s hand absentmindedly, until he is face to face with him, until he reaches out to him, caresses his cheek and places his crying face on his shoulder, until they are in each other’s arms once again, getting lost in a kiss and abandon.

There is this moment when Tharn turns his head just enough and you can spot that the tears streaking down his forlorn face, despite all his efforts they escaped. Type notices them and he knows how much he’s hurt him and wants to take all that pain away because Tharn’s pain is now his, as well. He took him in his heart and Tharn is a part of him now, the only way to get rid of him now would be carving out his own heart. And it means so much that both him and Type are crying, literally baring their souls to each other, no longer hiding anything.

When Tharn asks so fearfully through his tears whether Type truly slept with Puifai, Type is so desperate to assure him that he did not do it, that he couldn’t, that the only one he ever wanted is Tharn. He’s so adamant, crying, shaking his head and clutching at Tharn’s shirt because he needs Tharn to believe him, he needs him to know that he is the only one for him. Because the other option is losing Tharn forever and he wouldn’t survive that.