#for the people on the internet to tell me they are not going to end up together

[mclacedes]

A Fading Echo (LH44)

CHAPTER II: Going Home

a/n: this is NOT PROOF READ

warnings: breakup, abu dhabi ‘21, rude!lewis, depression, gaslighting, fighting

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“For a moment, he wanted to break down and beg Willem not to leave. Don't go, he wanted to tell him. Stay here with me. I'm scared to be alone.”

- Hanya Yanagihara, "A Little Life"

He remembers your final battle—the fight that ended it all; the decision-maker, the deal-breaker.

Four years. You had been together for four beautiful, though turbulent, years. The kind of love story that felt unshakable, weathering the storms life hurled your way. You had your own career, pursuing the dreams you’d cherished since you were a kid. You were finally at a stage in life where everything felt like it fit perfectly. And with him by your side, it seemed like nothing could go wrong.

By 2020—your third year together—things had grown serious, the kind of serious that made people whisper about rings and forever.

You still remember the phone call in March 2020, just as the world began to crumble under the weight of a pandemic, when asked you the question, his voice calm but carrying a thread of anticipation.

“Quarantine with me. In the UK,” he said, his words slicing through the static.

You froze, caught completely off guard. The emotions hit you all at once—joy, anxiety, disbelief—so quickly that you couldn’t string a coherent thought together.

“Y/n?” His voice softened. “You still there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” you stammered, your mind still reeling. “I’m just… a little unprepared for that question.”

The pandemic was spiraling into chaos. Quarantine was the new normal, with no end in sight. Weeks? Months? Years? No one knew. There was no vaccine, no cure, just endless uncertainty. The thought of being confined in one place for so long felt suffocating.

“It's just… That's not my house, I don't know if I’ll…” he had this unbearable habit of cutting you off in the middle of a sentence.

“I know, but we can make it home,” you could tell he was beaming with pride for coming up with that sentence. “Home is wherever you are.”

It sounded like a promise. Like he was for real.

“Besides, there won’t be any races for a while. Things will be peaceful, quiet… just us. I think we can make it fun at home, huh?”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket. Despite the fear and uncertainty, the thought of being with him—just him—was comforting.

You took a deep breath, letting the idea sink in. “Okay, it sounds nice,” and you smiled.

And it was nice. More than nice, really. Those weeks together were filled with laughter and quiet moments, a bubble of peace in a chaotic world.

Eventually, though, he had to leave again. Racing had resumed, and his life called him back to the track. You went to as many races as you could, though he always worried.

“I don’t want you catching that thing,” he’d say, his protective nature shining through.

You’d laugh it off, but you knew he meant it. Those months felt like a rhythm you could get used to—brief separations and joyous reunions. You thought you had found your balance.

But cracks have a way of forming when you least expect them—because people talk. They speculate. They conspire. Perched on the edges of lives they don’t know, they wait for their chance to unravel something beautiful.

Your relationship became a sweet treat for an internet starved for the meanest way to make somebody seem interesting, a spectacle to devour and distort—somebody had to feed those vultures.

By mid-2021, Twitter was buzzing with talk of rings, cradles and bibs. People dissected your (and his) every move, searching for signs of the next big step. But while the world fantasized about your future, Lewis was consumed by a fight of his own—that year's championship; the toughest battle since 2016, since Nico.

You knew his career had always been his first love, the thing that made his heart pump and his eyes shine long before they settled on you. Just as you had your own dreams to chase, he had his. And in 2021, those dreams demanded everything from him—his time, his attention, his softness, and, it seemed, his love for you.

By late 2021, the cracks in your once unshakable foundation had grown too wide to ignore. The championship consumed him, pulling him further away, and you—desperately holding on—began to feel more like an obligation than a partner.

It started with the little things: unanswered texts, “I was catching up on data”, missed calls, conversations cut short with a distracted “Sorry, I’ll call you later”. Later never came thought. Even when you were physically together, his mind was elsewhere, a thousand miles ahead, already focused on the next race, the next strategy meeting, the next battle on track.

You tried to understand. You reminded yourself of his passion, his drive, the fire that had drawn you to him in the first place. But understanding didn’t make the loneliness any easier to bear.

Then it crumbled. December, after Abu Dhabi. It was like everything started to shut down, like multiple organ failure—there’s no surgery to save your relationship. The worst part is that you knew it—you both. The even worse part was that you let it go so easily.

The fallout from that race was cataclysmic, not just for him but for you too. He came home shattered—a man stripped of everything he’d worked for, everything he believed in. You wanted to be there for him, to help him rebuild, but he wouldn’t let you in. He was silent, withdrawn, a ghost of the man who had once made you feel like the center of his universe.

“I’m here if you wanna talk,” you had reassured him once, your voice soft, during a quietly bitter dinner.

“I don’t want to,” he replied sharply, his tone cold and clipped, not even looking up from his plate.

“I know, but what I mean is that—”

“I know what you mean, Y/N,” he interrupted, his voice laced with impatience. “Please, can we just eat?”

The finality in his words stung, sharp and unforgiving. Recessive and heartbroken, you nodded, lowering your gaze to the plate of food you had poured your heart into making—a meal that now tasted like ash in your mouth.

The days dragged on after that, each one heavier than the last. Conversations became sparse, filled only with superficial pleasantries or curt exchanges. The man who used to pull you into his arms and make you laugh until your sides ached now felt like a stranger in your own home.

And then came the day he told you he was leaving.

“I’m going over to my parents,” he said one evening, his voice flat, drained of its usual warmth, as the chill of December crept into the Monaco air.

You blinked, still sitting on the couch surrounded by a scattering of holiday cards you’d been addressing. The weight of his words took a moment to settle.

“Didn’t know they’d spend Christmas with us,” you said, absent-minded, not understanding what he meant yet.

“No,” he clarified, his tone cool and detached. “I’m going home.”

The room seemed to close in around you, the once-welcoming space now feeling alien and far too empty. “Okay… I’ll pack my bags,” you said quickly, standing up abruptly, as if to act like nothing had changed. “How long are we staying there? I hope you’re aware that I’m going home for New Year’s—”

“No, Y/N.” He cut you off, his words sharp enough to slice through the air. “I need to go by myself. Just me and my parents for once.”

Your breath hitched as you processed his words. “Oh. Umm… Okay,” you managed to say, your throat tightening, tears threatening to spill. “It’s just that we… we had planned this. We were supposed to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. “Plans changed.”

The dismissal stung, sharp and biting, like a slap to the face. And then, the silence.

“What happened, Lewis?” you asked, the crack in your voice betraying the storm brewing inside.

“How is that even a question?” he snapped, his brow furrowed, disbelief coloring his words. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration leaking from his every pore. “It’s right in front of you, Y/N. It’s been right in front of you.”

“No, it hasn’t!” you shot back, the words tumbling out in a mix of anger and desperation. “You’ve been shutting me out for months. I don’t know what’s going on with you anymore because you won’t talk to me! You won’t let me in!”

“Oh, so now this is my fault?” he retorted, his voice rising, defensive. “I’m the bad guy for not wanting to drown you in my shit? For needing space to deal with the fact that my career—my legacy—was torn apart in front of the entire world?” He turned his back on you, heading toward the hallway that led to your shared bedroom.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Lewis!” you shouted, following him, the frustration boiling over. “The thing is, you made me believe we were a team. We’d face things together. And now, when it matters most, you’re shutting me out!”

But he didn’t listen. His steps were heavy, his mind already elsewhere.

“You said you’re going home!” You screamed, and this time, he finally stopped, his body tensing.

He turned around, his face a storm of frustration. “I am going home, Y/N. What’s so hard to understand about that?”

“What happened to ‘home is wherever you are, Y/N’?” you repeated, your voice shaking with raw emotion. “This isn’t your home anymore? After everything we’ve built together, I’m not your home?”

He scoffed, a cruel sound that sliced through the air. “You’re twisting my words.”

“No, I’m not!” you retorted, your heart pounding, desperate to be heard. “I’m just trying to understand why you think running back to the UK and shutting me out is the answer to anything. You barely even look at me anymore, Lewis. Do you even want me here?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” His eyes narrowed, his tone sharp, though still defensive.

“It means you’ve kept me on the edge for so long. You’re here, but not really. And when you’re gone, we don’t talk. You disappear. I’m not even a part of your life anymore!” You could feel the tears in your throat, but you fought them back. “You dismiss everything we talked about—marriage, kids, a future. Like none of it matters to you anymore. Like you don’t want me in your life at all. It feels like you hate me!”

“Argh, here you go again,” he snarled, his fists clenching. “Shit, you always do this,” he snapped, his voice rising. “Always making it about you,” his index pointed straight at you.

“Because it is about us!” you cried, your voice breaking. “It’s about me too, isn’t it? I’m not some option you can just turn off when you don’t feel like dealing with me!”

“Well, I’m the one dealing with shit right now,” he shot back, his eyes flashing with anger. “And instead of supporting me, you’re interrogating me, saying I don’t care about you. You think that talking about babies and rings is going to fix anything? You don’t get it, Y/N! You’re so focused on your timeline, on what you think I should be giving you, that you can’t see that I’m falling apart!”

You stood frozen, the sting of his words slicing through you like ice. “That’s not fair, Lewis. I’ve been supporting you—”

“Have you?” he interrupted coldly, his voice full of bitterness. “Because all I hear is how you feel. I’m the one who’s lost everything, but somehow, I’m the one to blame. You’ve made this all about you.”

“You keep saying you’ve lost everything, but no,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears now spilling. “You haven’t lost everything. Your legacy is still there. You’re a legend. It’s always going to be remembered. But you’re so lost in your own darkness that you can’t see what’s still in front of you. You’ve lost a championship, so what?”

Lewis’s face twisted with rage, his eyes seething as he glared at you. “So what?” he echoed bitterly. “You think it’s just about a damn race? It’s not just the championship, Y/N. It’s everything. They took it from me. They stole it from me, right in front of everyone’s eyes. And all you can do is lecture me like I’m being unreasonable? You’re standing here talking about legacy and what I’ve achieved, but none of that matters if it’s all been ripped away. What’s left of me when they’ve taken everything?” he said, forcing himself to maintain his composure.

“Yeah, and what's left of us, Lewis?”

The words hit him harder than you expected, and for a moment, he was silent, his jaw tightening. His chest heaved, and his eyes locked onto yours, a mix of pain and frustration swirling in them.

“What do you mean, what's left of us?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly, as though he was trying to understand.

“We,” you repeated, your voice quieter now, barely above a whisper. “What’s left of us when you shut me out like this? When you push me away every time I try to help you, every time I try to understand? What happens when you keep giving them, the media, more than you give to this relationship?”

“I don’t think I have the mindspace to dwell on that anymore, Y/N,” He stood there, seemingly distant, his eyes avoiding yours now. The air between you both felt colder, thicker, like an impenetrable wall had risen between the two of you.

“See? That's what I’m talking about! You’ll just run away, packing it up and not talking to me. You can’t just not think about it, Lewis,” you said, frustration creeping into your voice. “You can’t just shut everything out because it’s easier than facing it. This relationship—us—it’s not a convenience, it’s not something you can just leave behind when it doesn’t fit your narrative anymore.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as if he were searching for a retort but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he said, “I can’t give you what you need right now, Y/N. I can’t be the person you want me to be.”

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Lewis,” you said, stepping closer to him. “I just need you to let me in. I need you to trust me enough to share the weight.”

He shook his head, looking away as if he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is!” you insisted, the tears you’d been holding back spilling over now. “You’re choosing to leave me out. You’re actively choosing to push me away. That’s not about the championship or your career—that’s about us. And it’s killing me, Lewis.”

For a moment, he just stood there, his eyes locked on yours, his face a blank mask. And then, in a voice so quiet, so small, it shattered your heart, he said, “Maybe we were never as strong as we thought we were.”

The words slammed into you like a punch to the gut, leaving you gasping for air. “You don’t mean that,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, cracking under the weight of the truth you didn’t want to face.

Time seemed to slow as he reached for his house keys, his car keys, and the packed handbag—each movement like a dagger slowly twisting deeper into your chest.

“Lewis, no,” you begged, your voice raw, desperation flooding your veins. “No, please, don’t do this. Please stay…”

But he didn’t look back. He didn’t even flinch at your broken cries.

“I’ll see you around,” he muttered, his words empty, hollow. His tone was void of everything that once mattered. Without another word, he walked out, the door slamming shut behind him with a deafening finality.

The silence that followed was suffocating, the sound of the door’s closure ringing in your ears like a death knell. You were left standing there, frozen, in a sea of devastation. Alone. Lost. And questioning everything that had once been so sure.

Nothing was ever the same after that.

For him, that wasn’t just the loss of a championship—it was the loss of himself. Of everything he thought he could hold onto.

You watched helplessly as he sought solace in everything else—the noise, the distractions, the empty comforts—anything but you. Everyone else seemed to understand the depths of his pain, the weight of his loss, except for you. And that fact stung worse than anything he’d said.

That night, you let yourself slip into a crying spiral, tears falling uncontrollably, each one a reflection of the pain that had consumed you. You didn't know how long it lasted, but it felt like hours, your chest tight and raw. Eventually, exhaustion dragged you into a restless sleep, the emptiness settling around you.

A few weeks later, after trying to collect yourself and make sense of the pain, you sent one text.

you: i’ve taken my thing out of your house in Monaco. i’m breaking up with you.

You stared at the message for a long moment, your thumb hovering over the send button, as though giving yourself a moment to breathe before the finality of it.

With a shaky exhale, you pressed send. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything that had built up, everything that had been left unsaid. The knot in your chest didn’t loosen. It didn’t change anything. But it was done. And as you stared at the screen, the absence of a reply was just another confirmation that it was over.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

One of the problems I had with the online radicalization of Jalil in reunion is how it actually occurs. Jalil is supposedly radicalized by a message board, but it’s provided by alliance and the AI mascot he uses is Lila. So it’s left muddled on what exactly is happening here.

Is there really an internet based opposition to LB and CN? You wouldn’t think it since Paris enlarge is shown to still support them. But the presence of message boards would imply at least some support for monarch even if it’s mostly trolls. Or is alliance fabricating it for Gabriel to upset people in a targeted way? Or is it just Lila with a bunch of alt accounts? It’s really hard for me to tell just how wide spread this is as a problem for Paris considering it’s dropped after this one episode.

I'm also not sure how seriously we're supposed to take the criticism shown in that episode. It feels very much like the sort of BS we get with Su-Han where he points out a legitimate concern but in the most obnoxious, inflammatory way possible so that the audience feels forced to disagree with him. It's terrible writing that isn't very fun to watch. Reminds me of all the awful live-action Disney reboots that try to engage with every critical take anyone has ever had, leading to a lesser story. They would be much better off to just ignore the criticism they don't want to properly address and have fun with the story even if there's an arguable flaw. That's what suspension of disbelief is all about!

You want Paris to support Ladybug and Chat Noir no matter what they do? Cool! That works! Just don't take an episode and introduce the idea that there is actually criticism out there because that makes us start to question things like anon is doing here.

Another great example is the "issue" that Gabriel never uses the butterfly miraculous to heal his wife when it feels like that should be within its power. The show was totally correct to never address that on screen because the butterfly probably should be able to heal her! The reason it can't is because then the show would end. If the writers tried to explain an in-universe reason, then it would be as nonsensical as their explanation of how the rooster works:

Gabriel: There! (to Orikko) You! You can grant me any power I want! (closes the Grimoire and walks toward Orikko) You will give me the power to travel through time! Orikko: No, you're mistaken! Time travel is Fluff's power and I can't grant the power that already belongs to another Kwami! Gabriel: Are you trying to deceive me?? Orikko: (nods) By all means! Read the Grimoire again! (Gabriel reopens the Grimoire.) Sass: Each Kwami represents a concept, and a concept can only exist once in the universe. Xuppu: Too complicated, Sass! Let's use an example to make things simpler. Take Tikki, she is the Kwami of Creation, and creation is creation, and if there's another creation than creation, then it's not "creation", it's "replication"! Gabriel: Then grant me the power to locate Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous! Orikko: Trouble is, that's not a power; that's a wish! Xuppu: For instance, if I asked Santa for a pair of socks, that's a wish. But if I want Santa to grant me the power to knit socks, then it means Santa needs to know how to knit socks in the first place so he can teach me! Gabriel: (groans angrily) Grant me the power to unmask Ladybug and Cat Noir's secret identities! Xuppu: No can do! Orikko: (shoves Xuppu away) I cannot give a power that would disrupt another Kwami's magic. And being able to conceal the person behind the costume, well, that's part of the magic of their Kwami. Gabriel: (enraged) So you're utterly useless!

If all of this is true, then how do the goat and the peacock make things? Isn't that Creation? And how was the butterfly able to make a time travel villain? That's Fluff's power! And how was Gabriel able to offer to make Marinette into a villain who could unmask people via the butterfly? That's going against the miraculous' powers!

The answer is simply that the lore was not thought out in a way that stands up to even the most basic questions. When that's the case, the only way to handle the problem is to just ignore it. Keep your on screen explanations as shallow as your lore. Don't try to add depth that isn't there. Trying to address it just highlights how shitty your world building is.

[fromkenari]

@alliwantforchristmasislou

I don't talk about my identity a lot because I live in a town in the 2/3rds of the state that is red despite it being a blue state. I'm not accepted, nor is it really safe for me open about it beyond my friends, and the sad thing is I have only one other friend in this town with the same pronouns as me and my friends, all of whom are queer positive and a bunch of whom are queer themselves don't use the correct pronouns for my other friend who uses them or me because well, you know, transphobia but they claim it's because using "they" in a singular sense is just too awkward for them to do that for my one other friend who uses they/them and me. And I could talk about the suicide rate of non-cis kids in this town, but this is a positive post, right? It's why the Trevor Project is so important.

So anyway. Tumblr, Discord, and the internet, in general, have been the only hardline I have to a diverse queer network. I've been on this site since sometime in early 2009, and you know, before that, I was on Livejournal, and before that, I was on fan forums, Yahoo! Groups, and Pro Boards. So I've been around. I've seen it all in real time. And even though I was not into anything to do with Superwholock, I saw all of that, and you know, I have never really been deep in a fandom. Not even when I was on Livejournal. I just have a massive aversion to oversaturation.

So. I've been watching 911 since the pilot. I was hyped for it because of Angela Bassett. I thought, "You're making Angela Bassett a cop and handing her a TV show; what could go wrong?" (That's rhetorical; don't @ me. I know better now.) Anyway. I was hooked from the first episode, and you have to understand when 911 premiered, I was in one of the darkest points of my life. I had finally been declared legally disabled, which I had been working toward for 3 years. So, you know, nobody on Tumblr was talking about this show. By the end of Season 1, a few of us were scratching around at things, but there wasn't much there.

Then, Season 2 happened, and you know, Season 2 was some of my best times in the 911 fandom. I was there when we were deciding on Beddie vs Buddie. I was there when the first Buck/Eddie fic was posted to AO3. I even wrote some back then. It was a completely different energy then. There was an entire Discord server of us who were mortified that "Be Careful What You Wish For" was likely about the part of fandom that wanted Eddie and Shannon to end, but the consensus was, "WTF, we wanted her gone, but not like that!" And then, you know, the people celebrating it got louder and louder, and I was in fandom less and less until I stopped posting about 911 entirely on Tumblr.

Eventually, I made a new blog, this blog, not because of that, but because Tumblr shadowbanned my old blog, and nothing I posted would show up in tags. And you know, I was a big fandom creator and roleplayer, and I had to start all over. But I was still watching 911. I never stopped. I also watch Lone Star, and oh, the stories I could tell about the early days of Lone Star when 911 OG purists were throwing hissy fits that Lone Star content was getting tagged as 911. Seriously, it was a knockdown, drag-out fight to watch. But anyway, you know, I'm watching, and I'm waiting. I'm waiting for Evan Buckley to be confirmed as bisexual as I get my Henren scraps and cry over everything they do to Josh.

Then, the show gets canceled. But OMG, it's Immediately picked up by ABC, so trying to understand how to feel was indescribable. Because Seasons 5 and 6 sucked, they sucked, and I won't be convinced otherwise, and I was despairing because I was going to have to jump ship. And then the show jumped networks. So, I'm figured what do I have to lose?

So, I am still reeling from the Cruise ship disaster and rescue. And I'm going, "Is my show back? It's kind of back, right?" while also going, "And Tommy's back, and he's getting along with everyone. Sure, why not?" And then, you know, Episode 4 happened, and I'm watching it wondering what the hell is going on. Is Tommy going to be a recurring character now? And then you know Buck was an idiot, and you know I thought it was about Eddie, and I was kind of mad because really? The cast and crew get kicked around by their ship's fans, and you're giving them this? Because anyone who tells me watching that episode as it was airing that they thought Buck was doing that for Tommy before the loft scene, I'm calling horseshit because I've been watching since episode 1

I've wanted Bi Buck for as long as I can remember. And it was not until the loft scene that I even realized something was happening. I didn't know what it was, but something was off. And some point, I was standing on the couch freaking out at my TV, going, "WHY ARE THEY STANDING SO CLOSE TOGETHER? WHAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?" And then, you know, the kiss happened, and thankfully, no one was living next door in my duplex at the time because I was not quiet about my joy, and I sprained my freaking knee. I was so chaotic in my reaction. (I had to go to urgent care. It was a whole thing. Eh, my joints suck because of chronic illness. I told you I was on disability a long time ago, okay.) And you know, once I simmered down, I ran to this blog to post about it because 4 episodes on a new network, and they gave me Bi Buck.

And you know, I tried so hard to find a voice for Tommy in my head, but I couldn't. I didn't have enough material to do it. I appreciated everyone who could do it because I read your fic, which was great. I didn't even get into the fandom for it until Season 8 because I couldn't wrap my head around the ship, but I was going to sit there as long as it took to understand Tommy because it's Bi Buck's canon ship. Of course, I want to be able to write it myself. That's what I do. And right about when Tommy brought Buck avocado toast, I got it. Everything synced up in my head, and I understood it. I could go back and look at things and understand why Tommy did things now.

So, during that break for Halloween, I was writing little things and not posting them. I had already at the start of Season 8 found a Discord server, and I was hanging out in the tag. I was looking through follow lists people posted and zipping through them. And yeah, sue me. I call it Tevan because that's what Tommy calls him. That's not a judgment on anyone; it's just my preference. I forgot to mention that I was also there when shit hit the fan during the Season 7 hiatus and trying to survive in my old 911 Discord Servers, but people were awful for no reason. I'm never gonna understand why a whole swath of fandom hated the ship to the point that they were causing traumatic harm to other people, especially queer men in fandom. That's just so beyond me, and, again, another reason we need the Trevor Project is that queer men fetishists on Tumblr do not constitute a safe community for queer people. But I'm getting off track.

So you know, they broke up Buck and Tommy in the next freaking episode, and I had a lot of feelings. I posted a lot of them here. Some of them conflict because you know the human brain can handle more than one viewpoint. Gray areas are my bread and butter when it comes to media. Anyone gets puritanical about anything; I don't care what you ship; I will remove you from my curated experience because I don't need it. It's not healthy.

I've been writing more and more about this ship since the breakup. I even wrote a fixit for the breakup. And you know what happened in the show compared to what people say in interviews? There's a huge disconnect. In any other situation, especially given it's 911 and the Abby of it all, you would expect this to not be over because that's not how Buck's big love interests work. Most of his relationships end with him being too invested, but you don't get to call it a pivotal relationship for Buck and say it's over cold turkey. That's crappy writing because it completely goes against his characterization.

But I didn't realize how attached many people were to Tommy. I felt like I finally met him in the Halloween episode, and bam, he's gone in the next. So much wasted potential. So much drama. So many harassed actors and crew members. So many "journalists" acting like it's their blog is the gossip section of their high school newspaper, but they get screeners? So much crap happened, and what was it all for? So Buck can pine for Tommy and cause Los Angeles County to go on a flour ration? Like? I don't get it. So yeah. If the show wants to fix this mistake because this one they did leave themselves a contingency plan by not killing the man, they can fix it.

So bring back Tommy. If you do, I'll think about forgiving you for Amir's storyline last season. But we still need to talk about what messages we're sending people in these episodes. Those teenage girls do not deserve to get blamed because a grown man went rage quit to the max. The copaganda is SO HIGH that I can't even watch Athena's scenes now. And there's a bunch more I won't list because we're talking about Tommy and how you need to bring him back. I love these characters, but I'm tired of them repeatedly getting the same trauma and outcomes. You finally let queer people kiss again on your show, and then you get rid of one of them?

Anyway. I'm going to keep writing BuckTommy because I need something good to happen in fandom as I continue to watch this ridiculous show. And if you read this whole thing. I'm sorry that this is how it ends.

[watarfallar]

Anyone else stuck in the desert? Yes? Same. Have some incorrect quotes for our suffering.

Scar: That was a joke. Say ha. Grian: Ha. Scar: Now do it again. Grian: Ha. Scar: Congratulations, you are officially the life of the party.

Scar: Ayo, what the FUCK is this?!? Grian, sitting down, surrounded by corpses: I won Mafia, that’s what.

Scar: English is CRAZY. Oregano is both a spaghetti leaf topping and a form of paper art! Grian: What is this "paper art" you speak of? Scar: That shit where you make cranes and stuff out of folded paper! Grian: … Scar.

Grian: Last week, Scar tried to flush a live lobster down the toilet "because it worked for Nemo".

Grian: What are your three best qualities? Scar: I’m hot, I have soft hair, and sometimes I cry because I love my friends.

Grian: Don’t stay up all night, Scar. Last time you got this sleep-deprived, you tried to eat your own shirt.

Scar: I baked you a pie! Grian: Really?! What flavor? Scar: pulls gun out of the pie DEATH!

Scar: Why are we friends? Grian: Poor decisions on your part.

Grian: They couldn't find their way out of a paper bag. Scar: That's not true! I found my way out of a paper bag yesterday!

Scar: No, I don't want to talk about physics! I don't know anything about the laws of physics because they are hard and boring. I simply would like them to behave in a way that is most convenient to ME and MY LIFE! Is that really asking too much? Grian: Yes, as a matter of fact, it is! Scar: Well, guess what? Science is stupid bullshit!! Grian: You take that back!!! Scar: No. Magic is awesome. Science blows. The end.

Scar: Please could you go to the shop and get a carton of milk, if they have avacodos get six. Grian, coming back from the store with six cartons of milk: They had avacados!

Scar: Wow, I really think I would’ve gotten along with young Grian! Grian: I know. That’s why I decided to change everything about my life.

Grian: Wake up! The sun is shining! Scar: What do you want me to do, photosynthesis?

Grian: I never tell people off the bat that I'm gay. I wait. I wait until they say some homophobic shit and then I laugh and am like "you know I'm gay right?" and watch the look of terror on their face. Scar: Scar: I like you.

Scar: School sucks. Grian: I know, but you have to do it so you can get a job. Scar: What are jobs like? Grian: They suck.

Grian: Go fuck yourself. Scar: Come over here and fuck me yourself you coward!

Scar: I'll offer you some friendly advice- Grian: I don't want your advice. Scar: Well, then consider it unfriendly advice.

Grian: So, what are we doing? Scar: Wasting our lives. Grian: I meant for lunch…

Grian: Gatekeep, girlboss, and what's the other one again? Scar: There isn't another one. You're crazy. The entire fandom: GASLIGHT! IT'S GASLIGHT!

Grian: Do you think I’m ugly? Scar: It’s not about looks, Grian. What’s valuable is on the inside… Grian: Scar… Scar: For example, someone's heart. Grian: Aw… Stop it- Scar: It could be purchased for more than a million dollars, you know. Grian: Seriously, stop.

Grian: Ah ready for another fantastic day of being better than Scar.

Scar: Don’t trust everything you see on the internet. Grian: Pfft. What possibly nonsense could come from the internet? Oh. Did you know that the Earth is actually flat? Scar: Takes away Grian’s phone Yeah, that enough for you.

Scar: honk. Grian: WHAT. Scar: HONK. Grian: WHAT DOES HONK MEAN THIS TIME YOU WHIMSICAL PIECE OF SHIT?????

Scar: Might I make a suggestion you possibly won’t like? Grian: Do you make any other kind?

[ganondoodle]

i often really do feel like an .. unwanted part of the fandom, i dont draw beautiful landscapes, i have unpopular but strong opinions im constantly annoying about and rarely change, dont like/dont draw the pretty young popular twinks and hot gurls to fanboi over nor do i turn characters into one, the opposite moreso, draw only one ship no ones heard of really, got little energy to interact with the few people that are nice to me and send me asks so it probably looks like im ignoring everyone and unfortunately but still rarely get so stressed i get overwhelmed and emotional about pehaps seemingly minor things and spiral almost into a breakdown feeling super embarrassed about it afterwards but the damage is already done and i look like a freak or agressive weirdo

[villa-kulla]

@ the mag7 fam, I realize I have no way of convincing you this is not a 'and then everyone clapped' fake post, but i LITERALLY MET MANUEL GARCIA RULFO this weekend at a TIFF party, and we LITERALLY SPOKE FOR LIKE 5 MINUTES

Takeaways:

he is really ridiculously handsome, excellent brown eyes, A+

really not as tall as he seems in character, and much slighter, i may have to revisit how 'looming' i've written him in fic lmao

(on that note it is biZARRE meeting someone whose character you've written fic about, that is the first time that has happened to me. i can only be grateful i haven't written too much with him, i'd have withered if it was ethan hawke or LBH lol)

he was extremely friendly! and as it transpired he lived in my hometown for about a year so we just chatted about that. he loves poutine and hates the winter, and he has my full agreement on both counts 👍

he also appears to be dating vincent d'onofrio's daughter which is sO cute, the mag7 fam lives on 🙌 (she is gorgeous btw. and I don't think this is like a 'scoop' or private info or anything lol, I asked if he had anything going on at tiff that day and he was very openly like 'no only next week, today I'm just supporting her!)

(also the context for All This is my gentleman friend is a journalist and i joined him at TIFF for the weekend and basically larped as a famous person all weekend lol good times. weekend was crazy but this part felt the most relevant to tumblr)

[nathsolkyoako]

Haha yay I love being scared I’m coming off as a weird older person with my friends now (:

[skrunksthatwunk]

you go to a lesbian blog and find it says women only!! no men allowed!!! and go oh! excuse me, um, what about other lesbians? plenty of lesbians are genderqueer... and they go well, okay, go fuck yourself tim chop off your sweaty dick and stop calling yourself a lesbian. you do not have a dick, actually. you think about that fact often, even though it does you no good. you do not tell this person that.

you go to another lesbian blog and it says women only and you try again, and this time they change it to wlw + nblw only (non-men who love non-men :D). and you'll say hey i appreciate that but gender's not really that cut and dry for a lot of people. someone could be both a man and nonbinary, for instance. i just worry that you're looking at nonbinary as a generic third gender, or an extension of womanhood. i mean yeah you include nblw in your tags but all your posts are about pussy-havers exclusively. what's with that? and they say go fuck yourself you pervy man pretending to be a lesbian. you tried to sneak in but i won't let you.

so you go to a lesbian blog with a dozen or so posts about queer people needing to be more weird about it and you sigh in relief. but you still see the men dni. that's odd. hoping for the best, you say hey! i know you mean well but please maybe don't put men dni at the end of the lovely posts on your lesbian blog bc some lesbians are men. and they'll be like ok!! well you're allowed ;) and you say no that's not. no. some men are lesbians not just me. you think about your own dicklessness and wonder if that's why you were given entry. and you add that even if male lesbians are allowed, there's no indication of that. how would anyone know without asking? and they're like ohh gotcha gotcha well men dni + this is for sapphics only!! and you'll be like ok well that treats the concepts of men and sapphics as mutually exclusive identities and i just told you that's not true and you agreed with me so.. i don't think that solves our problem. and they're like. ok. fine. men dni but genderfluid and multigender people are allowed! and you're like no see that's. that's still the same thing.. you're saying the same thing just with different words. if you don't want men to interact but you're fine with multigender/genderfluid/etc ppl interacting then you either don't see them as Real Men (because they don't reach a standard of Full Manhood) or Complete Men (because they're only Part-Time Men), both of which suggest that they are, in some way, not men or less-than men, which is invalidating and defeats the point of the exception in the first place (accommodation) OR that you don't really mean the dni which is confusing and inconsistent and makes guydykes feel weird and uncomfortable and excluded from the lesbian space you're trying to cultivate. and they're like um. ok. so. cishet men dni? and you're like well i think that makes more sense, but what if someone identifies as both a cishet man and a sapphic? again, if we're trying to accommodate the genderfucky populace then that has to be a possibility that is considered. and they say god you people are never happy. what do you want me to do? what am i supposed to say to keep the right men out? and you pause. you empathize with the need for a space free from dudes trying to fuck you straight and feminine. dudes who watch lesbian porn and joke about what they'd do if they were allowed into girls locker rooms. who look at you like a piece of meat, and like someone who looks at women like pieces of meat in the same way he does. you get it. you know. you want a space where you can be sapphic, too. that's why you came to these blogs in the first place. you brace yourself and you say well i don't know that there are "right men" to keep out. i don't know that there's any single label that would accomplish whatever it is you're trying to accomplish. you could go for "sapphics only" or "queers only" and i think that might be the closest thing to what you want, but it's never going to be perfect. creating any exclusive space is going to shut out people you didn't account for, and the broader the label, the more people will be shut out that you didn't want to shut out. and what about people who don't know if they're allowed? what of questioning transbians, where are they supposed to go? and, frankly, i think i might rather my dykey posts get read and appreciated by a gay guy who sees me as a man than a woman who only sees me as a sacred womb, pure from male perversions or violence or whatever. i think community might just be more complex than a dni can handle. and they look at you and say i don't want to not have a dni. i think you're too permissive. you can't just "what about" or microlabel your way into everything. go fuck yourself, i bet you're not even a lesbian anyway. go find a real problem to get mad about.

you go to a lesbian blog. you ignore the men dni because you know you probably don't even count to them. or maybe you do count and, out of respect for your manhood, they'd shun you accordingly. you try to feel okay about that. you scroll past dozens of posts about mediocre men and gagging at straight friends' boyfriends and how gross and undeserving men are of the beautiful women they couple up with and how all women should be gay so they can get treated right and and and and and. you finally find a post about curling into someone you love and feeling at peace and try to lose yourself in it. you know that feeling is what unites you, what makes you belong. you try to focus on it. you think about carding your hands through a butch's hair or lacing fingers with a femme and feeling warm and loved and more yourself than you ever have before. like this is who you're meant to be. you read about lesboys and butch boytoys and genderfucky dykes and big hairy deep-voiced wonderful women (like you want to be someday, like you wish you could make yourself) and you try to ignore the men dni underneath each and every post. and you daydream about meeting someone kind and earnest at a lesbian bar even though you don't think any such bars exist within three states of you and you can't drink and don't want to drink because you need to be in control of yourself at all times so you don't fuck up like you're always about to and here in the nonexistent lesbian bar you feel wanted and safe and in good company. you picture your ideal, happiest self. it is a mistake. ideal-you has a goatee. not the mascara one you smear on and call drag even though you know it's not drag, not really, the beard you call drag because you think everyone would look at you sadly if you told them it was just to pretend you had something out of your reach. a beard that's soft and that you grew and that cannot be smudged away if you get too comfortable with it. the dream shatters. your people pull away from you, their scoffs mixing with the mind-numbing gay girl bedroom pop you learned to settle for just to have something that almost resembled you, they all pull away and turn their backs and do not look at you. you're too close to being a man now, even though you're the same amount of man as before. and they know you're not supposed to interact with men, not as you would with dykes, at least. and it sours. it's all your imagination, all in your head, but it sours.

you sigh. you think about how small you are. how short, how narrow, how feeble. how your voice pitches up when you talk to strangers because it's easier to speak quietly when it carries more, and because you're nervous. because it's a chore to talk, like everything is. you think about testosterone. you think about how your family would look at you, the questions they would ask, your answers they would only pretend to accept. the uncomfortable glances and whispered questions they'd try to hide from you. you think about how small you are, and how small you will always be. how you don't know of a way to fix it, but even if there was one, no one would want you anymore. you'd be the only one thinking it made you a cooler dyke. you think about how you don't even want a T-voice all the time, how you'll never be able to switch it at will, because you don't know how and can't bring yourself to figure it out. you think about how your throat closes around every hint of your own attraction. how wanting is perverse, how wanting is invasive, how wanting is embarrassing and too vulnerable so it must stay anonymous, as an online witness, and how you can barely manage to form or maintain friendships because your brain makes you pull away, always spinning out and struggling to recover from the simplest of interactions. how they'll all leave you and you won't chase after them at all and how that will hurt them. how stuck you get. how it looks like nothing's holding you back, how that frustrates everyone who thought you were going to be more than you were. the people you love who understand except when it comes to being ghosted, being shut out. how you don't want to hurt them. how you can't tell them that because you're stuck. how you turn to stone when touched, how you never reach out, how you lose your speech and can't look at people, how your autism is fun and sexy until it becomes real and you never see them anymore, how much you longed for someone who knew everything without you having to explain, and who loved you anyway. how unreasonable you know that is to expect of anyone. you think about that not-even-real lesbian bar. you think about how you still can't drive. how you can't leave your home on your own, without dragging somebody into helping you. how you can't leave your body. how you can't leave your manhood behind.

you think about finding another lesbian blog and ignoring everything. about skimming it for the parts you can juice some meaning from. the parts men ignore and don't understand, and how typical of you it is to do so. or the parts where you're not welcome and you should accept that, because it's for lesbians only. how you are a lesbian anyway. how you're meant to choose lesbian or man, how each is a betrayal of some kind to yourself or your people, your family, your lovely strangers, your rare friendly acquaintances. about the parts that tell you you're not wanted, that you're ugly and lazy and gross and insert yourself everywhere without even asking. about the parts that tell you you are hated, and how lesbians are above it all by rejecting men. how lesbians are each blessed miracles. about the parts that say you should be ashamed of being whatever twisted confused freak you are, of everything, of looking and wanting or not looking or not wanting, of picking and choosing instead of taking it all in with a smile. after all, shouldn't you take it? or is your ego too fragile, as men's so often are? aren't you tired? good. we're not here for your consumption. and we sure as hell don't want your company or "community" or whatever. didn't you read the sign? no boys allowed. and if you want to come in you have to make up your mind. as if you haven't told them the only answer you have. you're both. you're both.

you know you broke the rule by interacting.

but it gets lonely sometimes. you wonder if they know.

[supersecretnerd]

Ok so these designs are cute as hell, the Internet is just mean

I have too many thoughts about a game I still need to watch

[townslore]

discovery of the day

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

okay but. success! all of my grandparents now know i'm trans and my preferred name!! they all took it well, if occasionally confused!! only six people left to go then i'm out to all of my family and can finally rest!!

[wasabikitcat]

Has anyone in this Olympics women's boxing argument ever stopped and thought about whether it would make any sense for women to be more susceptible to being injured in boxing than men? Like sure, it's a fairly common assumption that men are physically stronger than women, and therefore a man would have an advantage at boxing because he can punch harder... But how would that make you more resilient to being punched in the nose? Like I would think the assumed advantage would be that women can't hit as hard and therefore would require more effort to take someone down, but what everyone is arguing over is a woman having her nose broken from a punch to the face, when a man's nose would be just as broken from the same punch. Women don't have like, daintier and weaker facial bones or something. Being punched in the face "by a man" when you're a woman is literally no different than being punched in the face by the same person as a man. If we are to assume that men (note: the person being debated about here isn't a man or even a trans woman, she is cisgender, but I digress) are so Herculean that their punches are just too dangerous for women, then men's boxing should be banned outright because it's just too dangerous for men to be punching each other with that strength when a punch to the face is exactly the same for a man as it is to a woman.

[raspberryzingaaa]

I actively try to forget celebrity knowledge. Who are they? Don't know. Oh they're dating someone? I don't care. Their sexuality? What, am I marrying them? Their interests? I simply do not see.

[the-abyssal-system]

Singlets stop talking about systems as if you’re an expert because you follow some on tumblr challenge (also warning the tags here are a huge rant so feel free to ignore that)

[todayisafridaynight]

this writing shit hard as hell

[robinson-graves]

it sucks to miss people i cut out of my life. but they still had an impact on me. and though it wasnt all good, i'm still thankful that they had been there when they were. they helped build me into the person i am now.