#green world media production | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

horse-girl-anthy · 23 days

Text

Revolutionary Girl Utena: Gender in Context

beneath the cut, I discuss the RGU's portrayal of gender in the context of 1990s Japan.

in Ikuhara's interview with Mari Kotani, he stated that in traditional Japanese society, "prince" meant "patriarch." the same is true in Western societies--there was a time when a prince would be an heir to a royal line. by 1997, this meaning had died out of large parts of the world. even the association between princes and traditional masculinity was fading. Saionji, the weakest, most pathetic man in the show, is a parody of historical Japanese masculinity, with his kendo and his blatantly regressive beliefs about women.

in RGU, prince may still mean patriarch, but in a far more subtle fashion. Ikuhara and Kotani discussed the changing expectations for men in the latter half of the 20th century--it became gauche to fight over a woman with one's brawn, so instead, power struggles were played out in the arena of looks and sex appeal. one can see this reflected in the character Akio, whose power as a prince arises from his ability to turn "easy sensual pleasure based on dependency" "into a selling point with which to control people."

Akio has his moments of showboating masculinity, but when preying on Utena, he operates by making himself seem non-threatening and soft.

not only that, but he purports to want to allow students to express their individuality and thus approves of Utena's masculine form of dress. this is a front--by the end of the show, he's telling Utena that girls shouldn't wield swords. thus, through Akio's character, the show argues that traditionalist patriarchy in Japan isn't gone, but instead has only been papered over with false progressivism.

with all that said, there seems to be more to the character. he's taken the family name of his fiance, Kanae, and whatever material power he has in the school is dependent upon her family. in Japanese society, this is considered a humiliating position to be in, something that only a shameless man would do. the show never gives the audience any insight into how Akio feels about this--is he unbothered entirely, or are his actions against the Ohtori family an expression of his repressed anger? does he harm the children under his care to compensate for his humiliation?

this aspect of Akio's character may seem irrelevant in light of the larger, immaterial social forces at work in the show. however, I would argue that it was included for a reason. Akio, despite his status as ultimate patriarch of Ohtori, is in fact a highly emasculated character, to the point where lead writer Enokido even said that he is driven by an infantile mother complex.

to explain why Akio was portrayed this way, we have to discuss Japanese history. the nation suffered a major defeat in WWII and was forced to accept whatever terms the United States laid out for it. for an examination of how the Japanese have never truly processed those events and have plunged into modernity with reckless abandon, I recommend Satoshi Kon's Paranoia Agent. to sum it up briefly, in a very short period, the nation regained its economic footing, and by the 1980s had the largest gross national product in the world. this economic boom may have allowed Japan to maintain a sense of sovereignty, dignity, and power, but it was inherently fragile.

the infamous "bubble economy" lasted from 1986 to 1991. during this time, anything seemed possible; financial struggles appeared to be a thing of the past, and capitalist excess reached new heights. the ghosts of this period can be felt across Japanese media; for instance, think of the final shot of Grave of the Fireflies (1998), where the two dead children look down on Kobe, glowing an eerie green to imply its impermanence. the abandoned theme park from Spirited Away (2001) is explicitly referred to as a leftover from the previous century, when many attractions were built and then tossed aside in a few short years.

the bubble popped in 1992, leaving an entire generation feeling cheated. the bright futures they'd been promised, which had actually materialized for their parents and older siblings, had been lost to them overnight. economic crises are often accompanied by gender panics. to quote from Masculinities in Japan, "The recession brought with itself worsening employment conditions, undermining the system of lifelong employment and men’s status of breadwinners in general. The unemployment rate was rising, and although it never reached crisis levels, men could no longer feel safe in their salaryman status. Their situation was further complicated by the rising number of (married) women entering the workforce."

with this in mind, Akio's character can be taken as a representation of masculinity in crisis in 90s Japan. he's forced to rely on women for his position in life and has failed to save his only relative, Anthy. he tries to escape his misery through hedonism, perhaps an allegorical representation of how men tried to maintain their old standard of living after the economic bubble burst.

but of course, Akio is not the main character of RGU--the story is about girls. mangaka Yamada Reiji discussed the series in the context of the 90s, stating the following:

while I opened this essay by discussing the prince, the same points could be made about the princess. despite the increasing irrelevance of royalty, princess is still an important concept. how does it relate to the socioeconomic landscape of the 90s?

in Yamada's view, RGU is full of relics of the 80s; for instance, the figure of the ojou-sama, an entitled young woman who never lifts a finger for herself. during the economic bubble, it was increasingly common for women to be entirely taken care of by the men in their lives. Yamada names Nanami as a clear ojou-sama type character: she weaponizes her femininity, demanding to be rescued, doted on, and served.

however, by 1997, the ojou-sama could no longer expect to get what she wanted. from the 80s to the 90s, the percentage of women in the workforce increased around 15%; it was no longer viable for most women to be "kept" by their families. as the men experienced the humiliation of not being able to provide for their wives and children, women were undergoing a disillusionment of their own.

Yamada blames Disney for creating the ideological structure which led women astray. obviously, the company is known for its films about princes rescuing princesses. in Yamada's recounting, during the 80s, the company was infiltrating Japan through its theme parks as well; across the country, Disneylands were opening up, and people were buying into the escapism the corporation offered. Japan, as America, became a country of eternal children. its people were waiting for a prince to appear and save them.

but fairy tales can't stave off reality forever. Yamada claims that RGU embodies the rage of young women who woke up one day and realized that they had been raised on a lie. this anger pervades the work from beginning to end.

though RGU was created in a particular social context, its lessons can be extrapolated to any time and place. as the first ending tells us:

I hope this essay helped provide more context for the series. thanks for reading!

#rgu #commentary #revolutionary girl utena #this was originally a part of another essay but i revamped it and added a lot more detail

676 notes · View notes

sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog · 1 year

Text

For people who are new:

I am a (very good! shockingly good!) coffee company that donates all its profit to charity. But it turns out "I" functions oddly in that sentence, because corporate social media presences are not actually sentient; instead, companies are made of people, even if capitalism attempts to elide the essential humanity of coffee and other products humans consume.

Anyway, companies are made out of people, and this company's tumblr is made out of author and vlogbrother John Green. It's simple, really: I am a company who is a person who is me who does the marketing for the awesome coffee club, which provides you with the world's best coffee and donates all its profit to reduce maternal and child mortality in Sierra Leone.

p.s. Occasionally I am not a coffee company. Occasionally I am a person who answers questions about my books or other work. Other times, I am a sock company. Like the rest of us, I contain multitudes.

#coffee company #is that tag i follow

5K notes · View notes

metamatar · 3 months

Text

let me be clear. i have a lot of fondness for the notion of drawing solidarity between brutalized people from across the world and im not a third worldist. it is seductive. but im genuinely sick of anti imperialists from the third world being characterised as people too stupid to know there is poverty and racism in the united states.

im responding to this being linked on my dash

But being that the ghetto is placeless, like Black people, the Fourth World is the only nominal representation these societies can have; third-worldists often times hold indirect and sometimes unspoken disdain for these Fourth World societies . Having never visited, they often times believing everyone has running water, a doctor, and a home — completely ignoring the police state that arrests and murders many urban Black people who dare to find themselves past the red line and in a green, grassy neighbourhood in Riverdale, or walking through the mansion-zoos in the corners of Newburgh.

cultural hegemony means we see all your media. the imperialised always understand their masters! even our bourgeoisie want to immigrate to the first world! said ghetto music is on our speakers! they speak of ferguson in palestine!!! how much contempt do you have for us?

but the worst thing is their are brutalized populations in the third world! their is unimaginable inequality! communities are subject to pogroms and police violence even in the uniform imagined poverty of the third world. while fourth world theorists talk like this – they also erase what arundhati roy talks about when she talks about bastar and kashmir. the fourth world inside the third world. the fourth world in that sense is occupied and it is entirely forgotten by the world at large – no, what matters is urban poverty in los angeles alone.

i also dont think characterising the fourth world like below helps

Subpopulations existing in a First World country, but with the living standards of those in a third world, or developing country.

because it concedes entirely the logics of imperialism, where what matters is the acquiring the living standards, not transforming the relations of power. which makes for allies and programs you cannot trust – happy to brutalise latin america for the next new deal if it was just distributed better. there is no analysis of the productive relations or value transfer. no concern for the costs of "living standards."

1K notes · View notes

bee-wg · 1 month

Text

Year 3:

Now that I think about it, football has been a constant in my life for five years now. I’m not sure if I enjoy football anymore; it used to be about the fun we have passing the ball, now it’s all about the stats or the perfect form.

I stood up from the bleachers to hand Brad his towel.

“I’m going to leave the team, Brad,” I said.

“What? Where did this come from?” He said frantically.

“Everyone knows I’m still on the team because you’re the team’s captain now,” I said.

“I don’t want to cause tension between you and Coach. There’s nothing I could do wobbling around the field anyway,” I added.

“Dude, you know I started playing football because of you, right?” Brad said.

“Bradley, relax. I’m not dead. You can come over to my house whenever you want.” I said.

“Theo can make you some lemon pudding cakes if you want to come,” hopefully this will calm him.

“Fine. Just so you know, I’m not happy about this,” he said, sounding like a brat.

“Okay, got it. Have fun at the party,” I chuckled.

“I won’t. I’m going to make the DJ play Lana Del Rey,” he said before entering the locker room.

There might be an oversight of me quitting football.

It’s literally the reason why I quit. I don’t know why it never crossed my mind.

How the fuck am I going to lose weight now?

“Maybe I would’ve thought it if the word, “exercise” was anywhere on my to-do list this past year,” the voice from the back of my head said.

Shut up, rational thought. I was just a little too cocky, that’s all.

My mind spins around the paths I could take to shed the fat.

Back to the gym for the bodybuilders to laugh at me jiggling like a puddle of slime on the treadmill.

No. Hard no.

Stop eating whatever Theo puts in front of my face.

Productive, but I’d rather die than miss out on the joy of the world.

Post my weight loss journey edits on social media, reminiscing on my rock-hard abs like a depressed, fat person.

No? No, actually it might just work.

My thumbs got to work. It took me an hour to choose a profile picture that represents me. I could go for a vacation photo by the beach, or the classic black and white moody gym pic. Except, I don’t have a picture of myself on my phone, so I chose the picture of an orange cat eating a banana.

With my camera set up, in my favourite green tank top. I pressed record.

It was an embarrassing experience editing myself, watching my belly sway every time I made a movement. In the end, I closed my eyes and uploaded the video.

“Oh! First comment already.” I said.

“Look at those milkers spilling out the tanks!”

3. Post my weight loss journey edits on social media, reminiscing on my rock-hard abs like a depressed, fat person.

The following weeks consisted of me eating my feelings. At least half of my classes are online this semester. I can be embarrassed in peace.

The pounds kept creeping up with each spoon of ice cream down my throat. In the blink of an eye, I am dangerously close to 300 pounds.

I finally worked up the courage to ask during a normal family dinner.

“Honey, what happened? You’re not eating as fast as usual. Is Theo not cooking enough?” Mom asked.

“No, Mom, I just…I just hope you guys can ease up with your little cooking competitions.”

“Oh honey, you know Theo and I will stop with the food whenever you ask.” Mom tries to reassure me.

“No! Obviously don’t stop the food. It’s just that I’ve been blowing up like a pig and I don’t know what to do about it.” I said.

“I didn’t know you were sad about it. I just want my family to be happy, you look the happiest when you eat,” Mom said

“It wouldn’t have helped when you guys lost for the past two years,” Mom added.

“Well, Dad likes to eat better, and no one eats like him,” I replied.

“I’m sure my cooking was the reason we won. David is a gym teacher, he walks off the food easily,” Mom said.

“Theo is a professional though, no offence but no one on the planet cooks like him. I’m sure football was the reason we lost,” I said, trying to talk some sense into her.

Theo stares at us with wide eyes.

“Jacob, I’m sure you didn’t mean it,” Mom said with a blank face.

“You know what? Keep doing your competition, this time again next year we’ll see who’s the winner,” I said.

I am clearly a failure at losing weight. The only thing I’m good at is eating. If I’m going to gain weight anyway, I’m going to go all out and win this shit once and for all. Once this is settled, I can get back to normal. Not wanting to disappoint Theo when we lose again was probably the thing holding me back. I can’t wait to eat all the delicious things Theo is- I can’t wait for this to be over.

“Alright, Jay,” she turned to Theo and said.

“Theo, my boy. I’m looking forward to seeing the results next year,” Mom said with a determined smile.

Everyone knows not to mess with Mom when she has that look. Even then, I feel like we could still win. Theo’s food is hypnotic already when I am restrained; imagine what it will do to me when I’m going all out.

“What’s going on again?” Dad asked with cheeks full of pasta.

“Don’t worry baby, you just need to eat a little more next year,” Mom answered.

“Okay, as long as I get my lasagnas,” Dad said.

Later at night, struggling to sleep, I contemplated on the bad decisions I’ve made. This one might take the crown to be the stupidest thing I’ve done. Yet, I don’t regret it.

“You didn’t have to stand up for me,” Theo said.

“It’s the least I can do when you wake up early to prep for my food, or go off on the weekends for groceries when you could’ve been doing anything else,” I explained.

“Thank you so much, Jay. You don’t know how much this means to me. My family wanted me to do anything other than cooking, but you guys have been nothing but supportive,” he said.

I smiled at the ceiling. The gremlin is nicer than I remember.

“Now, I won’t allow you to slack anymore with the amount you’re eating. Not until the competition ends.”

Huh?

Theo had stuck to his word and increased the amount he was cooking. I am now eating the amount of three people in each spread-out meal, still lacking behind Dad’s impressive five person’s amount per meal. So I have been playing catch up with him this entire month.

I realized quickly that I had underestimated the gap between Dad and my appetite. In the last few years, for the most part, I have been eating whatever I want, leaving the rest to Dad. With the exception of eating for the team once a week, I have been slacking. That was quite a hard pill to swallow. I’m 300 pounds, yet not doing a good job as a fatass. How is that possible?

So far I have gained about 23 pounds in the past two months. Normally, I would freak out and have a breakdown in bed because I’ve gained more than my freshman year in two months. Right now with my messed up head, all I can think about is how far I am behind. If we lose this again, it would be once and for all, and I would never let myself live this down. Theo deserves better with how good he’s been treating me.

With my new bulk, the stairs have been an increasing challenge. So, a few weeks ago I moved downstairs to a tiny guest room that was converted to a storage room.

The moment I moved down, I could hear Theo’s voice yelling, “Yes, Finally! Goodbye insomnia,” In my old bedroom. Before, I would’ve yelled for the brat to shut up. Now, with my stomach full. I just wanted a nap in peace.

It took me no time to adjust to the new arrangement. With more time home from all the online classes, I get to be as lazy as I want. Dad has a similar arrangement at home. He retired from being a high school gym teacher and football coach, now he tutors history at home. He also abandoned his hobby of brewing in order to laze on the sofa all day.

On weekdays, Theo would leave an abundance of food for me to consume with a list of how I should eat them to expand my capacity. The weekends are like heaven. From the moment I woke up, Theo would prepare delicious appetizers and pancakes for me. From then on, I would have a constant stream of food flowing into my mouth every thirty minutes. Sometimes, I would move my hands and my mouth would start to chew unconsciously. Alarming, but helpful.

My belly started to expand outwards on my lap each day as I sat in front of the computer. The arm rest would feel more snug when I move around.

I have now discovered the perks of being a fatass. I can explore things I never had time to do, like the anime Brad has been begging me to watch, games I always wanted to play. Best of all is to experience all of these without moving an inch. These are the things I would definitely look back on with fondness when the competition ends.

***

Today is my rare outing of the month; the bus is late again but I don’t blame them this time. The downpour of rain is gathering at the clogged sewer, creating a puddle. People are supposed to grow out of stepping in puddles when they’re kids. These undeveloped assholes apparently didn’t. Several cars saw the puddle and decided to splash it straight to my face.

It’s fine. It’s all fine. I will feel better later.

I walked a small trail after getting off the bus.

Great. The angels decide to stop peeing from the heavens when I’m about to get inside.

Dad is buying a new SUV, maybe I can drive it next time. It’s too big to sneak off though.

I thought as I skipped through the stone pathway. The usual grass is covered by the water, creating a small pond.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” I said to the door cam.

After pressing the doorbell several times, it replied.

"안녕, fuck boy. Back so soon?" Number Seven said.

“Yeah, yeah. Just open the damn door,” I said, trying to hurry the fucker.

Number Seven’s face appears in front of me.

“You’re soaked! Come on in,” he said.

His house appears to be orderly. Clean. He must’ve had another fatass here not long ago.

“Woah, you look—Wait, let me guess. Another fifteen pounds since last time?” He asked.

“Come on, let’s cut to the chase. I really need it right now,” I urged.

“Hahaha, not even a shower. Desperate much?” He said.

I walked inside his bedroom, dimmed the lights and took off my shirt.

He walked towards me. Grabbing me by the belly hang in one hand, he pulls down my underwear, causing my ass to vibrate.

“Fuuuuck, can you take it out first?” I asked, trying not to moan.

“Sure, you think you’re ready for me today?” He asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” I answered.

He slid his hand behind, right down my ass crack and slowly pulled the vibrator off. I applied it before leaving home, without accounting for the possibility of the bus delay.

“Mmmmph, fuck,” I groaned.

I’ve been training towards today for a while. In the beginning, I would come to his house and he would suck me off. If I’m feeling experimental, I would suck him off. It stayed like that for about a year and he never complained. Then I asked him for more. He would start fucking me between my moobs or between my ass but never enter. One day, I told him I was ready for him to start fucking me.

Big mistake.

He’s a manwhore for a reason. I didn’t think an 8-inch would be so hard to take. How the girls and twinks take them in porn is beyond me. It was painful when he entered, even when he said he had “loosened my hole” with his fingers. I shouldn’t have believed him, the fucking thing was massive.

After the incident, he gave me small dildos and vibrators to get used to it. We eventually worked our way up the scale until the one he’s holding now. Why did I do all this work to have a men’s dick in my ass? Who knows. I have already accepted that I’ve lost it.

He sucked on my nipple suddenly. The sensation took me by surprise.

“Dude, some warnings please,” I asked.

“Yeah, sorry. Those tits are just so plumped. Your nipples have grown larger than my thumbs now,” he said, about to continue.

“OKAY, I get it. Can you get to work now?” I asked.

My boobs are what everyone thinks about when they see me these days. I’m sick of it.

“Hahahaha, can’t wait to be fucked, my pig?” He said before pushing me down the mattress.

I held my belly to stop it from jiggling.

He raised one of my legs and opened the bottle of lube with his teeth.

“There’s something by the pillow. Put it in your mouth. It will distract you and dull the initial pain,” Number Seven instructed.

I reached out to grab a—frosted pound cake?

I’ve never seen people doing this in porn, but I’m smart enough to know not everything in porn is real.

With my mouth full of cake, I spread out my legs, trying to relax so I don’t end up like last time.

He pushed two fingers in, slowly massaging me, then three fingers to stretch my hole. When the frosting melted in my mouth and I finished the chunk of the cake, he signalled me that he was done.

Another piece of the pound cake fills my mouth when he aligns his cock to my hole. He was right, I was fully consumed by the sweetness to notice any discomfort. I quickly swallowed the cake so he could proceed.

It was unbearably slow as he entered. I don’t understand what all the fuss is about with people bottoming.

He kept asking for reassurance. At this point I just want him to st—

“A-ahhhh oh shiiit!” I moaned.

“Fuuuuuck, what the hell was that?” I screamed.

I must have been too loud and spooked him.

“Are you alright? Sh-should I call an ambulance?” He asked.

“No! Don’t stop, please,” I begged

“Okay, just so you know, I’m not all the way in,” He said.

How? This is already longer than any toys I’ve put in there.

“Gnghhhhh~” I moaned as he thrusts all the way to the bottom.

He kept a steady pace all the way in then almost all the way out, leaving me feeling empty.

“Hurry! Faster,” I asked, almost in tears.

He looked at me with a devious smile and thrust right into the spot.

“Mphn- Yes! Keep going,” I urged.

Every small movement rubbing my G-spot feels like masturbating for hours without release.

He thrusts quicker with more force, causing my belly and moobs to shake violently.

I try to stabilize my belly with my hand before trying to reach my throbbing cock.

“Help, I-aghh fuck, I need to touch my dick,” I asked.

“Let go of your belly, fat boy. Or I’ll stop,” He said.

Immediately, my belly returned to wobble violently.

“I can’t believe you turned into such a pathetic horny mess in such a short time,” He said.

”Come on, Seven. I just need you to hit that spot. Please, I’ll do anything!” I begged.

He keeps deliberately missing it. I need to be fucked there!

“Keep your hands on your nipples,” he ordered.

The over-sensitive nipples drive my weeping cock into a frenzy.

Fuck, I need to touch my cock right now. If only my fucking belly is not on the way.

“You know, when I first saw you, I thought you were the kind of jock to gain a beer belly in college, and not get fat until you turn thirty,” he said, before ramming straight into my prostate.

“Fuuuuck yeahhh,” I said unintelligently.

“You are much more of a pig than I realized,” he said, thrusting straight into it again.

“Helll yeahhh,” I said, trying to rob my ass to his dick.

“How do you feel seeing your bubble butt balloons four times the original size?” He asked, followed by another thrust.

“I fucking love it! I love how it wobbles around whenever I walk!” I said, moving my jiggling ass back to his dick again.

“How do you feel seeing your abs growing before your eyes, knowing you could stop it if you just stop eating?”Another thrust.

“I can’t help it! I love eating too much!” Maybe I am meant to be a fat ass.

“Right answer. Now you’ll get your reward,” he said and sped up, hitting the spot perfectly every time.

I imagine his face to be someone else, someone far from my league.

My cock rubbed against my sensitive underbelly, and I shot out jets of cum for what felt like forever.

As white clouded my vision, a euphoric relief spread over my body, melting me into the mattress.

“You passing out again, fuck boy?” Seven asked.

“No, just enjoying the bliss. I can’t believe so many men in the world are missing out on this,” My hole already feels empty. How am I going to go back from this?

“Aww man, I’m all sticky and shit,” I examined my body, cum shots and rain definitely don’t mix well together. Some of them even got between the fat folds. I swipe my finger in between the fat. “Oof, I stink too.”

Seven looked at me and signed. “You’re somehow still a stupid jock inside.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“I got you the fast food you asked for,” he said.

“Yes!” I rushed to the kitchen.

Ignoring his stupid laugh, I microwaved the burger and fries.

The breeze of the air conditioning reminds me of something.

“Shit, I ran out here naked.”

When I ran back, he had already put my clothes in the dryer, and I got into the shower.

When I got out, Seven brought me an old shirt I left here. It fits me like a glove with half my belly exposed. He stopped laughing when I was about to throw myself on him, then brought out a shirt with the Flash’s symbol on. Probably from another fat ass he fucks. The shirt still looks painted on, revealing the shape of my nipple and the dent of my belly button. At least he’s driving me home.

***

Staying at home has been a life-altering experience.

The only time I ever move is going out of the bed to the desk, or to the bathroom. All I have to do is sit back, relax, and eat some fried food.

With more time with myself. I’ve realized how much I dislike all the people in school that only approached me because I was one of the football jocks. I could’ve been anyone. Now, I am me. Not a worry about whether or not I’m muscular enough like other jocks, just a bigger Jay.

Sitting beside me, Dad scratched his belly and released a belch without a care in the world. He has adapted to fat guy mannerisms quickly. I’m catching up too. Today is movie night, usually we have pizzas and beers. We started this when the football season came, he asked to skip it. It was the first time we’ve skipped watching a Super Bowl season. I guess I’m not the only one losing interest in the sport. We decided to watch the Lin-Manuel Miranda Monkey movie instead.

Being on the couch with Dad made me realize I was getting closer to my goal. I can’t wait to see the results.

***

“Hell yeah, my man, you can do it!” Brad said, slapping my shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” I asked

“You said I can come in whenever I like,” he replied.

He’s been breaking into my house for no reason, just to stay on the second floor the entire time doing god knows what.

“I’ve brought some beef jerky here to celebrate,” Brad said.

The scale has been set up, we’re only waiting on Mom. They’re doing some last minute catch up; mom is using a funnel to pour some milkshake in him. I am not concerned though, sticking to Theo’s strict diet every day has not been easy. I have to eat until my stomach is fully bloated. Every morning, I watch my belly deflate a little less, every evening, it bloats even further.

“Don’t worry, Jay. We’ve got this,” Theo assured me.

“By the way, what are we doing again?” Brad asked.

Dad came out, looking absolutely massive. With Mom on his side, he stepped on the scale.

The numbers keep going up and don't seem to be stopping.

300-350-392-400-443

Holy shit, Dad gained a hundred and forty pounds this year.

With more uncertainty, I took my step on the scale.

“Woo-Hoo, Jay man, you got this!” Brad shouted quietly.

I try to look under to see the number, but my belly is too big for me to see the scale.

Theo stepped closer and read.

“Four Hundred and fifty yes!” Theo cheered.

“I won? Yes, finally!” I said and did a little jump.

The scale made a “Pop” noise.

“Oh! Sorry, Mom. I know this is really expensive.”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. We need to upgrade anyway,” Mom said, then she walked towards Theo.

“Congratulations Theo, you made me pull out every trick in my book. It’s so nice seeing you improve so much in front of my eyes, in terms, you pushed me to improve too,” Mom said, then hugged Theo.

“I can’t believe my boy is bigger than me now. Excellent work, Jay!” Dad said and hugged me, too.

Last time I was bigger than Dad I had sculpted abs, the body I dreamed of. This time, I’m almost three times the size as I was, fully covered with fat. Yet, I feel less empty inside.

“Thank you Dad,” I said, hugging him back.

After all this time, I finally have a body I like being in. The belly doesn't look so wrong on me anymore.

Chapter 4 ->

#male weight gain #exjock #fit to fat #dadbod

925 notes · View notes

thesilverdoll · 2 months

Text

This is the chance of ten lifetimes.

Every five years, twenty breakthrough actors compete over ten weeks for the name of TVs newest obsession, the silver doll. The winner, decided by the global audience, is historically known to make it big. You auditioned on a whim alongside your best friend, and somehow the both of you have made it to the final round of auditions!

Now, all you have to do is make the final cut, get along with your celebrity mentor, remember your lines and... win—all with a camera (or ten) in your face. Don't get discouraged, you made it this far for a reason.

❖ FEATURES

› Customise yourself! Groom yourself into TVs next biggest thing—pick your style, your approach to scenes, your public image, your strengths and weaknesses as an actor. As well as your appearance, personality, gender and your plan b... if you have one.

› Establish relationships with your peers! Befriend your competitors or betray them... engage in a behind-the-scenes rendezvous or two, try and gain a more intimate look into your celebrity mentors life, try and befriend everyone on stage, or keep to yourself and focus on winning.

› Compete! Participate in different challenges throughout the show. Put your best dance shoes on for theatre week, practice your screams for horror week, hope you don't get paired with someone waspish in romance week... decide how you approach each performance, and see how your choices impact your results!

› Furthermore... interact with your fans! Viewership is your best friend in The Silver Doll, so make sure you're on top of your social media game... or you can try to play the mysterious cards and keep away from public eye as much as possible, if you think that'll work out for you. Just... be careful how much you share, there's a gossip blog following the shows BTS that seems to know a little too much.

❖ ROMANCE

*full character profiles coming soon.

- Beck Taylor; he/him or she/her, 21.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Your childhood best friend that convinced you to audition beside them. Computer science student turned dropout to pursue a life on the big screen, Beck may not have years of acting under their belt, but they do have a natural talent for the dramatics. Plus, with you by their side and their on-and-off girlfriend, Sarika, at home cheering them on, they can do anything.

Beck is tall at 6'6, black, with dark braided hair and brown eyes.

- Stirling 'Sekani' Stokes, he/him, 24.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Sekani, as he wants to be known as, is the textbook example of a nepo baby. Born to two of TVs most recognisable faces, he's grown up in the spotlight. Sekani is here to prove to the world that he has the talent to grace the big screen, despite his family name... and also to prove to himself that acting is something he actually likes doing in the first place. Yeah… he’s a bit of a mess.

Sekani is 5'10, white, with messy black hair and pale green eyes.

- Troy Allard-Rose, she/her, 23.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎An aspiring actress since she was making her barbies perform dramatic monologues at six, Troy is here to win, and she’ll be damned if she lets some amateurs stop that from happening. Acting is all Troy knows, she’s been in performing arts schools and film camps alike— this is her dream. She won’t let anyone tell her she’s not worthy of achieving it.

Troy is 5’5, white, with platinum blonde hair and dark brown eyes.

Esra Ihimaera, they/them, 27.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Esra is a member of the production crew, and your very own cameraperson. They’re in charge of doing the closed interviews, and also take care of a lot of the day-to-day filming. A little less extroverted than the celebrities surrounding them, but their sweet heart and eye for detail makes them a whole lot more interesting in other aspects.

Esra is 5’11, Māori, with short bleached hair and dark brown eyes.

Bethany Tian, she/they, 28.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎One of the best stylists on the show, Beth is in charge of your hair, makeup and wardrobe for the next ten weeks. Talkative and energetic beyond belief, Beth is hard to get rest around, but she’s good to keep morale up. She’s styled celebrities for red carpets and space-exploration scenes alike. From SFX makeup to high glamour looks, there’s nothing you can’t pull off when Beth is the one styling you.

Bethany is 5’2, Chinese, with long pink hair and black eyes.

❖ THE MENTORS

*both mentors are romanceable

- Rome Alivia, he/him, 26.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ A successful child-actor turned even more successful actor into his adulthood, Rome is a family name. Though he’s scrutinising and hard to wrench out of his working mindset, Rome hasn’t let the fame get to his head. He’s dedicated to improving his mentee’s abilities as actors rather than having a focus on winning.

Rome is 6’2, white, with brown hair and brown eyes.

- Shaan Jha, they/them, 30.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The last Silver Doll, Shaan is happy to return to the set that kickstarted their fame and fortunes five years prior. Eager to mould their best mentee into a winner, Shaan is optimistic in the best of times and downright delusional in the worst. They've proven their talents, though, and are positive it will be one of their mentees that win.

Shaan is 5'8, Indian, with long brown and blonde hair and brown eyes.

The Silver Doll is rated 18+ for depictions of drug and alcohol consumption, strong language, infidelity, and optional sexual scenes.

#upcoming if #interactive fiction #writeblr #writers on tumblr #cog #choice script #interactive game #interact-if #if wip #writers of tumblr #dashingdon #interactive fiction wip #interactive novel

407 notes · View notes

johnbrand · 2 months

Text

Screen Froze

Podcasting had become inescapable in recent years. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on...well everything. Politics, world sports, cooking, an obscure movie from 1978 only released in a now-extinct language. If it could be covered, it would be. And one could find this content anywhere across the internet. Youtube, social media, even streaming services promoted their podcasters. Everyone was watching everyone talking.

Of course, with so many different podcasters flying about, it was difficult to actually spot out talent. And from a sociologically micro perspective, it was even harder for individuals to find podcasters discussing the content they actually wanted to hear about. The more unique the niche, the less people one could happen upon to be talking about it during their recorded stream of consciousness. It was a simple formula, but it forced individuals to browse for hours or even days to find what they were searching for.

Sometimes though, people could not hold such patience. They would not wait for their new hero, a disciple preaching their values and morals to audiences around the globe. They would skip past one livestream discussing the economics of green villages in Switzerland to the next debating the potential existence between a minor character in two separate fandom universes. They could even perhaps land into a podcast like Sean’s.

“Most people just don’t understand the Soviet Union’s impact on architecture,” the measly, pale nerd innocently commented. A little shy in front of the camera, he was only able to relax a bit when discussing his favorite topics. Sean dressed in theme too, wearing a brutalist-like business casual outfit, a trait his small but dedicated fanbase adored.

“There were a lot of architects that really shaped this movement from all around the world,” Sean continued. “But today, we are just going to focus on those from the USSR.”

So what happened when one’s patience dried up? Well, everything was brought to a halt.

DragonHeart49: anyone else’s screen freeze? superduperloverboy: mine too <3bitsandmore: sean, I think ur glitching out

With the screen frozen, our impatient soul could now get to work. If one could not find the podcast they were looking for, then why not just create their own? Obviously, this did not mean constructing a podcast themselves, but rather alter the fabric of reality and completely realign another’s being to their preferred state. That was much easier.

Physical modifications were made first. A much larger body was necessary, something that demanded confidence and respect from others. Juicy pecs, rippling abs, sturdy legs. There was always something unreasonably fun in bloating the podcaster’s feet up a few sizes. An imposing frame to be craved by others, even when hidden underneath clothes, was priority. And speaking of clothes, those were quickly stripped down to less formal articles. Expensive branded tee, athletic shorts so small that boxer-briefs were visible, classic white Nike socks, all of it much more respectable than a button-up and tie.

This was not the impatient soul’s first time altering a podcaster to their liking, nor would it be their last. Physically at least, each of the end products were a little different. All alpha males, but just enough variation to not warrant any unnecessary rumors. This particular podcaster had his pre-American heritage redirected from France to India, the features in the screenshot tanning accordingly as a dark stubble acquainted itself along the sharper jawline. Of course, the bulge was accurately enlarged for geographical standards too.

Mentally however, all the podcasters could be considered copies. They each spoke of the same rhetoric, theories, and ideologies that our impatient soul wanted to hear. No matter how “backwards” or “hateful” their discussions were deemed as, nearly anything could be said by hulking bodies with undeniable charisma.

“These homos have no idea what they’re talking about!” Sanjay raged as the podcast restarted, his deep voice cocky and assertive. "Sure bro, I was just thinkin’ about a girl’s rack I saw earlier today but there's more to a girl than big tits. There's a tight pussy too!”

The chat section lit off with encouragement, their fates too having been altered.

MassiveFART69: you tell them fags bro! LOL XD crassmassschlongnator: we want to BREED THEM TOO!!!! <3TITSGALORE: JUST TALKIN ABOUT IT ALREADY GOT SANJAY GRABBIN HIMSELF AGAIN

Sanjay vacantly looked down, finding himself already subconsciously scratching at the thick bush within his shorts. He let out a hot protein fart followed by a laugh, his scratching slowly extending into groping his fat 8 inch babymaker.

“God, that was WET bros!” Sanjay applauded himself, his free massive hand swallowing the mic. “Anyway, I’ll catch you on the flip side dudes, gotta go hit the gym. Bros for life!”

There was a reason the traditional masculine movement was becoming stronger. Maybe it was because men were slowly aspiring to become the alphas’ equals, or because fags were beginning to submit to their nature. Or possibly, it could have been because each time a screen froze, reality was altered one click closer to traditional, normal masculinity.

#gay to straight #male tf #male transformation #dumbification #jock tf #breeder tf #indianization #fratification

318 notes · View notes

f1byjessie · 8 months

Text

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part four.

“Saw McLaren posted pics of the new car,” Jack says in lieu of a greeting when he sees you after the weekend. He picks up his pace and crosses the distance to meet you where you’re fumbling with the keys to your “office”, and then he takes a few of the many equipment bags you’re attempting to juggle, saying as he does so, “You take any of those or no?”

You laugh, “Ah, no. They actually hire on a whole studio crew that does that. They’ve got lights, green screens, special camera lenses, the whole lot. The post-production on those photos is mad though.” You get the door unlocked and usher him inside, “I got to sit in on it once, and it’s crazy how much work goes into getting just a couple week’s worth of promotional content.”

He sets your bags down where you direct him to and then offers you a snarky grin, “Still probably would’ve looked cooler if you took ‘em, to be fair.”

It makes you laugh again. Jack seems to be good at that, and it feels nice to get along so well with someone you work with. You’ve found a surprising friend in him. At the end of your conversation on Friday, you’d exchanged numbers and he’d made you promise to reach out if you needed him for anything. You hadn’t, but he’d still sent you an unflatteringly angled picture of Kyle Walker from after their match against Newcastle, followed quickly with━ “use this in the next media drop thx,” and the chatter had gone from there.

You set down your own bags. “Well, thank you. Pretty sure it’s not as fun as this job, though.”

And you mean it. You’ve had opportunities to switch over to studio photography, and though you respect the people who do it and the unique challenges it poses in its own right, there’s nothing like being upfront and personal with all the action, getting to see the athletes in their element and know them on a level that goes beyond an hour or two shoot. You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Wait,” you pause, hands stopping just above where you’re ready to start sorting through your equipment, “since when did you keep up with Formula One?”

Jack shrugs. “I don’t. But you work for that team, yeah? So I figured I might as well see what they’re all about.”

“Well, if you need something to do during the summer, let me know and I’ll see what I can do,” you tell him, resuming your sorting. “They give me extra tickets for each race but they usually end up going to waste.”

You don’t bring up the falling out you had with your parents at eighteen when you told them you were going to pursue photography or the fact that you haven’t really talked to them in years because of it. You also don’t mention that due to the strenuous, near-constant traveling and the strict schedule of your job, your friendships are limited to the athletes you work with and the other McLaren staff that travel with you━ all of whom have passes of their own, for obvious reasons.

Jack, thankfully, doesn’t ask about it either. Whether he’s made his own assumptions or respects that it’s probably a sore subject, he leaves it alone and the two of you carry on in companionable silence.

You get your equipment unzipped from the bags and organized across the room per your system, guiding your temporary helper with pointed fingers to where it all should go.

The silence is only broken again when he asks you a question. “You got a favorite driver?”

It’s so out of the blue that you nearly jump, startled by the suddenness of it against the quietness of the room. But then you laugh and shake your head. “Officially no, but just between the two of us, me and Lando started at the same time so he’s got a special place in my heart. He’s also my best friend.”

Jack raises an eyebrow, “Oh yeah?” Despite the persona he puts on, you think he secretly loves gossip. “How’d he take the news about you being with Ward, then? ‘Cause I’d have some choice things to say to any friend of mine if they got with a prick like that.”

You purse your lips, divert your gaze to avoid Jack’s eyes, and shrug, fiddling with the neck strap of your camera as you do so. “I don’t know.”

“You ‘don’t know?’”

You shrug again and feign checking over the settings as if your camera’s aperture is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “He hasn’t been picking up my calls,” you start, “or answering my texts since the paps released the pics, so.”

When you glance back up, Jack’s making a face. “So, your best friend finds out you’re dating a total bellend, and instead of asking you about it or at the very least taking the piss, he ignores you?”

When he puts it like that, you feel a bit stupid for being more sad than you are angry.

All you can do is shrug.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by mancity, jackgrealish, and 241,976 others

tagged: jackgrealish

yourusername ladies and gentlemen, jack grealish (i was threatened into posting these, send help pls)

comments have been disabled

You decide that if Lando gets to be petty, then so do you.

The thing is, you’d told Lando you wouldn’t replace him with any of the guys from Manchester City, and you’d meant it━ you still mean it, despite your frustrations and annoyances with him telling you otherwise.

But if he’s going to play games, then so are you.

Technically you hadn’t started the relationship with Garrett willingly, but Lando doesn’t know that, and even if you had that doesn’t give him the right to go about ignoring you. You’ve been supportive when he’s gotten girlfriends━ you even ate greasy pizza, drank cheap wine, and cried watching The Notebook together when he ended his long-term relationship back in 2022. He could at least pretend to be supportive, or better yet he could pick up the fucking phone.

As pathetic as it sounds, you’d let him yell at and berate you if it just meant he’d answer your calls. Because having Jack around to gossip with and shoot the shit is nice, and he really does help you not feel so alone at Etihad Campus, but Lando’s your best friend and he has been for years now. There’s nobody that understands you as well as he does, even if he is a twat half the time, and what you need now most of all is that particular Lando brand of annoying to cheer you up.

The door opens, drawing your attention from where you’re scrolling through McLaren’s newest posts. Garrett stands in the opening.

The memory of that night still lingers like a bad taste in your mouth, bitter and unpleasant. You’ve managed to avoid him for the most part in the time since then, ignoring the looks he shoots your way out on the field or in the weight room, and lucky enough that his meetings with the physio team keep him preoccupied so that he can’t seek you out in between training sessions. You’d known it was inevitable that you’d have to face him, but that doesn’t stop the dread from pooling in your stomach when you see him standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised as he surveys the makeshift office you’ve done up for yourself.

“They couldn’t find you an actual office?” He comments, looking disdainfully towards your desk and the large Manchester City logo emblazoned across the front.

You shrug, wishing he’d just get to the point. “I’m only here for a few months. Doesn’t matter much to me. What do you want?”

He takes a step farther into the room and closes the door behind him, taking his sweet time to cross the distance toward the seats. When he’s finally lowered down into one, he looks up to you with a nonchalance that fills you immediately with anger.

“I’m making some amendments to our agreement,” he announces.

“Like hell you are.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you seriously expect people to believe we’re a couple if we never actually do anything to give off the impression of being a couple?”

You scowl. Obviously, you hadn’t expected to just skate by on the coattails of pictures from a single night. You’d known from the very beginning that you would eventually need to make another public appearance together at the very least if you wanted to keep the paparazzi fed and encourage the idea to the media that you’re in a committed relationship with one another. You’d just been hoping you would’ve had more time until then.

“I’m not an idiot, Garrett,” you grumble, crossing your arms in your seat. You had been looking through pictures from the day’s morning practice, but now you think having to look at any more of Kevin De Bruyne’s grinning face will make you lose your mind when you feel the furthest thing from happy.

“Obviously,” Garrett scoffs. “But you’re the one who said I get one kiss and nothing more. Newsflash, love━” your scowl deepens, “━couples do more than just kiss one time.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

He pulls his phone from the pocket of his joggers and swipes across the screen for a few moments of anticipatory silence. “Well,” he finally says, “it’s the sixteenth now. We haven’t got a match until the twenty-sixth. Go on a date with me this weekend.”

You can’t say no. There’s no plausible excuse for you to get out of it, and deep down you know the only way you can get rid of Garrett is to just do what he says and hope the media make their conclusions about his change quick enough that you can ditch him before the summer break.

At least during the Formula One season, you can use traveling as a reason to get out of dates. When the Champion’s League starts back up he’ll be traveling around Europe a bit more than he is now, and there’s always a chance you could be in the same country at the same time, but the likelihood of your schedules aligning is slim and that means you’ll be safe from any ventures out into public.

But for the time being, you’re stuck.

“Okay,” you reluctantly agree.

He claps his hands, a deceptively cheerful grin on his face. If you didn’t already think of him as the worst prick you’ve ever met, you might’ve found it charming. It’s the same smile he used to flash at you in your first week when he was trying to cozy up and ease his way into your good graces. The sight of it makes you sick to your stomach, now.

“Great,” he rises from his seat. “We’ll do some shopping, get some lunch━ make a full day out of it.”

At this point, you don’t care what he has planned. You just want him to leave you alone so you can try to at least pretend like you’re gonna finish the rest of the work you need to get around to.

Garrett’s made his way to the door and has his hand reaching for the handle when he turns back around and gives you a smirk. “Might wanna work on your happy face, though, love,” he comments, gesturing towards you with a nod of his head. “‘Cause if you look like that in front of the paps they definitely aren’t gonna be very convinced that you love me.”

Just to spite him, you let your scowl deepen. “I don’t need your advice. I know how to handle myself, Garrett.” You say his name like a curse━ like the very feeling of it on your tongue causes you pain.

If he notices, he doesn’t comment. His face turns thoughtful, but there’s still the smugness painted across his features that makes you so unfathomably annoyed. “You must be pretty familiar with the paps if you’re always around those drivers, yeah?” He knows the answer to his question already, so you’re not sure why he’s even asking.

He stays silent, though, like he’s genuinely expecting an answer, so you shrug your shoulders. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats back to you.

His laughter is all you hear echoing in your ears even once he’s long gone.

Until your phone starts to ring and Lando's name flashes across the screen.

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre @chezmardybum @marshmummy @405rry @sideboobrry11 @d3kstar @mcmuppet @happylittlereader @casperlikej @5starl1ght

━━ a/n: cliffhanger hehe~ also, i promise we're getting to ACTUAL formula one stuff soon

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 #oscar piastri

388 notes · View notes

sturniolo-simp4life · 5 months

Text

Call Me Back- Chris Sturniolo

Paring- Chris Sturniolo and Y/n

Description- Chris has been ignoring you for a while, upsetting you, until one night he shows up at your apartment.

Warnings- angst, crying. Remember everything is fictional! Nothing here applies to real life.

NOT PROOF READ!

You had really been upset this past week. Chris had been distant this week. At first, you thought he was busy with filming and that he needed space.

But it had gotten more complicated.

He stopped answering your calls and texts. You could see his likes on other girls' social media.

Another thing- you didn’t care about whose posts he liked, whether they were girls or not.

It was that he was liking pictures of half-naked girls was what got to you.

You could feel your heart swell when you got a notification.

Chris.sturniolo made a post

You clicked on the notification. A picture popped up. It looked like Chris was at a party. He had that big bright smile the one he would always show around you.

What really caught your attention though, was that his arm was clinging onto another girl's waist.

The girl was leaning her head on his shoulder, and her arm was on his other shoulder.

You felt your heart crack. Had he found another girl? Is that why he had been ignoring you?

The girl did look perfect for him though. Golden brown hair. Crisp, green eyes. Big, perfect pink lips. You felt your heart crack even more. It looked like a match made in heaven.

You hadn’t even realized tears welled up in your eyes until they started streaming down your cheeks. You choked a sob, as you sank into your pillow.

You didn’t like your emotions getting the best of you but when they did, it was too late.

What if you were just overreacting? What if she was just a close friend?

But you saw how both their eyes showed happiness. Connection. Love.

You cried yourself to sleep that night.

___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___

Two more days passed. Two more notifications, each day. Each post with the same girl. The same bright eyes.

The same smile. The same pang of pain in your heart. You had tried calling him too, but he would just ignore your calls, or not answer.

You decided that you did want to live a sob story, so you went to the grocery store, hoping to at least be productive and get some tasks done.

You found yourself driving to target, hoping to buy some things. For one: food. It was always your comfort.

You also needed to buy your daily necessities, like toilet paper and soaps.

And you defiantly bought snacks and candy.

You thought things were going well. You thought you could avoid any possible thought of Chris at all today.

You were literally finished checking out your items.

But no. The world must really hate you.

The way your heart shattered when you heard that laugh. As you saw those brown locks of hair.

Chris.

And you heard the female laughter following. That golden brown hair. Those deep, crisp, green eyes. That girl.

You couldn’t bring yourself to move. At all. Who is she? Why do I feel like this? You couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

And the next thing you knew, they were right in front of you. “Oh hey y/n!” You heard Chris’s voice. You couldn’t utter a word.

You couldn’t hear, you couldn’t feel you couldn’t speak. Are you alright? He asked. Are you okay?

I can’t do this. You finally snapped back to reality, and you ran. You ran right out of that store. You couldn’t turn back.

He had ignored you for almost a week and a half. Hadn’t picked up any of your calls. And now suddenly acting like he cares? You couldn’t do this.

You cried as soon as you got home.

___---___---___---___---___---___---___ What time is it? Was your first thought as you woke up. You rubbed your eyes. Sighed. You needed to relax.

You grabbed your phone, a blanket, and snacks from your kitchen, and made your way to the living room.

10 things I hate about you. Thats what you decided to put.

You wrapped the blanket around yourself, its warmth covering you, protecting you, keeping you safe. Why can’t they be Chris’s arms.

You were about halfway into the movie and on your third bowl of popcorn when you heard a knock on the door. You sighed, not wanting to get up.

The knocks wouldn’t stop, so you forced yourself to answer it.

“What are you doing here,” you asked. Where’s your new girl? You wanted to ask. Why haven’t you broken up with me?

“I wanted to see if you were alright.” he said.

“You wanted to see if I was okay?” you could feel your voice rising.

“Oh Chris I’ve been great. I’ve just been ignored for a whole week by my boyfriend, not to mention that he’s been hasn’t been answering my texts of calls, and hanging out with some girl I don’t even know?”

You were crying at this point. “So yeah Chris. I’ve been doing great.” He was silent for a moment, his eyes showing pure heartbreak.

You couldn’t. You completely broke down. Sobbing.

Chris knew you didn’t like crying. That’s why he was so shocked. It broke his heart that he made you feel this way.

He pulled you into a hug, murmuring soft, reassuring words into your ear. “Shhh, you're alright pretty girl. Don’t cry. Please.” his voice cracked on the last word.

Once you had calmed down a bit, both of you took a seat on the couch.

“10 things I hate about you,” he said. “That’s always been your comfort movie.” You nodded your head.

A few moments passed. “Look y/n, I owe an apology. I’m sorry I haven’t reached out in what feels like forever.” he sighed. “What about that girl?” you asked.

That’s what was bothering you the most.

“Yeah um, she's the reason. Ally. She was one of my best friends in middle school, and she surprised me by showing up out of nowhere. She moved away right before high school- before we even met. I was just happy to see her when she came. She has a boyfriend, you know.”

“Oh,” was all you could manage with a voice crack. “I-I’m so sorry.” Guilty guilty I feel so guilty.

I felt a tear slip down my cheek, many more following. For the second time, Chris pulled me into a hug, kissing my hair and rubbing my back. “It’s not your fault pretty girl. Don’t cry. I promise you.”

His touch leaves a trail of butterflies on my skin. “I’m sorry for ignoring you, my sweet girl. I promise you that won’t happen again.”

You sniffled as you hugged him burying your face into the crook of his neck. He suddenly picked you up bridal style. “Lets get you showered and ready for bed, yeah?”

You nodded your head. “Chris I love you.”

He looked down at you and smiled at me. “I love you too baby.”

tags- @tillies33ssss @theyluvme-2315 @alorsxsturn @maya555sblog

260 notes · View notes

ladykailitha · 25 days

Text

Icarus Part 18

Hey, guys! I'm back!!! I had a great and very productive hiatus, the results of which can be found here.

But tl;dr is that this story is complete, so it will be regularly updated on Sunday until it's done. Then I will release the story that started this all "The Rise of The Fallen" in two parts, also on Sundays. Which will take us all the to December, if you can believe it.

I'm still working on the other stories and at least The Hellfire Exotic Club (stripper), The Caged Bird Still Sings (sugar!baby), and Of Butterflies and Backstrokes (Olympic swimmer) are all going to be fairly long so that should be exciting. Then I'll be working on the fun little game show story now called "A Love Connection". Which won't come out until one of the others ends. Sorry. But WIP Wednesday will show you teases of it until then.

I recommend rereading the previous chapter to refresh your memory and away we go!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Steve was riding on the best high. Their next song was “Kiss the Boys/Kiss the Girls”. The song was about finding love in whatever form that took. With a full verse on non-binary folks, despite the title. There was nothing in the world that could compare to crowds screaming your name. It didn’t even matter that the name they were screaming wasn’t Steve, it was Abbadon.

He stumbled into the green room that had all their stuff in it. Corroded Coffin had taken the stage and him and his boys were relaxing with their masks off, Hopper at the door.

“I’ve never been so nervous in my life!” Shane said after downing an entire water bottle. “That crowd was massive! And diverse! Usually we just get college aged kids but there were literal kids out there and old time rockers too.”

“Shit, yeah,” Spence said, pushing his hood off his head to splash a little water on his head. He didn’t have a spotlight on him but wearing all black still made for a hot set.

Shane laid down on the floor, sprawled out spread eagle. “Is this is what real fame is like?”

Steve slid off the chair he was sitting in, to sit next to him. “God, I have such mixed feelings about that if it is. Because the energy was off the charts and I’m pretty sure I sung my heart out...”

“But you aren’t sure you keep up with it for the whole tour?” Simon asked quietly.

Steve threw his head back to rest on the seat of the chair. “Yeah. I don’t want to burn out before I turn thirty, you know?”

“You should talk to Eddie about what they do not to burn out,” Spence suggested. “Because they’ve been doing this for ten years and longer tours than this.”

Steve hummed his agreement.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. “Celeste, incoming,” Hopper muttered, before opening the door.

Anyone in view of the door, put their mask over their face and then off again when the door closed behind their manager.

“Good job, guys,” Robin said cheerily and sat down on the floor between Shane and Steve. “I just got off the phone with Vickie and she says social media is going batshit insane about the song and Steve’s intro. And it’s good. Like really good. There are some assholes, but it seems that even the media and music critics are calling it the next gay anthem.”

“What are they saying?” Simon asked, sitting up on the sofa and scooting to the edge.

Robin grinned. “This is my favorite one: Heaven is where the assholes are, we always knew all the good people were in hell. Keep up the good work, Abbadon and all of the rest of The Fallen. From Metallica’s official Twitter.”

The room was deathly silent for all of two seconds before they all erupted into gleeful screams. They all jumped on her and started hugging her tightly.

“Get off me! Get off me!” she shrieked. “You’re all sweaty and gross!”

They deliberately smeared themselves all over her before they got off, giggling like children.

“Boys!” she huffed dramatically. “So gross. I swear you lot don’t grow up you just get older.”

Steve leaned over and gave a huge kiss on the cheek. “Probably, but you wouldn’t love us if we were any different.”

Robin swiped her cheek in an exaggerated fashion. “Maybe, but boys are still gross.” She went on to tell them all things that Vickie was sending her about the world’s reaction to the song.

Then after a while she bumped into Steve’s shoulder. “Go on. I know you want go watch some of the show, I’ll hold down the fort here.”

Steve smiled at her and gave her shoulder a squeeze. He got to his feet and put his mask back on. After checking to make sure no one was in view, he knocked on the door for Hopper to let him out.

Once the door closed, Robin let out a long sigh. “I worry about those two.”

“Who?” Shane said, sitting up for the first time. “Steve and Eddie? Why?”

She nodded, pulling her knees up to her chest and tucking her chin between her knees. “Being in the closet is hard. And I know Abbadon has come out, but he’s still in the ‘closet’ as it were about his identity and Eddie and Steve having to hide their relationship on top of Steve hiding who is... let’s just say that great relationships then theirs have crumbled under the pressure.”

The room was silent as they all took that in.

“Are we just doomed from having relationships?” Spence asked. “Are we all destined to be lonely?”

Simon’s lips quivered. “I hate that I have all these women throwing themselves at me but they really don’t care who’s under the mask.”

“I hit up every gay bar in every city we tour in as me,” Shane muttered picking at the skin around his nails, “and I don’t know if it’s worse they don’t know who I am than if I had gone as Astraeus.”

“I’m trying to have a girlfriend,” Spence said bitterly, “but all I can tell her is that I travel for work. And yeah it’s new enough she isn’t asking as what, but how much longer can I dodge that question?”

Robin let out another sigh. “I know, and it’s not as though I can really date either. Are they dating the goofy lesbian Robin, or the sophisticated fashion plate, Celeste? But with Eddie I think Steve has it harder.”

“It’s because Eddie is famous, huh?” Simon asked, sliding off the sofa to sit next to Shane on the floor.

Spence got up and curled up around Shane. Robin inserted herself into the pile and they just cuddled until the show was over.

Steve wanted to be on that stage more than anything, just singing with Eddie, happy and free. But he was Abbadon right now and while he might get away with it, Steve didn’t feel comfortable with the not being able to kiss his boyfriend senseless.

He waited until the it’s almost time for the encore before he slipped back into the green room. Everyone else is already changed and gone. It’s just Robin as Celeste waiting for him.

“How did he not have a boyfriend before now?” Steve muttered as he pulled on the khakis and blue polo shirt of his ‘uniform.’

Robin snorted. “For the same reason you went pretty thin on the dating field. He was hung up on a special someone.”

Steve blushed and ducked his head. “I’m assume you think it’s me.” He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get it lay straight after being hidden under the hood for so long.

Robin got to her feet and leaned down to look him in the eye. “Are you telling me you don’t?”

Steve looked away. Robin gently lifted his chin and then held his face her hands. “Steven Kincade Harrington, you listen to me close. You are worthy of love. You are worthy of care. You are worthy of attention. And Eddie Munson is one hundred percent onboard to give all three. Of course he was waiting for you. Any person with eyes can see how much he loves you. Fuck, Simon bristles every time he’s brought up now because instead him being your protector like it used to be, it’s Eddie.”

Steve stared at her with his mouth wide open. “Simon’s jealous of Eddie?”

Robin laughed and kissed his stupid head.

“Babe,” she said fondly. “Spence and Shane have been beating him off with a stick every time Eddie comes around.”

“But Simon doesn’t protect me,” Steve said tilting his head to the side. “I protect him. He’s so painfully shy outside of the band and he’s always curled up on my lap.”

“Please tell me you aren’t that naive,” she said. “He is always sticking up for you about your writing, about your singing. When it comes to band stuff Simon is the biggest mama bear of them all.”

Steve blinked at her for a moment and then mouthed the word “Oh.”

“You are such a dingus,” she said shaking her head. “But you’re my dingus so that evens it out a bit.”

He pushed her playfully. “I’m going to get out there before people wonder where the missing EMT is.”

He slipped out a different way from when he came in and she watched him go. Steve was brilliant at a lot of things, people included. But he always had a blindspot when it came to when other people caring for him.

She sighed and then made her way out of the green room so that Corroded Coffin could unwind now.

Robin passed Chrissy on the way out.

“Hey,” Chrissy said with a huge smile. “My boys want to go afterwards with your boys, you think they’d be down?”

“Of course they would!” she replied. “As The Fallen or no?”

Chrissy slapped her palm to her forehead. “Shit I forgot. As The Fallen. But they have casual masks to go in right?”

Robin smiled back at her. “It’s fine, of course they have casual masks. I’ll let them know. It’ll have to be much later because they have to be see as normies for a bit before they slip back into The Fallen.”

Chrissy winked and tapped the side of her nose. “I got you.”

Just then all the Corroded Coffin boys came bursting from the stage into the wings, whooping and screaming. They huddled together, arms around each other and counted to twenty.

Once they got to one, Eddie screamed whooped again and all four of them ran back on stage.

Robin blinked at them for a moment. “Didn’t they just have an encore?”

Chrissy threw back her head and laughed. “Depending on the city they can do anywhere from two to five encores.”

“Holy shit!” Robin said in genuine awe. “That’s insane.”

“It’s not even their record,” she said.

Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “There’s no way.”

“Six in Salt Lake City,” she explained. “Just coming off their third album, the one with eight singles. Which was too many in my opinion but apparently a couple radio stations thought there were a really good deep tracks and played. Then it got around, yaddy yadda. You get the drift.”

“But six?” Robin asked a little unsure.

Chrissy nodded. “Salt Lake is crazy for that shit though. I’ve heard bands go there if they want their ego stoked.”

“Any bands avoid it for that reason?” Robin giggled.

“I have no doubt there are,” she said with a hum. “Most of the time bands whine about the lack of boobs and booze when they refuse to go back.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Men are so gross.”

“Agreed,” she replied with a wink. “Go lesbian power.”

Robin fist bumped her. “I’ve got to go look like a PA schlep for awhile. I’ll text you when they’re free.”

“You’ve got it girlie!” Chrissy said.

Eddie was not pleased that they were at a bar. A bar was the last place he wanted Gareth to be right now.

But he insisted he would be fine and seemed for the most part to be sticking to a cherry coke, but Eddie was keeping an eye on him.

Things were actually going well until...

Astraeus let out a yelp of pain.

Abbadon and Azrael were on their feet in an instant, Asmodeus close behind. There was a little action going on so Eddie couldn’t see what happened, but oh boy did he see the aftermath.

Standing behind The Fallen’s bassist was an asshole with his phone up, filming and another guy yanking on Astraeus’ hood.

“Get off of him,” Abbadon hissed. “Or else.”

Abbadon was the shortest of his band, but fuck in that moment, he looked the most intimidating.

The dude with phone scoffed. “Or what? I’m filming you, you can’t do shit.”

Steve let out a huge ear-piercing whistle and yelled, “Security!”

The two dudes’ eyes went wide as they turned to scramble away from their table, but ran into two very meaty looking guys flanking Hopper.

“You two boys going somewhere?” the head of security asked, low and dangerously.

“We weren’t doing anything!” the one dude said. Not the one with the phone, but the one who had pulled on Astraeus’ hood.

“Yeah?” he asked. “And would these boys say the same?”

The asshole with the phone scoffed. “They’re just a bunch of weird, rich assholes, they’d say whatever.”

“And the security cameras won’t show you filming your friend here, yanking on this man’s hoodie?”

The two dudes looked at each in actual fear for the first time.

“And by the way, that’s assault,” Hopper continued to press. “So unless you want to be arrested, you’ll delete that little videos of yours unless you really, really want to broadcast your crime to the internet.”

The guy with the phone had Hopper watch him delete it off his phone.

“Good,” he said, “now these two gentlemen are going to escort out of the building, a building you’ll never be allowed to come back to ever again.”

After Hopper left with the bouncers and the two idiots, Gareth turned to them.

“Shit,” he said, “that was fucking terrifying. Does that happen a lot?”

Abbadon and Azrael exchanged a glance.

“More than it really should,” Azrael said. “It’s why Ellie designed a hoodie that would be harder to yank off. The trade off unfortunately is that hurts like a bitch when it’s pulled.”

“That fucking sucks, man,” Jeff said. “The next round of drinks is on me.”

Eddie nodded, but inside he was screaming. He didn’t know that this was something the band experienced at all. And even if he didn’t know who they were, that would still freak him out. But it was worse knowing it was Steve that they were doing this to.

Abbadon squeezed his hand under the table. It didn’t reassure him, not really, but it was still nice that Steve recognized his turmoil.

The night was a little more subdued after that as the Corroded Coffin boys thought about the implications of what just happened and The Fallen boys because all they wanted was a fun night out and it was ruined.

Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina @garden-of-gay

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar steve harrington #rockstar au

95 notes · View notes

lizardsfromspace · 2 days

Text

Okay, Matrix plagiarism case postscript

One thing I didn't answer is how she got the Wachowski's timeline wrong. I still don't know, but it appears she essentially shifted their lives back a decade

She says less than a decade ago they were running a construction business, but actually, working at a construction company is what they were doing in 1986. In 1976 Lana and Lilly were eleven and nine years old respectively. I can't explain why she messed this up, beyond having to age them up a decade for the story to work

But this screencap also brings up another thing she mentions repeatedly that I didn't mention - the smoking gun in her claim is that...the Matrix ripped off her words verbatim for its opening crawl. The opening crawl...to The Matrix.

Huh?

So her story is - and unsurprisingly the timeline here is jumbled, for instance, citing production interviews from 1997 when the film wouldn't enter production until 1998 - the original version of The Matrix contained a Star Wars-style opening crawl, and this was the most directly plagiarized part of the film.

She claims this opening crawl was, in fact, in the theatrical release of The Matrix and only removed when it came to home media, because she. Because she called the FBI on the Wachowskis for stealing the idea of opening crawls from her

The theatrical cut does differ from later versions slightly - most infamously the Wachowskis made the green color filter much more green in the second DVD release, to make it consistent with the style of the sequels - but if there was a opening crawl mandated by the studio, nobody but her has mentioned it, and I find it hard to believe critics wouldn't mention it.

Because this is Dark City. She's clearly confused The Matrix with stories about the studio's meddling with the 1998 film Dark City.

Dark City was the dystopian sci-fi film that had a opening narration explaining the whole plot foisted on it by the studio, and critics mentioned it. Basically every review mentioned it (some even suggest covering your ears or muting the film the first time you see it, at least until the Director's Cut removed it). Meanwhile, reviews of The Matrix praised its opening from the very beginning: how it drops you right into things and lets you find out about its world as Neo does. It's just not possible that the theatrical release has a opening crawl no one mentioned when I can pull up full comparisons of theatrical vs first DVD vs second DVD vs Bluray. Whatever story she read either was about Dark City, or was a Wachowski saying in passing "yeah the studio wanted us to add one but we didn't".

Another thing I didn't touch on is just how much it hypes her up as a untouchable genius of cinema. For instance, she claims to have come up with the effects of The Matrix in 1983 too

(one funny part is how little she brings up The Terminator at all? She just threw it in as a bonus I guess)

I looked up how they did the bullet time effect in particular and...it would have been impossible in 1983. It's not just high speed photography; it's entire banks of cameras, placed in the right place by computer previsualization, their sequence programmed, and with all the elements composited together by CGI. Even stylistically - the true creator of the effects cited Akira as a influence, and Akira the movie didn't exist in 1983. Neither did the type of Hong Kong action film that heavily influenced it. I guess it would be possible to write down "someone goes really fast and we depict it like they slowed down time", concepts of a plan etc

But like.

She's destined to be one of the most profound master writers of the 21st century. This is a book proving she's never written anything. It has a pitch for The Third Eye, it has a second film treatment tacked on at the end, and it has copyright registrations for her sequels to Terminator and The Matrix. M. Night Shyamalan's character in Lady in the Water was destined to be a great writer too, but he actually wrote a book. He didn't put out a book with a decades-old synposis that was never finished & reams of legal documents and a bio saying, I'm one of the greatest authors of all time. Because who needs writing when you have destiny, God, and the ancient superrace living in the Pyramids on your side?

This is my for real last post on this since I ended up just depressed about it in the end. I think the worst part is, she knows she lost. But she still goes to the press telling a story she knows isn't true, and people believe her. Some of it is transphobic - "stop saying it's a trans allegory when they stole it"; some of it runs with the Christian oppression narrative (full disclosure, I was inspired to look for her book again bc while looking up another crank, I saw an interview with her in the sidebar of a religious website); but a lot of it is just people who innocently want it to be true.

One of the few pieces debunking her story is on a website called Black Excellence - it doesn't even have a byline - said this:

"There are many people, especially Black people, who wanted the story to be true. It symbolized a Black person, especially a Black woman, finally winning against the system. When Sophia Stewart spoke about how mainstream media would not give her the time of day because almost all of them were owned by Warner Brothers, some Black media embraced her. Blogs spread her story, especially the initial story on Globe that contained errors about the case.

"But the story is not true. Sophia Stewart did not become the richest Black person in the country. But that did not deter her from going on several shows and publications to tell her story."

She took advantage of people's urge to root for the underdog against a corporation - and seized on a lack of mainstream coverage to claim her story was being suppressed. But it just isn't true. Also yeah she ridiculously claims that Warner Bros owns every news website and newspaper and that's kind of funny I guess. Well, that's it. I'm never doing this again

#sophia stewart #the matrix #plagiarism #long post

54 notes · View notes

colebabey888 · 4 months

Text

DIGITAL MARKETING FOR INTROVERTED DIVA'S | IT GIRL DIARIES 🩷 🎀

The digital and technological world grows every milli second, we watch so many young people become millionaires just by posting a few videos, promoting products, creating grwm, sharing their daily rourines ect ect. Becoming a influencer and mastering social media is the new get rich easy and we're here for it !

But... what about us introverts ? What about us who enjoy our privacy, who don't necessarily want to share our life with the entire digital world, what about us who aren't interested in using our faces as a cash flow? what can we do ?

Introducing...

Faceless Digital Marketing !!!

I have always had an interest in creating passive income through the digital world, but I HATED the idea of having to show my face everyday to make that happen, besides, I'm definitely not getting glamed up at 6am to post content, come on, I haven't even had my morning green juice by then !

With consistency and discipline, I have been able to make profit through faceless digital marketing and finally, with all the experience and knowledge I've gained along my journey, I am finally working on an E-Book that goes into FULL DETAIL about faceless digital marketing. Links, brands, already written out email pitches that have worked for me, will be included and so much more alongside a step by step guide on gaining your first passive income in the digital world

Stay tuned my pretty pink diva's, big things are coming with @colebabey888 ! 🩷🎀

140 notes · View notes

lewkwoodnco · 4 months

Text

how did it end? - anthony lockwood x reader

Come one, come all.

She felt vilified, commodified into some grotesque circus show for the sadistic, satisfied smiles of everyone else. Just as much of a spectacle as she was all those years ago.

It's happening again.

Look at them. Safe, and assured, and happy. It was revolting. They didn't understand an ounce of what she went through, they never would.

And all anyone wants to know is...

After today they would go home to their other friends and family and smugly recount the battered, fragile mess they ran into that afternoon, sick with glee as they described the aimless circles she wore into the floors, a pathetic husk of the agent she once was.

...how did it end?

a/n: will update this once i wake up!

warnings/tropes: tw death, canon divergent, tw death i MEAN it, the empty grave spoilers, hurt/comfort, lotta angst

word count: 4.6k!

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

The beginning was etched into his ribs. He could never forget it. In the following weeks when everyone wanted to know all about it, they would give the same humorously vague answer, conveniently leaving out the smaller, more important details they held close to their chests. We met at a florist's, they would say, and decided to start an agency. And how they handled the string of hauntings along Mulberry Lane in a week when agencies far stronger than theirs had been at it for months? Well, that was simply the product of her experience and his keen eye.

What they chose to leave out was this: after multiple failed attempts at registering his agency with DEPRAC, Lockwood had reached his wit's end and had decided to give up on the venture. Turns out, DEPRAC wasn't quite tolerant of budding agencies with only one member. With little else to do, he decided to take a mid-morning trip to the all-too-familiar Kensel Green Cemetery. Perhaps something in him sought forgiveness from their hollow husks.

Once he had reached, it felt to be in poor taste to enter empty-handed. He had crossed the street to the florist on the other side and picked out a small bouquet of white chrysanthemums.

"Chrysanthemums?"

Lockwood flinched badly. He looked up to see a surprisingly familiar face critically eyeing the now-battered bouquet, its thin plastic slick in his clammy palms. He recognised her the way half of London did - from the papers. Bright enough to make a name for herself through especially complicated cases, her rise through the ranks from smaller agencies to the Fittes Agency had been sparsely documented through the local media. The last of the glowing commendations even alluded to the position of team supervisor being within her reach at the tender age of fifteen. In a world plagued with fear, she had one of the best lives any parent could wish for their child - that is, until tragedy struck.

Perhaps the most curious detail of it all was the proximity of the incidents. After her first harrowing escape from a badly botched case where she was the sole survivor of her team, the city's sympathies were stirred for the poor, unsuspecting agent who, even now, brimmed with promise. There was a short inquiry, it was an intriguing piece of news, but it all blew over within the week. No matter, thought most people. Perhaps she'd have to wait a year or two more to be team supervisor.

It was barely a month before the next incident, nearly identical to the last, except in the nature of the cases. This time, considerably more eyebrows were raised. It was one thing to explain one incident away, but two? This inquiry lasted a solid month, and in the end, she was declared innocent, but by then she had unfortunately been severed from Fittes. Still, Rotwell Agency had happily snapped her up, until the third incident two weeks later.

As expected, that was the final blow on her strained career, extinguishing any hope of her once again harnessing the renown she once held. As each inquiry progressed, everyone wanted to know: what happened? Why did it happen? How did it all come crashing down so spectacularly? She didn't come out unscathed physically either. A close brush with Ghost Touch in the last incident left the nerves in the outer corner of her right eye paralysed. It not only reduced her normal vision but also left her Sight permanently disfigured.

In the papers, more than one outlet had the gall to suggest that perhaps it was deserved. Perhaps the incidents weren't as accidental as she would like everyone to believe. While the media spun nauseating defamatory narratives, each one more cruel than the last, the public image of Y/N L/N began to take a life of its own, twisting and warping into something horrid. At this point, Lockwood had not expected Rotwell's to go through the effort or disgrace of letting her go, and twelve days after the inquiry had finished, it was reported that she had resigned. It was almost impressive how long she had stuck it out. Lockwood had heard about these kinds of things through the grapevine - agents being forced into early retirement - but had never seen an example documented as liberally as this.

The saving grace of the events was that the whole ordeal was over in three months. All before her sixteenth birthday. And now here she was, standing feet away from him across a florist's shop, London's most wanted ex-agent. Two years on, she seemed just as lithe and alert as she did in the articles published years back, except for the hard edge of the newfound intensity in her rheumy eyes.

"Quite the hothouse flower, isn't it? Delicate. Fragile."

Lockwood smiled hesitantly. "It just needs a little extra care."

She smiled back, though she seemed unsure, and was quiet for a long time. Her gaze flickered to the chrysanthemums.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Lockwood thought back to the articles ripping her to shreds, the ones she never refuted, as if she had been paralysed by...something.

"I'm sorry for yours."

She stared at him blankly for a minute, as if she didn't understand, and then bowed her head. It felt miraculously easy to talk to each other as if they had stumbled through their grief towards this bittersweet meeting.

"You'd be better off with a hardier flower in this weather. Something strong...something tough." She adjusted the bouquet of yellow irises in her arms, bursting with joy against the grey backdrop of Lockwood's pale face, black suit, and white flowers. "Especially with Mulberry Lane being only a street over."

By then, the Mulberry Lane hauntings had picked up significant steam and media attention. Once assigned to only Fittes and Rotwell, it eventually attracted the attention of nearly every agency in the city. What started as a regular haunting in one house became a whole street of hauntings, stemming only once DEPRAC had cordoned the street off with iron barricades. Naturally, only agents were allowed on the premises, not that it stopped Lockwood from making an unofficial visit or two. The problem was, as self-assured as he was in his abilities, even he was forced to admit that this was no one-man job. But maybe, if he played his cards right...

"Yes, what a case that is..." Lockwood wandered down the aisle as she turned around to browse the other bouquets, deceptively nonchalant, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. "...been at it for weeks now."

"You're an agent?"

"Yes. Have my own agency, in fact, as of this morning."

"...is that so?"

Eventually, he persuaded her to work with him on the Mulberry Lane case. At the start of their first meeting, she mentioned that there wasn't any agency registered as Lockwood & Co., and asked if he was planning to harvest her liver, which he vehemently denied before accusing her of trying to harvest his liver in his panic. He took it as an overwhelmingly positive sign that she hadn't walked out right there and then, and was good-humoured enough to laugh about it. But the fact remained that they still weren't registered as agents under DEPRAC, and so the next Saturday night, they snuck to the Mulberry Lane gate with a pair of bolt cutters.

She clearly found the whole thing highly amusing as she held the flashlight while Lockwood struggled with the cutters.

"So...why do you want to start your own agency? Fittes and Rotwell not good enough for you?"

He struggled to catch his breath before responding. "I...I always preferred doing things my way."

"You mean the illegal way?"

"The efficient way."

They snickered quietly in the dead of the night, and with one last heave, he snapped the iron chain clean apart. Lockwood slipped inside and, with a little difficulty, helped her through. She could still make out their surroundings well enough, but in a place as infested as Mulberry Lane, it was safer to err on the side of caution.

After a few weeks of researching by day and breaking into Mulberry Lane by night, they found the Source - a dandelion whose seeds had drifted into the gardens of the other houses. Of course, they weren't about to start looking for individual dandelion seeds, but with a little bit of acid, Mulberry Lane was soon Visitor-free. Lockwood revelled in the following explosion of media attention and, upon resubmitting the application with not one but two members listed, Lockwood & Co. was finally registered under DEPRAC as an official agency.

He remembered having some photographs taken for some publication during their fifteen minutes of fame. She was sitting on a stool with Lockwood standing behind her, and they kept nervously whispering to each other between the shots.

"This is it," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"What?"

"The start of the rest of our lives."

"God, you're so dramatic."

"And you're not being dramatic enough. Wasn't all this...stolen from you?"

"I never asked for it in the first place."

"This is basically your birthright."

"Lockwood."

And then they got told off for chattering away again. They sobered up and fell silent, but not before Lockwood placed a hand on her shoulder. She briefly brushed against his knuckles with her fingertips, and that shot ended up being published as the cover of the publication's issue for the month.

The media frenzy had sent hordes of applicants their way, and to celebrate the successful launch of the agency Lockwood decided to throw a party at Portland Row. He was wandering around the house in his usual button-down folded at the elbow, weaving through the crowds as he peered into the rooms looking for Y/N while being stopped and congratulated by nearly every attendee. He finally found her in the study, at his desk, reading the case journal they had started for the Mulberry Lane hauntings.

With some effort, he slipped inside, a pair of champagne flutes in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. She looked up and pushed some papers aside as he set the glasses down and uncorked the bottle. They clinked their glasses together before taking a sip, silently toasting to one another, the muffled hubbub outside the door feeling miles away.

"So," she started after her first sip, "between the champagne and the party, do you have any money left from what DEPRAC gave you?"

Lockwood chose to respond by taking another, longer sip. Once he had finished, he conveniently changed the subject.

"Speaking of DEPRAC, I haven't finalised the agency name yet. I was thinking...Lockwood & L/N?"

A piece of her heart breaks as soon as he utters those words. Dread pools in her stomach like acid. She closes the journal and sets it aside.

"Lockwood...I only wanted to help you get your agency off the ground - which, by the way, congratulations. But you don't need me anymore. You have much more reliable agents lining up at your door."

"Do you possibly think I could trust any of them as much as you?"

"I-I'm only going to be a burden." She feels hot tears behind her eyes as the pressure in her chest builds. "You deserve agents who can at least See fine."

He puts his champagne down, frowning. "But there wouldn't be any agency without you. Really, Y/N, don't be daft - what's mine is yours."

She stares at him for a beat and, despite her better judgement, caves. She doesn't say how she doesn't want some diluted, only half-there version of herself lingering on like some stench of formaldehyde in her father's old taxidermy workshop.

"Fine. I'll stay, but only if you keep my name out - I've had enough attention for a lifetime."

Thus, Lockwood & Co. was born. Over time, they took on two new employees, George Karim and Lucy Carlyle. The media followed along on their larger cases: half malice, half morbid fascination. In their downtime, they worked together to fashion a pair of special goggles for Y/N to make her Sight more receptive to supernatural triggers. It was still nowhere as sharp as it once was, but it was enough for her to no longer be solely reliant on the others. Not only did it help Y/N, but it also gave Lockwood greater peace of mind on the cases he had to sit out when his migraines were unmanageable.

As Lucy and George had soon learnt, Lockwood suffered from chronic migraines, which raged on unaffected by the prescriptions Y/N had to practically shove down his throat. While he refused to go for regular tiresome check-ups, he would reluctantly have a lie-down on evenings when the pounding in his head grew too strong.

He'd shuffle to the living room as the rest of them were heading out, carefully bundled up, and fall into a fitful, drowsy sleep until they returned. He'd listen to them quietly taking their equipment down into the basement, and Y/N would creep in to see how he was doing. He'd ask how the case went, she'd try to take his temperature, and if he was looking especially poorly, she'd press her icy cold hands onto his clammy forehead. In short, life wasn't perfect, but it wasn't terrible, and that was all they could have asked for.

If anyone were to have asked Lucy or George when it had all started to go downhill, they would have pointed to the bet with Kipps. She had been finalising some paperwork with Saunders while Lockwood had provoked Kipps into a bet, and no one had bothered to mention it until she forced it out of George the next day. If the muffled argument from the kitchen was any indication, the revelation hadn't gone over well, and they spent the rest of their day roaming around with faces like thunder. The squabble lasted a couple of days, during which she threatened and begged him to call off the bet, which he adamantly refused. She waited to broach the subject again until George and Lucy had gone to bed and it was just the two of them in the study, Lockwood sitting on the floor leaning against the armchair she had snuggled into.

"What if you lose? What if something goes wrong?"

"I won't lose because I'm the better agent."

"You realise this bet is in no way an indication of your actual skills, right? This is just some pissing contest to stroke both of your overinflated egos."

"Why? You know Kipps?"

"I was on his team for a while, yes. We've talked, but not much. My point is, you're acting like a child."

"I can't exactly back out now. Kipps would be a git about it...and people would talk."

"I thought you didn't care about what people thought."

"Of course I care. It'd be foolish not to."

She opened her mouth to retort but he cut her off, lightly resting his hand on her ghost-patterned sock.

"Just...trust me. Please?"

Again, against her better judgement, she relented and uncharacteristically dropped the topic, biting back her words as she watched Lockwood desperately scramble to make headway in the case over the next couple of days. Things finally came to a head one evening when he, dizzy with lack of sleep, slammed his head into a concrete arch, luckily escaping with only a gash through the eyebrow.

She sat him down at one of the corners of the kitchen table, first aid kit to the side as she disinfected the wound. Now that his fall had sobered him up enough to dilute his manic adrenaline spree, he was starting to feel a little ashamed. He hissed in pain as his head jerked back with her insistently pressing the antiseptic into the wound, perhaps a little harsher than was entirely necessary. He blinked through his watery eyes as he tried to break the awkward silence with his raspy voice.

"Uh, do you think...stitches?"

She manhandled his head into a few different angles before responding, her voice ominously clear of any emotion. "You'll survive."

The embarrassment was washing over him in waves now. He hadn't felt this vulnerable or stupid since Jessica's death.

"I'm sorry."

She sighed, discarded the cotton and started dressing the wound slowly, almost thoughtfully. "You don't need to apologise to me. If anything, you owe yourself an apology. That looked like it hurt."

He grimaced, then relaxed into the cold, soothing ointment she was delicately applying.

"I don't know what's gotten into you lately. Or maybe you've always been this competitive." She slipped her free hand into one of his as if holding on for support while her knees buckled underneath her. "But you're going to get yourself killed."

He folded his fingers over hers reassuringly. Her hand twisted anxiously, clumsily clutching a few of his fingers. It reminded Lockwood of how she had fumbled for his hand on their first night together at Mulberry Lane, all those months back.

"I need you to understand that I can't have it all happen again." Lockwood stared at their entangled fingers in his lap, her fingertips raw and tinged with pink. She had never opened up about the tragedies, and as he sat there, listening to her ill-disguised shaky breaths, he finally understood why. "It was - there isn't a night I don't relive it. My family...they said I was so strong to go through all of that. But I don't think I'm strong enough to go through it one last time."

But it was too little too late. Whatever boulder Fate had rolled in their direction had started to pick up speed, and was dangerously close. Less than nineteen hours later, Y/N L/N walked out of Portland Row and out of Lockwood & Co., for good.

Kipps was nothing if not a strategist, and when news reached that Lockwood & Co. was now down one member, he sent the media hounds close behind them. The front porch of Portland Row became a breeding ground for oily reporters sticking their microphones out into their faces if any of them so much as went out to collect the mail. At her old apartment two streets down, Y/N dealt with a similar infestation the same way she did the first time - dressing inconspicuously, keeping her head down and praying it would all be over sooner rather than later.

She drifted through the days with a nauseating kind of hollowness. She couldn't remember what she had been living for before Lockwood, and all that consumed her were thoughts of how it ached to be missing some phantom limb. Her partner in crime. Her best friend.

Eventually, she pulled herself together enough to make a trip to the grocery store. As soon as she entered, she regretted not making some kind of list beforehand as she aimlessly wandered through the aisles, struggling to think of something as mundane as what to fuel her body with.

"Y/N?"

She flinched badly, before turning to see two old acquaintances from Fittes. They had a short lighthearted chat, all of them ignoring the elephant in the room as they made small talk, until one of them could no longer hold themselves back.

"You know," Isla began in her sharp, piercing voice of hers, "I read the darnedest thing in the papers the other day. Said you left this agency...Look-wood & Co.?"

She gave a pained smile. "You know, you shouldn't believe everything you read."

"Oh. So it's not true?"

"No, it's...yes. I've left."

"Why?"

Her friend not-so-subtly elbowed Isla in the side. Immediately, her face started feeling too hot, and she didn't know how to tear her eyes away from Isla's sinister smile of derision.

Come one, come all.

She felt vilified, commodified into some grotesque circus show for the sadistic, satisfied smiles of everyone else. Just as much of a spectacle as she was all those years ago.

It's happening again.

Look at them. Safe, and assured, and happy. It was revolting. They didn't understand an ounce of what she went through, they never would.

And all anyone wants to know is...

...how did it end?

"What? It's one thing to leave one agency. But then two, and now three? It's enough to make people t-"

Her friend finally dragged Isla away, scolding under her breath. Isla rolled her eyes as she was taken away, calling out in a peeved voice. "Enjoy your orange juice!"

Y/N stared blankly after her, trying to put two and two together until she glanced down at the weathered carton of orange juice she was holding. Orange juice with pulp, the kind she had swiped up so many times before, half-distracted while trying to stop Lockwood from running them broke over the many little treats lining the aisles.

She stares at the carton and decides that she just might spend the rest of her life reeling from the loss of his undeniable warmth.

As luck would have it, they did meet again, though it was in less than favourable circumstances.

"You're still working on the case?"

She spun around from where she had been fiddling with the lock to Bickerstaff's mansion. She shielded her eyes from the flashlight aggressively assaulting her retinas, until a harsher version of the Lockwood she remembered came into view.

He held out his flashlight until she reluctantly accepted it, holding it in place while he pulled out that same pair of wire cutters. She sighed, deciding it would be impolite to give him the silent treatment when he was going through all this effort.

"I freelance now."

"No, I mean, you're working on the case..." With a final loud crack, the chain slithered down the door, now useless. "...alone?"

He tentatively pushed the door open while she exaggeratedly strapped on her goggles with more than a little attitude, making a big show of avoiding his gaze. It was almost enough to make him crack a smile.

"Big talk from someone who nearly got himself killed by Winkman."

If he noticed the sour resentment hidden in his voice, he didn't let on.

"Oh. You heard."

"Of course I heard. Where the hell was Lucy? Or George? Did you even tell them where you were?"

"For the record, I never told you where I was all the time."

"Oh please, you'd just awkwardly stand around all guilty until I forced you to spit it out."

He groaned. "Can't we save this for later?"

"Later? In case it's slipped your mind, I'm not going home with you after tonight." She pulled out her small cloth bag of iron filings, shouldering past Lockwood. "I'm conducting my psychical investigation myself."

"You're being stubborn."

She ripped the goggles off her head painfully, hurling them straight at Lockwood. "So what if I am? I've been biding my time for the past month, closing one eye as I watched you make the worst choices possible. When is it going to be my turn to make bad decisions? I'm done making allowances for you, Lockwood. I'm...exhausted."

She turned away, walking straight into the mansion, blind as a bat. Too blind to see what was right in front of her.

"Wait. Y/N, please, don't - NO!"

His scream echoed like a warning through the rafters. Her dying wish was finally realised. Never again would she have to go through anything like that.

After a short call from Inspector Barnes, Lucy and George hurried down to the hospital with their hearts in their throats, terrified of what awaited them. They felt a rush of relief when they found him sitting outside one of the rooms, face blank and blanched, seemingly unharmed. But that same dread returned when they noticed the goggles he was weakly holding onto. Like he barely had the strength to hold on for much longer. No Source. No Y/N.

Two weeks later at the funeral, he was standing at the podium, eyes glazed over while he read some media-friendly statement handed to him half a minute earlier. How it happened? Like walking through an icy waterfall. How was he alive? He didn't know. How it ended? The same way it began. He felt numb to the invasive camera flashes, save for an occasional stab of irritation. Even now, they salivated for any and every nugget of information. Would they never let her rest?

Come one, come all.

He was distantly aware that George and Lucy were somewhere in the front row, but at that moment he wished for nothing more than for her to be at his side, holding his hand and holding him up. It reminded him of the night before his parents' funeral when he stayed up all night wishing that Jessica would be there in the morning, ready with a hug to wash away this terrible dream. And yet, twelve years later, he stands there just as alone as he was the first time.

It's happening again.

Her last words echo hollowly inside her skull - not the ones at Bickerstaff's mansion, but from before she walked out of his life. They had got into some stupid fight about some stupid thing, and she had mentioned that all this was enough to make her want to leave, and he had seen red.

"Why? Because of Kipps? The bet?"

"Why don't you figure it out yourself since you're just so bloody brilliant, huh?"

And all anyone wants to know is...

It wasn't like her to be that angry. That was his doing. He had enraged her and pushed her to her very limits until she had finally snapped. Perhaps that was his punishment, a precursor to eternal damnation - living with this disfigured memory of his own doing.

...how did it end?

As he neared the end of his speech, he finally looked up from the script, and for a moment he thought his heart had stopped. There, at the very back of their hastily rearranged living room, was Y/N, or a translucent version of her, at least. It was nearly mid-morning, as was evident by her highly faded image, but he could still faintly make out what she was aggressively mouthing towards him. Tell them. Tell them the truth.

Too late; he's been frozen in fear long enough to imply he's finished his speech. After a light smattering of applause, foreign journalists and executives Y/N once worked with start coming up to him, shaking his hand, and giving him a reassuring pat on the back. All the while, Lockwood stares transfixed at the quickly disappearing shadow at the back of the room, ugly with rage. Coward, she yells with some invisible voice. Fucking coward.

He keeps her spirit in the walls of 35 Portland Row, perhaps because it's the only home either of them has ever known. Maybe one day he'll be strong enough to let her go, and maybe once he does, he'll hate himself for having even held on in the first place. But for now, he chooses to be selfish.

One last time.

TAGLIST: @neewtmas @midnight--raine @ahead-fullofdreams @mitskiswift99 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @houseoftwistedspirits @elenianag080 @mohinithoughts @avdiobliss @snoopyluver20 @mischivana @dangelnleif

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #fanfiction #anthony lockwood x reader #fanfic #anthony lockwood imagine #how did it end #taylor swift #the tortured poets department #ttpd

76 notes · View notes

wen-kexing-apologist · 1 year

Text

A Pause for Reflection: Part 2- Only Friends, Racism, and the Commodification of Queer Asians

Hello! It is me, your friendly neighborhood wen-kexing-apologist. Before Only Friends aired, knowing how sex heavy this show was setting up to be, I decided it might be kinda funny if instead of posting my initial reactions to the episodes, which I knew were going to be something akin to an incomprehensible key smash, if I instead committed to a bit where I wrote very dry, academic essays on sex and sex imperatives in Only Friends.

Well, I wrote an essay on Boston, his cruising habits, and my speculations around him being an embodiment of older queer culture expecting like…three people maybe to make it through legitimately 13 written pages with block text citations. But it did surprisingly well, and so now I have decided to full send.

In my first Taking Pause post, I wrote about respectable promiscuity and the way I felt that concept impacted perceptions of queer people and queer culture, especially as it relates to engagement with Only Friends. This time, I want to dampen the mood a bit further, and discuss racism and its impact on perceptions of queer Asian characters in the BL industry. This was spurred by Only Friends and especially inspired by the posts I have seen going around that project false purity on flawed characters, but will cover Asian BL engagement more broadly as well.

Disclaimer: I am a white Westerner, addressing this post primarily to white Westerners, and using Western sources.

The Commodification of Queer Asian Men

Racism is a complex subject, and while people of color are not absolved of white supremacy mindsets through colorism, this invitation for conversation is mostly geared towards my fellow white Westerners. Racism is persistent, pervasive, and insidious in part because we do not always know when and how our own personal biases and learned racism impacts how we interact with the world, or in this case media.

With the increasing mainstream acceptance of gays and lesbians, and the increasing visibility of LGBT folks more generally, gay space and straight space, gay sociality and straight sociality, are increasingly blended (Dean, 2014). The commodification of gayness is only one example of this. (Ahlm, 2017)

We are frequently spoiled by BL because of how much exposure to queer people in stories we are allowed to see. These stories are not primarily or inherently made for queer people, but what this massive index of gay shows gives the general public is large amounts of exposure to the concept of gay people (about queers), and growing popularity allows for a rapid commodification of queer Asian experience.

I want to take a second to show the definitions of commodification, so anyone reading this is aware of what lenses I am working from.

Commodification: to turn (something, such as an intrinsic value or a work of art) into a commodity (Miriam-Webster)

Commodity:

an economic good: such as…c. a mass-produced unspecialized product

a. something useful or valued; b. convenience, advantage

a good or service whose wide availability typically leads to smaller profit margins and diminishes the importance of factors (such as brand name) other than price

one that is subject to ready exchange or exploitation within a market (Miriam-Webster)

Personally, I think it is reasonable to argue that BL and BL branded pairs are exploited by and are an exploitation of the market. We have seen the number of in-universe ads in our standard Thai BLs, the number of BLs being created every year is increasing with the understanding that these shows can be profitable, sell products, sell concert tickets, sell out theaters, make money on fan events, etc.. I think many of us have begun to love when Oishi Green Tea, Nivea Micellar Water, or Canon printers show up in our BLs, but it cannot be denied or ignored that those are commercials for products being sold to us through the images of queer characters and within queer stories. Meaning, the queer stories we are able to interact with en masse are there to sell us a product as well as a story.

How does this relate to racism? By making queer characters of color sell products within the stories they exist in, we establish a relationship to queer characters of color that extends the commodification of queer men of color themselves beyond what already exists by nature of racism and white supremacy within queer spaces:

It’s almost as if no gay men of color exist outside of fantasy cruises to Jamaica, Puerto Rico, or the ‘Orient’. And even then, they exist only to fulfill the sexual fantasies of gay white men. ‘Exotic’ vacations to far away places are marketed to rich white men and [low income] colored bodies are only another consumable product easily purchased with western dollars. As such, gay men of color, whether found within western borders or conveniently waiting for white arrival in the far off corners of the globe, are nothing more than commodities for consumption. (Chong-suk Han, 2007)

How many shows have we gotten out of GMMTV in recent years that are absent, or near-absent of in-universe ads? Three? The Eclipse, The Warp Effect, and Only Friends? What themes are at the center of these shows that may make them distasteful to corporations trying to sell their products?

Now, I entered the BL scene after The Eclipse aired, so I don’t know what its reception was like at the time. But I am pretty certain it was a popular show. Yet, I have personally witnessed the adverse and negative reactions to, especially Ayan, when Our Skyy 2 x The Eclipse aired and we saw Ayan keeping a secret that was hurting Akk’s feelings. I saw the sheer amount of posts coming out of tumblr about how Akk and Ayan were characterized so wrong in this show. And, I am trying to be polite here, but there were just grossly misrepresentative takes on tumblr about the characters we got on screen in OS2, who were extremely in character based on the source material, and not the idea of the characters we have built up in our heads as the lines between Ayan and Khaotung or Akk and First blurred over time.

The Warp Effect is a show I have constantly been asking people to watch as Only Friends approached and continue to market as required viewing while we are still in the early stages of Only Friends, but it was not widely watched as far as I could tell from the activity on my own tumblr feed and from the number of people I saw reblogging my Case for Watching TWE post who said they had yet to see it. And I get it, it was marketed more as a heterosexual show rather than a BL, but I will go down swinging to defend my position on that show as The Queerest Show of 2023 (so far).

I think about all the ways people on tumblr have re-written certain characters in their minds to be purer, less morally dubious, more babygirl in order for them to justify loving and supporting a character that is either objectively a terrible person or who has made any number of mistakes that have gotten themselves or others hurt. Listen, my most beloved gay boys are Wen Kexing and Akk but I will be the first to tell you both those men are war criminals. That is not a joke. I love Akk to death as a character, and he let a car roll into a crowd of protestors.

Which is to say, that I am personally made to feel very uncomfortable when I see people twisting the realities of who queer Asian characters are in order to create a false, more pure and innocent version of who they want queer Asian characters to be. Why? Because it treats queer Asian male characters like dolls, like objects to manipulate and control, rather than as the people they are written and intended to be, and the fanservice that is expected of the actors that portray them is not much different:

At the same time that they are invisible, gay Asian men are also seen as being exotic, submissive fantasies for white men. However, being seen as exotic and submissive is yet another form of subtle racism where gay Asian men are not seen as individuals but as a consumable product for white male fantasy (Ayres, 1999). (Chong-suk Han, 2007)

And yeah, I know some of you may try to deflect this by saying or thinking “wka this quote is about white men and thus does not apply to me” it does. It does apply.

On the Subject of Fan Service

These production companies make a lot of money off of selling the fanbase the idea that these actors are romantically involved outside of their acting careers. GMMTV and Idolfactory are perhaps the most committed studios to fanservice that I have seen, often to the detriment of the health and safety of their talent and potentially their own financial interests. He’s Coming to Me was delayed, and had it’s distribution fucked with because fans protested Singto being separated from Krist and paired up with Ohm for one show. Freen was recorded and blackmailed with a video that showed she was in a romantic relationship with Seng. Articles were published making it seem like it was a truly wild concept that Man Trisanu and Ben Bunyapol were acting to create the chemistry they get on screen. These companies know they can make money off of the fictions they create, both the ones we see as television shows, and the ones we see in fan meet ups. These people are actors, some may date, some may not, some may be really good friends, some may hate each other’s guts, but the fact of the matter is we will never know for sure. Everything we see on camera is a performance.

How Objectification of Queer Asian Men Relates to Only Friends

I mean…

I don’t know about you all, but I have seen post after post of people projecting images of purity and perfection on to Mew, twisting themselves forward and backward to justify a character’s objectively terrible decisions, or finding scapegoats to blame for their blorbo’s actions. I have seen people truly, legitimately struggle with seeing their favorite acting pair engaging in intimate scenes with different scene partners. And, to me it reads like some audience members are physically unable to separate the actor from their character, or to accurately identify reality from fiction. These are actors, they are playing characters, we know how good of actors they are. We are all aware of how much of a chameleon First is with his roles, how powerful Khao is at portraying grief on screen, how expressive Book is, etc.

Force and Book are not fucking, Book is not stringing Force along, Force is not fucking Neo and potentially breaking Book’s heart. Top and Mew are fucking (or will). Mew is stringing Top along. Top is fucking Boston and potentially breaking Mew’s heart. Khaotung is not ditching First to go rescue Book, First is not trying and failing to maintain boundaries with Khaotung. Ray is ditching Sand to go rescue Mew, Sand is trying and failing to maintain boundaries with Ray.

Harkening back to fanservice. Personally, I believe that only ever marketing “love pairs” (aka Force and Book’s characters as a romantic couple or First and Khao’s characters as a romantic couple on screen) severely severely limits the acting potential for any and all of the performers involved in those couplings. Can you imagine what Only Friends would be like with Neo and Louis, rather than Neo and Mark? Louis is great, but I’m not sure that he could do pining simp, or angry revenge the same way Mark can. You can see how good of a match up Fluke Pusit was with Thor in The Warp Effect and you can see how good Fluke Pusit was with Ohm Thipakorn in A Boss and a Babe.

As I mentioned in Part One, Jojo has said there is going to be sex in every episode. We know these boys have already hurt each other and will continue to hurt each other. We know these boys have already slept around and will continue to do so. There is no need to vilify a character for being a flawed human being. There is absolutely no need to vilify an actor for portraying a character who is a flawed human being. We don’t need to uplift the characters that are withholding their sexuality from others as inherently good, moral, victims of the inherently bad, immoral, predators ruining their lives with their high sex drives.

…popular culture is permeated with ideas that erotic variety is dangerous, unhealthy, depraved, and a menace to everything from small children to national security. Popular sexual ideology is a noxious stew made up of ideas of sexual sin, concepts of psychological inferiority… and xenophobia. The mass media nourish these attitudes with relentless propaganda…

All these hierarchies of sexual value- religious, psychiatric, and popular- function in much the same way as do ideological systems of racism, ethnocentrism, and religious chauvinism. They rationalize the well-being of the sexually privileged and the adversity of the sexual rabble…this kind of sexual morality has more in common with ideologies of racism than with true ethics. (Rubin, 1984)

I am begging people who are having difficulty seeing their favorite actor be shitty on screen to take a pause, take a breath, remember that they are actors, playing a fictional character in a fictional role. Fictional characters performing fictional actions has not, does not, and will not ever be a true and definitive indicator of that actor’s own personality, morals, or beliefs. Boston being an asshole does not mean Neo is an asshole. Ray being an asshole does not mean that Khao is an asshole just as Gaipa being kind does not mean that Khao is kind. Jojo and co are not monsters for creating a manipulative character(s), or including physical fist fights, drug use, promiscuity, cheating, sexual assault, abortion, kink, fatshaming etc. etc in to their works. You are not a bad person for liking imperfect characters who engage in bad actions, and you don’t need to create scenarios that place blame for those actions on others in order to justify liking a character. Everyone on that set appeared to have a great time, and Jojo stated very clearly that all scenes were run by the actors in those scenes and anything the actors were not comfortable with being shown to a broader audience were immediately deleted. The actors were granted agency and autonomy that is not usually seen and we are seeing the performance they want to share with us, the performance they liked. That does not mean they themselves approve outside of fiction of the behaviors their characters may portray.

Conclusion

We all need to, but white Westerners especially, be extremely careful and introspective with the ways we are engaging with queer Asian media. We need to be careful and introspective with the ways we are engaging with queer Asian characters. Asian BLs, Thai BLs especially lean heavily in to the commodification of queer Asian stories and characters. GMMTV sells products, and uses their talent as the salespeople, which I personally believe makes their talent, and the characters in their stories far more susceptible to objectification than, say, Japanese BLs that do not distribute their work as easily, or cater as readily to international audiences.

As @bengiyo said in his post, it is totally totally fine if you do not like something. Only Friends could not be your style, there could be themes that are triggering for you, etc. that’s fine. But if you are refusing to engage with this Only Friends because Force as Top acted like he was fucking Neo as Boston, or squirming about whether or not you can watch other shows these actors are in going forward because their performances as dumb, horny college students in Only Friends made you question the actor’s morality, then I truly, deeply, and fully beg you to pause, take a step back, and reflect upon what it is about witnessing these behaviors that is causing your reaction.

I want to end with the following quote:

Thus, white men can choose when they want to be objectified, but men of color are simply objects. As discussed above, existing only as props for white male consumption represents another subtle form of racism. As Tony Ayres notes: First, there is overt belligerence…The second response is the exact opposite of this racist antagonism. It is an attraction to me because of my Asianness, my otherness ... This has nothing to do with my individual qualities as a person ... It is the fact that I conveniently fit into someone else’s fantasy (1999, p. 89) (Chong-suk Han, 2007)

As a reminder that we as fans, need to take a step back and consider if, when, and how we are objectifying queer Asian men. We are seeing a huge period of growth in the Asian BL industry, which means we are very likely to get more shows where we are going to see more stories like Only Friends that center realistic depictions of gay Asians as written and directed by gay Asians. And we have to check our privilege, homophobia, and racism at the door.

Sources

Ahlm, Jody (2017) Respectable promiscuity: Digital cruising in an era of queer liberalism, Sexualities, DOI: 10.1177/1363460716665783

Chong-suk Han (2007) They Don't Want To Cruise Your Type: Gay

Men of Color and the Racial Politics of Exclusion, Social Identities, 13:1, 51-67, DOI:

10.1080/13504630601163379 Rubin, Gayle (1984) The Thinking Sex: Notes for a Radical Theory of the Politics of Sexuality- Chapter 9: The Sex Wars.

(thank you to @bengiyo, @lurkingshan, @neuroticbookworm, @so-much-yet-to-learn, and @waitmyturtles for your beta readings!)

#only friends #only friends the series #ofts #sandray #topmew #topboston #bostonnick #forcebook #firstkhao #neomark #wka long post #jojo tichakorn #the eclipse #the warp effect #the eclipse the series #twe #our skyy 2 #our skyy 2 x the eclipse

225 notes · View notes

pod-together · 25 days

Text

Pod-Together Day 4 Reveals 2024

Strawberry-Coated (Hannibal (TV)) written by Artemiaz, performed by Dr_Fumbles_McStupid Summary: At last, the monster turned its head. Cunning had departed from mercurial eyes. There was no pride in that sharp face; no wicked smile hidden at the corner of an insatiable mouth. Right now, Hannibal Lecter was just a man. “Will… don’t do this.” After five sweet years of domestic bliss, there’s only one thing that could sour the atmosphere between Will and Hannibal: the anniversary of Abigail Hobbs’ death.

Gifts Are Given (Not Taken) (Original Work) written by Hagar, performed by DuskDragon39 Summary: It is the tradition dictated by King Tharus, founder of the Kingdon of Artium, that his heirs renew his treaty with the dragon Kess'ar before they ascend to the throne. Unfortunately for them, Kess'ar also retains his right to not renew the treaty - and the dragon does not suffer fools kindly.

holding on where i am able (RWBY) written by hopelessgemini, performed by MistbornHero Summary: it is a quiet night in vacuo, and ruby rose can't sleep.

Death's Champions (The Sandman (TV 2022)) written by Lalaith_Quetzalli, performed by godoflaundrybaskets Summary: It is said that there can be no true life without death. Likewise, it is known that without one of the Endless, reality will eventually crumble. When the Magus and his Order of Ancient Mysteries prove smarter and stronger than expected, and succeed in summoning and capturing Death, something must be done in order to rescue her. What kind of individuals can be expected to undertake such a mission?

Brownstone Ghosts [text, audio] (Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston) written by Mansikka, performed by ToughPaperRound Summary: It's time for Henry to share some secrets with Alex. Past time, actually; if only he'd figured out a way to explain before those secrets all but introduced themselves. "Alex," Henry says, clutching a bottle of whiskey for support while giving him a nervous smile. "How do you feel about... ghosts?"

Perfect Days (The Furious Pain of Living) (Batman - All Media Types, Green Lantern - All Media Types, DCU) written by Mbira, performed by Poluche Summary: The thing is, Hal was meant to fly. To go, to see, to be, to not be stuck in the same place without moving forward, isolated without future. So yes, he was freaking out. Enough to ask a sketchy dude whose real name he didn’t even know for help. Or Hal is stuck in a time loop. Batman and Robin are there for him.

How Steve became "Sir Steve the Brave" [text, audio] (Stranger Things (TV 2016)) written by MeggieJolly, performed by steddiestories Summary: Eddie tells Steve a story about how Eddie the Banished and Sir Steve the Brave met. It was only supposed to be a fun little story, but it sort of turns into an accidental feelings confession. ~ »This is the story of Eddie the Banished, Sir Steve the Brave and their merry band of fools.« Eddie started with his usual dramatic flair. He had been stretched out on the bed next to Steve, but now he sat up to do his story - or well, maybe ‚performance‘ would be the better word - justice. »Their story happened a long, long time ago, somewhere in Europe. A place with castles and fortresses, with princes and knights, bards and fools. The kind of place that only exists in history books and fantasy these days. This was the world in which Sir Steve lived in a castle up on a hill overlooking a small town that was ruled by his parents. Sir Steve had been knighted a few years ago and fought in some tournaments to prove himself, but nowadays he was mostly stuck on his parents’ estate.«

A Gift of Flexibility (titanium) (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine) written by BardicRaven, performed by BardicRavenReads, audio production by onegoldenraptor Summary: When Julian is struggling, someone gives him a gift. A gift that helps. A gift of flexibility. When Garak is struggling, Julian gives him a gift. A gift of flexibility. A gift he hopes will help.

The Art of Not Letting Go, Chapter 2 (Ted Lasso (TV)) written by rockinhamburger, performed by klb Summary: Beard takes a deep breath and gives in to the impulse he’s been restraining for weeks: “But with your permission, I'd love to run off this plane and into her arms.” Ted’s eyes widen now, and Beard watches anxiously for hints of how he’s taking this. Ted leans back in his seat and closes his eyes for a few moments, like he’s doing some internal reflection. Then he opens his eyes again, looks at Beard, and says, soft and quiet, “No.” No. The no hangs in suspension as Beard struggles to make sense of it, that’s how sure he was Ted would say yes. He’s too surprised to speak. He must be taking too long because Ted shifts forward, expression conflicted. “Now, obviously you got free will, Beard. I’m not about to tell you what to do. You’re free to make whatever choice you want, so if you wanna stay here… stay with her? I trust you to make good choices, and I’ll support whatever you choose.” Ted lets out a slow, emotional breath. “But if you’re asking for my permission, I—” He visibly swallows, “I’m not giving it.”

The Doctor Doesn’t Text [text, audio] (Doctor Who (2005)) written by waltztangocache, performed by rscreighton and oddfront Summary: The Doctor shares some near future communications technology with Donna.

refreshing as an evil forgotten [text, audio] (魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù) written by unitaryexectheory, performed by Wonderlandian_Geek Summary: Mo Xuanyu dies to bring back Wen Ruohan.

#podfic #fanfic #hannibal #original work #rwby #the sandman #red white and royal blue #batman #green lantern #stranger things #star trek deep space nine #ted lasso #doctor who #mo dao zu shi

36 notes · View notes