#i have no reference point for if this is meant to be a specific time frame

[zayne-li]

Zayne and Siming

First of all, if you’re unfamiliar with the lore of Love and Deepspace, and don’t want to be majorly spoiled for just about everything (mainly Zayne’s lore), then I suggest you skip for now until you learn more. Unless you don’t care about spoilers, then go ahead.

I think that to all of us, so far, other than Sylus(who can blame him, he’s new), Zayne is the most confusing character to the Western audience. Rafayel tells us he’s a mermaid every other sentence, and Xavier has more than a few clues pointing to the fact that he’s a time traveler from another planet and possibly immortal?

Zayne’s main thing that seems to be talked about frequently in his cards and events are more so things related to Gods, fate, and fortune telling. And for me, for a while, this didn’t make a ton of sense to me, because I felt like I didn’t really have anything super specific to compare it to, but clearly he’s not just based off of anything random, you’re meant to recognize him as some specific God of Fate/reader of fate. And then Infold released this video when they released Master of Fates, and I realized that in Chinese, the myth was called Da Siming, which is a real Chinese god. So I got to work. Welcome to my Ted Talk on why Zayne’s entire story, mainly focusing on his main story counterpart, is still Siming in modern day Linkon City. 

Disclaimer: I am no Chinese mythology expert, this is simply what I’ve learned from Google and what that video Infold released tells us.

Who is Siming?

Siming is a Chinese deity or deified functionary of that title(meaning this title can pass from person to person) who makes fine adjustments to human fate (meaning you can pray to him for things as small as a chest cold etc)

He is referred to in Chinese as almost a secretary, his job in allocating human lifespans is almost a bureaucratic one. Think a guy in an insurance office.

Siming's main duty/power is the balancing of yin and yang, specifically in regards to human health/lifespans. He has the power to either shorten or lengthen life essentially as he sees fit (as long as it doesn't fuck things up too badly).

There can be more than one Siming at a time, who take on slightly different roles. Such as Da Siming(Greater Siming) acting as a Priest of Death, and a Shao Siming(Lesser Siming) acting as a Priest of Birth (this is just an example taken from a movie)

other titles (aside from Master of Fate) include Director of Allotted Life Spans, and Director of Destinies

While the 'job' of Siming can be passed down to multiple different people, the length of time they end up serving as Siming can result in different qualifying titles being added to them. 'Da Siming' (which is the one Infold told the story of when they released Shifu in that video apparently no one watched) would be more revered. "Da" means big, or greater, meaning he held that title for a great period of time. Bitch was tenured.

The 3 deathbringers

Essentially 3 spirits who take residence in the 3 energy centers of the human body. (head, chest, abdomen. probably only the chest would be relevant to us, given that Zayne is a cardiac surgeon)

these spirits enter the human body at birth, and seek to hasten the death of their hosts. 

Siming controls the process of these deathbringers killing their hosts, he may or may not permit it. 

to regulate this process, Siming relies on reports given to him by the deathbringers, which are brought to him on specific dates. Based on what he learns he may or may not use that information (and possibly other information) to decide whether or not to shorten or lengthen that specific persons lifespan. 

This bitch is not making sweeping decisions, he's looking at every individual person.

humans are believed to have various things available to alter the judgment of Siming regarding their fates, such as interfering with the reporting process, praying to Siming or his superiors, or following treatment from a doctor to improve the yin-yang balance, and thus extend their lifespan.

Other things:

There's a story about an ancient man who finds a skull on the ground, and mourns the fact that this person never had a proper burial. He lays down on the skull and uses it as a pillow, then has a dream where the skull comes to him and tells him about the tranquility and happiness found in death. The man tells the skull that he could petition Siming to bring him back to life, and then he would be able to return to his family. The skull denies he would want that, asking rhetorically to the man, 'why would anyone in such a peaceful and happy place as death ever want to return to the suffering of living?'

Where do we see these elements pop up in Zayne’s story?

Now, we already know that at the very least Zayne’s Master of Fate myth is heavily based on this deity, and you can see some elements of Siming in Foreseer as well. Foreseer most likely takes place in the far future from Master of Fates given that he resides on Philos, and we know that Philos is the planet humanity started inhabiting only after Earth was destroyed. Philos is also where both Xavier and Sylus are from. This is no Xavier lore post, but if you know anything about his lore, you know that he’s come back in time from the future. There will be a section on Foreseer below, but for now I want to focus on why I believe Zayne is still Siming in present day Linkon City.

The story of the man and the skull immediately brought me back to the World Underneath: Snowy Stairs, where Carter is actively trying to recruit Zayne to Xander Sciences for the purpose of bringing people back from the dead.

Snowy Stairs

First, we see Carter come across (well he’s kind of stalking him actually) Zayne who is consoling a child about the death of their dog, Pilot. The child is asking him to do something to save the dog, and Zayne simply tells him that he’s already dead, while Carter pulls out a Protocore and tells the child that he can bring the dog back to life with it.  

Carter and Zayne then have a mostly one sided conversation about the morals and ethics of using Protocores to bring people and animals back to life. Carter asks Zayne if the natural law is an unshakable moral boundary, or if it’s a comfort people use. 

I see two things here: As Siming, the ability for humans to bring themselves back to life despite the natural law would be a great disruption to the balance of fate, or yin and yang, which would explain why Zayne is so against this process, even though he himself was clearly interested in it at one point for the sole and selfish reason of keeping MC from dying. It seems to me that although Zayne is Siming, MC has some sort of destined death associated with her that is outside of his jurisdiction. Possibly because he has shirked his duties in order to keep her safe in the past (shielding her with umbrellas instead of killing her like he was supposed to as the Master of Fates.)

Carter then tells Zayne of a patient who is on the verge of death and asks him to come take a look and help them at Xander Sciences. Zayne does not appear, and though they seemingly have all the tools to save the man, they still fail. Is it maybe because as Siming, Zayne truly does alone have the power to control life and death? 

Carter then shouts as Zayne gets up to leave: “Our job is to save people. If we can control life and death, why shouldn’t we?!” Which is another clear reference to the job of Siming and the delicate balance he maintains. 

Side note, something else they’re referring to in this part is possibly this procedure of bringing life back has something to do with the creation of Wanderers? Unsure.

Then, Zayne oversees a couple essentially praying to have their son back. Siming controls life and death, and may respond to prayers if he so chooses to. He doesn’t bring the man back to life, but instead cleans the body so that the parents may properly say goodbye to their son. 

In this anecdote what we learn is that Zayne alone is seen as capable of controlling life and death, and it is implied that in whatever research he did on this subject, he found a solution. One that he rejects, possibly because it is a process that can and will result in creating Abominations, as seen in the Dawnbreaker anecdote. Wanderers/Abominations may be like the undead, resulting in these people not finding the proper peace in death. 

Other main story things

Mainly what I’m seeing in main story/event stories is that we are talking about Siming a lot with our present day Zayne, in terms of Gods of fate, and etc(Spceifically I’m thinking about the silk balls event, where that was the main focus of the conversation with him).

Foreseer/Master of Fates

Like I said, I don’t want to go into too much detail on Foreseer, but the fact that he has the power to see into Fate, and has superiors (Astra) tells me that he at least has some of the same powers as he did when he was the Master of Fates. Master of Fates seems to be a more peaceful era of his life as Siming, where I am assuming that all of the slips and scrolls MC is helping him record are indeed related to his ‘reporting’ as Siming, going back to the idea that Siming is more or less a sort of secretary, a record keeper. I believe he fell out of favor with the Gods when he chose to protect MC instead of killing her as he was told by either one of his deathbringers, or one of his superiors(I’m inclined to think it’s the latter).

I believe that after the moment when he chooses to protect MC rather than kill her as he said he would, he went on the run. We later find him as Dr. Zayne, and something happens in the story(we don't know yet) which results in him becoming the Foreseer. 

Foreseer was supposed to let her die as well, or possibly never even meet her, but he instead chooses to finally accept the consequences of his actions as Master of Fates and possibly Dr. Zayne and instead sacrifices himself so that she can live as a sort of. Equal exchange. 

That's uh… that's all I got right now! Will possibly add more to this post later we shall see. Basically I feel like I’m just seeing a lot of parallels between all of Zayne’s major character beats/themes and this specific Chinese deity, and by the Rafayel Precedent(telling us he’s a mermaid and then turning out to be a mermaid), I would not be surprised at all if Dr. Zayne in the main story ends up just being Siming.

[amarayys]

DRDT episode 13 theory. So.

so i was meant to be making a general episode 13 analysis video. but um. i dont have the energy for that. so what am i gonna do instead? TALK ABOUT TERUKO try find out wtf david is doing in this scene

SO. time to find out what possibly the FRUITIEST look ever from david means!!! disclaimer:

I suck at theories. And formatting. Yipee.

I'm painfully unfunny so excuse any dumbass jokes i make.

I'm going to find any and all excuses to rant abt teruko. be prepared...............

4. I may repeat myself a lot. Forgive me if it sounds really repetative... :( 5. Any points surrounded by - these things - are just things that are unlikely, but I think should still be adressed.

So, the context of these images is Teruko revealing "her secret"; You're constantly blaming yourself for the death of your parents and siblings. It doesn't matter that it's not your fault, just that you didn't go with them.

(pls excuse the shitty quality.) She has to be either lying or MAYBE unsure about her secret. Here's why: 1. She had a conversation with Whit (and technically charles, but he was just listening in) about her family. She reveals that she's never known her parents and grew up in an orphanage. She did grow up with her biological brother, but he was adopted by another family when Teruko was five, and she says she doesn't remember him much.

2. The wording of the secret is quite specific - You're constantly blaming yourself for the death of your parents and siblings. Like I've mentioned, she's never known her parents. Even if she *somehow* knew they were dead, why would she blame herself for it? I could see it maybe working in some way, but the next bit disproves it - SIBLINGS. Teruko has only mentioned having one sibling, and this wording is plural. This secret cannot be hers, she only has one brother. - To add on to this

2.5. Maybe one could argue that siblings and parents could be her friends/people she considered family in the orphanage she grew up in. However, the specific wording of parents and siblings, instead of just using the word "family", makes me think otherwise. - Okay, so let's dissect what this means. - I think if maybe she was unaware/TRULY thought that this was her secret, the only point that would support it is 2.5. Maybe she considered people she grew up with in the orphanage her "parents" or siblings", but its just not very likely. While I wouldn't be surprised if Teruko blew up an orphanage or something (/hj) , I think it's a stretch to say this secret is referring to that. - With that out the way, we come to one conclusion - Teruko is lying about secret. "Amari, we know that already, can we move on??????????" yeah yeah whatever i may have just wanted to rant about teruko. MOVING ON. So, what is Teruko's secret? It's pretty wildly agreed upon that Teruko's secret is the one regarding the killing game, which David recieved - "How could I even select what secret to be your motive? Just about everything you've done in your life is worth killing for. The killing game is all your fault."

We think that this is Teruko's secret because: 1. She's the only one that fits it smh. /hj 2. The guy at the start of the prologue (who is probably xander but that is a WHOLE other theory you can find here ) mentions having to kill Teruko Tawaki (how DARE they) after talking about ending the killing game.

My interpretation of this is that Teruko is the reason the killing game is actually happening, though I doubt she's aware of this/the mastermind (or she could be, idk??). A really good theory that I feel explains what I mean by Teruko causing the KG but not being the mastermind is the time loop theory which is linked here. (accirax i love you for this theory /p) Obviously, this lines up with "The killing game is your fault." 3. David gives her THE LOOK right after she "admits" her secret, which sort of maybe kind of implies that he knows she's lying, which he does, since he has the secret. - As for the remaining secret: Xander's secret (which we assume min recieved) is the one Teruko claimed to have:

"You're constantly blaming yourself for the death of your parents and siblings. It doesn't matter that it's not your fault, just that you didn't go with them." Why do I think this? 1. In Xander's bonus video, it is VERY heavily implied that he has survivor's guilt as well as outright confirmed his family is dead. Go check it out for the full context.

2. Xander's secret message on the DRDT tumblr is the definition of survivors guilt. Really self explanatory, huh?

3. XANDER ACTUALLY HAS MORE THAN 1 FUCKING SIBLING. anyway. okay, this is getting a little confusing to remember, so here: Killing game: Teruko's secret, recieved by David. Survivor's guilt: Xander's secret, recieved by Min. (all remaining secrets remain the same.) MOTIVE

So, why would Teruko lie about her secret? I mean, shouldn't she just point it out? And why didn't David point it out? - 1. Teruko is aware that her secret is the killing game one and is lying because she's the mastermind or something. We see her thoughts, so I really doubt it. To further disprove this theory: Teruko has stated like 15 times (/ex) that she doesn't know which secret is hers, due to her having too many secrets. So, yeah, pretty unlikely she knows which secret's hers. Discard this theory. -

2. a) Teruko doesn't know her secret, but knows it's probably bad, and therefore doesn't want to share it, so she lied. Pretty straightforward, really. Now, for the theory that I think is most likely: 3. Teruko doesn't know which secret is hers, but she knows neither of her secrets are the ones left unrevealed. She knows somebody is lying about a secret - but she's come to the conclusion that secrets are irrelevant to the trial and murder, so she's lying about her secret to avoid everyone getting off track once again.

We know that's she's accidentally led the trial in the wrong direction twice now (motive secrets, time of murder) Also, this is the most in character.

As for David: A. David knows her secret, but keeps it hidden in order to cause distrust and just generally fuck Teruko over. He plans to reveal it either post trial or in a future daily life. B. David knows her secret, but earlier, he and Teruko made a pact to keep it hidden. However, since he's a little bitch boy (/j), he's going to reveal it anyway, either post trial or in a future daily life. - Just to add on to this point ^ - I know Teruko's protag and we see her thoughts and all, but Kaede happened, so I don't think this is out of the question. - I think the most likely combination is point 3. and point A. : Teruko's lying about her secret to avoid the trial heading off topic. David isn't calling her out because he wants to use it in the future to throw suspicion onto Teruko and cause havoc.

SO. Let's recap! Secrets: Teruko: "How could I even select what secret to be your motive? Just about everything you've done in your life is worth killing for. The killing game is all your fault." Received by David. Xander: "You're constantly blaming yourself for the death of your parents and siblings. It doesn't matter that it's not your fault, just that you didn't go with them." Received by Min. Rest remain the same as canon. Why can't Teruko's secret be about her family? 1. Teruko never knew her parents, and never mentions them being dead. 2. Teruko hasn't seen her brother since she was 5, and she never mentions him being dead, just adopted. 3. The wording of the secret refers to siblingS, which is plural. Teruko has only one sibling. 4. The secret fits Xander much better - His secret quote is the defintion of survivors guilt, and his bonus episode heavily implies he has survivors guilt, and it is confirmed his family died in the same bonus episode. Why is Teruko's secret about the killing game?

• The guy at the start of the prologue mentions having to kill Teruko Tawaki after talking about ending the killing game. This implies Teruko is the cause of the killing game, whether on purpose or not. Motive for lying: Teruko doesn't know which secret is hers, but she knows neither of her secrets are the ones left unrevealed. She knows somebody is lying about a secret - but she's come to the conclusion that secrets are irrelevant to the trial and murder, so she's lying about her secret to avoid everyone getting off track once again. David knows her secret, but keeps it hidden in order to use it in the future to turn everyone against Teruko and just generally cause distrust in the group. He plans to reveal it either post trial or in a future daily life. **btw, just a fun afterthought - i think either whit or charles will eventually point out the conversation regarding teruko's unbringing and how it contradicts her secret - and david will use that opportunity to reveal teruko's secret. ANDDDD that's it! feel free to correct/add on any points you'd like. this took AGES but i had so much fun!!! i love you drdt. (ESPECIALLY TERUKO.)

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

hi! I'm new to the beatles lore and I've been trying to catch up on an insane level of information for weeks. it's been fun but also heartbreaking 💔💔 anyways, I wanted to ask a couple of questions if that's ok? for example, I keep seeing this narrative that john was using yoko as some sort of weapon against paul... what was john trying to achieve by that I mean where does this idea even come from? according to this, john was hurting paul on purpose while he was singing him love songs in the studio asking him to be partners again (as in songwriting creative partners) WHAT WOULD JOHN ACHIEVE DOING THAT? also it sounds very one sided like paul is the most innocent in the break up eventho he was the one who came up with a secret album and a lawsuit. I don't know what to think. before knowing them I used to think lennon was in love and on drugs so he got so annoying to the point that he broke up the band but now...

Hi there! Welcome to the fandom! don't worry about feeling overwhelmed at first there is a LOT to take in.

I want to say, I do get the feeling you are somewhat mixing things up here, though I don't particularly blame you for being confused. (if not then sorry! just want to clarify as much as I can)

Tedious as it sounds, I find keeping a timeline in my mind (ideally, accurate to the month) helpful to provide some clarity regarding the breakup era specifically, so the period of 1968-1971. John's studio taunting you're referring to would have happened between mid '68 and mid '69, but Paul worked on his solo album (what I presume you meant by "his secret album", though it wasn't all that secret – John had already released solo music of his own by that point*) in late '69 and early '70. He filed a lawsuit against the others in late '70.

*I think you're conflating the album itself with the fact that, along with the release of McCartney (said album), Paul "surprise revealed" he had quit the band to the public, which the other band members, especially John, were not impressed with.

That being said, the events of the breakup are still convoluted at best, even to "seasoned" fans, I'd say. One of my main pieces of advice I can provide as someone who's been doing this for more than 3 years is get comfortable with not knowing things and with some of the actors involved doing something fundamentally irrational sometimes. They're humans, they don't always make sense and they won't always be forthcoming about why they behaved the way they did.

Which brings me to the narratives you mention: I say this as nicely as possible, but sometimes people want to tell themselves the best story rather than the most truthful one. It's more important to some that John is taunting Paul out of some twisted form of love than why specifically.

To answer your question regarding where this particular idea comes from, I would say: Paul has indicated that he felt John replaced him with Yoko (in whatever way he meant by that – some think it's sexual, some it's about creative partnership, or simply as a best friend); John's behaviour clearly and drastically shifted for the worse in mid '68, which is around the time he got together with Yoko, left his family, and started doing heroin; footage from Get Back shows John both all over Yoko and trying to reach out to Paul periodically.

There's probably more, but I don't know if there's much point in getting into the weeds of it right now. My point is: it's not the only valid theory, IMO, and probably not the whole truth if it is true, but it's not unfounded.

I think it may be a misstep to dismiss a theory because "what would John achieve by that?" Again, people are not always acting in a way that strictly makes sense, especially not people with the issues John struggled with. Some people might say John was testing Paul, trying to make him fight for him. Some might say John had an outright sadistic streak. Others that he was too out of it to notice the pain he was inflicting on others. I think it could very easily be a mix of all three. When dealing with human emotions, I personally think it's a mistake to assume things are simple and straightforward, which is why a lot of tinhattery turns me off. It very often feels like a blanket-statement self-confirming axiom, rather than a truly thoughtful and multifaceted argument.

My most condensed version of events would be: John became incredibly difficult to work with in multiple ways (including but not limited to bringing Yoko to the studio) by mid '68; Paul, for the most part, tried to accomodate him, to diminishing returns, while having his own longterm relationship fall apart and being completely in over his head running a brandnew business; Paul deals with distress by burying himself in work, the other three do not – this leads to further conflict, along with issues over creative control; the band decide they need a new manager type to help them out with their new business and provide the guidance they haven't had since Brian died; cue John wanting Klein and only Klein and massively distrusting Paul's "nepo" choice of Eastman + apparently not trusting Paul's belief that Klein was bad news; extreme resentment over money issues which are incredibly underrated by the fandom because at their core they are boring, emotionally, ensue; John decides he's "over" the band and tells the others he's out; Paul is destroyed over this (and everything that led up to it), spends months spiraling and recording his album; wanting to get this all out of the way, Paul finally breaks down and admits he's leaving the Beatles to the world and to the band itself, even though he had asked John to stay quiet about his own quitting the band months earlier; John (understandably, IMO, though I don't blame Paul exactly – this is what I mean by not everything makes perfect sense) assumes Paul is using the band breakup for PR and gets a hell of a lot angrier than he already is about the money stuff; John undergoes primal therapy which opens up about 43273289635298 wounds; John does an interview in which he spills his guts and tears down almost everyone in his life except Yoko; meanwhile more financial issues. I cannot overstate that those matter too, tumblr is just not a place where finance peeps hang out; Paul is getting more and more fed up with all of this and he, as a last resort, files a lawsuit to no longer be legally tied to the others.

I for the most part left out George and Ringo here* and I'm writing off memory here without re-checking sources, so take what I say with a massive grain of salt. My main point is that this shit is complicated and don't let people tell you it isn't.

*I'm of the opinion that John and Paul are at the center of the breakup, but they also aren't the be-all, end-all of it. But because in the end George and Ringo fell "in line" with John and you didn't ask about them, I decided to mostly leave them out.

[flickerintwilights]

on the road to hell

[icouldhyperfixatehim]

in character and in styling they've given becky the exact point of equidistance between audrey "sabrina" hepburn and audrey "princess anne" hepburn. i see the vision loud and clear

[creatingblackcharacters]

"It takes HOW LONG?" Black Hair is an Art (pt.2)

(This is part two of the hair lessons, focusing on writing/narratives. If you want to know how the styles LOOK, refer to part 1 and its addendum)

Now that you know what our hair actually looks like, we’re going to discuss incorporating that into your writing (original fic, fanfic, webcomics, anything with a narrative). You don’t HAVE to give us a dissertation on "how you studied 'The Black People’s Hair'" in your story. That’s not what I’m asking you to do. I’m just asking you to CONSIDER the effort and existence of it. The same way you put effort into discussing nonblack hair textures? Should be the sort of tenderness and care you put into discussing ours. It does not stand to reason that I have read thousands of stories describing "the silky, black/blonde tresses/waves that fell down their pale back as their lover ran their fingers through them", but Black readers have nothing of the sort to compare to without seeking our own authors out. Our hair deserves some loving and adoration too!

This is a very long post describing hairstyles and how they can correspond to your character's design and decisions, so I'll put a read more here. The sections are organized into 'Twist Out', 'Afros', 'Locs', 'Braids', 'Black Men', and 'Straight Hair' if you Ctrl F. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE take your time to read all of this at some point though, as I put a lot of resources and explanation into this. I'm trusting you!

The History

As I discussed in the last lesson, our hair is incredibly important to us, and part of that includes the vulnerability and trust that comes along with access to it. This is due to a long history of oppression. There’s a racist history of making Black women hide our hair, as if it would ‘tempt white men’ away, regardless of it were due to actual attraction or the (more likely) rape of Black women. There’s a racist history of touching our hair, as though we are animals or zoo exhibits. We aren’t just going to let anyone touch our heads, so DON'T write that, unless you are doing so to show that it is a microaggression towards your character. Even now, cultural appropriation is rampant. If I were to wear cornrows with hoops, it'd be seen as 'ghetto' or 'gang-like'. Meanwhile, it is a fashion statement for white women. When Miles G Morales showed up in Across the Spiderverse, animators specifically chose cornrows for him, but many people mistakenly took it to me that he was 'rougher and tougher' than the original Miles. This was a racist perception! Hearing the Fade get hyped up in the news as the 'Travis Kelce', when Black men and especially NFL players have been wearing it for DECADES to crickets... it hurts lmao. Point is, you can describe and respect Black hair without being racist about it. Okay? Okay.

Vulnerability

YOUR CHARACTERS NEED TO BE CLOSE BEFORE ALLOWING THEM TO TOUCH THEIR HAIR!!!

It needs to be someone they TRUST wholeheartedly. Again, do NOT let a stranger touch their hair unless it’s meant to be an uncomfortable situation!

Consider CONSENT! Consent is ALWAYS beautiful! Have your other characters (Black or not) ASK to touch your Black characters’ hair! And not in the ‘Oh can I touch it?’ way. But if they’re really close friends or dating, have them ask to help do their braids, or wash their hair, or even just to stroke their hair and face! Or if your Black character is injured with a head wound, and they have to tend to them, have them ask! The asking shows a level of care and respect for your Black character and their body! At any point the consent may be revoked, and that needs to be respected! If they let them tend their head wound, but then smack their hand away after, that’s not ‘rude’- they’re allowed to do that, especially to signify that they aren’t at that level of trust yet. That's still angsty!

One great example of love from a Black character is doing their partner’s hair, or allowing their partner to do their hair. The ‘Hair-washing’ fic is a common thing in fanfiction; we all understand how that shows the depth of the trust in the relationship between the characters. How would you write about that trust with a Black character, if you don’t know what goes into taking care of their hair? If you don’t even know what their hair looks or feels like? The lack of awareness will show, and what should be a beautiful, deep moment will fall flat for Black readers. I wrote one once for my character with locs, and it honestly made me tear up because I realized that I’d never seen one, at least not in the majority white spaces that the fandoms I was in were.

Think about it- how often have you read a hair-washing fic with a Black character? Was it accurate? Would you know if it was accurate? Have you spoken to or heard anyone Black in your fandom space talk about it? Do you know anyone Black in your fandom space to ask? It’s things like this that we have to consider!

If you have a character that is nonblack in a relationship with your Black character, that honestly reveals even more trust because there’s a long history (again) behind that NOT happening! In life, we can’t go to the same places. I can’t go to a white hair salon or barbershop. They won’t know what to do! People are allowed to go through hair school without learning how to work with different, thicker textures. It’s not right nor fair, but it’s a part of the casual, systemic racism in our lives.

My feelings on what Lestat symbolizes aside, the scene where he plays with Louis’ curls in AMC's IWTV was an intelligent way to show that closeness, and how a nonblack character would affectionately play with a Black character’s hair! How he works with the curl in his fingers, rather than trying to pet Louis or run his fingers through- it was an intelligent move on Sam and Jacob’s part as actors to understand that THAT’S how that would go down!

If you have a character that wants to show a violation of your Black characters’ space, touching/harming our hair is cruelty on a very personal level that will generate an extreme reaction.

Think About Your Character!

When thinking about your Black character’s hairstyle, you need to think about your character themselves! What do they do every day? What are their hobbies? Are they Type A, Type B personality? Do they have a lot of time? Are they always in a rush? Are they noncommittal? Are they self-conscious? Artsy? Serious? Are they in a time period where the means to care for their hair are limited?

People make jokes and comments about how Black women don’t like getting our hair wet and dismiss our concerns. But it’s not out of ‘silliness’ or vanity. What you consider ‘just hair’ may have taken days of planning in advance and HOURS of our time! We put a lot of thought and effort into our hair, and it will easily shatter the illusion for your Black readers if you describe our hair poorly or create an unlikely scenario with it. It’s not a joke!

Some Terms:

Protective styles- a style that allows our hair to ‘rest’ with minimal manipulation

‘Tender-headed’- some people’s scalps are more sensitive to the tightness of styles, so it’ll hurt a little bit more and require some more gentleness (Regardless it’s still going to hurt for a bit after a fresh style)

Bonnets- a silk/satin cap of varying lengths that we wear at night to protect our hair and keep the moisture in

Loc Sock- same idea, but for locs

Durag- keeps short haircuts protected; can even help create the wave pattern that many Black men enjoy

Scarf- same idea as the bonnets, except scarfs can be used specifically for straight hairstyles to wrap them up to keep it straight and neat

(It'll seem real legit if you include your Black characters wearing their headcoverings at night! I remember laughing while reading Twilight because I knew that if Edward snuck into my room at night, he'd see me in my scarf or bonnet lmao.)

General Hair Care:

While I don’t completely agree with some of the advertising in this first one (it’s the internet. Can’t go nowhere without someone trying to hawk something) it’s cool in general to explain how our hair looks the way it does.

If you have Black children OCs, it’s important to consider that their parents have to do their hair, and how that will be its own experience! (It can be very stressful for Black children to get their hair done, as it takes a long time and can be physically uncomfortable. There are plenty of stories of burnt ears and tugged tangles and not very nice old women. Children are children! Keep in mind how they may behave while getting the style of your choice.

Moisturizing to keep healthy

Twist Outs

Cute twist out styles

Twist outs are a style that takes overnight to hold, or maybe even a few days! The cool thing is that the twists themselves can be the style! So the tighter you want their curls to be, the longer they’ll wear the twists in. If you want to describe your character with tighter curls, there needs to be a section of time where their hair remains in the twists! If your character has an event, and they want twists… this needs to be done in advance. Your character will NOT untwist them the day of, unless they want weak, limp curls (or you want the scene to compose of them having weak curls).

How long they'll last depends on the activity of your character! If all they do is work a desk job, or they don’t sweat very much, the twists can last some time! But if they sweat, or wear hats or caps, it’s not going to last long. Maybe a week.

Pros: Very versatile! If you have a character that loves trying new looks and enjoy being spontaneous, twist outs are for them! Easy! If your Black character is younger, or haven’t done their hair before, this is a great way for them to start working with their hair! Doesn’t take long (to do)! If your character is in a rush, and they do their twists, they can go just about anywhere. If they’re not self-conscious, this will be just fine.

Cons: It cannot get wet again, or the style will puff up back into your natural texture. It does not last long enough to say “oh my character went on a two year long fantasy adventure with this style.” If you want your character to have a twist out the whole time, they’re going to have to take time to do it. It would be cool if you incorporate a scene where they’re working on their hair, maybe in the background while everyone’s discussing plans or something. Just a reminder that their hair isn’t just staying magically twisted (unless they have the magic to do that).

Afros

Afro Style Guide, Style Guide for Men (works for any gender though)

Wash & Gos are just that- wash it (or really, condition it, you don’t have to shampoo it every time) dry with a t-shirt (to prevent breakage), put some oil and a light crème on it, fluff it up and you’re good to go! Maybe an hour at max and can be done while getting dressed in the morning!

Pros: Easy! If they’re doing a full, combed out afro, it’s not as simple, it will take more time. And at night it has to be plaited so that it maintains its length, otherwise it will tangle. But other than that, that’s still not all that hard. They can show off their curls! Black characters can and should have pride in their hair. It’s beautiful. This is the opportunity that you as an author can describe the pure texture of their hair, how it shines in the light, how the coils look, how soft it is! Romanticize Black hair the same way you do anyone else’s!

Cons: None really! Afros are wonderful! Just make sure that your character has a way to keep their hair from getting tangled. Just because it’s easy doesn’t mean there’s no maintenance! A pick, a bonnet, oil and water go a long way!

Locs

Five stages of locs

A person who does locs is a loctician.

Can be palm-rolled or interlocked/crocheted

I cannot emphasize enough that you do not want just anyone doing their locs! They can really mess up someone’s hair if they don’t know what they’re doing. I say that to say, for your character, if they don’t trust the person doing their hair… they should. They should not be walking into anyone’s place to get their hair locked; they’d do research first.

The time it takes locs to ‘bud’ (that is, to actually form the loc) depends on the texture of their hair. But it can take up to 3 months to even a year for them to actually ‘loc up’. So if your character just got locs, they’re not going to look neat. They’re going to be frizzy.

As long as they’re washing their hair, keeping it moisturized, and not using wax products (DO NOT HAVE ANY BLACK CHARACTER USE WAX PRODUCTS IT IS BAD FOR BLACK HAIR) it’ll last forever! Locs are incredibly strong, especially the thicker they get! It is recommended that locs are retwisted every six weeks, but if your character has freeform locs, doesn’t have the money or time right now, or they just aren’t that pressed, they can grow indefinitely.

Something cute to write in your stories: sometimes locs do just… fall out. Not the whole thing! But the same way thin hair gets everywhere… sometimes the ends of thin locs just… fall off! You’ll find little buds on the ground. This happens especially in the budding stage.

Pros: Very low daily maintenance! At most they’ll need a bonnet or loc sock, and oil/water mix to spritz and massage in. Strong style that can hold any look- buns, curls, etc. They can be dyed, though it will take a long time to do so. I say that to say, if you want your character to have bright green locs, go for it!!

Cons: Low daily, but HIGH wash day maintenance! So if your character has a fancy date or something to go on, they should not be getting their hair retwisted the same day, or at least not so close to. It’s going to be shiny, oily, and tight, which can cause discomfort. Give them the day to let the hair settle!

Locs are PERMANENT!! This isn’t a bad thing, as much as it is a ‘KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING BEFORE YOU DO IT’ thing. Technically they can be combed out, but that would take a very long time and very precise effort, and most people aren’t going through all that. They’re just going to cut them off and start fresh. If you have a character that would balk at such a choice, locs aren’t for them. If you have a character that’s picky and choosy, that likes versatility, that can’t make up their mind, do NOT give them locs unless they’re making the conscious choice to commit. (Again, this is subjective! Maybe they have locs because their mother died and it reminds them of her! Okay! That works!) If you have a character that’s vain, or at least doesn’t like looking awkward… unless they’re going to style up the awkward stage, they’re not going to want locs. (Awkward stage: the first two stages get considered awkward because the locs look messy. This is because they’re turning from curls to locs!)

Braids

Styles

How long braids can take depend on the style. Box braids can take 10-12 hours to do! Microbraids? You HAVE to have multiple people or you'll be there for damn near a day (and that's assuming you have a masterful braider!)

How long they last depend on your character! If they're like me as a kid, I didn't care how I looked, so my mom got me cheap braids and let me run free for two summer months. So if your Black character is a carefree child! Go for it. But if they're a teen or adult (or are very concerned about how they look) a month to six weeks is about how long braids can stay in before your new growth shows. A character that is usually trimmed and proper having loads of new growth over their braids may symbolize that they don’t have it all together anymore.

Pros: Protective style! Great way to let your character have minimal daily maintenance; oil and water and something to cover it. SOME braided styles allow for high activity and even rain without changing. It depends on the hair that’s been braided in, as well as the style. Incredibly versatile! They can have multi-colored braids, long braids, short braids, beads, trinkets… if your character is creative and bubbly and likes to experiment, the sky is the limit! That can symbolize their artistic expression, just by describing what they look like! So long as they have the time, they can have any look and style they want. No need to commit too long.

If your character is capable of doing their own braids (and locs, btw), they’re amazing. Like… that’s mad respect for them. If you describe your character being able to do their own braids, they’ve got amazing arm strength, patience, and skill. That skilled dexterity can be revealed as a trait of theirs through that alone.

Cons: They take a LONG TIME. Your character is not going anywhere. If they’re getting braids… they’re not going anywhere. If you write your character doing anything fancy the day of, depending on the type of braids, Black readers are not going to believe you. Even if it did get finished, it would be very tight. I currently have a poll going on, and so far, a good majority of the 10+ answers are braids! It cost MONEY. It is NOT CHEAP to get braids done! If your character is poor as a church mouse, they will be doing those braids with their friend in front of youtube. Because it can be in the hundreds of dollars. (Don’t get me started on hair culture right now; BACK IN MY DAY IT COST-)

Hairstyles on Black Men

I want to specifically give space and applause to these hairstyles on Black men, because we REALLY don’t give Black men enough credit for all the creativity they show with their hair! And again, with The Killmonger being the choice style in all these damn vidya games despite almost no Black man I know choosing it as a look… PLEASE LOOK! WE HAVE OPTIONS! Try describing how gorgeous these looks can be on your Black men characters! It would be very nice.

Straight Hair

Well, I was going to explain, but ol ‘Guest Writer’ here pretty much lays it all out! So just go ahead and read this article lol.

Just to re-emphasize, straight hair is NOT something that just grows out of our head that way! It takes effort! So if you have a character that doesn’t feel like maintaining straight hair, they shouldn’t have it! If your character has natural hair and lives in a rainy or humid city, they’re going to be fighting that weather to keep it straight- make sure that’s consistent with their personality!

My best friend used to wash and flatiron her hair every day. Like, laser focused on looking that good, Type A shit (she’s a top money banker now, so I guess it worked out). If you have a character like that, it’s fine! If they’re lazy any other time of the day, they’re not suddenly going to be waking up at 5am to flat iron their hair. It’s not consistent.

Conclusion

That’s pretty much what I have! I’m not the guru on all things Black hair, and I obviously cannot encompass every potential scenario you may have for your characters. Really, my intention here is to get you to think about how our hair reflects our character and personalities, and how when you write and/or draw a Black character, you have that ability! And when you’re able to incorporate that naturally, it makes your Black readers feel seen, like you actually cared about that character enough to give them just as much description as your nonblack characters. You don’t have to be a master at it! Just… occasionally the little things that we can go ‘oh, yeah!’ at would be nice. An equivalent effort would be nice.

Remember, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[janmisali]

what do you think of tone indicators in general?

unfortunately my thoughts on tone indicators are somewhat nuanced. fortunately, this is tumblr not twitter, so I can just write out my full thoughts in one post and be as verbose about it as feels necessary.

speaking as an autistic person (and I know there are other autistic people who don't hold this same view, this is just my perspective), I think as an accessibility tool, the extended set tone indicators in current popular use is fundamentally misguided.

the oldest ones, /s for sarcasm and /j for jokes, make sense. their notation isn't the most intuitive thing ("does /s mean sarcastic or serious?") but it's not too difficult to explain what they mean. I've had to spend my whole life learning by brute force what different tones of voice mean and what they change about how I'm supposed to interpret something, so I already know what "read this in a sarcastic voice" and "read this as a joke" are supposed to mean. my existing skills can be translated into the new form without too much effort.

the same thing applies to emoji and emoticons. I know what facial expressions mean, because I had to learn what they mean. figuring out if :) is sincere or not from context is a skill I've already needed to develop. it doesn't come naturally for me, but it's something I already at least somewhat know how to do.

most of the tone indicators in current use uh. don't work like this.

tone indicators like /ref or /nbh don't correspond to specific tones of voice. I don't have a "I'm making a reference" voice or a "I'm not talking about a person who's here" voice that I can picture the sentence being read in. these do not indicate tones, they're purely disambiguators. they clarify what something means without necessarily changing how it would be read out loud.

and on paper, that's fine, right? like, it's theoretically a good thing to take an otherwise ambiguous statement and add something to it that clarifies what you meant by it. the problem is that these non-tone tone indicators are not even remotely self-explanatory. it's up to me, the person who is being clarified to, to know what all these acronyms are supposed to mean, and how they change the way I'm supposed to interpret what something means.

it's, quite literally, a newly-invented second set of social cues that I'm expected to learn separately from the set that I've already spent my whole life figuring out, and it works completely differently.

sure, these rules are (in principle) less arbitrary than the rules of facial expressions and tones of voice and how long you're supposed to wait before it's your turn to speak, but they're also fully artificial and recently invented, which means they're currently in a constant state of flux. tone indicators go in and out of fashion all the time, and the "comprehensive lists" are never helpful.

in theory, I appreciate the idea of people going out of their way to clarify what they mean by potentially ambiguous things they post online. if it worked, that would be a really nice thing to do.

however, sometimes I imagine what the internet would be like without them. what if instead of using /s, the expectation was that if you're sarcastic online there's no guarantee that strangers reading your post will know what you meant? what if instead of inventing more and more acronyms to cover every possible potentially confusing situation, we just... expected one another to speak less ambiguously in the first place?

so, I on paper like the idea of tone indicators. I think it's good that some people are trying to be considerate by being extra clear about what they mean by things. but if tone indicators didn't exist, and people who wanted to be considerate in this way instead just made a point of phrasing things more clearly to begin with, I think that would be vastly preferable to even the most well-implemented tone indicator system.

also /pos sucks because there's something deeply and profoundly wrong for an abbreviation that means "I don't mean this as an insult, don't worry" to be spelled the same way as an acronym that's an insult

[artistmarchalius]

Cockney Rhyming Slang Phrases Part 1

Part 2

In a previous post I went into Cockney rhyming slang history and gave some tips on how to use it.

In this post I’ll give you some commonly used Cockney rhyming slang phrases, phrases that I find funny, as well as some phrases that I think would be useful for Spider-Verse fic writers specifically.

So let’s get started!

A-B

Adam and Eve - Believe

E.g. “I don’t Adam and Eve it!”

Apples and Pears - Stairs

E.g. “He fell down the apples.”

Aunt Joanna - Piano

E.g. “Play me a song on the old Joanna!” Or “Get on the Joanna and we’ll have a sing song!”

Barnet Fair - Hair

E.g. “How do I fit my barnet under my mask? Wouldn’t you like to know.”

This is a very common Cockney phrase; you’ll hear a lot of true Cockneys talking about getting their barnet done.

Barney Rubble - Trouble

E.g. “Looks like someone’s lookin’ for a Barney!”

Bread and Honey - Money

E.g. “I ain’t got enough bread for that.”

Bird Lime - Time (in prison)

E.g. “He’s doin’ bird.”

Bird lime is a sticky substance you spread on trees to catch birds (now illegal, thankfully). You can understand why people relate it to feeling trapped.

Boat Race - Face

E.g. “He’s got a handsome boat!” Or “Shut your boat!” Or “I’m not just gonna show you my boat race, mate. Secret identity and all that.”

Bottle and Glass

I’m going to let you figure this one out.

E.g. “Look at the bottle on that guy!” Or “I slipped on the steps and went bottle over tit!”

Brass Tacks - Facts

E.g. “Let’s get down to brass tacks!”*

*Some people think that this phrase originates from the Cockney rhyming slang, however others say that it is referring to brass tacks used in upholstery or tacks that were hammered into sales counters to indicate measuring points. I don’t have the answer.

Brown Bread - Dead

E.g. “He’s brown bread!”

This is an example of a Cockney rhyming slang phrase that you don’t abbreviate. You always say “brown bread” and never just “brown”.

Bubble Bath - Laugh

E.g. “Are you having a bubble?”

This is meant more in an irritated sense rather than joyful laughter, like saying “You must be joking!” Or “Are you having a laugh?”

Butchers Hook - Look

E.g. “Let’s have a butchers at that.” Or “Take a quick butchers at this!”

It’s good to keep in mind that there can be multiple Cockney rhyming slang phrases for the same word, as well as multiple Cockney rhyming slang phrases that start with the same word. For example, ‘Birds Nest” and “Bristol and West” both mean chest, and “Birds Nest” and “Bird Lime” both can be abbreviated to “Bird”. For the latter, context is important for knowing what someone is talking about.

As always, I’m not an expert; a true Cockney would know far more than I do. I just want to share the knowledge that I have. I hope that someone will find this helpful, informative, or entertaining at the very least.

I’ve got more Cockney rhyming slang phrases coming, but if there’s any other areas of British slang you’d like me to go into, let me know and I’ll see what I can do!

Happy writing and happy speaking!

My other British slang posts: Cockney Rhyming Slang, British Police Slang, Terms of Endearment, Innit VS In’t - a PSA

[justhereforthemeta]

Romantic expectations and the story we didn't see: A magic trick hiding in plain sight

Here's a hopeful meta for all my fellow celestial brainrot sufferers out there. Cheers! :)

This idea started as a dead end, trying to track the movements of Crowley’s sideburns/tattoo because I thought time travel shenanigans were afoot. I had to abandon that theory when it was pointed out that David was simultaneously filming as the sideburns-having Fourteenth Doctor, and in-universe Crowley can do whatever he wants with his facial hair whenever he feels like it. But hey - null findings are still findings!

On the bright side, pausing the show to make notations in a spreadsheet forced me to slow down and notice other changes I'd overlooked the first time around: acting choices, costuming choices, references to book lore. And possibly a few surreptitious flicks of the wrist, in places where we’re meant to be focused on the magician’s other hand.

@amuseoffyre and @ineffablefood had a great exchange recently about romance and “the significance of misdirection and three-in-one (magic) tricks” throughout the show. I suspect Neil has done something brilliant with the audience’s long-standing expectations (since the 1990s, really) for the love story between Crowley and Aziraphale to develop. And while it is a wonderful story indeed, playing to this expectation lets Neil distract his audience from the blink-and-you'll-miss-them seeds he's planting for the final chapter.

Continued below the cut...

Let’s start at the beginning of Episode 2. First, context: In the previous installment, Crowley stormed out of the bookshop, was whisked away to Hell by Beelzebub where he learns about the Book of Life threat to Aziraphale’s existence, then returned to the bookshop to dance a little apology dance and hide Gabriel with an unintentionally massive joint miracle. In S2E2, we and Shax catch up with Crowley as he's snoozing in the Bentley.

Shax: “You’re in trouble”

A. J. Crowley, cool as a cucumber: “Obviously. Former demon, hated by Heaven, loathed by Hell. How will our hero cope?”

Interesting! Sarcastic? Yes, absolutely; but that’s also a good 4500 years and an averted apocalypse away from “I’m a demon. I lie,” wouldn’t you say? Someone is sounding a whole lot less depressed and aimless and navel-gazey (do snakes have navels?), and a whole lot more like he’s got a project to focus on, since his "what's the point?" ruminations on the park bench in E1.

And of course we all noticed the costume change right away. Hello, black turtleneck. Feeling cute today, thought I’d cover up my graceful long neck? That sounds unlikely. Let’s put a pin in this one.

There’s also an interesting acting choice going on here. Crowley speaks to Shax in a funny, drawling, too-cool-for-you voice that we haven’t heard in a while. Specifically, not since 1967. If you go back and give the S1E3 scene in the Dirty Donkey a listen, you’ll hear it (and if you know of another instance of it that I've missed, please let me know!). In S2E2, he keeps up this odd voice (if anybody knows what kind of affect this is supposed to be, please do tell!) throughout this dialogue with Shax, except for the brief moment when she first surprises him about the joint miracle having been detected.

1967 was a fun year. Crowley masterminded a heist! And seemed like he was having a ball doing it, right up until his little caper was called off after Aziraphale brought him the thermos of holy water. Crowley spoke to his co-conspirators in that same funny, very 60’s-caper-film voice. He wore a hip 60’s turtleneck. He bought petrol for the only time ever, so he could get those sweet James Bond bullet hole decals for his car (per the book, seen on the Bentley in the show).

Those James Bond bullet hole decals would of course have been part of a promotion for this 1967 release, which you just know our film-enjoying demon went to see in the theater:

Starring this suave, be-turtlenecked guy:

And now - begging your forgiveness - a brief rant.

There are a number of posts out there that refer to Crowley’s S2E2 turtleneck as a flirtatious sartorial choice - actually, ‘slutty’ seems to be the favored accusation. There are even a few posts floating around commenting on how sweet it is that Crowley swaps out his slutty, kinky, throw-me-over-your-desk-and-take-me turtleneck for a more dressy and appropriate collared shirt specifically to attend Aziraphale’s Jane Austen ball. 

Now this is all in good fun, and Crowley does indeed look fantastic here, and I do love a good fangirling sesh as much as the next person. However, fandom’s collective tendency to interpret what we are seeing on the screen through the lens of romantic expectation can, at times, give rise to a kind of blinkered enthusiasm that obscures the original text in a haze that is part Mandela Effect, part unrestrained horniness, and part in-group code talking and identity reinforcement.

Respectfully, Crowley’s black turtleneck does not appear at all in S2E5: The Ball. In fact, it never appears again after the end of S2E2.

For Someone’s sake, let’s collectively pull our heads out of the romantic fog/gutter for a moment and focus on what we are actually seeing in the book and on the screen. For Crowley, this is an uncharacteristic within-period costume change. There is a surreptitious flick of the wrist happening here, out in broad daylight, and we are all missing it.

So here’s a thing. Aziraphale appears to have settled comfortably into life on Earth, his neighborhood, his books, using Crowley as an outlet for sharing his good deeds that he would once have reported to Heaven. Meanwhile, at first glance, Crowley appears stuck in a rut. There he slouches on a park bench with Shax in S2E1: a guy who lives in his car, stagnantly clinging to old familiar habits, mulling over the pointlessness of it all.

Setting aside the bit about living in the Bentley (I’m going to attribute this to well-documented issues between him and Aziraphale, discussed in many other excellent metas, and move on), Crowley has at least two very good, proactive reasons for maintaining his contact with Hell through Shax. First and foremost, it’s a source of information he can use to keep ahead of potential threats to Aziraphale and himself.

But also, I would posit…he kinda likes it.

Recall that book GO was first conceived as a parody, with Aziraphale and Crowley as spy-against-spy (but not really) field operatives in an ages-old cold war between Heaven and Hell. Their entire book dynamic is rooted in the trope of two opposing agents who have been in the field for so long that they now have more in common with each other than with their respective head offices. Their St. James’s Park meetings among other spies and ministers trading secrets are a sendup of what was once a well-known Cold War-era cliché. 

Our contemporary Crowley still likes slick outfits and hellaciously expensive watches and high-performing vintage cars and pens that write underwater while looking like they could break the speed limit. He coaches Shax on how to blend in as a demon on Earth, and he helpfully redirects the wayward contact looking for the Azerbaijani sector chief. He loves improvising and getting away with shenanigans under the institutional radar. And boy golly was he impressed with Jane Austen: master spy, brandy smuggler, and mastermind of the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery. 

And if you look at it a certain way, for as long as Crowley has considered himself to be on “[his] own side” - going at least as far back as Job - he could almost think of himself as a sort of double agent. It’s actually a very romantic sort of notion, befitting our hopeless romantic of a (professedly former) demon; but it’s romantic in a very different way than we, the audience, have been primed to watch for.

In other words, in a very “on my own side” kind of way, Crowley really gets a kick out of being a spy. Or at least, dressing up and accessorizing as one, and moonlighting as a good-doing double agent when he can get away with it. And also being a plotting criminal mastermind. Two sides of a coin, really. Just look at Jane Austen.

My point is: No, Crowley did not wait around for Shax to come find him in a turtleneck so that he could go flirt with Aziraphale later. He’ll flirt with Aziraphale no matter what. No, this:

is actually this:

Much like the one he wears to the Dirty Donkey in 1967: 

whilst holy water heist-plotting. Here's a clearer shot with gratuitous Bentley, because I love them:

…and which he'll wear again, with appropriate camouflage, while infiltrating Heaven in S2E6:

That is the 1967 planning a HEIST turtleneck for committing ESPIONAGE and STEALING THINGS in. Because turtlenecks are what modern human master spies wear to get their hands dirty - after all, he saw it in a movie once. 

Crowley dons his tactical turtleneck sometime during the first major break in the action (which doesn't happen until after the joint miracle to hide Gabriel) after he learns about the threat the Book of Life poses to Aziraphale. Loverboy started mentally preparing himself to go after that book immediately upon learning that it was in play as a genuine threat. 

Now let’s pick up at the S2E2 Dirty Donkey scene, reading the story from this angle. Of course, Crowley enables Aziraphale’s delusions about Heaven by hiding information from him, and does not disclose the Book of Life threat when they meet again. They go into the pub, Aziraphale shamelessly paws Crowley’s chest like the seductive Bond Girl he is, and Crowley gets to act all smooth and suave and intimidating as he chases off the interloping Mr. Brown (or Mr. Collins for the Pride & Prejudice fans, take your pick).

Ergo, theory: beginning in S2E2, Crowley is already thinking of himself as a Jane Austen/James Bond action hero (“How will our hero cope?”), psyching himself up to rescue Aziraphale by getting his spy game on and stealing the Book of Life.

Now, watch closely...This is where Aziraphale and Crowley brainstorm their plans to solve the problem they both know about: getting Maggie and Nina to fall in love and thereby get Heaven off their backs. Crowley’s vavoom plan is drawn from yet another movie (“Get humans wet and staring into each other’s eyes - vavoom, sorted. I saw it in a Richard Curtis film.”). But Crowley also implicitly shares his solution to the problem he hasn’t told Aziraphale about. And true to form, Crowley’s Jane Austen solution isn’t the same as Aziraphale’s Jane Austen solution. 

Two solutions that fail by the end of Season 2, and a secret third one that might still work...and there's our magic trick of three.

‘“I’m lost. Am I doing a rainstorm?” Yes, babe. And a heist, too - just not until season three. Can I get a wahoo!? 

I won’t spend time on A Companion to Owls during this meta, except to note that in all three minisodes, we get to watch stories that involve Crowley acting as a double agent on “his/their own side” - successfully making Hell and Heaven think he’s fulfilling their will while saving Job’s goats and children; failing to fool Hell when he does a good deed in Edinburgh; and of course, collaborating with Aziraphale whilst evading detection as an infernal turncoat during the Blitz.

(Because this is getting long, I'll also skip over Crowley's interrogation of Jim in this episode - I'll probably come back to that in another meta. But interrogating is a rather spy-ish thing to do.)

When we catch up with Crowley again later, he’s already slipped out of the bookshop, having left Aziraphale to his biblical reverie about Job. He saunters snakily down Whickber Street as usual, but with a very pointed and swift glance over his shoulder (see pic above). This demon is up to something - possibly something we didn’t get to see, something that may have happened offscreen while he stepped out. In any case, knowing there’ve been unfriendly angels in the neighborhood that morning, he’s rightly concerned about being spied on.

From this point until the beginning of episode six, there isn’t a whole lot of opportunity for Crowley to make any next moves. He babysits the bookshop, during which time he manages to wring some crucial information out of Jim; he follows his Crowley’s Angel around like a puppy, and downs a bottle of red like a good old fashioned lovesick boy once that’s been pointed out to him. If any plotting or scheming is underway, this occult being is keeping stumm for now.

This has been a long one, so I’ll wrap up with Crowley’s infiltration of Heaven with Muriel. The turtleneck disguise works (Archer fans, be vindicated!) long enough to gather some information that will be crucial not just to the denouement of S2, but also to Crowley’s journey in S3 (previous post on Crowley's Fall, Saraqael, and memory wiping). And Aziraphale gets to enjoy that view exactly zero times. The point isn’t oh, a turtleneck! How flirty! So cunty! So cute! Y’all. Everything matters. The costume change was a deliberate choice. In-universe, Crowley’s decision to wear his special spy turtleneck for spying in is a signal that he is out doing spy things, even as we watch.

In sum: Beginning in S2E2 and continuing through the end of the season, Aziraphale and Crowley are actively living out the scripts of two parallel, concurrent, and completely different Jane Austen stories. But you and I, dear fellow audience member, we came here for a comedy with a hefty jigger of romance, and that’s what Neil gave us to focus on. And right up until the Final 15, that was the only story we saw.

Meanwhile, Special Agent A. J. Crowley doesn’t have time to mope around at the end of S2E6. He’s kicked down, but he’s not out. He's got a Book of Life to steal, a very serious bone to pick with a certain memory-wiping angel, and his Angel and the world to save. 

“‘Heigh ho,’ said [romantic, optimist, former demon, hero, master spy] Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway.”

[hyunsvngs]

𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐲 - lee minho x gn!afab reader

wc: 6.1k

rating: 18+. MDNI

cw: alcohol, normalisation of getting very wasted, smut (specific smut warnings under the cut, again minors please do not interact!)

synopsis: the best surprises come from the most unexpected sources - like having your crush corner you in a frat party after hearing you confess your deepest desires of him in the background of a video.

a/n: part one of the fratboy series. fratboy lee minho has now taken over my entire brain, my heart, and also my life, so i hope you all enjoy. PLEASE feel free to stop by our askbox to chat to me abt him because truly, i am obsessed.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: swearing, dirty talk, sexy mean minho, no seriously he’s mean, thigh riding, nipple play, begging, dumbification, degradation, penetration with a finger & dick simultaneously, talks about sex slaves (maybe only slightly serious), lovely aftercare

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

When the opening notes of Half Moon by Dean met your ears, you couldn’t help but groan. You loved the song, but it signalled an incoming call that you’d been expecting all day. You flipped your phone over, confirming your suspicions; Jisung’s squishy cheeks flashed on your screen as his contact icon showed up.

“What do you want?” you asked as you answered the call, despite knowing very well what he wanted. 

At the beginning of the semester, your best friends had joined a fraternity, Sigma Kappa Zeta. It was an absolute dream - on paper at least. You didn’t have to commit to the endless fraternity obligations, which are often ridiculous and sometimes downright dangerous; although you still had regular invites to the blowout parties, owing to your connections to Felix and Jisung. You’d attended a few of these parties and enjoyed them thoroughly. Being pretty meant you got free booze, and what could be better than getting wasted for free, with two of your favourite people? While ogling their endless hoard of stupidly attractive friends, of course.

Your taste in men could be summarised as… unfortunate. You had an affinity for frat boys, the bigger and stupider the better. Muscular guys, with stupid goofy grins and sleeveless tees, bulging biceps and empty heads. Something about them really got you going, and it frustrated you to no end. But you loved to indulge yourself, and Felix and Jisung knew this all too well. And so, they were left baffled when you very quickly stopped attending these parties. Baffled, disappointed, and worst of all, persistent.

“Hey, angel,” Felix’s voice rang out from your speaker.

“You aren’t Jisung,” you stated.

“Very observant,” he responded, leading you to roll your eyes. You didn't even bother to question why he was calling you from Jisung’s phone. “Anyways, I assume you’ll be in attendance tonight?”

You snorted. “Obviously not.” 

“Y/N!” Felix’s deep voice gave way to a drawn-out whine. “Why not?”

“Cause I don’t want to spend time in your disgusting frat house,” you huffed. 

“Not even for me?” he pleaded with you.

“This isn’t working. You can’t guilt-trip me when I can’t actually see your stupid adorable face,” you pointed out.

“Fine, I’ll turn my camera on-”

“No. Look, why don’t you and Ji come drink with me in my dorm? Like the good ol’ days?” you suggested. Good ol’ days referring to a few months ago, before they’d joined the fraternity.

Felix paused for a few moments. “Fine. Maybe. Only because we miss you!”

“Come over then. See you soon!” You hung up before he could argue any more - you all knew you’d won. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Just moments after Jisung and Felix showed up at your door, you began to consider the possibility that maybe you didn’t win after all.

“Y/N!” Jisung cried, before proceeding to push past you and collapse onto your bed. “Why do you never hang out with us any more?!” 

You turned to Felix. “What have you brought to my doorstep?”

Felix shrugged. “He chugged like, three beers before we even left.”

"I guess we'd better catch up then." 

It wasn't long before you were all feeling merry, though it would be amiss to say you'd caught up with Jisung, given that he often seemed intoxicated even when he was sober.

"I miss you guys, too!" you insisted, hushing the boys' griping. And you really did miss them. Since classes had ended, and people had limited obligations, the frat seemed like a 24/7 party house at the moment, which meant you hardly ever saw them. "I just… these frat parties, it's not really my scene."

The look Felix sent you told you that he didn't buy it, not one bit. The look Jisung sent you, on the other hand, told you that he was currently so drunk that he had a very tenuous grasp on reality, and was just happy to be involved.

"I've seen you eye up at least three guys at the frat. Not your scene? Nothing has ever been more your scene," Felix said, his tone accusatory. "I know it's nothing to do with us. So spill. Why are you avoiding the frat?"

Jisung had wandered off to the other side of your room, where he seemed to be making a concoction of different beverages. He didn't seem to be making a mess, so you thought it best to leave him while he was quiet.

You huffed. "Fine. One of your stupid little frat bro's is driving me insane. But I won't say who!" you added hastily.

Felix's eyes glinted. "Driving you insane? In what way? Like, someone's pissed you off? Or they're making you insanely horny and you don't know how to handle it."

You hid your face in your hands with a groan. "You know me too well, Lix."

Felix laughed gleefully. "Changbin?"

"Don't start guessing! I'm not gonna tell you!"

"Chan?"

"No!"

Felix paused, thinking hard. "It's Minho."

"It’s not Minho!"

He cackled. "You're an open book, it's Minho! You're horny for Minho!"

You let out a weak whimper in protest. "I just… God, nobody's ever affected me like this before, Lix! I don't even wanna be around him 'cause I know I'll say something stupid. Or maybe just start drooling on him."

Felix shrugged. "I guess I can't blame you. He is a gorgeous guy."

"Understatement of the century," you scoffed. "If I had to choose between solving world hunger and sucking his dick, I'd choose his dick. A thousand times."

Felix, in that beautiful drunken phase where everything was utterly hilarious, was clutching his stomach, in complete stitches on your floor.

"I'm not even joking, Lix! I'd devote the rest of my life to being his sex slave. He wouldn't even need to feed me, I'll survive off his cum if I have to!"

Felix wiped a tear from his eye. "Stop, stop. You're killing me." He turned to Jisung, who was still apparently playing potions with various different drinks.

"And that," Jisung said to no one in particular, "Is how you make a Hanji Supreme."

"What the fuck are you doing, Ji? Are you vlogging over there? Get your ass over here and listen to what Y/N has to say about Lee Minho."

"Okay, bye!" Jisung said, still seemingly speaking to thin air. He turned to you, eyebrows raised. "Minho? Y/N has the hots for Minho?"

"Unfortunately," you confirmed.

"We could probably set you up with him," Jisung proposed, a dastardly grin on his face.

"No," you quickly denied. "Never. Under no circumstances do you ever mention my name in Minho's presence. Got it?"

Jisung pouted. "But then your dreams are never gonna come true!"

You chewed on your lip. "I feel like a stuttering mess whenever I even think about him. I can't imagine what'd happen if I actually spoke to him."

"Wait, you've never spoken to him?" Felix clarified, and you shook your head. He smirked. "You were saying some pretty vulgar stuff, considering he's practically a stranger."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm a creep and a perv. That's why he can never find out about this. Seriously," you said sternly, directing this last part at Jisung. He wasn't exactly known for keeping secrets. 

Felix looked him up and down. "I don't think he's even going to remember this tomorrow, if I'm being honest."

"Yeah," you agreed. "He seems like he's done for the night." The boy was lying flat on his back, the brim of his beanie pulled over his eyes. His phone was buzzing away on his chest, notification tone pinging every few seconds.

Felix sighed. "I just hope he doesn't get one of those second winds."

“Jisung, honey, is someone trying to get hold of you?” you asked, the chiming of his phone growing irritating. You figured he’d texted one of his many booty calls and then instantly forgotten about it.

“Huh?” he asked, clearly not really listening.

Felix’s phone began to buzz on the floor. “Someone’s trying to get hold of me.” He brought the phone to his ear. "Hey, what’s up? He's - he's what?" Felix covered his other ear. "It's really loud over there, did you say he's on the table? Christ - okay, okay, we'll be right over." 

"What was that?" you asked. "Is everything okay?" 

Felix sighed. "Hyunjin's partying a little too hard. Seungmin can't deal with him alone. C'mon, we gotta go wrangle him."

"We just went over this - I'm not stepping foot in Minho's territory, not even for a second," you said adamantly. 

"Relax, he's partying with Theta Chi Theta tonight," Jisung slurred happily, sitting upright and fixing his beanie. "C'mon, Y/N, come party with us!"

Felix looked to you pleadingly. "I can't deal with drunk Jisung and drunk Hyunjin without you. Please."

Fuck. Felix knew you could never say no to his puppy-dog eyes.

"Fine."

Even with the knowledge that Minho was preoccupied somewhere else, you still felt a little wary as you stepped into the house. It did occur to you that you could be a little too terrified of this man, but you knew all too well that both your horniness and your stupidity were utterly limitless, which was always a recipe for disaster.

You heard Hyunjin before you saw him - "Why can't I get naked, though? It's so hot in here!" 

You snickered. He was still on the table, although he looked a little wobbly so you doubted it'd be too long until he came tumbling down. Jisung wandered off, probably up to no good, whilst you and Felix hurried over.

Seungmin breathed a visible sigh of relief when he saw you. "So glad you're here. Okay, I'm off duty. Good luck." He had vanished within seconds. 

Hyunjin waved excitedly when he caught sight of you both. "Hi Lix! Hi Lix's pretty friend!" 

You laughed at his drunken boldness. "It's Y/N," you corrected him.

"I know." He grinned down at you from the table, eyes disappearing into crescents. "You're brave, too," he crooned.

"Brave?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"If I was you, I probably wouldn't show my face around here until the end of the semester, at least," he went on.

Felix narrowed his eyes at the boy. "What are you talking about?"

Hyunjin stared at Felix for a moment. Then switched his gaze to you. Then back to Felix. Before erupting into a fit of giggles.

"Oh my god, please sit down before you fall and crack your damn skull," Felix pleaded with the boy.

"Yeah, and more importantly, explain yourself," you added. 

Hyunjin sat obediently, pulling out his phone and handing it to Felix. 

"Oh fuck," Felix breathed. "I have the group chat muted right now." 

"The group chat?" you enquired anxiously. "Please tell me what's going on." Your paranoia was getting the best of you, and while you stood waiting for someone to fucking explain, you were slowly convincing yourself that you'd stolen Felix's phone and confessed your attraction to Minho in the most crass and unrefined terms.

This wasn't too far from the truth.

Felix opened up a video, skipping towards the end. You noticed Jisung, sitting cross-legged on the floor of your dorm room, chattering away about various beverages. More prominently, however, you heard your own voice, from the other side of the room. 

“I’ll survive off his cum if I have to!”

Your heart plummets to the ground as the memory comes rushing back. Fuck. 

You grab Felix’s arm, holding on for dear life. “Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me Jisung only sent that to Hyunjin and no one else.”

Felix handed the phone back to Hyunjin and placed his hands on your shoulders, steadying you. “Look, it’s going to be okay. People say stupid shit like this all the time-”

“Oh look, Minho’s read the messages!” Hyunjin calls out.

You put a hand over your mouth. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“He’s typing!”

“No!” you wailed.

Hyunjin turned his phone around once more. You peered at the screen in turmoil as three dastardly little letters popped up.

lol

"Oh, Y/N, you're so lucky he's not here tonight," Felix said, sounding relieved. Distantly, you felt a shred of relief too, although that was nothing compared to the complete and utter dread you were experiencing. Oh, the consequences of your own drunken, horny actions. Was there anything worse?

"Oh," Felix murmured, pulling his buzzing phone out of his pocket. "Oh." 

"What?" you asked.

"He's calling me." 

You called out "Don't answer it!" just as Hyunjin yelled "Answer it!"

Felix accepted the call, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Oh my god, I'm scared. Hold my hand." You scrambled for Hyunjin, who grasped your hand in his before giggling.

"Your hands are soft," he commented, apparently having forgotten the Minho debacle already. You swiftly hushed him.

Felix also raised a finger to his lips in a shh motion, before putting the call on speakerphone.

"Are you at the house? Is Y/N with you?" Minho’s voice came through the speaker.

Felix paused, looking at you with wide eyes. You shook your head furiously. 

"Uh, yeah," he answered, the traitor. You fought hard not to scream.

"Can you pass a message across?" you heard Minho ask.

"Sure."

"I'm on my way." The line clicked dead.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. “LEE FELIX WHY THE FUCK DID YOU TELL HIM I'M HERE?" 

"I DON'T KNOW, I PANICKED!" he shrieked back, sounding equally as alarmed as you.

“This is crazy,” Hyunjin commented with a dazed grin.

“You are far too drunk to understand the absolute catastrophe I’m in right now!” you accused him. “Oh my god, what am I gonna do? I need to go - immediately.”

“Not so fast.”

You spun around in complete and utter horror, terrified that Minho had somehow materialised from his other party right back to the frat. Only to find Seungmin standing before you - just slightly less threatening.

“Jisung is far too drunk, and he’s begging for you,” he explained.

“God, what is in the air tonight?” you observed. “Do you guys need to do a fraternity-wide detox?”

Seungmin snorted. “Like that’s ever gonna happen. Go on, Jisung’s in his room.” 

God fucking damn it, why were you such a good friend? You tore up the stairs, bee-lining for Jisung’s room, fully intending on hiding in his bedroom for the rest of the night. Minho wouldn’t find you in there if you locked the door, right? You were even willing to put up with your best friend’s snoring.

"Hey, Sungie," you said gently as you walked into his room. You found him curled on his bed, still dressed in his hoodie, cargos and beanie. 

"Y/N… You're finally here…" he mumbled.

"You sound sleepy. Is it bedtime?" you asked, sitting down on the bed beside him. You tugged the beanie off his head, and ran your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp gently. 

"Bedtime? Hmm… No… It's still party time for now." His words were slurred, and you knew he was just minutes from dozing off - seconds, maybe. 

"Sure," you said, as it was typically better to just agree with him. "You wanna get your pyjamas on? We can have a pyjama party."

"No. I'm comfy like this." You seriously doubted it, but didn't have it in you to battle him right now.

Sure enough, he was snoring less than thirty seconds later. You wondered if it was worth shoving him a bit, to climb in bed beside him, or whether it'd be best to just run home. But you didn't know how far away Minho was, and the thought of bumping into him was too much to bear. 

You deliberated for a few moments, but Jisung's snoring was driving you insane, and you quickly realised that you weren't equipped to deal with it tonight.

You pulled out your phone, opening Felix's contact.

[10:44pm] You: lixie do u have minho's location?

[10:44pm] You: lix please please please

[10:44pm] You: felix pls i need to know how far he is

You sat on the edge of Jisung's bed, leg bouncing with nerves. Why was Felix always muting his damn notifications?

[10:48pm] Lix: idk sorry :( i think his party was nearby though

[10:48pm] Lix: look, just run to my room

[10:49pm] Lix: you'll be safe there

You weighed up your options. 

Option one: stay here with Jisung, awake all night owing to his snoring and his complete domineering of 90% of the bed space, stressing about Lee fucking Minho.

Option two: run out of the frat house, and all the way home to safety, but risk bumping into Minho on your way out.

Option three: run down the hall to Felix's room, where you can vent to him all night and then eventually fall asleep with his sunshine cuddles.

It could only be option three.

His room was just down the hall, you reasoned. You would yank open the door, tear down the hallway, and land safely in Felix's bedroom. It would be easy. 

You took a deep breath, before pulling open the door and preparing to run.

“Ah. Look who it is.” 

Shit.

Minho stood in the hall with an unreadable expression. His eyes scanned your whole frame, and he took his time with his scalding gaze. His eyes crawled all the way up your legs, lingering up your thighs. Slowly moving from your hips, to your waist, to your chest. Before landing on your eyes - that’s where his inspection burned the most. You couldn’t even breathe. 

“All bark and no bite, hm?” 

“I… I just…” you stammered weakly.

He continued to stare at you, waiting for you to finish. “You just?”

“I’m sorry!” you managed, your voice barely above a squeak.

He folded his arms across his chest, looking amused. “What, pray tell, are you sorry for? For blabbing about my dick to anyone who’ll listen? Manners mean everything, sweetheart, you could’ve just asked me nicely. There was no reason to bring everyone into our business, now, was there?”

You simply blinked at him. You weren’t capable of anything more. He was clearly waiting for a response, though, smirking over at you expectantly. “W-What?” you managed eventually.

“Or are you apologising for your dirty mouth? Honestly, I didn’t expect that from you. You look so sweet, who knew you could be so… improper.”

You felt dizzy. “Improper?”

He pouted at you, and it was dripping with condescension. “Can you speak, darling? Or are you so cock-hungry you can’t manage more than a one-word answer?”

“I-I just don’t know what to say, is all,” you whispered.

“Just give me a yes or a no,” he invited you, holding his hand out for you to take.

You gave him a slow nod, placing your hand in his shakily. He smiled as if to say ‘right answer,’ before opening the door right next to Jisung's, and leading you into his bedroom. The room was remarkably neat and tidy, and you would’ve been impressed if you could even begin to process it. All of your mental energy was focused on not combusting - or coming on the spot. 

He allowed you to step into the room before closing the door behind you. You were then quickly pushed up against it, Minho pinning you against the wood with his hips. Had that squeal really just come from your mouth?

His eyes were transfixed on your lips. You waited, heart hammering in your chest, while he had you trapped there. Until this point, you really hadn't been sure whether he was angry at you for saying such explicit things about him. The look in his eyes revealed everything - he wanted you just as badly.

He leaned in slowly. Torturously slowly - evidently, he was going to take his time with you. His lips met yours in a gentle peck, which he repeated, again and again. You sighed against his lips, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt and pulling him closer, but he merely smirked against your pout.

"Please," you breathed.

"You're so desperate," he said with a low laugh. "I could give you what you want, Y/N, but I know you wouldn't be able to handle it."

"I can take it," you protested, your voice sounding much whinier than you wanted it to.

"You can?" he asked, cocking his head and looking down at you condescendingly. You nodded insistently. "Okay."

Minho picked up the pace. His lips were soft but they bit at yours harshly. His tongue entered your mouth and you savoured his taste, sucking on his tongue gently.

Your hands went to the button of his jeans, swiftly unbuttoning it. Minho pulled away, stepping back and leaving you pouting once more. He laughed, that awful patronising sound yet again, that made your palms sweat and your thighs sticky. 

"What, you think you're gonna get my dick that easily?" he asked, cocking his head at you. "No, honey." 

"Please?" you asked. It sounded pitiful, even to you.

You watched as he went to his neatly made bed, tugging off jeans and laying back. "Come here," he instructed, lounging back against the wall. "Take your clothes off for me."

"T-Take my clothes off?" you asked meekly. It sounded pitiful even to your ears.

The look he gave you was scathing, although he did seem rather amused by the pathetic show of stupid desperation you were unfortunately displaying. "Well you can't expect to stay fully clothed if I'm gonna fuck you, right?"

You nodded, standing in front of him and looking down at your feet. "I… I feel shy all of a sudden."

"You feel shy? I don't know if you'd make such a good sex slave after all." He laughed before growing serious. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to. I'll look after you, if we do, but the choice is yours."

His kinder tone set you at ease, and made you realise that you really wanted this, you were ready for this. It also brought about the realisation that you much preferred it when he was mean. You didn't want to dwell on what that meant, though. 

You gathered your courage and slowly pulled your clothes off, standing before him in nothing but your underwear. Minho said nothing, but you felt as though you were on fire under his gaze. 

He wasn't the only one who was enjoying the view. Your eyes traversed his toned thighs, mouth watering as you thought about how it'd feel if he were to press one between your legs. He wore plain white briefs, and you couldn't help but stare at the prominent bulge inside them. Even semi-hard it looked huge. You noticed it twitch ever so slightly, as he looked over your exposed body.

Minho spread his legs slightly, before tapping his left thigh. "Come on, darling. I know what you want."

Was he a mind reader? You wasted no time, climbing onto the bed, straddling his thigh and beginning to slowly grind. He tensed it, so firm and strong beneath you. The perfect platform for you to drag your clit across. 

Minho's hands went to your waist, holding you gently, guiding you as you rolled your hips.

"That's it, baby, there you go," he encouraged you. The friction was enough to make you sweat, the pleasure overwhelming you. He was right - maybe you couldn't handle this. You couldn't even imagine how overwhelming it would be to actually feel his hands on you, feel his dick inside you. 

His dick.

You could see it growing harder in his briefs, a small damp circle near the head where precum had leaked. You couldn't resist the temptation any longer; your hand reached out almost involuntarily, cupping his bulge gently. It was firm, and warm, and growing bigger seemingly by the second.

Minho took your hand, instantly re-directing it. "No, no, don't touch. Not until I say you can."

"But I can see how hard you're getting," you said. "You want it, Minho!"

"Unlike you, I know how to restrain myself." He patted your waist gently. "Keep riding."

You gave a frustrated huff, but did as he said. 

Minho brought a slender finger down to your crotch, hooking it around the fabric of your underwear and moving it out of the way. "Let me see that pretty pussy," he murmured.

The new exposure made you moan aloud, hands gripping Minho's shoulders firmly as you rode him.

"Please," you whispered. "Please, Minho."

"Please, what? Use your words."

"Please fuck me," you asked.

He pretended to consider it for a moment. "Hmm… No. Not yet."

You groaned. "I need it, though!"

Minho snickered. "Don't be such a brat. I want to take my time with you, okay?"

"You can take your time next time! Just - please - fuck, please, I need it."

He raised an eyebrow with you. "Oh, so there's gonna be a next time, is there?" 

You ignored his quip. If you couldn't get in his pants just yet, you'd focus your attention elsewhere. You lifted his shirt slowly, revealing his stomach, where you found lightly toned abs that only made you more desperate to feel him. Miraculously, he humoured you, pulling his shirt over his head.

You gasped, running your hands down his chest. He was beautiful, tight pecs and perfect little nipples that stood to attention in the open air of his bedroom. You ghosted a finger over one of them, entranced.

"I thought that'd shut you up," Minho commented under his breath.

"Beautiful tits," you muttered unintentionally as you admired his pecs.

Minho smiled. "I could say the same thing about you, angel." He placed a hand on your back, pulling you closer and bringing one of your nipples into his mouth. He wasn't gentle about it, sucking and biting without holding back. You cried out, your hips pausing their grinding motions, your system completely overloaded by his harsh actions on your sensitive nipple.

"Keep riding," he mumbled, not even taking your nipple out of his mouth as he spoke. 

You dragged your clit across his muscular thigh, whimpering loudly as you went. "Oh god, please, Minho! I need you inside me." 

"Then beg for it."

You wasted no time. "Please, Minho, please, please! I need your cock, I've never needed anything this bad. I know I'm just a filthy little slut but please give me what I need, fuck, I'll die if you don't!" 

"You really are a filthy slut," he agreed, lifting you from his thigh and laying you on his bed. 

"Yes, yes, please Minho!" you babbled.

He pulled your underwear down, leaving you completely naked before him, before tugging his own briefs off. 

Holy fucking shit, you thought.

His dick was beautiful. That was the only way to describe it - fucking beautiful. It was long, with a vein running along the underside, and the girth was decent too. The head was thick, and red, and if you weren't so desperate to be fucked you would've sucked on it for hours. 

"I know you want it," Minho said. "But do you deserve it?" He stroked his dick slowly, and you watched as the head disappeared into his fist, emerging again as his hand ran along his shaft.

"I don't know, but I need it," you insisted. "I'll do anything." 

Minho shook his head, but he looked smug. "Alright, baby. If you need it that badly."

"Yes, yes, yes," you chattered, intoxicated by a dick that you hadn't even felt yet.

He pushed your knees up to your chest, and you hooked your arms around them, holding them in position and peering down to watch his motions. "Such a perfect pussy." He rubbed the head of his dick across your clit, and you whined loudly. Distantly, you wondered if the sounds of the frat party below would even be enough to drown out your incessant noises of pleasure. It was irrelevant, though; you didn't care enough to stop.

He dragged his dick through your folds, over your hole, back up to your clit. Minutes ago, you would've killed a man to have Minho touch your pussy, but already you wanted more. He made you so greedy. It felt good but your thirst for more was unbearable, intolerable.

"Alright, baby, are you ready?"

"Yes!" you cried out.

Slowly, he sunk the tip of his dick inside you - just the tip. Thick as it was, it slid in with hardly any protest. He sighed as it went in, clearly needing the sensation more than he let on.

"More," you pleaded.

"You'll take what I give you, when I'm ready to give you it." Minho saw you roll your eyes at this, but said nothing.

He pushed the head in and out of your hole, never putting more than two inches inside. 

"Please give me the whole thing, Minho!"

He simply shook his head. "You wouldn't be able to handle it. Dumb baby."

"I can handle it!" you insisted. "I swear I can!" 

He looked at you, raising an eyebrow that told you he was unconvinced. "You can?" You nodded. "You're gonna cry like a little baby." 

"Just give me your stupid dick right now!" 

Minho laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, baby. Here comes my stupid dick."

He held your legs down against your chest, and slammed his whole length inside you. You saw stars. He thrusted, hard and fast, and you were somewhat aware that you were moaning probably louder than you ever had before, but all you could truly focus on was his cock filling you up. He was hitting your g-spot on every single thrust, grunting as he fucked you.

"God, you're tight," he groaned. He re-positioned his hips, and somehow managed to hit deeper. You felt him against your cervix, and cried out in pain.

"Too much," you weakly protested as your eyes filled with tears. 

"I thought you could handle it?" he said, his voice lacking any sympathy. "Fucking pathetic, begging for a cock you couldn't even take." 

"I-I can, just not so deep."

Minho smirked down at you. "It's not my fault my dick's so big," he said, but adjusted his thrusts slightly anyway. 

"I can take it," you promised. "I-I can take anything you give me, Minho."

"That's right, baby. My filthy little whore." His voice was calm, but his eyebrows were furrowed and sweat was dripping down his forehead - the pleasure was overwhelming him just as much as it was destroying you. 

Minho leaned down, connecting his mouth to yours as he fucked you. You sighed happily, wrapping your arms around his neck and taking his tongue into your mouth. You couldn't help but moan. His dick fucking your pussy, his tongue fucking your mouth. This was heaven, you were sure of it.

He pulled away. "You think you could take some more?" 

"More?" you asked, eyes wide. 

"Just a little more. For me?"

You nodded hesitantly.

Minho paused his thrusts, but before you could whine in protest, you felt his finger rubbing at your opening. Slowly, he pushed his index finger inside, along with his dick. The painful stretch was incredible, and you whimpered at the feeling. 

"There you go, babe," he said, beginning to thrust once more. He closed his eyes, losing himself to the sensation. "Fuck, this is nice and tight."

You were barely even lucid at this point. You babbled incoherently, unaware of what you were even trying to say. You were completely and utterly spellbound by his dick, by the sweet burning stretch. 

"Touch yourself for me, baby," Minho directed you. 

"F-Fuck- I don't know if I can-"

"I thought you wanted to be my sex slave, hm? Pretty little slaves do as they're told." 

You whined, but obeyed his command. "M-Minho… I'm gonna cum if I keep going."

Minho barked out a laugh. "Cum then. I don't care. But don't take your fingers off that pussy, not even for a second."

You were beginning to think that maybe you weren't cut out for this. You hadn't even reached your climax yet, and already the overstimulation was too much. Your stretched out pussy was throbbing, and you jolted each time Minho's dick pounded your g-spot. You were drenched, covered in your own sweat as well as Minho's, which was dripping onto you from his hair, his forehead, his neck. The air in the room was thick, and smelled entirely of Minho - you were covered in him. He looked like a god above you, fucking into you like it was his life's mission.

It was too much for you to handle, without a doubt. And yet, you'd be happy to spend the rest of your life underneath him. Or on top of him. Or in any position which meant his dick could be inside you.

"Minho… Minho!" you whimpered.

"C'mon, baby," he encouraged you, his voice strained. From the sounds of it, he wasn't far from finishing either - although you got the sense he could keep going all night if he willed himself to. "Cum around my cock like the dirty little whore you are." 

That was all the prompting you needed.

Your ears started ringing. You let the almost unbearable feeling of ecstasy wash over you, flooding Minho’s cock. You knew you were crying out maybe a bit too loudly - but you didn’t care, thrashing in Minho’s hold and grasping the bedsheets for dear life as he fucked you through it. He didn’t slow his pace, riding out your intense orgasm caused by the man of your dreams and making you feel as if you’d been set on fire.

"Does that feel good, baby?" Minho crooned, continuing to fuck you as he went after his own orgasm. You could only manage a high-pitched whine in response. "Just a little longer, baby, you can do it. Just lie there and let me use your tight little pussy, that's it." His voice was hoarse, and the veins on his neck were prominent. You knew he was going to cum soon, but you didn't know if you could hold on. You were over-sensitive to the point of pain, hands gripping Minho's bed sheets.

"Cum - give me your cum," you urged Minho. "Now, please."

His eyes widened. Your command had seemed to catch him off guard a bit. He pulled out of you, and you watched as thick ribbons of pearly white cum oozed onto your abdomen. You gasped gently as you watched. It was perhaps the most beautifully erotic thing you'd ever seen. His dick was definitely a contender for the prettiest one you'd ever fucked, and his cum was thick and heavy, dripping from the tip like a waterfall.

"Thank you," you whispered. He leaned in, kissing you deeply. He tasted like sweat, hot and sticky, and you moaned. 

He pulled away, before planting one more kiss on your forehead. "You're welcome."

Minho stood, going to the other side of his room. You tried to follow him with your eyes, but you felt so weak and tired that they slipped shut immediately. He returned seconds later, and you lay still, sighing as he cleaned you up. His touch was so gentle, so soothing, so different than it had been just minutes before.

"That better?" he asked, discarding the towel.

You nodded. "You want me to go crash with Felix?" you asked, unsure of what exactly this arrangement was.

"Nah, you reek of sex. Felix wouldn't want you." He helped you climb under the covers. "Plus, I wouldn't mind some company tonight." He slid into bed beside you, and you rolled over, laying your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, and you felt incredibly safe secure, especially considering just how utterly terrified you'd been of this man a few hours ago.

You giggled softly, so tired and fucked out that you felt a little delirious. "Can't believe you fucked me, Minho."

Minho gave a short laugh. "Can't believe you convinced me to fuck you so easily. You're a little minx. I really wanted to play with you some more."

You nestled into his chest. "I guess there'll have to be a next time then, huh?" 

"Yeah," he agreed. "If you're lucky."

"You wanna fuck me again, Minho, I know you do," you mumbled. "I saw the look in your eyes when you came. You need my pussy."

Minho was silent for a few seconds. "You're awfully bold for someone who was crying on my cock ten minutes ago."

"...Yeah." 

"Get some sleep, sweetheart." No more than ten seconds later, you were sleeping in his arms. 

You slipped into the land of dreams, where you went on to fantasise about Minho - his thighs, his neck, his tummy, his hands. His kisses, his touches, his dick in your throat, in your holes. Minho everywhere. Were you completely insatiable? Maybe. But it seemed very likely that he'd give it to you again. In your sleep, you smiled.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

taglist: @moasworld @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @queenofthegardengnomes @boomfrogg @hoeinthehouse @msaddictions @sunnyhonie @hizliyuruyen @jyu037 @jouoy @drhsthl @seungincore @jellylver @veedoesntknaur @meloncremesoda @k-poplv @livieloo914 @fekixfmp @fawnpeaks @minnielvr @imastraykidsfan @hanjisung2023 @hoelynecujoh @kyrviu @sxgeofprohets @everydreams-penumbra @chaneomma @kkissreol @secretjj @phtogravi @princelingperfect @personawthai @dirah-h @straykids5star @luvhyux @chuuswifereal @stg110 @cookiesandmilfx @number1seungminstan

[madelinemccoolname]

Slime girl hrt

So, you’ve decided you’re a slimegirl. I’ve been on fluid replacement therapy, commonly referred to as slime hrt or shortened to frt, for five years but I haven’t managed to find a decent guide on the effects I’ve been experiencing anywhere on the internet. So I’ve decided to make this little guide for anyone who might still be on the fence. Keep in mind obviously I don’t speak for everyone and other goorl’s timelines might look a little bit different based on like genetics or something.

0-6 months

• For the first 3 months the effects are, I’m told, similar to estrogen’s first couple months, you’ll notice for sure your skin getting softer, your face might round out a bit, but the most you get are the side effects

• I personally was not prepared for how thirsty I got, I had heard about it but you really don’t know how much of your body isn’t liquid until you’re replacing all of it

• At 4 months is when I noticed my skin and body were moving kinda differently, tho this got the most pronounced at 6 months

• At 6 months all of my skin rippled like the surface of a pond whenever anyone touched me or like if the wind started blowing

• My joints got a lot more flexible, and my elbows and knees became double jointed (don’t do this too much)

• My hair didn’t get tangled overnight anymore

• My finger prints went away

6-12 months

• Here’s where the real magic starts, I got a lot thirstier for one and specifically had cravings for gatorade, I think this has something to do with slimegirls being partially salt water, but it could also be the food coloring in it (this is a joke about me drinking a lot of light blue gatorade and then being light blue)

• On the subject of color my skin got a sort of blue tinge to it, and most notably got completely see through by my 8 month mark

• The changes start from the thinnest part of your body and goes in towards your core, so even by 5 months your fingertips might be completely clear

• This next part is partially why I wanted to make this guide, so obviously your body doesn’t liquify at the same rate all over, for me this meant I was able to see the muscle in my upper arms if I looked through my fingers, this is both normal and something you’re going to have to get used to as you continue your journey

• Your toes are also going to turn at the same rate, this will probably be your first experience with lint getting in your slime bits, you don’t need to worry about your bloodstream getting infected with sock but regularly picking out bits is good hygiene and something you wanna get into the habit of

• My hair officially finished it’s transition into one solid shape, it still had defined follicles but if you tried to grab a strand of hair the rest would try to come with it

• People also started to ask me who dyed my hair, please note it’s always funny to say “it’s the way Goo-d made me” in response to this

12-24 months

• This window is larger than the others because all you’re going to notice from now on are the big changes

• Avoid tanktops past 14 months, your arms should be entirely translucent at this point and while having a buncha stuff floating around in my goo is kinda gender for me, people generally do not like to see slightly dissolved organs and ribcage

• 14 months was also when I noticed that my arm bones had entirely disappeared, my leg bones were also just barely holding in there, moving without bones was so freeing

• if you ever want anyone you know to stick their fingers in your slime, now’s probably the first time anyone's willing to stick their fingers far into your arms and legs, try to get them to wiggle their fingers. if they’re really adventurous they’ll stick their whole arm through to the other side, which still makes me a little squeamish

• Now that we’re at the part where I was mostly slime, we should probably talk about slime color. I’m going to dispel this misinformation, there is no way to find out what color a slimegirl is going to be before she starts transitioning. Some people say its eye color but that’s a lie. I am naturally a blue slime girl but my eyes pretransition were green. To dispel another myth you can dye yourself with food coloring, so you don’t even really have to stress about it

• By 18 months the only part of me that wasn’t slime was my head, the skull takes the longest time to dissolve because you’re doing the skull and all the organs in there all at once, see the human body really really wants to keep the brain safe, so when your brain gets the signal to get rid of your bones, it just does it all at once

• Some people say their eyesight got better, tho that seems to be anecdotal (mine stayed the same sadly)

• 18 months is also when I started experimenting with my shape. This was probably the most frustrating part of it for me, shapeshifting your goo is like a muscle, the more you do it the easier it’ll get. If you want a specific shape, spend enough time in it, and it’ll become your default shape, though you’ll never forget your original shape.

• 24 months is the last point I want to cover, by 24 months I was 100% liquid, the heavy viscosity from early transition leads to something closer to a liquid jello. I can detach parts of my body and then move to replace it, and I can reabsorb the parts I leave behind

• Clothes should rest just on the surface of you, though I know a lot of girls just change themselves to look clothed (probably more than you think ;)

• Suspenders and heavy cardigans break surface tension for me, luckily that's also a cute look so sometimes I match my cardigan with overalls for an aquarium effect on the overall straps

• This was also when I stopped breathing and going to the bathroom

• Some people report “knowing” when certain parts of their brain turn into goo, I didn’t experience that but it certainly could happen

Things I didn’t know where else they would fit

• I feel like a lot of this post was mainly dry, so in the interest of avoiding having a dry slime girl post, this section will mostly just be slime things that brought me joy

• I love speaking in slime puns, I keep a little book of slime puns and slant rimes just in case the slime arises that i would ever ooze some

• Being out in the rain or being out on a windy day is so much better when you can feel your entire body move in the wind, in particular go out on a rainy day without anything on, and lay down on the ground, the rain rippling through your entire body is heavenly

• Speaking of weather, when I first noticed I was refracting light on a sunny day I almost started crying, I felt so pretty and right :)

• I said I stopped needing to use the bathroom, but I still do siphon off some goo once a month. Mostly this is to get out bits of trash that accumulate and also because it feels exactly like taking a shower after a hard sweaty day’s work

• Speaking of bits, get a powerful magnet and metal shaving and you could probably waste a whole day just moving metal shavings through your body

• This might be a bit late in the guide for this, but when my arms finally turned I pulled a great prank on my at the time girlfriend by sticking my hand into a blender (do not do this if you still have bones, or value your girlfriend not being really really mad at you)

So that's all you need to know before starting frt, becoming the slime of your dreams is a difficult and beautiful process. I know a lot of what i described here might be frightening but if it sounds enticing at all know that it’s worth it.

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXVI)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Diana helps mediate. Stinky Dad and the Alien Guy observe.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“His control over his emotions slipped during the interview,” J’onn sighs, hovering alongside Bruce as they carry down the hall.

Bruce grunts. He isn’t quite capable of complicated speech yet. The teenage alien crying, too scared to let even the internationally-favorite, universally beloved Wonder Woman hold him without screaming…a person he already knew would take care of him…

J’onn continues, nevertheless. The thin privacy of his mind aside, Bruce has always appreciated the Martian’s understanding of Bruce’s oft-shifting moods. “His memories of his home and his family were tied up with extensive pain. I would continue under the assumption that his human family turned on him after discovering his nature—there may have even been collateral damage to others around them at the time.”

Bruce breathes in. Bruce breathes out.

“He thought himself akin enough to humans to be betrayed when he was seen as an 'other'. He knows that he is far from home, he knows that he has been targeted for his non-human traits and abilities, and he has reasons to think that he may not return again—what they are, I could not tell, but the sentiment was clear. This escape was purposeful, as was commandeering the vehicle he used to do so. He is alone. He is scared.”

“Known or unknown threat?” Bruce growls, not quite up to elongating his bite into a full sentence. J’onn is more than skilled enough to skim lightly over the words, and match them to Batman’s pointed fury.

“Our patient is familiar with the threat. I could not recognize the insignia or acronym from his memories, but they had enough resources to keep him captive and alive—without food or water. Likely, for a lengthy amount of time.”

Bruce’s near-running stride slows to a stop. J’onn, ever-patient, floats to a standstill beside him.

“No food,” Bruce confirms, just to make sure he heard correctly.

J’onn nods.

“No water.”

“There was an alternative method used to keep him alive, although the details weren’t significant to him in his flashback. The method may have been possible due to his minor healing ability, or something unique to his species.”

No food, Bruce thinks. No water. Kept alive as a function. Worried that he’s meant to be used as a weapon, kept in isolation, afraid of what humans in uniform might require of him for help.

This isn’t just torture. It is, specifically targeting a half-human entity, entirely purposeful dehumanization.

Of a child.

Of a child.

Bruce inhales. Bruce exhales.

This is not something that will be solved short-term. He has to keep an eye on the long-term goals for this teen—safety, recovery, reassurance, and reintegration.

Doable. All he has to do is break larger goals down into reasonable steps.

“Update the pediatric psychiatrist that Dr. Martin referred him to on the details.” Bruce’s demand comes out as flat as it gets. It is hard, when he’s stressed, to make his words hit with any intonation. Everything he forces out is precise. To the point.

J’onn nods. “I will.”

“This is personal medical information, to be accessed only on a need to know basis.”  

J’onn floats slightly higher, something relaxed in his face. This is a significant gesture, meant to remind everyone involved that this is a child, not a resource, and not a mission to be solved. This is a patient. “Understood.”

“If you pass this on to Diana, do it in person. Minimizing documentation…” Bruce falters. There isn’t a strong, authoritarian way to phrase how he feels about being someone to store clinically cold information about a boy who had likely been imprisoned, if not actively experimented on, if not actively tortured. How he needed to minimize behaviors that would exactly model what was done to the boy by his captors.

A smile flickers over J’onn’s expression. It’s suitably fleeting, but it comes and it goes—and it’s extremely polite of him to emote so visibly for Bruce’s sake. He makes sure to project his appreciation as best he knows how—blindly, without a telepathic sense to know what J’onn will and will not see.

“Understood, Batman.”

Bruce grunts.

They split at the end of the hallway, each dedicated to their own tasks.

J’onn will inform the medical team of what triggers may affect their patient’s long-term recovery and the quality of their stay. He is a thorough and patient coworker, and Bruce is grateful to have him on his side.

Bruce, in the meantime, has a favor to ask of Alfred and Dick on their way back into Gotham; more importantly, this is a favor he has to ask of Alfred’s employment-provided Costco card.

*

There’s something new in Danny’s room.

He transfers himself into the wheelchair to look at it, scrambling down the bed the way the physical therapist taught him to—the new thing isn't at bed height, but it is pretty low, and it has a door that he could probably reach from seated height or standing.

The square thing’s door swings open.

Inside are…little water bottles. Canned juices. Those mushy fruit-filled bars, and something so obviously wrapped in a yellow Fig Einstein wrapper that even the gibberish non-English is super clear.

There’s a bunch of things. Just. So many; and all in a few different types, too. The whole thing is filled with so many choices.

…Huh.

There are disposable straws in the door. Danny has to borrow a nurse’s ID card to open the can tab in the end, and his unwrapping of a straw is more than a little shaky, but Danny takes his medication with a mango-pineapple juice blend instead of his usual cup of water, and he’s perfectly fine with that.

[uriekukistan]

i wanna talk about this thing gege said

i’ve seen a lot of people saying that this is a bad way to write a story, and i couldnt disagree more. from a writer’s perspective, there is no reason to kill off a character if it’s not going to have impact.

in any case, i think this reaction points out two things i’ve noticed about the jjk fandom.

i. jjk fans prioritize enjoyment of characters over the plot

which is fine, i guess. i’m not gonna begrudge any readers the space to enjoy their fav characters. however, what i disagree with is the constant trashing of gege and jjk as a story because the narrative doesnt treat the characters as you want it to.

i mostly talk about these things from the perspective of someone who has been writing for a while, so i will take a second to acknowledge from the reader perspective. it’s easy to get attached to characters and see them as real people in your life.

but they arent real people. they only exist for the author’s intentions. every time i see someone complain that “x character only died because plot” i just think “yes?” characters exist for the plot. they exist to serve the narrative. they live and die for the plot, and that isn’t a bad thing. this is a story. that is how stories work.

with characters like gojo or choso, it’s easy to look back and see their character arcs and how their ends fit their purpose in the story, but i think people get so caught up in wanting to fuck the character, or fanon, that they forget their original purpose is to do what gege wants them to do.

this is a war against the most powerful, most evil sorcerer in history. of course characters are going to die, and of course it’s going to be characters we love. it’s honestly unrealistic to expect anything else.

and i think it’s really disrespectful to say so many rude things to gege because he is thinking about the story he wants to tell, and not the story that best suits your favorite character.

ii. few people want to feel anything from what they’re reading anymore

which again, is totally fine, but maybe read something else?

tragic stories have existed and enjoyed immense popularity for millennia. and theres nothing wrong with that. there’s nothing wrong with authors intentionally stirring up their readers’ emotions.

i wanna bring attention to the origins of the words “tragedy” and “catharsis”

“tragedy” is a genre that stems from greek drama based on human suffering and the terrible or sorrowful events that befall the main character. the intention of of tragedy is to invoke “catharsis”

“catharsis” is commonly used to refer to the purification of thoughts and emotions by way of expressing them. in terms of tragedy, this refers to arousing a negative emotion with the intention of expelling it so the audience can walk away feeling relieved.

for all intents and purposes, jjk is a tragedy. it’s meant to make you feel sad. that’s gege’s intention. yet every time people feel upset by a specific event, they call “bad writing.” if anything, according to what jjk is, it’s good writing if you feel sad.

i have seen some people say that jjk wasn’t set up this way, and i disagree so strongly that it’s hard to comprehend.

jjk0 ends with gojo having to kill his best friend, his one and only. tragedy. yuuta’s story is tragic too, having cursed rika and accidentally isolated himself just because he didn’t want her to die.

jjk starts with yuuji faced with execution just because because he wanted to honor his grandfather’s dying wishes. within a handful of chapters, there’s yuuji’s “death” and junpei, and there’s a clear set up of tragedy and repeated loss, despite characters giving their best effort.

i could get into how this relates to my interpretation of the themes of jjk, and sharing burden/responsibility to be stronger together, but that’s another point.

tldr; the point of this post is to say that gege killing characters and making readers feel sad is not bad writing or a bad narrative choice. it’s true to his intentions and the essence of jjk. if you don’t like that, then don’t read. but there’s no reason to disrespect gege and his hard work just because it’s not your cup of tea

[sissa-arrows]

Not a Zionist group lying about one of their members being kept out of a student reunion in Science Po Paris because she is Jewish… that she was told “You’re not getting in because you’re Jewish and Zionist”

The government jumped on it immediately calling pro Palestinians antisemitic monsters. Attal actually referred to the prosecutor in order to condemn legally the students for antisemitism.

The girl realized that her lie could have consequences on her own life if it was discovered so she changed her version saying “I actually didn’t hear the word Jewish or Zionist. A friend told me they might have heard someone else say “don’t let her in she is a Zionist”. I actually got in after the initial refusal but I didn’t stay long because the atmosphere was heavy. When I sat the person next to me moved to sit somewhere else I didn’t feel welcome.”

The truth getting out: Zionist students have been getting in these reunions to scream inappropriate stuff, to take pictures and videos of pro Palestinians students to dox them and threaten them and they make a point always screaming or talking loudly during the minutes of silence for the Palestinians who are murdered by “Israel” daily. That girl is a member of a known Zionist Islamophobic group who call everyone antisemitic all the fucking time. She previously came at reunions to take pictures and videos of the people attending. So when the student organizers saw her they told her “this reunion is meant to be peaceful it’s better if you don’t get in”.

Even now that we know the truth beyond any doubt the government is not backing down and the medias are still being super ambiguous about it.

But wanna know the icing on the cake? A pro Palestinian student went on TV to explain what happened. The journalist had the fucking audacity to say “okay but you were OCCUPYING the auditorium and you gave yourself the right to deny entry to certain people which is illegal”. Like REALLY a Zionist is going to have the fucking audacity to pretend to have the moral high ground on pro Palestinians because they “occupied” an auditorium?!?!?! You’re occupying a whole country a land that belongs to Palestinians so screw you.

(The student answered by saying it was the students duty to organize the reunion themselves after the school refused to do so multiple times and after the school refused to protect the pro Palestinians students who were harassed. Anyway that specific interview was a mess and this is the reason why I laugh at their faces whenever my family tells me I should get into politics… because if I had to go on TV and listen to the Zionists, white supremacists… I would end up punching one in the face. Like what do you mean bitch is going to be a racist piece of shit and I have to use only my words? No we’re past educating racists now it’s a punch in the face every time they are pieces of shit until they’re too scared to talk again.)

Edit to add some sources

Source 1 (paywall but you get how it started with a tweet lying about what happened)

Source 2 (the video of the pro Palestinians student I mentioned)

Source 3 (how the Zionist group went on TV to spread their lies)

Source 4 (the government jumping on the situation)

[holyprincenerd]

yes yes rigged this cha cha that but please let’s not ignore this right now:

https://www.aftonbladet.se/podcasts/ab/episode/355975 Swedish “eurovision expert” Tobbe Ek (for those of you who aren’t Swedish, this is the same guy who accused Måneskin of doing coke on live tv back in 2021) and his posse of minions decided that it was time to spread some absolutely hateful rhetoric against the people of Finland by calling them shitty, idiotic, telling them they should be ashamed of not voting for Sweden (??? literally what???) etc etc, while also dragging in other contestants like Lord of the Lost and insulting them as a means of questioning why the Finnish public voted for them but not for Sweden. (You know. Because it totally doesn’t make any sense at all that a country known for having the most metal bands per capita in the world would vote for Lord of the Lost. Not at all.) 

As the cherry on top of this xenophobic shit cake, they started to go on about how “There’s no way there were ten contestants who were better than Sweden this year.” (Again. Not only disrespecting the other contestants, but them pretending not to grasp the concept of a country known for preferring heavier music choosing to vote mostly for bands this year... Yeah... Couldn’t be their preferences...)

Again, this man is considered a Eurovision expert here in Sweden, yet this is the type of behaviour he and his coworkers display over a nonissue like the Finnish public not voting for Sweden this year. If there’s something shameful here, it’s this.

To reiterate: These are three grown-ass well past 40-year old people having a genuine meltdown over one (1) singular country not voting for them.

Why are we giving Tobbe Ek (and his irrelevant coworkers) a platform, again?

EDIT:

Hoo boy, there’s more. Because of course there is.

ALRIGHT here’s an article from one of our tabloids using quite suspiciously colonialistic sounding rhetoric about Finland being “the kingdom’s previous eastern half”.

https://www.expressen.se/noje/finska-sveket-mot-sverige-gav-noll-poang-efter-uppmaningen-rosta-taktiskt/

The specific quote in Swedish: “Tv-tittarna i tidigare östra rikshalvan gav nämligen Sverige noll(!) poäng under Eurovisionfinalen på lördagen.”

Translation: “TV viewers in [our] kingdom’s previous eastern half gave namely zero(!) points to Sweden during the Eurovision finale on Saturday.”

Yeah, Johan Bratell (the writer of the article) is technically not wrong about Finland having been a part of Sweden. But why bring this up now? This was so clearly meant as a condescending insult.

The article also talks about a throwaway comment that the Finnish commentator Mikko Silvennoinen made about tactical voting (or more specifically, an anonymous comment he read out loud about tactical voting). From my understanding this was a joke reference to the previous elections which took place recently in Finland and forced a portion of the Finnish public to vote tactically as an attempt to block a far-right party from getting into the parliament. It’s embarrassing how much these people are reaching.

And even if they were voting tactically, so what? Sweden won. Why are we so focused on the public vote of one (1) country, Jesus Christ this is embarrassing.

EDIT 2: WHY THIS MATTERS. A LOT.

For those of you who are not in the know about Swedish politics, these statements are reflecting some far-right political views that have their roots all the way back in the times when Sweden ruled over Finland. In recent memory, our far-right political party Sverigedemokraterna claimed that the Swedish minority group Tornedalians are not Swedish, because they may speak local dialects that blend Finnish into Swedish, or speak the minority language Meänkieli. Coincidentally, Meänkieli just so happens to be a minority language that blends Finnish and Swedish, as it is mostly spoken by people who live by the Torneå river, i.e. the Finnish-Swedish border. Here’s an article about this controversy (however you may not be able to read it unless you’re subscribed to said newspaper): https://www.dn.se/asikt/orimligt-att-tornedalingar-inte-skulle-vara-svenskar/?fbclid=IwAR33K_UVRhXlJhyPd3gY7GDXN_lotUdrtM1AeL-nRzWE26Tmq5BFE0lIUzw

Sverigedemokraterna also believe that the Swedish minority group of Sweden Finns should essentially cut their ties to their Finnish roots and that they should not be able to be citizens of both Finland and Sweden. https://aip.nu/sverigedemokraterna-och-de-dubbla-medborgarskapen/

This sort of rhetoric is ridiculously common here, and in situations like the ones that have occurred in light of the ESC, they almost never get called out. Because it’s common. Because it’s okay to call Finnish people names and to use colonial rhetoric against all Finns, both those who live in Finland and those who live in Sweden. Because this is “friendly banter.” Mind you, as someone who technically belongs to both of the aforementioned minority groups I’m completely fine with the actually friendly banter and piss taking that we usually partake in, because it is just that. Friendly. But this is not it. This is actually harmful. I have never seen so many Swedish people attacking Finns on social media as I’ve seen these past few days. The usual colonialistic and fennophobic insults have started to rear their ugly heads: People have started to insult the Finnish language (a fennophobic sentiment that goes way back to the days when Finland was under Swedish rule and the Swedish tried to get rid of the language), they have started to insult the way Finns look (goes back to fennophobic rhetoric of Finns essentially not being “white enough”), etcetera. For more information on how the Swedish government treated the Sweden Finns and Tornedalians (the fact that they tried to abolish both the Meänkieli language and the Finnish language from Sweden and have even done skull measurements as an attempt to prove that these minority groups are not equal to Swedes), here’s another article: https://www.svt.se/nyheter/lokalt/norrbotten/regeringen-tillsatter-sanningskommission

For those of you who speak Finnish and are interested in the topic, the book Kansankodin pimeämpi puoli by Tapio Tamminen goes into both issues, with photographic evidence of skull measurement incidents among other things. Meanwhile, the Finnish media is mostly just reporting on the tomfoolery of these “journalists.” Sure, there are a lot of Finns who are acting out as well and spreading hateful rhetoric against Swedes, but the difference here is that one group is punching up, while the other is punching down.

Whether Tobbe Ek, Jenny Ågren, Markus Larsson and Johan Bratell meant to cause this does not matter. They’ve still done it, in the case of the former group, they’ve even dragged other Europeans (and Australians!) into this mess.

They’ve gone ahead and spread fennophobic rhetoric on huge platforms: Sweden’s biggest national tabloids. They should be held accountable for this.

To reiterate: ALL THIS OVER THE FINNISH PUBLIC “NOT VOTING FOR SWEDEN” DURING THE EUROVISION SONG CONTEST OF 2023.

Edit 3: Just in case we need a bit of clarification:

I know this whole post may come across quite negatively. So let me make this clear: There is an issue with the Swedish culture and its normalisation of fennophobia, however, that doesn’t mean every Swede is maliciously fennophobic. It’s literally just so normalised here, that sometimes people don’t even notice when they’re partaking in it, and because of said normalisation, for many these fennophobic and colonialist insults have become a sort of knee jerk reaction to when there’s “actual beef” with Finland. (Which, obviously, is a fucking problem, because look who has to bear the brunt of that.) 

Moreover, many Swedes aren’t even familiar with their shared history with Finland, and the discrimination Finland was put through during the Swedish rule (not to mention the discrimination the Sweden Finns and Tornedalians have had to face and still face). That part of our shared history simply isn’t taught in schools here, so a regular person would have to know to go out and look for the information. Heck, the only reason I’m aware of this is because at the end of the day, despite having been born and raised in Sweden, I am ethnically Finnish, and grew up by the border with very strong ties to the Finnish culture because of it. But less about me, and more about this issue. Most Swedes (and Swedish journalists who have any sort of sense in them and who work for respectable publications) have expressed their dissatisfaction with this years results as well. There’s a reason Cha Cha Cha is charting so well on Swedish Spotify. There’s a reason for why the Swedish jury and the public gave Finland 12 points.

So, Tl;dr:

1. Swedish tabloids are trash.

2. We have an undeniable problem with how normalised fennophobia is here, and it’s absolutely bizarre that this is how it’s getting exposed.

3. Most regular Swedes aren’t happy with this either, and are in fact not Finland’s and the Finnish people’s greatest haters in the world.

4. Tobbe Ek should get fired. At the bare minimun, he and his coworkers should probably issue some sort of apology for spreading this, seeing how it is actually hurting a lot of people.

Anyway, please don’t hate on the Swedes because of this lol, think about what Jere from Vantaa would think about that. 💚

[luvjunie]

— when the dam breaks

contains: third person pov (42!miles’), no reader, feelings of anxiety, some harsh language, use of the n-word once, a one-sided fight, angst, mentions of grief, brief comfort at the end

summary: miles was holding himself together just fine, until he wasn’t. wc: 2,748

a/n: this fic is based on one of my headcanons from this post,(the 12th one). handling the grief of losing a parent is one of the hardest, most painful things to navigate, especially when you’re a teen and in school. i can directly relate to miles!42 because of this, which is probably why i’m able to go so in depth with his character. i’m really proud of how this turned out so i hope you guys enjoy reading <3

The back of Ms. Bellam’s history class was Miles’ favorite spot to sit in. The seat by the window, specifically. Where he could gaze out with the fantasy of being anywhere else but stuck listening to the lecture in his fifth block; forced to hear his teacher rave on about some old expedition he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about.

But today, Miles was not in the back of the class.

He had a bad feeling the moment the bell rung and the projector powered on to display the newest assignment the tall, stocky woman had on the agenda; a partnered project. Which, unfortunately, meant a new seating chart was on the horizon.

Miles must’ve spaced out during the introduction of the assignment, but his teacher’s assertive voice brought him back to the very moment he was dreading.

“Cody, you’re paired with—“ Ms. Bellam pulled a small slip of paper out from a little bucket of randomized names on her desk. “—Lauren.”

She ignored the quiet groan she got after unknowingly pairing two exes together and drew two more names. “Bailey, you’re with Lucas.”

“Sarah, you’re with… Faith. And Miles,” The brunette-haired teacher stuck her hand into the bucket once more to pull out the very last slip of paper, and read it with finality. “You’re with Gabby.”

Miles lifted his head and did a quick scan of the faces around, until he met the eyes of his new partner, Gabby, who gave him a small wave from the front of the class. His jaw clenched at the realization that he’d have to give up his safe corner, since the seats around him were filled, while the one next to her was open.

“Alright everyone, if you’re not already next to your partner, go find them.”

With an inaudible grumble and something along the lines of ‘i hate this fucking class’ and a mix of ‘kill me now’— Miles rose from his chair, snatched his backpack up with a little too much force, and crossed the classroom to plop down defeatedly next to the girl he was paired with.

Chin tucked in his hand and eyes glued to the ticking clock above the white board, he didn’t know how long he sat like that, or how much valuable information he’d missed while he ignored the overly peppy, thirty-year old’s directions to the class. But he did know that the minute hand on that damn analog device wasn’t moving fast enough for his liking. The droning of voices overlapping and the bouncing of ideas filled the once silent air after instructions had been given, but Miles was far from focused on the task at hand.

The incessant tapping of his pencil against the hard plastic of his desk, matched with the clearly agitated bounce of his leg had his partner stealing experimental glances in his direction— her lips having been licked ample times from the stress of debating on whether to make the difficult decision of speaking to the boy who was clearly not interested in conversation— or even being here at all.

She spoke up anyway. “Um… So most of the other groups have pretty much chosen already. That means we’re left with James Cook, Vasco de Gama, Ferdinand Magellan, or—“

“You can pick for us. I don’t really care which one.” Miles interrupted.

“Oh—“ Gabby blinked. His response was curt, but at least she got one. “Okay then, Ferdinand Magellan.” Flipping through the rubric that had been passed out at some point, she referred to the second page with her index finger. “It says our presentation has to be between six to eight slides, which includes the works cited for our research. So we could do one introduction slide, and maybe about,” she paused to think. “Four?— information slides? And then we could add some fun facts and trivia questions at the end so we can get our class participation points in without too much effort. That cool with you?”

Gabby was a nice girl. She never bothered him, never looked at him weird when he’d come into class late sometimes, and had actually ran through the hallway to return the notebook that fell out of his open backpack just last week. He wasn’t aggravated at her, but more so at the fact that everybody could stare at the back of his head now instead of the other way around, like it was before. It made him self conscious about everything, even down to the way he was sitting in his chair. He could feel a few beams on his back right about now, and adjusted his position slightly.

Miles sighed and reminded himself to respond to her politely. “Uh-huh. Sounds good.”

A voice to his left behind him caught his attention, the voice in question belonging to one of the most obnoxious boys he’d ever had the displeasure of knowing— Ethan Thompson. Someone who always had too much to say and nothing productive or appropriate to add— it usually being something creepy or gross about a girl he wanted to ‘get to know’.

Miles would’ve tuned him out, like he always did, but this time it was impossible. Probably because out of all the conversations regarding the explorers meant to be researched, this one had absolutely nothing to do with history, or even school for that matter.

“Bro, did you hear about what happened to…”

Miles strained to hear as best as he could without moving from his seat, though it was a struggle since Gabby was still talking his ear off to the right of him about who would do what when it came to their workload.

“Miles?”

He ignored her as another voice chimed in, and his back stiffened.

“I know dude, my sister told me about it. Said he was killed in action or somethin’ like that… I just know his mom is crushed. I feel really bad.”

Miles knew people talked about this, he wasn’t dumb. But damn, did they have to do it when he was right there?

Then, there was a laugh.

Miles was confused. He didn’t find anything regarding the topic of their conversation even remotely comical.

“Fuck that,” Ethan quieted his voice, though not quiet enough. “That just means Mrs. Morales is single and up for grabs now.”

It took less than a second for Miles’ blood to simmer to a scalding boil. He held a subtle finger up and quieted Gabby, who was currently asking him about what they should research first.

“Can you give me just… one second?” he asked gently.

Gabby’s words died on her tongue and she gave a muddled nod.

Miles threw his elbow over the back of his chair when his torso whipped around, his eyes glazed with enmity and immediately catching Ethan’s.

“The fuck you just say?”

Ethan froze.

Miles’ tone was lethal, rage lifting the volume above the blurred chattering around, venom spitting from his tongue like he intended to kill the boy with words alone. The speed in which the class fell silent would’ve been humorous had there not been such hostility within the air.

“Miles, language!” Ms. Bellam’s eyes snapped up from her computer screen, her face a picture of disbelief at his unusual vitriol. He was always quiet as a mouse in her class, well behaved above all.

Jaws hung slack, the gazes of the students around darted back and forth between the two boys continuously, the tension in the room palpable.

Miles sat up straighter in his seat, jaw clenched and his patience dwindling. To say he was seething would be a dangerous understatement.

“Nah, nah Ms. B,” His head cocked, and his eyes narrowed at Ethan, ruinously. “I wanna know what this nigga just said ‘bout my fuckin’ mom.”

“Oh shit…” Gabby gulped. Today was the most she’d heard Miles speak in class almost the entire semester.

“It was a joke, bro.” Ethan huffed a chuckle, a nervous thing that his friend easily picked up on. Miles was not one to bluff, and Ethan was notorious for taking things too far.

“Don’t bro me, repeat that dumb shit you just said and watch how fast I knock your ass out.” Miles gritted through his teeth, hot air puffing through his nostrils like a bull who’d just seen red.

“Boys, enough!” Ms. Bellman was standing now, hands planted to her desk as she watched with bated breath, just like the rest of the class-now-turned-audience.

Ethan shrugged, and Miles swore he felt his eye twitch.

Strike one.

Then, the boy playfully nudged his friend’s arm with a cocky smirk, as if he thought the threat he’d just received wasn’t one that would be carried out.

Strike two.

“He’s baiting you, Miles…” Gabby whispered dejectedly, in warning, only so Miles could hear. But his tunnel vision had already set in.

“Go ‘head. Repeat yourself.” Miles demanded.

Nails digging into the skin of his palms hard enough to leave crescents in their wake, there was a voice in the back of his mind, reminding him that he could get into serious trouble if he didn’t get his emotions in check, fast. He’d progressed so quickly in his after school M.M.A classes, that now, even getting into a simple fist fight could land him a serious assault charge. A judge would take one look at the history of his intense training, and the option to deem his hands as deadly weapons in the case would immediately be presented, and most likely acted upon.

Knocking the teeth out of a rich white boy would never be the smart decision here, especially not for someone who looked the way he did.

He’d be sent straight to juvie.

“I mean, all I was sayin’ is, technically—“ Ethan threw his hands up in a careless manner. “If I play my cards right, I could be your future step-daddy.”

Strike three.

Ms. Bellam was yelling now. “Ethan, principal’s office, now!”

And that probably would’ve been the better option, had he actually had a choice.

Miles’ movements were swift when he shot out of his seat, and the students in his way followed suit with yelps and gasps as they quickly removed themselves from the area. The desks blocking his pathway to pummeling the shit out of this kid loudly screeched against the school’s tile when they were shoved out of the way, and the one he’d mindlessly flipped over in his stampede proceeded to erupt the room into pure pandemonium.

One punch would’ve been good enough, Miles knew that. But in this moment, thinking rationally was so far out of his reach he would’ve missed it even if he’d jumped for it. He’d swung a closed fist to Ethan’s jaw and knocked him to the floor with ease, then followed him down, sat on his chest and had the boy’s arms pinned under his knees so he couldn’t protect his snobby-ass face. One punch would’ve been good enough, but just two vehement blows later, the satisfying crack of a bone that wasn’t his under Miles’ knuckles had him sending a few more into the reddened face of the boy beneath him, just to really get his point across.

“Jesus Christ— Miles!” Ms. Bellman scrambled from her seat in a panic and rushed to fling the classroom’s door open, her desperate yells directed to anyone who might’ve been strolling the hallways. “We need security in here! You-!” She pointed to a student with a bathroom pass. “Go get security, and tell them to come to room 205, now! Go!”

Everyone was yelling at once, but Miles couldn’t hear anything other than the ringing of rage in his ears. Anger is only grief turned sour— a terribly perilous thing to leave untreated.

Some of his classmates were frozen with shock, or fear, maybe— hands clasped over their gaped mouths while others had their phones out with the camera app open—vampires for some good drama while they hooted and hollered at the most exciting thing they’d seen this entire year.

“That’s enough!”

Strong arms suddenly hooked under Miles’ armpits and prevented his fist from worsening the damage already done. Two male teachers from neighboring classrooms had rushed in and yanked him up and off Ethan, his hips bucking as he kicked his way up onto his feet. Miles’ chest expanded and collapsed with the weight of his heaving breaths, face flushed with the remnants of his lost temper as he directed his attention to Ethan’s friend, who looked like a deer in headlights.

“When your boy wake up, tell him watch his mouth next time!”

Miles didn’t know why he was yelling. It was common knowledge that it’s pretty rare for someone who’s unconscious to understand what you’re saying to them.

He didn’t struggle when the two teachers dragged him away, but when they shoved him out the door and into the hall with more force than he thought necessary, he snatched his arms away from their grasp with a rolled shrug, and huffed a frustrated grunt about how he knew how to walk on his own.

—

The drive home was eerily silent. The radio hadn’t been touched, and neither had Miles by his mother’s gaze the moment they’d left the principal’s office after he received his verdict.

Out of school suspension. One week.

It was the best the administrative staff could do after Rio swallowed her pride and went as low as begging them not to expel her boy.

Slumped in the passenger seat with his hands in his lap, Miles didn’t bother to look at the bruises he knew were forming on his knuckles. It was a familiar feeling, and at the moment he was more concerned with why it felt like his throat had been stuffed with cotton when he tried to talk.

“Mamá, I—“

“Do not. Speak.” Rio’s breath wavered, her hands clutching the wheel so hard she thought she’d crush it. She tried not to let her voice break. “Not one word.”

Silence.

—

It all settled in as they climbed the stairwell, the images of what just happened flashing back in his mind every time he blinked; what he’d done playing over and over again in a continuous loop. The wooden railings creaked under the weight of his mother’s hand, and as she knowingly skipped the one that had weakened over the years, he knew the home that held every single emotion he tried to leave behind when he went to school was now just a few steps up.

Rio’s key twisted in the lock before she opened the door, and Miles followed behind her, shoulders slouched dispiritedly. He resembled something of a stray puppy; desperate for attention, but acceptant and grateful that it, as much of a nuisance as it may be, was being tolerated enough to stay on it’s finder’s heels.

He thought being scolded by his mother was bad, but the lack thereof was even worse. Her brows were clenched, and her conflicted yet somehow blank expression told him that she truly did not have any words for him as she leaned on the kitchen counter, hands clasped firmly around the edge so tightly her knuckles paled. She didn’t even know where to start, and Miles didn’t blame her. He refused to explain why he’d snapped when it was asked of him. When his mother’s widened eyes had pleaded with him to tell the principal what happened in that classroom that set him off in such a way, he didn’t. He had no reason not to, at least one he could think of right now, but his voice just wouldn’t allow it. Both in that office, and now in their kitchen, dimly lit by the warm light above the stove, the weight of his mother’s disappointment clung to the suffocating silence, like a fish to a hook and he just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Mamá, I’m sorry.” He whispered in a quick breath, the lump in his throat painful when he swallowed it.

“Good money, Miles.” Rio shook her head, a hand coming up to rest over the rise and fall of her chest. “Good money! We paid good money to get you into that school, your dad and I. I work hard to keep you there and you just—“

Dad.

And the dam broke. Though its foundation wasn’t very strong to begin with— Miles’ shoulders crumbled under the weight of his actions and his tears flooded past his waterline with choked sobs that left no room for air.

Whatever Rio was going to say had been forgotten. The sight of her son sobbing in a way she hadn’t seen since the night they’d received the news immediately put a stop to her reprimanding. Now, she was truly worried.

“Oh Miles, come come come,” She hastily tugged him into a hug and wrapped him firmly in her arms, her hands repeatedly rubbing up and down the expanse of his back. “¿Qué es Mijo? (what is it, son?) Talk to me. No te lo guardes, ¿recuerda?” (no holding it in, remember?)

Miles could barely catch his breath, and somehow talking about it was just as painful as the ache that resided deep in his chest.

“I—It was Dad, it was about—“ a quick breath in split his sentence in half. “About Dad. He was—talking about what ha—happened and I—“ Miles tried for another, but it caught in his throat, ragged and choppy and had his ribcage stuttering from the lousy attempt to cease his hyperventilating. The fact that he couldn’t get his words out uninterrupted only frustrated him more; only made him cry harder. He scrubbed at his tears with the back of his hand, but it was no use. He couldn’t stop crying. Why couldn’t he stop crying?

“He said—“ Another wilted inhale, and a hiccup. “It was abo—about you, and it was terrible and I— I just, I got so angry, and I tried Mamá, I did. But I couldn’t and—and then I was on him and I’m sorry—“

“Shh, shh. It’s okay, it’s okay.” Rio used a hand to bring his head into her shoulder, his cries muffled and his tears wetting the sleeve of her blouse as his rambling came to a halt. Miles clutched onto her tightly, arms round her waist as he fell apart in front of the woman who’d tried her best to piece him back together.

“Respira, Mijo, respira… (breathe).” Rio whispered. “Please.” Seeing her son so distraught had brought on tears of her own, but she shut her eyes, and tucked away her own feelings so she could focus on his. “It’s okay. It’s alright.”

“But you’re mad at me, I don’t want you to be mad at me—“

Rio shook her head and tutted at him. “I’m not mad at you, papa. I understand. Okay? I’m not angry. No.” She couldn’t be upset with him for something like this, not when he could barely shelter himself from his own guilt.

“It’s okay. You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you.” Miles was inconsolable as Rio continued rubbing his back, and her voice shook when she spoke, but she kept the uncertainty she held within her heart concealed from her promise to him.

“We’re going to be okay.”