#i’m forcing you to read it

[existingoutofspite]

So. Nerdy Prudes Must Die Spoilers

Nerdy Prudes Must Die is an amazing musical with a lot of amazing song but one i feel goes overlooked a lot is Just For Once which is really sad because in all honesty this is probably some of the most emotional I got during the musical.

I often see it lumped into the bottom tier songs and while it doesn’t have the grandness of the whole “will you pray for me” segment or the cool plot twists of Dirty Dudes Must Die, it does have the line that hit me the hardest in the show

“I used to dance”

this is because this line works on two main levels, for me at least.

the song on the surface is about Ruth getting lost in the character of a suburban housewife and talking about that characters life, but all of the dialogue is also a reflection of Ruth’s character in general. Reflecting both the character and Ruth’s desperate need for attention, which is all Ruth has really wanted since the show has started

(this is probably not a shocker but i mostly wanted to get this out of my system)

on the surface this line is about a housewife giving up on her hobbies as she grows older as slowly loses her autonomy. this is an incredibly real thing that is really interesting and tragic.

But this line also fits my analysis of Ruth’s character (there is a tad bit of projecting)

Bare with me for a second. When I was younger I used to be in a bunch of dance and acting groups and loved preforming, but after things like the pandemic (and a healthy dose of bullying) it got a lot harder to put myself out there and after attempts of trying out for school musicals failed due to how introverted i could become, I started experimenting with tech theater. I love tech, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes i would kill to be one of the leads on stage

I think this is what happened to Ruth.

She used to dance.

She used to be the one on stage, in the spotlight. Now she is ignored until needed and works backstage.

She used to dance

This is her alone, on stage, pretending to be an actor in the show. The character that she is playing is merging with her real thoughts. She is singing from the perspective of someone else, but she is not reading off of a script (i mean she might be, but i always thought this was more improv) these thoughts are from her and her alone. The real her is peaking through this character.

This song, while probably not the best sounding, has some really interesting things to say about Ruth as a character

thank you for coming to my ramble, I didn’t read this over before posting

[drawnbythestream]

A “quick” doodle storyboard of one of my favorite moments from the JA series

[secretmellowblog]

Another reason I dislike Les Mis adaptations that make Jean Valjean constantly openly angry/violent is because they miss that Jean Valjean is not allowed to be angry. The fact he is forbidden from expressing anger is, I argue, actually a very important part of his character in the novel!

One of the subtler political messages of the story is that some people are given freedom to express anger, while others are forced to be excessively meek and conciliatory in order to survive.

Wealthy conservatives like Monsieur Gillenormand can “fly into rages” every five minutes and have it treated as an endearing quirk. Poor characters like Fantine or Jean Valjean must be constantly polite and ingratiating to “their superiors” at all times, even in the face of mockery and violence, or else they will be subjected to punishment. If Gillenormand beats his child with a stick, it’s a silly quirk; if Fantine beats a man harassing her, she is sentenced to months in prison.

(Thenardier and Javert are interesting examples of this too. Thenardier acts superficially polite and ingratiating to his wealthy “superiors” while insulting them behind their backs. Javert, meanwhile, is completely earnest in his mindless bootlicking. But I could write an entire other post on this.)

The point is that….Jean Valjean has to be submissive and self-effacing, or he puts himself in danger. He can’t afford to be angry and make scenes, or he will be punished. The only barrier between himself and prison is his ability to be so “courteous” that no one bothers to pry into his past.

Jean Valjean is excessively polite to people, in the way that you’re excessively polite to an armed cop who pulls you over for speeding when you secretly have a few illegal grams of marijuana in the your car trunk. XD It’s politeness built on fear, is what I mean. It’s politeness built on a desperation to make a powerful person avoid looking too closely at you.

It’s politeness at gunpoint.

Jean Valjean has also spent nineteen years living in an environment where any expression of anger could be punished with severe violence. That trauma is reflected in the overly cautious reserved way he often speaks with people (even people who are kind and would never actually hurt him.)

So adaptations that have Jean Valjean boldly having shouting matches with people in public and beating cops half to death without worrying about the repercussions just make go like “???”

Because that’s part of what’s fascinating about Jean Valjean to me? On one hand, he is a genuinely kind compassionate person, who cares deeply about other people and behaves kindly out of altruism. But on the other hand, he was also “beaten into submission” by prison, and forced into adopting conciliatory bootlicking behaviors in order to survive. And it can sometimes be hard to tell when he is being kind vs. when he is being “polite” — when he is speaking and acting out of earnest compassion vs. when he is speaking and acting out of fear.

The TL;DR is that I think it’s important that even though Jean Valjean is very (justifiably) angry about the injustice that was inflicted on him, his anger is harshly policed at all times— by other people, and by himself. He has been told his anger is wrong/selfish so often that he believes it. His anger takes weirder more unhealthy forms because he has no safe outlet for it. His rage at society becomes a possessiveness towards Cosette and silent hatred of Marius, but primarily it becomes useless self-destructive constant hatred of himself. And while I might be phrasing this wrong, I think that’s what’s interesting about Jean Valjean’s relationship with anger— the way his justified fury at his own mistreatment gets warped into more and more unhealthy forms by the way he’s forced to constantly repress it.

[offkilterkeys]

The world isn’t ready for my alpha kid readings.

[fawn-tongues]

Safe Bet

[listles-s]

man laios and toshiro's/shuro's dynamic is incredibly compelling to me on multiple levels

when you look at them, you can see the cultural and personal barriers that drive almost every single aspect of their relationship, both positively and negatively. laios is incredibly outspoken and driven by his passions, which he expresses freely even in the face of annoyance and/or criticism- he's allowed to be as authentically himself as he pleases, and it's this drive that allows him and the others to survive as long as they have, especially due to the fact that these passions and interests are intertwined with his skills as a dungeon diver. toshiro, in contrast, is incredibly reserved, not only due to his eastern upbringing but also his status as nobility- a combo of cultures that both demand that one save face, to avoid conflict at any cost, even at the expense of one's own feelings and individuality. this, in turn, has made toshiro the perfect samurai, as he's politely-spoken, agreeable, and an honorable, skilled man. both are also incredibly devoted to falin on different levels, having come to accomplish the same mission of her rescue despite drifting apart from the party.

on the flipside, it's these same strengths that cause them to clash- laios is outspoken but unable to truly decipher the emotions of others, leading to a lot of false assumptions and frustration from those who interact with him. toshiro is stoic but to the point of complacency, leading to a aggressively neutral disposition that's ushered by the needs and wants of others, rather than himself. neither man truly knows where they stand with the people important to them in their lives, and hold the ones that they do know how they feel with a fierce admiration expressed in ways that aren't always traditional.

in the end, they both share a growing feeling of isolation from other people that comes to a head when they meet again in the depths of the dungeon, and they both have different ways of coping with the frustrations that arise, seeing the other as only the things they have seen face to face.

it's laios' ability to express himself emotionally without consequence that sparks jealousy in toshiro, leading to a physical fight born out of miscommunication and envy. while toshiro is a driving force in the conflict, it should be noted that the actual fight is started by laios, breaking the dam of indirect communication through force. nothing is more direct than a slap to the face, and it's only after they start hitting each other that toshiro's true feelings come to light.

however, at the end of it all, toshiro is the one who stops torturing himself, listening to laios and giving him the bell, allowing laios and his party entrance into his homeland should they need it, and ultimately giving him support in his mission to defeat the dungeon mage, albeit in his own way. despite it all, they're still good friends with a conflict that boiled over, but came out the other end with a slightly better understanding of each other. the fight was painful for both of them, but it was a necessity for their dynamic to improve, and for them to be made aware of their faults and improve as individuals as well.

but also, if you think about it, their dynamic is literally just this

[jeeliebeeliegoomiebear]

On Isolde and Many Doors (and One Key)

Thinking about Isolde and how she feels like she is constantly trapped in a small cramped room full of 1 million doors. Each door represents a presence that haunts her, an identity that lives inside her that calls to her from beyond the grave, a new mask to dawn.

If every person in the world were to have a room, most would have just one door, their own. But not Isolde.

Isolde feels like an empty vessel who is only there to serve as a point of entry for other people and their spirits. She has been forced to become so repressed by her environment, upbringing, and her nature as a medium that she finds it easy to forget herself. Her “self” is not someone she has ever been allowed to know.

The room grows increasingly smaller, claustrophobic and strangling her with pressure as the amount of doorways in it only increase, every new person she meets a new doorway she is plagued with, a new voyeur who has granted themselves full access to her life and her body. Something she is now willing to let them do. It is easier that way. Easier to let someone else command her vessel, something that never solely belonged to her to begin with. An escape from all the pressure, the expectations, the perfection demanded from her. It is something she should do. The duty of someone like her. Something to hide her wretched face from view, to give the people what they want, to uphold her family’s legacy. A performance that was never allowed to end. Each new door lead right back to that.

The only exception is Kakania. The only person Isolde believes has ever really seen her as more than a host for other identities or something to mold into shape, prop up as a set piece. A perfect lady. The star of Vienna. A tragic heroine. A dangerous hysteric witch. A curse manifested. The only one who was ever interested in finding Isolde’s door and that door alone. When she is with Kakania, a new door does not appear in that ever shrinking empty room, although at first she expects it to. For the first time she meets someone and is not greeted with a new ghost to haunt her. Not a door. But a key. A key that Isolde knows can unlock her own door, even when she herself cannot find it.

[lenaellsi]

it's honestly a bit odd to me that so many people have jumped on the 'aziraphale will be pulling all the strings and playing politics in heaven' train. like I think it's true that the metatron is underestimating aziraphale's intelligence and ability to disrupt the second coming even while separated from crowley, but I also think the idea that aziraphale is going up to heaven with a clear idea of how he's just been lied to, an understanding of how much danger he's in, and a plan to stop it is a huge reach.

frankly, aziraphale is very vulnerable to manipulation. I'm thinking now of neil’s post with the diary entry from before the edinburgh minisode where he was duped by two humans, the whole thing with the nazis in 1941, and his sponsorship of shadwell's various obviously fake agents (sergeant milkbottle, etc.). he's not nearly as savvy as fanon tends to portray him. he takes people at face value, especially people he thinks of as Good. (that's not a dunk, btw--I find these things endearing, and a sign of aziraphale's innate wish to see the best in people. I just think that sometimes the BAMF protective aziraphale of fanon overshadows the slightly more naive aziraphale of canon. and honestly, I also think TV aziraphale is just a bit softer than book aziraphale, though he is capable of stepping up when it counts.)

and he's a bad liar! I know it's a meme in the fandom that aziraphale lies all the time, but he doesn't like it, and he's bad at it. he gets nervous and comes up with terrible excuses and the only reason he ever gets away with it is because the people he's lying to are idiots (gabriel), have their own agendas (god, the other archangels), or trust him to be honest (crowley).

aziraphale's real strength is his ability to take sudden, completely unexpected action. that's one of the things that crowley admires most about him. "he's unpredictable," is what he says to nina, and it's true! aziraphale's greatest moments of rebellion have always come from spur of the moment decisions, not intricate plans. (if anything, crowley is the planner--the arrangement and the thwarting of the apocalypse, their two longest cons, were both his idea.)

aziraphale gives the sword away because when he is forced to make a decision under pressure, he tends to land on the side of rebellious kindness. shielding crowley from the rain in eden, lying to gabriel to protect job's family, defying the quartermaster and returning to earth via possession during the apocalypse, blowing up his halo--he does these things because he's following that same impulse. when aziraphale has time to over think, he frets and fusses and is paralyzed by indecision. (or worse, he falls back on what heaven has taught him.)

TL;DR: I don't think aziraphale has any sort of grand plan other than a generalized "make things better," and I certainly don't think he is planning to betray heaven. he might try to come up with a plan once he figures out how bad things are going to get, but my bet is that what will actually disrupt the second coming is an absolutely bonkers off the wall decision that no one, crowley included, could ever predict. and I think it’ll happen, as it usually does with aziraphale, just after he accepts a difficult truth that fundamentally shifts his worldview—in this case, his final rejection of the idea of “good” and “bad” people, and of the entire morality system of heaven and hell.

[necer0s]

Comic book writers who want to use Superboy as a character should be legally required to first submit an essay, demonstrating that they know what Tactile Telekinesis is and listing at least one interesting thing they plan to have him do with it, before they’re allowed to write for him.

[viperwhispered]

Rest

Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.

At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner. 

However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.

You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.

So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.

It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.

At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.

“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.

Of course.

It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.

You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.

“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”

“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.

Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.

“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.

Really, when did he get so tired?

And how did you not notice it earlier?

You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.

Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.

You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.

Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.

Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.

“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.

Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.

“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.��

“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.

Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.

But sometimes you really wish it would be.

Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.

Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.

“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”

You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.

“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”

Still, Jamil frowns.

You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?

“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.

And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.

“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.

It seems he has accepted his fate.

You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.

And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.

Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!

[onpie]

Noodles and Tea’s work inspired me fr

[makedonsgriva]

People who say Bingqiu is forced not only do not have basic reading comprehension skills, they are also clueless about being queer in a society that hates everyone who is queer. They fail to understand the nuances of repressing your identity and straight up denying it to the point that that denial becomes your identity. These people will deny the acceptance and existence of queer people who do not have the support to be queer and were never given the opportunity to safely explore their sexuality and queer people who do not fit the conventional standards of being queer. These people do not understand the depths of Shen Qingqiu’s character of a repressed queer man who has never had the outlet of expressing himself and his emotions and these people cannot be trusted with novels who have unreliable as fuck narrators.

[daffi-990]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday 🏙️

Tagged by @diazsdimples & @tizniz. Make sure to check out what they shared today! (and maybe send James a virtual hug or a stupid punny joke? He’s been sick for 3 weeks and I’m sure he could use some cheering up 😘)

I have been wanting so desperately to write the past few days but a cold has my sinuses putting so much pressure on my head I feel like it’s going to explode, plus it’s school holidays and it’s been raining so I’ve got two very energetic kids with cabin fever running around causing mayhem 😅.

BUT! I did manage to write a little something for LA Lonely so yay (even though it may not be great, at least it’s words)

Pre snippet here

Buck is woken up by the shrill sound of a phone ringing. The bed jostles, Buck letting out an annoyed grumble as the warm body that is wrapped around him disappears. There is a kiss pressed to his naked shoulder, a whispered apology and then the rustling of the blankets as the person leaves the bed, answering the phone with a quiet hello.

Rolling over to check the time, Buck’s surprised to see that it’s almost 9. Usually his body clock wakes him up at 7am everyday, whether he stayed up late or not, so sleep-ins are a rare thing. He rolls onto his back, groaning as he stretches his arms up above his head. There’s a slight ache in his ass but it’s a reminder of the fantastic sex he had last night and honestly, Buck doesn’t mind the discomfort.

He hears footsteps on the stairs, the wood creaking slightly and then the most attractive man Buck has ever laid eyes on is standing at the foot of his bed wearing nothing but underwear and a soft apologetic smile that has Buck’s tummy swooping.

Eddie.

The man’s name is Eddie, Buck remembers. And remember he should because he was moaning it loud enough last night.

Eddie has a phone pressed between his ear and shoulder as he picks up his jeans and begins to awkwardly shimmy them up his legs. “I told you, I overslept. But I’m getting ready now and can be there in —” he looks down at his wrist and frowns, his eyes sweeping over the discarded clothes on the floor before zeroing in on Buck’s second nightstand where a clunky watch sits. Eddie grabs the watch, quickly checking the time before he begins strapping it on. “I can be there in 20 minutes, 15 if the traffic is good.”

Buck feels a pang in his chest and then instantly chastises himself. This was just another hookup, a one night stand —nothing more than that. He was foolish to think that what he felt last night with Eddie was anything real. It was just the hormones.

Eddie may have stayed, but that was probably because he was hoping to get lucky again this morning. Or like Buck, he slept in and didn’t get a chance to sneak out before Buck woke up.

No pressure tagging: @hippolotamus @puppyboybuckley @spotsandsocks @lover-of-mine @loserdiaz @wikiangela @athenagranted @thewolvesof1998 @exhuastedpigeon @monsterrae1 @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @evanbegins @goforkinard @rainbow-nerdss @theotherbuckley @try-set-me-on-fire @dangerpronebuddie @disasterbuckdiaz @devirnis @donationwayne @shitouttabuck @sunshinediaz @princessfbi @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @fortheloveofbuddie @giddyupbuck @homerforsure @hoodie-buck @honestlydarkprincess @jesuisici33 @king-buckley @captain-hen @bekkachaos @bigfootsmom @ladydorian05 @nmcggg @mellaithwen @missmagooglie and as always, anyone else who wants to share something -> consider this your official tag

[mgnetocore]

people when the fic tagged with angst and violence has angst and violence

[rivalmelty]

they are fukuzawa’s boys, adopted twins, and menaces to the yokohama police

(pls do not tag as beast)

[howdoyousleep3]

I would like to rant about motherhood and the awful things about it, read more bar is there if you don’t want to read it or engage with my rant. I don’t blame you if you want nothing to do with it, it’s more for me anyway lol

Never in my life have I ever felt so lonely and so depressed, just genuinely, at the core sad and alone.

I have people in my life, but I don’t have a village. My village is in shambles. It’s full of people who like to ask how I am, but don’t like to hear that I’m not well. The people I’ve reached out to got angry at me for reaching out, so I’ve just stopped reaching out. “I’m fine.” The people who have helped me with the girls fuck it up every fucking time, don’t listen to me or my wishes or my open anxieties. So, not only do I not share how I’m actually doing, now I don’t call on people to help me because it isn’t worth the trouble of them fucking up my children’s day-to-day life and schedule.

It’s impossible to not feel like a burden to others when their lives are unaffected, when they aren’t drowning like I am, when every aspect of their life hasn’t been greatly altered and twisted. I am not the same person I once was and I’ll never go back to her. I don’t know how to dress, I don’t know how to interact with people, I don’t know what my hobbies are. It’s hard to not feel like a bother when I’ve been this sad for this long.

No one understands if they haven’t done this before, if they haven’t become a mother. I understand what mothers before me were talking about when they told me motherhood is lonely. This is an experience that is so specific and can only be understood if you have experienced it. Another reason I don’t confide in others in my life— they don’t understand.

I’m so tired of the empty, “I’m sorry”s. I’m so tired of waking up and living the same day over and over. I’m so tired of my husband’s life being virtually unaffected by the birth of our girls while mine is so genuinely fucked up now.

I’m just so tired and so lonely and so sad.

And now Husband leaves in a week to start a new job three hours away and I’ll be staying here with the girls. Even more alone.