#if you want me to elaborate i can but jesus christ you people need to get your shit together

[anqueerism]

Trans community try not to be intersexist challenge!! (Failed miserably)

[gnohomotho]

Just a game (part 2) 𝄞⨾

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Pairing: Hwang In-ho / The Frontman x fem!reader

Summary: We're getting there, folks. (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞ ☜(ﾟヮﾟ☜) Mostly fluff, need, imagination, fantasy, slow burn. Focus on the f!reader, because you deserve nice things. She's home, receiving odd gifts, some sweet, some...quite the not sweet, the game and plot and trouser legs thicken (I'm so sorry, it's literally 2 a.m. here). In-ho definitely isn't obsessing over you, hatching elaborate plans, thinking of you so hard he'll break another turtleneck. Not saying the f!reader has any specific issues, but if you recognize any, I hope to be nothing but respectful. ♥ Oh, and we have a dream sequence, Freud would be proud.

(This was mainly meant as a "put your feet up and be cozy, read about yourself and feel good" read, the action will come later. Among other things. I'm so sorry, my thesis is driving me mad.)

Warnings: It's the god damn Front Man The usual Squid Game warnings, mdni, stalking, spying, voyeurism, touching, self-touching, sexual themes, sexual almost-intercourse, descriptions of anatomy and body parts, blood, yearning, some terrible references and Slavic folklore. Privacy? In my fic? It's less likely than you think.

Word count: 4.2k

Link to previous Link to next

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A cup of tea. A cup. You were watching the cup. Steam rises from it and folds into nothing. Your stomach is churning. Is it stress? You ponder. Seeing the liquid close in on itself as you stir it. Again and again.

"It'll get cold." You say, to no one. You try to breathe. Heart pounding. Head a bit spinny. You look around your room. Dimly lit, warm orange light from a salt lamp. You check your blinds - still closed, still safe. Noise from other people you try to filter out. Why do you jump at every single sound? Why does white noise blaring its head off make for the only atmosphere you can stand? You wonder. You get up. The world spins. The phone lies on your bed. As it has for the last three hours. Unchecked. Your sound is off. It always is. You turned off everything this time. It's just black. You try to think, ground yourself, poems float through your pounding head. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the tall mirrors of your wardrobe. An oddly shaped form stares back at you.

"Jesus Christ…I look…like shit." The mirrored lips curl around your words - but it might as well have been a stranger speaking back at you. You don't recognize yourself, and what you do, you dislike. Like a funhouse mirror. Without the fun. Your long hair falls across your shoulders, curling towards the ends. Your exposed skin is cold and giving a nice exposé of every vein under your neck, driving rivers of blue across your collarbones, your shoulders, your chest. You won't look further. They seem to be drawn to your middle, pooling across your skin. People often referred to you as pale, no matter your actual skin tone. When things got a tad too heavy, you became transparent. It was calming, sometimes. Calming that so much was trying to keep you alive to the point of exhausting itself and sending highways of signals through every vein to keep at it. Your head spins again. More poems. Try to drink the tea.

"Light your candle, one, two, there's a moth…" You know the rest. But the lips fail to speak. You pick up the phone. And almost knock over your tea. Then proceed to fight an urge to fling it into a wall and watch the stains roll down like fresh blood.

Seventeen missed calls from a blocked number - your now ex-companion. A worried message from your friend, no doubt spurred by said ex-companion with an entirely different story to reality. Frowning, you adjust your dressing gown and tie it down to hold everything in and hold you together.

"Hey, Y/N…I know you probably don't want to talk, but I'm sorry things went so badly. I'm here."

You hate yourself a little more. Clara has always been a darling, you…cared for her. A lot. You wish to say "loved", you squint your eyes and wish to say you love her. People are kind. People are always so very kind. And you can't drink a cup of tea. Nor reply. There's also an email. From a set of numbers, no name. You open it, against your better judgement. No subject, only a photograph. Of your door. Your door inside your flat. Which is locked. You didn't ring anyone in. You, of all people, didn't hear any steps on the stairs. You live at the very top floor. And still?! What is wrong with you lately, now of all times?

And still, there is a photograph of your door. With…things? Your shoes were gently placed beside your mat.

"Um…" You knock on your housemate's door - how grateful you are for the economic situation which doesn't permit you to live alone now, you think bitterly as his steps approach.

"Oh, Y/N, how are you? What can I do you for?" Ever the cheerful voice and visage stands before you, half dressed, always flooded with work and hobbies. The room behind him is full of papers and candles, manuals and scripts, and information that probably shouldn't be lying around covered in bird photography snaps. It calms you a tad. You breathe out and uncross your arms. In the back of your mind, you wonder what he's always so entranced with.

"I'm getting there, thank you, Lubo." Your chest falls a tad, you really do feel a bit better, but very on edge. You fidget with your fingers as you speak. "Would it be alright to ask if you could open the main door with me? Something is there and I've been listening to too many IRA anthems to trust it." Because making a joke out of a very serious situation never failed you yet.

"Sure!"

You notice one of the birds on the ground behind him. Gazing at one photograph a little longer, you smile at the birdie and its soft grey feathers, little black dash across its little eyes...you realise you're looking at a shrike. The universe really is sending her best.

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You open the door as Lubo endeavours to rummage through the things on your doorstep. It seems to be a very neatly wrapped black box with a pink bow. With a little token of a crow embossed on its side. Heavy, by the looks of it. You half expect your ex-companion's limbs to be soaking its insides.

"I'll take it indoors and disinfect it, ok? Just so it doesn't feel like you've contaminated the flat." You nod, thank him over and over, and feel very grateful for him remembering your slight fights with obsessive cleanliness and parasites. But this looks…clean. You take a knife from your room, the knife that's been under your pillow for good reason. Kneeling, you gently unwrap the box altogether and distance yourself from the thing for a little bit. Breathe. It's just a box. Those never go wrong.

It's…full of…gifts?

Your…favourite flowers, perfectly preserved. No one knows your favourite flowers that well. Under them, resting under jewels of crimson poppies, lies a book of poems, the ones you use to calm yourself down; the ones that make you feel less alone. In the correct languge, even. Next to the poppies, hot water bottles, wrapped, fluffy, still warm. Under them yet, medication you couldn't get from your doctor for the entire month due to disagreements and never being heard, half of them aren't even sold in the country. Bath salts, dark chocolate, tea…there seems to be so much. Your face is caught in a mixture of attempting to frown, being swept off your feet, and deeply uncomfortable with what is basically an encyclopedia of you in a box. You carefully lay the items to the side and begin to notice things you truly need your housemate to not see. You lose your breath for a moment and blush so hard you almost forget both the kindness and terror of the rest of the package. It seems to be divided into care for you and…some other forms of urges. As if. As fucking if.

"Google, remind me to photograph this tomorrow in good light," you say to nothing, "to use as evidence either after this person manages to kill me or before, if the courts move faster than an asthmatic ant with heavy shopping."

Against your better judgement, you carry the box to your room and watch it for a while, as you do other things, but can never quite relax. Surely he can't be serious. Your name isn't Shirley.

There was also a note you now keep flinging on your table and crunching in your hands, neatly written, with no name.

"Dear Y/N,

should you wish to meet someone qualified to help with the attached records, it has been arranged. Be at the coordinates listed between the red and white gift and you will be taken care of. No harm will come to you. You are safe. As right as rain."

Right as rain…that's a part of a poem, that absolute…dear God, fuck, the thoughts in your head are tumbling down at you and you collapse onto the bed, staring at your knees. It's a good thing he somehow didn't include your most loved flowers, since they're all poisonous. One of them you like specifically because it is elegant, sharp, snowy, and beautiful - and all of her body, leaves, and seed pouches scream "don't fucking touch me, if you do, you will die and wish for death the entire time you are doing so". You would very much like to be the flower now. Make someone else hallucinate.

You search the box again and find the beautiful gown, in red, and the gentle white lace undergarments - as kind and gentle and revealing as they are elegant. A little QR code is nestled between the lace.

"Nope. Nope nope NOPE. Absolutely not," you say out loud. Fighting the fact that the nightgown under the two other garments is cozy and light and so very beautiful. And it smells…oddly familiar. With a hint of something else. As if someone knew you loved scents of sweetness, vanilla, caramel, honey, and skin combined with darker, heavier tones that don't usually mix with feminine perfumes. Something lovely and gentle to draw you in, with something far more potent, enveloping, and enthralling to drag you down the lake to drown. And yet. Still. Something else. Something more. You decide to put on the gown and stare into a little crow's eyes. Such a pretty little statue, you don't even remember where you got it from.

"I'm going to be alright. Water is fine. This is just water. We've been here, we've been in the mud up to our noses." You are whispering to yourself, trying to sooth your mind. Metaphores, poems, sooth sooth sooth. You close your eyes, think of beautiful women, barefoot, in the dark of a forest. Glistening lights in their long hair, lights in their gorgeous eyes. Light on their feet, as they dance upon the water and through the marsh. You cannot drown a forest spirit of a woman scorned. They will mesmerize you, dance you, dance you to the end of your love and tether, and pull you into the depths. Then kiss you as you gasp for air.

You undress, eyes still closed, holding the long white gown. You slowly slide into the fabric, which clings to your skin as a lover's touch at the first sign of morning light. Still trying to be as unbothered and confident as a forest Rusalka. You aren't. But the gown smells nice. And it's quite light. Long sleeves, fabric that reveals but doesn't scream. Lace around your chest and stomach, falling down your hips and thighs.

…Kiss you as you gasp for air.

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In-ho was pleased with his gift. Not only the gift, but the message. Upon message. Upon message. He wondered, quite hopeful - yet reserved - if you understood them all. No matter.

You will. Oh, you will. Every word. Even if he has to cling them to your skin, one by one, with his own lips.

To the surprise of absolutely no one except you, perhaps, the small bird brought him all the feedback he could desire. Rather low quality feedback, he thought, as he watched you ponder, watched you crunch up the note, and watched you dress. Instinctively, he looked away as you began to slide your own clothes down. He glimpsed perhaps a strap, perhaps more skin than he first saw…light reflecting off you, sliding down, further down, caressing your tenderness…yet he looked away, calmly resolute to not look back. His gaze remained firmly in the corner of the room, he certainly wasn't fighting - or imagining himself being the photons of light resting on your supple skin. No. It would be unbecoming to watch a lady undress, so vulnerable, so unknowing. Never mind the rest. If you looked up the word "hypocrite" in the dictionary, In-ho's face wouldn't be next to it. It would be on the next page, because he would never be caught. As he looked back, you were dressed, not looking at yourself.

In-ho frowns for a moment, before he sees the rest of you. Even though it's just a phone screen and the picture quality truly isn't doing you justice, his breath is caught. He shifts and looks around instinctively, only a flicker of the eyes and a small movement of the neck. But he's nervous, nervous to be so exposed. He chuckles to himself just as unnoticeably - he's spying on you yet he's the one feeling exposed..was the chuckle to ease tension? This is just a game to him and you are nothing, after all. No one. He shifts once more and uncrosses his legs, one hand slowly combing his hair firmly away from of his forehead. Nothing. Just as it is nothing that is making the jacket around his neck feel tight. He sees you stand, further away now. He sees your entirety in the white flowing fabric, the lace, the…entirety…of you. His coat needs to come off, and is discarded to the side in haste. The remaining turtleneck isn't much help, but he goes in, now fully enthralled. Positioning himself, he endeavours to enjoy you. Slowly. From the tip of your head to the soles of your feet, remaining fully in control, admiring, never taking, never grabbing. Never…needing. But as he moves down your face, your cheeks, your chin, along your neck all the way to your hair resting on your now exposed shoulders, back to your mouth and lips - he leans into the screen - those supple yet reserved, tender lips whispering gently and curling around words as if speaking to a sleeping lover in the night who is caught in a bad dream, the eyes - damn the picture quality - the eyes that glint, yet resemble dark pools amid features that are…that mean…his heart is fast. His eyes pools of reckless abandon. They flicker to the movement of your hips and tick fast, fast back up top, stopping at the almond curve the nightgown begets your breasts - In-ho's hands twitch as his fingers yearn with a mind of their own, to hear you gasp and squirm and melt under their touch as he teases, cups, and caresses in the gown's place. Tender flowers, waiting to be kissed. As you move, for him, for his eyes only, his mind floods through its inhibitions and begins racing on instinct - yet does so wrapped in cotton; barely subdued. Algorithms, scenarios, plans - ten a second - gather in his mind - resting on nothing but your features, spurred into existence by you, your lips, your form, your movement. He's watching the last flame dance before him in a sea of suffocating darkness, and it is his. Tension grips The Frontman's trousers as he digs his fingers in to feel something, anything, as if to drag himself back, painfully if need be - all this…for a low quality moving picture of you.

You. Your self before him. No adjective does it justice to In-ho, no painter could stroke its surface, nobody could own this moment. Nobody but him. And he cannot reach, reach through the screen, for you, for you mean…you in your entirety, before him, vulnerable, bare, unknowing, both a deity to be worshipped and a form to be devoured and left pleading, barely breathing under him, his grasp, his hot breath, you, you mean…

…nothing to him. In-ho leans back again. He breathes a bit faster, containing himself. As his breath slows and features fall back into place, he straightens the trouser leg and exhales. Your name is on his lips as he does so; he whispers it to himself. A name that doesn't seem to leave his tongue, no matter how many times it wraps around every syllable.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N…you are nothing."

He turns off the screen with one click. "Nothing." He gets up, leaving the phone behind. He is back to his true self - unbothered, cold, empty. A statue of stone. It was fun while it lasted, but the shell he wears gets tired of the falsity imbued in it during these little sidesteps. Little adventures to ease the monotony. Your records lie on the table, next to his glass of dark liquer. He walks over slowly, cradles it, sipping with restraint, and puts it down just as slowly in the exact same place. He goes on with his evening, thinking, it must be said, of nothing. He continues his work, thinking of nothing. Nothing replaces the drabble of his underlings as they update him on the latest games. Nothing is on his mind as he showers, nothing is in the water that glides down his own body. Nothing is in the warmth that he doesn't imagine being replaced nor coming from a different source. The voice of nothing is in the hiss and humm of the shower, nothing sings to him sweetly as it envelops his form. Nothing is woven into his satin sheets, nothing still smells of the perfume he picked for you, nothing is in his bed and pillows and nothing is slowly, invariably, fatally invading his mind. The cologne he uses, the same cologne he rubbed upon certain parts of the gown you now rest in, isn't combining and wildly interweaving with your gentle, warm, sweet, yet heavy scent. Nothing is everywhere and nothing is driving him absolutely stark, staring mad as he lays there - naked, exposed, amid satin sheets, it is nothing that invades his dreams and wraps him in sensations he can still only dream of.

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Barren lands and dusk. No flowers. No life. In-ho is alone. As far as the eye can see lies nothing. He cannot feel his mask. A shape is in front of him, laying there, incredulous. Unfitting its surroundings. As if guided by an unseen hand, he walks up to her slowly and kneels beside her. She is dressed in white fabric, falling across her skin, exposing more than is becoming of such a form. Her hand is resting next to her head, her other at her side. She is peacefully asleep. A gentle humm escapes her lips - she must be dreaming. In-ho glides the back of his hand everso carefully across her cheek, guiding it down her neck and stopping at her collarbones. Her chest lifts in a slow rhythm as her skin touches his. She is his. Is she not? He could...open his hand, and his hand opens. He could place it around her neck, and he does. As he feels her warmth and blood pumping into his hand, he thinks he could squeeze and hold down. He doesn't. The form reacts to his intentions, seemingly, her face frowning in the most unnoticeable way, lips falling from their previous peaceful expression to a worried frown. As if caught in a bad dream.

No, no, no.

In-ho releases the pressure and merely rests his hand on her neck, pushing errant strands of hair away from her skin. They fall around her shoulders and between the fingers of his other hand, which lifts instinctively to cradle her head. Her expression relaxes, and he smiles almost on instinct. Suddenly, her eyes flutter open and gaze into his own, almost unblinking and holding his gaze. The pools of comforting darkness set in an innocent visage drive electrical current through his entire body and In-ho almost has to steady himself against the ground where his hand is holding her head, still. She isn't scared, she only gazes and studies, lays, and rests in his own dark eyes. Her smile mirrors his. As if the two of them were already familiar, already far beyond anything novel. She whispers to him.

"Darling, this isn't your place."

In-ho doesn't think, he knows the voice. The gentle, slow, melodic whisper that he wishes to hear before he goes to sleep himself. Putting more strength into his grip, he places his dominant palm in hers as it still lays beside her head. He squeezes her down. Without thought, his body shifts to move above hers, holding her gaze, now directly on top of her, without touching her body with his. His hands no longer gentle, but firmly holding down. His thumb caresses her cheek as his other hand pushes her palm into the ground.

"It doesn't need to be."

As the sentence barely left his lips, he connects them with her neck, firmly kissing the skin and pulling her into his bite. The taste is intoxicating, and beckons for more. Sweet, tender, pure, intoxicating. Down her neck he plants kisses and barely restrained bites, gliding his touch, gripping her hand and moving his other to her neck once more. He hears gasps and timid moans, and he moves down, lips brushing against her chest and resting upon it. He lets go of her hand and finally grips her, under the small of her back, caressing and squeezing her waist, lifting her body into his. Now he feels her. Now he feels her being react and pressure and squirm, now he feels the pulse of her body directly under his and melting into him. Every movement, every gasp, every beat of her heart - in his control, under him, sinking into him. Her waist lifts against his and he eagerly helps it up, feeling his need against her body, finally, all he needs to do is tear off the gown, take her, make her fully his and hear her cries and moans as he takes what is his. Still in control of himself, he fully recognizes his itch, his need, his voracious hunger. He recognizes it and fully gives into it.

But the dream does not let him.

Something is wrong. The body is colder now, her breathing is slow, her voice no longer caressing him, her being no longer reacting to his touch. The current fizzled out. Pulling away, he sees the damage done - even as her eyes are wistful and her smile still there, it is sorrowful and soft, gazing down at him although broken under him. He sees her neck and chest, her breasts exposed, her skin red with bite marks, red with his signatures. Lines where his grip failed to falter rest on her tender flesh, her pallor a canvas for his need and depravity. For his destruction. He does not want this, he does not want her like this, his mind races and tries to get back in control but cannot. The canvas before him begins to soak through in crimson, blood pools into the white fabric where he lay and pushed and tried to take her. As he watches the gown cling to her stomach with blood, fear drives cold daggers through his back. He is no longer the Front Man, he is himself. Himself before a Front Man ever was. And he is...scared. Still her voice reaches him, doing nothing to alleviate his state, doing nothing to destroy the damn invisible barrier that keeps him from holding her close, holding her together, holding him together.

"Not like this darling, not like this again."

How is she still smiling? How does she seem so cold yet encompassing an utter lack of proximity? Holding her now seems like the most sacriligeous, repugnant thing he could do. His hands shiver lightly, how is he afraid to touch her now? After all that? She is his, his, this is all so incredibly wrong! He doesn't care, he doesn't have feelings for such frivolities, she is a dime a dozen, she is worth nothing, and she is nothing to him; nothing.

And she's still smiling, a little laugh escaping her lips as if she can hear his inner turmoil and has seen it thrice before.

"Taking what you want, never what you need."

In-ho looks down at his own body, which begins to feel cold and wrong. As if missing something vital. He smells copper, his hand feels hot as he touches his chest yet his body grows colder. The last thing he remembers before waking up in a freezing sweat is looking down at his own body, now filled with open chasms wherever it touched hers - gaping empty holes that can be filled with nothing, bleeding him into the ground as she watches on.

In-ho gasps, springs up into a seated position and touches his chest, his stomach - and breathes in relief. As he is composing himself, a new manner of play begins to form in his mind. Between hurried breaths and elevated pulse beats, he plans a new way to play this game and win.

[lesbianshepard]

infamous plagiarist james sommerton just put out a half hour apology video and the gall of it all just floors me. if you don't want to watch it: he sets up a pity party by describing how he tried to kill himself, but his father called the paramedics and saved him at the last moment. this is irrelevant to the video.

he brushes off all the criticism as just "oh, I was just really really bad at citing" without addressing how he would sic people on anyone who called him out for stealing and lying. he addresses the transphobia, biphobia, lesbophobia, misogyny, etc by saying "i know people say I'm these things but I'm not" and then does not elaborate on why he felt the need to insert those lies and misrepresentations into his video.

and then he says he wants to make amends....by reopening his patreon and saying how he's going to unprivate a bunch of videos, but he's going to totally send the money to hbomberguy so that harry can redistribute the money to people james stole from.

the absolute audacity of doing what he did for that long, and then trying to put the burden of helping the people he hurt on viewers. "If you want to help people you should give me more money." is fucking jaw dropping. it's not the responsibility of other people to fix your fuck ups, and it's not hbomberguy's job to do all the work for you. jesus fucking christ.

[meraki-yao]

Now I'm curious to know all the "candies" between Nick and Tay 👀 lol I don't ship them but I also find it interesting that some fans really ship real people together and gather evidence or proof of it. If its fine with you to share it pls do 🙏 but if not its also fine :)

Huh...

Actually, sure! I kinda wanted to share some of these at times but again I understand that rps is a complicated subject.

A couple of quick prefaces though:

1, If you’re uncomfortable with the subject, again, please don’t read under the post

2, I don’t have all the candies because I really just view them in passing, so I’m just gonna write/translate the ones I’ve seen, remember and find at least a logical speculation

3, I need to reiterate this in case my position in this gets misunderstood: Me writing about “candies” isn’t because these are MY opinion or things *I* found or *I* believe in them being evidence. I am just a translator and messenger.

4, (this one is gonna sound a little academic lol) Two things I realized when thinking about this “candy eating” culture is that Chinese people have a very difference understanding of platonic/romantic affection/relationships with the Western world, and that they look at the candies with rose-tinted glass. Chinese/Asian people are generally a lot less affectionate with their personal relationships, for example friends wouldn’t say “love you” to each other if they’re just friends, nor would they expand their friend group to the others easily or other stuff. And these people who look for candy go into their “investigation” already with the belief that “they are together”, everything remotely resembling a close relationship will automatically be interpreted as romantic. I thought about it a lot, and honestly among the “candies” I’ve seen, most of them are a matter of interpretation: yes those are things couples will do, but it wouldn’t be weird if friends did it too. So they’re not that seriously or up for further speculation. There is I think only one “candy” that I can’t quite say the same, which I will explain and elaborate on in this post. 

5, Please remember that the people who do this do it in good nature: something I didn’t make clear in my post yesterday, which is on me, is that the fans do want them to be together, but they’re not like… yandere level or something. If they’re just friends the fans won’t be upset or betrayed or anything, they just prefer to see them as romantic. They don’t mean any harm, and they don’t cause any harm because China is physically and digitally too far away for them to actually fuck shit up, and they understand the lines of parasocial relationships: those who met with Taylor during his China trip in December know to, and didn’t bring up this in front of him. They know where to draw the line, and whoever doesn’t and starts becoming a problem gets kicked out of the community. This is meant for fun.

6, Ok Future Meraki here, turns out, there’s a lot to translate, a lot more than I anticipated Jesus Christ and I do want to get this post how within today and make it a reasonable length, so I’m just gonna do two events and the one that I mentioned in 4. If yall want a part 2 let me know.

Ok with that being said, the main event under the cut:

In December they made a whole article about “candies” from December, and to quickly summarise (again noted that all of this is speculation, I didn’t and can’t fact check them, and I’m just a translator) (also this ended up way longer than I anticipated so for photo reference if you can please go to the link of the original article):

Academy Gala:

Nick and Taylor both attended the gala: Since the strike ended up to that point, the two times Nick attends a public event, Taylor’s there too (GQ men of the year and Academy Gala), and for both times he’s wearing Cartier’s Tank Must Watch (remember this watch, I’m gonna elaborate on it later because it is the only candy that even I can’t say it’s a matter of interpretation)

In various pictures of the night’s party that other people took, the boys can be seen together in the background

How the photography worked that night was magazine photographers wandered around the venue and randomly found people to take some relatively candid photos: so people who were walking/sitting/in any way sticking together would be photographed together. So best friends and married couples would be photographed together, which is what happened to Meryl Streep, Greta Gerwig, Saoirse Ronan, and Christopher Nolan, Cillian Murphy and their wives. With that logic, Taylor and Nick were caught by the photographer together TWICE, in clearly different places. Later Korean fans (with the same “candy-searching” mindset) read the time on Taylor’s watch in the photos: one was 8:30, one was 9:50. The implication is that they were together for at least that period of time (nearly 1.5 hours)

In both photos of the boys together, Nick’s elbow is…straight up leaning into Taylor's chest. In a photo with Kaia, Nick’s friend and co-star from Bottoms (Brittany), there’s visible space between Nick and Kaia but none between Nick and Taylor (… okay I’m gonna pop in with my own opinion on the latter one real quick: I really think that one is just Nick being a gentleman)  

During that night, Taylor re-posted an Instagram post from July onto Little Red Book: but the things is in the comment section of the original Instagram post, Taylor teasingly pretends to not know Nick; and according to the posting time and the time calculated in 3, Nick would have been watching him post that to Little Red Book.

Nick got a photo with Taylor’s friend Jay Ellis (Jay and Taylor follow each other on Instagram, and Taylor comments under Jay’s post), even though Nick and Jay don’t seem to have any direct connections. Kaia and Taylor started following each other on Instagram after the event.

While other people who got photos with Taylor posted them, in Taylor’s Instagram Post for the night: He only included his photo with Nick, the rest are all solo portraits of himself. Not only that: he edited the background of the photo so it’s just them, and proceeded to put the photo in the middle of the post.

a bunch of Taylor's good friends, including Taylor’s cousin went to like Nick’s post for the academy gala night. Taylor’s sister Ash shared Taylor’s post to her stories: 2 photos of Taylor himself, and the one photo of Taylor and Nick. Taylor mentioned in a past interview if he had any emotional or relationship (I don’t know which one is the right translation, the original wording is 感情) issues, he would talk to Ash. (please note that I didn’t not and don’t know how to fact-check any of the things mentioned above except for Ash’s Instagram)

Conclusion/ Speculation (okay the academy gala part alone took me 40 minutes what the fuck): I cannot reiterate this enough: THIS IS JUST SPECULATION DO NOT TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY but under the assumption that Taylor and Nick are a thing, the serious of shenanigans that happened that night, especially with the family and friends stuff in 6,7,8, was interpreted as they announcing it to their personal social circle. AGAIN THIS IS SPECUALTION DON’T TAKE THIS SERIOSULY 

Taylor’s China Trip

On 7th December, Taylor had a photo shoot at the GQ gala venue, but spent the rest of the afternoon taking photos and signing things for fans. Among those, one was the photo of him and Nick from the academy gala just three days ago. He was visibly extra happy and showed off the photo to the crowd, unlike the other photos which he simply gets it, signs it, and then gives it back.

This day was also the start of “Taylor giving Nick/Henry a moustache”: throughout the trip, he drew on four photos of the two of them

(This one is a … really big stretch) among the four, one of them was the GQ magazine shoot, and he first drew the moustache on Nick’s face, giggling “I’ll sign on Nick’s face”, signed his own signature, then just when he was about to give the magazine back he suddenly changed his mind and said “wait wait I wanna do something on my face”, and then drew a crown on his head while muttering “crown prince”. And the thing is… historically, George Villers had a moustache. And then he drew a moustache on Nick and a crown on himself. Also, one of the most popular Chinese RWRB fic on AO3 is called “The King’s Palace”, and the premise is putting Henry in George place as the social climber and the Duke of Buckingham (it is literally George’s character with blonde hair and a different name), and Alex as the crown prince who ascended to the throne and is also utterly infatuated with Henry. So… yeah.

When he drew the fourth photo, which was the piano scene, the fan who asked said “Oh you’re so nice to Nick!” and according to their description (there’s no video), Taylor blushed a little and said “yeaahhhhh” with a big grin

While Taylor was in China people were stirring shit up on Twitter about him, and during the Twitter drama, Nick liked Taylor’s Academy Gala post.

The boys liked the same video on Instagram but from different accounts (a video about a pony in the snow)

During the trip, Taylor was seen wearing a white button-up with blue stripes. Nick has been seen wearing a shirt that looks identical before.

Cartier Watch (aka the one that makes me do a double take)

Taylor used to wear a lot of Cartier watches until he started wearing Tagheuer last July due to a commercial partnership

Nick likes wearing Omega watches. In fact, Henry’s watch in the movie is Nick’s own omega watch. He also has a commercial partnership with Omega.

But then starting last year, both of them were seen wearing matching Cartier’s Tank Must Watches (the silver on with a black surface and a sapphire crown): Taylor can be seen wearing it in the 5th photos of his September post, while Nick can be seen wearing it during the GQ gala, the Academy Gala, in Milan during fan interactions, and last weekend in his TIOY co-star’s Instagram story.

And the thing about this watch is (and here is where I need to reiterate that I’m just translating, I didn’t fact check this) 1, watch is a typical thing to give a lover, and you must be familiar with their wrist size 2, Cartier is a pretty romantic brand 3, the price of this watch is closer to what Taylor’s used to wearing but much cheaper than Omega 4, This specific watch is a popular watch to give a partner/lover, 5, David and Victoria Beckham’s relationship was discovered because paparazzi saw the Cartier watch he gave her and connected dots together

Jesus Christ at this point I should consider getting a part time job in translation

This was fun but this took me so much time, it’s ~2000 words long

Again, all of this was found and speculate for fun, and mean no ill will, and haven’t, and won’t harm the boys, please understand that and don’t take this took seriously. If you find this interesting and want a part two, let me know.

[spacerockfloater]

You know what?

I get it, ok? I understand the concept of Rhysand being a morally grey character. I understand that SJM wanted him to be an anti-hero of sorts. I would be totally okay with him doing everything that he did and standing by his actions if he simply said “The only thing that concerns me is myself, my circle and my people. I’m here to protect my interests first and everything else second. I am no hero, I am just someone who puts himself and his sphere first. I am a selfish person and I’m totally okay with that. I do not need anyone’s approval.” I still wouldn’t be his biggest fan, because I do not tend to admire self serving people, but I would totally understand him. In fact, I might have done the same thing. I guess you can never know for sure what your reaction to something would be unless you actually end up in that situation. I get that the average person would protect themselves (themselves = them and their loved ones) but I do believe that admiration should be saved for people who go against the norm. People who actually put their foot down, say no, protest, fight back, risk their lives, experience loss for a greater good. That’s why I admire Khalias, Tarquin, Helion, Tamlin etc. Because they stood up to Amarantha while knowing the consequences of their actions. I wouldn’t admire Rhysand, but I’d support him if he just owned up to his shit and said “Yup, I’m your average person, I don’t care if I come off as the bad guy!”.

But he does not! He wants everyone to applaud him and thank him and feel like they owe him and appreciate him and and and and… Jesus Christ man, you did the bare minimum and you did it all when you had nothing to lose! Thank you so much that you convinced that frigid bitch to murder two dozens of children instead of me and my family, of course I am now forever in your debt! Relax. You were able to talk Amarantha out of directly harming the other High Lords only after you harmed others to gain her favour and you saved the High Lords only because it served you better to keep them alive instead of some irrelevant children fae. I’m sure that your people should be thanking you because you did it all for them after all, but count me the fuck out of it.

Last but not least: ACOTAR Feyre was, obviously, a hero. She was a morally good character. She sacrificed herself for people she didn’t even know. I’m not gonna debate that. I actually loved her in the first book. However, I think she went through a drastic change after her metamorphosis. Her “human heart” is actually no longer human to say the least. I’m not even gonna elaborate on how she became this cruel, unforgiving person that only cared about how people treated her, or how disrespectful she is towards other people like Tarquin because Rhysand made her feel entitled to do so, or how she is responsible for the destruction of two courts that simply seemed like collateral damage if it meant that she would get her revenge on Tamlin. I’m simply going to say that logically speaking, since Feyre stands 100% besides Rhys and everything he did and supports him, she’s also a morally grey person AT BEST, though I do tend to think of both of them as villains because after all, the very definition of a villain is “someone defined by their acts of selfishness, evilness, arrogance, cruelty, and cunning” and like, come on, this screams Feysand.

The term morally grey is so overused. Someone who’s selfish and cunning and cares mostly about themselves is, at least partially, a bad person. A morally grey character is at least half a villain. When did we actually start to equate anti heros with heros?

[13tinysocks]

Hoping you guys are well! Make sure you don’t stress about up updating and just focus on yourselves 🫶

We are!

But since some people have been asking where the update is here's a life update:

Bee is a dedicated bio student. The classes are smart people hard and take a ton of xir time. Editing my slop scratch takes brainpower xe needs to do lab work. If xe wants to elaborate on xir stuff xe can.

Post University I'm busy building up my illustration portfolio. I'm working for an e-magazine as an intern right now. I'm also, ironically enough, illustrating a children's book.

In my downtime I work on YCYDs novelization. Everything is significantly worse. Like Jesus Christ. When we do publish it, eventually, we are likely to put it under a pseudonym for many reasons.

Itd be nice to be a full time author but I don't think it's in the cards, if not for a good few years but I'll keep chugging. As for fanfic, the older we get the more it feels like remnants of my late teens. I started this when I was 17-18. I'm 23 now. While we still enjoy crazy shit it's just harder for me to justify the time it takes to make chapters anymore. Will I? Yes! Ho1c is a very fun project but as I've reiterated a few times now, we just can not keep a quick pace anymore. I'm simply more interested in the novel.

Thank you for your readership and helping us become who we are today.

[generic-sonic-fan]

Happy pride! Here's some headcanons.

In-depth explanations beneath the cut (please keep in mind that these are personal and that I actually don't really stand by any that strongly! This is just for fun.)

Sonic: okay do I really need to explain this one?

Knuckles: What can I say, his gender contains multitudes. He's definitely a member of the "I don't care" camp for both gender and sexuality. He is what he is, loves who he loves, and doesn't give two rips about what other people might say. I like to imagine he plays around with both genders of clothing from echidna culture.

Amy: oh Amy, my sweet summer child. It's so autistic and queer of you to relentlessly declare your love for someone of the opposite sex because it's what is expected of you. I did the same in third grade before I realized that the other girls meant what they were saying about their target boy. Heteronormativity is a bitch, get well soon <3

Rouge: I think she fucked around with being she/they for a while before settling back on she/her. And bi icon, of course.

Blaze: okay do I really need to explain this one?

Silver: That is one nonbinary hedgehog if I ever saw one! He's a he/him by convenience alone. He hasn't had the chance to explore his sexuality yet unfortunately.

Big: He's good with he/him and that's all he cares about. Not a super strong connection to his assigned gender at birth but he likes being a boy well enough. As for his sexuality, he never figured out what everyone was going on about when it came to sex, and only recently figured out it was because he was literally missing that 'sexual attraction' thing.

Shadow: is nonbinary as fuck and has no idea. Honey, seeing masculinity as a burden you have to bear is not normal!!! He's also demi-ace. It takes a very close relationship with someone to even consider sexual attraction.

Cream: happy being a girl! Hasn't really thought about crushing on anyone yet.

Tails: Internalized homophobia + transphobia from being bullied go brrrrrr. Besides, Sonic doesn't spend much time thinking about these things, so why should he? (Tails. Tails listen to me. Sonic's aro and knew he was trans at an unusually young age. he's a statistical outlier with how early he figured it out PLEASE consider that and don't base your self-discovery journey on him. . .)

Metal: You all know my headcanons for this one. Metal was assigned male by Eggman from its earliest iterations and gender dysphoria is literally 98% of all of its problems. Please get this robot some estrogen. As for sexuality, full romantic attraction is definitely on the table but jesus christ this robot needs to do some work on itself before that. Please read Complex Inquiries if you want me to elaborate that's like my master's thesis on this subject

Vector: Gave his gender a really good thinking before shrugging and sticking with his assigned gender at birth. Also pan as hell, definitely dated some femboys in high school I think.

Espio: Currently in the process of speculating if he's nonbinary. Keeps very quiet about it though. But he knows he likes dudes, so there's that.

Charmy: He's bit-sexual. Whatever he needs to be for the punchline of the joke to land, frankly.

Omega: For narrative parallel reasons to Metal Sonic, I love to headcanon that Omega wasn't programmed with a gender, but then discovered that masculinity is traditionally associated with aggression and violence and went ham. Doesn't mind getting she/her'd, doesn't exactly like they/them, but it/its is of the highest offense. He will kill you for that. As for his sexuality, (I know he's a robot but PLEASE hear me out) he's demi-aro! He'd have no idea that any sort of feelings on his part are happening until it was too late. He'd hate himself for it and promptly bury said feelings beneath so many layers.

[cacoetheswriting]

pearl: march 1986

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 3.4k summary: hushed confessions midst the end of the world.

content warnings: best friends to lovers, slow burn, violence / blood / description of injuries (events from s4), mentions of death / losing a loved one, adult language, use of pet names, emotional hurt / no comfort - if i missed anything, pls let me know!

pearl masterlist

March 21, 1986

Everyone that’s ever met Eddie Munson, knows he’s not one for rational and thought out decisions. 

As a matter of fact, even people that have never made an effort to get to know him also always just assume he acts on impulse. They’re all correct. He does tend to act on gut instinct. Based on his feelings rather than sound logic. He’s not one for overthinking and over analysing every single scenario. He acts purely by following his heart.

However, as Eddie stared into Chrissy Cunningham’s snow-like empty eyes, he deeply regretted not being a person who took a second before making a choice.

“Wake up, Chrissy.”

His own voice sounds panicked and honestly, how can it not be. She was pale and cold to the touch. This was beyond fucking weird, like some creepy horror shit and Eddie wanted no part of it.

“Chrissy, wake up!” He’s pleading, shaky hands tapping her shoulders nervously, “I don’t like this, Chrissy! Wake up!”

He finds himself still praying for this to be some sort of stupid prank, hoping that Jason Carver will jump out at any given moment with a video camera and a stupid grin plastered across his idiotic face, yelling: “We got you, freak!”. 

Unfortunately, as the lights flicker out of control and the longer Eddie shakes the blonde's seemingly unconscious frame, the more he thinks this is definitely not a high-school prank ‘cause those idiots aren’t smart enough to pull off something as elaborate as this.

“Chrissy, wake up now! Chrissy—”

Then the phone rings, startling him even more. He glances at the device mounted on the wall and his eyes gloss over with tears. He knows who’s calling. But he can’t answer, can he? You’d instantly sense something is off and he can’t risk you coming here out of worry and also being witness to… to whatever the fuck was happening right now. Plus, would you even believe him if he told you in the first place?

Hastily running a hand down his face, feeling nothing but extreme fright, Eddie approaches the phone and after quickly looking back at Chrissy, he places the handset to his ear.

“H-he- llo-”

The line distorts your voice. He can barely make out your greeting and the question that follows. Not like it matters anyway. Not like anything matters ‘cause Chrissy’s body lifts itself off the ground and is now floating mid-air in his small living room.

“What the f—”

“E-ed-die? A-re y-you oka—”

Chrissy’s unconscious frame flings itself against the ceiling with a thud and the metalhead drops the handset, chord dangling against the wall as his own body falls helplessly to the ground. 

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie yells as he tries to push himself backwards, deeper into the trailer

Every inch of him is terrified. He’s screaming now and he’s sure you can hear him on the other line. Then his gut instinct kicks in. The one he blamed for getting him into this mess in the first place is now urging him to get up and run. If not for his sake, than for the person he loved most in this world.

You’re no doubt going to either come here or call for help, or both, and when Chief Powell comes with his goon squad, they’re going to think Eddie’s responsible for this horrific scene. They’d lock him up, no questions asked. 

And Eddie couldn’t have you thinking you killed this poor girl. He needed that chance to explain himself. Surely you’ll forgive him for running. Surely you’ll understand.

March 22, 1986 

“I swear, I don’t even know her name,” Mr. Munson tells the police, “I never seen her ‘fore.” He exhales a long and no doubt exhausted breath, then briefly glances at you. “I got the call shortly after you guys did, I assume. Eddie’s friend here, well, she uh… she found the girl.”

“I think it’s— Her name is Chrissy,” you blurt out quietly, “Chrissy Cunningham.”

Chief Powell straightens his posture. His gaze narrows, only for his expression to soften a split second later. You assume it’s because you look terrible. Eyes puffy, makeup smudged from a mix of tears and stress, and your bottom lip won’t stop trembling.

“And how did Eddie know,” he pauses and lowers his voice, “Miss Cunningham?”

You shrug. “They go to the same school so I assume that’s where they met.”

Chief Powell nods, motions for Officer Callahan to come over, whispers something in the young police officer's ear, and without saying anything else to you, he walks away.

“Do you know where he went?” Officer Callahan asks.

“Eddie? No, I don’t.” You answer honestly, crossing your arms across your chest. “I-I heard him scream over the phone and when I asked what was going on and… h-he wouldn’t respond to me, I-I got here as fast as I could. Then I contacted the station and then Mr. Munson.”

“Eddie rang you?” Officer Callahan enquiries.

“I called him.”

“And did you know the young lady was with him?”

“No, I thought he was alone,” you say and glance at Wayne, who’s gone over to talk to another officer. He shoots you a timid smile, the best he can probably muster at this time, and proceeds to search the pockets of his pants for his packet of smokes.

You sigh. “Look, I know you’re probably thinking Eddie did this, but I can assure you, he did not.”

Officer Callahan raises a brow, as if to urge you to go on. So you do. 

“When I called Eddie… Sir, I heard him scream. He sounded fucking terrified. Why would he be so scared if he’s the one that did this?” You pause, “I-I think there was someone else at the trailer last night and—”

“Thank you, Miss.” Officer Callahan interrupts and leans in a little closer towards you, “Since you heard some of what happened here last night, we’ll get someone from the squad to escort you home.”

“You think I’m in danger?” You practically scoff, “Eddie didn’t do this. He shouldn’t be chased down like some sort of criminal. He’s a victim here too!”

That turns a few heads, Chief Powell and Wayne included. You curse under your breath yet even though you can feel yourself getting really frustrated, all you can think about is Eddie. What he witnessed last night, the scene you came across when you arrived at the trailer, you’re convinced something’s happening in the Upside Down again. This whole circus is a total waste of time. Eddie’s not safe.

Chief Powell is now back in front of you. His hands are on his hips, trying to assert dominance, and a frown is spread across his features. “Look, kid, I liked your dad. He was a good man and what happened to him, well it’s no doubt caused you a lot of pain.”

You’re chewing on the inside of your cheek, fighting back the tears, as Chief Powell continues. “Please let one of my officers take you home, okay? Your mom is probably worried sick since gossip in this town spreads like wildfire,” he tries to lighten the mood but fails, “And I’ll make you a deal, okay? If you stay home with your mom, I’ll make sure when we find young Mr. Munson, we won’t treat him harshly.”

One of his hands is now on your shoulder, squeezing it in an act of reassurance.

“You’ll call me too,” you add.

Chief Powell nods. “You’ll be the first person I call. Deal?”

Growing up with a dad on the force exposed you to a lot of things kids normally don’t encounter until much later in life, if ever. Your dad taught you a lot. One of the things being: people aren’t always honest when their reputation is on the line. Chief Powell didn’t really care about what happened to Eddie, not even for your sake, which meant you had to do everything in you power to find the metalhead first.

“Deal,” you lie through your teeth, faking a kind smile. 

However, you couldn’t do that alone.

-

“Dustin, please tell me you have something.”

Headset pressed to your ear, cord wrapped around your wrist. You’re bouncing impatiently and every so often, nervously peeping around the corner into the living room where your mom sat with Wayne.

They didn’t seem to hear you or your scheming, too lost in a conversation you really couldn’t follow right now. You had other pressing matters on your mind — finding your… your Eddie.

“If you stopped asking me every five seconds, perhaps I’d have more information to give you,” Dustin jeers. His tone is not meant to be harmful and you don’t take it that way. You’re just glad they all agreed to help. “Here, can one of you calm her down? I need to think.”

You assume he passes the phone to either Robin or Steve, and you’re proven right when the next thing you hear is, “Hey, how are you doing?”, in the smooth tone of Mr. Best Hair in Hawkins himself.

“How do you think?” You snap, quickly following your mini outburst with, “Sorry, this is just…”

“A lot?” Steve finishes your sentence and although he can’t see you, you nod against the headset.

“Well, our best people are on it. We’ll find him.” Steve tries to reassure.

“I hope so,” you breathe, once again glancing in the direction of Wayne and your mom. “This whole situation is just so fucked up and like really scary. I thought El closed the portal. I thought last July was the end of these encounters with the Upside Down.”

“We all did,” Steve mumbles on the other line, “But you can’t think ahead right now, okay? First thing is to find Eddie before anyone else does.”

As always, Harrington was right. “I know. I just wish I could be helping you guys, but instead I’m stuck here with a fucking police unit outside my home.”

Steve exhales into the headset. He’s about to say something when all of a sudden there’s a little commotion followed by some seemingly excited mumbling. You’re about to ask what’s going on when you hear my own being called over and over again on the other line.

“Tell me you still have your walkie?” Dustin is back on the line, “You know the one from last year’s Starcourt Mall events? Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“I-I do, yeah. It’s somewhere in my wardrobe.”

“Go, go get it right now and make sure it still works,” Dustin instructs eagerly, “We have a good lead as to where Eddie is hiding out. We’ll contact you when we’re with him.”

You have questions that you don’t get to ask ‘cause a mere split second later, all you hear is the dial tone. 

Your mind is spinning, heart racing. They found him. A small victory — although why didn’t it feel like one?

March 23, 1986

“So, I guess they told you everything, huh?” You ponder into the walkie, pulling the bedspread up to your chin.

The room feels dark and cold. You suppose, given the situation, it almost is. Your blinds are shut tight and you have the light switched off, so that any lurkers couldn’t suspect you’re sitting here — and since yesterday afternoon, that number has unfortunately increased significantly. 

As soon as Jason’s goon squad found out about the situation, he sent a couple of his trusted “men” to keep an eye on you and your house. The police officers assigned to “protect” me, rotated in shifts, and dare you say have gotten a little too comfortable, knocking on your door to use the bathroom or smooth-talk your mom into making them coffee. Word also spread through town about Eddie being a devil worshipper and as his “girlfriend”, you simply had to be lying about his whereabouts. Honestly, all the crowd across the road is missing are pitchforks.

Idiots. As if you’d be stupid enough to lead any of them to Eddie. 

“Yeah,” Eddie exhales into the walkie, “They did.”

You swallow. “I-I suppose you’re wondering why I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“No,” he’s quick to respond, “Not really. I mean, you did what you had to, princess. What you thought was right and I can’t be mad at that. But it does explain a lot. Like—”

“My nightmares,” you chime and Eddie chuckles lightly before agreeing. “Yeah, like your nightmares.”

There’s a moment of congenial silence. 

You want nothing more than to be by his side and have him hold you in his arms, kissing the top of your head. Fuck. Tears form in the corners of your eyes at the thought. Not only was that not possible right now, neither of you knew when you’d actually see each other again. The topic loomed over your heads, yet you didn’t dare to utter the words aloud ‘cause things were so good recently, and now… Well, avoidance worked for you in the past, (for a while anyway).

“I’m sorry, Eds.”

“Don’t be, sweetheart.”

“Well, maybe if I told you sooner, we wouldn’t be in this mess right now. Maybe if you knew what we all knew, you could have come here instead of hiding out all alone. So yeah, I’m sorry. I’m always going to be sorry.”

Eddie sighs into the walkie. “Timing just never seems to be on our side, huh.”

When you don’t respond, because it hurts your heart, you half expect him to cut the conversation short, say he’s tired or whatever and wish you a goodnight. And you wouldn’t blame him either. You’ve all had a tough couple of days, but his must have been the most exhausting. 

The metalhead seems to have other plans. 

“Cry baby. Cry baby. Cry baby. Honey, welcome back home.”

You can’t help but crack a smile as Eddie starts singing softly. His voice, although a little distorted, is as angelic as ever and you let your eyes close, resting your head on the headboard — you’re not entirely sure at which point you drift off to sleep but you do, imagining the metalhead is next to you.

“I know she told you. 

Hon', I know she told you that she loved you

Much more than I did

But I know that she left you

And you swear that you just don't know why

But you know, hon', I'll always

I'll always be around

If you ever want me”

March 27, 1986

The last few days have been a complete and utter blur, not to mention a horrifying mess. 

You manage to sneak out of your over-guarded home, although your reunion with Eddie isn’t as happy as you both would’ve liked it to be ‘cause suddenly, you find yourselves in the Upside Down fighting for your lives.

Eddie helps Dustin up the makeshift rope before turning to you. The second his chocolate-like gaze locks with yours, a shiver runs down your spine. You can’t exactly tell what he’s thinking, but he’s serving an apologetic expression with a broken smile.

So you do what feels right in the moment and throw your arms around his neck, causing him to stumble backwards a little. He doesn’t hesitate to hug you back. If anything, his grip is a lot stronger than normal and you’re feeling even more concerned than seconds ago.

“Come on!” Dustin yells, “We don’t have time for this!”

The rest of the teens' words fizzle out into the background. All you’re focused on is the faint sound of Eddie’s heartbeat and his hushed breathing into the crook of your neck. Tears begin to swell in your eyes, but before you get to ask why this feels like a goodbye when you’ve just reunited, he places a kiss on your cheek and lets his arms fall.

“Go on, princess.”

You glance at the rope he’s now holding before looking back at him.

“Eddie—”

“Go on. I’m right behind you,” Eddie reassures and you don’t try to protest anymore because you trust him. Instead, you reach for the rope and begin to climb up, aware of his hands hovering over your lower back, ready to push or hold you up if needed. 

You fall through and immediately stand to allow space for Eddie, however, the metalhead doesn’t follow. Dustin is yelling, urging Eddie on whose sole attention is on you. You realise then what he’s been planning and your throat dries to the point where it feels like sandpaper.

“Eddie,” you call out, voice breaking, “You said you were right behind. I-I am begging you, please, please, come here.”

He offers you a smile. One that causes your heart to falter. You know what he’s doing. You know now exactly what he’s thinking. Most importantly, you know what he’s going to say next and you don’t want to hear it. Not here.

“Please, Eddie.” you beg him, eyes watering, “Not like this.”

“I love you, princess.”

And before the admission can even settle in the air, before you get a chance to say that you love him too, desperately and with your whole heart, you’re forced to watch him rush off as Dustin hollers his name.

The room comes to a standstill. For a couple of seconds, you’re unable to move. Your body feels heavy as you’re staring blankly ahead at the spot Eddie’s just vanished from. He loves me, you think, bottom lip quivering. He loves me. 

Inhale, exhale. You snap back to reality. The tears that have been forming in your eyes stop before they breach completely.

Dustin is pacing. He stops when you call his name: once, twice, three times. The two of you exchange a knowing glance. Neither of you speak. There’s no time. The young teen helps you without question. He's on the floor in seconds, ready to hoist you up.

It takes a few attempts, mostly because your whole body is shaking, but you manage to go through the portal once again.

“Don’t wait for me,” Dustin urges in a panicked tone. “Find him.”

All you do is nod.

Eddie’s not hard to find. His agonising screams give his location away pretty quickly. And you’re terrified as you run in his direction. Terrified of what he’s gotten himself into and terrified if he was gonna make it out alive.

He’s coughing up blood when you reach him. You immediately fall to your knees next to him and scan his extensive wounds, hands shaking. The scene in front of you is grisly. Your mind is racing, trying to come up with a way to help him — help get him out of here safely and to a hospital as soon as possible. 

Ultimately you feel helpless ‘cause you’re not sure how to do that.

Eddie coughs again. His hand reaches for yours and he squeezes, bringing you back to Earth.

“Look at me,” he murmurs and you oblige without hesitation. “I-I’m okay, so get out of here.”

You shake my head rather ferociously. “I-I’m not leaving you.” You finally allow yourself to start crying, readjusting your position so that his head is now resting in your lap. “I shouldn’t have let you do this in the first place. Why did you do this, Eddie?”

“It’s done now.” Eddie does his best to offer you a smile. “I-I didn’t run. I fought back.”

The tears that are trailing down your cheeks are burning into your skin. You smile back, a broken smile with nothing but pain behind it, then brush some of his loose curls away from his face. You proceed to cup his cheek and Eddie leans into your touch. It’s a moment that feels safe — despite the fact that your intertwined fingers are resting on his chest and you can feel the blood seep through. 

He squeezes your hand again. “I-I meant what I said—”

“Not like this,” you interrupt in a whimper, “Ehm… Uhm… Dustin will be here soon a-and we’re gonna get you out of here together. You’re gonna be okay. Then you can tell me again, okay? Not like this, Eddie.”

But he just shakes his head. “Yes, yes like this. I-I love you.”

“Eddie—”

“P-please, sweetheart. Please. I love you…” 

Eddie’s voice fades into the darkness that’s surrounding the two of you and his eyes drift close.

You say his name.

When you gauge no reaction, you say it again, and again, and again.

Then you scream.

First in agony, then you scream his name. You beg him to open his eyes, but he’s unresponsive. Bloody hand in yours, he’s drifting somewhere between life and death and you continue to cry.

That’s how Dustin finds you. Eddie, dying in your arms.

pearl masterlist

& tagging some cool people that expressed interest in this lil series: @cactusangie , @spenciesprincess , @capitanostella , @ashlynnkennedy , @ms1oftheboys , @kurdtbean

[tyrantisterror]

At Sea Without a Map pt. 32

Calibani huddles on the ground a few feet away from the giant corpse of her former body, her tail wrapped defensively around her as her blood-slick hair drapes over her face and torso like a curtain. One yellow-orange ye peeks out at you between the blue bloodstains on her face, her expression full of fear and shame.

"I'm sorry," you say to her first and foremost. "I didn't mean to make you feel like a monster."

"But I am a monster," Calibani says.

"Factually speaking, she's correct," Dr. Neptune chimes in, only to back off after you shoot him a threatening glare.

"No you're not, Calibani, you're-"

"But I am!" Calibani shouts beneath her curtain of blood-slick hair. "I'm a monster, I've always been a monster, and I've known it since I was born! I just didn't know that being a monster was a bad thing until you came along and made me think about it!"

You shift on your feet and look away, trying to think of what you can say. "Ok, so you're part fish, that's not a bad thing-"

"I eat people!" she shouts before retreating back under her hair and tail. "Or I did, anyway. I was hungry and I hunted them because I was good at it and I thought it was fine but now I'm realizing they were people like you who were probably nice and scared and I killed them!" She buries her face in her hands. "And you're scared of becoming like me, and I can't blame you because I'm scaly and ugly and gross and I'm an awful person who's killed people!" She heaves and shakes with sobs, choking out, "You should have dumped me in the sea when I was unconscious."

"Jesus Christ," Dr. Neptune says from behind you. You look at him, and he catches your gaze. "Don't look at me," he whispers, "Say something to her!"

You try to think of something, your fingers fidgeting as you stand awkwardly in place. Eventually you get down on your knees to look her eye-to-eye. "Ok, so you killed and ate some people. That's... bad..." You trail off, unsure how you can possibly follow this statement up with anything affirming. "But you didn't really know what you were doing, right? You were just trying to survive!"

She looks up at you, about as unconvinced as you are by that. Clearly this needs more elaboration.

"You didn't have a better way to survive back then," you say, not fully knowing if that's true. "But you do now, and you haven't killed a single person since then! So clearly you've learned your lesson!"

"I killed monsters," she says. "Things like me. One of them talked. They wanted to hurt you, like I wanted to hurt you."

You sigh. "Maybe violence isn't something we can escape here. Maybe no matter what we do, we hurt someone or something." For your own comfort, you scooch a bit closer to her. "But we can try to make sure we limit how much pain we cause. We can try to be better. And I think you've been trying really hard to be better, and that's... that's worth a lot, Calibani"

Her head moves slightly, and you see her eyes gazing at you from beneath those locks of hair, her body trembling slightly as she tries to hold you in her eyes. "But I'm still ugly," she says. "I'm still an ugly, inhuman thing."

The part of you that you've been talking with so far, the part that's calm and introspective, doesn't know what to say to that. But there's another part of you, a little quieter at the moment but still audible in your mind, that finds some words which you end up blurting out, though at least you temper them a bit as they leave your mouth.

"I dunno," you say, "I think you're..." You want to say hot, but that east-ward voice makes to amend your word choice. "...Pretty. Even when you were going full-kaiju mode a few minutes ago." Despite your best efforts, you find yourself sporting a slightly lascivious grin as you whisper to yourself, "...especially when you went full-kaiju mode."

She cranes her neck out a bit, her hair flowing away from her face as she looks at you. "You don't think I'm ugly? You don't hate me?"

You smile and rub her shoulder, ignoring the gross wetness of the blood residue on it. "I don't think you're ugly at all. And I... I like you a lot."

Pulling her head back beneath her hair, Calibani's small, satisfied smile is hard to see, but you're looking close enough to catch it. "Ok. Ok." She re-wraps her tail around herself. "Thank you. But I want to be alone for a bit."

You nod. "Ok. I'm sorry again, Calibani. I'll be more careful when I talk about this human... monster... stuff from now on." Then you stand up and give her the space she wants, only to turn around and see Dr. Neptune waiting behind you, his eye averted bashfully.

"Good show on cheering up your friend," he says with a sad tone of voice. "You know, I can't help but feel like this whole thing was my fault somehow."

"Because it was," you tell him bluntly. "You were a real asshole."

"Oh, yes, that would follow then," he mutters. "Good to know my intuitions are still sharp." He twiddles his mechanical fingers behind his back. "So... I feel really bad about this. In retrospect I see how I was being a bit pushy-"

"You tried to operate on me without my consent," you say bluntly.

"Absolutely true, I apologize for that," he replies. "I did - and still do - honestly believe the operation would save your life, but I recognize it's not my choice to make. And if you are deadset on proceeding in that body you currently have-"

"I am, yes," you interrupt for the third time in a row.

"-then I'd like to help you." He finally meets your gaze, and you see sincerity in his sole, inhuman eye. "I promise you, I'm not a bad man, and I do not wish ill on you. Your goal is still to find a way home, correct?"

You pause, looking back at Calibani. Is it still your goal now? "I think so."

"Then you'll need to turn your boat into a submersible," Dr. Neptune says. "I wish I could just give you one, but every ship I make ends up swimming away on its own within a day."

"...what."

"I can build one, but that will take time, so I suggest we find a way to trigger the adaptation in the boat you already have." He hops to his computer and presses some buttons, displaying a crude, shifting map of the sea with his island in the center. "See this storm here?" he says, pointing in the Northeast corner of the map. "That maelstrom always follows one of the more long-lived creatures in this part of the sea, one the locals have called Lord Ironteeth. He's vast, probably bigger than anything you've seen before - capable of destroying-"

"A ship-breaker," you say, remembering Calibani's term for it.

"Oh, what a lovely name for it! A ship-breaker, yes," Dr. Neptune says. "Your boat is too small for him to attack outright, but if you get close he may capsize it just as a matter of force. Then you and Calibani simply have to survive, right your boat, and escape. The encounter should trigger an adaptation that allows your boat to dive below the water with you on it."

You gulp. "That sounds extremely risky."

"It absolutely is, but since you don't want to cut your brain out, it might be your only option," he says. "I can furnish you with supplies for the trip - enhance whatever weapons you have, do what I can to make you more likely to survive, but in the end you'll have to win on your wits and skills." He looks at Calibani. "Luckily, you have a pretty good woman by your side, and that counts for a lot. Especially when she can turn into a pretty nasty sea monster herself. So what do you say, Sailor? How can I help you?"

Thinking about it, you consult your compass for ideas.

[nartml]

it's not "entirely made up", which is the entire reason people are complaining lol have you seen what the fandom has done to the nazi allegory?

i agree that the people complaining are toxic, but also, a lot of the changes are both misogynistic and homophobic, and there's a lot of toxic masculinity and abusive romance tropes being romanticized, are people not allowed to call them out? representation is important, isn't it?

you literally tagged your post, adding to the toxicity

most new works follow the "new model" and people who write different things are harrassed (i've seen people be harrassed simply because they don't ship wolfstar). how are we supposed to change that if we don't call it out?

discourse in fandom is normal. you can just as easily follow your own advice and not read it/block it.

Y'all are quick lmao

Okay, okay, so, to get the easy stuff out the way:

I unfortunately made another hasty post, I didn't elaborate enough, that's definitely on me.

In my defense, it's 2:30am, I need to be up in five hours at the latest, and I saw the fifth post hating on jegulus and/or other fun parts of the fandom that I genuinely cannot find anything objectively problematic about.

I got pissed.

I tagged my post, and I agree that I further fueled the discourse.

This has been something that I've done before, unfortunately. I'm used to thinking of tags as part of screaming into the void, I'll be sure to erase them after this.

But as you said, it's normal for there to be discourse in fandom.

And honestly, that's what I usually do. Ignore it. Like I do with a lot of things I don't agree with on the internet.

I don't remember contributing to this whole ordeal before tbh, and I've been here for a decent amount of time.

But I got so ticked off, I wanted to get it off my chest for once.

Lost my grip there, but I honestly didn't think too deeply about it.

Anyway, yes, yes, obviously it's not entirely made up. We have the HP series, aka the source material, in which we do see quite a bit of Remus and Sirius.

I was more referring to the fact that every single other character in the marauders era, is, in fact, made up.

It's undeniable that, despite the bits and pieces we've heard throughout the books, we can't possibly have any sort of concrete understanding of how these characters were during their Hogwarts days, before the war.

Not only because the bits and pieces don't in any way make up a whole picture, but also because some of them might've been entirely unreliable.

So these characters; younger Remus and Sirius, as well as James, Peter, Lily, Regulus etc etc etc, have more or less been crafted on very arbitrary ideas.

They are made up, and very rarely reconcilable to their adult counterparts, which makes sense from several standpoints. (E.g. their canon characters have been severely beaten down and traumatized. AUs take place in entirely different settings; the context changes entirely, and so do the characters)

Now, as for the nazi allegory, I assume you're referring to a) morons who are glorifying the death eater tattoo (jesus christ), or b) the 'Slytherin Skittles'?

In b's case, I'd wager it started with Regulus and the potential to explore the Black Family dynamics, which then escalated to giving him his own friend group and creating entertaining dynamics between them.

However, I genuinely do not see the harm in this.

It hardly matters that they're canonically deaths eaters, or that they were most likely blood supremacists and horrible people; or whatever else could've been going on with them.

They were so barely mentioned in the actual story. Doesn't matter what effect their existence had on the story and how it served the narrative, because they were barely ever directly there.

We know next to nothing for fact. So it's next to impossible for most people to care for their actions in canon, and just see them as blank canvases.

I can't really fault them for that.

People project whatever they want on characters that are firmly established and thoroughly explored; characters that are borderline non-existent are free real estate.

And yes, changes can totally be problematic.

A prime example is definitely the hyperfeminization of Sirius, to make wolfstar fit the classic heteronormativity that plagues queer ships.

As for the romanticization of abusive romance tropes, I honestly have never seen it.

I mean, I hear people complaining about it, but I swear to fuck, it feels like you guys are fighting ghosts sometimes 😭

Either it's a part of the fandom I've somehow steered clear of, despite being balls deep in it, or some people are exaggerating, which isn't out of the realm of possibility, but I kind of doubt that's the case.

As for toxic masculinity, again, I literally haven't seen it. Hand to my heart, scout's honour, I have not.

Hyperfeminization? Definitely.

Toxic masculinity? Macho men? Written in any context that's not challenging it, and is promoting it? Nope.

Representation is important, and that was the other part my post was based on.

I've seen people hate on the liberties others have taken to explore gender through these characters, which ticked me off even more.

And this is coming from a cis individual, who doesn't really fuck with he/they Sirius, they/them James, etc etc.

I don't think that there's any harm in people creating/enjoying content that is representative of their struggles/experiences with gender (or any other part of life).

Exactly because in the marauders fandom, characters are incredibly flexible, for aforementioned reasons.

Blank canvases, remember?

Usually this hate, from what I've seen, comes from people who prefer sticking to the canon part of this whole story.

In which case, totally, the 'new model' is very. Very. Unrealistic.

(There are definitely harmful headcanons out there. Even within this context, there also exists content that fetishizes the very thing I just defended. But I physically can't sit here and list off every problematic thing that has happened in this fandom. I don't have the energy. And that's not what the post is about anyway)

-"People who write different things are harassed".

Yes, glad that you get my point, even though I obviously didn't get it across.

This goes both ways. This goes all ways. Yeah, people who don't ship wolfstar get hate.

But people who headcanon Regulus as trans get it too.

People who prefer Jily get hate.

But jegulus shippers have their hands full as well.

People giggling over silly headcanons that are honestly just that: silly; can't catch a break.

What was that, you like the new model? Here's all the ways I think it sucks ass.

Oh, you prefer canon? What a loser, you're in the wrong fandom.

Ultimately, the joy gets drained out of everything.

This is meant to be fun. This is meant to be a break from real life stress.

It's not meant to leave you exhausted because you're too busy apologizing about not taking something too seriously, or defending your ship preferences.

In the end, however, I obviously get what you're saying. There are harmful changes that deserve to be pointed out.

But I never said that they didn't. Calling out the notions that are inherently problematic when perpetuated is important.

Constructive criticism is welcome. It's crucial. It only adds, it deepens people's understanding of media and brings attention to problematic aspects of certain interpretations.

That's not what I was referencing in my original post; at least, not intentionally.

I was talking about how so many people love to mindlessly complain about things they don't like, without actually bringing up any substantial points.

The only goal is to tear other people down.

As we've agreed, some of these changes are problematic.

But so is the way some people convey their disagreements.

Some of y'all use your complaints about new character developments to also hide your general prejudice against something.

Like, there's no need to get this heated over genderfluid Sirius.

In this particular instance, it's because the general concept of the 'new model' is pretty mainstream, so it's hard to avoid it. So I know that I'm being a bit unfair when I say, 'ignore it'

Ignoring it is rarely easy though, no matter how mainstream or minor.

It should be, because logically this is all fictional and it doesn't matter if someone dislikes your OTP, or if you think someone's hc is painfully unrealistic.

But we can't help it. It's impossible to care about how fictional something is when it means so much to us.

And seeing something antithetical to our interpretation can feel like some sort of personal attack, even when it's really not.

Part of it also stems from how, when you see fifty other people throwing in their two cents, you also want to.

Because it's a base instinct to want to be heard.

All that said, ignoring it, despite the circumstances, is often the best way to go, because a lot of the time it can be irrational.

Hating on someone because they don't like your ship can be irrational.

Starting a fight over someone's differing interpretation of a character can be irrational.

Think critically before you speak, and be careful when phrasing your points.

Being respectful is crucial, and if you're not getting the same courtesy, then stepping back is the smarter choice.

I'm still working on always maintaining these things myself.

I've been doing a bang-on job, broadly speaking.

I had a slight moment of weakness earlier :P

(For those wondering, I took the og post down. It wasn't anything tragic, I just said that most people who complain about the fandom's toxicity actively contribute to it when they hate on stuff others enjoy.

In the tags I went off a bit, my ultimate points being that the fun is often sucked out of everything, and that if I personally don't like something, I avoid it, stick to my stuff, and don't venture into others' spaces if I'm not willing to be open minded.

But I was definitely more aggressive with the delivery, which was my bad. I hate it when I break my own rules on how I want to behave on here.)

Anyway, so sorry for this long rant, and sorry if I've missed something or made a bad/harmful point. I'm borderline asleep.

And it's now 4:10am and I got too absorbed in this *sigh*

[meeeeeeri]

Things that really ANNOYED THE FUCK OUTTA ME while watching OUTER BANKS SEASON 3:

First things first: Big John AKA big old crazy dude

Let's just say that besides being a shitty father figure he also is selfish as fuck. He only decides to appear in John B's life whenever he needs him to do something treasure related, like ok big John, you love your son so much *cough cough*

In other hand, he also is willing to do ANTHING to find el Dorado, and by ANYTHING I mean killing people, tell me that's not what a psychopath would do.

And all the fricking screen time dedicated to the relationship between John B and his father???? Like we get that they need to bond again but DO WE HAVE TO WATCH ALL THE PROCESS?

No thank you Netflix, do better next time

I saw a tik tok that went something like this: Who said Ward is a bad person? Big John? cause if we wanna talk about someone BAD let's talk about Big John...

And yeah, that tik tok literally summes up my opinion about this individual.

Me roasting Big John with this post:

2: Rafe and the girl named Sofia who came out of nowhere

Ok. Don't misunderstand me; the idea of introducing a new character who's gonna play the girlfriend or fuckbuddy of Rafe is super super interesting to me BUT

Can you elaborate more their relationship????? Give more CONTEXT????

They could even use her apparition and do a BOMB ASS side story like idk maybe her being more cruel than Rafe or her having some kind of business relationship with Singh and betraying him in the process... WHATEVER

But I'm just saying that that would have been more interesting than the parental issues between Big Dumbass John and John B

A video of me crying while scenes of John B and his dad appeared on my tv non stop:

LOOK AT HIM HE'S SO CUTE LOVE HIM

3: Sarah and Topper

Don't even get me started on this shit.

When I saw that Sarah went back to flirting with Topper I was like WHA- WHE- WHO

But I'm not gonna question her that much because they are supposed to be playing teenagers, and that's what teenagers and (also) some adults do:

STUPID SHIT

And Topper... I really don't know how to feel about him.

He's like a shark who's ready to attack if he sniffs some blood (Sarah and John B breaking up or having relationship turbulences), but I can't even blame him that much because I feel like he really loves Sarah besides everything, and he really demonstrated it this season by helping the pogues out.

What Topper was replaying in his head when Sarah promised him that she would stay:

4: Sarah's thoughts when she was left with no family, no money and nowhere to go (she was homeless for like a day and decided to cope with it by drinking beer from an abandoned beer tap, ok)

Um... When I say I was expecting her to say something philosophical and life changing and SHE DECIDED TO CONCLUDE HER SPEECH WITH: I really don't know if I'm a pogue or a kook...

SIDE EYE

Girl I KNOW you are 17 but GROW THE FUCK UP.

You've been betrayed by your OWN FATHER and SHOT and nearly KILLED by your BROTHER and that's what you're thinking about???

Jesus Christ have mercy on me

All the build up story around pogues and kooks is really interesting (even tho it's like another form of saying rich and poor people) but when characters say shit like that it really makes no sense.

You have no home, no family, you argued with your bf and he left, and your friends are not there at the moment and YOU ARE THINKING ABOUT THAT IRRELEVANT SHIT? Damn

Ok, I think I am done with most of the things I wanted to say. There are MORE for sure, but these are the most important ones.

I have to be honest with you, I still haven't watched the last episode bc I really got tired of their bullshit. I love the show and I really love the characters, but this season just wasn't it. I am gonna try and finish it today with hopes that they will end it in a decent way (I don't think so but whatever).

It's not a secret by the end of this post that I'm a spanish native speaker so, yeah, I tried my best to write down correctly the ideas that I had about the show, so PLEASE don't come at me.

I'm also writing a fanfiction about Rafe, but I'm doing it in spanish because I feel like if I wrote it in english I would fuck it up.

Maybe I will try and start uploading Rafe imagines or smth like that, bc they would be shorter and easier to write for me.

PLEASE if you have any thoughts or a comment that you wanna add after reading my rant, just do it, I'm for sure gonna be answering y'all because I love to talk about the show and the characters.

BYE P4L

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for September 17, 2024

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 24:28-29 (KJV):

28 Be not a witness against thy neighbour without cause; and deceive not with thy lips.

29 Say not, I will do so to him as he hath done to me: I will render to the man according to his work.

Proverbs 24:28-29 (AMP):

28 Be not a witness against your neighbor without cause, and deceive not with your lips.

29 Say not, I will do to him as he has done to me; I will pay the man back for his deed.

Thought for the Day

These verses elaborate on one of the Ten Commandments: "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor" (Exodus 20:16). To bear false witness is to attempt to deceive a legal court by lying about someone. Man needs God's Law because man's sinful nature causes disagreements, hard feelings, and the desire for revenge. The Lord commands Christians to live peaceably with others and extend grace to them. "Follow peace with all men, and holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord: Looking diligently lest any man fail of the grace of God; lest any root of bitterness springing up trouble you, and thereby many be defiled" (Hebrews 12:14-15). We are not to return evil for evil, but to bless our enemies and do good to them. We are not to seek vengeance on wrongs that have been done to us in the past or bear false witness against others. "Finally, be ye all of one mind, having compassion one of another, love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous: Not rendering evil for evil, or railing for railing: but contrariwise blessing; knowing that ye are thereunto called, that ye should inherit a blessing. For he that will love life, and see good days, let him refrain his tongue from evil, and his lips that they speak no guile: Let him eschew evil, and do good; let him seek peace, and ensue it" (1 Peter 3:8-12).

God will bless us when we obey His Word, whether or not our opponents acknowledge or appreciate our right actions. Vengeance alienates people, whether neighbors, fellow-Christians, or enemies, and an offended brother is harder to win back than a strong city (Proverbs 18:19). We cannot win the lost to Christ nor help a Christian in error if we exact vengeance upon them for hurting us. "Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord. Therefore if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head. Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good" (Romans 12:19-21). God knows how to deal justly with every person.

If we are wise, we will learn to guard our mouths and not say things we will later regret. It is possible to be wrong, even when we are right, by having a wrong attitude. If we want to be leaders in the church, we must not enter into strife with others, but deal gently with everyone. If we ask, God will help us to do this and cause His goodness to flow through us. "And the servant of the Lord must not strive; but be gentle unto all men, apt to teach, patient, in meekness instructing those that oppose themselves; if God peradventure will give them repentance to the acknowledging of the truth" (2 Timothy 2:24-25).

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Dear heavenly Father, I do want to be a person who is not easily offended and also one who trusts You to deal with those who would seek to do evil against me. I know that I cannot do this within myself, so I am asking You to fill me with the Spirit so that I can honestly love my enemies and do good to them. I know this kind of love only comes from You. Lord, forgive those who plot evil against me and say evil things about me. Open their eyes to the truth. Give me the grace and patience to allow You to deal with them, as I truly want to overcome evil with good. I ask this in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

From: Steven P. Miller, @ParkermillerQ, gatekeeperwatchman.org TM

Founder and Administrator of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Group

X … @ParkermillerQ

Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956

#GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO.

[drabbles-mc]

Acquaintances at Best

Steve Murphy & Javier Peña

For @narcosfandomdiscord's Day of Threes: create a fanwork using three canon characters. Difficult mode: use three canon characters who never met in canon

Warnings: 18+, language, alcohol, guns and other canon things

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: The three characters I chose were Jorge Salcedo, Don Berna, and Steve Murphy! And what a time it was throwing them all together! Shout-out to Ashling for helping me string this all together. tqm 💕

Narcos Taglist: @garbinge @winchestershiresauce @nessamc @supersanelyromantic @sizzlingcloudmentality @padbrookcottage @mysun-n-stars @raincoffeeandfandoms @justreblogginfics @ashlingnarcos @proceduralpassion @artemiseamoon @narcolini @hausofmamadas @cositapreciosa (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

It was nothing short of a miracle, in Javi’s humble opinion, that Steve agreed to come back to Colombia. Sure, it was a short stint, not the indefinite amount of time it had been when they were hunting for Escobar together, but it was something. It was more than he thought that he was going to get. Javi briefly wondered how many hours of arguing with Connie Steve had had to endure because of it. In the back of his mind Javi made the mental note to send Steve home with something nice for her as an attempt at an apology for dragging her husband back down into the mess of it all.

“Now who’s this guy you’ve been working with?” Steve asked as he and Javi made their way through the office.

“Salcedo,” Javi answered as the two of them quickly strode across the floor. “Currently the head of security for the Cali cartel.”

Steve’s eyes widened in surprise. “Shit.”

Javi nodded, ushering Steve into his office and swinging the door shut before anyone else could try and intrude on their conversation. “Yeah, exactly.”

“What the hell did you need me down here for, then?” Steve chuckled as he walked over to one of the chairs in front of Javi’s desk. “You got their goddamn head of security, two agents working for you, and,” he gestured to the room around them, “they even gave you an office.” He rested his hand on the back of the chair he was standing behind. “Bringing me back seems like a downgrade,” he joked.

Javi chuckled, shaking his head as he walked over. He stayed on the same side of the desk as Steve, opting to just lean back against it instead. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “The new guys are good. They’re working Salcedo—doing all the legwork on that.”

Steve shrugged, lips turned down into the slightest frown as he nodded. “Alright.”

“I needed someone who’s done this shit before.”

Steve chuckled—it was the closest thing to a compliment that he was going to get from Javi. He wasn’t going to let it slip by unnoticed. “Short supply of people who have taken down drug kingpins, then?”

Javi shook his head, the scoff he wanted to let out turning into a laugh. “Fuck you.” When both of them got themselves together again, Javi continued. “You know how it works down here—better or worse.”

He let out a deep sigh, the humor disappearing from his face as his chin tucked towards his chest for a moment. “Yeah, I do.”

Javi dragged his hand down his chin. “I’m working an angle with an old friend.” He paused, waiting for Steve to interject right off the rip. Much to both their surprise, Steve kept his mouth shut. “The game’s changed and I don’t want to go in alone if I can help it.”

Steve laughed, amused by the notion despite the looming sense of futility. “Want me to be your fuckin’ bodyguard, Jav?”

He rolled his eyes. “No. Wouldn’t fly you all the way down here for something you’d be bad at.”

Steve shook his head. “Alright. So, Salcedo’s the new guy.” He finally sat down in the chair. “Who’s the old friend?"

“Diego Murillo,” Javi said. After a beat he elaborated. “Don Berna.”

Steve exhaled sharply. “Jesus Christ, Jav.” Steve looked up at him from where he was sitting. “One round with this guy and his buddies wasn’t enough? Gonna go back for more?”

“Worked the first time, though, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, and it got you sent the fuck—”

“Are you with me or not, Steve?” Javi cut him off. If he wanted to argue about this, he would’ve asked Feistl and Van Ness for their help.

“I mean,” Steve shook his head, unable to look Javi in the eyes for a moment, “yeah, I’m with you.” He raked his hand back through his hair. “I’m fuckin’ here, aren’t I?”

When he and Javi sat down in the small restaurant at an even smaller table, it was the first time that Steve didn’t feel like he was the one who was sticking out like a sore thumb. His polo and jeans fit in a little better with the vibe of the restaurant than Javi’s suit and tie. Javi didn’t seem worried about it, though.

The second that Don Berna stepped into the restaurant and spotted the two of them at the table together, he started laughing. Walking over, he spoke to Javi as he took a seat. “Todos esos años de misterios,” he shook his head, “y ahora lo traes aquí.” He was still laughing as he leaned forward, resting his forearms against the table. “Por qué no, hm?”

Javi’s tone remained neutral despite the look in his eyes. “Stakes are different now, Berna—you know that.”

Don Berna shook his head, mumbling out a quick thanks to the waitress who brought a drink over to him. “No trust among old friends?”

“Not old friends,” Javi responded. “And trust only goes so far.”

He didn’t say anything else to Javi as he turned his attention to Steve. He held out the hand that wasn’t holding the beer bottle he’d just been given. “Agent Murphy, nice to finally meet you.”

Steve didn’t shake his hand. “Javi said you could help us out with a little problem that we’ve got.”

Berna chuckled, shrugging as he let his hand drop back to the table, unfazed by Steve’s attitude. “Depends on the problem,” he took a sip of his drink, “and what you can do for me in return.”

Steve scoffed. “We’re not gonna—”

Javi held up his hand to stop Steve before he dug the both of them into a hole that they wouldn’t be able to get out of. “What is it that you want?”

Steve clenched his jaw, unable to hide the tension, the distaste that was written all over his face. He’d never had a good poker face before, and clearly that hadn’t changed. Luckily for everyone involved, Don Berna found it to be more amusing than anything else.

“Cuánto vale para ti, hm?” He shifted his gaze from Javi to Steve. “What is the Cali cartel worth to you, Agent Murphy?”

By the end of the discussion, Steve learned that the answer to that question was: it was worth more than he wanted to admit. Whatever it was worth to him, to Javi it was worth even more. Steve had gotten his win, in a weird way, but Javi was still looking for his.

When the two of them got back into Javi’s car, there was a moment of absolute silence between them. Javi didn’t move to put the keys in the ignition, Steve didn’t try to speak up and say anything. For once it didn’t even seem like there was much noise or chaos to be found outside, either. Neither of them were used to Medellín being so quiet.

“You sure know how to pick your friends, Jav,” Steve finally said.

Javi sighed, sliding the key into the ignition of the car. “Like it or not, he’s a good one to have.”

“Till he’s not.”

He threw the car into drive. “Yeah, till he’s not.” He pulled out from his parking spot and onto the street. “Gonna make Salcedo seem like a choir boy now, though.”

Jorge was a lot more particular about where he agreed to meet them. He had to be—he was running risks that Berna wasn’t. It was much more isolated, off the beaten path. Just far enough outside the Cali line so no one was going to accidentally stumble upon them. If Steve had been alongside anyone other than Javi, he simply just wouldn’t have gone to meet him there. But it was Javi, and Steve knew that he wasn’t going to say no. For a minute it felt like old times.

He couldn’t hide his moment of confusion when he saw Javi and Steve sitting there. His assumption was that Feistl or Van Ness was going to be there, someone that he’d been in regular contact with. He knew Javi, but the comfort, the trust, wasn’t fully there for either of them and it was obvious. He didn’t like the feeling it put in the pit of his stomach, but it wasn’t as though he could simply get up and book it out of the establishment without causing more of a scene than it was worth.

Jorge wasted no time. The second that they sat down across from him he looked at Javi and said, “Who is this?” as he gestured to Steve.

“He’s my—”

He didn’t let Javi finish. His tone was hushed but still harsh. “The more people that know, the more likely it is that my boss is going to—”

Steve jumped in, clearly offended by the insinuation even though he knew better. “I’m not gonna fuckin’ say anything.” He jerked his thumb in Javi’s direction. “I’m on his side.”

Jorge didn’t hesitate with his response. “But are you on mine?”

There were a few beats of tense silence before Javi said, “I trust him.” He waited for Jorge to look at him. “That’s gonna have to be good enough for you.”

Jorge didn’t know if it was good enough, but what he did know, was that he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. He studied both Javi and Steve for a few moments longer before he gave the slightest hint of a nod. There was no going back now, really—not for any of them.

“Great,” Steve said sarcastically with a nod. His next comment came a little quieter, meant for Javi even though Jorge could easily hear it as well. “You and all your goddamn friends.”

Steve never would’ve admitted it out loud, but there was something about Jorge that he found sympathetic. Some guy with a wife and daughters who got in way over his head with people that he couldn’t find a way to cleanly break away from now. He could find some sympathy within himself for that. He could tell that Javi still wasn’t as sold, wasn’t as invested in Jorge as he had been with other informants in the past. Steve couldn’t help but to think that Javi just didn’t have it in him to get attached anymore. Steve could make all the snide comments he wanted about Javi’s long and questionable list of friends, but he’d lost a lot of them along the way too.

They were all in some form of agreement by the end of the conversation. But they also knew that there was no way they could just keep trekking out to the middle of nowhere anytime they wanted to meet face-to-face. Now that they were all pretty much on the same page, now that Jorge felt somewhat confident that neither Javi nor Steve were going to hang him out to dry, he slipped them the address of one of his own safehouses. He kept it off paperwork and off the radar of his men and his bosses. He was good but he was never too good to have his own failsafe—it seemed like if there was ever a time to cash in on it, it was now.

“We’ll be in touch,” Javi said as their conversation wrapped up.

Jorge didn’t say anything, simply nodding in acknowledgment as he watched the two of them get up and leave. He and Steve looked at each other for a beat longer, like they were both figuring out if they were really ready to trust the other. At the same time, they both knew that just like with so many other things, there was only so much that either of them could do about it now.

As the days ticked by, Steve couldn’t help but to be impressed in an odd way at just how well Javi was able to keep so many different plates spinning at once. And he did it all while somehow making sure that none of the plates ever bumped into each other. Everything existed neatly in its own little vacuum. Being on the inside of it all with him now, Steve didn’t feel quite so bad about being late to the party with figuring it all out when they were hunting Escobar.

When Jorge reached out and asked Javi to meet him, Javi could tell by the tone in Jorge’s voice that things must’ve been unfolding quicker than they thought. He just had to hope that things were unfolding in their favor—he didn’t let himself get his hopes up too high for that.

He and Steve made their way up the stairs and down the hall, looking for the apartment number that Jorge had given them before. The entire building was quiet, and if Jorge had been anyone other than who he was, Javi would’ve assumed that he just owned the entire building outright.

Steve was the one who knocked on the door. Twice, then he waited, then three more times. They waited for the door to open, but it didn’t happen. Confusion was written all over both their faces.

Steve kept his voice low. “You sure this is the right spot?”

Javi scoffed. “I can read fuckin’ numbers.”

“Alright, well, he’s not answering the goddamn—”

Steve stopped short when they heard shuffling and muffled voices on the other side of the door. Instantly, they both reached for their guns. Javi used his free hand to try the doorknob, the knot in his stomach growing when he realized that it was still unlocked. That wasn’t like Jorge.

The door didn’t make so much as a sound as Javi gently pushed it open with the tips of his fingers. The more the door opened, the more that they could hear the voices. It still wasn’t enough to be able to make out what was being said, or who Jorge was talking to.

It wasn’t until they were fully inside the apartment that they were able to figure out who else was there with them. And even then, it was because they saw them before anything else. Maybe they shouldn’t have been relieved to see Don Berna standing in the middle of the apartment’s tiny kitchen, but they were. Even Steve felt the muscles in his body relax slightly.

The same couldn’t be said for Jorge, who looked like the vein in his neck was about to pop. “Vete de aquí,” he demanded. When Berna made no move to do any such thing, he said, “Ahora!”

Don Berna laughed, opening up the refrigerator like he was in his own home. “Por favor, escuchame. Tengo una oportunidad para ti.” He paused to chuckle. “Una buena oportunidad,” he gave Jorge a pointed glance, “para una rata como—”

“Berna,” Javi interjected.

The sight of Javi and Steve should’ve been a relief for Jorge, but really it just looked like it was going to be the thing that sent him careening over the edge. Meanwhile Berna’s laughter only increased.

“Peña, Agent Murphy, qué mundo tan pequeño, no?”

Javi sounded more exasperated than anything. “Berna,” he repeated himself, “how—”

Steve cut him off. “What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

Don Berna had been around too many truly dangerous people to be intimidated by Steve. “I had questions for your friend here,” he said casually as he gestured to Jorge.

If looks could kill, Jorge would’ve reduced Javi to a puddle on the floor. “You said I would be safe. This,” he gestured to Berna, “isn’t—”

“You’re safe from Cali,” Berna offered, a strange brand of reassurance. “That’s what they promised you. And you are.” Berna shrugged. “No tengo interés en—”

“No me importa,” Jorge cut him off, “lo que te interese.”

Don Berna shrugged, seemingly unbothered. “Tu pérdida.”

“Berna,” Javi tried one more time to insert himself into the conversation, “you need to get the fuck out of here. Now.”

Jorge scoffed at Javi, gesturing angrily at the man who was making no move to get out of his kitchen. “You’re just going to let him—”

“I will handle it,” Javi grit out, losing what little patience he had left.

Steve tried to stifle his sarcastic laugh and failed, the cough he let out in a secondary attempt to cover it up not doing much more damage control. Javi shook his head, knowing that he wasn’t ever going to hear the end of this from him.

“Not gonna have any friends left by the end of this,” Javi mumbled to himself as he watched Berna finally start heading for the door.

[amerrierworld]

brain.

I chewed the end of my pencil’s eraser, the flavour off-putting but not unwelcome. Looking at my pile of drafts and blurb prompts, the brief inkling of my motivation that I had earlier seemed to be slipping away.

“You know, this would be a lot easier if I became obsessed with something new again, quickly,” I grumbled, abusing the delete button on my keyboard as I rewrote a sentence again.

“What’s wrong with the things you’re currently obsessed with?” A low chuckle came from the other side of the room. Lou stepped through the doorway and to the side of my desk, planting reassuring hands on my shoulders. “Just write another steamy fic about me... You’ve got plenty already.”

“Yeah but I don’t want to just write about you, no matter how much I love writing about you,” I look up at her and she tuts, stealing the pencil from my mouth. “I have to keep up with different things!”

“Well, you keep promising them you’ll write more about us,” Hela grumbled from the couch in the back of the room, pointing between her and Alcina, who was hunched over uncomfortably in the small office space. “How many parts does Babysitter still need to finish the story, hm?”

“Don’t start,” I groaned, hiding my face with my hands.

“And Songbird was supposed to be just three parts, right? Now what, you’ve given yourself about ten total? You think you’ll have the stamina for that?” The Countess added.

“You’re not helping! Any of you!” I snapped, closing my laptop and getting up. “I need a drink.”

“I hope it’s one of my brands,” Alcina commented. “You know they’re the best.”

“I don’t drink blood-wine, Alci.” 

Lou, trusty Lou, followed me around the elaborate palace of writing I had constructed for myself, flicking through a notebook of drafts and characters from my recent writings. 

“You really stuck around with this, didn’t you?” She gestured to the pages of scribbles.

“What?” I asked, grabbing a glass from the cabinet in the kitchen. 

“Me, Debs, Hela, Carol, Alci, basically everything Cate Blanchett played and then some.”

“Oh, shut up,” I growled. “I wrote about some other characters too you know!”

“Yeah, years ago,” Thorin muttered, sitting at the kitchen island next to Obi-Wan. “We both barely got any mention. Fili’s story took years to finish, didn't it?”

“Boys, I promise I still love all of you. It’s just that the women characters have been more on my mind recently.”

“Well, you haven’t written about all of Cate’s characters,” Valka muttered, and Bernadette nodded. “When are you gonna invite Lydia in?”

“When I have the stamina to even begin thinking about such a complex character! I could barely write one fic about Lilith as it is!”

“Oh, sorry, we’re not complex enough for ya!” Karl snarled, chugging back my entire last bottle of wine. “This is shit, by the way.”

“Hey! That was my last bottle.”

“This is your dream, just think up another,” he scoffed, chucking the bottle into the sink.

“Just pick something! Anything will work, and to be honest, I’m surprised you haven’t written about me yet,” Legolas sat perched on one of the tables, fiddling with the ends of one of his arrows. “There’s loads in Fellowship you could write on.”

“Jesus Christ, where’d you come from? And no, I can’t just pick something! I need a good explanation for my insane hiatus... again!”

“Ah, you’ll be fine,” Bernadette replied. “The loyal fans will understand.”

“Don’t call them fans,” I muttered. “I feel weird thinking that people out there actually enjoy my writing.”

“Besides,” she kept going, “You’ve been coming and going as you please anyways since the start! Isn’t that indicative enough that you can take all the time you need if you need it?”

“Doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty though!” I sighed. “I feel like I owe my writing another piece. Something good. But that’s scary, because what the hell is supposed to be good? And what if no one reads it? It’s not even a ground-breaking novel, it’s just silly little paragraphs about characters that aren’t even mine.”

“So what?” Lou crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway -- her best place to pose. “You like writing it, so write it. Doesn’t matter if people read it. You don’t even have to post it, if you don’t want.”

Galadriel walked in beside her, hands deftly clasped in front of her. “There’s plenty to write about, meleth-nin. You’ll find something. If it’s not a fic like this, maybe something else. And if something is unfinished, let it be. That’s what the process is for.”

I opened the kitchen cabinet, and sure enough, there was another bottle of wine. But, instead, I reached for the apple juice next to it. It was nice and cold, despite not being in the fridge. God, I loved imagining things. 

“I could write more smut -- people like reading it, and it’s fun to write,” I shrugged after chugging half a glass. “But what if I should try something more? Maybe a couple parts to a story, like in dreams, but just stop it after a few, and not force myself to think of it as a massive novel with endless chapters? That’s what happened with Babysitter... I had a fantastic idea and now I’m scared to take it somewhere.”

“Maybe one day you’ll finish the big ones,” Obi-Wan mused, stroking his beard from the table. “You could always try a different series that you’ve already seen, watched, and loved. Maybe that’ll get the ball rolling. There’s lots more to Star Wars than just me.”

“I know, but I love you,” I pouted. “And Star Wars is massive!”

“So is Tolkien,” Thorin shrugged. “You’ve written about us plenty.”

“Could’ve written about me,” Loki grinned. “You basically did, of course, but you made me more the side-character. I think I would do really well as the protagonist--”

“Maybe take the time to watch new stuff, you know, the things you keep saying you’ll get into, but then don't?” Debbie suggested, pulling out a massive list of my to-be-watched and to-be-read. I pouted again, I wanted to, but had no idea where to start.

They had all entered the dining room now, Alci sitting on the floor to make room for her head. And they all looked at me expectantly. There was a typewriter on the table.

“Oh, no, absolutely not. I’m not writing something while you’re all sitting here watching me.”

“Well, what’ll it be then?” Hela countered. “You’re gonna finish this fic and be done for the day -- or should I say, year?”

“I don’t know what to write about!”

“Write about this,” Bernadette said, gesturing wildly around the room. “And then maybe something new will happen after.”

“You know, this is definitely a fever dream,” I grumbled. “I could never look a so many of Cate Blanchett’s characters at once and be able to form complete sentences.”

Three peculiar flies landed around the typewriter, buzzing haphazardly. Alcina shooed them away and the three daughters materialized, hanging from the chandelier.

“If you break that, you’ll pay for it!” I warned.

“If we break it, that means you made us break it!” Cassandra cackled. “Can’t win, sweetie. Not even in your own daydreams.”

“No, I suppose not,” I slumped in the chair and looked at the blank page. “Writing fic isn’t meant to feel like a chore, right?”

“Don’t ask us, we’re not writers,” Karl grumbled, sitting at a plate of hot food piled high. 

“Where did that come from?” I gaped. He wagged a finger in the air in thought while chewing a massive piece of steak.

“Hmn, I think... you might be hungry. Best get some fuel when you wake up.”

“But first,” Carol said softly, resting her hand on my shoulder. “Write something. Anything. Any word.”

I thought for a moment, the clock in the hall ticking loudly. Fuck it.

brain.

[melancholyofinvisibleshores]

Hey fellas, Italian here! Idk how much access y'all have to Italian media, but the situation is more complex than that.

You see, Carini is not just any athlete, she was competing on behalf of the Fiamme Oro Society, which is like a sports society for cops. But it doesn't end there, that same society is supported (both via mediatic endorsement and I think some state funding as well) by Giorgia Meloni, the current prime minister (her Italian title is "president of the Council of Ministers of the Italian Republic, but the gist is the same). And let me tell you, Meloni is pushing this case hard; it is one of those things that is captivating all of the media attention, it's kinda inescapable.

Why? Well, the media is heavily biased toward a right-wing sentiment (and nowadays a pro-Meloni sentiment), so they are already prone to parrot her position; on top of that, they are trying to divert attention to all of the shit that is going down right now because oh my god where do I even start? In the last months, there have been: climate emergencies so severe that they obliterated a significant portion of agricultural production and made several infrastructures collapse; a massive journalistic investigation that uncovered ties between Meloni's party and illegal fascistic organisations (and the government wasn't even going to really condemn them until the fucking president Mattarella put his foot down); revolts and general degradation of several prisons, with suicides among inmates (and prison guards, too); an insane amount of femicides/feminicides (women killed by men due to misogyny, but like a lot of women, like every three day a woman was murdered or something like that, needless to say, that there was not much done or said about it by Meloni's clique); people doing bullshit with the European funds (too fucking much to be explained in detail, this post would be longer than do you like the colours of the sky)...

Am I forgetting something? oh yeah, the fucking push for the referendum. Okay, I have to elaborate on this one. Meloni is currently trying to pass a reform that would give an insane amount of autonomy to regions; it is called autonomia differenziata (differentiated autonomy). This would only cause wealth disparities between regions, a total lack of state funding where it is most needed, general difficulties in negotiation within the European Union, the possibility for single regions to just not do the thing EU agreed upon, respecting environmental regulation for example), and more! By far the most fascistic thing about it is giving regions the power to determine what to teach in schools (you can guess where this is going in regions governed by the right)... So naturally, a bunch of people are really unhappy about this and they decided to form petitions to ask for a referendum: when citizens don't want a specific thing to be approved by the parliament they can ask for a referendum and vote directly about the thing (do you want this shit? Yes or no); this is used also as a test of trust towards the government in some cases (but not this time).

Why am I explaining all of this? Because it appears that the Carini case is being used as a diversion from the autonomia differenziata (which should be the big thing right now, along with the ties between the government and illegal fascist organisations). It is rumoured that Carini was pushed to drop out in order to make this big fuss to distract from all of the other shit. And also, Meloni and her pals are like insanely racists, I can't stress this enough (fucking Vannacci is one of Italy's representatives in the EU, I'm still fucking livid). I mean, you could probably guess it from the fascist ties but eh; and before you ask, no Italy has not always been this way, I remember when antifascism was the norm in society and I'm fucking 22 Jesus Christ; and also, yes, fascist have been emboldened by the lax attitude (I want to say complicit but I don't want to get sued lol) of the government and fascist hate crimes have increased lately.

So yeah, when all of these motherfuckers that are parroting what Meloni and her clique are saying they are allies of people with direct links to fascist organisations, who most likely organised this whole mess to distract from the heinous things they want to do to our country.

Sorry for the rant, but this is like something that feels obvious to me and then I see foreign media push this narrative "transpiracy" and ughhh

The good news is that the petitions to ask for the referendum about the autonomia differenziata are going strong! In fact, if you are Italian and haven't done already, GO SIGN THE FUCKING PETITION!!! The more the better (we have reached the bare minimum already iirc, but just to be sure).

Per favore raga, non stiamo a fare cazzate; ci sono troppe cose in ballo questa volta; trovate lo sportello più vicino a voi e firmate. E poi ovviamente votate no al referendum quando lo organizzeranno. Dio cane. Ok, I'm out.

Man, I'm sure it isn't a coincidence that when women of color who don't meet the Eurocentric standards of what a woman is "supposed" to look or be like starts winning against white European athletes, they suddenly become the intense targets of transphobia and have their names and reputations dragged through the mud by bigots like Joanne Rowling and Andrew Tate.

White supremacy 🤝 transmisogyny 🤝 intersexism

[nottskyler]

Had a weird dream last night where I was a reporter investigating the claims that someone was turning a single family home into eleven apartments. We went to the house and the man there was going through a divorce and so the house had sold but he still had a few weeks to move out. He didn’t know who the buyers were, which is normal for people who haven’t bought a house in the US. However he let us walk through.

So we ended up at a housing fair to try and figure out who was buying it and how they were going to manage to make eleven apartments without adding anything outside the house. There we ended up seeing the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints ad they decided to show at the housing fair.

It opens with a woman cooking in a nice large kitchen, like ones you see on former magazine websites, and putting things on trays. The doorbell rings and she says, “Honey can you go get that.” Her husband opens the door to his parents. They greet with a hug and two kids come running to give grandma and grandpa a hug. The two kids run through the kitchen on the other side of the island so they aren’t in the way and then husband and parents follow. The men take the trays and follow the kids who ran outside while grandma helps the woman. Overall, you can tell from the shots that it is a large, single family home with a generous backyard.

Cut to two women making out in a hallway. [my dream cut to earlier at the fair where a woman from my real life ward was bragging about being in a Church video and she is one without curly hair in the video]. Then the curly haired one presses the other to a door as she unlocks it. Eventually they enter an apartment that looks like a Church gym, but it is only 20x20 with a bathroom reducing the size of the basketball court by cutting into the space. The curly haired woman makes a comment about their new apartment. The audience murmurs that the statement is racist, but it’s very obviously hiding the fact that the ad is more classist than anything else. They continue making out against an empty wall in an empty apartment.

Suddenly the apartment is furnished in a similar style to the house, which doesn’t work as the scale of furniture in the house was huge. So basically it’s this elaborate table setting on what looks like the end of a giant dining room table (like you would’ve found in the house) and the curly haired woman is saying terrible things about the Church and the Book of Mormon that the lady from my ward was wanting to give her. There is a flash back to when this woman was on her own mission. (And the dream me is annoyed because this was just showing a toxic relationship because you wouldn’t say horrible things about something that matters a lot to your partner to their face).

And then I walked out of that room because the message of “if you’re straight you can afford a single family home but if you’re not you have to live in a small studio apartment” was dumb and not how you handled a housing crisis.

Anyway, weird dream that feels somehow accurate. The Church needs to do more to help people be housed than complain about queer people because that’s what Christ would do. Even in the hypothetical of they are right and we are wrong, Christ spent more time healing the sick and teaching those who chose to listen instead of policing who was in that crowd.