#if you want to argue about what art is go read about the history of modern art or some shit. not relevant

[dullahandyke]

Like I'm not World's Number One Slave Labour And Job Insecurity Lover there's very obvious criticism to be made of it but some of u guys see the acronym 'AI' and start foaming at the mouth. Misinformation is at the forefront of issues with mass-implementation of 'AI' so it's kind of galling to see people go red light ready to believe anything as long as it appeals to their pathos

[plathfiles]

felix catton fic where he loves reader but she doesn’t notice <3

omggg okay so i think it would be super interesting if this fic was told in his pov. please be kind, im not great at first person. :)

pairing: felix catton x fem!reader

warnings: use of y/n, farleigh being goofy and helpful, possessive!felix, some sexual language, angst with a happy ending.

————————————————————————

I saw her come into the library with a stack of books for Farleigh and I. Her smile lit up the room and I felt my cheeks pull into a grin.

Before she sat down at our table, I heard Farleigh say to me. “It’s never going to happen.”

I turned to him, my cheeks felt hot. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, brushing off the fact of Farleigh knowing about my feelings for her.

She walked to the table, placing down the books. “You won’t believe what I found. They have first editions of all my favorite classics. It’s impressive,” she smiled.

God she was so pretty when she smiled. It made my stomach fill with butterflies.

“It’s Oxford, of course they do,” Farleigh snapped sarcastically with a laugh.

I glared at Farleigh. I wish he wasn’t so rude sometimes. I looked to y/n cheerfully, “that’s wonderful. I’m glad you found what you were looking for.”

Her big doe like eyes looked into mine. I swear she was like a breath of fresh air. I’d never seen someone shine the way she did. Y/n sat down next to me and I put my arm around her shoulders.

Y/n didn’t seem to argue or even notice. She never noticed my feelings.

“So, the pub tonight?” Farleigh asked. I nodded and now all eyes were on Y/n.

“I can’t tonight. I have a date,” Y/n said sheepishly.

I looked at her in surprise, but then of course she would have a date. She was beautiful and funny. She was smart, always helping me with my homework or studying.

“Oh?” Farleigh said, his eyebrows wiggling. “Tell us more,” he said, looking at me and then to her.

“Well his name is Evan,” she explained. “I met him in my art history course, we sit together. “He asked me out for dinner and I said yes.”

I wanted to ring Evan’s neck. How dare he steal Y/n away from me. She was mine, I love her. Woah love? Maybe. Possibly. Yes.

Farleigh was already giving her advice and I stayed unusually quiet. I couldn’t tell her it was wonderful, because it wasn’t. This was dreadful. I didn’t want to lie to her.

“Felix? Are you okay,” I hear her sweet voice ask. I look at my hand and it’s clutched tightly around my pen.

I dropped my pen and looked at Y/n. “I need to go,” I say, grabbing my books and binder. I stood up and walked out of the library.

This was maddening. How could she not see how much I cared for her? And now she has to go to stupid Evan and ruin my plans.

The next day, I stayed out of her sight. I couldn’t bare to look at her. I was jealous and heartbroken. I had assumed the date had gone well, because from my window I saw my Y/n with him.

Farleigh came to my room later that day. “You need to tell her how you feel,” he said.

I grumbled in response. “There’s no point, she doesn’t love me.”

“That’s not true. She talks about you all the time. It’s exhausting,” Farleigh whined.

“You’re being serious?” I asked, looking at him in shock. Farleigh only looked at me like I was crazy.

“Yeah,” he said rolling his eyes. “Tell her how you feel for gods sake.” He said.

“What about Evan?” I asked, although truthfully I didn’t care.

Farleigh rolled his eyes, “What about Evan, you could have anyone you wanted,” he insisted.

So I thought I would tell Y/n how I felt.

Later, she and I were hanging out in my dorm room. I was smoking a cigarette and she was reading by my window. I looked up at her from my spot on the floor and admired her. She was perfect. Her concentration was intriguing.

“Y/n,” I hummed, taking a drag of my cigarette.

“Yes, Felix,” she replied. I held back a groan at my name on her lips. It turned me on.

“I need to tell you something,” I began to confess. I put out my cigarette and I sat up, looking at her seriously.

She looked at me quizzically and I felt my cheeks go red. “I don’t like you with Evan. I don’t think he deserves you,” I said.

Her eyebrows furrowed and I walked towards my window, closer to her.

“Any why is that exactly,” she replied, putting down her book.

“It’s because—it’s because, well, I love—I’m in love with you,” I said softly, looking down her gorgeous face.

Y/n was in shock, or at least that’s how she looked. “You love me?” She asked and I nodded. Of course I loved — love — her.

She stood up from my windowsill and up at me. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“What don’t you understand? I can’t stand to see you with him, I’d rather you be with me,” I insisted.

“I can’t Felix,” she said, voice cracking.

Tears came to my eyes, “What? Why?” I asked.

She sighed, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? For the day when you would pluck up the courage to ask me out,” she said.

I had no idea.

“Of course I love you too,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

In an instant I pulled her to me and kissed her roughly. She kissed me back, her tongue entering my mouth. My body was on fire, she tasted of coffee and cigarettes — smelled of vanilla and rose.

I moaned her name as we continued to devour each others faces. She loved me and I would never let her forget it.

[heatherholes]

i get that the lack of individuality is the appeal of bimbofication for many. but what i like to see, personally, is all the wonderful different types of girls learning their place. their unique personalities kept but warped. the most obvi example is the nerdy weeb girl who loves hentai and ahegao and slutty cosplay, the desk pet gamer girls. unlike some less interesting misogynists, i don’t think they’re faking their interests for male attention. they just don’t know how to express themselves any other way and that’s super hot!

i wanna see it everywhere. the horror fanatic watching shlocky b-movie rape scenes like they’re porn. the girl who loves cars getting bent over the hood. the ren faire attendant dressed as a tavern wench. the tabletop gamers and larpers doing mediaeval fantasy, getting treated medievally. the skater chick who laughs loudest when a girl face-plants, the metalhead demanding you name five albums. the goth who draws a pentagram on the floor and kneels naked, thinks of her punishment for eve eating the apple and whispers ‘hail satan.’

barstool type girls are a favourite of mine. you know, they watch football, eat wings, are all too happy to go to strip clubs and participate in the locker room talk. who proudly proclaim that they’re not like other girls, they’re one of the guys because they put on a sports jersey, while still looking every bit the bleach blonde fucktoy. still pretending she doesn’t know how to shoot pool so he can show her.

and the gym bunnies with an intense discipline and determination; are strong physically and mentally. what motivates their commitment to self improvement? looking good for men, of course! she’ll work herself to the bone keeping toned for you and won’t whine for help hauling the groceries. let her tell herself it’s because you respect her strength if it makes your life easier.

similar are the boss babes, hyper productive and entrepreneurial. proud to have her own money, apartment, car, small business. she’s a big believer in splitting the bill on dates. why? she heard men don’t like gold diggers. she doesn’t want him to think she’s putting out cause she gets something out it. she’s not doing it for anything but him. whether or not she expands her “online brand” as a pornfluencer into onlyfans will depend entirely on him. he okays it, but only for a split of the money? wow, now she’s the provider. how empowering!

that’s to say nothing of the actual girl bosses. the salaried power player at a fortune 500 company. what does she do there? discourage employees under her from going to HR, cut funding for the women in business initiative and giggle at sexist jokes to show she’s a team player, mostly. she has the economic freedom to do anything, a career she fought tooth and nail for, a spot in the c-suite someday. she’s a winner, not a trophy. she’ll give it all away once a man further up the ladder knocks her up.

well, what about the marxist punk yelling no gods, no masters? no way she’s gonna submit to a man. no, but she’s gonna suck dick for the communal spirit and promote collective ownership of her holes.

the shy girl into art and literature? her love of culture gives her unique insight into the history of male supremacy. everywhere she sees herself through the eyes of men. not just any men, creative geniuses. in the museum she looks at the ancient vases that use the same iconography to depict marriage as rape. from the nude statue of a goddess to the painting of a peasant girl — both are objects, never the subject. in the library she reads the taming of the shrew and thinks, who am i to argue with shakespeare? quietly, she lets her dreams of being an artist die and resigns herself to the life of the muse.

tldr: cater to the male gaze and serve patriarchy but most importantly be yourself

[silmarillionwritersguild]

Tolkien Meta Week is a week-long event to encourage fans to create nonfiction works related to Tolkien's world. Tolkien Meta Week will run from December 8-14, 2024 on Tumblr and here on the Silmarillion Writers' Guild archive.

How to Participate

Tolkien Meta Week is hosted by the Silmarillion Writers' Guild, but we welcome meta about any and all of Tolkien's works. On our archive, the usual rules about "Silmworks" apply, but we will gladly reblog all Tolkien-related content on our tumblr.

You can use one of our prompts or go rogue and do your own thing! As long as it is a nonfiction work related to Tolkien, it is welcome for this event. Note that "meta" doesn't have to be lengthy, finished, or polished. A paragraph describing a wild theory you had suddenly while brushing your teeth is just as welcome as a lengthy, detailed, essay. There are four prompts available for each day of the week. If you want to use the prompts, you can use one, a few, or all of them—your choice! You can also combine prompts from different days.

On the archive, choose Tolkien Meta Week from the Challenge dropdown when you post your work. On Tumblr, tag #tolkien meta week so that we can reblog your work!

The SWG also has a weekly newsletter, and we will include a roundup of Tolkien Meta Week submissions at the end of the event. If you do not wish to be included in the round-up, let the mods know before December 13.

We will not reblog or include meta that violates our Site Etiquette. This includes meta that promotes the idea that some people have more value than others or that insults or belittles other fans.

Make sure to give credit for ideas not your own and ask permission before using or discussing another fan's fanworks as part of your meta.

Prompts

Each day of the event will feature four prompts centered on genre, format, source text, and approaches that range beyond Middle-earth. However, these prompts are entirely optional, and any Tolkien-related meta is welcome for the event!

December 8: theory | infographic | The Silmarillion | the Tolkien fandom

December 9: open letter | podcast/audio | The Lord of the Rings | Tolkien's non-Middle-earth writings

December 10: literary analysis | wiki article | The Hobbit | adaptations

December 11: character study | video | Unfinished Tales, The History of Middle-earth, The Nature of Middle-earth, and The Fall of Númenor | books, articles, and meta about Tolkien

December 12: headcanon | meme | The Three Great Tales: The Children of Húrin, Beren and Lúthien, and The Fall of Gondolin | compare Tolkien to another text

December 13: ship manifesto | personal essay | Tolkien's art | apply real-world disciplines to Middle-earth

December 14: research | list (including link collections) | The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien | Tolkien fanworks (with permission!)

Prompt Definitions

Prompt definitions are provided for informational purposes only. We do not police how creators use our prompts for challenges and take creators at their word if they share a fanwork as part of one of our challenges. In other words, we are not going to be coming behind anyone, arguing that something should be posted because it doesn't fit our particular understanding of a prompt. All that being said, if you read the definitions below and still aren't sure what a prompt means, our mods are here to help!

Genre Prompts

Theory: Share your theories about one of the many mysteries or open questions about Tolkien's work. Unlike headcanons, theory meta uses details from the text rather than original concepts to formulate ideas about the legendarium.

Open Letter: Write a letter to someone, expressing your views on the canon as it relates to them. For example, you could write to a character, the creator of an adaptation, or Tolkien himself!

Literary Analysis: Literary analysis considers what makes Tolkien's work effective as art or literature, considering such elements as imagery, word choice, characterization, structure, and theme. Literary analysis can also consider influences on Tolkien's work, such as mythology, folklore, and other works of literature.

Character Study: Character studies take a deeper look at a character, considering what the texts say and imply about the character's backstory, motives, emotions, personality, and other elements.

Headcanon: Headcanons are your personal interpretations of the texts. They can be grounded in details from the texts but don't have to be. This is the meta where you elaborate on the original elements that you imagine for Middle-earth.

Ship Manifesto: Present the reasons why a particular ship is appealing to you and should be embraced by others.

Research: Share your research on a topic, large or small, in any format, whether your rough notes or a perfectly polished essay or anything in between—or a format totally novel and new!

Format Prompts

Infographic: Present your meta in visual form, using graphics alongside text. Note that while traditional infographics are of course welcome, other formats that combine information + visuals are welcome too.

Podcast/Audio: Record a discussion of a topic or a reading of a work of meta.

Wiki Article: Create or add to a Tolkien-related article on a wiki. (Fanlore is a fandom-specific wiki that is still missing articles on many Tolkien characters, ships, and other topics!)

Video: Share a work of meta in video form.

Meme: When we created this prompt, we had in mind visuals with catchy text that comment on Tolkien. However, the word meme has many meanings and permutations. Any are welcome here.

Personal Essay: Reflect on how Tolkien, Tolkien fandom, or aspects of Tolkien's world have influenced you personally. Note that while this prompt includes the word "essay," any format of personal reflection—video, audio, visual, something else?—is welcome.

List: Make a list of things related to a topic related to Tolkien.

Beyond Middle-earth

The Tolkien Fandom: Create meta about the Tolkien fandom, which is many decades old, vast, diverse, and complex. Note that exploring all aspects of Tolkien fandom—not just the fanworks fandom—is welcome for this prompt.

Tolkien's Non-Middle-earth Writings: Tolkien wrote original stories (like Leaf by Niggle), adaptations (like The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrun), translations (like Sir Gawain and the Green Knight), and academic works (like "Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics"). This prompt welcomes meta that engages with these texts.

Adaptations: There have been dozens of films, radio plays, television shows, and games inspired by Tolkien's works. Use one or more of these adaptations to inspire your meta.

Books, Articles, and Meta about Tolkien: People love writing and ruminating about Tolkien. You're considering doing it now or you wouldn't be here! Discuss what fans and scholars have to say about Tolkien for this prompt.

Compare Tolkien to Another Text: Discuss Tolkien alongside another text or texts. Specific texts (like a specific book or movie) are welcome, as are groups or genres of text (such as the fantasy genre or stories that include dragons). Note that when we say "text," we mean that loosely, and you can engage with works in any format, not just books and stories.

Apply Real-World Disciplines to Middle-earth: Take your expertise in a real-world subject and apply it to the people, places, and situations of Middle-earth. This could be an academic or professional discipline (such as volcanology, astronomy, or psychology—all of which have been applied to Tolkien!) or a hobby or more casual pursuit (such as gardening, mushroom foraging, or horses) or anything in between.

Tolkien Fanworks: Write or make a work of meta that engages with Tolkien fanworks—roughly defined as amateur not-for-profit adaptations of Tolkien's works—either specific works or in the general sense. If you are going to discuss specific fanworks, please reach out to the creators first.

[genericpuff]

With LO being done, a mass layoff apparently happening recently, and high profile creators like that of Bugtopia bailing from them, do you think Webtoons is gonna last much longer?

So I had heard about the layoff through the grapevine (as in, pals that I know who are aware of the situation) but honestly, I don't think this is the end of Webtoons as an app... I think this is definitely an end of a version of Webtoons that we were all familiar with as both creators and readers. I've been noticing this shift over the past couple years and now it seems to be coming to a head, a status quo shift from Webtoons being an earnest "anyone can find success with us" community of readers and indie creators to just another enshittified corporate platform that's only interested in churning out content to keep up its bottom line.

Before I continue, obligatory reminder that I am not an Originals creator, just a former Canvas creator and avid webcomic reader. None of this post is to accuse Webtoons of foul play or spread misinformation, these are simply my opinions based on my own experiences with the app and its staff, research that I've done into Webtoons' practices and history as a company, and firsthand + secondhand accounts of experiences on the backend from various Originals creators who have willingly spoken up on the matter. Take the following dissection and rant about Webtoons with mountains of salt.

The biggest sign of this shift I've seen has definitely gotta be the reduction of greenlit Canvas series in favor of imported Korean series. Now I will say there was a time that there genuinely were too many greenlit series, back when they used to do their launch weeks, and I think scaling that back isn't necessarily a bad thing to prevent oversaturation, but oversaturation is still very much happening, it's just through imported series now.

Though I will say a counter argument to this is that Webtoons' own audience has a habit of believing that EVERY piece of work needs to be read and kept up with. This is surely a side effect of Webtoons going from being a smaller platform with only a few select Originals series to suddenly launching hundreds more over the course of the last couple years, there WAS a time you could genuinely keep up with most of the series on the platform if you wanted, but now that's no longer possible, and while some would argue that's a flaw, I'd argue that greenlighting so many series isn't necessarily an invitation for you to read them all, it's just to buff up their library with more choices for those who are more particular about what they read. Do you enjoy isekai but don't like the one about the girl being reborn into her favorite medieval romance book? Well there are 50 other isekais set in medieval times for you to choose from.

That said, the ratio of greenlit Canvas series : Korean imports definitely feels like it's skewed more towards the latter over the past couple years, as we're now seeing them simply opt to import and translate series from their Naver platform. Some people don't really care or notice the difference, and there's certainly lots to be said about the popularity of many Korean works, but many other readers are now feeling iced out by the platform's sudden shift in art styles and storytelling tropes because Korean webtoons and manwhas do generally aim for a different audience than what a lot of veteran Webtoon users are used to. Plus from the creator side of things, it's undoubtedly making the playing grounds feel uneven where greenlit Canvas series now have to compete with the webtoons from overseas that are made in studios with teams of people and seem to also be paid far better than what NA creators are being paid. Webtoons already severely limits what series they choose to advertise and that's only gotten worse over the years with the ongoing oversaturation of the app's library.

That's only regarding quantity though, as there's surely lots to be said about how a lot of the higher quality stories are ones here made in North America, and a lot of that I feel has to do with the benefit of them being comics written in English by people who natively speak English. Unlike Korean manwha/webtoons, they don't have to go through the process of translation and localization which can unfortunately cause an otherwise well written manwha to lose its subtleties and specific writing choices due to rushed or poor translating (people who read scanlations of manga and manwha or who even just watch dubbed vs. subbed anime can certainly attest to this.)

With all that in mind, my own personal theory (*again, this is my opinion and tinfoil hat suspicions, not fact) is that Webtoons/Naver has essentially been outsourcing to North America to build up their app through titles like Lore Olympus, and now that that audience has been built, they seem to be bringing in their Korean series to benefit off that audience while reducing the amount of NA Canvas series they greenlight, particularly their most popular genres like Romance, Fantasy, and Action. How much they'll benefit, I can't say for certain, considering this is a company that has been operating in the red for years and IIRC they even practically admit to this in their IPO proposal (it's actually really funny to read if you're familiar with legal jargon and Webtoons as a company)

Fact of the matter though is that despite Webtoons building up that audience through legacy NA titles, they seem to have forgotten one fundamental thing - most of the people in that audience just don't seem to be interested in the content they're now trying to sell. Credit where credit is due, the aggressive marketing campaign surrounding Lore Olympus for the last 5 years did a great job at pulling in new people to the app, many of whom never read webtoons before. In all its flaws, Lore Olympus is very beginner friendly for people who are new to Webtoons, with guilty pleasure romance writing that a lot of NA readers enjoy nowadays and an art style that was very unique at the time.

But out of all those people who were attracted to the app through series like LO, how many do you think are reading Korean manwha? I don't have the numbers to back up this argument 🧂🧂🧂 but I personally doubt it's very many if all the complaints about Webtoons becoming 'samey' over the years is anything to go off of (right alongside the complaints of LO being marketed way too much lmao)

So no, I don't think Webtoons as a company is going anywhere. They've made it this long operating at a loss, mostly in part to their parent company Naver injecting them with funds (and for anyone unaware, Naver is essentially the Google of Korea, they're a massive tech company that owns Webtoons as a separate venture, not too different from Google owning Youtube in a sense) and now they're turning to public funding.

I do think Webtoons as we know it is dying and changing, for better and for worse however you may define it, and regardless of which way it goes, it's going to come with the consequential shift in both audience and creators that such a transformation brings. I was there when it happened to Tapas, I was there when it happened to DeviantArt, and now we're seeing it in real time with Webtoons all over again. Whether or not they rise from the ashes reborn anew or simply fester like a dying animal, that remains to be seen, but considering this is the same company that's currently exploiting and underpaying creators to keep their bottom line afloat, developing AI tools, and running an app that's held together with staples and glue and doesn't even have tagging implemented, I'm not holding my breath for the best case scenario. The company and its app may live on but the Webtoons that we knew for years is long gone and may never return again.

And that's my many cents on that.

[dflogerzi]

Hello friends. Okay, I spent some time offline, and did speak in length to a dear friend in England today. I think I understand a few things more. Firstly... there are no rules. And this is my timeline, and I get to change it as I see fit. When I first came to Tumblr it was for one purpose, I kid you not. I knew that Meghan Markle was in her supposed first pregnancy... and I knew it was a lie. I have carried a baby, I know how it works, and she was in my opinion lying. This timeframe coincided with my recent awakening of world events and falling down other rabbit holes.

I was gung-ho on both. And I must say, the world events thing did not serve me well on social media. I have never found it beneficial to argue with others about things we do not agree with. And so a few months into my profile building here on Tumblr and connecting I set my own rules on what it is I am here for. And trust me... the people I have connected with mean so much to me. Now then... I do follow some who I only give out likes to and more private conversations. You know who you are. So for the record I am going to be clear of who I am.

I served under Ronald Reagan while in the Navy. I was always more on the conservative side, although I used to joke that as a Californian, I was sitting on the wall in between and fell over to the right. I used to think a lot of liberal policies sounded good on paper, but that in reality they did not work very well. That has been proven to be true in my estimation. But let me be clear. I do not think the Republican view as it stands today is working out either in a bulk of cases, especially in Washington D.C. Our government is seriously compromised within both parties, and I am also speaking of all branches. Neither party is what it once was, and if you are not aware of what the Global agenda is for the common person I cannot help you. And it is not my place in life to even attempt it. We all journey as we do.

I then found my feet here. My goals were to talk of things I am interested in, loved all my life, and to find some fun in my days. When I stick to that... I thrive. But I am finding that as many more are awakening to the fact that our world is slipping away... we are all talking more. And the planned divisiveness is impacting all of us.

It is going to get worse. No matter what your stand is. And I completely believe this summer is going to get rough in the US. Very rough.

So what did I decide? Well... I want to be here. If I drift off, which was surprisingly easy this week, I do not get to enjoy dishing on all things royal, art, history, travel, spiritual life, pets, and the love I have for friends I have made here.

I may veer off to world events. I am no longer affiliated with any political party. I do not believe there are many in places of power who have our best interests at heart. When the WEF says that population control is a main agenda, I believe them. I have done my studying and digging... and I understand. History is repeating itself, but there is no one who will be landing on a shore in Normandy to save our world any longer.

I am not going to try to influence a single soul here. Nope. I just want to vent a bit on how dumb and ridiculous Harry is, how narcissistic I find Meghan, how much I admire Anne, and my hopes for Catherine's full recovery. I also want to read your posts on cute furry creatures, other lands and travels, inward journeys, art, and whatever else it is in life the day brings. But I admit that I may slip, and I go off on a world event. I apologize for it now. Just scroll on by if you would.

I had a tough time since last summer. I did. But that is what life can bring. And hopefully we grow. And in the end it will be what we take with us. Many changes do come on life's paths.

Love to friends. Thanks for listening. Going to just post this mess, warts and all.

[angelsdean]

I know it's a bitter pill to swallow in this fandom for many reasons but, the phrase "open to interpretation" IS inherently a positive phrase that good creators use to affirm to their audiences that stories and art belong to the fans, and that every fan is able to find their own meaning through their own interpretive lens. It's not up to creators or actors to tell people what something--especially ambiguous or subtextual moments--mean. Everyone will come to a different understanding, some views might be more supported by canon than others, but it's still within every viewer's right to see things how they see them.

All "open to interpretation" means is: you get to interpret it! And you! And you! This is a key tenant of any creative work. It can be interpreted. And that is what literary analysis is all about. You build a case for your interpretation. You go into the text and find supporting evidence for your view, your thesis. And some interpretations are argued better than others. But everyone's still allowed to have their interpretation. (Also, literary analysis is fun).

I say all this because I've seen posts about Jensen going from "open to interpretation" to "clear text" as if he's now against the fact that things can and will be interpreted by fans. In terms of Cas's declaration of love? Yes, that is "clear text." It's romantic in nature, that's not up for debate, and Dean processed and understood it as romantic on the dungeon floor. But for stuff that is still ambiguous, still subtextual in some ways, like Dean's own feelings? Those are still open to interpretation by all sides, whether we like it or not. Until we get to see more of Dean and Cas's story in the basically guaranteed reboot, Jensen is not going to speculate about Dean's feelings or Destiel's reunion. He's never going to word-of-god confirm anything about this on stage at a convention. We have to wait to see it play out on screen.

As an actor, it's also not his place to confirm or deny these things. He leaves it up to the fans to read into his performance whatever they want. And yes, that sentiment IS affirming to a Destiel interpretation. We can read reciprocation into his performance. We can read romantic love into his words about Dean wishing he'd said "I love you back." We can look back on the years of queercoding and subtext and Jacting Joices and read Dean as being in love with Cas for years. And, well, the other side can read what they want into it, and we don't need to care what they think, tbqh.

This, IMO, is also part of the reason Jensen tends to give "vague" answers or use language that can be perceived in different ways by either side. As an actor, at a fan convention where fans of all sides of the fandom have paid to be there to have a good time, it's not his job to personally validate specific headcanons and interpretations. Jensen may have his own personal beliefs about Dean's feelings, but he's not going to divulge them in full if they close off one side's interpretation. So he will weave his way through answers. He will use terms like "brother in arms" which one side will hear as simply "brother" and think "platonic" and Destiel shippers will hear as the full meaning, a strong bond between men, and see the queer history associated with these warrior bonds.

He does this, IMO, to keep all lanes open for every fan, because first and foremost he's an actor at a convention being paid to entertain. He's also not a writer, he's not someone who can definitively say what was intended. Personally, I feel that his metaphor about being in an art gallery that he gave back in 2020 is incredibly apt. People come to the gallery and look at the art and find their own meaning. And the artist isn't standing there beside them confirming or denying their interpretations. That's not the artist's job. Once it's out there, it's for others to find meaning in what the artist made.

And again, it's not his place to speculate or write fanfiction for anyone on stage and personally confirm or deny headcanons. He's pretty adamant about the reboot, so I think for some things we'll just have to wait and see.

[miffy-junot]

I really wanted to be kind, I really try to stay away from discourse, but my friend sent me a post containing opinions so rancid that I had to say something. I'm turning off reblogs and I will not name the user who made the post because I do not want any discourse, please be respectful of this.

Time to respond to the words of "Tumblr user X":

Firstly - I know not everybody here is Christian but to make a post being rude to dead people on All Soul's Day is immensely disrespectful, to say the least. Don't you have any graves to put flowers on, any people to remember?

1:

The majority of people interested in the Napoleonic Wars think Junot is a blundering buffoon. You really have to dig deep to find nuanced sources on him beyond the usual "mad general" stuff. There is a niche community of Gen Z Tumblr bloggers who like Junot, by no means the majority of the Napoleonic community - and since Tumblr is very easy to curate, it's on you if you are stuck in this niche bubble.

Let me tell you, Junot does not have a good reputation at all. You can let the topic go, you are fighting against an enemy that you believe numbers in the hundreds when in fact it is a small group of mentally ill teenagers (many of whom are lgbtq+, which is something interesting in itself).

2.

You are an adult, but how did you graduate high school with no skills of reading comprehension? Nobody has ever said that Junot's actions with Laure were "normal and okay". Once again, you are fighting an imaginary enemy.

Napoblr is essentially a war criminal fandom. That does not make it any more or less valid than other history communities, but it means that we have to take a slightly different approach to moralising historical figures. Almost every single person involved in the Napoleonic Wars would be a bad person if you took their actions out of the historical context. Most people relevant to the Napoleonic Wars were sexist, racist, imperialist pieces of shit who turned a blind eye to war crimes.

Because that makes up such a large percentage of these people, being overly judicious about their morality will leave you with the following group of "unproblematic people": a large gathering of peasants and children, none of whom we know the names of.

"Evil" is a very strong word to use, one which denies nuance, but let me speak in your language: all Napoleonic figures were somewhat "evil", if you are unwilling to deal with "evil" people then study art history, or any other subject that doesn't deal so much with moral complexity.

3.

In my opinion war crimes committed as part of your job are still war crimes????????? "Indirectly" or not, there is little difference between ordering an execution and murdering someone with your own bare hands, in both situation you take away a life from the world and there is blood on your hands. Some might even argue that having a callous approach to life and death is even worse!

And like I have said above: endless moralising is counter-productive. There are better ways to use your time, such as researching things that actually fulfil you.

4.

(just a tiny nitpick but please do not use that certain misogynistic term)

"Could have" and "should have" are words that cannot be used in the study of history. Speculation over endless possibilities of alternative realities is meaningless.

I thought we as a society had moved beyond calling addicts "evil", but apparently not! (and again, "evil" is a very charged term that leaves no room for nuance)

For the record, I support abstinence of all the things you mention. Irl I have a bit of a reputation for being a puritan. But even I will not blame somebody's entire morality on that, and call a man "evil" for being an addict?! Where is your sympathy?!

Self-destructive behaviour is a major symptom of both head injuries and personality disorders, but I doubt "Tumblr user X" has the thinking skills required to understand that properly.

And either way, even if it was all "his responsibility", so what? That's his personal life, why do you care? If you don't like it, go away.

5.

Again, I genuinely thought people knew how to be sympathetic towards addicts but apparently not.

The emphasis on "self-restraint" is insane, if you had any restraint you wouldn't be bitching on Tumblr. You are sounding more like a 17th century Puritan than me, the person who gets accused irl of acting like one.

People on Tumblr find Junot relatable. That is why he is cute, because he is relatable. Additionally, it is big part of Gen Z humour to call bad men "babygirl" and to combine cutesy aesthetics with dark stuff, hence the whole coquette/girlblogger aesthetic.

Like I said at the beginning of this post - most people do not like Junot. The people who do are mostly mentally ill young people who naturally gravitate towards this "crazy but make it cute" aesthetic tendency, and the "I can make him worse" sort of mentality.

"Violent tendencies" is a lot to extrapolate from a single incident, but that seems to be something you're fond of doing.

6.

You deliberately phrase this to imply sexual harassment. Here is what happened: he flirted with her and invited her to dinner, she had heard the rumours of his mad behaviour and ghosted him, he got very upset. Nothing physical ever happened.

Additionally, none of his mistresses ever mentioned any violent behaviour by him. In fact, in one anecdote related by Laure herself, Junot's Abyssinian mistress Xraxarane encouraged him to shoot an orange off the top of her head because she was so confident in his abilities with a pistol, and even though he knew he could do it, Junot didn't even try because he was too afraid of hurting her.

7.

Do your research before making snarky comments, I am begging you.

While it is true that men wrote more passionately to each other in those days, "I who love you with the affection of a savage for the sun, I who am entirely yours" is not something you would say in passing. I'm not going to argue that Junot and Napoleon did anything romantic together, but it's undeniable that Junot's feelings towards Napoleon surpass those of a completely platonic friendship.

There are many sources that attest to Junot's fanatical devotion being unusual, not just Laure. And it was not a single remark in Laure's memoirs, but many anecdotes. Junot had many close male friendships, but they all took on a very different character to his friendship with Napoleon - his letters to other friends have a casual, jovial tone; the intense and poetic language used in his letters to Napoleon instead mirror his letters to women.

Is it really so unfeasible to you that, out of the thousands of men in the Napoleonic army, one of them might have developed feelings for Napoleon beyond those of conventional masculine friendships? Statistically, it is impossible that every Napoleonic man was straight.

8.

Okay, I am going to be directly bitchy here.

Tumblr user X, YOU DIDN"T EVEN BOTHER TO READ THE JOURNAL INTIME BEFORE PUBLISHING A POST ABOUT THE INCIDENT.

When, in a discord server, I shared a small piece of the journal intime I had translated that was referring to Junot's affair with Caroline, YOU DOUBTED IT"S CREDIBILITY.

You claim to trust what women have to say, BUT YOU DON"T BELEIVE HORTENSE DE BEAUHARNAIS' CLAIMS THAT HER HUSBAND ABUSED HER. BE CONSISTENT.

And finally: THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO MENTION OF JUNOT TRYING TO RAPE LAURE AS YOU CLAIMED. NOWHERE IN HER ACCOUNT OF EVENTS DOES SHE ALLEGE RAPE. STOP MAKING THINGS UP, IT IS DISRESPECTFUL TO REAL RAPE VICTIMS.

You pretend to be diligent with your sources, but you are not, you only read things that support your pre-conceived opinion, you make posts based on false evidence. Shut the fuck up about topics you know nothing about.

9.

Gurl we are not bureaucrats, we do not care about military efficiency.

"glorified cavalry skirmish" - is a group of 500 men defeating a force of 3000 men not glorious to you? Those are odds of five to one.

If you don't care about military history, don't talk about military history and get out of the military history fandom.

10.

(fyi it's spelt crucify)

You are fighting imaginary enemies. Bessieres is adored, he is babygirled. Junot is loathed.

Nobody ever said Junot trying to kill Laure was cute. (I would also provide evidence that Junot never intended to kill her, but then I'll get accused of defending domestic violence)

Junot being babygirlified is not a recent thing. What about:

Rapp, who didn't think Junot was a great soldier but still defended him

Foy, who hated Junot but still wrote positive comments about him in his memoirs

Arthur Wellesley, who respected Junot as an enemy

James Forbes (and many others), who hated Napoleon but praised Junot for being kind to Englishmen in Paris

Antoine-Romain Hamelin, who didn't like most people he met but adored Junot for defending and rescuing him

André Delagrave, who wrote very sympathetically about Junot after serving him in the peninsular wars

Laure's letters

Junot's letters to Laure

Junot's letters to his daughters

+many, many more sources but those were the only ones I remembered off the top of my head.

And please don't disrespect Laure's own wishes and opinions. What about the highly affectionate language used to refer to Junot in her letters about her grief over his death? What about her letter to Berthier complaining about Junot being defamed?

Please be respectful here, I don't want any discourse. I shouldn't have to say this but please do not share this with "Tumblr user X", I don't want to have anything to do with that person ever again.

a little side tangent on the infamous incident between Junot and Laure:

When Junot went to break off his affair with Caroline Murat, he took two duelling pistols and khanjar (a Middle Eastern style of dagger) with him in case he was confronted by Murat and things got messy. This is very important - Junot had lethal weapons easily accessible to him and was willing to use them to kill his rival. So if he genuinely had every intention of murdering Laure, why didn't he shoot her? Why didn't he stab her with the fatal khanjar rather than a pair of scissors? Speculation on this point is useless, but it's vital to know that he could have easily killed her, but he didn't. I'm not defending his actions in any way, Junot certainly did something awful, but he did not intentionally plot to murder her.

[crippleprophet]

Is it okay for people with agoraphobia to look and take some of the advice you have for housebound people on here? I'm not really great at picking up nuance so I'm worried that it'd be crossing some boundary or that it's not the intention of the tag

that’s completely okay, i appreciate your desire to be respectful even though i’m sorry you were concerned! i absolutely consider folks with agoraphobia my comrades + community members and i’d be super honored if anything i’ve shared is helpful (+ am always interested in hearing what that was if you’re comfortable!) the rest of this is not anything you need to answer your question, just thoughts i’ve been having on the subject

i haven’t had the opportunity to talk to enough homebound [due to chronic illness / “physical” reasons] people to know if this is a common experience but for me i’ve noticed that similar to chronic illness often carrying depression with it, since becoming homebound i’ve become terrified of leaving the house.

this is definitely influenced by the fact that it’s untenably painful, my photosensitivity (in the UV sense not the epilepsy sense), the ongoing pandemic, the fact that i only left the house to go to the doctor for over a year & i’m afraid of the doctors appointment itself due to medical trauma, etc etc but like. there’s also the very strong pull of habit – i’m an incredibly obsessive & ritualistic person – and what Goffman refers to as “the relief of self-isolation” for marginalized people sheltering from a hostile society, a phrase i read in undergrad 5 1/2 years ago that’s stuck with me ever since for how profoundly it resonates.

i’m not trying to say these are necessarily your or any other person with agoraphobia’s feelings & experiences, more to illustrate how the liberation of all homebound people & shut-ins & hermits is bound up together; any sanist strategy for oppressing agoraphobes can easily be leveraged against me, not least because as a severely underdiagnosed person, the medical establishment does not think there is any “legitimate” “physical” reason for me to be homebound. to respond to this oppression by arguing it’s inapplicable because i’m not crazy would be untrue + a cruel act of lateral violence.

i’ve been reading a lot of butch/femme history recently (i post about that on my main @campgender; followers age 18+ only please) & have found myself entirely reconfiguring my understanding of the queer art of isolation, the incredible ability of our ancestors to hunker down & survive under circumstances unimaginable to the average person. i absolutely don’t want to deny the deep pain – not only the aspects i experience but also the heightened isolation of people without or before internet access + the ways these circumstances / forms of oppression can foster abuse –

but my god, so many 50s butches didn’t leave their homes during daylight hours for years in order to not be hate crimed for their gender presentation, & that’s the folks who were making it to the bars. so many others – “discreet” couples who didn’t want to risk being outed by engaging in queer community; people assigned female who “passed” as men & their partners; butch sex workers & other people with identities perceived as contradictory or unacceptable – existed marginalized by both queer & normative communities.

every time i think substantially about homeboundedness i always get tracy chapman’s “subcity” stuck in my head. obviously my access to housing period is a huge position of privilege, & i’m in the most economically secure position of my adult life so far; the abjection i experience is nowhere near the scale of people in the position of the speaker of the song, who’s implied to be street homeless. but the line “people say it doesn’t exist ‘cause no one would like to admit that there is a city underground” is such a succinct & accurate depiction of living the kind of life society tries to convince itself is impossible. but there truly is a rich genealogy of homeboundedness especially in queer history.

again i hope some of my posts & such are helpful / resonant! wishing you all the best 💓💓

[theknightmarket]

Had the biggest of big brain ideas.

Murdock gets a hint of your search history (in whatever way, have fun) and it's a whole bunch of sus murderous things or very specific google searches about the human body (eg "how long can a human last without oxygen?")

Murdock gets a little excited, thinking you're at most, a killer like him and at the very least morbidly curious about these things which may lead to a gateway.

Turns out you just write a lot in your free time. Shenanigans ensue.

"It works."

In which Murdock makes an expensive assumption. TW: murder, blood Pages: 19 - Words: 7500

[Requests: OPEN]

Murdock wasn’t good with technology. He had been aware of that since the first time he turned on a phone and managed to get himself permanently locked out before he could input a single password. It wasn’t his style; it was as simple as that. He’d seen plenty of killers who used the internet to their advantage, but that was easy. Boring. Any yahoo with access to Yahoo could go that route.

But Murdock saw murder as an art, not just some pastime he could pick up and put down as he pleased. It required dedication, and he was devoted to it like a worshipper to their deity. So, no, he wasn’t good with technology, nor did he want to be.

The good thing was, you didn’t need to be good with technology to watch over someone’s shoulder, now did you? If you did, he would never have met you, the person who was sat at the table opposite him in the café, with your front facing the wall but your laptop facing him. You had dimmed the screen to the point that words were barely decipherable from the rest of the darkness, but Murdock’s business forced his attentiveness to skyrocket, so the only way that you were keeping things secret was to shut it down completely.

Not that you had a reason to. He hadn’t even been meaning to catch sight of your screen in the first place. It wasn’t his intention to intrude on your privacy – not that you could ask for much in such a public space – but nobody could blame him for getting distracted. His target wasn’t going anywhere until his shift was up, and that meant he had four hours to kill before he had to…

Well, jokes weren’t funny when they needed to be explained.

So, Murdock took to his favorite hobby: people-watching. Normally, it wasn’t that interesting, but that was the point. He needed something that would let him pay attention to his target without letting him know he was paying attention. He needed something passive. He needed something that wouldn’t distract him.

This was the first time that it had failed him. It took only a minute, as his eyes swam over from the teenager bussing tables, to the elderly couple sitting outside the café, to the businessman arguing on the phone, for his focus to land on you. It was purely accidental that you caught his attention. You looked just like everyone else, sitting at a table with some device out next to the cup of coffee. You weren’t even moving, no, you were just reading whatever document written in eleven-point Garamond that you had pulled up, and he almost ignored you completely.

It was in his peripheral that he saw you switch over to the search engine and type in a question. Something simple. Something quick. Something that piqued his interest more than his target glancing unsurely in his direction.

‘How long does a human body take to decompose’. The answer you found – after a few minutes of avoiding AI generated responses and the unrelated ads – was liquification at one month, but that wasn’t what kept him watching. Instead, it was the fact that you copied any of the relevant information into another document, separate from your first one, and then erased the question.

That in and of itself had him blinking slowly in hidden curiosity, but then you typed in another question. ‘How much blood can a human lose before they pass out’. The answer was thirty to forty percent, which you noted down underneath the decomposition timeline. You typed in yet another question. ‘What are the immediate effects of blunt force trauma’. Answered with internal or external hemorrhaging, copied into the document, exchanged for another question. ‘What are the hardest causes of death to identify’. Answer: sudden natural death, copied, replaced.

It was as though his body were frozen in a state of shock. He held his breath, halfway through inhaling, and stilled his coffee cup at chest height. What were the chances? He was genuinely asking himself, trying to think of the last time he had met someone like you, someone like him. Were you like him? Or was he just missing the mark and making assumptions that put him at risk? Was he stupid to believe you were a…

Murdock’s body rebooted. You were back on your original document again, typing between two paragraphs, and he was free from the spell he had been placed under. He could move his limps again, and he brought his coffee to his lips in a movement as smooth as he could make it, so as to avoid earning anymore suspicion from his target.

Behind the scenes, his thoughts were racing, like horses startled by the starter pistol. This alone was unnatural; he was normally calculated, slow-paced, he took his time in such delicate matters, but this was different. He knew it was practically impossible for there to be two killers in a room, let alone one. This was in public, too, and there was no chance for you to be the real deal and not have been caught yet. Researching methods of disposal in public would get you caught as fast as if you were to hand over a body to the police yourself. But you weren’t sitting in a jail cell, you were in front of a laptop in a café, because you weren’t dumb, because you weren’t a killer. He was just being unnecessarily hopeful.

Murdock took a sip of his coffee.

On the other hand, maybe you were smart. The smartest person he had ever seen before, and this ‘mistake’ was just you hiding in plain sight. People rarely took things at face value anymore. They were too used to being lied to, and you used that to your advantage. Maybe – and he was forced to remind himself that it was a huge maybe – you really were like him, you were just good at making it look like you weren’t.

And, for that, he applauded you. Internally. The barista was watching him like a hawk, after all, and he didn’t want to be chased away before he could find a way to talk to you. If he was going to get to the bottom of who you were, the easiest route would be through you directly, but he couldn’t waltz right up to you and ask if you were a murderer. He needed time.

But time he did not have. You were bound to finish your cup before he could figure you out.

Over your shoulder, he continued to watch you work. Your hands flew across the keyboard faster than he could track, and that combined with the size of your font meant that what you were working on was lost on him. Maybe it was a research paper. Maybe it was a note for the police to find on your next victim. The lines were blurring between the possibilities, and he had no way of getting closer to the truth, not even when you returned to the search engine and entered another question.

‘What is the best place to cut to avoid blood loss’ were the words that showed up, but the answer was not as easily found as the ones from before. The results were clogged with help centers, lines to call if you were at risk, and therapists that espoused positive thinking to fight against the concerning thoughts you obviously weren’t having – if the tapping of your fingers on the table was anything to go by.

After a few seconds of scrolling and getting nothing but mental health help, you rephrased the question. No change. You retyped it with quotations marks and parenthesis, but the search engine was being uncooperative. With a final key smash into the search bar that bled exasperation, you dropped your head into your hands and appeared to try your hardest to mold the heels into your eyes.

Murdock was good at reading people, but he didn’t have to have as much experience as he did to know you were getting frustrated, and you getting frustrated meant that he was running out of time.

How was he supposed to get your attention? Or, more specifically, how was he supposed to get your attention without also getting the attention of the barista? He looked as wired as a junkie; moving beyond his current position would be a risk beyond what he was willing to take. Still, he was nothing if not resourceful.

He glanced around the table he had sat himself at. There were still mugs and plates and all manner of other castoffs from the people before, the busboy was busy with the messes outside, and his target was too nervous to walk within three feet of him, which left him with free reign of the things they left behind. It wasn’t much, but the sudoku sheet and pencil was good enough for him. It was something normal. 

In a practiced, jittery, socially awkward hand, Murdock scrawled down the number of his burner phone and a little message underneath it. He hesitated for a second, and then added a smiley face. It would make him come across less creepy, given the content of that message out of context.

One look up was all he could spare, but, luckily, it was all he needed. You were still there, but you were flicking through your open documents and aiming for the ‘save’ button on each of them. A second late and he would miss his opportunity, so, in a fleeting moment of impulsiveness that shocked himself, he gripped his almost-empty coffee cup, slid out of his seat, and slipped the sudoku sheet behind your laptop on his way to the trash can.

He only noticed his heart beating wildly in his chest like a prisoner been told he’d be executed in the morning when he got back to his seat. He hadn’t known he was going to do it in that second until he was doing it. He was only aware of the fact that you were in the process of leaving. He didn’t consider going after you, he didn’t consider following you down the block, he didn’t consider figuring out where you lived and leaving it in in your postbox even though he was definitely capable of it. It was almost as though he wouldn’t get another chance, like a schoolboy seeing someone he liked the look of and not knowing how to approach them.

In that quick succession of movements – a timeframe he was more accustomed to when chopping someone in the back – Murdock wasn’t a serial killer hoping that a stranger was a friend. No, it was nothing so simple. Instead, he was anachronistically and uncomfortably normal. 

He dug into his pocket to check if his burner phone was still there before walking straight out of the café’s front door. He needed to clear his head. The barista – his target, because he wasn’t a schoolboy, he was a professional murderer – would be there when he got back.

From that man’s point of view, he wouldn’t have seen anything but a patron kindly cleaning up behind him before leaving. From your point of view…

You couldn’t focus. Of course, you hadn’t been able to focus for the last hour, so that was a moot point, but this was a new kind of ‘couldn’t focus’. Questions swirled in your head, a gathering storm that overshadowed everything else that you should have been paying attention to. It was so difficult, though, when your thoughts kept drifting back to the little slip of paper that you’d shoved in your pocket. Your laptop held securely under your arm, you waved to the barista and started the journey back to your apartment.

The note itself wasn’t a puzzle – metaphorically speaking, given that it was a sudoku sheet – because everything was there, written in an approximation of calligraphy, the words and the numbers seared into your memory. ‘Upper and lower arm’ and a seven-digit line. It was a phone number undoubtably, but what were you supposed to do with it? Text a thank-you? Call them? And how did they know your question in the first place?

Either it was the weirdest pick-up line you had ever received, or you had accidentally caught the attention of a serial killer.

You laughed at yourself under your breath as you crossed the road. It was no secret that you had an overactive imagination, and, while you tried to keep it contained within your work, it was prone to leakage sometimes. It crept into your reality and made you believe the most fantastic stories just because it was more interesting than real life. 

While the characters you wrote about investigated missing families and sliced and diced college kids who strayed too close to the house in the woods, you spent your time flitting between the store and your apartment. Going to the café was a rare treat for you having reached fifty thousand words. It was a safe life, yes, but boring.

The note in your pocket seemed to burn through the fabric.

It didn’t have to be. It wasn’t a call to adventure, but a date might have been the break from the monotony you were hoping for. You were no romance writer, you traded in blood stains over lipstick stains, and yet the possibility of someone new was more exciting than words on a screen had been lately. It helped that they seemed to be into the same things as you – maybe they had the same hobbies, maybe, and you were forced to remind himself that it was a huge maybe, he was like you.

You stopped by an alleyway and went a step inside. As you leaned back against one of the brick walls, you fished the paper out of your pocket.

On one hand, you didn’t even know what the person looked like. They had been sitting behind you the entire time, and you only caught sight of their back when you noticed what they left behind. A long, dark coat and a flash of a red something was unhelpful, so you were back to square one in that regard. It was a similar situation for conversation. Not a word had been exchanged between you, and your assumptions of their interests weren’t the most stable things to base an interaction off of.

But then, on the other hand, you were already holding your phone in your other hand and typing the number into your contacts, and there was no real harm in testing it out. Besides, who needed a name when you had ‘maybe a murderer’ for caller ID?

Without giving yourself time to think about it, you texted them a quick thank-you for the information. You didn’t wait to see if it delivered or not, and, instead, pocketed your phone again and continued on your way. If something came from it, then something came from it, and if it didn’t, then it didn’t.

Neither you nor Murdock expected it to go as far as it did; after your first message, he responded with a simple ‘you’re welcome’, and that was that. It took another week for you to talk again, itself being a small moment among the stress of a normal week. You’d asked him another anatomical question, something about how best to fit a human body in a cooler after the internet had given you less than stellar results. Hell, it was only once you’d talked it through with him that you learned that he was indeed a he and that his name was Murdock. You kept his contact the same though.

For a laugh.

That helpful conversation was left alone for another few days, you went about your separate lives as you had before you met, and you thought about him as an acquaintance to ask about the most niche interests. 

If someone were to ask you when your relationship changed from those monotonous, distant conversations to something real, you wouldn’t be able to tell them. It just… happened. Something shifted in your conversations, and you stopped going to him just for an easy answer or to save time, and you started going to him because it was him. You liked talking to him more than you liked getting your little problem solved, whatever it was. Broken bones and spilt blood were put on the backburner, to the point that they would become rare in the sea of conversations you had about the merits of keeping throw pillows on the bed or your third attempt at building a ship in a bottle.

The only obstacle between the two of you getting closer was the physical distance because, for some reason, your schedules never seemed to sync up. It was as though fate was perpetually dragging you around in a dance that just skimmed Murdock. You lost count of how many times you missed each other by minutes at a time.

You guessed that was why you were so excited when you finally managed to arrange a date – in the place you had first encountered one another, no less. The café wasn’t far from your apartment, but it wasn’t often you found the time nor the energy to leave the comfort of your home. A lot of your writing featured you hunched over with odd angles and twisted limbs, which was not a sight safe for the public, so you tended towards staying at your desk instead of an open space.

Despite having recently chided fate for its unreliability, you had to grant it some leeway when it let you meet Murdock.

The thump of you flopping back against your mattress knocked you out of your dramatic thoughts. You weren’t a romance writer, but your brain was beginning to look like one, and your chewing of your lip wasn’t doing you any favors.

But could you help it? You were excited, more excited than you had been in a good while, and your proof was hanging right in front of you. Two outfits, both with their positives and negatives. One was flashy, one was comfy. Were you looking to draw attention today – were you supposed to be looking to draw attention? You weren’t good at this. Picking out the right shirt to go with the right pants was not your forté, and you hadn’t spared a thought to color palettes since high school.

Your mind was fogged up with choices and your veins were alive with adrenaline and your mouth was coated with the taste of iron.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you shot up straight, paused, and groaned.

Great, you’d chewed your lip so much that it was bleeding. Just what you needed.

You swiped your finger across your mouth to get rid of what was there already and shuffled to the bathroom for a cloth.

However, you weren’t the only one with blood on your hands; while you were busy trying to find the midpoint between pajamas and a suit, Murdock was ruining is outfit. He wasn’t an idiot, he’d planned a margin of error between getting from the warehouse to the café, but getting an entire new set of clothes was going to really bite into his time reserve. Still, he would do whatever he could to not be late for your date, not only because he didn’t want to come off as uncaring. He also didn’t want you to think he was bad at his job.

Wrenching the axe out of the woman’s neck, listening to the gentle stream of blood grow into a gush, he couldn’t help but think about you. He remembered your questions and the variety of ideas you tested him with. The weight of his weapon seemed almost tacky in comparison to what you teased. All your creative ways of ending a life made him wonder if he should have been doing more.

But he had constructed a recognizable method, and he was proud of what he had achieved in the media. Those sloppy back-alley stabbings were never mentioned in tandem with his name, and he thought that was worth it. You were inventive, but he was reliable. Maybe you could work together on something if this date went well.

Murdock caught the glint of his watch from the flickering lights of the warehouse. If he wanted to be on time, he had to get going. Luckily, the woman had already stopped squirming, and leaving the body there wasn’t a problem.

He pushed back the sleeve of his jacket to see the real issue. The inside was coated with specks of blood, creating a sticky seal between the fabric and his skin. He couldn’t let you see this – you’d think he was careless, and that just wouldn’t do – so he stepped around the corpse and went off in search of the closest bathroom. No doubt the warehouse ones were going to be grimy, but he had to take what he could get.

The café was relatively empty when you arrived. There were only two or three people in there, including the barista and each doing their own thing around the room. For the fun of it, you sat down in the seat from weeks ago and shot Murdock a text for his whereabouts.

You weren’t as nervous as you thought you should have been. This was the first time you were going to meet in person, by all means, you should have been worried! Somehow, though, your heart was beating in its normal rhythm, your breath was steady, and you were enjoying looking around the room while you waited.

A few minutes passed like that, and, while you stayed calm, your confusion was certainly growing. Had he forgotten? He hadn’t replied to your message, so it was possible that he had gotten busy. You knew about the erratic nature of his schedule, it was the very reason you had been looking forward to this date, but he seemed like he had the decency to tell you if anything came up.

“Hi there.”

The whisper almost made you jump out of your skin, and you struggled to contain the yelp of surprise even after you turned around to see the man you had been waiting for. It didn’t matter that you had expected him, he apparently had an uncanny ability to sneak up on people.

You lightly batted your hand against his arm. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I’m sorry.” He said this despite him obviously not being sorry, considering the low, breathy chuckle he let out as he slipped into the chair opposite you.

“And I was going to offer to pay for your coffee.”

“Did I scare you that much?”

You shot him a blank look, to which he started up his laughter.

As far as dates went, this was going pretty well; you started by ordering your drinks – you noticed it wasn’t the same barista as last time, but shifts changed all the time – and, while you tried to return to your last conversation, you couldn’t help but point out how bad a choice black coffee was. It was less of a complaint, and more of a public service.

“It’s not that bad,” he said after taking a sip from the cup.

“So you admit that it’s at least a little bad?”

“It’s better than your sugar-loaded concoction.”

“One sugar packet does not make it ‘sugar-loaded’.”

Despite his glasses covering his eyes, you were able to feel the disapproval quite clearly, enough to match yours, before it faded, and he slid his cup towards your side of the table.

“How about we trade?”

You took a second to think about it; it wasn’t as though you’d never tried black coffee, but it was back when you were thirteen and hadn’t understood the possibility of sweeteners.

Semi-reluctantly and fully suspiciously, you exchanged his cup for yours and brought it close to your lips. You left enough space to joke, “You aren’t trying to get my DNA, are you?”

“Why would I want your DNA?”

“To frame me for one of your murders.”

Had the cup not blocked your view of Murdock as you poured hot coffee down your throat, you might have recognized the flash of panic that spread over his face like lightning in the middle of a storm. His grip tightened around the cup, knuckles becoming more defined while he fought back a frown.

“Do you really think so low of me?”

Placing the cup back down on the table, you shot him a grin that made him relax again. It was a joke, you had been joking, just joking.

“I’m smiling,” you said as you pushed it closer to him, “but that was horrible.”

Oh, right, the coffee. He had almost forgotten what he was doing, but he fixed his mistake by taking a sip. The first taste was the coffee, go figure, but behind it was the faint undertone of what he had expected. The sugar was weaker than what he’d thought it would be, but, nevertheless, it was there, and it was not for him.

“You’re one to talk,” was his response.

“Still, you have to be some kind of murderer, or else why do you know so much about anatomy?”

Were you testing him? Seeing how far he would go in public? You were being bold in joking about your shared work, were you trying to figure out how careful he was? Protecting yourself was a smart move, but he wasn’t going to take the bait so easily.

And you weren’t the only one with jokes.

“I’m a mortuary technician.”

It was a simple answer, one you deemed worthy of a surprised look.

“Really? Why’s that?”

“I feel most at home standing above a dead body?”

That got a laugh out of you, a genuine laugh that made his playful smirk turn more appreciative. For the first time since before he could remember, he thought he preferred that sound from you more than the fearful shriek.

How… normal.

When you faded off into a few stray chuckles, a thought occurred to you that prompted you to point at him dramatically and faux-offended.

“You never answered my text.”

The tilt of his head had you pulling out your phone and showing him the last conversation that you had. The message stood out starkly against your background, even with the dimmed screen, and you tapped it with an accusatory look.

“Well, would you look at that,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah, delivered.”

“No, no, I mean—” he pointed at his contact name, “—that.”

You flipped your phone around to look where he was referring to and immediately felt a blush crawl from your neck to your cheeks. ‘Maybe a murderer’ was not the most affectionate thing to have him labelled as, and for him to see it on your first date was mortifying.

“Oh, yeah, that.” As quickly as you could, you turned it off and shoved it back in your pocket, praying that it or yourself would somehow disappear so that you didn’t have to deal with the embarrassing consequences.

“Maybe a murderer? I thought we’d already clarified what I am.”

“And I thought you were a mortuary technician?”

“So people can’t have hobbies?”

You glanced out the window as you absentmindedly swirled your coffee. “I can’t, at least. I mean, I turned my hobby into my full-time job.”

“What was that saying? Find a job you love, and you’ll never have to work a day in your life.”

“Oh, I’ve worked some days.”

Murdock leaned closer on the table, perching his head on the back of his hand, like a cat watching a fish from an unreachable perch. “So you don’t love it?”

“Of course, I do! It’s just… keeping track of everything gets so tiring after a while, you know?”

“Based on the questions you’ve sent me, I think simplifying your methods would make it easier.”

“I could, but then it wouldn’t be nearly as fun.”

“I, for one, can vouch for the excitement of reliable techniques. Sometimes, knowing how to do something and do it right is the best part. Refining your skills.”

“Do you think people would care as much if I just did the same thing over and over again?” 

From your experience, reusing old material, especially in the same book, made for a lousy read. Unless he meant rewriting the same piece – which itself would bore you out of your mind – you certainly didn’t want to put someone through that.

There was a dip of Murdock’s head, a lowering of his tone, a glint of the sun against his glasses as he said, “I wouldn’t mind seeing some of your work.”

You tried to disguise the surprise from the sudden beating of your heart with a sip of your coffee. It was nearly all gone, which meant so too were your moments of reprieve. Fortunately, he looked genuine, as though he actually wanted to see some of your in-progress chapters.

“Even the stuff that isn’t finished?”

You were brazen, weren’t you? More than he’d ever imagined was possible. “Did you leave a body out so that you could come here?” Just the thought of you taking such a risk just to see him made his breath speed up in a way that was more familiar to him in chasing down a victim.

You shrugged. “They’ll be there when I get back. They’re just words on a page, after all.” You opened your mouth as if to continue that thought, but you soon closed it and furrowed your eyebrows. “How’d you know it was a body?”

There was no accusation in your voice, but the confusion was a feeling you and Murdock shared. Just words on a page? What did you mean by that? Was there some popular metaphor amongst murderers he was unaware of or… 

Wait.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Oh, no.

“What’s under your sleeve. Are- are you bleeding?”

Oh, no.

In a flurry, he tugged his sleeve down over his wrist, as though pulling it far enough meant you would forget you had ever seen it. Telling you it wasn’t his blood wasn’t an option. Telling you it was the blood of a woman whom he had killed – no matter the reason – was not an option.

“Oh, I’m okay,” he rushed to say, his words spilling out of his mouth faster than he could think of them. He needed an excuse, any excuse that wouldn’t make you sprint out of the café as though he’d just told you he was a murderer, which was possible considering he was a murderer and you were distinctly not. “Just caught my wrist on a scalpel at the mortuary, and I guess I didn’t bandage it correctly.”

That was cheap. If you wanted to, it would have been so easy for you to question him about the holes in his story. He didn’t even know if technicians used scalpels, and there was no sign of actual injury anywhere near his wrist. It was shoddy, and this situation was dangerous, and he had gotten so comfortable in presumably talking to another killer that he hadn’t tried to cover anything up. 

Damn it.

Murdock had made a mistake. A stupid mistake that was sure to haunt him for the rest of the days. Hell, he’d made two mistakes, the first being to have ever assumed that you were like him without then making absolute sure that he was right – he was meant to be good at this, but that was the most idiotic he had been in his life – but the second mistake was even worse. 

Because he’d gone and caught feelings for you. Ones he didn’t think he’d be letting go of for a long time; you were terribly kind, and you were awfully genuine, and, worst of all, you weren’t a killer like him.

You were a writer.

While Murdock was internally having a heart attack over the mess he’d made of this relationship from the very beginning, you nodded sympathetically. Wounds on the wrist always made you squirm, whether it was a knife or a paper cut, so you just sat back in your chair.

“If you want to, I’ll ask the barista if they have a first aid kit while you go wash it off.”

He had been staring straight at you when you said that, and the sunglasses blocked his eyes, which meant you didn’t see the way he startled like a rabbit.

You…

You believed him.

Slowly, he nodded, then pushed himself out of his seat, searching for the sign for the bathroom. In sync, you went to talk to the employee, but Murdock stayed standing for a moment.

You hadn’t pointed out any of the problems with his story, you just took him at his word and moved on, trying to help him with a lie. But it couldn’t have been that easy. Something would come up eventually and he’d have to face the music that he had orchestrated himself. He’d lose your laugh and the ill-fated connection you had made. He just knew it. It was only a matter of time.

And yet, surprisingly, everything continued on just as smoothly as before. In some ways, it became even better – being a murderer came with constant fear of getting caught, but also dating a murderer came with twice that amount, especially when it was concern for someone you loved. And, if one of you were caught, there was an uncomfortable choice to be made. 

But none of that mattered! Not anymore. He could enjoy talking over scenarios with you without getting a heart attack whenever you got home late. Sure, anytime you went out into the public together, he spent a few extra minutes looking over his shoulder, but you weren’t doing anything illegal, and Murdock took care not to leave anything behind at crime scenes. A little more awareness was a price he was willing to pay to spend time with you.

Some of his favorite moments were spent in your apartment, and this was one of the best; the blinds were up, the door was locked, and you were leaned against him on the couch, television showing a nature documentary that he was only half paying attention to. Had it been in the depths of winter, snow floating about outside, it could have been the closing image of a hallmark movie. Though, despite it being a cool May evening, it was good enough for the both of you.

You laid your head on Murdock’s shoulder with a sigh, your hands stilled at the keyboard of your laptop across your thighs. He knew that sigh, so he drew the arm that had been strewn over your shoulder back to card a hand through your hair.

“What’re you stuck on?” he asked in a low tone that reverberated through your skin. You almost forgot what troubled you, but the screen in front of you brought it back to the forefront of your mind.

“I don’t know if this works.”

“How so?”

Instead of trying to describe the situation or awkwardly reading it aloud, you just shifted the laptop so that he could see it. Even though it was dim, you didn’t need to burst the comfortable atmosphere with a flashbang – it was a neat skill Murdock had, to be able to read in any environment, but he never explained where he learned it. You’d asked him once, but the only response you got was a wink and a smile.

It was only a short paragraph that had you stumped. When you first started, you would have called it good enough and moved on, but ever since you met Murdock, you had taken special care to make it as accurate as possible. He always got excited when describing certain scenarios to you, always took the time to be precise with what would happen, always made your writing better. It felt like an insult to him to be mediocre at his favorite subject.

He signaled that he was done with a hum.

“I’m tempted to say they wouldn’t pass out before getting to the other hand but…” he trailed off into another hum. “It would depend on their pain tolerance, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s the thing. I’d like them to pass out in this chapter, but later on, they have to have a pain tolerance high enough to run on a broken leg. I don’t really want to get rid of either one of them, though.”

Murdock’s hand in your hair paused, and, unable to see his face, you assumed that he was thinking of ways around it. You had no clue what else you could use that would give you the same effect, so you were already resigning yourself to cutting this part of the scene when he shifted behind you. You took the hint and readjusted yourself against the couch, but you shot him a confused look.

Because his glasses stopped you from seeing his eyes, you were only able to go off of the smirk that spread across his lips. On anyone else, it might have been concerning, but you knew Murdock, and you trusted him through and through. You simply tilted your head in a silent question.

“Sorry, love, I just remembered an extra shift I’m supposed to be at in half an hour. Influx of bodies this week.”

Well, that was disappointing. While you were hoping he had come up with some solution to your struggle, this was also one of the few nights that your schedules aligned. Problems with your calendars hadn’t disappeared after your first date, which meant what little free time you had was spent together, even if you weren’t doing anything specific. You supposed it couldn’t be helped, though – work was work, and Murdock took his job very seriously.

Sometimes you almost wished he didn’t, especially given the recent string of murders around the city. You didn’t like him walking off into the darkness alone. You knew he was able to protect himself, but… you couldn’t help but worry.

That worry apparently showed on your face, if Murdock leaning down to your level was anything to go by.

“Hey,” he whispered, “I’ll come straight back as soon as I’m done with the last body. I’ll be okay.”

“I know, I know, it’s just- y’know, I’ve seen the news and it’s not very assuring.”

He tugged off his glasses with one hand and used the other to caress your cheek. The touch was soft and comforting, but seeing his eyes was the thing that made your shoulders relax and edges of your mouth perk up in a small smile. It wasn’t often that he took them off, outside or inside, but it always made you feel better, as though you understood him the second your eyes met. They were the windows to the soul, after all.

“You don’t need to worry, love. No murderer is going to get me in alleyway. I’ll always come back to you, no matter what.”

To you, that was a pledge for protection against that maniac with an axe. To Murdock, that was a pledge for protection against the police who stuck their heads where they didn’t belong and got them chopped off for it.

But he wouldn’t tell you that. You didn’t need to know; it would only make you worry more, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Slowly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. His thumb continued to stroke up and down your cheek, but his hand that held his glasses maneuvered so that he could comfortably cradle the back of your head. On your part, it took you a second to melt into his hold, but melt you did, and you found yourself pushing off the couch to get closer. This was nice. This was safe. Not the safe that you had months ago, the kind that was unbearably boring and made everything else monotonous, as though you were frozen in a block of ice. This was the safe that warmed the ice ever-so-gently until you were pulled out into a protective embrace. The pressure of Murdock against you, no matter the point of contact, was a reminder of that. Your doubtless safety.

When he pulled away, you couldn’t stop the little sound that escaped you, disappointed for a reason different than before, but Murdock only responded with a smug chuckle.

“Later,” he muttered as he replaced the glasses over his eyes, “but I have to get to work.”

He made as if to brush a hand through your hair again, but he smoothly switched directions and grabbed your laptop from where it had slipped during your little moment.

You huffed an indignant, “Hey,” but it was no use.

“This is coming with me.”

“And why’s that?”

“I might be able to figure out your problem while I’m out. It’ll give me something to think about while I wait.”

You rolled your eyes but put up no other resistance. You certainly weren’t going to get anywhere with it, and a break from a screen sounded good about now.

“Fine,” you said as you reached for the TV remote, “just don’t go looking through my files.”

His grin stretched wider. “No promises.”

That look. It was stupid, cliché even, but it made your heart flutter every time it was directed towards you. It showed up in soft moments, in your playful banter, in your affectionately-termed lectures when you wanted to know how long someone could go without oxygen. You’d never taken a picture of it because you never felt the need to; there was always the confidence that you would see it again and capturing it beneath a glass cover was a lot like admitting your time was limited. That was something you didn’t want to risk.

With the flutter replaced by a heaviness, you waved goodbye to Murdock as he waltzed out of your apartment door, your laptop under his arm and keys in his hand. Late night shifts meant that you would go to sleep alone but wake up held securely in a hug that you never felt begin. You guessed that you were a heavy sleeper, or he was just careful not to disturb you when climbing under the sheets.

Though, that theory was put under strain when you stirred to the sound of your bedroom door opening and closing early in the morning, blearily opened your eyes at a rustling, and twisted around to look at who had entered the room.

The moon draped Murdock’s red and black clothes in a milky sheen of light. While he peeled off layer and layer of fabric, you tried to make out the shapes of color that painted his body. They almost looked like splatters – the product of darkness – with their odd angles and droplets against his skin – the aftereffects of sleep – and the way they smeared as he drew his shirt over them – the fantasies you were so prone to indulging in.

You whispered into the shadows where he stood, “Welcome back.”

He laughed to himself under his breath before padding over to join you. You opened the bed for him and held the sheet up until he was safely nestled at your side, arm thrown over your shoulders to guide you closer.

“It works, love.”

“Hmm?”

“The hand thing. They can pass out at the fourth finger and still hobble their way down a hallway with a broken leg. I think it just takes them realizing what situation they’re in for the adrenaline to work its magic.”

“Huh—” you shifted so that you were looking him in the eyes, “—how’d you find that out?”

In the darkness of the room, silhouetted barely by the moonlight but altogether protected from the outside world, he smiled at you and pressed a kiss against your lips. It only lasted a second, two at most, but you couldn’t deny the faint taste of something unusual. Iron?

He drew back before you could figure it out and whispered, “A body came in with the kind of damages you wrote about. Did some tests and it turned out they were put in pretty much the same situation.”

Your eyebrows furrowed and the corners of your mouth turned down. What were the chances?

“Should we be worried?” you asked, mind running wild with questions. Was it just a coincidence that it was the same scenario? Was it just a coincidence that it happened the same time you wrote about it? Was it a coincidence, was it a coincidence?

Murdock broke you out of those thoughts with his words resonating through you. “What did I say before?”

“I know, but…” You couldn’t finish, but you didn’t need to for him to understand. Just saying the words aloud made a certain feeling stir in your gut. Maybe it was simple fear, maybe it was a small glimmer of guilt – either way, it distracted you enough that Murdock had to bring you in impossibly closer for you to snap out of it.

“Love, he won’t hurt me and he’s not going to hurt you.” 

His breath fanned over your hair as you slotted your chin over his shoulders.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

[Thank you for this request! I don't know why I have so much Murdock content considering he shows up for fifteen seconds in a completely missable and frankly irrelevant chunk of Space, but, y'know, I love him, so it's fine. Also, I totally used some of this so vent about how hard it is to search for that blood loss question. Again, thank you for requesting <3!]

[kommandonuovidiavoli]

Mind telling us how the dynamics of duos within teen Sector V are? Like 1/2, 3/4, 2/5, 1/3, 2/4 and so on lol. Just to get to know them and how they are as teens a bit better!

AHHHH SO!!!

There's a lot to say here, so I'll start with Nigel and go on until everything is explained?? Before reading, I don't want hate or anything plz, this is what works for this AU but I pretty much can ship anyone with anyone!

Let's go!

#1/#2

Nigel and Hoagie like to work in tandem on new 2x4 tech for teen operatives to use. Hoagie has the ideas, Nigel refines them (and avoids Hoagie from making them too dangerous or unstable) and they build them together. Nigel hasn't always been one for manual work but lately he found out it helps him not to think too much. And Hoagie's more than happy to help "Big Boss" relax!

---

#1/#3

Kuki is Nigel's personal ray of sunshine (that's also why the whole school calls her that). She helps him to cheer up and see life in a different way, a more colorful and positive one. They don't even have to talk, Nigel just needs to sit next to her and plop his head on her shoulder and she knows it's time to work her magic on him! Also she somehow convinced him to have her test her "make up skills" on him. Don't ask why, that's how they roll. AND! Kuki's been in charge of taking care of Nigel's rainbow monkey plush since he left for GKND.

---

#1/#4

Because of something that happen to Wally years before (which, don't ask, none of them want to talk about it), these two are now really close. Especially Wally found a good friend he can talk to when life gets too hard on him, he knows Nigel will be more than happy to listen to him go off without judging or forcing a solution on him. Basically Nigel KNOWS the root of all of Wally's problems and understands his feelings. They don't like to show how close they are around, but if they find each other alone, it's feeling time.

---

#1/#5

They know EVERYTHING about EVERYONE around the school, no one is safe, not even professors or the principal himself. They could crush everyone in one move... but choose not too because were would the fun be? Sill best friends, if you didn't know their history you could easily mistake them for a couple. Well, they are in fact planning their wedding, been doing that for 2 years now, but it always gets delayed because one of them changes his mind about a minor detail. Do they even argue? Are they actually together?? What is going on??? Only they know.

---

#2/#3

Just a quick note: Numbuh 6 is still there and they still keep an eye on him, but he's been moved to another sector when they all turned 13. Because of his love for anime and manga, Hoagie is actually learning Japanese with her, because he thinks it would be cool to be able to watch anime without subtitles or worse, the... dub... EWW! Also they like to watch stuff together that Wally refuses to because it has romance in it, like Toradora! or even Sword Art Online.

---

#2/#4

Best friends forever. Kinda gay, but not all the way? Like IRL JD and Turk basically. They're so into anime and manga and videogames, they're NERDS but Wally usually hides it around people, Hoagie can't be bothered and you can spot him reading some manga no one even knew existed. They have a lot of inside jokes not even the others understand, especially the "chicken" one they've been keep going since they were 7. Also, they're meme masters.

---

#2/#5

How the heck are they even dating? Like, he's an OTAKU and she's the QUEEN of the school??? But it works apparently, and everyone is jealous and MAD at Hoagie because really, he's one of the LAMEST LOSERS in the school, just... how... WHY?? No one knows. But them. He makes her laugh and she keeps him with his feet on the ground. Been going for *looks at smudged note on the hand* 7 YEARS????

---

#3/#4

A ray of sunshine and the prince of darkness. Happiness and rage, rainbow and clouds, colorful and black. They seem like opposite worlds colliding, but the whole school knows they're dating now. Took a bit of time tbh, it has its ups and downs, but they look happy together, so, what else could they want? 2 years down, their whole life to go.

---

#3/#5

They have the love for make-up and fashion in common. Kuki likes to test her make-up skills on Abby, who's more than willing to let her go for it because she's actually good! They like to hang out at the mall, sometimes they drag Nigel with them for reasons (the boy needs some good clothes).

---

#4/#5

If Nigel's the one Wally can go to without expecting judging or answers, Abby's the one who can give Wally a solution for a problem he has. She loves the boy, wants all the best for him, it's just that sometimes... he's... really something to work with. Actually turns out these two are the best ones to put on a mission together. They know how to work things out.

---

Sorry I have no energy to do all the drawings for all dynamics, so I did the ones that inspired me the most.

Hope you liked it!

[cowgurrrl]

Lavender Girl

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: A field trip [4.7k]

Warnings: financial stress, school fight, June once again introduces an ex, having a muse is creepy and weird, flirting that’s not flirting but it’s not not flirting, June putting her art history knowledge to work

Most days, you're a good teacher. A teacher that students want to eat lunch with or inadvertently include in their silly TikToks. Most days, you're patient and kind and only have to raise your voice a handful of times, if only to be heard over the blanket volume level of teenage conversation. Today is not one of those days. "Guys!" You yell, pausing the music on your computer and turning to look at your class, obviously annoyed. "We're supposed to be talking about Picasso. I don't know why I'm hearing so much conversation about lunch." It's a lie. There was a fight between two students at lunch. It'd also been the topic of conversation in the teacher's lounge, but still.

"Miss, we already talked about Picasso!" One of your kids bemoans, and you raise your eyebrows at them. 

"So, if I asked you right now, you could tell me what historical event his painting Guernica is supposed to depict?" You ask. The entire class goes silent as you wait for a response that never comes, and you sigh. "Please, do your work."

The day started with getting yet another email from another gallery, this time from down south, telling you they loved your work but not enough to showcase or buy it. Then, a text from your manager letting you know that paychecks will be late because of technical issues with the system, even though you're already beyond broke. Then, a sad text from Andie about how she's feeling homesick and misses you and wishes you could get on a plane to come see her. Then, to top it all off, an email from your ex, Henry, popped up the second you pulled into the school. 

Hey, long time, no talk! I hope you're doing well. I wanted to reach out and let you know I've got an exhibition going up later next week and wanted to invite you to the opening. It's about-

You didn't read any further, anger and a wave of past emotions drowning you before you could. You and Henry were together all throughout college. You met during a freshman art class and were inseparable after that. He was tall, sensitive, and had a penchant for listening to country music when he worked, leading to many delirious nights spent crooning to Emmy-Lou Harris together. He surprised you with new paint and spontaneous trips to scenic parts of Texas to fuel your inspiration. You were happy for a long time. You even thought you'd marry him at one point. He wanted to be the next young, groundbreaking artist, making you his muse, no matter how many times you tried to assure him you were also an artist. Your work would go up in galleries and exhibitions, and everyone in your small program would gossip about the two of you. "He's so talented. It's insane," you heard one of your classmates say once. "And she's so beautiful." 

The compliment dug under your skin and stayed there as your relationship failed. You didn't want to be a muse anymore. You stopped letting him paint you in various states of undress and started asking for more alone time to work on your own stuff. You went from being the perfect, polished doll he could position however he wanted and started living in your paint-stained jeans and old, ratty shirt. You started arguing more and more, first about little things like why he left his paint water cups everywhere, and then about big things like your decision to pursue teaching and the "inspiration" he found in an impressionable freshman. He suddenly moved out after graduation without a word, leaving you to nurse your wounds in a half-empty apartment for the rest of your lease, and you hadn't heard from him until this morning. 

There's something more than the sting of hearing from him all these years later that bothers you. You're a high school art teacher struggling to make ends meet, and he's doing exactly what he set out to do. He's getting his work in front of his eyes and receiving praise for it. "Why do you wanna be a teacher when you can just be an artist?" He asked you one morning as you studied for your certification exams. "Or, at least, an artist's wife." 

"And what if I'm not good at that?" You asked. "Then what? I'm just supposed to be your muse for the rest of my life? Have kids to fuel someone else's inspiration and have no time for my own work? Wither away while you go on to make art and give talks and become a cynic? Fuck that." 

You stand by what you said, even all these years later, but there is an irony in that, even as a teacher, you don't have time to do your own work. Still, fuck that. The bell rings and signals the end of another class, and you quickly stand as students start packing up their stuff. "Okay, guys. Remember, your art history essay is due in two weeks! I'm excited to read all about everything you've learned since we started this unit. I love you, and please make good choices." You announce, hoping that at least some of them are listening to you, as they spill out of the classroom and the next students stream in. Ellie's sweet face is a welcome reprieve when she walks in. 

"Hey Bellie! How's your day going, kiddo?" You ask, and she smiles. You'll swear up and down all day that you don't have favorite students, but if you did, Ellie would be one of them. 

"Good. I have my signed permission slip for the art club field trip." She says. After your experience with Joel outside the bar, you couldn't sleep and knocked out all the field trip paperwork before falling asleep on your couch. But you weren't safe from his lips and broad shoulders, even in your subconscious. 

"Oh, my hero! I've been meaning to remind everyone about those. Thanks for getting that in so quickly." You say as she hands the paper to you, Joel's scribbly signature at the bottom. Somehow, you're not surprised that the box indicating he wants to be a chaperone is ticked. "Perfect. Your dad knows when the field trip is?" 

"Yeah. He wrote it down on his calendar and everything." She says, rolling her eyes fondly, and you laugh.

"Well, good, because I'm gonna need all the help I can get when I'm dealing with you guys."

"Hey!" She feigns offense as the bell rings, signaling the end of the passing period, and the last of your students comes running in. Ellie takes her seat near the front, and you grab your silly, colorful pointer to talk about Guernica, which is still proudly displayed on the board. After a quick art history lesson, you release them to work on the projects they've been working on for a week now. They still have a few more days before it's due, so more than half of them are slacking off quietly, which you're fine with. As long as you get a finished assignment at the end, they can do whatever they want.

You play quiet music as they work to help them focus and answer some emails. One email that catches your attention is from the parent of one of your students, Dalton, who's an amazing football player but is less than passionate about art, to say the least. You emailed his dad to let him know he was missing some assignments and could still turn them in late for only a slight penalty, but if he turns in nothing at all, you'll have no choice but to fail him. You also CC'd the football coach so he'd know the academic standing of one of his star players. Needless to say, you've been subject to a few not-so-nice emails from all parties involved. 

Once you're done firing off another round of emails, you decide to step away from your computer so you don't have to see the next reply until absolutely necessary. Walking around the room to answer questions, give opinions, or just hear what's happening in students' lives always makes you feel better. In one period, you helped a handful of students put the finishing touches on their projects, heard the latest gossip, and talked one of your girls out of sending a nasty text to the boy who just broke her heart. And they say teachers aren't important. 

The second you get a little bit of peace during your planning period, your phone buzzes with a notification. Given all the notifications and messages you've received today, you're hesitant to even pull it out of your pocket. But curiosity wins, and you open your phone to find a text from an unsaved number.

Is there anything I should bring to the field trip? Snacks, gum, alcohol?

You laugh to yourself and start typing a message back. 

Alcohol won't be necessary, but it might be good to bring some lunch and a few snacks. I think we're gonna try to have a picnic or something at the museum. 

Yes, ma'am.

You still feeling up to chaperone? Teenagers are no joke.

Do I need to remind you that I've raised two? I think I can handle a few more.

Oh, I can't wait to see this.

It can't be that hard, right?

On the day of the field trip, it turns out to be that hard. The only adults accompanying twenty teenagers to the museum are you and Joel. They're excited to be out of school and doing something new, but you can feel your migraine starting before you even get on the bus. Thankfully, the ride to the museum (and the traffic) calms them down, and they're more manageable by the time you arrive. A curator meets you outside the front doors and begins by walking your group through the outdoor sculptures, giving a little bit of history of the museum and the pieces themselves. The kids ask insightful questions and take turns snapping photos or even sketching a rough outline of the piece before moving on to the next. You stay at the front of the group while Joel manages the middle and back, silencing kids with a stern look. You fight a smile when you catch him and Ellie lingering at a sculpture, whispering to each other before he urges her forward and takes a sweet picture of her smiling in front of it. 

After the initial walk of the grounds, you stop to have lunch in a sunny garden and listen to the kids gush about their favorite part so far and what paintings they're most excited to see inside. 

"Miss, what's your favorite thing here?" Kayla asks.

"I like Dream Village by Chagall. If you find it before me, you'll have to let me know." You say. "Do you have a favorite?"

"Not yet. Maybe I'll find it today." Kayla says.

"I like that attitude!"

"Kissass." Jacob coughs, and you both give him a look. You can feel Joel's eyes burning a hole in the back of your head as you stare at Jacob.

"What's my policy?" 

"Are you really gonna make me say it?"

"Yep." You say, and he sighs.

"You can be anything you want to be, but you're not allowed to be a dick." He mumbles.

"Exactly. So, please, be nice," you say as you fish around in your lunch box for something. "Here, have a cookie. It might help make you feel a little better." He mutters a little thanks and unwraps it, already in a better mood after one bite, and you smile. 

"You just carry around cookies, waiting for a kid to be in a bad mood?" Joel asks, and you turn to look at him. He's wearing a plain blue t-shirt and jeans with sunglasses sitting atop his head, but you think it might be your favorite thing he's worn in your presence. You like it when he wears color.

"It was my cookie, but he needs it more than I do," you shrug. "Besides, things like that are a great morale booster. It's hard to be grumpy when you've got something sweet." 

"I'm inclined to agree with you." He quips a little too smoothly, his eyes flicking across your face and down to your lips, and you feel your cheeks getting hot. Thankfully, all the kids have returned to their own conversations and couldn't care less about what the Adults are talking about. 

"You're relentless." You whisper.

"Do you want me to stop?" He whispers back, and you sigh. If you were a stronger or better person, you might be able to think fast enough to come up with a response, but you're not. So, you just look at him and rack your brain for something to say but come up empty. "That's what I thought." He smiles and offers you his sweating Dr. Pepper can as a peace offering. You roll your eyes at his smug look but take a sip anyway. 

Once everyone is done eating, you all stand and make your way into the museum lobby, the kids already chattering about what they want to see. 

"Okay, you guys are free to roam but please, please, please remember that you're representing not only the school but also me. Be respectful and kind, and please don't act like you've never been in public before, okay? Go, be free." You say before the kids split off into their little groups with their obligatory activity in hand. Ellie stays near Joel, only a little shy, until Kayla turns around suddenly and waves her on.

"Ellie, c'mon!" She says. Ellie takes a few steps in her direction before turning to look back at Joel.

"Go. I'll be okay." He says.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Now go. Have fun." She doesn't need any more encouragement after that and skitters off with the rest of the kids, leaving you and Joel alone in the atrium. 

"She's doing really well." You tell him even though he can clearly see for himself. 

"Thanks to you." 

"All I did was give her a push."

"Take the credit. You deserve it." He says, his lips pulling into that award-winning smile. 

You fall into silence as you walk through the different galleries, Joel never too far behind you. Sometimes, he'll start at the opposite end of the room and work his way down until you meet in the middle, making a deliberate effort to bump your shoulder or hand as he passes. Other times, he'll stay right next to you, and, for some reason, it doesn't bother you. You like being so close to him and feeling his eyes work over the piece like it's a puzzle he doesn't quite know how to work. When he can't stand the quiet anymore, he'll whisper a question to you about the artist or the history, his breathing fanning out across your neck and making the hair there stand on end. 

After moving through a big part of the museum together, you and Joel end up at the same painting as the dull hum of voices fills the space between you. You smile to yourself, practically hearing him trying to find something to say as he stands there and observes how the lines of bright colors follow each other. Some are stark and almost resemble lightning in how they move around the canvas, but others are muted, blended together with careful precision and patience. It's hard to imagine what West Texas could've been like in 1953, but this makes it a little easier.

"What's this one supposed to mean?" Joel mumbles, leaning ever so conspicuously into you. 

"I can't tell you." You mumble back, and he finally turns to look at you head-on. You meet his eyes with an amused smile, and he shakes his head at you.

"You're really not gonna tell me?"

"I can't tell you what art is supposed to mean to you. I can't tell anyone that." 

"But, you're a teacher."

"If you're asking me for an art history lesson, I'd be happy to help, but that's about all I can do for you."

"'S cruel and unusual punishment."

"If art and culture are cruel and unusual punishment, why'd you sign up to chaperone?"

"Maybe I wanted to see my friend," he says, bumping you with his shoulder, and you laugh a little too hard. "What? We can't be friends? Is there a school policy against that, too?" 

"Nope, no school policy. I just," You pause and revel in how enraptured he looks at every movement, pause, and breath you take. "I already have friends, so..."

"Oh, and you're 'fraid of bein' too popular?"

"Famously." You say, and he chuckles next to you. You go back to staring at the painting quietly with him so close you can feel his body heat. You're the one to break this time, knocking him with your shoulder to get his attention again. You didn't need to. When you glance at him, you see his focus is on you, not the painting. "It's Texas. Canyon, to be more precise. Up by Amarillo where there's nothing but cattle and desert. O'Keeffe taught out there for a few years and wanted to paint something that showed how big the West is. It's supposed to make you feel like you're two feet tall and seeing the sky for the first time. For her, it might've been the first time in a long time she'd gotten to see a sunset that big. So, she painted it so other people could enjoy sunsets like that. It's like a love letter." 

"How d'you do that?" He asks once you're finished explaining, and you furrow your eyebrows. 

"Do what?" 

"Make little things seem so beautiful." He answers easily, like you asked him what color the sky is. You don't know what to say. What are you supposed to say to something like that?

"'S just what art does." You shrug and break away from his gaze to look at the painting, if only to not feel him staring into your soul.

"No, it's what you do to it. 'S why those kids love you so damn much. You make everythin' feel like a masterpiece, even the little things." He's not flirting. He's not trying to persuade you to do one thing over another. He's genuine and heartfelt. You swear you would start crying if you had a little less sleep. You take a deep breath and lean into him for half a second, just enough to feel his body against yours, before standing upright again.

"Thank you." 

"It's what friends are for," he says, leaning into you in return. "I should make sure they haven't seized the museum or anythin'."

"Oh, I can do it. You're a guest."

"And you work too hard," he stops you. "Take a break and enjoy what you love. The world won't end if you take some time for yourself." If ever there were awards to be given out for sweet talking, you think Joel Miller would win all of them. 

"Okay," you say, and he walks behind you to move on to the next section. "You really wanna be my friend?" You ask before he can fully pass behind you, looking at him over your shoulder. He smiles devastatingly, light sparkling in his eyes, and nods.

"I really wanna be your friend." He says softly, his voice low and rumbling in his chest. He lingers for a second or two before finally making his way to the group of students, leaving you to scrutinize the painting you've been staring at for God knows how long.

The day crawls to an uneventful close, with you forcing all the students to take a picture in front of the museum for the yearbook. Joel takes your phone out of your hand and all but pushes you in the photo, and your students lovingly welcome you into their little group. In exchange, you grab Joel's phone and take cute pictures of him and Ellie for their own memories. They smile almost identically, and Ellie makes a fake annoyed face when Joel kisses her temple. Your fingers brush against each other when you hand it back, and for a second, you can feel the callouses from his job. It feels like unlocking a new piece of him or a new quirk. 

Too bad this isn't a date. Too bad nothing can ever come of this. Too bad you had to meet this way. Too bad. Too bad. 

The ride home is quiet and full of the clinking of backpacks and new souvenirs. When you get to the school, parents are waiting in the parking lot with fast food dinners and excited ears to hear all about their days. Almost everyone immediately slinks home, tired and happy, before you can even get close to the school doors. Almost everyone. Joel and Ellie help you carry your backpack and some things you bought for teaching purposes at the museum into your classroom. The school is virtually deserted, and you return to your room to find all the lamps flipped off and mostly positive notes from the sub. 

"Dad, what are we gonna do for dinner?" Ellie groans as you sit in your chair and open your email quickly before you can pack up the rest of your stuff. Their dinner debate becomes background noise as you find your inbox full of annoyed messages from Dalton's parents, coaches, and even Principal Martinez regarding his grades. Under all that vitriol sits Henry's half-read message about his gallery opening, and you feel the perfect bubble of your day burst around you. Joel and Ellie seem to realize it because they're both quiet when you tune back into their conversation, and you turn in your chair to look at them. 

"Are you okay?" Ellie asks, and you snap out of it, putting on your best teacher everything-is-fine face.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just some emails. It's not important." You wave her off, but Joel isn't so easily convinced. He thinks for a second before pulling his keys out of his pocket and handing them to Ellie. 

"Go get some practice driving." He says, jerking his head toward the door, and Ellie's eyes light up.

"Really?!"

"Just bring the car to the front, and don't hit anything!" He says, but she's already taken off with the keys and her stuff in an excited whirlwind. You laugh at her enthusiasm, and Joel leans against one of the desks near you, crossing his arms in front of him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." 

"Your whole face fell when you opened that computer." 

"It's nothing." 

"If we're gonna be friends, you're gonna have to tell me if somethin's wrong otherwise I can't help you." He says, and you fight a smile. 

"I don't know how you're gonna help me with this one." You say. He bumps your foot with his and gives you a pleading look. Big brown eyes on men like him should be illegal, you think.

"Talk to me." He begs quietly, and you take a deep breath.

"When I was in college, I dated this guy. He was an artist, too, and we were like the little power couple of our program. Things ended kinda badly and abruptly, and I hadn't heard from him since graduation until last week when he invited me to his gallery opening. I really don't want to go alone because, honestly, I haven't been able to get anything showcased in years, and I'm embarrassed. Plus, he broke my heart and made me feel like shit for a few years." You can't stop the words from falling from you once the dam is broken, but Joel doesn't flinch.

"Well, you've got friends to go with, right?"

"I do," you say. "But I want to invite you."

"Oh." He says, seemingly unintentionally.

"Oh." You repeat. "You can say no. I just thought... since we're friends and all now."

"I just... I don't..." he struggles before finally giving in to what he wants to say, what you think he's wanted to say all day. "I don't think I'm smart enough to go to somethin' like that. I don't know anythin' about art. I don't even know how to dress for those kinda things."

"Nobody knows anything about art. Not really, at least. Especially not Henry."

"You do."

"Then I'll stick with you all night and feed you lines about composition or some shit," you say. "And you just wear a nice shirt and some slacks. Maybe a suit jacket if you're feeling snazzy. It's really not as big a deal as people make it seem. We'll go, drink wine, say something about the colors, play nice, and then we'll leave. I'll have you home by 9:30. Earlier if you really hate it that much." He rolls his neck like he's rattling something around in his head or thinking about your offer, and all you can do is watch him and the way his Adam's apple pressing against the delicate skin of his throat. You're convinced he's gonna say no.

"Are you asking me on a date?" He finally asks, and you laugh.

"Not a date."

"Sounds like a date. You even promised to have me home to my girl at a reasonable time."

"Fine, it's a friend date."

"A friend date?" He raises his eyebrows at you, and you nod. 

"It's perfectly normal to go on friend dates, Miller. You're just behind on the times."

"Seems like I am. Maybe you can bring me up to speed during the gallery opening?" He says, and your shoulders drop in relief. "I'll pick you up if you agree to help me not look like an idiot."

"You won't look like an idiot." 

"Not with you there, I won't." He says, and you want to laugh, but you also want to tear up a little at his kindness. It's been a long week. 

"Thank you, Joel. Really. I owe you." You say, and he nods. 

"'S my pleasure," he says. For a minute, you two just stare at each other in your empty classroom like teenagers with an obvious crush. You think that's what you feel like. You think that's all you'll ever be able to feel for him. "I should go. I've got an impatient teenager waitin' for me." 

"Yeah. Go get her some dinner, and I'll text you the details." You say as you stand to walk him out. He stands to his full height, opens his arms, and approaches you. You didn't think you were hugging territory, but as his arms wrapped around you, you couldn't help but hug him back.  

"Goodnight." He says into your hair, lingering for another moment before disappearing as fast as he appeared. 

"Goodnight," you say. With that, he starts walking to the open door with a smile stuck to his face. "Hey, Joel," you call before he can step over the threshold, and he turns around to look at you. "Art is for everyone, and even if it wasn't, you're more than smart enough to enjoy it."

"Yes, ma'am." He says with a half-salute and a wink before stepping out of your classroom. You let yourself rest against your desk and take a deep breath. Finally, you let yourself pull out your phone and read the rest of Henry's email detailing the time and place of the gallery. 

I hope you can come. It would really mean a lot to me. I miss talking to you and even though things ended the way they did, I still love you.

See you soon,

Henry Hall

"Fuck that."

TAGLISR: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk

[crepesuzette2023]

Hello! I just wanted to say something and ask for advice.

I absolutely love fanfictions because I love seeing people's different writings and techniques and storylines... And I enjoy the smut too to be honest.

But when it comes to real people, I just feel guilty. I don't know what to do. I'm hyperfixiated on the Beatles rn and I'm a mclennon truther but I still feel guilty reading them.

Do you suggest anything? Oh I don't know... I suffer from anxiety and I'm very unsure.

Hi there—

first of all, thank you for trusting me with this question.

I'm sad to hear you're feeling guilty about reading fan fiction. Sad, because I love it too— {Paul voice:} a lot.

I never had the guilt you're describing, so I don't know how helpful I can be, but here are some thoughts.

First of all, you mention feeling guilty "when it comes to real people." I think it's great you're giving this some thought, and that you're seeing their humanity, and acknowledge how important it is to respect another person's privacy. But!

As I see it, you're not doing anything bad to a real person by writing fic about them, or reading it. You're not. Fiction is invention. It's not a rumor presented as truth. It's not an insult posted on the person's socials or the walls of their house. It's not something pushed in their faces. It's fiction posted to an archive that can easily be avoided, the way I avoid certain shelves in the book store without complaining about the fact that they're there, or demand the bookstore be closed.

But also: The Beatles in the fics aren't the real Beatles. They're avatars. The one way writing & reading fan fiction differs from fiction about original characters is that it comes with an existing background, characters, & world building. That is all. It's still fiction. My Paul isn't your Paul. He's not the real Paul. I don't know the real Paul. I don't want to know him. He's 100% safe from me. *Lovingly describes John running his tongue over his sweaty leg fur*

I know that sounds weird, but think about it. Many novels have been written about historical figures (or obscure real persons only known to the author!) with no one batting an eye. The Crown is often named as an example. I read a biographical novel about Thomas Mann recently. (The Magician, *snore* —Thomas Mann deserved better!) I have my second Sylvia Plath novel on my night stand.

What's happening here is that real people are becoming history—a copy of a copy—larger than life figures—and art (writing) becomes a creative way to respond to what they did. That's all.

It's nothing to do with doing anything bad to a real person. It's just fun (the day our friendship's begun).

So, after running my mouth, what do I suggest?

Keep telling yourself:

It's art.

It's okay to imagine anything.

It's no one's business what you enjoy in the privacy of your own mind.

A lot of storytelling is fan fiction, even if it isn't labelled as such!

If you still feel guilty and anxious, you can always stop reading—or, if you feel like it, investigate where these feelings are coming from, perhaps with the help of someone who can support you in getting rid of these feelings.

I've gone on long enough—go read some smut, safe in the knowledge that this is a thing of all times, and a sign that the beat goes on. People who argue otherwise need to get their legs combed.

[positivelybeastly]

Hi, new here, but very interested in what you've got going on-- I don't know a lot of active X-Men readers I can discuss things with, let alone any who are actually interested in Beast, so I wanted to ask, how do you feel about the writing for him over the last decade, taking into account the awkward situation X-Men as a whole has been in over that time (Schism+) but particularly, I suppose, how his character's been treated from then through Krakoa, and this "fresh start" we've got with From the Ashes not having memory of... really this entire time period highlighted?

Hello there, welcome! Hope you enjoy the experience, because it's liable to be a rambly one.

So . . . man, this is gonna be a long one, because I actually have to dial it back a little further and talk about Beast on Utopia if I'm going to talk about Schism and everything that came after.

I don't like Matt Fraction's X-Men run. Aside from the Greg Land art, which is an obvious problem, I'm not massively in love with what I kind of end up reading as a justification for black ops kill teams and militant, isolationist statehood, to say nothing of just. Poor pacing and messy storytelling and a lot of really confused storylines that just feel weird and jarring and full of really strange character choices.

I think that Fraction did mean for his run to be more critical, that when you read Hank and Scott arguing about preserving the soul of the X-Men vs. saving mutant lives, you're meant to come away conflicted, but I think that Fraction's Hank just kinda sucks and that he comes across as very whiney and self-centred.

Like, in the end, I don't think that a lot of what Cyclops did in this era, a lot of morally repugnant shit, actually really cost him anything, because history validated him and he was elevated to whatever the big general position was on Krakoa.

It wasn't a great feeling to see the guy who literally, textually abandoned members of his teams to torture, used bioweapons as a first resort, and basically told a kid to just kill people to solve the problem, have all of his actions be whitewashed and ignored post-Schism.

Like, Bendis' Uncanny and All-New act like the only bad thing Scott ever did was kill Charles Xavier while under the influence of the Phoenix, and I'm just over here like, nnnnnno he did a lot of bad things before that, very much in his right mind, and he never paid for any of that. He got to be the black ops kill team leader and the saintly revolutionary, and I don't think that the narrative really interrogated that contradiction all that much, it was just #CyclopsWasRight.

With that context . . .

I don't have a problem with Hank being a conscientious objector and leaving the X-Men. He's done it before, and I think he was right to do it, and it fits his character.

That being said, he was then pushed straight on to the Secret Avengers, which was, while not a kill team, very much a black ops, deniable operations organisation with team members who did kill people, and while I like some of the stories from his time with the Secret Avengers, overall, I think it was an intensely stupid move that made him look like a massive hypocrite and damaged his credibility, making it look less like he was taking a moral stand and more like he just didn't like Scott.

Which is a bad thing!!! Hank loves Scott! They've been best friends since fucking forever! Not only do you damage Hank's character by doing that, but you also reduce what was a moral conflict with nuance and dimension down to petty bullshit! It's a disservice to both characters! God!! It frustrates me SO MUCH when this conflict is boiled down to that!

God forbid that these characters actually stand for something and have actual intellectual, moral problems with one another that they can have compelling conversations about, why not let's just make them petty assholes who snipe at each other for drama?

You can do this conflict and make it good! It's possible! I promise!

This is what Schism should have really been about! And Hank was, at least before the dumb move to push him to the Secret Avengers, a character with moral legitimacy who could have made Schism work! I think there's a lot of mileage to the idea that Wolverine has progressed to the point where he wants to protect people from violence, where he wants to save kids from being turned into weapons like he was, but that's a personal motivation, and it's really, really, really hard for him to have the moral high ground.

But, in the end, Wolverine sells comics, not Beast, so Wolverine became the figurehead of the less militant side of the X-Men comics. Fine. Okay, we'll deal with it.

Wolverine and the X-Men is . . . good. It has problems, but on the whole, I like it more than a lot of what came after. I especially like Jason Aaron's moves to keep Hank and Abigail together, as well as fold Broo into a growing family unit. That's a good progression for his character, and it makes sense.

Then there's Avengers vs. X-Men, and it's. Like. Garbage, but. Whatever. I do appreciate that Hank is at least occasionally in character during it.

But then we come to All-New X-Men, and I just . . . ughhhhh.

UGHHHHHHH.

I hate it, man. I hate it. I hate Bendis' bullshit garbage characterisation of Hank McCoy, and I hold it directly responsible for everything that came after it, because it functionally replaced his prior characterisation.

Hank is a character obsessed with consequences in the 00s, he's obsessed with making the right choice, he's already learned that there's only so much that he can do to fix the world. Endangered Species (which I think is an amazing Hank story) shows us that Hank will only go so far, and that, honestly, in the grand scheme of things, he will stop himself.

And then Bendis was just like, well, fuck all that bullshit, Hank blew up the space-time continuum because he doesn't like Scott Summers.

And I hate it.

It would be one thing, if Bendis were actually interested in Hank as a character, if he was willing to examine his character and his choices and his reasons and his personality, but he isn't. He flits in and out of All-New as and when required, to be castigated for a decision made while he was dying, depressed, and dealing with multiple brain aneurysms. Ostensibly, we're meant to buy that Xavier's death was the tipping point, but we don't even see Hank react to it. It's not considered important.

Hank's grief, Hank's isolation, Hank's horror, all of it is just ignored.

There's no real emotional dimension here, there's no 'what is Beast thinking, why is he doing this, let's have him talk with characters that are his friends and try to work out where he's at mentally,' because Bendis doesn't care. "Why is Beast like this? He just is. He's just a morally hypocritical asshole who judges other people and does things without thinking." He just makes Hank look like a goddamn lunatic, and it all culminates in this.

I just. I fucking hate this issue, man. It's a long, excruciating character assassination that casually wrecks Hank's long running relationship with Abigail Brand, torches his legitimacy as an intellectual or moral individual, and portrays him as a sad, lonely old man who might as well just leave because no-one actually wants him around. It's fucking galling.

Hank just straight up would not wreck the space-time continuum to teach Scott Summers a lesson. He just wouldn't. I fundamentally reject the premise. I reject it just as much as I reject the shitty attempts to make Hank/Jean Grey a pairing.

I reject the idea that Hank is a loose cannon with no regard for rules or others, who just believes in his own moral authority and says fuck everyone else, I do what I want. That is NOT who he is, and I really do just have to wonder what everyone was smoking that no-one looked at this and went, wait, when did Hank change into this? Everyone just accepted it.

It really does just feel like people got tired of Hank complaining on Utopia, so when it came time to pile on the blame for all the problems that happened after it, no-one really cared when it all became Hank's fault. No-one was willing to point out that Bendis' characterisation of Hank doesn't make sense.

Does Hank hate Scott? Why? "He's going to cause a mutant genocide" = based on what? "He killed Charles Xavier" = under the influence of a cosmic force. I don't understand these characterisation choices. Hank knows Scott better than this.

Bendis just. Does not like Hank McCoy. I really can't come up with another explanation for why he went out of his way to do two bumper issues, All-New X-Men #25 and Uncanny X-Men #600, that are just a round robin of everyone telling him that they hate him and that he sucks and he should go die.

There are glimmers of better characterisation during this period.

Jonathan Hickman's New Avengers is - complex, and you'll often hear people gesture to that as the point at which Hank became full on amoral, but I reject that hypothesis entirely. It's a conclusion come to by people who haven't actually read it.

Hank spends most of that series being wracked with guilt, trying desperately to find another way to solve the problem that doesn't involve blowing up planets, and refusing to take a life. Which tracks with Hickman's characterisation of Beast.

"Broken him." Implying that it's not his natural state, and that there are other factors are at play. This is important to keep in mind.

For most of this time period, Hank is in a very rocky state. He's not quite with the X-Men, he's not quite with the Avengers, he's got a reputation for being a chronic screw-up, people regard him as unstable, and yet they'll still call on him to fix their problems for them.

Like, the amount of times that the X-Men call on him to help them, despite the fact that he left after their failed, garbage intervention, and he still goes back to them, is just so very tiring. Either the X-Men should stop relying on someone that they seem not to like or trust, or Hank should stop going back to a 'family' that seems not to value him or have his best intentions in mind. The halfway house they settle into is just weird and inconsistent.

Like, which is it? Do you guys actually want him around or not? Because you're kind of being massive assholes to a guy who primarily wants to help. And we're meant to be knee deep in his turn towards moral ambiguity by now, but he's still just kinda being a good dude!

Anyone who tells you that Beast's moral downfall has been a consistent slide since Threnody is a fraud, because there is nothing consistent about this period of history for Beast.

If these panels show you anything, it's that there are two Beasts running around - a guy who makes problems for other people to solve because he's an idiot, and actual Beast, who occasionally makes mistakes, but who has pure intentions, a good heart, a joke at the ready, and he's fundamentally a nice person. It's getting to be impossible to tell which one is going to turn up to your story.

The only really good writing comes in fits and spurts, and usually when he's under the care of a writer who seems to have some affection for him. Especially if Simon Williams is around.

Whenever I write this version of Hank, his tag is getting by, because it feels like his life is just perpetually on the skids and there's no real rhyme or reason as to why. He just oscillates between two extremes as and when the story wants him to be an asshole or not. Even he seems confused as to what's going on.

And then we get to Krakoa, and . . .

It's just fundamentally not the same character. It's not even the same as Dark Beast, it's just Mr. Sinister in blue fur with less jokes. Benjamin Percy just expects you to accept that Hank woke up one day and was like, y'know what? I think killing countries is fine, actually. I want to head up an intelligence agency. I should cut off Wolverine's head. Maybe torture some innocent aliens for fun.

Why?

Eh, he's just evil.

Why are you bothering to question it?

And people don't question it, because Hank is a horrible hypocrite who will do anything that falls within his narrow view of morally acceptable actions, and he's an awful person who people barely tolerate being around.

Except. He isn't that. Or is he? Because Bendis said he was like that. And as everyone knows, Bendis is the true arbiter of characterisation and continuity. Just ask a fan of Wanda Maximoff, and they'll tell you how happy they are with his definitive version of the character.

Like, I just don't buy it. Not for one bit. You can't make this character this and pass a spot check. The only reason people are fine with it is because they never particularly cared for Beast to begin with, and so this new, more 'interesting' characterisation is better. It's 'truer.' Meanwhile, people who actually have been following the character for years remember when other X-Men were saying stuff like this.

Which is it? Has every single nice thing an X-Man said about Hank McCoy been a horrible, hilariously off base misjudgement, or is Benjamin Percy a hack who can't write? Iunno, man. Jury's out.

And then we come to From the Ashes, which is . . . a little too early, to make a judgement? I'm tentatively optimistic, now that we have a Beast who isn't just. The worst. I don't love the fact that he's missing 40 years of memories, even if the storytelling opportunities of such a character beat are interesting.

I'm also on the fence about this.

Idk, I'm hoping that it'll be born out by the rest of the issue, and that Hank's characterisation here makes more sense with context, but I don't love the idea of bringing back the single most heroic version of Hank McCoy that ever existed, then side-jumping him straight into a redux of the Legacy Virus 'I can't leave the lab/I have to make moral compromises' storyline from the 90s.

I have faith in Jed MacKay, and I'm willing to give it a shot, but I'm just so used to being disappointed by Marvel and X-Men by this point.

To come back to how I feel about it all? This isn't what I would have wanted for Hank. Not even close. Bendis threw out everything I liked about Hank back in 2013, and it set us down a path that has even a hint of Hank being anything less than perfect seeing comments sections explode, saying that he's well on his way to becoming evil again.

His name is dirt in the fandom, and the reason it isn't considered more of a problem is because he never had that big of a fan base to begin with, which is mostly a result of the fact that he's not a character who gets big flashy 'I'm so cool' moments - he's a character whose storylines are often sad, morose, dark, and unhappy. People like Beast, but they won't generally go to bat for him.

The revisionist history bugs me, a lot. No, he wasn't always evil, and no, it's not been a consistent slide to villainy ever since 1993. He's just as liable to be written badly as any other character, and frankly, I think he's been a victim of it a lot more than a lot of other characters during the same time period, but whereas other characters will have that bad writing forgiven by both fandom and the writers (Emma Frost), it just. Hangs, over Hank's head, like Damocles' sword.

It's been disheartening, honestly. I left the fandom in 2015, after Bendis' runs, because I just didn't want to deal with it anymore, and when I came back a year ago, I found out it had only gotten worse. Everyone else got to enjoy Krakoa, with its big mutant pride storylines and their stories of redemption and deepening bonds and political machinations, and my character got stuck in the shitty black ops corner, acting like a James Bond villain with none of the charm. It really didn't make me feel welcome.

If it hadn't been for a good few other fans who have stuck by me since then, I probably would have left the fandom again, and while things are looking up a bit more now, I don't know if I'm ever quite going to be at a point where I'm not jaded, expecting another heel turn from Marvel.

It sucks, because Hank has always meant a lot to me. He's a character about ethical science, about body dysmorphia, about mental illness, about triumph through adversity, about second chances, about maturity, about nuance and conflict and complexity, and he just got bulldozed into being the war crimes guy.

I got invited to join an O5 X-Men Reddit the other day, and the only posts that even mentioned him both were like 'lol war crimes lol Beast killed someone,' and it just made me think, why in god's name would I want to be part of that?

Like, I have stuff to contribute. I have a lot of thoughts about Hank, and his friendships and relationships and his meaning as a character, stuff that people often haven't considered because they don't think about Beast as deeply as I do, stuff that could elevate and deepen people's enjoyment of stories they've read a hundred times before - and I just.

Why would I share it? Why would I go into a space where I don't feel welcome? Why would I share my thoughts on the deeper meaning of Hank's tendency towards performance and how it changes over 60 years of comic books, when I know that the first comment is gonna be some variation of 'lol war crimes'?

It'd be one thing if the story we got was any good, then I could at least say it was worth it, but it wasn't. That's the thing that bugs me the most. The story of Hank's heel turn could have been amazing, but the lack of care and thought to consistency extended so far that even his villain turn was bad. We sacrificed this

for this.

And it's just a straight up downgrade. There's none of what Hickman or Morrison talked about being the point or the appeal of Beast. There's no sweet man, there's no heart, there's no humanity. It's just edgy. It's just the ends justifies the means, and that's it. That's the final thesis. There's nothing more to it than that. It's just so. Simple. Undercooked, really. It feels like a disservice to the complex character that Hank McCoy is meant to be.

Final thoughts? Uh. It mostly all kinda sucks, go buy a copy of S.W.O.R.D volume 1 instead, it's really good.

[thrashkink-coven]

Koschey's Skull (it is my side blog) here.

I think one of the most fascinating, yet disappointing experiences with watching Christians defend their stances is how uneducated they are on their own subject material.

But it isn't just the lack of education. It is the lack of desire to want to bridge gaps, create more open understanding, think critically, or fix that lack of education. The desire to die on a hill with a narrow view of the material they claim to be so passionate about is a very intense testimony of the indoctrination that is prevalent in very closed minded cult communities.

It is why people criticise Christianity AS a cult. They maintain a narrow, closed minded and ignorant view of their own beliefs and refuse to encompass the entire berth of their own religion. They just subscribe to whatever specific and niche belief they would desire to have. And anything outside of that narrow lens is wretched and abhorrent - by extension, requiring them to take up their historical biblical arms to battle anyone that refuses to see things THEIR way.

The desire to oppress other people and "correct" them without actually having the information that they should have is always concerning. And obviously I don't believe that they will ever come out of the narrow box that they put themselves in. I don't expect them to expand their horizons or educate themselves on the diversity and historical (and cultural) evolution and beliefs. But it is kind of sad to see and it reminds me that people don't want to evolve their understanding sometimes. They just want to argue.

Which is fine. But I wish they would understand that in order to actually have a defensible argument you do need to be educated enough on the subject material. And they simply are not.

couldn’t have said it better myself.

The thing about this that bothers me the most is that the early Isrealites, Jews, even early Christians, were real people who’s lineage still exists today. I am very concerned with upholding those people’s truth even if I don’t “agree” with it because I have immense respect for their culture and history. It’s incredibly frustrating to see people take the work (actually, I’ll go as far as to call it art, because the Bible is a work of art) of people, completely disregard their intentions and their cultural context, and then use their scripture to justify something they never would have supported. That in my opinion is cultural appropriation.

We don’t have to guess what the Bible means or what the people intended. There are so so so many Rabbis, Priests, and religious scholars who have dedicated literal centuries to understanding the intentions of the ancient people. When we take the time to actually research and read what those people said, we can understand what they believed God to have said.

In my research I actually ended up reaching out to a couple practicing jews and christians to hear their perspectives, because I am not Christian nor Jewish, and so I truly cannot understand the text as it was intended to be perceived by followers of YHWH. I love talking to people about their religion, and I was lucky enough for a couple of them to actually ask priests and rabbis in their community my questions because they too care about the intended truth. And those rabbis and priests were surprisingly open and willing to discuss this because they also care about the intended truth! They were so happy that people, especially seculars, still care enough about the truth to ask questions, and our conversations only gave me more incentive to actually learn about the history of the Bible and the culture that created it.

One person who I talked to on Reddit, who is a Christian youth group pastor said “I’m just happy you’re reading the Bible and asking questions because most people like you (pagans, heathens, luciferians and demonolaters) don’t even read the Bible and just run off with your own conclusions that it’s all bad. IMO it’s so much more meaningful to read the Bible and pay enough attention to have these questions, than to just follow it blindly because you think you should. Even if you never convert or fully agree I encourage you to keep going! We need people like you to keep us curious haha.”

People talk about the Bible as if it is not a piece of cultural art, as if it just appeared one day in isolation from the people. As if our modern values will ever be more important than the intentions of the ancient people when the text was written. And it’s a very bitter and sad way of disrespecting the people who gave you the book, religion, and doctrine you cling to so hard.

As a pagan devoted to a deity, I love my Goddess. oh my Gods I love my Goddess so much!!!!!

And I will put in the effort learn every little thing about her, the cultures who created her, and the history of her origins. The good, the bad, the ugly, the weird, and the shit that doesn’t even make sense. Because I love her, I am devoted to her eternally, and I truly wish to know her as one would know an old friend. So I truly cannot understand Christians who claim to love their God but can’t even be bothered to learn the first thing about him, his people, or how he came to be.

[olderthannetfic]

People going to you to say they didn't like a book instead of just posting that in their own blog and blocking the rabid fans is so fucking sad to me. Is this where we're at? Instead of blocking the sea of lost teens and 20-somethings in the dark academia tag who try to use "dark academia" as a substitute for having to develop their own interests and hobbies, we're now going to whisper on anon, "I don't like this one book"? That's how scared of negative interaction people are? It's the dark academia fandom. They're morons. They don't even argue with you that The Secret History is good, they reply with your post quoted and emojis inserted inbetween every sentence and think they're big smarty smart-smarts who showed you, or they say you didn't get it. "The fandom is absolutely insane" by what metric? Speaking as someone who's been sent suicide bait, death threats, rape threats, pictures of dead animals, Holocaust pics and actual CSEM by other fandoms, if you're too afraid of someone replying, "wow lmao ur not smart like us u no get it" or spamming your original post's text with emojis, maybe you're not old enough to be on tumblr or be reading a book aimed at adults.

The fact that people are now so afraid of pushback that they won't even say they dislike something off anon is honestly really pathetic. This is like people on Reddit who say, "I wouldn't say this if I weren't deleting my account later today, but I don't like MCU movies." It's the same vibe and I have the same question: you know you can just block people if they cry about shit you say, right? I got sent a dead rat once by a Yandere Simulator fan and the police + a restraining order is basically blocking but for RL, but most people in the fandom for The Secret History aren't going to actually interact with another person. They don't even usually bother to write fic or make art for it, they just repost quotes from it with some pics they swiped off of Pinterest for it.

Those are the people who you're so afraid of that you can't even say, "I don't like a book" lest they hurt you. You're afraid of Pinterest moodboard makers who ask things like, "what religion is the most dark academia? I want to convert to that" with a straight face who think wearing a white button-down shirt and brown pants makes them the embodiment of wealth and class and quiet luxury.

As someone who's actually had interactions with crazy fans IRL - especially Star Wars fans, as they're almost all frothing at the mouth to rant about how much they hate Star Wars - I am happy to report that this is a survivable thing and not one you need to be so afraid of that you don't dare mention it for fear of backlash.

Speak freely. Block people. Move on. Their tears are embarrassing for them, not you.

--

I spent some time in anon spaces, and it felt like a nice break at the time... but I have to say, I really notice the difference now that I'm findable again. For all the shit that comes my way, a hell of a lot of people have tried to befriend me over the last few years. I wouldn't have met any of them if I hadn't been visible.