#its starting to get to the point that it always does

[molecularhomosexual]

wanted to add some thoughts on this thread. i've seen a lot of responses from professors and educators who care quite a bit for their students and create space for them to be able to put effort toward understanding things--and this latter perspective synergizes with being against using AI for essays at school. i wanted to add some more thoughts onto this with the context of: getting to work in teaching and learning shops at universities, i've found a huge variance between the care and patience that professors have for their students with essay-style assignments.

higher ed seems to be becoming quite interested in checking for ai-based plagiarism in essays (might be happening in k12 spaces too, i'm just not familiar with it as much). turnitin, the company that does the whole plagiarism checking software for schools and colleges, now has an ai detection tool that clients can purchase (that also, in our testing, pulls up far more false positives and false negatives than what they advertise to clients). the company always publicly claims that the turnitin similarity checker (this is the main "plagiarism detection" tool) is not exactly a watertight tool, it is a tool that can help with starting conversations about academic integrity with students, and it needs to be paired with instructor expertise on the topic. this ends up conflicting with a common-enough attitude among some faculty that turnitin is getting a perfect match on whether a student has plagiarized or not. combine this move in higher ed with:

depending on how a course is run, the fact of activities being graded in those courses can add a great deal of pressure on students that may not be conducive to learning. i think Jesse Stommel has some compelling stuff to say here through his concept of ungrading: he notes how grading systems have become increasingly comparative and numerical over time, he notes that grades in and of themselves aren't great incentives for learning or the best indicators of feedback in learning, grade-based education tends to favor (or at least be more amenable to) the banking model of education over critical pedagogy--and he backs this up with in-class experiments and experience. i've noticed that creative writing programs have often been at the forefront of finding alternatives to grading systems that are more supportive for their students (Asao Inoue talks about labor-based grading contracts as more equitable than grading systems that connect grades to an evaluation of quality, though I do think even this system could cut out the grading component altogether and still retain its interventional value).

these two points can lead to the following: students often have to do two tasks in an essay being graded: a) write an essay in and of itself, with its intent of critical thinking, effort, analysis; and b) get a good grade, because regardless of the actual material efficacy of grades in getting future work outside of the university (this will cash out differently sometimes based on the field you're working in as well), there will be students who feel a pressure to get good grades (for a variety of reasons). multiply one essay in a course with taking 4 or 5 more classes (common in undergrad) and working a job at the same time (common at my alma mater at the very least), and we're creating a recipe for students to feel absolutely unsupported in the academic environment to actually work on practicing analysis without additional outside pressure.

i think the current conditions across a lot of academia help create conditions for students to use cheating as a strategy to get a better grade: "i can either put all the extra work in to doing this right and possibly get a bad grade anyway, depending on how my professor is deciding to grade the quality of essays; or given that i have a shift to run to after this and family to take care of at home, i can see if there's a quicker solution to take, even if that could also have a risk of ruining my grade. what's worth it, to me?" and in response to this, academic integrity offices will start wondering how to discourage students from cheating, and in happy and hawkish response, academic integrity software companies can get new product contracts on their ai detection tools, that instructors, in their variance of usage of plagiarism tools, can use to either have conversations with students about work in the best case scenario, or punish students through grading them poorly in the worst.

i dunno. i am a philosopher at the end of the day--in my experience with the kind of writing philosophy demands, i don't think that AI writing passes muster in the first place (i imagine this is the case with... most any field that involves any amount of creative writing). but i just want to keep in mind that in my experience working at the university space, for every professor who is genuinely interested in their students' learning and who does everything within their capacity to set them up for success, there is a professor who, regardless of interest, generates a great deal of distress for their students by dispensing with punitive measures in the learning space.

i think that this is likely a reason why some teaching and learning shops have tended to build guidelines for how to use or discuss AI writing with students instead of recommending faculty to discourage its use by students altogether: even though i think a shop should ideally be able to recommend the latter, that doesn't do a lot for the reactionary portion of a faculty community who will consider the shop backwards for making such a recommendation, then continue on with teaching practices that are harmful to students' learning and well-being. (i think the defensive position also comes from not having any deciding power over the business contracts for AI software happening with leadership doing kingdom-building far away from the rest of us [unionize, anyone?], where if there's an evaluation that there's nothing the institution can do to prevent AI usage, then it makes sense to have a damage mitigation strategy to do the least harm to students as possible).

i would have been lucky to have any of the teachers on this thread as my own when i was going through undergrad. unfortunately, what i faced far more were instructors who didn't care very much--either from being tenure-track researchers who weren't particularly committed to teaching, or from (understandably) reacting against being overworked adjunct lecturers who didn't have the capacity to care as much as they should have. what i faced in undergrad quite a bit, barring some notable exceptions here and there, were instructors who didn't care anyway whether i could think critically about something or put effort into writing about a certain perspective. what i faced in undergrad, primarily so, were instructors who were just checking if i could say the correct thing back to them in the correct way--and instructors who would punish me or my peers for failing to do this, no matter how much work they put into an assignment.

if universities as an institution want students to not use AI for essays (something that i'm generally aligned with), they need to give adequate resources to faculty and students alike to be able to focus on essays without fear of academic punishment and without generated lack of capacity from overwork. (but of course, universities is an abstraction here--faculty/staff unions and student worker unions do push for those resources, because university leadership isn't otherwise interested in granting them, because it's not particularly profitable to care about the conditions of learning.)

[amateurvoltaire]

For the past six years or so, this graph has been making its rounds on social media, always reappearing at conveniently timed moments…

The insinuation is loud and clear: parallels abound between 18th-century France and 21st-century USA. Cue the alarm bells—revolution is imminent! The 10% should panic, and ordinary folk should stock up on non-perishables and, of course, toilet paper, because it wouldn’t be a proper crisis without that particular frenzy. You know the drill.

Well, unfortunately, I have zero interest in commenting on the political implications or the parallels this graph is trying to make with today’s world. I have precisely zero interest in discussing modern-day politics here. And I also have zero interest in addressing the bottom graph.

This is not going to be one of those "the [insert random group of people] à la lanterne” (1) kind of posts.  If you’re here for that, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.

What I am interested in is something much less click-worthy but far more useful: how historical data gets used and abused and why the illusion of historical parallels can be so seductive—and so misleading. It’s not glamorous, I’ll admit, but digging into this stuff teaches us a lot more than mindless rage.

So, let’s get into it. Step by step, we’ll examine the top graph, unpick its assumptions, and see whether its alarmist undertones hold any historical weight.

Step 1: Actually Look at the Picture and Use Your Brain

When I saw this graph, my first thought was, “That’s odd.” Not because it’s hard to believe the top 10% in 18th-century France controlled 60% of the wealth—that could very well be true. But because, in 15 years of studying the French Revolution, I’ve never encountered reliable data on wealth distribution from that period.

Why? Because to the best of my knowledge, no one was systematically tracking income or wealth across the population in the 18th century. There were no comprehensive records, no centralised statistics, and certainly no detailed breakdowns of who owned what across different classes. Graphs like this imply data, and data means either someone tracked it or someone made assumptions to reconstruct it. That’s not inherently bad,  but it did get my spider senses tingling.

Then there’s the timeframe: 1760–1790. Thirty years is a long time— especially when discussing a period that included wars, failed financial policies, growing debt, and shifting social dynamics. Wealth distribution wouldn’t have stayed static during that time. Nobles who were at the top in 1760 could be destitute by 1790, while merchants starting out in 1760 could be climbing into the upper tiers by the end of the period. Economic mobility wasn’t common, but over three decades, it wasn’t unheard of either.

All of this raises questions about how this graph was created. Where’s the data coming from? How was it measured? And can we really trust it to represent such a complex period?

Step 2: Check the Fine Print

Since the graph seemed questionable, the obvious next step was to ask: Where does this thing come from? Luckily, the source is clearly cited at the bottom: “The Income Inequality of France in Historical Perspective” by Christian Morrisson and Wayne Snyder, published in the European Review of Economic History, Vol. 4, No. 1 (2000).

Great! A proper academic source. But, before diving into the article, there’s a crucial detail tucked into the fine print:

“Data for the bottom 40% in France is extrapolated given a single data point.”

What does that mean?

Extrapolation is a statistical method used to estimate unknown values by extending patterns or trends from a small sample of data. In this case, the graph’s creator used one single piece of data—one solitary data point—about the wealth of the bottom 40% of the French population. They then scaled or applied that one value to represent the entire group across the 30-year period (1760–1790).

Put simply, this means someone found one record—maybe a tax ledger, an income statement, or some financial data—pertaining to one specific year, region, or subset of the bottom 40%, and decided it was representative of the entire demographic for three decades.

Let’s be honest: you don’t need a degree in statistics to know that’s problematic. Using a single data point to make sweeping generalisations about a large, diverse population (let alone across an era of wars, famines, and economic shifts) is a massive leap. In fact, it’s about as reliable as guessing how the internet feels about a topic from a single tweet.

This immediately tells me that whatever numbers they claim for the bottom 40% of the population are, at best, speculative. At worst? Utterly meaningless.

It also raises another question: What kind of serious journal would let something like this slide? So, time to pull up the actual article and see what’s going on.

Step 3: Check the Sources

As I mentioned earlier, the source for this graph is conveniently listed at the bottom of the image. Three clicks later, I had downloaded the actual article: “The Income Inequality of France in Historical Perspective” by Morrisson and Snyder.

The first thing I noticed while skimming through the article? The graph itself is nowhere to be found in the publication.

This is important. It means the person who created the graph didn’t just lift it straight from the article—they derived it from the data in the publication. Now, that’s not necessarily a problem; secondary analysis of published data is common. But here’s the kicker: there’s no explanation in the screenshot of the graph about which dataset or calculations were used to make it. We’re left to guess.

So, to figure this out, I guess I’ll have to dive into the article itself, trying to identify where they might have pulled the numbers from. Translation: I signed myself up to read 20+ pages of economic history. Thrilling stuff.

But hey, someone has to do it. The things I endure to fight disinformation...

Step 4: Actually Assess the Sources Critically

It doesn’t take long, once you start reading the article, to realise that regardless of what the graph is based on, it’s bound to be somewhat unreliable. Right from the first paragraph, the authors of the paper point out the core issue with calculating income for 18th-century French households: THERE IS NO DATA.

The article is refreshingly honest about this. It states multiple times that there were no reliable income distribution estimates in France before World War II. To fill this gap, Morrisson and Snyder used a variety of proxy sources like the Capitation Tax Records (2), historical socio-professional tables, and Isnard’s income distribution estimates (3).

After reading the whole paper, I can say their methodology is intriguing and very reasonable. They’ve pieced together what they could by using available evidence, and their process is quite well thought-out. I won’t rehash their entire argument here, but if you’re curious, I’d genuinely recommend giving it a read.

Most importantly, the authors are painfully aware of the limitations of their approach. They make it very clear that their estimates are a form of educated guesswork—evidence-based, yes, but still guesswork.   At no point do they overstate their findings or present their conclusions as definitive

As such,  instead of concluding with a single, definitive version of the income distribution, they offer multiple possible scenarios.

It’s not as flashy as a bold, tidy graph, is it? But it’s far more honest—and far more reflective of the complexities involved in reconstructing historical economic data.

Step 5: Run the numbers

Now that we’ve established the authors of the paper don’t actually propose a definitive income distribution, the question remains: where did the creators of the graph get their data? More specifically, which of the proposed distributions did they use?

Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to locate the original article or post containing the graph. Admittedly, I haven’t tried very hard, but the first few pages of Google results just link back to Twitter, Reddit, Facebook, and Tumblr posts. In short, all I have to go on is this screenshot.

I’ll give the graph creators the benefit of the doubt and assume that, in the full article, they explain where they sourced their data. I really hope they do—because they absolutely should.

That being said, based on the information in Morrisson and Snyder’s paper, I’d make an educated guess that the data came from Table 6 or Table 10, as these are the sections where the authors attempt to provide income distribution estimates.

Now, which dataset does the graph use? Spoiler: None of them.

How can we tell? Since I don’t have access to the raw data or the article where this graph might have been originally posted, I resorted to a rather unscientific method: I used a graphical design program to divide each bar of the chart into 2.5% increments and measure the approximate percentage for each income group.

Here’s what I found:

Now, take a moment to spot the issue. Do you see it?

The problem is glaring: NONE of the datasets from the paper fit the graph. Granted, my measurements are just estimates, so there might be some rounding errors. But the discrepancies are impossible to ignore, particularly for the bottom 40% and the top 10%.

In Morrisson and Snyder’s paper, the lowest estimate for the bottom 40% (1st and 2nd quintiles) is 10%. Even if we use the most conservative proxy, the Capitation Tax estimate, it’s 9%. But the graph claims the bottom 40% held only 6%.

For the top 10% (10th decile), the highest estimate in the paper is 53%. Yet the graph inflates this to 60%.

Step 6: For fun, I made my own bar charts

Because I enjoy this sort of thing (yes, this is what I consider fun—I’m a very fun person), I decided to use the data from the paper to create my own bar charts. Here’s what came out:

What do you notice?

While the results don’t exactly scream “healthy economy,” they look much less dramatic than the graph we started with. The creators of the graph have clearly exaggerated the disparities, making inequality seem worse.

Step 7: Understand the context before drawing conclusions

Numbers, by themselves, mean nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I could tell you right now that 47% of people admit to arguing with inanimate objects when they don’t work, with printers being the most common offender, and you’d probably believe it. Why? Because it sounds plausible—printers are frustrating, I’ve used a percentage, and I’ve phrased it in a way that sounds “academic.”

You likely wouldn’t even pause to consider that I’m claiming 3.8 billion people argue with inanimate objects. And let’s be real: 3.8 billion is such an incomprehensibly large number that our brains tend to gloss over it.

If, instead, I said, “Half of your friends probably argue with their printers,” you might stop and think, “Wait, that seems a bit unlikely.” (For the record, I completely made that up—I have no clue how many people yell at their stoves or complain to their toasters.)

The point? Numbers mean nothing unless we put them into context.

The original paper does this well by contextualising its estimates, primarily through the calculation of the Gini coefficient (4).

The authors estimate France’s Gini coefficient in the late 18th century to be 0.59, indicating significant income inequality. However, they compare this figure to other regions and periods to provide a clearer picture:

Amsterdam (1742): Much higher inequality, with a Gini of 0.69.

Britain (1759): Lower inequality, with a Gini of 0.52, which rose to 0.59 by 1801.

Prussia (mid-19th century): Far less inequality, with a Gini of 0.34–0.36.

This comparison shows that income inequality wasn’t unique to France. Other regions experienced similar or even higher levels of inequality without spontaneously erupting into revolution.

Accounting for Variations

The authors also recalculated the Gini coefficient to account for potential variations. They assumed that the income of the top quintile (the wealthiest 20%) could vary by ±10%. Here’s what they found:

If the top quintile earned 10% more, the Gini coefficient rose to 0.66, placing France significantly above other European countries of the time.

If the top quintile earned 10% less, the Gini dropped to 0.55, bringing France closer to Britain’s level.

Ultimately, the authors admit there’s uncertainty about the exact level of inequality in France. Their best guess is that it was comparable to other countries or somewhat worse.

Step 8: Drawing Some Conclusions

Saying that most people in the 18th century were poor and miserable—perhaps the French more so than others—isn’t exactly a compelling statement if your goal is to gather clicks or make a dramatic political point.

It’s incredibly tempting to look at the past and find exactly what we want to see in it. History often acts as a mirror, reflecting our own expectations unless we challenge ourselves to think critically. Whether you call it wishful thinking or confirmation bias, it’s easy to project the future onto the past.

Looking at the initial graph, I understand why someone might fall into this trap. Simple, tidy narratives are appealing to everyone. But if you’ve studied history, you’ll know that such narratives are a myth. Human nature may not have changed in thousands of years, but the contexts we inhabit are so vastly different that direct parallels are meaningless.

So, is revolution imminent? Well, that’s up to you—not some random graph on the internet.

Notes

(1) A la lanterne was a  revolutionary cry during the French Revolution, symbolising mob justice where individuals were sometimes hanged from lampposts as a form of public execution

(2) The capitation tax was a fixed head tax implemented in France during the Ancien Régime. It was levied on individuals, with the amount owed determined by their social and professional status. Unlike a proportional income tax, it was based on pre-assigned categories rather than actual earnings, meaning nobles, clergy, and commoners paid different rates regardless of their actual wealth or income.

(3) Jean-Baptiste Isnard was an 18th-century economist. These estimates attempted to describe the theoretical distribution of income among different social classes in pre-revolutionary France. Isnard’s work aimed to categorise income across groups like nobles, clergy, and commoners, providing a broad picture of economic disparity during the period.

(4) The Gini coefficient (or Gini index) is a widely used statistical measure of inequality within a population, specifically in terms of income or wealth distribution. It ranges from 0 to 1, where 0 indicates perfect equality (everyone has the same income or wealth), and 1 represents maximum inequality (one person or household holds all the wealth).

[mllemaenad]

Huh. Well, now I'm very annoyed. Bioware couldn't be arsed to keep track of the world state changes anymore, so they're just torching everything. And the thing is, this is exactly what those world state imports are for.

You can certainly critique Mass Effect 3, but I've always felt it used its save import well. The world is very literally ending in that game and any reasonable player is immediately going to ask: where are my friends? Your companions foremost, obviously, but also NPCs you've helped or who helped you, or even just random people you encountered. You start doing a head count day one. Some characters made actual appearances, but there were also emails and ambient dialogue. Sometimes you found out that a character was fine – and that was a delightful relief. Sometimes you found out that they weren't – and that hurt. The point is, it made it feel as though your world was ending. Not just a world.

This is the moment where every change you've saved across the previous three games comes into play.

I'm certainly not saying this must be the last Dragon Age game. But it does feel like the end of an arc. We're answering all the big questions first posed in Origins: where did the Blight come from; what became of Arlathan, why are the dwarves in a constant apocalyptic state? Any new game will be about something else.

And here, as in Mass Effect 3, we are facing the end of the world.

The thing is. The thing is. I did not explicitly prep for this scenario. But bloody hell am I prepped for this scenario.

The King of Ferelden and the White Divine are both veterans of the Fifth Blight. The Hero of Ferelden is alive and well (since they have not told me otherwise) and well prepared at Amaranthine – and her sister is queen in Orzammar. She also has Awakened darkspawn allies to call on. The Grey Wardens were not expelled from the south, so should be on hand to face the crisis. And hey – the leader of the newly freed College of Enchanters is herself a former Warden. We are as Blight ready as it's possible to be!

I want to hear about how the king worked out that Denerim was beyond saving in time to evacuate the civilians because he could sense the oncoming horde well before anyone else could.

I want to hear how Warden-Commander Brosca, flanked by Nathaniel Howe and Sigrun, came out to lead the refugees to safety.

I want to hear that Prince Endrin led the Orzammar reinforcements that saved Redcliffe, and his aunt beamed with pride.

I want to hear that the Divine herself took command of the defence of Val Royeaux, and that the mages came out in force to assist the woman who backed their fight for freedom.

I want to hear that the Champion of Kirkwall returned with her Warden lover in the city's darkest hour, defending the people as they fled, and that with Merrill's assistance the alienage elves made it onto the last ship to escape the harbour.

If we're going to bloody Starkhaven, of all places, I want an acknowledgement that the Blight has forced a reconciliation – because last I heard Sebastian was getting his arse handed to him by Aveline.

I want to hear that the Grey Wardens are everywhere, because they never left.

I want to hear about intelligence gathered from Awakened darkspawn, and their bewildered frustration that these new invaders are different.

I'm not going to work out who lives and who dies right now, because this is new information and I'm still processing it. And in any case, it's not my point.

If they're destroying the world, I want it to be my Thedas, not a Thedas. I want these stories to have mattered.

[bunnygirllover45]

Hii!! I’m kinda obsessing over the Idea of Johann before he kidnapped his darling, going out to buy clothes and him just enjoying it WAY more than Darling. Like bro’s INTO it, picking out dresses and making darling do a fashion show for him?? Just wanted to put this thought out there lol. Idk if he’d actually do that but I can dream,,,, Anyways that’s all— thank you!!!!

Anon you're into some shit rn and I totally agree with you. Johann would do that 100%. TW: Darling had a past relationship that wasn't too nice, mentions of body insecurity, hints of dollification but it's Johann who are we talking about this is obvious by now.

Your past relationship before Johann wasn't the best, you weren't used to him buying you stuff so carelessly or taking you every other day. At first, it was a little hard to get accustomed to the sudden change, but eventually, you started to like it. Except for the part where you and he had to go to the clothing store. Each time Johann stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of a date to point at a cute outfit sitting in the window of a random store, a part of you internally screamed for him not to drag you inside.

Speaking about that— "You like these? These frills might be itchy on your skin though..." —yes, you were trapped inside another store again. Taking in a deep breath you stared at Johann, then at the dress he was holding. No matter how often you told him you either didn't like this style of clothing or that it wouldn't look good in it, he still made you buy and wear the stuff. Of course, he only made you wear it when both of you were alone, there's no way he'd let you look this adorable in front of someone else.

You wondered how many more clothes he could buy you, after all, even if Johann made sure to visit you almost every day, his job kept him from being with you all the time. Most of the time he kept some of the clothes in his house too, he had a 'special place for them', out of context that phrase could be worrying, but Johann was such a sweetheart behind that stoic exterior that you didn't really question it. As he grabbed another piece of clothing you shot your hands to grab his forearm, squeezing softly as you smiled up to him. "J-Johann, I don't think I'd look good on that. I have many dresses back at home too, you shouldn't buy mo—" But before you could even finish you felt Johann leaning down to whisper against your ear, his voice soft and secretive. "I think you'd look good in anything." the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "I've always wanted to take care of someone as precious as you, would you let me do that?" There was serious longing in his voice. From all the past experiences you had with him, you clearly noticed that ache to fulfill a role that Johann always had. Taking care of you during dates, making sure you didn't get sick, and even aftercare with him was a blissful experience. All the things he told you about feeling empty and without a purpose in life, it's like a part of him has been waiting all this time to have this, to have you. You stood stunned, questioning if you should feel even more embarrassed or prideful, he looked at you with an adoration written in his eyes that made you shiver, and you felt a little guilty at how much you enjoyed it. "Here, we can buy these and try them out at home, how does that sound?" You nodded, giving him a compliant smile as you reached to hug his arm. "Okay... thank you." One hand snaked its way around your waist, squeezing slightly as he kissed you on the top of the head, nuzzling against it. "You're welcome, baby."

[emmersonisdesperate]

"we love your Ted talk" we all say in unison.

Its the Barty effect, Barty x any character always gives you the most interesting ships. Lily? James? Sirius? Evan? Regulus? Add in Barty to the mix and now you have a chaotic ship.

LOWKEY...Evan and Remus are giving moonwater..but like, so much more background? Like I literally agree with you, moonrose tend to be the quiet ones, the ones that sit back and observe, the ones that can get away with being in the background. Yes, no wonder they can communicate without communicating, theyre so obsessed with watching the other they know each other's tiniest ticks.

It starts with Remus being curious with how Evan fits in the it-girl Slytherin friend group. Dorcas is obviously magically the strongest of their entire school despite her age, Regulus the most influential and wealthiest, Barty had a bit of those but hes mostly the academic weapon, Pandora was the social butterfly, not because she was nice but because you physically cannot be rude to hear because of her Aura. So what does Evan bring? He doesn't seem to be good at anything so how can he sit there and seem like he belonged?

This is definitely Remus's insecurity speaking, if it wasn't obvious. You don't have to talk about the duo starboys James and Sirius to know the world literally revolves around them. Born smart, athletic, attractive and occasionally, friendly. Peter, like Pandora, was a social butterfly but didn't have some Aura. He was just naturally a good friend, sweet, attentive to details, helpful, brought you customized gifts, so people genuinely wanted to be his friend.

But Remus? He didn't have any of that. He worked hard for his grades, he could never look handsome, the scars from his childhood ruined any chances of that, no point in becoming athletic when his body tears itself down every month anyways. From the start, his lycanthropy made it impossible for him to have any social expectations, he expected years of social isolation, people avoiding him for his sickly nature and scars. For that, he doesn't even think people want to be friends with him, besides the mauraders (everyone has a friendcrush on him, why is he so insecure) So him having the mauraders made him grateful, a bit too grateful, he felt as if he didn't deserve them.

So when Remus observes the Slytherins, he can't help but notice how similar they are in the context of their friend groups. Except well, Evan was attractive unlike him, he wasn't sure why he kept noticing that particular detail but more importantly, unlike him, Evan always seemed as if he belonged there and Remus wants to know how. What made him special?

Well it can't be because he's gorgeous? Remus understood but the other Slytherins were somewhat pretty too?

And well, luckily for Remus, Evan is wondering the same thing about him. Because they're both insecure little shits who don't realize their friends would literally die for them!! And they spend the whole time observing each other!! Notice each other's strengths that they were oblivious to!! And then fall in love because "no one has ever said that about me"!!

I love that bitchkiller and moonrose are total opposites. Moonrose is the calm, emotion centric relationship, built on healing eachothers insecurities. Bitchkiller? yeah no it's chaos here (the Barty effect)

sorry for the word vomit, I love them so much they make me ill.

Fuck gryffindors!

*A pissed Evan storming into the common room*

Pandora: Never seen you look this upset, what happened?

Evan: This same guy keeps borrowing the books I need for my project and he's a Gryffindor! Since when do Gryffindors read? honestly fuck them!

Dorcas, who fucks a blonde Gryffindor after quidditch matches to "relieve stress" (they're figuring it out):

Regulus, who's been dating the head boy Gryffindor secretly for months now and fucks rather frequently:

Barty, who gets high with and fucks on the daily with regulus's very Gryffindor brother: cheers.

*Pandora assessing all their reactions*: ...I sense a disturbance

*Evan not noticing because he was too busy thinking of getting his books and Definitely Not about the scarred blonde Gryffindor boy that took said books"

[the-oblivious-writer]

Let the Light In |8|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Eight: Old Temptations

Summary: After hiding yourself away for weeks, Anika and Henry get you to return to the living. While you're at the party they bring you to, you run into Tara before a third-party runs into your fists.

Warning(s): Swearing, fighting - whoop whoop!! that's the sound, social interactions, and drinking (underage)

Notes: I made at least ten drafts, combined them, adjusted, and here is the final product. This is more of an R focused chapter, so you'll start to see more of the internal struggles she goes through along with a special guest start. As always, I hope you enjoy

Masterlist|Previous Part|Next Part

The incandescent lights of Henry's apartment building buzz overhead as you follow him and Anika up the concrete stairs. Your boots echo against each step, creating a hollow rhythm that matches your reluctant heartbeat. You've been dreading this party all week, but your friends had worn you down with their relentless enthusiasm and pointed comments about your "hermit tendencies."

"I still can't believe you actually agreed to come," Henry says over his shoulder, his keys jingling as he searches for the right one. "Usually getting you out after exams is like trying to coax a cat into taking a bath."

"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf," you mutter, knowing full well it's a lie. The only reason you'd agreed was because they'd caught you in a moment of weakness—specifically, when you were coming down from a three-day study binge and your defenses were too low to properly deflect their persistent pestering.

Anika snorts, adjusting her glittering top that catches the harsh hallway light. "Right. And I'm going to start watching silent films with you."

"Charlie Chaplin’s a classic," you defend, following them into Henry's apartment. The familiar scent of his signature sandalwood candles hits you immediately. 

"Whatever you say, grandma," Henry teases, disappearing into his bedroom. You can hear him rummaging around, probably looking for whatever he plans to wear tonight.

You collapse onto his worn leather couch, the same one he'd rescued from a curb three years ago. Despite its questionable origins, it's the most comfortable piece of furniture you've ever encountered. Maybe if you sink deep enough into it, they'll forget you're here and leave without you.

Anika perches on the arm of the couch, already touching up her makeup in a compact mirror. "You know," she starts, and you recognize that tone—it's the one she uses when she's about to say something she thinks you won't like. "Tara might be there tonight."

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip. "And why would I care about that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Anika draws out the words, applying another coat of mascara with practiced precision. "Maybe because you've been moping around ever since your little disappearing act?"

"I haven't been moping," you protest, but even you can hear how weak it sounds. "I've been studying. There's a difference."

"Right," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. The past few weeks have been a blur of textbooks, coffee, and a blend of mathematical formulas and historical documentations. You'd thrown yourself into exam preparation with perhaps more vigor than strictly necessary, but that was just your way of dealing with stress. 

It definitely had nothing to do with how you'd ignored her texts afterward.

Dork (3:47 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I can't make it tonight

Tara (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) oh. lemme knw when u can reschedule 

Dork (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Tara, don't do that

Tara (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) dont wat????

Dork (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I know what 'oh' means

Tara (3:50 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) well then eblighten me cuz idk what ur ymmaring abt

Dork (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Enlighten/*yammering, and never mind

Tara (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) 🤓 is u fr 

Dork (3:52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Excuse me? 

Tara (3: 52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) i have to explain??? but i thougt u were all knowing!

Dork (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Thought. I know you know how to spell, you're just reckless with a keyboard

Tara (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) my question is when did i ask

Dork (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) That's an improvement

Tara (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) stfup.

Henry emerges from his bedroom, now wearing a fitted crop-top that every guy wore in the 80’s. "Are we talking about the Tara situation?"

"There is no 'Tara situation,'" you insist, making air quotes with your fingers. "Can we please just go to this party so I can suffer through it and get back to my peaceful, drama-free existence?"

"Drama-free?" Henry laughs, grabbing his keys. "Is that what we're calling your one-person production of 'Hamlet' these last eighteen years?"

You bite your thumb at him, but there's no real heat behind it. These are your best friends, after all, and you know their teasing comes from a place of love. Even if they're being particularly annoying about it tonight.

The drive to the party is a blur of street lights and the sound of Abbey Road. You're behind the wheel of your beloved '70 Ford Maverick, a car that Henry constantly ridicules. Anika claims the passenger seat, still fussing with her makeup, while Henry sprawls in the back, giving you directions that are more confusing than helpful.

"No, no, turn left at the next—wait, I meant right. My other left."

"Your other left?" you deadpan, making the turn anyway. "How many lefts do you have?"

"Don't sass the navigator," he replies primly. "Oh, there it is! The house with all the cars out front."

You pull up to the curb about half a block away, already feeling your anxiety spike at the sight of the crowded frat house. Music pulses from within, so loud you can feel it in your chest even from here. People mill about on the front lawn, red cups in hand, their laughter carrying through the night air.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" you ask, killing the engine but making no move to get out of the car.

Anika turns to you, her expression softening slightly. "Because Henry threatened to sing the entire soundtrack of 'Cats' outside your bedroom door if you didn't come."

"That was a low blow," you mutter, finally unbuckling your seatbelt. "You know how much I hate that musical."

"Desperate times," Henry says cheerfully, already out of the car and bouncing on his heels with excitement. "Come on, let's go find out what kinds of terrible decisions we can make tonight!"

You follow your friends up the walkway, trying to ignore the way your palms are already sweating. The last party you'd attended had been... well, it had been a week before your self-imposed exile. The night Tara had looked at you with those impossibly dark eyes and asked if you wanted to get some air, and you'd panicked and made up an excuse about needing to check on your nonexistent fish.

The front door is already open, music and voices spilling out into the night. As soon as you cross the threshold, you're hit with a wall of sensory input that makes your head spin. The air is thick with artificial fog from a machine hidden somewhere in the corner, mixed with the distinctive scent of cheap beer and various perfumes and colognes. Multi-colored lights pulse in time with the music, turning everything into a strobing dreamscape and your nightmare.

Henry guides you through the crowd with a gentle hand on your back, navigating the sea of bodies with practiced ease. You catch glimpses of familiar faces as you pass. They all blur together in the dim light, becoming a kaleidoscope of features that makes your head swim.

You end up at yet another worn leather couch that's seen better days, probably around the same era as your car. Henry gestures for you to sit, and you do, grateful for something solid beneath you. The cushions seem to want to swallow you whole, and for once, you don't fight it.

"I'll get us drinks!" Henry shouts over the music, already backing away into the crowd. "Don't move!"

Anika lingers for a moment, looking torn between staying with you and pursuing whatever—or whoever—has caught her attention across the room. You wave her off with a weak smile. "Go. I'll be fine right here, becoming one with the furniture."

She hesitates another second before grinning. "Try to have some fun, okay? And text me if you need an escape plan." Then she's gone, disappearing into the crowd with the grace of Mindy, someone who actually enjoys these sorts of gatherings.

Left alone, you let yourself sink deeper into the couch, watching the party unfold around you. A group of girls near the makeshift dance floor are attempting some sort of choreographed routine, though the alcohol in their systems is making it more comedic than coordinated. Two guys are engaged in what appears to be an intense debate about pizza toppings, their gestures becoming more animated with each passing second.

The bass line of whatever song is playing thrums through your body, making your bones vibrate in a way that's not entirely unpleasant. You find yourself timing your breathing to it, using it as an anchor in the chaos. This isn't so bad, you think. You can handle this. It's just a few hours, and then you can go home and binge-watch your comfort shows until the sun comes up.

"Y/L/N special!" Henry's voice breaks through your thoughts as he returns, thrusting a red solo cup into your hands. The liquid inside is an alarming shade of orange that definitely doesn't occur in nature.

You eye it suspiciously. "What exactly makes it a ‘Y/L/N special'?"

"The fact that it's specifically designed for the same people who despise candy unless it's 99% cacao," he explains, dropping onto the couch beside you with his own drink—something amber-colored that you assume is actually beer.

"That's... oddly thoughtful," you admit, taking a tentative sip. It tastes like water that’s had lemons and limes soak in it for months, the kick makes your tongue tingle. "And dangerous."

"Just pace yourself," he advises, watching as more people filter into the already crowded space. "Oh hey, isn't that Charlotte?"

You follow his gaze to see Charlotte, the person you ended things with through a text message. You try to hide behind the red plastic in your hand as you sip, but you nearly spill your bitter bread water all over yourself when she notices you. You can tell it caught her off guard; her eyes slightly widened and she took an uncomfortably long pause mid-sentence. This pause caused her friends to look over which only made things even more awkward—at least for you. After shooting daggers at you and one of them flipping you off, they linked elbows with Charlotte and took her to a different room.

You know you deserved it.

Henry sucked his teeth. “Ouch. Casanova strikes again,” he chuckled with amusement.

“Ugh,” you express in response to the name for you before downing the last of the liquid in your cup. “I’m out. I’m gonna get one more.”

One drink turns into two, two turns into three, and somewhere during your debate with Henry over which Ninja Turtle’s the best one, you’re interrupted by a pair of familiar dark brown eyes meeting yours. Your attention always seemed to gravitate towards Tara Carpenter. 

You momentarily pause your expression of admiration for Leonardo, peeking over Henry’s shoulder to give Tara a downwards smile paired with a finger wave. She rolls her eyes and returns your finger wave in a mocking gesture. After Henry realizes what’s grabbed your attention, he makes an excuse to walk away.

You're nursing your fifth orange drink when she materializes beside you, seemingly out of thin air. "Seriously?" The word drips with exasperation. "You're actually hiding behind Henry?"

"I'm not hiding," you protest, pulling yourself up to what you hope is a dignified height. "I'm strategically positioning myself for optimal social avoidance."

Tara snorts—an inelegant sound that somehow makes her more endearing. "Is that what we're calling it?" 

The space between you crackles with a tension that's part irritation, part something else entirely. 

"I could ask you the same thing," you counter with a crack in your voice. Tara notices this and slightly raises an eyebrow while giving you a once-over. "Pretty sure you've been standing in the exact same spot for the last twenty minutes."

Her eyes narrow. "I'm observing."

"Stalking," you correct automatically.

"Strategically positioning myself," she throws your earlier words back at you, and there's a glint in her eye that makes your breath catch.

For a moment, you felt uncharacteristically at ease in such a setting—when you catch a fragment of a conversation that makes your blood run cold. 

“—Carpenter's got a mouth on her that could—"

The words slice through your alcohol-induced haze like a knife. Your head whips around so fast you almost give yourself whiplash, searching for the source of the comment. Two guys are leaning against the wall near the stairs, one of them making crude gestures as he continues to make vile comments about Tara.

The pleasant warmth in your system transforms instantly into liquid fire. You recognize one of them—Marcus Wheeler from your Calculus class, the one who always makes inappropriate comments during lectures and thinks he's God's gift to mathematics. The other is unfamiliar, but the way he's laughing and encouraging Marcus makes your skin crawl.

Your muscles tense. Tara notices immediately. "Don't," she warns, a single word packed with more meaning than should be possible.

But you're already moving, your body acting before your brain can fully process the decision. 

Your fist connects with his jaw before you even realize you've thrown the punch. There's a satisfying crack that you feel more than hear, followed by a burst of pain across your knuckles that you're too angry to properly register. The pain sends a rush through you, pushes you, tempts you for more. 

Marcus staggers back, both surprised and hurt, but recovers quickly. He lunges for you, but your muscle memory kicks in. You sidestep, using his momentum against him, and somehow you end up on top of him, getting in another solid hit before strong hands pull you away.

The world comes rushing back all at once. The music has stopped, replaced by the murmur of shocked voices and the ringing in your ears. Everyone is staring at you, their faces a blur of surprise and judgment. Marcus is on the ground, blood trickling from his split lip, and presumably broken nose, looking at you with a mixture of rage, disbelief, and fear.

Your chest feels too tight, like someone's wrapped steel bands around your ribcage and is slowly tightening them. The weight of what you've just done crashes over you like a wave, threatening to pull you under. You need to get out—now.

You shoulder your way through the crowd, ignoring Henry calling your name, ignoring the whispers that follow in your wake. Someone tries to grab your arm, but you shake them off, focused solely on reaching the door. The cool night air hits your face like a slap when you finally burst outside, but you keep walking, your hands shaking as the adrenaline starts to wear off.

The crisp winter air hits you like a slap when you stumble outside, your breath forming small clouds in the freezing night.

“Wait!”

When did she get here?

"Let me see," Tara's voice cuts through your alcohol-induced haze, her hand reaching for yours with a familiarity that makes your head spin—or maybe you've had one too many of those orange drinks.

You thrust your hand toward her dramatically, wincing as the movement sends a spike of pain through your bruised knuckles.

"I totally got that incel good," you slur, a giggle bubbling up from somewhere deep and slightly unhinged. The ice beneath your feet seems to shimmer with your triumph.

Tara's fingers hover just above your hand, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from her skin. "You're going to need ice for that," she says, her tone caught between exasperation and something else—something softer.

"Ice, huh?" You look down at the ground, the irony not lost on you. 

With exaggerated precision, you bend down and scoop up a handful of snow, pressing it against your knuckles. The cold bites, but it's a welcome contrast to the burning anger and alcohol still coursing through your system.

"This works, right?" You look up at her, your eyes wide and slightly unfocused. The world tilts slightly, but Tara remains steady—an anchor in your spinning vision.

Something flickers in her eyes—amusement, maybe. "You're something else," she mutters, but there's no real bite to the words.

Emboldened by alcohol and adrenaline, you lean in closer. The words tumble out before you can stop them. "So… I never did get an answer to that proposal."

Tara goes very still. A smile begins to form, tentative and fragile as first light. 

She chuckles at your remark before shaking her head and scoffing to herself. "Sometimes I just don't get you," she says with a smile still etched on her face, but there's more complexity in those words than simple dismissal as she stares back into your eyes.

Confusion must show on your face because she looks away, the streetlight catching the curve of her cheek, the set of her jaw. You didn’t know what else to say so you just said the first thing that came to mind. 

“Merry birthday, Tar,” you said. 

She’s taken aback by this. She didn’t know what to say, yet still opened her mouth to respond. Maybe something would come to her, but before anything did—

"There you are!" Anika's voice cuts through the moment like a knife. Your car pulls up to the curb, engine running warm against the freezing air. "We need to get out of here before that guy calls the cops."

The moment dissolves. Tara takes a step back, creating distance that feels more emotional than physical. You're left standing there, snow melting between your fingers, the taste of unresolved everything burning at the back of your throat.

As you climb into the passenger seat, you catch one last glimpse of her in the side mirror—a silhouette, perfectly still and impossibly distant.

—

The drive home is mostly silent, broken only by the occasional sigh from Anika and the gentle humming of your car's engine. Your knuckles throb in time with your heartbeat, a steady reminder of your momentary loss of control. The adrenaline is wearing off now, replaced by a mixture of embarrassment and alcohol-induced wooziness that makes you slouch lower in your seat.

"You know," Anika finally says as she pulls into your shared apartment complex, "when I said you needed to be more social, starting another fight wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

You grunt in response, too busy focusing on the way the world is tilting slightly to form actual words. The drinks are hitting harder now that the excitement is over, making everything feel soft around the edges.

"Use your words," she chides, killing the engine. 

"Words are for people who don't punch assholes at parties," you mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt. The simple mechanism seems impossibly complex right now.

Anika reaches over to help you, her movements gentle despite her exasperated tone. "Come on, Rocky Balboa. Let's get you inside."

Getting up the stairs to your second-floor apartment proves to be an adventure. You insist you can do it yourself, but after the third time you miss a step, Anika wraps an arm around your waist and practically drags you up.

"I can walk," you protest, even as you lean heavily against her.

"Sure you can. Just like you can make rational decisions at parties, right?" 

You attempt to glare at her, but the effect is somewhat ruined when you stumble over your own feet. "He deserved it."

"Oh, I'm not arguing that point," Anika says, fishing her keys out of her purse while still supporting most of your weight. "Marcus Wheeler is definitely in the running for Biggest Douchebag of the Year. But maybe next time we could handle it without violence? You know, like adults?"

"Adulting is overrated," you declare as she manages to get the door open. "If I was a kid, I could just pull Tara's pigtails or something."

Anika steers you toward the kitchen, depositing you none too gently into one of the mismatched chairs around your small table. "Okay, first of all, that's not the approach to crushing on someone that you think it is. Second, stay put while I get the first aid kit."

You slump forward, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the table. "Not crushing," you mumble into the wood. "Just... emotionally compromised."

"Right," Anika calls from the bathroom, where you can hear her rummaging through cabinets. "And I'm just 'casually interested' in my hot girlfriend."

"That's different," you argue, lifting your head slightly. "You two are together. You’re attached to the hip—you don’t hide from each other."

"Ha! So you admit you were hiding!"

You let your head thunk back down onto the table. "I admit nothing. I was studying. Very intensely. In locations where certain people were statistically unlikely to appear."

Anika returns with the first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas, setting both on the table. "Sit up, you disaster. Let me see your hand."

You comply with a dramatic sigh, straightening in your chair and holding out your injured hand. Your knuckles are already starting to bruise, spots of purple blooming across the skin. There are a few small cuts, probably from where you caught Marcus's teeth.

"This might sting," Anika warns before dabbing at the cuts with an alcohol wipe. You hiss through your teeth but don't pull away. "So," she continues, her tone deceptively casual, "want to talk about what really happened back there?"

"Not particularly," you mutter, watching as she carefully cleans each cut. "Can we just chalk it up to temporary insanity and move on?"

"You punched a guy for talking shit about Tara." She applies antibiotic ointment with practiced efficiency. "That's not temporary insanity. That's feelings."

You try to pull your hand away, but she holds firm. "It's not— I just— He was being gross!"

"Mhmm." She wraps your knuckles in gauze with precise movements. "And the fact that it was about Tara specifically had nothing to do with your reaction?"

"I would have done the same for anyone," you insist, even though you both know it's a lie. "It's about basic human decency."

"Right. Basic human decency. That's why you've been moping around our apartment for two weeks, taking different routes, and muttering under your breath when you think I can't hear you."

Before you can form a suitably indignant response, your phone buzzes. Henry's face appears on the screen, caught mid-laugh at some long-ago hangout.

You put the call on speaker, feeling too exhausted to hold the phone. Henry's excited voice crackles through, bursting with energy.

"Holy shit! Are you okay? That was the most badass thing I've ever seen in my life!"

"I'm fine," you mutter, wincing as Anika presses a bag of frozen peas against your bruised knuckles. "Ow! Except for my so-called best friend trying to give me frostbite."

Anika's tone is no-nonsense. "Keep the ice on, or your hand will swell up like a balloon."

Henry can barely contain his excitement. "You should have seen Marcus's face after you left. He was completely shaken. I don't think anyone's ever stood up to him like that before."

You groan, tilting your head back. "Great. Now I'll be known as the crazy chick who starts fights at parties. That'll look amazing on my resume."

"Are you kidding? You're going to be a legend!" Henry starts, then suddenly there's a scuffle in the background.

"Am I on speaker?" you ask, suspicion rising in your voice.

"No!" Henry says simultaneously with another voice declaring, "Yes!"

You recognize the second voice immediately. "Henry James Martinez," you say, using his full name—knowing how much he hates it—"Are you and Tony back together?"

"No!" Henry protests. "His place flooded, and he needed a place to stay!"

"Sure thing, Hef," you chuckle, catching Anika's amused smile.

Tony's cheerful voice joins the conversation. "Hey, heard you knocked some douche on his ass for talking shit about your girlfriend. Nicely done."

"She's not my girlfriend," you respond quickly.

Henry can't resist. "Define girlfriend."

You're ready with a comeback. "Define sharing a living space with—"

"Uh oh, bad connection," Henry interrupts, and suddenly the line goes dead. Anika bursts into laughter.

“I’m gonna get you some aspirin,” Anika offered, patting your shoulder as she passed. “But just so you know that whole ‘emotionally compromised’ thing? Yeah, that’s basically the definition of crushing.”

You make an incoherent noise of protest into the table. 

"Oh, and by the way," Anika calls from the kitchen, "you're totally teaching me that right hook tomorrow. After your hangover wears off, of course."

You lift your head just enough to deadpan at her. 

"Love you too, champ. Now take your aspirin and go to bed before you fall asleep on the table. Again."

Not long after she went to her room, you stumble into the bathroom, hand throbbing and head spinning—the former a reminder of the night’s events. The light is harsh against your alcohol-fogged brain. The tile floor is cold beneath your bare feet as you stumble to the sink, turning on the water and splashing your face.

When you look up, he's there.

Your Uncle's bloody corpse stands behind you in the reflection, that familiar crooked smile that's always been more predatory than comforting. His appearance is exactly as you remember from old photographs—that slightly manic glint in his eye, the way he holds himself like violence is always just beneath the surface.

"Killer punch," he says, leaning against the bathroom wall. No greeting, no preamble. Just direct observation.

You don't jump but roll your eyes. "Go away," you mutter, gripping the sink's edge.

He chuckles—a sound that's more bark than laugh. "I saw myself in you tonight. That rage? That precise moment of calculated violence? Pure genetics that chose you."

"I'm nothing like you," you snap, turning to face him directly. The bathroom suddenly feels smaller.

He takes a step closer. "Oh, but you are. That moment when you heard those guys talking about your girl? That split second before the punch? That wasn't just anger. That was hunting instinct."

You close your eyes, trying to block him out. "I'm not a killer. I'm not you."

"Not yet," he says, and there's something almost proud in his voice. "But you've got the potential. I saw how you moved. How you calculated. How you knew exactly where to hit to cause maximum impact."

"My dad’s a professional pig," you counter. "It’s not like I attended murder school."

His laugh is sharp, brittle. "Call it what you want. But we both know there's something inside you. Something sharp. Something waiting."

The argument feels familiar—like every nightmare, every family gathering where his memory haunted the edges of conversation, their fear of the parallels you both held. You're tired of it. Tired of him.

"I'm going to bed," you declare, pushing past his spectral form.

He doesn't disappear immediately. Instead, his voice follows you. "We're not so different, you and me."

You pause at the doorway, not turning around, as your hand tightly grips the edges of the doorframe. "We're nothing alike." 

The silence that follows is answer enough.

As you crawl back into bed, the room feels normal again—just another night, just another internal argument with a ghost who refuses to stay buried.

But somewhere in the darkness, you can still feel him watching. Waiting.

-----------

A/N:

gobble, gobble

[a1ecmcdowell]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤjust like the movies.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤor, 90s!jensen & starlet!reader.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤTEEN PEOPLE exclusive!

a never-before-seen inside look on america's favorite celebrity couple, starlet & jensen, only found here!

★ ˚⋆

it is, at this point, redundant to introduce the hollywood bombshell that is starlet, the new & upcoming actress taking over the scene. first met in days of our lives as a returning side character, starlet has since moved on to star in the likes of scream, terrifying the world with her breakout role of sidney prescott, and has since gone on to reprise that role, alongside her days of our lives character, many times.

on the other side of the dynamic duo, jensen ackles also got his notable start on days of our lives, working alongside starlet and, as he's stated before in multiple prior interviews, where he first met her.

"utterly captivating," he'd called her to an mtv interviewer, "there's no one else who can do the things that she does, and so effortlessly."

a romance should have been expected to follow after such high praises, though the way that it dominated the world was not so expected. their adorable acts of shameless pda & the blatant enamor that radiates from them when they are in a room together captured the hearts of millions.

today, we sit down with the both of them, and unpack just how they came to be.

★ ˚⋆

sat next to each other on two director's chairs is starlet and ackles, whispering to each other in soft voices, his palm atop hers on its back, the tip of his finger tracing shapes on her palm. he murmurs something, and her head falls back in a bright laugh.

jensen ackles (eric brady of days of our lives): oh! hey. didn't even hear you comin' in.

brittany johnson (interviewer for teen people): no, don't apologize! i'm just taking notes... capturing everything...

jensen: ah, gotta get all the details for the report, i see.

brittany, laughing softly: oh, yes. just doing my job. and how are you, starlet?

starlet (casey kennedy of days of our lives): spectacular, how are you?

brittany: can't complain at all when i get to spend my day with the both of you.

starlet, smiling warmly: oh, none of that. we're just people.

brittany: two of the most beloved of our decade, yes! did you anticipate such a positive response to your first public sighting together?

jensen: honestly wasn't even something that crossed my mind. i just wanted to take my girl to dinner.

starlet: it was so lovely, too. remember the hanging lights on the outside patio? and the candle in the center of our table?

jensen: is it a good time to tell you that i arranged that?

starlet: what? no!

jensen, laughing to himself: i did! called ahead and made sure we could have the patio to ourselves.

starlet: well, i guess we're both learning things today about my relationship, aren't we... oh, i'm sorry, i never asked your name.

brittany: brittany johnson. and that's alright, love, you were preoccupied! i'd never blame you for the honeymoon phase daze.

jensen: is that a real thing?

brittany: no, but i'm going to copyright it. it has a ring to it, doesn't it?

jensen: it does, yeah.

jensen's fingers lock into starlet's, raising her hand to his mouth to plant a chaste kiss on the skin.

starlet: sorry, this was probably a terrible idea, letting us do an interview together. we're not really good at anything but the... well, the honeymoon phase daze.

brittany: here, let me see if i can help keep the both of you on track, shall i? what were your initial thoughts when you first saw each other?

jensen: can i swear?

starlet: jens!

jensen, cackling: it's just a question!

brittany: i can censor it, don't worry. speak freely.

jensen: honestly, and i'm not exaggerating, she always thinks i'm lying about it, but my very first thought when she walked into the reading room was holy f**k.

starlet: no, it wasn't. he wasn't even looking at me, he was looking at his script—

jensen: s'called being sneaky, baby, i was lookin' over the edge.

starlet scoffs, her lips curling into a smile, betraying the feigned irritation.

brittany: starlet?

starlet: i was definitely intimidated. i don't remember my exact reactions, but we locked eyes at one point while reading our lines, and it felt—

jensen: just like a movie scene.

starlet: yeah. i honestly thought that when people said the world stops, it was just a cliche, but...

brittany: but it wasn't, not with you too.

starlet, warmly: exactly.

jensen: she wouldn't go out to dinner with me immediately. just so you're aware. this little lovelorn act she's portraying? wasn't immediate and was not as swoonworthy as you're lookin' at me like it is.

starlet: hey! i was being cautious—

jensen: hard to get. she was being hard to get.

brittany: you asked her out to dinner that very day?

jensen: that very day. i thought, "hell, if i don't swoop in, someone else will." so i swooped.

starlet: and missed the landing.

jensen, mock offendedly: because you were playing all coy!

starlet: since when is being cauti—

jensen: hard to get.

the two's words begin to overlap in an unintelligible argument, jumbled with laughter and tugging on their locked hands.

jensen: anyways. yeah, she rejected me at first. big ol' fat blow to the ego.

brittany: what eventually made her say yes? or, really, i should be asking you that, starlet.

jensen: yeah, baby, go on. i'm curious too.

starlet: it... well, it sounds really superficial. but we had this scene together, and our characters practically mirror the story of us, in a way, because— i don't know, something clicked. the director called cut after eric was about to kiss casey goodnight, and he leaned in, and...

...

...

starlet: it's really cliche, i know that's how it must sound, but it really felt like magic, standing in front of him, looking into his eyes and feeling the emotions he poured into himself while he was acting, and knowing that they were at least somewhat true, considering he'd asked me out a week or so prior. i thought, "god, why did i say no? what kind of idiot was i?"

jensen: very cute that your moment of clarity came from me kissing you. that's all i wanted to say— don't look at me like that. carry on.

starlet: that's it, you loser. unless you want me to continue stroking your ego.

jensen: there's a few other things you—

brittany clears her throat, her palms patting against the notepad rested on her thighs.

brittany, flushed: alright, well... i think that wraps it up for us! it was incredible to get to hang out with the both of you. do you... have any final comments? anything you want to tell the people?

jensen: yeah. go watch my pretty baby in scream 2. and thank you, brittany, for putting up with her, i know she gets a little ditzy and talkative—

starlet swats jensen's bicep, laughing along with him.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤEND TRANSCRIPT.

notes, nobody look too close at the transparent ok its shoddy at BEST but i was having a meltdown over 90s jensen earlier n couldnt relax until i did this ok feedback appreciated sm unless its mean HAHAHA bc i honestly dont know . . . if i like this HJTKLGDFSH style heavy inspired by daisy jones & the six my beloved

tags, @jasvtsc @figthoughts @deanswidow @depressionbarbie2023

[princesssarisa]

I just came across a YouTube video complaining about the changes made to the musical of Wicked from the original book.

One of its main arguments is that in the musical, Glinda is too easily forgiven – both by Elphaba and by the show's narrative – for working with the Wizard, not to mention the other morally questionable things she does.

Now, I haven't read the book, or analyzed every word of the musical's script and lyrics, but I'm not sure if I agree with that claim or not.

I agree with what @cto10121 has written in the past, that maybe the musical focuses too much on Glinda when it's supposed to be Elphaba's story, but I don't think the show glosses over Glinda's flaws or bad decisions. I've always thought she was a very morally gray character who has a redemption arc in the end. And she most definitely pays a hard price for her mistakes, ending up in power but all alone on a personal level, thinking the two people she loved most are dead because of her.

But just from scrolling a little on both Tumblr and YouTube, I think the musical's fandom might idealize Glinda, whether the musical itself does or not. I don't know how widespread it is, but I've definitely felt as if the fandom idealizes her entire relationship with Elphaba, and they do leap to defend her whenever someone misguidedly calls her "the real wicked witch"... sometimes with defenses I don't buy.

Again, again, and again, I've heard people say "The message is that there are two sides to every story and no one is all good or all bad."

(Which of course is true to an extent, but which IMHO, paints false moral equivalency between Elphaba's side of the story and both Glinda's and the Wizard's.)

I've also seen "The whole point is that Elphaba starts out as the heroine while Glinda starts out as a mean girl, but Glinda becomes a better person while Elphaba becomes a worse person over the course of the story, until they become the characters we know from The Wizard of Oz. Ultimately Glinda is the more heroic one."

(That's... not quite the way I would describe their arcs.)

And, most thought-provokingly of all, I've seen this:

"Glinda deserves more respect for her intelligence. At first we're made to think she's a dumb blonde, but it turns out that she's very clever and shrewd, and her claim that a good image is what matters most in society turns out to be totally right. It's by working within the system and pleasing the Wizard and the people of Oz that Glinda gains power, which lets her oust the Wizard and Morrible in the end, while Elphaba's rebellion crashes and burns."

Even if part of the show's message is "Society values a good image more than real merit or truth," aren't we meant to view that fact as a bad thing that needs to change, rather than admiring Glinda for knowing it all along and benefitting from it?

This reminds me of commentary I've read about Amy March from Little Women. A character who has a lot in common with Glinda in some ways, though without the political aspect. I like Amy and I don't think she deserves the hate she traditionally gets from Jo fans, but some attempts to defend her annoy me. Namely the fans who praise her for conforming to society better than Jo does: i.e. "Amy is the smartest, most mature March sister because she knows how to please her social betters and make the system work in her favor – unlike Jo, whose rebellious ways get her nowhere and who needs to learn to be a proper docile lady for her own good." Again, I like Amy as a character, but as a neurodivergent feminist who relates to Jo's independence and her failure to conform, I don't like that talk.

And Amy doesn't serve a fascist regime.

I'd like to know what bigger Wicked fans than I am think of all this. Does the show absolve Glinda too much, or if not, does the fandom? Or do both the show and fandom have a more-or-less accurate view of both her flaws and her virtues?

[thegreatestchange]

as soon as i finished s2 of arcane i knew i wanted to hear your takes on it. any opinions as to how they handled caitlyn’s arc, vi’s story, and the development of s2? i would love to hear anything you have to say about this season!!

also - the end of this season has me scouring Ao3 for some fics to fill the void. have you had any recent one shot or fic ideas now that the show has ended? i’ve been dying for a hurt/comfort and really soft sex type of story for cait and vi. maybe something where cait is taking care of vi after the events of 206? lord knows they could both use the comfort and vi deserves to be loved and taken care of. i know you would write that beautifully.

or if you have any recs for fics along those lines? 👀

as always, thanks for your incredible work both inside and outside of fandoms! love hearing from you! <3

Omg hiii! I appreciate that you care what I think haha!

Let me preface this by saying that the criticisms I have for the writing of s2 does not take away the love I have for this show and what it's done for animation as a medium.

Now, with that said...

S2 was a mess.

I said this on twitter, but I think the writers had a lot of ambition — too much ambition — for the amount of episodes they had to wrap this story up cohesively. This AMAZING show suffered because of corporate greed and not having enough time to flesh out character arcs and plots from s1. I think it started off promising. I was really excited to see how they would handle the Zaun/Piltover conflict, Vi's journey toward healing and forgiving herself for her past mistakes, Jinx's descent and then return as a hero, as well as Caitlyn's descent and redemption arc.

Instead we got... that.

There's one word that keeps twirling around in my head: commitment.

The writers lacked commitment (and a diverse writing room) to properly handle the Piltover/Zaun conflict. S1 had such a good starting point, whereas in S2 it's like they diverged from the path and forgot the finish line existed. Sitting Sevika at a table with her oppressors who will most likely tune her out and outvote her on everything is NOT a solution. Why not a complete overhaul of the council? Make it an even split? Instead it's the same people who never gave a fuck in the first place, and Sevika, who helped get half of the population of Zaun hooked on shimmer in the first place. Like what???

They failed to commit to Caitlyn's villain/dictator era. When episode 3 happened, I was skeptical about how they would handle it. And after watching the entire season, I had every right to feel that way. They make her so unapologetic and blasé about gassing Zaunites and letting Ambessa unlawfully arrest people. That's not my Cait from season 1. Does grief change people? Absolutely! But once it settles, you should be able to look back on what you've done and feel remorseful. Cait's lack of remorse was jarring. Her inability to apologize or outwardly own up to everything she did was OOC. You know what could've been the perfect moment for that? When Jayce gathered Piltover and Zaun in that room and she was standing right across from them. Why not have Sevika or Scar call her ass out and hold her feet to the fire? Lay out the facts of what her grief looked like to the innocent people of Zaun who had nothing to do with it? That would've been the perfect time for her to say something.

They failed to commit to Jinx and her story as a whole. At its core, this show was centered around two sisters growing up impoverished and oppressed, constantly separated, but always finding their way back to each other. Jinx is such a heartbreaking character used for trauma porn. Episode 6 fucked me up so badly but I THOUGHT it would lead to something big for her character. Like her stepping into this unwilling hero role and working with Ekko to lead Zaun into a better future like the one Ekko saw in episode 7. BUT LOL NOPE. Instead she's suicidal and self harming while her sister is fucking the oppressor in a prison cell. DA FUCK?

And lastly they failed Vi's character in every possible way. From putting on the badge in the first place to not exploring the depth of her character. She's basically a passenger in s2. Has no agency. Used as a punching bag (literally). And treated as an afterthought. I'm so pissed. There should've been a lot of conflict in act 1 between her and Cait. You mean to tell me Vi, who HATES enforcers. would willingly let her situationship gas her people? Fuck no. Absolutely not. It does not make sense, narratively speaking. Her ending did not make me hopeful. Even if Jinx is alive and moving on from Vi to "break the cycle" that does nothing for Vi's character. She is without family once again, and I fear it would lead to an unhealthy codependent relationship with Cait. Like she'll never be able to voice opposing thoughts or feelings without fear of Cait leaving her AGAIN.

As for the Caitvi relationship. This is tough. On one hand, I was happy to see a lesbian s*x scene in animation for an awarded television show. But on a heavier hand, it rings hollow after everything I've said. Much like the Piltover/Zaun story, Caitvi had a good starting point in season 1. I did have my issues with it because, as a Black woman, seeing someone oppressed get with a cop does nothing for me. But I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt because I believed the writers knew what they were doing. But I was wrong again. CaitVi is unfortunately one of the weakest points of S2. The writers did not COMMIT to their conflict. It's barely glossed over and then Caitlyn gets rewarded with s*x. And this is why I could never commit to them as a couple. At least not in canon. I liked them in s1 and the idea of what they could've been to each other in s2. And it looks like I'm going to have to find that elsewhere, unfortunately.

Overall, it all comes back to what I said in the beginning: lack of time, a diverse writing room, and corporate greed. I'm disappointed, but unfortunately not surprised. I hope the writers can learn from their mistakes moving forward.

As for fanfiction, I have actually not read any yet! So I don't have any recommendations for you. I need some for myself! I'll get back to you if I find any good ones.

Sorry for the lengthy post! I really just needed to get this all out and I feel so much better.

[sunatsubu]

Jayvik and time paradoxes

I can't stop thinking about Jayce/Viktor. They're driving me insane, absolutely INSANE. Because everything about them is a time paradox??

This is pretty rambly, I'm just trying to get my thoughts down in my attempt to stop going crazy over them and also just figure out what the heck happened because I'm still kind of confused about some stuff, also I am not very familiar with game lore, mainly just the show.

They circle each other and are so intrinsically linked in so many ways, being both cause and effect to each other's fates. Starting at a random point that ends up circling all the way back:

Jayce and Viktor invent Hextech

Jayce gets drawn into politics as a result, away from Viktor

Viktor gets desperate, experiments with hextech on himself, with Consequences (Sky)

Viktor asks Jayce to destroy hextech

Jayce, unable to let Viktor die after Jinx's attack, fuses him with it instead

This leads to Machine Herald viktor, but not quite; like Pre-herald I guess? Where Viktor still retains some humanity

Jayce gets told by alternate Viktor to stop him from becoming the Herald

In his attempt to do so, he kind of causes/hastens it instead?! (more thoughts on this below*)

alternate Herald Viktor regrets everything and saves baby Jayce/gives him the runestone**

Jayce grows up wanting to research magic thanks to mage Viktor, and cue s1 events that end up circling back to the first point**

*I can't stop thinking about how kind and gentle Viktor seemed when he was trying to help Vander. It really seemed like he was on a path to using his new powers for good, without any sinister effects (though maybe I missed some hints, need to rewatch). It wasn't until after Jayce blew his heart to smithereens that he seemed to start on that path of deeming emotions and humanity unnecessary, solidified when Jayce rejected him to join him as partners again.

**Still trying to wrap my brain around these last two. The existence of alternate Herald Viktor that brings our Jayce to his destroyed world in order to ask him to stop our Viktor - does this imply that Viktor would have still become Machine Herald even if Jayce hadn't tried to kill him? Was it an inevitable thing? Or is this still more time paradox shenanigans, where Viktor asking Jayce to stop/kill his younger self, is both the cause and effect of Herald Viktor? And yet another paradox, Viktor inspired baby Jayce to research magic and ultimately invent Hextech, which is what was needed for Machine Herald Viktor to come to pass. So it seems like there are actually 2 paradoxes related to the creation of Herald Viktor/apocalypse post Viktor's revolution.

These time paradoxes defining their existences makes me think they weren't supposed to exist. Or at least, the ways they so significantly affected the world, weren't supposed to come to pass; Hextech, Viktor's Revolution, apocalypse. So while their ending breaks my heart into a million pieces, it makes a lot of sense. In order to cancel out what they'd do to the world (or just Piltover? this is another point I'm curious about, did viktor's revolution affect ALL of humanity?), they had to erase themselves from existence. It's so. romantic and tragic, but not really on both those counts? Like somehow deeper, too deep, to put such simple labels on. Honestly I don't even really know how to describe what their story makes me feel.

Bit of a tangent, but one interesting anomaly is the alt timeline Ekko was in. So Jinx would always be an important factor in Jayvik's fates since her attack almost killing Victor is the catalyst for a lot of things. Mage Victor says Jayce is the one thing across all timelines that could stop him, implying there are MANY timelines where Herald Viktor comes to be. Which thus means in all those timelines, Jinx is the unstable mess we know and love, the one who would attack the council. So that makes it interesting (and kinda gutting because its like Jinx is destined to suffer in most timelines) that Ekko's alt timeline was most likely rare in its stability, where despite Vi being gone, Powder is relatively happy and the world (Piltover/Zaun) is quite peaceful.

This is a seemingly random segueway, but Jayvik very strongly reminded me of the german show Dark. (WARNING FOLLOWING IS MAJOR SPOILER FOR THAT SHOW)

A completely different genre and story, but both are about two people whose destinies are so linked together throughout time and alternate universes, but weren't supposed to exist. And they could only save the world, allow it to go on untouched from the devastating effects they would have on it, by taking themselves out of the equation.

[respectthepetty]

Spare Me Your Mercy Thoughts

I have waited almost four years for this show since MDL made a placeholder for Euthanasia in early-2021, and now that it is here, I'm going to gush about all the ways I love it!

Just like a few of Dr. Sammon's other shows airing around the holidays (Manner of Death, Dead Friend Forever, and Petrichor), I'm thankful I got the first episode of Spare Me Your Mercy on Thanksgiving and the last will come on Christmas because this is the exact show I need for the holiday season since it began the entire series with Tew, the cop, having to perform euthanasia on an animal.

I grew up and still live in a rural area where cattle far outnumber the actual folks, so I fully understand euthanasia is a good death as the word implies, so I will not be struggling through the premise of this show, and I have faith the show won't either because when Tew fired the gun, the scene was peaceful.

And the show is making some pointed remarks about how things operate outside of bigger cities since Kan specifically mentioned he has about 2,500 patients. When the other officer asked the nurses if Kan had a long queue, they didn't even respond. Kan also clarified that his specialty is palliative care, so he has to monitor a wide range of long-term illnesses, so even though Tew might actually be from this place, he is now the outsider and out of his depth before he even started.

Sidenote: I cannot be mad at a nurse, even if one of them turns out bad because the way they all protect Kan from the police is the teamwork I love to see.

The red light to notify the office the doctor is seeing a patient coming on right after Kan responded to the nurse that it wasn't a murder case yet was perfection.

I already knew Kan was going to be my favorite character, but Tor is doing amazing showing the layers Kan has, as expected. Kan tells Tor he can cry and shows him kindness, but when pushed, Kan makes small digs about how people should spend the last moments of someone's life cherishing them when rudely questioned by Tew regarding the unexpected deaths knowing Tew did not get to see his mother before she died. He also made a subtle display of knowing where things were located in the house because he is in control.

The way he slid his LINE information into the conversation AFTER indirectly telling Tew he was being emotional due to his grief is why I'm excited to see another version of Manner of Death's Tan. Kan probably does like Tew but he stays focused and calculated.

He is terrifying without there being any concrete detail to pinpoint on why he is scary. Som, while describing people being possessed by evil murderous spirits, was terrified of Kan, and the transition from Som telling his story to Kan appearing at the exact moment Som was going to state what human form the evil spirits take was brilliant.

But what's even more terrifying is the treatment of the terminally ill. They are viewed as a burden, locked away, and isolated.

And Tew witnessed it. He got a glimpse of what Kan sees daily, so the show is already building up a case in defense of Kan's actions. If he is performing euthanasia, Tew could understand. He heard the goat's bell. He knew it was still alive, but he decided to end its suffering, cleanly and swiftly, which is what euthanasia is. He saw that man left behind by his family and even moved to go get him. And he was bothered when the man's daughter stated her reasoning for leaving him out there alone.

He also stopped Kan from continuing to question Som. Therefore, the true conflict has been set. Tew, whose job is to discover the truth, doesn't need it if it causes pain, but Kan's entire job is making pain manageable.

And I always want to trust a woman, but as suspicious as the director is being about everything, babygirl would be the perfect person to attempt euthanasia since the dead would end up on her table where she could claim the death was the result of the illness.

Because euthanasia is a good death.

And this ain't it.

He understands that.

But someone doesn't.

[pixieswashere]

First off, I agree with everything with what OP said here. I want to also add onto this that it makes no sense for AU!Jinx/Powder not to have her mental illness/psychosis, not only bc of the fact she had it since she was a child....but also bc in that universe.....Vi is dead...like SHE IS GONE. If anything the trauma and psychosis would still be there, if not worsen overtime.

Like at first when I started it, I didn't think much thinking that in this universe she had professionall help in coping with it healthily.....but then the Vi reveal and the fact we didnt see her having some hallucinations or voices is what ruined this......her ONLY last remaining family to her parents and who was very close to her clearly...is DEAD. Jinx loved her sister so much and had a mental breakdown as a kid when she LEFT her to go and find Vander. The only person who was there that BELIEVED in her, STUCK up for her, and practically raised her along Vander. You're telling me, Jinx wouldn't have any slightest of a breakdown or crisis over that??? At all??? Even when considering her mental state???

Adding to this for Viktor (bc I love him and I 100% agree that his character was fumbled)

Viktor NEVER hated himself in s1 let's get that straight. In S1, he makes a very big POINT to show that he has always carried himself and that in whatever he does, he is proud of it because he believed in himself enough to accept who he is and DOESN'T care about what others think of him

"When you're going to change the world don't ask for permission."

"I didn't have the benefits of a patron or a name, I simply....BELIEVED in MYSELF."

You could argue that while yes he is self-assured and confident, he still has some insecurities of how people close to him perceive him....and that could be true, but it's not really ever alluded. He DOES care about making connections but hes isolated himself bc of these judgements that its almost second nature if not a rarity. But he does value companionship, its just not something he is accustomed to a degree, and he sometimes without consideration distances himself from it if it gets in the way of his aspirations (Ex: Sky/Jayce, Heimerdinger/Singed.) In the latter acts of S1 he was DYING he wasn't hating himself because of his "terminal illness" that was killing him or his disability....He was in a vulnerable and solemn state because he felt like his accomplishments meant or achieved NOTHING. This is a character that is selfless, altruistic and a workaholic who worked his way up with dreams of something better and now after so many years in developing Hextech he's seeing that what he strived to achieve for the improvement of his home that's also DYING because of Piltover's ignorance and oppression, is unable to do NOTHING about it now.

He is angry that he has no CONTROL over his fate and the assuredness of his Legacy = helping those in need for the Undercity because of Jayce and Piltover's lack of understanding, especially after they had complied building the Hexgates for their trade disputes first.....over the disputes of lives. Viktor has contemplated death because he knows time is fleeting and he wants to make it count for something good, he doesnt want to be remembered as PERFECT, he wants to be remembered in the contributions that the people of Zaun will FINALLY heal/be helped after so long and not have to live short lives bc of unsafe work environments, manual labour, illnesses cause by toxic chemicals and etc.

He even brushes the idea of when he'll die off, and you could even add that he is ticked off by the fact that hes now being perceived as a "dead man" before he even died (Ex. Heimerdinger convo and Jayce in the hospital, etc). He doesn't like being seen as powerless or as his terminal illness now because he ISN'T and never was. Furthermore, he doesnt use the Hexcore to "PERFECT" himself, he's using it to heal himself of his terminal illness/expand his lifespan so that he can continue his research in helping Zaun.

If he is going to use Hexcore, he needs to make sure that it will work. So, to tests its capabilities, he tests it on HIMSELF. Only to find out that the same thing he created to HEAL ended up killing someone that meant a lot to him. He wasted NO TIME telling Jayce to destroy it bc it harmed someone and he finally realizes that ensuring a legacy = saving people....ended up at the cost of harming people in return.

P.s. sorry this was long. Hope you enjoyed reading it if u did !

I don't have perfect thoughts on it, but I do want to note that I'm not loving how Arcane handles disability.

Viktor hating his disability so deeply, feeling that it needs to be "fixed" so thoroughly, that he succumbs to ~ultimate eugenics for everyone ~ ?????? fucked up

Jinx's psychosis being a manifestation of her being "unhinged" and encouraging her to act out either to challenge or appease them, and then her psychosis magically disappearing in the "perfect" universe????? also fucked up

Vi's alcoholism and (albeit mild) psychotic symptoms never being brought up....ever???? just created as fodder to make her a more angsty and submissive lapdog to facism????? also also fucked up

Let me have my mad/cripple characters who have their shit recognized as parts of their humanity rather than trauma porn plot or things that need to be corrected or traits indicative of rash violence please

[fizz-pop-thwip]

Oh Steve and Bucky's physicality? Why yes, I will deep dive into that, only if you insist 🙂‍↕️

The serums lead them to where they are now obviously, and the serums are DIFFERENT. Steve's was refined, the og. Its not just a biological feat beyond most people's understanding but what Erskine created was an ART. Utterly refined, working and 'super soldier-ing' in the most efficient and effective ways possible. Steve obviously had the MOST physical change, something Hydras serum wouldn't have achieved even if Bucky was Steve's original size when he got it.

Steve is lean (Not truely lean but leanER then Bucky.) his serum had the power and engineering to rely on the SUPER half for most of his strength. Does he have the correct muscle mass to be able to lift a bus? No. But does he have the super strength to make up for that? Yes. If we can take ANYTHING away from this over a decade old fandom, Steve is shaped like a Dorito, broad shoulders and smaller waist and lean, powerful muscle.

Bucky on the other hand, his serum wasn't so well crafted. To catch up with Captain Americas strength, hydra had to rely more on muscle mass and real strength. Bucky is bigger, wider, more raw muscle, obviously still with super strength but just less, not as much to make up for less muscle. Bucky's more rectangular, he's less then half an inch shorter then Steve, if that, but everything else culminates and makes you THINK he would be taller, you know?

I believe in general Bucky's weight fluctuates much more than Steve's ever would, (With Steve's serum being how it was, I doubt MUCH change is happening to his body, point blank period.) maybe Bucky's skinner when he's first starting to heal. He has muscles, there's no changing that any time soon with the serum in him but hes not really eating properly and hes been so sick. He's just paler and feeling weaker overall. And later when he's more healed, less nightmares, less stress, he puts on a bit of weight. With him not being as active as an assassin might be and adopting better eating habits, he gets some tummy on him.

Steve ADORES it, goes crazy for it but he goes crazy for Bucky always so maybe that doesn't say much. He just loves how healthy it makes him look, how it represents his progress in a way.

I think Steve also just naturally forgets he's technically the taller one. They're practically the same height really anyway but Steve carries himself differently around Bucky, not to mention their history. The natural feeling is just that he's smaller and that results in a lot of accidental knocking heads.

Anyway this is my copium for the evening, goodnight😴

[nmakii]

AND BRUSH, AND BRUSH MY HAIR

— chigiri hyoma x long haired!reader

alt title: chigiri would be my bff bf!!! sighs me and my waist length hair against the world

well… obviously he loves your long hair. he thinks it frames your face perfectly >_<

one of the best past times to spend tgt as a couple is being in his lap while he brushes your hair out. if your hair is long because it’s a hassle to always get a haircut, he wont let you braid his hair in return. :x only if you love your hair as much as he does teehee

++ if you guys ever share an apartment and bathroom, the shelf is gonna be full of hair products…

also loves to shampoo your hair if you’re too tired to do it… something super intimate about letting him exfoliate your scalp as his finger thread through the tangles in your hair. it’s a simple luxury that only you and he’d know the pleasure of

he luvs trying out hair hacks with you. “babe..! i just saw this hack that says your hair grows healthier and longer faster if you use rosemary oil and rice water..! …where’s the rosemary?”

he thinks ur long hairs perfect… doesnt want you to ever cut it… and if you do end up cutting it, it’s gonna be like that meme “told my girl not to cut her hair. she did it anyway and she looked fine af. this is why women shouldnt listen to their man”

if you ever have an important event going on, and you need to look glammed up, he’s MORE than happy to wake up at 5 AM or whatever to style your hair. he luvs u ofc <3

“it’s not too tight, is it?” chigiri asks as he ties the braid he tied on the side, holding your hair from getting into your face. “yeah, it’s perfect, hyo. thank you.” you hum.

“right. well, good luck at your party, babe. hopefully there isn’t someone who tries to steal you away from me while im not there.” he huffs. “heeh, good luck at your game too, tonight. and don’t worry, ill tell them im taken by a gorgeous man.” you enunciate your words, buttering him up and making his heart turn into jelly.

chigiri abashedly, yet smugly grins. “tch… gorgeous? more like drop-dead charming…”

you scoff, taking your purse as he walks you to the door. “hmm… hyo, what would you do if i wanted to cut my hair?” you ask. of course it was a hypothetical, but it was something you were seriously starting to concern…

“haah? how come? you’re super pretty with it, i won’t like brushing your hair if it’s short..” he huffs, the frown on his pretty lips making him seem adorable. “i know… i like my hair too, but i feel like it’s getting too long… like, there has to be a limit somewhere, right?”

he shakes his head. “well…if you like it, you shouldn’t cut it. when it comes to you, you could have obnoxiously long hair like rapunzel— like, to the point where it’s in my face when we cuddle, and ill still think you should grow it longer.” he hums, a hand unconsciously finding its way to you. “plus, why cut it when it makes your title as ‘world’s prettiest girl’ so much more obvious to everyone else?”

he’s trying to spoil you with compliments. he knows that getting you weak in the head would let him get his way. of course he definitely doesn’t use this power for evil… this was just a desperate occasion. “i mean… once, i dropped my pen, so i bent down to get it… and my hair was on my arm, and i thought it was a lizard and i jumped..!” you recount a story from two weeks ago.

“…pfft… ahaha..!” he laughs. “that just means you should keep your hair out of your face… see? a simple braid like what i did for you right now would be enough.” he rebuts your reasons for cutting your hair.

“…whatever.” you groan. “im still on the fence about whether i should do it anyway.” chigiri nods. “well then, don’t cut it. it’d be like you’re cutting a part of my soul away.”

you scoff. dramatic, much? chigiri rolls his eyes at your disbelief. “you laugh, but i’m serious..! just let me be a little bit selfish… and, don’t cut your hair…” he pleads.

[m0rkl]

The People We Become || Reverse AU || FiddAuthor

Hurray I have a name for this AU now! Please come yap with me more about this and the messy FiddAuthor relationship I'm about to describe

Fiddleford and Stanford's Relationship

After their initial falling out because of the portal and Bill, Fiddleford had told himself he was going to erase his memory of his entire partnership with Ford and go back to his wife and child. He promised Emma-May this would be the end and, were this the canon timeline, this would be the final use of the memory gun that really fries Fiddleford’s brain making him the ‘Old Man McGucket’ we see in canon.

But when Stanley falls into the portal and it blows up, Fiddleford notices the explosion and rushes to the lab instead. He ends up taking care of an unwell and confused Ford and not going back to Emma-May. He explains to her that Ford doesn’t have anyone else and Emma-May understands that, but she can’t have Tate expecting his dad to come home when Fiddleford simply won’t put them first. They agree to a divorce and that Fiddleford will stay out of their lives for a while, except for birthdays, holidays and the like.

Emma-May and Fidds have a good relationship nowadays, but Ford is very awkward around the family and has no interest in being a father figure to Tate. This is one of many points of conflict in Ford and Fidds relationship.

Early in their relationship, they had a lot of issues due to Ford being insensitive and getting frustrated with Fidds memory issues, but ended up going to couples therapy and having Ford learn how to assist Fidds through his memory lapse episodes and set up the house in a way that would be helpful to him.

They might be married but their relationship is far more complicated than at first glance.

Ford is ace-aro, but loves Fiddleford in his own way. He wants Fidds to be his companion for life, but it's not romantic love.

Fiddleford, however, is romantically in love with Ford and has to navigate the fact that Ford does not and will never want him in certain ways. Is it totally healthy? No! No it is not.

They sleep in separate bedrooms, but Fiddleford will sleep in Ford’s bed on occasion, especially if he’s had a memory lapse that day.

They’re legally married. Ford was the one who brought it up after gay marriage was legalized. He was very excited, but extremely unromantic about it as he thought it would be great for their tax situation and health care. Fiddleford was endeared, but a decade later is still sad they never had a proper wedding. Fiddleford loves referring to Ford as his husband or other pet names, but Ford almost exclusively called him Fidds or Fiddleford.

Fiddleford very much grounds Ford and reminds him how to be a human being rather than a work-machine. He gets him to eat regularly and sleep a semi-decent amount, as well as tries to help regulate him emotionally sometimes, even if he isn't always successful.

Ford challenges Fiddleford's creativity and they still work on inventions together, even after Ford starts turning more to writing. They go on adventures, chasing after the bountiful weirdness of Gravity Falls and save each other from various situations.

Over the years Ford is happy with their situation and Fiddleford is… happy? If a little unsatisfied. He knows Ford won’t love him the way he wants and Fidds desperately tries to convince himself he’s okay with how things are. But he is very much romantically in love with Ford while Ford cares about him and wants his company, but does not feel anything romantic towards him.He understands that Ford feels things differently and its not bad, but its not meeting all of his needs either. They both tell themselves this is fine when it's not really.

Everything comes to a head when eventually, Ford regains his memories and realizes what Fiddleford has been hiding from him all these years. 

They fight because in Fiddleford’s mind, he did this to save Ford from the portal and from himself. He knows Ford would have destroyed himself trying to save Stanley and put not only himself, but the whole world at risk opening it again.

Fiddleford tries to explain his point of view and how much he feels like he’s given and suffered for Ford over the years, but it goes unheard. Ford just is furious that he was lied to and likens Fiddleford to Bill, which isn’t wholly true, but devastates Fiddleford nonetheless.

While Ford settles Stanley into the house, Fiddleford goes to live with Tate, who does live in Gravity Falls.

Their break up causes some tension between Mabel and Dipper because Mabel is siding with Fiddleford and Dipper is siding with Ford. The twin’s aren’t entirely looking at the situation as black and white, but they do pick sides.

Mabel tries really hard to bring them back together through a series of ‘parent trap’-like hijinks, but it doesn’t really turn out like she hopes. However, Stan talks to Ford and they discuss the long years where Ford didn’t have anyone to rely on by Fidds. Stan also talks a little bit of sense into Ford and helps him realize that sometimes Ford lets his anger get the better of him and he doesn’t properly listen to what other people are trying to say.

Ford and Fiddleford finally do talk about their feelings and what went wrong on both ends. They decide that for the moment they still need some time apart for the moment and they’ll see how it goes from there.

[ladymercysletters]

Higher - Prologue #1: an Aemond Targaryen Series

Synopsis: Y/N Targaryen is the daughter of Rhaenerya Targaryen. Her parentage is disputed though unlike her younger brothers hers is not certain. Whilst they all share the same dark curls of Harwin Strong; Y/N shares her mother’s platinum with a dark streak running the underside of it. There are some, like Queen Alicent, who take this as a sign that her true father is obviously also Harwin Strong – Rhaenerya just getting extremely lucky that most of your hair was white. Others, including you mother, point out Laenors mothers, Rhaenys Velaryons, dark Baratheon hair, and that it obviously comes from there. But wherever your true blood lies you’ve always felt more dragon than anything else.

Word Count: 2,298

Rating (per chapter): none

A/N: Prologue is set when Aemond and reader are young. As I can neither remember, nor care to double check, I'm saying they're around 14 ish. If some of the timelines don't quite match up, does it really matter.

You had no idea where your mother was. Somewhere in the castle most likely; and your father? Which one? By right or rule of birth your father Laenor was nowhere to be found. You could hazard a guess that he was with his Lannister knight. They seemed good friends and you often saw them together. By blood or a guess Harwin Strong of the Kings Guard was teaching your brothers to defend themselves from their uncles, Aegon and Aemond in the training yard; and Daemon, you didn’t have the faintest idea. You rarely saw him and hadn’t seen him since his arrival with his family that morning.

Sitting in a stone alcove overlooking the training yard you pondered your newest sibling. Your mother was due to give birth in but a few days if she held on, and you truly hoped this one would be a girl. Not that you didn’t love your brothers, but boys could be so mean. You looked out of the window and saw how Aegon was mean to his brother Aemond, and goaded your own brothers to join in.

It wasn’t long since being here that you barely recognised them as they picked and taunted your youngest uncle like crows. Helaena had so much more of a sweet temper, and she truly felt like a sister to you when she was there, but she was barely ever there; in the room, on the same plain of existence as anyone else.  

Harwin never made his favouritism more obvious than when they were sparing. Even the lightest blow and he was pushing the two Targaryen princes from Jace and Lucerys and berating them. He was even protective of you on occasion but never as much as the boys; just about everything involving you was in half measures compared to your brothers.

You wandered down to the training yard, sick of being by yourself. You almost made it there before Aemond came running down the corridor at you, pushing past just to duck into a room and lock the bolt with a thud. You spun back around to see the main of Aegon’s wavy hair glowing around his head from the light behind him.

“What have you done this time!” you barked, squaring up to your eldest uncle despite your difference in height. Your brothers were behind him, giggling to themselves like a pack of hyenas.

“Just a laugh, niece. Nothing more than a joke. Only some are not yet man enough to take it.” He finished with a shout down the corridor. They all moved past you, bowling down the dimly lit tunnel to the Keep, they obviously didn’t see where he went. As soon as you knew they were out of sight you walked slowly over to the locked door and tapped.

“Aemond. Its me.” You called quietly through the cracks. “They’ve gone. Can you let me in?” You could hear his sniffs get closer as the door unbolted; cracking open just an inch so you could squeeze through. Pulling your gilded blue dress through the small frame you were met with your uncles red nose and pinked cheeks. “Oh Aemond” you began before he cut you off.

“I’m fine. Its fine.” He started, turning to walk back into the room, facing away from you. Even from your short glace you could see both of his eyes were bloodshot. You pulled your small handkerchief from your sleeve and draped it over his shoulder. This caught his attention, and he turned to find you not so subtly looking up at the ceiling and the tall beams that held it up, just so he was sure you couldn’t see his tears fall.

You sat in silence for a while. You often did, both of you finding it comforting just the two of you, not saying anything; but no one needed to. Eventually you both found yourselves sitting intertwined on the small bench at the end of the room. Your legs were placed over his, his head on your shoulder and yours resting over his; both your hands played with the others.

“I heard mother the other day.” Aemond started. “She was begging father not to betroth Helaena to Aegon. He says it is a good match to keep our blood pure.” His voice was small, and you could almost hear a question in it.

“Poor Helaena” was all you could mutter. And poor her you felt. You were both almost of age and you knew your mother and father had already discussed your future, to some extent at least. “Poor Aegon as well”

“Why poor Aegon?”

“Well, I don’t suppose he wants to marry Helaena any more than she would him.” stroking the back of Aemond’s hand. He huffed but accepted your answer. He sat up a bit and you switched with him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Aemond looked down at you. His hand reached around and fondled with your hair, the silver strands rolled back in small braids from your face, he felt around until he found the little patch of dark hair. He liked to play with that bit the most; perhaps it was because that was what they always teased you about, how even if they were bastards at least they knew who their father was, whereas you could be anybody’s! It wasn’t usually your brothers saying that, just Aegon. But he knew how to spin it to make them laugh at you as well.

Aemond sighed to himself as you relaxed against him. You’d been in the glorified cupboard a while now and he was sure they’d forgotten their search for him and moved on, but he didn’t want to move; not when he could hear you talking about something he feels he really should be paying attention to.

“… from the Reach, and the Riverlands, but she says I don’t have to think about my betrothal until I’m at least seven and ten years old. She says grandsire made her tour at fifteen and she hated it!”

“Betrothal?” Aemond blurted, sitting bolt upright and nearly knocking Y/N from her resting place “to whom?” he cried.

“Well, no-one yet. That’s the point.” You looked up at him and smiled. Aemond’s insides clenched when you did.

“Well don’t.” he said, matter-of-factly. To be honest he didn’t know what else to say. He was suddenly hit with the thought that you wouldn’t always be with him, around him, and he couldn’t stand it. Tears welled up suddenly in his eyes and he pulled out your hanky again to stop the tears.

You reached up to pull his hand from his face, tutting lightly as you saw his watery eyes. Taking the hanky from his hands you gripped them as you dabbed at his eyes.

“Okay” you murmured, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. Aemond’s eyes widened at your action, his face flushing. You settled back against him in another comfortable silence, this time with a strange sort of certainty in your future.

**

A week later and you were still in Kings Landing. Not that you minded, but your mother had still not birthed and the maesters were beginning to get worried. Your father/s were more present, you noted, each one also becoming slightly more concerned at the late hour of this pregnancy.

You were sat with Helaena and the Queen, embroidering a handkerchief with a small silver dragon when Aegon came bowling in, followed by Lucerys.

“Mother! Ladies” he bowed comically. The Queen rolled her eyes but said nothing, drawing her attention back to her tapestry. “What do we have here then niece.” He said, lying sloppily next to you, grabbing the soft cotton from your hands.

“Give it back Aegon.” You snapped quietly, reaching out for it.

“Ah ah ah” he tutted. “Don’t snatch niece.” That irked you more. He always called you niece to belittle you, despite you being closer in age than his own half-sister. The Queen looked over the two of you, watching as her eldest son loomed over you teasing. Becoming bored of her tapestry she set it down beside her and left, never one to entertain her children for too long.

Aegon looked over the work in his hand, the corners of his mouth turning down as he was impressed with the small delicate stitches and beading that caught the light. “Why not make it gold niece.” He said finally, throwing the cloth back in you lap as he stood. “to match my glorious Sunfyre.” He smirked down at you before sauntering out again.

“A green bead. A blue bead. A green bead. A blue bead.” You turned to see Helaena muttering softly into her work. She wasn’t beading; you thought. Just sewing golden thread into the wings of her beetles.

**

At dinner that evening your mother was absent again. You almost requested you meal to be brought to your room but the Queen had insisted you eat with your brothers and her children. Silently you all sat, heads staying down after your prayer. Then you heard a noise. A snorting. Grunt.

Aemond stiffened beside you. Your eyes flickered to watch him before darting over the table at your brothers, each of them giggling between themselves. You looked over to Aegon – he was smirking.

“Jacerys” you scolded quietly, glaring daggers at him to get him to stop.

“What. Sister I am not doing anything.” He smirked. The Queen interjected.

“Velaryons. I hear your mother is in her labours.” She breathed. Setting her cutlery down. “That is good news is it not. After so long I’m sure you will all be glad to greet your new sibling.”

“Very much so, your grace.” Your eldest brother said politely, turning to her.

“I’m sure you are all looking forward to going home.” You could tell by the way she sighed as she said it, she was just looking forward to you leaving. Aemond looked over to you as you caught his eye, both of you silently sad that you would be leaving again in the not-too-distant future. “Y/N” she broke once more, grabbing your attention “You will no doubt be keen to return home” she smiled rigidly.

“Why is that?” you asked slowly, stuttering over the words in confusion.

“Well, I’m sure when your mother is well recovered you will need to prepare for your coming out. My husband tells me he has already received ravens enquiring when you are to tour for a husband. I’m sure your mother will want to prepare you herself.” She said curtly.

“Oh. I suppose so.” You said meekly. You knew your mother had received ravens, but to hear your grand-sire had also been in receipt of them made you fear he would use you as a bartering tool.

“I wouldn’t worry niece.” Aegon broke the silence, sensing your nervousness. Everyone looked up to him, surprised at his concern. “If you do manage to receive a decent proposal, the poor sod will have to first work out which father to ask! Ha!” he slapped his knee in jest at his fine joke.

“Aegon!” the Queen snapped. Aemond stood bolt upright next to you, knife gripped in his hand by his side as he stared down at his brother. Aegon laughed

“What are you going to do with that brother?” he questioned laughing. “Carve me up and eat me?”

“Show some respect brother.” Aemond muttered through gritted teeth. His eyes rolling over your brothers sat next to his own; dismayed that neither of them stood to defend you. Aegon scoffed but said nothing; kicking his feet from the ground as he stood, bidding his mother goodnight as he left.

You placed a small hand on Aemond’s wrist that held the knife. He seated himself back down next to you, placing the knife on the table as he whispered a small apology to you.

“There is nothing to be sorry for. Thank you.” You whispered back, hand not leaving his. You suddenly felt the Queens eyes boring into you and moved your hand swiftly from her son.

**

You wept quietly as you packed your trunk. Your mother had birthed your newest brother a week ago. Another brown-haired boy: and now you were set to leave again for Driftmark. You had sent the maids away, content to pack your belongings yourself in silence. Folding up some of your stockings you pushed them down into the corner of the trunk, sniffing deeply.

A low rumbling took your attention from the ground and you looked over your shoulder to the bookshelf in the corner of your room moving across the floor.

“Aemond!” you gasped, seeing your uncle emerge from the secret passageway. You ran across the room to embrace him. Since your departure had been announced you had not seen much of him; his mother keeping him away any time you asked after him – insisting that he was in his studies and must not be disturbed. His arms wrapped around your waist, and he buried his head in your neck, breathing in deeply.

“Y/N. You are leaving today?” he muttered

“Yes. Shortly. I just need to finish packing.” You drew back from him but did not release your arms.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to leave either.” You sniffed. Fresh tears willing in your eyes. “I hate boats.” you laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

“I brought you a book. For the journey.” You took the small book he produced from his back pocket and looked it over. As you turned it a small letter fell from between the pages. Aemond gasped and swiftly scooped it from the floor, pushing it back between the pages. “Don’t look at that until you have left. Promise.” He said blushing.

“promise.” You smiled.