#let me know if I should tag anything else!

[winwintea]

the call

PAIRING ↬ lee donghyuck x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ thriller, cheating!?, romance, angst(?), blood, attempted murder, i really don't know how to tag this, non-linear narrative, maybe horror

SUMMARY ↬ haechan leaves you a cryptic phone call on a night out. something about this doesn’t sit right with you.

WORD COUNT ↬3.3k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ surprise! this isn't the jisung fic but i decided to pull this one out of my sleeve as well. title and fic is inspired by "the call" by backstreet boys! the fic is also not written in linear order.

1 HOUR BEFORE THE INCIDENT:

“Hello?”

“Hi, it's me, what's up, baby? I'm sorry, listen, I'm gonna be late tonight So, don't stay up and wait for me, okay?”

“Where are you?”

“Wait, wait, say that again?”

“Haechan. Hello?”

“You're really dropping out, I think my battery must be low. Listen, if you can hear me, we're going to a place nearby, alright? Gotta go.”

4 HOURS BEFORE THE INCIDENT:

“Don’t pout,” Haechan teases, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. His voice is light, but his teasing smile can’t hide the affection in his eyes.

“I’m not pouting,” you argue, crossing your arms in mock defiance.

“You’re pouting,” he insists, stepping closer until he’s standing right in front of you. He tilts his head, studying your expression, before leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Admit it. You’ll miss me.”

“I won’t,” you shoot back, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“Liar.” He grins, tugging on the strings of your hoodie playfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll behave. Just a couple of drinks with the guys, and I’ll be back before you even have time to miss me for real.”

“Uh-huh. Famous last words.” You roll your eyes, but you don’t stop him as he walks toward the door.

“Text me if you get bored without me,” he calls out, slipping on his sneakers.

“You mean when you get bored and want an excuse to leave early,” you counter, leaning against the doorframe as you watch him put on his jacket.

“Guilty,” he admits with a wink. “Alright, baby, I’m out. Love you.”

“Love you too,” you reply softly, watching as he steps outside.

This is normal. Haechan always goes out with his friends on Saturdays. You glance at your phone, opening the chat with him to send a quick, “Be safe. Don’t let them drag you into anything dumb.” You know he won’t see it right away, but it makes you feel better.

30 MINUTES BEFORE THE INCIDENT:

You’re pacing the living room, your phone clutched tightly in your hand. Haechan’s earlier call echoes in your mind. 

I’m going to a place nearby.

The shrill sound of your ringtone breaks through your thoughts, and you nearly drop the phone in your scramble to answer.

“Sunoo?” you ask, recognizing the name on the screen.

“Y/N, hey,” Sunoo says, his voice laced with hesitation. “Um, I’m sorry if this is weird, but I thought I should tell you something.”

Your stomach twists. “What’s wrong?”

“I just saw Haechan… I think,” he says nervously. “He was walking down the street near the bar, but he wasn’t alone.”

Your breath catches. “Who was he with?”

“A woman,” Sunoo admits reluctantly. “She was… kind of close to him. Like, really close. I thought it was weird because he looked tense—like he was nervous, while also trying to relax. But she was smiling, laughing. I didn’t want to assume anything, but…”

You sit down on the couch, your legs threatening to give out. “Where did you see them?”

“Toward the alley near the old convenience store. They were walking away from the bar,” Sunoo says, his words spilling out quickly. “I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure if I should get involved or assume anything, but I thought you should know.”

Your mind races. That’s not far. But why would he leave the bar with a woman?

“Thanks for telling me,” you manage, your voice trembling.

“Y/N, I don’t think he—” Sunoo starts, but you cut him off.

“It’s okay. I’ll figure it out. Thank you.”

You hang up before he can say anything else, your hands shaking as you dial Haechan’s number.

“Come on, pick up,” you mutter, pacing again. The call goes straight to voicemail. You redial, but it’s the same result. “Haechan, please, just call me back. I don’t care what’s going on—I just need to know you’re okay.”

You end the call and clutch the phone to your chest, trying to steady your breathing.

You didn’t think he was cheating. You didn’t want to think that. But what if he really was with another woman? What if he lied about being late?

“No,” you whisper to yourself. Haechan wasn’t like that. You trusted him. But then why did he sound so strange on the phone? And who was this woman?

Your phone buzzes again, but it’s not Haechan. It’s a message from Sunoo: “Don’t make any assumptions. He looked… scared. Either he’s nervous about getting caught or something else. Be careful. Don’t do anything rash.”

Scared? Your chest tightens as panic fully takes over. Something is horribly wrong.

Without another thought, you grab your coat and keys, determined to find him yourself.

3 HOURS BEFORE THE INCIDENT:

The bar is alive with energy—music thumping, glasses clinking, and conversations overlapping. Haechan sits at a table with his friends, a round of drinks between them. He laughs at something Jaemin says, his head tipping back as he taps the table.

“Another round?” Jaemin asks, holding up his empty glass.

Haechan shakes his head. “I’m good for now. You’re not dragging me into your three-shots-in-five-minutes challenge again.”

“Come on,” Jaemin groans dramatically. “You’re so boring these days, man. What happened to the Haechan who used to party like a legend?”

“He got a girlfriend,” Renjun cuts in, smirking. “And he doesn’t want to die if she finds out he got plastered without telling her.”

The table erupts in laughter, and Haechan just shrugs, grinning. “Hey, priorities. Y/N’s cuter than all of you combined.”

As the guys banter, none of them notice the woman until she’s standing right by their table. Her hair is sleek, her makeup flawless, and her gaze sharp as she focuses entirely on Haechan.

“Hi,” she says, her voice smooth and confident. “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room.”

Haechan blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Oh. Uh, hi.”

She smiles, leaning in slightly. “You looked like you were having fun, but maybe later… I’ve got a little place nearby. Wanna go?”

The air shifts awkwardly at the table. Although her invitation is innocent, her intentions are clear. Haechan’s friends exchange glances, their smirks fading as they realize what’s happening.

Haechan’s smile is polite but firm. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m good. I’ve got someone waiting for me at home.”

Her smile falters for a split second before she recovers, her tone light but insistent. “Are you sure? It’s not far, and I think you’d enjoy it.”

Haechan shakes his head. “Thanks, but no. Have a good night.”

She lingers for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, before she finally steps back. “Your loss,” she murmurs, turning on her heel and walking away.

As she moves to a dark corner of the bar, Haechan exhales, muttering, “Well, that was weird.”

Jaemin snorts. “You should’ve seen your face, man.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Haechan says, waving him off. But something about the encounter reminds him of something. He glances toward the woman, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes meet. 

Oh fuck.

15 MINUTES BEFORE THE INCIDENT:

The air is cold against your skin as you hurriedly zip up your jacket and step out into the night. The street feels far too quiet for a Saturday evening, the streetlights casting long, eerie shadows on the pavement. You clutch your phone in your hand, gripping it like a lifeline as your mind races.

Sunoo’s text flashes in your head: “Don’t make assumptions.”

But when Sunoo had told the others, they weren’t so sure. 

“Y/N, maybe you should stop and think,” your friend Jihoon had said on the phone. He had called you as soon as Sunoo relayed the information to him. “I mean, I don’t want to make you upset, but what if… what if Haechan’s just—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you had snapped, cutting him off. “You think he’s cheating, don’t you?”

There had been a long pause on the other end before Jihoon finally said, “I mean, what else could it be? Sunoo said he was with some girl, right?”

You’d hung up after that, unable to handle the doubt in Jihoon’s voice. But then Giselle called, her tone softer but no less skeptical.

“Y/N, I’m worried about you,” she’d said. “I know you trust Hyuck, but... sometimes people surprise you. Maybe he’s not who you think he is.”

“He’s not cheating,” you’d insisted, though your voice had wavered. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”

“Then where is he?” Minjeong asked, and for a moment, you’d felt your resolve crack.

But now, as you march down the sidewalk, your determination solidifies. You know Haechan. You know how much he loves you. And that phone call—the rushed tone, the way he kept cutting out—wasn’t the voice of someone sneaking around. It was the voice of someone in trouble. At least you thought so.

You stop at the corner of the street, glancing around desperately. There’s no sign of him. You dial his number again, only to be met with voicemail. Your heart pounds harder with each failed attempt to reach him.

Finally, with trembling hands, you call the police.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“My boyfriend is missing,” you say, your voice breaking. “I think—I think something’s wrong. He called me earlier, and he sounded…nervous. And now his phone’s off, and my friend saw him with a strange woman—please, I need help.”

The dispatcher asks you a series of questions: Haechan’s description, the last place he was seen, the time of the call. You answer as best as you can, your voice growing shakier with every detail.

“We’ll send an officer to patrol the area,” the dispatcher says. “Please stay where you are and remain calm.”

But you can’t stay put. You hang up and keep walking, your eyes darting to every shadow, every alley.

“Y/N, stop.”

You turn to see Sunoo jogging up to you, his face etched with worry. Behind him are Jihoon and Giselle, who look less concerned and more resigned.

“We told you not to do anything rash. What are you doing?” Jihoon asks, crossing his arms. “The cops will handle it.”

“I can’t just stand around and wait!” you snap. “Something’s wrong, Jihoon. I can feel it.”

“What if there’s nothing wrong?” Giselle says carefully. “Y/N, what if he just… didn’t want you to know where he was going?”

“Stop,” Sunoo interjects, glaring at her. “I told you he looked nervous and scared. You weren’t there. You didn’t see what I saw.”

“Or maybe you’re overthinking it,” Jihoon mutters.

You shake your head, tears pricking your eyes. “I know Haechan. He wouldn’t do this to me. If he hasn’t come back, it’s because he can’t.”

Your voice cracks, and Sunoo places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We’ll find him,” he says softly. “Let’s just keep looking.”

Jihoon sighs, but he and Giselle reluctantly follow as you start walking again. 

Haechan didn’t betray you. You were going to believe in this. And you’re going to find him, no matter what.

12 HOURS AFTER THE INCIDENT:

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor is the first thing Haechan registers as he slowly comes to. His body feels heavy, his limbs weighted down as though they’re not his own. He tries to move, but the sharp sting radiating from his side stops him.

“Where…” he croaks, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. His throat feels like sandpaper.

“You’re awake.”

The unfamiliar voice makes him flinch. His head turns slowly, and he squints through the bright, sterile light. A nurse stands by his bedside, adjusting the IV bag hanging from a metal pole. She’s wearing a kind smile, but there’s a shadow of concern in her eyes.

“Where am I?” he manages, his voice rasping.

“You’re at St. Mary’s Hospital,” she says gently. “You were brought in last night. Do you remember anything?”

His mind feels like it’s wrapped in fog. He struggles to piece together fragments of memory, but it’s all blurry—flashes of faces, the sound of a scream, and an overwhelming sense of fear. His stomach twists.

“I… I don’t know,” he admits. “What happened?”

The nurse hesitates. “You were found unconscious in the middle of the road. You have some injuries—a fractured rib, a concussion, and some deep bruising. You’re lucky someone called the paramedics when they did.”

Someone. Who? His thoughts race, but they’re disjointed, scattered.

“Was I… alone?” he asks, his voice trembling.

The nurse’s expression flickers with hesitation. “There were others. Two men—they were taken to surgery for more severe injuries—and a woman. She’s stable now but hasn’t regained consciousness yet.”

Haechan’s breath catches. A woman. His mind scrambles for answers. The image of a smile—sharp, too wide—flickers in his memory, and a chill runs down his spine.

“Who… who is she?” he whispers.

“We don’t know yet,” the nurse replies. “The police are looking into it.”

Police.

His heart races, and the beeping of the monitor speeds up with it.

“Easy,” the nurse says quickly, pressing a hand to his shoulder to calm him. “Don’t push yourself too hard. You need to rest.”

Haechan squeezes his eyes shut, trying to slow his breathing. But his mind won’t stop spinning. Through the haze, he catches snippets of conversation from outside the room.

“…police said they found them restrained…”

“…looks like they were attacked…”

“…the woman was armed. Dangerous.”

Haechan’s stomach churns. He wants to ask, to demand answers, but his body betrays him, too weak to do anything but listen.

The nurse finishes adjusting the machines and steps back. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake. If you need anything, press the call button, okay?”

He nods faintly, though he doesn’t feel okay. Not even close.

2 HOURS BEFORE THE INCIDENT:

The bar is alive with laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the faint hum of music from the jukebox in the corner. Haechan leans back in his seat, laughing at a joke Jaemin just cracked. His glass is nearly empty, condensation sliding down the sides as he swirls the last bit of his drink absently.

It’s been a good night. Lighthearted, carefree. Exactly what he needed after a long week.

But then, his phone vibrates on the table, cutting through the noise. Haechan picks it up, glancing at the screen casually. The glow of the display reflects in his eyes, and in an instant, the ease in his expression vanishes.

His smile falters. His face drains of color.

The others don’t notice at first, too caught up in their conversation. But as Haechan’s eyes scan the message, his fingers tighten around the phone, his knuckles turning white. His shoulders stiffen, and his breathing becomes shallow.

“Everything okay?” Jaemin asks, nudging him lightly.

Haechan doesn’t answer right away. His gaze is fixed on the screen, his lips pressed into a thin line. His thumb hovers over the screen as though debating whether to respond, but instead, he locks the phone and places it face down on the table.

“I’ll be right back,” he mutters, his voice low.

Jaemin frowns, his brows knitting together. “You good?”

Haechan forces a nod, though his expression betrays him. “Yeah. Just… need some air. Plus I need to make a quick call.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabs his jacket and stands, weaving through the crowded bar toward the exit. His movements are quick but shaky, his shoulders slightly hunched as if trying to make himself smaller.

As he passes by the bar, he doesn’t notice the woman from earlier sitting at the corner, watching him intently. She swirls her drink lazily, her red-painted nails tapping against the glass in a rhythmic pattern.

Her eyes follow him as he pushes open the door and steps into the cold night air. A smirk spreads across her face, sharp and knowing. She lifts her glass, taking a slow sip, and sets it down with deliberate precision.

Her fingers curl around the edge of the glass, tightening until her knuckles strain. The corners of her mouth twitch as if she’s holding back a laugh.

“Right on time,” she murmurs to herself, her voice drowned out by the noise of the bar.

30 MINUTES AFTER THE INCIDENT:

Flashing red and blue lights cast frantic, distorted shadows across the street, the wail of sirens blending with the hum of voices—police officers, paramedics, and onlookers.

You stand frozen at the edge of it all, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Your chest feels like it’s caving in, your pulse racing so fast it blurs the world around you. It’s too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too real.

“Y/N!”

Sunoo’s voice snaps you out of your stupor. He reaches you in seconds, his hands gripping your shoulders as if to anchor you. “Breathe,” he urges, his voice trembling. “You have to breathe.”

But how can you? How can you breathe when the man you love might be—

You blink hard, tears streaming down your face, and your gaze shifts to the ambulance parked nearby. Paramedics wheel someone out on a stretcher, their face obscured by oxygen masks and bloodied bandages.

Haechan.

Your knees buckle, and Sunoo catches you before you hit the ground. “Stay with me,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “He’s alive, Y/N. He’s alive.”

But alive doesn’t mean okay. Alive doesn’t mean safe.

Jihoon and Giselle appear beside you, their faces pale and grim. Giselle’s hand wraps around yours, squeezing tightly. “We don’t know what happened,” she says, her voice hushed but firm. “But he’s in good hands now. They’ll do everything they can.”

You nod, but it’s hollow. Empty. The truth is, you don’t know if anything will be enough.

None of this adds up. And it’s eating at you.

The stretcher disappears into the ambulance, the doors slamming shut behind it. The sirens start again, louder this time, and you flinch as the vehicle speeds away into the night.

“What if this is it?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Giselle shakes her head. “Don’t think like that.”

But you can’t help it. Your mind spirals, filling in blanks with the worst possible scenarios. Did he crash his car? Was it an attack? Did that woman—

You double over, clutching your stomach as the weight of it all hits you. “I should’ve stopped him,” you sob. “I should’ve done something.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jihoon says firmly, though his own voice shakes. “Whatever happened, it’s not your fault.”

A police officer approaches, his face grim. “Are you Y/N?”

You nod, wiping at your tear-streaked face. “Yes. Is he—what happened? Is he okay?”

The officer hesitates, his eyes flickering to your friends before settling back on you. “We’re still piecing everything together, but… it doesn’t look like an accident.”

Your blood turns cold. “What do you mean?”

“We’ll need your statement,” the officer continues. “But for now, all I can say is… this was deliberate.”

The word hits you like a slap, leaving you breathless.

Deliberate.

“Do you know who might have done this?” the officer asks, pulling out a small notepad.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. Because the truth is, you don’t know. You don’t know who she is. You don’t know why Haechan was with her. And you don’t know why this happened.

As the officer steps away, your gaze shifts to the darkened street where it all began. The ambulance is gone, the chaos fading as the night swallows the scene whole.

And as your friends hold you in comfort, you can only wonder. How did everything go wrong?

part 2 maybe 😛😛 ?????

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

[kkdoesstuff]

*giggles excitedly and kicks my little feet* guess who's about to get into BLOODY, SLUTTY, AND PATHETIC by WhatMurdah?

ME, bitch 🥰🥰🥰

it was published over about 5 months in 2024 (so it's complete obvs, i don't read WIPs sorry not sorry), is 21 chapters, and just over 195K words! so a nice sized fic that i'm about to devour like a starving man, tysm.

i am and have truly been looking forward to this fic ever since someone on reddit said they have never seen draco simp and pine and be stupid for hermione harder than he ever has in this fic. i think they said she slaps him in public and then he is just like, "omg she fucking touched me!!!!!!!! *nuts*" like... LMAO yes bitch. yes pls! and then that possessive draco tag is staring at me like 👀😈 and i'm staring back like 👁👄👁💖

this will be my FIRST EVER marriage law fic and i am so happy that it is this one. i can't wait to see what happenssssss. i have tried to avert my eyes from the hype, summaries, think pieces and such because i'm not trying to set myself up or know too much or be disappointed or go off anyone else's interpretation, i just want to let the fic take me where it's gonna take me!!!! i want to scream, cry, giggle, pine, laugh, throw up, feel the feels, etc. my body is ready!!! *rubs hands together vigorously*

summary:

“In my humble opinion there’s only three things that men should be and that is bloody, slutty, and pathetic.” And, on a good day, Draco Malfoy can be all three. When war heroine Hermione Granger and Azkaban-tattooed war criminal Draco Malfoy are forced to wed as part of Shacklebolt’s controversial Reconciliation Act, they openly fight the match and each other—their public brawls breathlessly reported by the press. Secretly, a deeply traumatized Draco delights in Hermione’s attention and pines for a real marriage with her—even as her forced proximity to the Black family magic irritates the cursed scar Bellatrix left on her arm, reminding her why she can never truly trust or forgive him. Then Hermione discovers that Draco’s blood will soothe the scar . . . and Draco is willing to trade his blood for her body. (With post-war blood purity politics, black market potioneers, Pansy Parkinson’s career advice, the Malfoys blackmailing Hermione’s Wizengamot opposition, BDE Neville Longbottom hunting Death Eaters, a slutty Theo Nott serving as Draco’s right-hand man, and Crookshanks loose in Malfoy Manor.)

tags: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Marriage law, Forced Marriage, Post-War, Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pining/Possessive Draco Malfoy, Morally Grey Hermione Granger; rating: EXPLICIT

very interested by the pairings outside of D/Hr which are Pansy/Neville, and Theo/Everyone lmfao we LOVE a slutty theo, we truly do. i can't wait to see the friendship between him and draco in this one!!! i love their friendship so so so soooo much. (sidenote, i might have to read some theo/harry fics soon enough but that's neither here nor there) ANYWAYS apparently neville has big dick energies in BSP so i'm ready for that. crookshanks is innis bitch where he BELONGS, i love me some crookshanks i truly do.

anything else...? nope i don't think so LET'S MF GOOOO

[doublel27]

I heasitate to do anything that will give this incredibly toxic, bullying tantrum of a post more views, but I also don't think this is okay and people should say so.

It is not an essay, it is a lambasting of someone who disagrees not with just you, but the general discourse that exists around some shows in the BL world because there were over 8 different people's ideas referenced in that post and you focused on you and @lurkingshan. Spending the time to type in 30 tags in the actual post, and another 5 in the comments lambasting someone, offering to pass to anyone screenshots of DMs, utilzing different sizes of script for emphasis that is considered yelling in the written word, and encouraging others to discuss how toxic they are and then demand your boundaries are that they don't respond after flooding someone else's inbox is very rude and inappropriate. I want to applaud @technicallyverycowboy and @lugarn who I have never spoken to before for also calling it out.

I would like to start by saying it's very clear you're incredibly upset and chose to yell at a person who never mentioned you that you perceived as attacking you. Your feelings are okay and should be felt, this response is not. Particularly because there is a whole lot of projection and defensiveness in this post, both in acting like MBDL doesn't understand fandom ettiquite, being disingenous about MBDL's actions and claim to be entirely misread and misunderstood, but let's take a look at what you and lurkingshan actually said in that post, what you misrepresented and misunderstood, and what words were used that might have suggested you were acting as an authority and dismissing other perspectives.

While you value being tagged, when Maybe-Boys-Do-Love says not "everyone enjoys being tagged" could be referring to previous interactions MBDL has had with people who asked him not to (I know i've had that or have been asked to DM) or his own personal feelings of not wanting to be tagged. I don't know, you'd have to ask him rather than assume. You feel a way about what you refer to as vague posting, but not everyone feels the way that you do. Some people prefer to not have an @ shoved at them and prefer to see stuff that could be about them and just say that if someone cared about them enough to say something to their face they would, and move about their day. You are deeply upset by other's possbily vaguely referring to your thoughts on tumblr.com and that's a valid feeling. Bullying a person due to your big feelings however, is not acceptable, and the limited number of reblogs from a specific circle of people, shows exactly how unacceptable the overall community finds this stuff.

You can ask people to @ you in posts that refer to yours and link to them. That's how you feel. On your blog. And you don't have to like how other people act on their blog, but that's also THEIR blog. They can behave how they want, just like you do. Perhaps this whole post is the opposite of what someone would want to have happen to them, in the same way MBDL's was the opposite of what you wanted to have happen.

I want to be very clear that I have seen the post that @maybe-boys-do-love made and your response. Your response is still visible to me on the post and I have reblogged the version of the post on my blog where you responded to MBLD and where MBDL responded to you because I value the fullness of the discourse. I can still see it. Anyone who goes to my blog can still see it. I'm very mystified by the fact that you can't see your response when everyone else can, but I think it should be acknowledged publicly that your point about them deleting your response is a lie you could have fact-checked by asking someone outside of your circle. You have not edited this post to reflect that was a mistake on your part and was the crucx of you deciding to stop engaging in conversation with MBDL in the first place.

However, your quick nature to dismiss criticisms of your posts both above, and in other posts, as "you attacking their faves" or "other fans who only watch shows for shipping" is as dismissive and gaslighting as the work you accuse MBDL of. This Nov. 5 post of yours includes the following quote:

ULTIMATELY, Nihilistic: what we are dealing with regarding your concern, as fans and/or critics of Series Y shows, is a conflict of values, among critical fans like ourselves, other fans who only watch shows for romance and shipping, and the economic bottom lines of the studios/agencies themselves. Some of us just want narratively good scripts, like Bad Buddy or He's Coming To Me. Others are content with having a show end with their fave pairs confirmed together in the end, no matter the process of how they got there.

This dismissal of people who disagree with your definition of good writing and good scripts is the kind of historical conversation and tone from your posts that suggests that you are a critical consumer of content and others who have different opinions are not. Much like you accused MBDL of using "we" to deflect from his own opinion, your use of "us" and "others" repeatedly in that piece gives an us/them perspective. Other is a very othering word, when others is used as a pronoun. Us lets you know you're in the in group, with the taste makers, others lets you know you're not allowed.

From the post that you're concerned was vague-blogged on, which is part of a lager conversation of Spare Me Your Mercy, and Thai writing in general, you said the following:

It seems to me that the fantasies of the fans are worth more, as an investment by GMMTV and other studios in Thailand, than actual artistic material that focuses on queerness at this point. Capitalism and mainstreaming go very well hand-in-hand when there's money to be made, and this, to me, speaks loudly to the excellent points that Shan has made above about really great queer art being anathema to center- and conservative-mainstreams. We're getting less of really great queer art in Thailand, because the dampening of queerness in Thai shows might very well mean more bucks for the studios. Finally, a last point about capitalism that I'd like to make. I've been seeing a rising number of posts and comments taking Tumblr bloggers to task for being critical (like, objectively critical) of bad shows. Many folks don't want to read criticism of their fave shows and stars. I want to note that if one takes this position -- the capitalists have won again. If you're someone who's trying to prevent critical takes from being published, well, you got got by the capitalists -- the studios, the managers who want you to be so in love with your faves that you will ponder asking a writer to censor themselves from making a critical take. You might feel ownership of your blorbo, protective of your favorite star. Those critical takes may feel, to you, like a takedown of your fave.

Again this is highly dismissive and rejects any critism of your takes as people who are just into shipping or faves. Similar to your criticism of the use of the term we in MBDL's post, here you use the term "one" here is short for anyone or everyone. You're claming anyone who disagrees with YOUR version of good writing and good scripts has been "got" by capitalism. (To be fair, I still don't know what your definition of good writing and good scripts are, and I've read all of your posts, as well as Ben's and Shan's and Twig-Tea's. So far I've got a list of common Thai tropes and themes that you don't approve of, and a tonality that is bothersome to you. Which is fair that you don't like it, but you catagorize those as bad and others as good.) Some people enjoyed the shows you didn't, and that's fine. Some of it they thought the scripts were good. Some of it they thought they weren't but enjoyed it anyway. As you stated in the above post this is your opinion and your blog, which is fair. But dismissing people who disagree with you as being got by capitalism and saying things like "ownership of your blorbo" which is to say that that's the only reason someone might like something, or that the only thing that people can like is high art and good scripts is frankly rude. And it's not even like you live up to your own standard. As you stated in the November 5th post:

Now, out of even MORE transparency, I am watching the MESS that is Kidnap right now, and listen, it's NOT GOOD. I'm fucking not even writing about it anymore, I'm just reblogging the sessy gifs. I am watching it to support Ohm Pawat, and am hoping that this partnership with Leng Thanaphon will hopefully lead to better scripts.... somewhere. (Or at least, better scripts for Ohm at a place like One31 or Channel 3. I also hope Ohm keeps up his anti-branded pair stance, but if GMMTV forces him to pair permanently with Leng, it won't be a fucking surprise, and more on that below.)

We're going to ignore that One31 is also owned by the same corporation as GMMTV here for a second, the money flows to the same overlord. We will also ignore that Jes Jespipat has stated that he wanted to leave Channel 3 for BOC, which his managment team, who is also owned by the same corporation as GMMTV and One31, because he felt BOC was full of like-minded people when it came to quality and production. Those are all easily serchable facts as is the fact that One31 and Channel 3 are mass market channels while GMMTV is a teen/ya market channel.

Those facts aside, I think it's really disingenous to suggest that you as a person are capable of distingishing between good writing and bad writing, because you a person with values, and then sometimes watch bad writing for your love of Ohm Pawat, (and who are we kidding, we all tuned in to Kidnap originally because Ohm Pawat had been returned to us). But the idea that you are capable of this thought, and actively choosing, and the way you stated above that anyone who rebutts your takes "got got by the capitalists" (bold is yours, see above and the post) if they tuned into a show for their faves that you didn't like, or thought was bad, that means they weren't doing the same kind of thinking you did around Kidnap. Or that the only way to distinguish what is good and what isn't is your way.

And the worst part of all of this is, lurkingshan and you, misrepresented the article that interviewed the screen writer, Lux and Sammon, and even @benkaben's essay for your own agenda in the post you're referring to. The exact stuff you're accusing MBDL of doing.

Benkaben's initial post that's also linked in lurnkingshan's post, focuses on the fact that there's a comment in the interview that conflates Shipping, Romance, Fanservice with NC scenes and suggests that it makes a work less serious. For those of you who won't link through to the original article, here's benkaben's words:

And hey, you don't need NC scenes for that! No, sexual intimacy is not the only thing that "proves" a romance exist. I mean heck, you could even go all the way around and have all the NC scenes in the world and still present a story where the characters aren't in love with each other, because sex ≠ romance. Absolutely. But also I'm, really tired™, of this idea that any kind of sex portrayed in media is only going to "taint" the final composition. As If sex and love stories were some dirty stain that automatically made the work lesser: Less serious, less formal, less dramatic. I don't agree with the idea that you have to sacrifice intimacy in order to be taken seriously. I don't agree with the idea that sex is by default, just fanservice and therefore it's portrayal subtracts automatically from the story.

The quote that Benkaben is referring to from the original translation is as follows, just in case you're wondering: (I am not fluent in thai and am trusting the translator understood the majority of what was said)

“Sammon's novels are primarily BL and include numerous love scenes. However, we deliberately chose not to present it as a BL story. While the characters are two men in love, we approached it with a dark drama style. The characters are gay, but we don’t offer fan service in every episode or include NC (explicit) scenes. This has been the plan from the beginning. Our decision to omit NC scenes wasn’t influenced by censorship, airtime, or the actors. It’s because the themes we are addressing are heavy and serious. NC scenes would detract from the story’s focus, which is the dark drama and euthanasia. Some fans of the novel might be disappointed, but we believe there’s other enjoyment to be found in the series, even without NC scenes.

The screenwriter states very clearly and explicitly that this was not censorship, airtime or the actors. It was not for the audience or what you can do on Thai television or giving in to the conservatives as lurkingshan argued. Lux said because the themes they were focusing on were heavy and serious, she felt fanserivce and sex detracted from the concept of euthenasia and dark drama.

In fact, I am going to pull out and highlight this line again:

The characters are gay, but we don’t offer fan service in every episode or include NC (explicit) scenes. This has been the plan from the beginning.

In this way, the screenwriter of Spare Me Your Mercy agrees with your main complaint about Thai BL in general that you spent a solid time going in on, that shows are focused on fan service over storytelling. The decision to remove the NC scenes and anything very romatnic, in the directors view, was to comply with your argument of removing fanservice in favor of storytelling.

Additionally, in this post, which prompted lurkingshan's post, you stated:

And — I believe it was also disingenuous to the two previously adapted Sammon stories of Manner of Death and Triage as well, as both of those dramas were able to hold both mystery and romantic storylines to excellent ends, with wonderful touches of intimacy along the way (MaxTul couch scene, my beloved).

Meanwhile, in the translated interview, that @slayerkitty posted Lux did discuss Sammon's thoughts:

When we spoke with the original author, she was also very supportive of this shift because she also wants to highlight the theme of euthanasia. While she herself is a Sao Y and a writer of BL novels, she understands the adaptation’s focus.

And I was honestly very confused by your post this week adding fan service is the downfall and the cause of censorship (which the director of Spare Me Your Mercy said it was not as stated above), because the director of Spare Me Your Mercy ultimately agreed that shows deserve to have a good script and not be beholden to fanservice. You disagree that his script is good. But that's his argument here.

I was even deeper horrified by this line in lurkingshan's post, which ties back to a previous post of yours:

I appreciated her clarity that despite the show receiving strong ratings and finding popularity with the mainstream domestic audience, that doesn't actually make it a success as a piece of narrative storytelling. And if anything, its popularity underlines why it was a failure as a queer narrative, in particular.

The overwhelming Western paternalism here that suggests that if something is popular in conservative countries and not in the greater queer world means it's a failure as a queer story...That's the statement there: It's popularity underlines why it was a faiulre as a queer narrative.

I think a lot about Casey McQuiston's work, a queer author in America who was raised in some of the most conservative parts of this country. Their work, specifically I Kissed Shara Wheeler is a love letter to queer folx who grew up in conservative communties who LOVE the communties they were raised in, even if that community couldn't fully love them back. I think a lot about all of the boy loves that were turned into bromances in Korea to make the bottom line so that something like Love in the Big City could get made. I think a lot about the amount of money and capital and power it takes to get a story made that a country doesn't want to get told: Saint mortgaged his house to open an entirely QL production house and make the first major GL in Thailand because no one would finance it, The author and director of Meet Me at the Blossom also put her house, and frankly her freedom, on the line to make that show. Because while we'd like to separate the art from capitalist structures, as long as we are living in a captialist world, we are going to have to find ways to both work within the system and resist it. There's a lot of jokes made about how to keep the serious tone of The Eclipse in it's serious true art vibe of telling a very serious story about the deadly nature of the closet and internalized homophobia, that Vice Versa had to have Lay's rain from the sky, because someone had to bring in the money to the company from advertisments to have The Eclipse have the cleaner vibe.

To quote the post by lurkingshan again:

High quality, well-executed, honest and authentic queer art is more likely to be protested than celebrated in places where real queer people are not safe to live free lives.

What makes queer art high-quality, well-executed, honest and authentic? What makes a place safe to live free lives?

In the US? Pose was a beautiful love letter to the Black and latinx trans community, looking at the history of Ballroom in the US in the 1980s. It was succesful in this country, as much of Ryan Murphy's work is. However, it is not safe for the Black and latinx trans communtiy to live in the United States of America. We've got the anti-trans legislation tracker and the HRC had identified 36 murders of Trans and Non-Binary people as of November 30th 2024, disproportionately Black trans women. They acknowldge this is an incomplete account due to: many deaths often go unreported or misreported, or misgendering of victims leads to delays in their identification. This does not even get into the systematic ways in which the queer community as a whole, but the Black queer community in general, is prevented from accessing key resources like housing and jobs with a livable wage.

The US is not a safe country for queer people to live free lives, not as a whole. I live in a Blue state, and am queer and a married to my queer partner. We are not fully out. We are not fully realized as queer humans. Very few queer people in this world live fully out, fully realized lives, due to colonialism and Imperialism. And that's what your argument largely fails to do, is account for the overlay of Western ideals onto non-Western media.

You state loudly that you want good Asian art, like Asian art should be a monolith. It is not for people who are not Thai to decide what good Thai art is, which is why you and lurkingshan do with quotes like this:

I appreciated her clarity that despite the show receiving strong ratings and finding popularity with the mainstream domestic audience, that doesn't actually make it a success as a piece of narrative storytelling. And if anything, its popularity underlines why it was a failure as a queer narrative, in particular.

This is, in my opinion, but you'd have to ask MBDL because he's not allowed to reply to this without violating your wishes, what he was responding to by the following:

"I just wanted to create a post that made people whose queer tastes diverge from others feel welcome to their own preferences and appreciate that there’s not a single stance in the queer BL fandom about what qualifies as good and/or queer work."

People like MBDL and @le-trash-prince, who are also queer, enjoyed the allegorical queer storytelling of Spare Me Your Mercy. The three gay men who you referenced above did not. That's...fine. that's the whole point of MBDL's message, queer people are not a monolith that all agree.

The people of Thailand, overall, enjoyed Spare Me Your Mercy. There is no way to poll what straight or queer Thai people specifically thought, but it's a key piece of the puzzle that Thai people enjoyed this show. Because that's the base audience. That's who they made it for.

But when you say, and I quote this post again: We're getting less of really great queer art in Thailand, because the dampening of queerness in Thai shows might very well mean more bucks for the studios.

You have decided that Thai shows are not great queer art any longer, and that they are dampening queerness off of the critisms of We Are and Perfect 10 Liners, that have been prevalent from your circle. I'll link this one @twig-tea wrote and another one @bengiyo wrote specifically, which comment on shows created by a queer Thai man, and the writing decisions for Spare Me Your Mercy, which were made using an argument you yourself use to suggest that shows shouldn't engage with imagined couples and fan-service. And while these are your opinions, you also, as I have quoted above, stated that:

Finally, a last point about capitalism that I'd like to make. I've been seeing a rising number of posts and comments taking Tumblr bloggers to task for being critical (like, objectively critical) of bad shows. Many folks don't want to read criticism of their fave shows and stars. I want to note that if one takes this position -- the capitalists have won again. If you're someone who's trying to prevent critical takes from being published, well, you got got by the capitalists -- the studios, the managers who want you to be so in love with your faves that you will ponder asking a writer to censor themselves from making a critical take.

I want to be clear, that MBDL writing a statement about how there are many ways to depict and appreciate queer stories is not saying you can't be critical. It's saying that there are alternative views. People saying if you hate GMMTV, maybe don't watch, are saying you seem to be miserable watching this, you can stop any time.

The thing people are rejecting in your critiques are not that you did not like something, that's fine. It is the sweeping statements that there is a right and a good way to make queer art, and everything else shouldn't be engaged with because it's ruining the genre or selling out to capitalist interests (as stated in the above linked Spare Me Your Mercy post by lurkingshan and yourself, and We Are posts twig-tea and bengiyo). Your words across all of these posts, and this one directed at MBDL are about policing other peoples actions and putting your values onto them. That is the core of toxic fandom. Expecting everyone to engage with it exactly the way you want to.

I'm of the opinion that what's good for queer Thai television is not for foriegn audiences to decide, ultimately. That's for queer Thai people to decide. And some of them may not want to make the greatest queer Thai television, some people may want to make fun queer Thai television, or silly queer Television. And that's also a wonderful thing.

Which is at the core of the argument that Dr. Thomas Baudinette started. Dr. Thomas Baudinette stated the following:

He does not state fully what those anti-social practices are. Are some of them likely toxic shipping, yes. But there's also toxic solo stans. (I do take Dr. Thomas Baudinette with a grain of salt because I also know he's a white academic speaking about a community he's not actually fully part of, and I would like to learn more about what Thai and Japanese and Korean fans think.) But his wording suggests that Thai fans are being influenced by fans of other markets: in your post you discuss the TayGun kiss of it all and there's this quote:

In this case, I would like to note that while we see GMMTV reducing blatant queer perspectives and frameworks from their shows, and promoting friend-ships or bro-ships, in the case of High School Frenemy and the SkyNani branded pair, we see GMMTV's (and Thai BL's) rise continue to grow in certain Asian countries (like China, Malaysia, and Indonesia, among others) that do not allow for public displays of queerness, among other restrictions. GMMTV does not hold branded pair fan meetings in these countries, and yet, these countries are some of the channel's biggest markets for its queer shows and pairs. As well, these countries (I am part-Malaysian myself) do not have public programs of sex education. Thus, if I am to assume that the majority fan bases of these shows are young folks in countries that do not offer robust sex education, then these young folks (of any gender) might not be inclined to join in and participate in conversations about queer equality. We, thus, get the outcry that occurred after Tay and Gun smooched. God forbid fantasies were to have been destroyed because two real-life people kissed. Two men, kissing, outside of the context of their branded pairs and outside the context of a drama. Some people have never been to the club before.

To the first part, GMMTV is not reducing their blatant queer perspectives in their shows. That is factually untrue. They've added more QLs (which at GMMTV are always romances) and queer strands in their non-BLs. In fact, the number of queer shows in 2019 was 3 (2 QL and 3 Will Be Free). The number of shows with QL in 2024 was 12 plus queer themes in an aditional 3 shows. That is an increase of 5 times more queer content in 2024 than in 2019. (source: MyDramaList - filtered for GMM25 and then removing anything not produced through GMMTV). This does not touch on how many of the writers and directors for GMMTV are queer people under the age of 40 sharing their perspectives. Now you don't have to like those queer perspectives but they're not getting less queer. In fact, for the 2025 wave, which did not show a reduction in queer perspectives, but in fact showed a proposed total of 15 BLs, 2 GLs, 1 het (oh Nanon's never coming back), 1 mixed stories with some VERY explicitly queer sections, 1 SkyNani bromance, with 4 BL still outstanding, 1 GL set to air in two weeks, and 6 outstanding non-BLs from the 2024 Up and Above announcements. Second, You conflate the lack of acess to public programs of sexual education to a lack of inclination to join and participate in discussions around queer equity. You then use the word Thus to show causation from lack of access to public programs of sex education and repression of queer people to people having meltdowns over TayGun kissing. Lack of education is not why fans don't have boundaries and can't accept their fantasy bubble being broken. I promise you, Taylor Swift fans yelling at her ex boyfriends over her songs are not doing so because of lack of education about sexual ethics. It's about ownership, which is the heart of the anti-capitalist message you espouse. We allow fans worldwide, not just in specific Asian countries to behave badly becaues they've bought a product of a brand.

The concept of toxic fans is not new nor singular to Thai BL media. @chaos0pikachu has one of my favorite rundowns ever on how the tin hats existed in bandom (and GLEE) before Thai BL was ever a thing. I didn't survive Glee and the loss of Chris Colfer as an actor for us to pretend that the people who do this kind of toxic shit for us to pretend that CPs are the cause. I certainly didn't watch Once Upon A Time fans tweet @ Colin O'Donoghue they hoped his pregnant wife would just die so he could be free to be with Jennifer Morrison for us to pretend this is a BL problem. I definitely didn't watch people harrass Rafael Silva and Ronen Rubenstein out of posting their friendship as a gay and a bi man acting together because the assumption was they were having an affiar behind Ronen's partner's back for us to pretend this was a Thai BL problem due to CPs. I did not watch a bunch of people use interviews promoting the show and the fact that they kiss well to say that Jacob Anderson and Sam Reid are having an affair for us to pretend CPs make this problem.

This problem exists with or without branded pairings, but is entirely tied to idol culture and the objectification of celebrity brand and the intrenchment in being a "Stan" and we've completely lost the plot, Eminem. I still think about regularly Katy Perry asking Stevie Nicks who her rivals were, and Stevie Nicks saying she didn't have rivals but contemporaries. Modern fan culture, globally, in the social media era is set up for rivals: the Swifties, the Bey-Hive, the Katy-Cats, the Barbs, Army etc. Fan culture is like this, and without fans participating in the isolation and ignoring of these people they will continue to harrass and attack people, because as Wicked reminds us, the best way to unite people is to give them a common enemy.

I don't know if you watched the disaster that was Korean netizens sending funeral wreaths to be set up in front of SM building for the member of RII7E who tried to return after fans stalked him to catch him engaging in inappropriate behavior and dug up a middle school girlfriend, which was allowed by the company. I do believe some of this is what he's referring to by anti-social behavior. One of the most horrifying acts of behavior against a GMMTV artist was someone getting into Fluke Nattanon's car and refusing to get out. Like...that's the scariest shit. That shit should be handled. That had nothing to do with shipping culture, and everything to do with a company not enforcing boundaries.

Any time and I mean any time, a person feels that they have the right to objectify a person and control them, that is both NEVER okay and is also NEVER the fault of the person who is being treated that way. No amount of branded pairing is responsible for toxic fans who don't have boundaries. Should the companies do something about them, yes, and that's what Dr. Baudinette is referring to.

To quote @wen-kexing-apologist's essay on objectification of Asian men which you linked in the post on Spare Me Your Mercy:

We all need to, but white Westerners especially, be extremely careful and introspective with the ways we are engaging with queer Asian media

And I take this very seriously. I think it applies not just to the objectification and commodification of the actors, as wen-kexing-apologist wrote about, but also applies to the infantilization and removal of agency of the writers, directors, actors and audiences in Asian countries who are engaging in the process of making and enjoying queer Asian art, suggesting they are not active participants in the process. It is not for interfans to talk over Thai writers, directors, actors and fans of what is and is not true for them and their country's work around queer Thai art.

The long and the short of it, is if you're going to post opinions as facts and undercut anyone who disagrees with you: on what is and what isn't good Asian media, what is and isn't good Thai media, what is and is not queer media, and how people should measure it, and other queer people say out loud: we don't have to all measure queer media the same way and we can have different opinions, and this is your response...I honestly wish you peace.

Clearing The Air On This Wack-Ass Event Of Toxic Fandom That My Brown Ass Was Recently Dragged Into

(*References and endnotes are posted in the comments.)

This past weekend, I was unwittingly brought into an event of toxic fandom instigated by @maybe-boys-do-love. The following is an account of that event, and a rebuttal to misrepresentations that he made in his posts.

1) Chronology of Events and Clarification of Communication, Connections, and Blocks

Late last week, @lurkingshan posted a thought piece about separating art and commerce in discussions of queer shows, and talked, in part, about Spare Me Your Mercy and the show's ratings popularity in Thailand as compared to its narrative shortcomings. The piece also talks about the artistic success, versus the public outcry, of the South Korean queer show, Love In The Big City. I, and a few others, reblogged the post with thought pieces of our own. (If you are interested in following along, reading the second link is a necessity.)

Tumblr user @maybe-boys-do-love subsequently posted, separately on his blog, a reaction post to Shan's post and my reblog of her post (1). His reaction contained misreads and dangerous misrepresentations of Shan's and my writing.

Shan and @maybe-boys-do-love had previously mutually blocked each other (2). Therefore, @maybe-boys-do-love went around the block to react to Shan's post.

He did not make clear to his audience that he was reacting to Shan's post. He wrote his reaction post without citing or linking to Shan's post, and did not tag me as well, thus removing both myself and Shan from a discourse that we had instigated, and prevented his audience from knowing or understanding his reference point for his reaction.

Mutuals reached out to me with @maybe-boys-do-love's piece, having previously read Shan's and my posts.

I DMed @maybe-boys-do-love to note to him that I had seen his post, and that I preferred to be tagged directly in discourse. I wrote that I would write today's post as a means of correcting the incorrect assumptions he made about my opinions. I also checked with @lurkingshan to make her aware of the post and ask if she wanted to be included in a response. Shan stated that she had already blocked @maybe-boys-do-love for previous instances where he indirectly vague-posted about her and misrepresented her writing, and that she had no interest in responding, but was fine with me doing so.

I then publicly reblogged @maybe-boys-do-love's reaction post with a clarifying note, sharing the link to Shan's original post and my reblog of our original SMYM discourse. I noted publicly that his reaction post contained misreads and inaccuracies that I will be clarifying today.

@maybe-boys-do-love deleted my reblog. I do not see my original reblog of his reaction post in his reblog notes. Mutuals confirmed, from their blogs, that they also cannot see my original reblog of his reaction post.

I requested to him by DM that he reinstate my reblog. He did not. He reblogged my reblog from my own blog (sorry, y'all) with a response to me and a general defense of his original reaction post.

He denied in DMs that he had deleted my reblog. I stated that I didn't believe him, and requested for our DM conversation to end (3).

2) Toxic Fandom and Expectations of Personal Accountability in Public Forums

Before I get into the nitty-gritty of responding to @maybe-boys-do-love's reaction post, I want to take a quick second to talk about toxic fandom and accountability, because it's been a topic bubbling up particularly in the world of the fandom of Asian, and specifically Thai, QLs. My public and private conversations with @maybe-boys-do-love about this reaction incident, prior to this post's publication, have been filled with a kind of noxious disingenuousness and deceit that has given me the damn creeps.

I've had tussles with other bloggers before about our disagreements of the art and economics of Asian QLs. The discourse has been almost always so much fun, often argumentative, sometimes gritty, sometimes passive aggressive, and sometimes parasocial involving the celebrities and creators of these shows.

I have always kept discourse respectful, and I pride myself with integrity on responding to any point that has been shot my way. I have been blocked for my takes, and I have encouraged others to block me if my takes are not to their liking, and they attack me for them. I encourage folks who don't like my takes to curate their Tumblr experiences, and take agency for what they agree with and want to read.

If I rant about someone's potential faves -- someone's fave shows or couples -- I put trigger warnings on those posts (here and here are two examples, and the most immediate link above also has a TW), knowing there's a lot of sensitivity out there over content. I trust the judgement of readers to read those trigger warnings and to skedaddle.

In other words, I take full responsibility and accountability for my writing, and I expect my readers to engage with me in good faith in return. I'm proud of the critical posts I've made over the last two and a half years here on Tumblr, especially my exploration of the history of the Thai BL genre through my Old GMMTV Challenge project.

I posted recently that the Asian QL scholar, Dr. Thomas Baudinette, believes that the number one threat to the growth of the Thai BL industry is toxic fandom and the prioritization of problematic markets.

It's funny that I posted that a few days before this incident happened. The specific elements of toxic behavior as demonstrated by @maybe-boys-do-love, as stated above, are that he

a) subverted blocks to read and respond to Shan's post without citing her, b) he did not clarify for his audience what he was reacting to, thus rendering untruthful his real intentions in writing his post, and c) his actual reaction post contained misreads and misinterpretations of Shan's and my analysis.

I'd like to name some elements of toxic behavior and fandom that occurred in the public communication I had with @maybe-boys-do-love to highlight them in order to emphasize the disrespectful nature of this incident.

In his reblog of my clarification post to his original reaction post, @maybe-boys-do-love writes,

"I also want to respect that not everyone wants to get involved in a back-and-forth on here."

Because of previous DMs, reblogs, tags, and comments on and of my work that @maybe-boys-do-love has made, I know that he is very familiar with my blog and my writing. We have previously communicated publicly and privately. I do not know why he would make an assumption that I would not have wanted to be tagged in his original reaction post, reacting inaccurately to points I made in my Spare Me Your Mercy post, considering that he and I have a public history of prior engagement. 

This assumption (remember the adage about assuming…) makes so little sense to me that I can only conclude he is coming from a stance of a disingenuous and untruthful defense.

More concerning, @maybe-boys-do-love follows with:

"I just wanted to create a post that made people whose queer tastes diverge from others feel welcome to their own preferences and appreciate that there’s not a single stance in the queer BL fandom about what qualifies as good and/or queer work."

Again, as @maybe-boys-do-love is familiar with my blog, I do not know why he would assume that my work is insular so as to not welcome different perspectives and discourse on my opinions -- as he and I had actually engaged, in the past, on our opinions of other content, and that there is overwhelming proof on my blog that I love engaging in discourse with others.

The statement that "there's not a single stance in the queer BL fandom" about my work is disingenuous, disrespectful, and toxic.

If it's not clear in the most obvious way -- and it may not be clear to some -- I am a personal blogger, posting my opinions and analysis, on a personal blog. My blog isn't Encyclopedia fucking Brittanica.

@maybe-boys-do-love indicates in his reblog that his mutuals helped him get around his and Shan's blocks. 

He also identifies as a "flaming gay guy" to characterize his position for his love of Spare Me Your Mercy, leading him to go around the blocks to comment on Shan's original post.

"Friends of mine shared the post with me knowing the love I, as a flaming gay guy, had for Spare Me Your Mercy."

I want to note that in the context of this characterization, I myself reached out to three gay male friends (one Asian friend, and two white friends married to each other). (There's nothing that IRL people love more than an Internet beef.) These three individuals range on the flaming spectrum, and assured me that @maybe-boys-do-love's position does not count as spoken monolithically for the gay male community (4).

Which leads me to my last point (for now) about toxic fandom. As iterated above: these Tumblr blogs we write on are personal blogs, homes to personal opinions, created by individuals.

The danger of trying to leverage group-think or group-speak to validate toxic opinions and toxic engagement with others is high within fandom discourse. I see it all the time on X in BL shipper circles. Maybe @maybe-boys-do-love's friends were too cowardly to write reaction posts of their own, and asked their friend to write one on their behalf. If that's the case, @maybe-boys-do-love can show us the receipts. But I'm guessing that didn't happen.

Within group and family therapy arenas, and human relations and business environments, counseling often focuses on "I-speak" -- the practice of using the "I" pronoun to claim accountability for facts, opinions, recounting of details, and so on. Using the "we" pronoun to justify a position -- without identifying who your "we" is -- weakens a stance, and at the same time, creates panic and fear within a group or community. It's a tactic often used in gaslighting or supremacist situations to generate collective fear over incorrect facts and threats.

This tactic is useless in a scenario like this, when there is ample published proof that @maybe-boys-do-love published a misrepresentative reaction post that did not link to the original source, deceiving his audience; he subsequently tried to monolithically speak for others, and to leverage and claim community to justify his doing so. It's wrong, it's disingenuous, and it's toxic.

I wouldn't want this guy speaking for me, and I hope readers of this post wouldn't want him to, either.

3) Responding to Misrepresented Points in MBDL's Reaction Post

Note: Much of @maybe-boys-do-love's reaction post reacted to points that @lurkingshan made about Spare Me Your Mercy and the Asian QL genre. I have consulted with Shan on my responses and she has approved them.

My entire rebuttal is long. An abridged version is below, and the entire rebuttal is linked here at this private link.

I want to start my response to misrepresented points in @maybe-boys-do-love's reaction post by highlighting the most noxious misread he made. He writes,

"and just a friendly reminder that a simple BL romcom is equally as queer of a story as a story about HIV."

Much of @maybe-boys-do-love's reaction post seemed magically conjured out of his ass to assume or imply that certain points were made by @lurkingshan when they were most certainly not.

NOT ONCE IN @lurkingshan's POST WAS LOVE IN THE BIG CITY DESCRIBED AS A "STORY ABOUT HIV." IN FACT, HIV WAS NEVER MENTIONED AT ALL, BY ANYONE, IN THE ORIGINAL POST, OR ANY OF THE REBLOGS AND ADDITIONS.

That was a heinous and noxious misread and reduction of @lurkingshan's post, wholly inaccurate and misrepresentative of the tone and content of Shan's original writing, and more revealing about him and his perspectives about the shows, than anyone he was pretending to fight.

And nowhere in @lurkingshan's original post did she claim that a BL romcom was not as "equally as queer" as any other story.

I want to respond specifically to an analysis of capitalism and markets that I made in my reblog of Shan's post, that @maybe-boys-do-love then reacted to.

"just a reminder, if we wanna talk about capitalism, that the whole idea of a work being better or worse, queerer or less queer, more valuable or less valuable based on it’s reception in numbers (either higher or lower) is not something Marx and Engels would be into, since they ascribed to exchange value over use value. The labor put into the work is where it’s at—and all of these shows had plentiful hours of (queer) labor put into them! But not everyone who talks about the wrongs of capitalism on here is actually interested in the finer details of how capitalism operates, the full political and economic realities of the companies making these shows, nor the individuals who are forced to fight for change within capitalism’s global structure."

This was such a convoluted, random, and inaccurate reaction to my post that I had to send it to a family member who is an actual professional economist (again, remember, IRL people love internet beefs) (5). He assured me that Karl Marx and Fredreich Engels would NOT have wanted to get tangled up in this beef.

But, anyway. I'm not a communist, and when I speak about capitalism and the markets to which Asian QL content is marketed to, I'm not analyzing the quantity of labor put into these shows that needs to be exchanged on the various Asian markets in order for the shows to be made. That's a very specific sightline into production budgets that maybe tingles @maybe-boys-do-love's brain. I think he was just trying to sound smart.

I want to be clear that he reacted to nothing I wrote in my post. This was a made-up stream of something that only established how he watches and judges shows.

But because I used the word "capitalism" in my post to talk about how GMMTV and other studios are addressing queerness and queer perspectives in their shows, @maybe-boys-do-love found reason to take issue with my writing, and to assume an air of intellectualism to establish a false sense of superiority -- by posting drivel.

All responses can be found at this link.

4) Conclusion and a Public Request to Respect Boundaries

As I wrote above: I wrote this post to make a public record of rebuttal against misinterpretations made about my writing by @maybe-boys-do-love.

I will publicly request that @maybe-boys-do-love do not contact me again. Do not reblog, tag, or comment on my posts.

If I have to block @maybe-boys-do-love, I will. However, I want the ability to read any further reaction he might have to this rebuttal, especially if he continues to besmirch my writing inaccurately and disingenuously.

As he demonstrated that he could not respect Shan's boundaries prior to this incident, I will say publicly now:

RESPECT MY BOUNDARIES.

And I want to thank the many mutuals who reached out to me during this incident to offer your support, and to notify me that this public incident of misrepresentation was taking place.

[tranceinnumerabletabs]

When Johnny Comes Back pt12

Howdy hey everyone! I'm back at it agaaainn. Also, MADE IT TO 1,000 LIKES!!! WOOOOHOOOO! Thank you all SO MUCH! I never thought I'd end up like this so fast! I'm truly at a loss for how long I should make these.

tags: @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl, and @beelzebee

part1, part11

-------------------------------------------------

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You gasp on the couch as Soap is texting someone important nearby, it seemed slow, as if they haven't responded yet.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You look at each other

“I…..I think that’s him”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The knocking was loud, incessant and insistent . A little louder and it would be followed by ‘FBI FBI OPEN UP!’

“Don’t worry bout’ nothin’ hen. I got you. Always will”

His tone showed no hint of his usual teasing playfulness, but this time, you felt safer because of it.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Aye! Aye! I’m coming!” He calls out and gets up. You get up to come with him. “Stay back hen. I got this”

“No. It’s me they’re looking for.”

“I’ll take care o’ it okay?” He insists He opens the door while you listen nearby. “How can I help you gentlemen”

Lo and behold there’s two men in professional clothing standing there. The one with the mustache looks at him like he expected him to be here and the taller one looked almost surprised to see him. Mustache man clears his throat “hello sir. I’m with the government. We wish to ask some questions about recent activities in the area. No need to be alarmed. We just wish to speak with the residents. This is just a courtesy visit. May I come in?” He says in the police version of a costumer service voice except that in this profession they can actually punch you instead of fantasizing about it.

“It’s just routine” the taller one grunts Soap laughed humorlessly “courtesy visit now eh? Would ye like some tea and biscuits then?” He jabs, clearly unafraid nor the least bit intimidated. He shook his head “show me your ID and I’ll consider it” They exchange glances, their faux friendly mask slipping away. “Agent Ross and Agent Milton” they show their IDs. Soap takes mental notes of them.

“Right….I’m not in the habit of letting strangers in the house”

“It’s just a minor follow up about inquiries made online” Soap knows what they’re talking about

“Hmm….let me ask you a question” he leans against the doorframe “didja know I’d be here?”

Ross seems calm “heard you were back” Soap huffs a humorless laugh “heard? From what? A little birdie? C’mon now. Cannae fool me.”

A silence befalls them before Soap straightens up a bit “listen…I ken what yer comin for. And I’m tellin ye now: clear her name. She’s innocent. I’ll tell her tae stop and send any suspicious activity tae my team. I’ll take it from here folks.” He says professionally

Milton, the more….insistent one clears his throat “sir…are you aware of her…ability to evade our intervention?”

Soap thinks for a while “explain”

“She’s been…..avoiding us” Ross starts

“Aye. I would too” he jabs “poor lass is scared out of her mind” Ross scoffs

“She seems to be very good at changes routes….changing grocery stores...sleeping in hotels..” Ross continues

Ah shit right……

“Ah…lass learned it from me. Nothin’ toad worry about”

They seem unconvinced

Now Milton starts talking “I managed to talk to her in a bar.”

Oh that’s why he was there….You thought he was hitting on you…you’re listening close by.

Soap directs his attention to Milton “Asked if her boyfriend told her anything about his job. She said yes”

“What did she say?”

“you blew people up”

“Aye. That’s part of the job”

“Did you tell her anything else?”

“I’m not an amateur”

They exchange looks, deciding their Ned course of actions “look…” Ross starts “it’ll just be a few questions”

He sighs “aye, aye. I ken my rights gentlemen” he thinks for a moment “I’ll have a word wit her.”

“That’ll be gre-“

SLAM

Soap closed the door with more force than necessary but not too much to be considered hostile, just enough to be rude.

“Bonny?”

You peak out the corner, nervous. Soap seems to soften at the sight. He walks up to you and wraps an arm around your waist

“lassie…would ye be fine wi-“

“I know Johnny. They want to come inside”

“Ye don’t have tae let them in” he reassures

“No….its fine…” you mumble

“Are you sure lass?”

You nod “as long as you’re there…..and I have a feeling it’s even more suspicious if I don’t face them.”

“You’ll be alright love. Trust me” you rest your head on him, liking this side of him. He rubs your head and you back off.

“I’ll be on the couch”

He opens the door he oh so rudely closed, sighs and steps aside “come in lads.”

I should probably mention that he’s still shirtless…..yeah he’s been that way since he woke up. And he has no problem with this. He doesn’t respect these guys. Plus it’s intimidating and hot.

You’re on the couch as they walk in and they can’t help but notice how domestic the scene looks. Soap shirtless, you wearing someone that clearly belongs to him while holding his son in your arms as he purrs. You keep your eyes on said son and Soap takes his seat next to you like a good boy. The men sit down on the other couch. Milton takes a professional tone “thank you for agreeing to speak with us. We’re just here to have a chat”

You kept your head down on Simon, who was now death staring them.

Ross clears his throat “just a few questions ma’am and we’ll be out of your way”

“Okay…” you mumble lowly

“They’re just here to intimidate you hen. They won’t do a damn thing” Soap whispers into your ear.

“We’d like to ask about your online behavior recently” Milton says “you’ve been snooping around official government business”

You’re silent

“How much do you know?” Ross asks

“Not much” you mumble, scratching Simon’s chin

“Hmm. Did you….share anything you found with others”

You did

You look towards Soap for answers. He nods as if to say ‘tell the truth’

“I have” you brave a look towards that men

“To who?”

“My friend”

“Who is she”

You go silent

“We won’t bother them” Milton ‘assures’

“I don’t want any trouble her way.”

“There won’t be. What did you tell her”

“Just…..some nonsense from conspiracy blogs”

“Did you send her anything”

“No”

“Good. We’d just like to confirm with her then”

You shuffle closer to Soap

“She means no harm. She was just worried about me” he gently guided your face to his chest “lads, if there’s anything alarmin’, I’ll send it to Captain Price.” He says as if it’s a huge name drop. It seems to have the desired effect but they’re not done yet. “Jus’ a curious civilian gentlemen. You can stop watching her, I’ll do it” Soap assures

“Do you understand that your activity may be suspicious?” Ross asks you

“Yes sir”

“Could you tell us your friend’s name?”

You shake your head “no. She’s done nothing wrong. All I told her is that I looked into Johnny’s job after I heard he got shot”

“Did she help with any research?”

A little? She looked stuff up with you and discussed your findings but a lot of your research was alone.

“Not really. It was me who was curious.”

They seem to take note of your answers.

“Did you contact anyone who….tried to, perhaps offered access to classified information? Perhaps for a monetary benefit?”

shit

You look pleadingly at Soap for help, he presses your face into his chest more and answers for you “if there is. I’ll make sure to properly handle it. This is my field and I’ll make sure there won’t be any civilian interference” his tone spoke solider and authority. You’ve long since dismissed the trope of “sergeant” applying to soap true to how he acts around you, but seeing this side of him, how controlled and powerful he is, made you remember who you’re really dealing with. It both intimidated and comforted you. The men seemed to take Soap more seriously every time he asserts his position, but it seems that the men have a job to do and are determined to do it well

“Ma’am?” They look at you, face still smushed into Soap’s strong warm chest “if it’s not too much to ask. What are your thoughts on the military? Are you a supporter or are you interested in games, films and stories that have elements of the military? Anything that may influence you….to take part in anything of the sorts? Particularly Modern Warfare?” Milton seems to be doing the talking now. Soap seemed interested in that answer.

“Um….no? Well yes. But Nothing that would make me do anything illegal.” They look at you as if awaiting a clearer explanation

“I-I mean I’ve watched movies, read stories and played games but that doesn’t mean I’ll act on it” of course you watch military movies! Johnny's right there and he’d never pass up the opportunity to piss on them. You may have played an FPS game or two and read fanfics but that won’t make you drop a bomb on Iraq.

“Do you have any political motivations, affiliations, or ideological leanings that would drive you to seek this information?” Soap doesn’t like that question. You’re not a terrorist! You’re not an extremist! You’re not any of that! You’re his wee Bonny lass that he’d fight the world for! “No. Of course not. She was jus’ worried about me. Gentlemen I think it’s time fer ye tae leave-“

“We understand you’re protective your wife, Sergeant Soap, but we’d like to hear it from her”

Soap shuts it but isn’t happy about it. You decide that you didn’t owe them an answer and didn’t give anything too definitive or personal “I was just….curious” you hide further into Soap

“Why do you ask?” He hums and looks through some notes as if this was standard procedure to spy on someone.

.

.

.

“What?” You question. Soap looks at you curiously “what are you talking about?”

“We…. don’t know everything-”

debatable

“-but apparently you spent a substantial amount of time on certain online communities that aren’t subject to domestic oversight. This was true before and after your peak of sensitive inquiries. This could be a hotspot for foreign influences and misinformation or anti establishment narratives without the presence of government regulations and protections” pfff! Protection? Regulations? They can’t even protect and regulate themselves. And what on earth is he talking about? “-and another site you frequent that has suffered a DDos attack by foreign interests” he reads off. Like what? AO3!? You sit there with a confused look on your face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Maybe if we read out your list of…questionable site names you’ll understand. Ross?”

Ross pulls out a file from his jacket, clears his throat and starts reading off ‘suspicious activities and sites’ in the somehow western accent he shares with Milton.

“Poison Breaker. Affirmative Sir. Operation: Deep Infiltration. Whispers of the Damned.”

Huh…those sound familiar?

“Undercover assets. Trapper Keeper. The Art of Subtlety. Hotline.”

Those….are just titles of sites you’ve visited? You think. You don’t memorize the hundreds of sites you visit.

“Tactical Submission. All That’s Said In Low Light. The Captain’s Private Orders. All the Sins You Never Had the Courage to Commit. Silent Weapons, Soft Target. To Drive a Man to Madness. Covert Rendezvous.”

Soap looks confused, which isn’t a good look right now. ‘What’s all this?’ He seems to say as he looks at you. You look confused as well.

You Don't remember this as being a part of your research

This Wasn't Part Of Your Research

[noona-clock]

Heart of the Ranch - Part 5

Genre: Cowboy!AU, Slice of Life, Fluff

Pairing: Namjoon x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 | Words: 3,147

You and your friends, whom you had deemed the Official Marketing Team of BTS Ranch, spent most of the day doing what friend-cations were truly for: having fun together. Sure, you weren't exactly relaxing, but still! You weren't sitting in your office doing your usual accounting work, so that definitely counted for something.

You sat with Rachel as she created profiles for Namjoon (and the ranch) on multiple platforms, tagging along as she scurried around to take pictures of the house, the gorgeous scenery, and -- of course -- the owner, himself.

You hovered behind Trish at the front desk as she reimagined the website. She hadn't asked for your help, but you offered it anyway! If she could tell you to go on vacation, the least you could do was tell her how the website should look.

You exchanged ideas and giggles with Emily about what kind of content to post, and you stuck by her side as she followed Namjoon around to film a 'Day in the Life' type video. It was such a chore. I mean, watching Namjoon work outside and hearing his deep, smooth yet raspy voice explain what he was doing? Who'd want to do that?

(Just kidding -- obviously. The whole reason Emily was filming him doing this was because you both knew thousands, if not millions, of people on the internet would want to watch it!)

By the time dinner rolled around, Rachel had posted pictures and status updates on most of the profiles she'd created, Trish had nearly finished a complete overhaul of the website, and Emily had edited the footage of Namjoon into a fun, interesting video (that was also a subtle thirst trap, of course. How could it not be?).

As the four of you sat around the table, it was all you could talk about. Your plates sat largely untouched as you all scrolled and clicked through your phones in admiration.

"Hey, come on, now," Namjoon scolded as he entered the dining room carrying a basket of freshly baked rolls. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to look at your phones at the dinner table?"

"We're simply appreciating all the hard work we've done today!" Rachel rebutted, though all four of you did set your phones face-down next to your plates.

"Yeah," Emily agreed as she reached for one of the rolls after Namjoon set the basket down on the table. "The hard work we did for your ranch."

Namjoon winced and rested a hand on the back of your chair. "Okay, I deserve that. Guilt trip accomplished."

You rolled your eyes in amusement, ignoring the way your stomach jumped as your shoulder brushed against his hand.

"Let me know if you guys need anything else," he chuckled. "Dinner-wise. I think I'm done with social media for the day."

Emily quickly picked her phone back up and held it out toward him. "But wait, don't you want to see the comments on your video?"

"Absolutely not," he answered immediately, taking a few steps away from the table. "The comments are none of my business."

"But they're all positive!" she assured him.

"Can we at least reply to them?" Trish asked.

"Be my guest," Namjoon nodded. "But I've lived this long without reading comments, I can go another day or two."

He turned to leave the dining room, but before he did, he discreetly slipped a piece of paper under your placemat.

It turns out he hadn't been as discreet as he thought, though, because as soon as the door into the kitchen swung closed behind him, Rachel leaned over to you and whispered, "What does the note say?!"

Emily and Trish leaned in, too, and you slid the paper out as silently as you could. You pressed your index finger to your lips, signaling to your friends to stay quiet before reading the message out loud (but softly, of course): Meet me outside in an hour.

Emily pressed her lips together to contain a squeal, and Rachel and Trish both reached for your arm to squeeze it with excitement.

There were many positive things you could say about your lovely friends, but the one thing in the forefront of your mind right now was just how supportive they were.

Without another word, you folded the paper up into a tiny square and poked it into the pocket of your jeans.

"How many views are we at, Em?" you asked, raising your voice louder than normal to make sure Namjoon heard you were talking about social media -- not his note.

In your head, though, you were already counting down the minutes.

It hadn't quite been an hour yet, but you couldn't wait any longer. You'd freshened up after dinner, and there was only so much freshening up you could do without just changing into a whole new outfit and washing your hair, y'know? And you figured that if Namjoon wasn't out there yet, he would be soon enough, and there was plenty around the ranch to keep you occupied.

But you really weren't surprised to walk out of the front door and see Namjoon sweeping the stone path connecting the driveway and the porch.

"Are you ever not working?" you asked, immediately realizing how laughable that question was coming from you.

Namjoon paused to look up at you, and a smile flashed across his lips for a few moments -- though it was just long enough for his dimples to make an appearance. Your heart thrummed in response.

"Yes," he replied as he continued sweeping. "I don't work for about six to seven hours every night when I'm asleep."

You hopped down the porch steps, approaching him and reaching out to take the broom from him. You weren't well-versed in many of the tasks it takes to run a ranch, but you could definitely sweep.

"Six to seven doesn't cut it," you admonished as you pushed some stray dirt clods over into the lawn. "You should really be getting at least eight hours of sleep a night."

Namjoon let out a soft chuckle. You didn't realize just how close you were standing to him, but you felt the light touch of his laugh on your cheek.

"If I'm going to take rest and relaxation advice from anyone, it's not going to be you," he murmured.

Now it was your turn to pause and look up at him. You wrinkled your forehead at him and said after a moment, "You know what? You're so valid for that."

Namjoon laughed gently, reaching out and taking the broom from you, his fingers grazing over yours. "Anyway, I didn't ask you to come out here so you can do chores."

Your eyes followed him as he leaned the broom against the porch railing, and you said, "Then why did you ask me to come out here? Did you want to film another video for social media?"

You were teasing him, of course. Being out here in the twilight, just the two of you? Social media was the last thing you wanted to do.

But, unsurprisingly, you had just wanted to see his dimples.

Honestly, you should be concerned with your obsession with Namjoon's dimples, but your teasing question had accomplished your goal -- his dimples were on full display -- and you were too enamored to care.

"No," he grinned. "I wanted to show you something."

Your eyebrows climbed up your forehead. "Is that so?"

Namjoon nodded and nodded his head toward the gazebo. "This way," he murmured.

Of course, your instincts were tugging at you to ask him where he was taking you. But something stopped you. Something else in you overtook your instincts and told you to simply follow him, to wait and see.

Maybe it was the fact that the ranch was so peaceful, especially as the sun was almost done setting. Maybe (hopefully) the peace was contagious.

As the two of you were approaching the gazebo, Namjoon slowed and said, "I figured... since you're helping me with the ranch and everything... I could help you, too."

"Help me? With what?" you asked, preparing to step into the gazebo.

But Namjoon continued walking, leading you past the gazebo out into a large grassy area.

"Help you actually have a real vacation," he explained. "Help you take a moment for yourself and just... relax."

You opened your mouth to retort that he was just as bad as you when it came to relaxing -- maybe even worse since he probably didn't even take weekends off.

"I know," he interrupted before you even said anything, though. "I don't know how to relax either, so I am being just a little selfish. I'm helping you relax and also helping myself in the process. But this is the best I could come up with, okay?"

"Okay," you chuckled, nodding once to show you understood and accepted it.

"Just up here," he murmured as he gestured up to an area of the meadow that was free from trees. You spotted what could only be a blanket laid out on the grass, and your brow furrowed slightly in confusion.

It couldn't be a picnic because you'd just eaten dinner, and there was also no picnic basket. There was nothing else, actually -- just the blanket.

"This," Namjoon began as the two of you approached the blanket. "Is the best spot in the whole ranch for stargazing."

Stargazing!

"No trees to block the view, and the animals don't come out this way --"

"So, no poop," you finished.

"Exactly."

You weren't going to lie: you were just the tiniest bit wary. Seeing as you spent the majority of your time either in your office or in your apartment, it was pretty safe to say you weren't exactly one with nature. But the fact that Namjoon had 1. come up with this plan in the first place and 2. thought to specifically mention there was no chance of encountering cow poop warmed your heart enough to give it a try.

Namjoon held his hand out to help you onto the blanket, and as you crouched down, ignoring the exhilarating feeling of his fingers grasping yours, you warned, "I am not what you would call well-versed in astronomy."

"Don't worry, I've spent enough time out here at night to know a thing or two," he assured you, letting out a quiet groan as he took the spot next to you. And once the two of you had laid down on your backs, he added, "And if there's something I don't know, there's this handy little thing called a smartphone that has all the answers."

You simply chuckled in response as you clasped your hands together on your stomach, crossing your ankles and lifting your gaze skyward.

Your breath caught in your throat. "Oh my god," you gasped. "There are so many. And they're so bright!"

"The benefit of living in the middle of nowhere," Namjoon pointed out.

After taking in as much as you could, you lifted the arm closest to Namjoon and pointed up to three stars in a row. "I know that's Orion, and that's about it," you chuckled.

"Yep," Namjoon confirmed, tilting his head ever so slightly closer to yours. "Orion the Hunter. Those three stars are his belt."

"Where's the rest of him?"

Namjoon lifted his own arm, mapping out a somewhat large circle with his finger. "Right there," he murmured. "See, that's one arm he's lifting up, and there's the other arm with his shield. And then his legs are those two stars down there."

"Ahhhh," you remarked, not wanting to admit you were completely unable to visualize what he'd just pointed out to you. "What else?"

"Well, right up above Orion is Taurus," he said, moving his hand to point out the area above where his shield supposedly was.

"That's a bull, right?" you asked. And when Namjoon hummed positively, you grinned and said "Trish always sends zodiac stuff to the group chat, so I've gotten pretty good at it over the years."

"Gemini is right on the other side there," he told you as he circled the area next to Orion's other (alleged) arm.

"The twins!"

Namjoon chuckled before moving his finger to point at a star nearby that was just a bit brighter than the others. "And that is Mercury."

Your brow furrowed, and you turned your head slightly to glance at him out of the corner of your eye. "Mercury, like the planet?"

"The very one."

You gasped in amazement. "We can see a planet?!"

"Yeah," he answered, grinning. You couldn't see him well enough right now, but you could just tell he was grinning. "We can see all of the planets in the sky, just not all at the same time."

"Wow... I knew there was a lot I didn't know about space, but how did I not know we could see the planets in the sky?"

"You live in a city, right?" Namjoon asked as he set his arm back down beside him.

You nodded and hummed positively.

"You can barely see Orion in a city," he pointed out with a shrug. "How can you know it's a planet if you can't see it?"

"Very true," you sighed. "You don't know what you don't know and all that."

As the minutes ticked by, you learned just how much you didn't know about the stars and the solar system and outer space and the universe -- and how much Namjoon did know. For someone who seemingly had no time to read or do anything but work, the guy was kind of a genius.

Your conversation eventually turned from constellations to the philosophical side of space, and while you should've been sent spinning into an existential crisis at the thought of just how remarkably, incomprehensibly vast the universe was, Namjoon was somehow able to keep you grounded here on Earth. He discussed things passionately but was still level-headed, and that helped to stop you from falling down the rabbit hole.

But then you somehow got onto the topic of current events on your own planet. Somewhat surprisingly, you found that you and Namjoon had very similar values -- not that you thought he was dumb or a bad person. Quite the opposite, actually, especially after tonight. But the two of you led very different lives. It was just very refreshing to find out you weren't as sheltered by city life as maybe you thought you were.

It seemed like Namjoon was just as surprised as you were, though.

"I'm an accountant," you reminded him. "I know finances like the back of my hand, and I understand how corporations work. Of course I don't believe in ethical billionaires."

"I won't lie, I figured you being an accountant would mean the opposite."

"Like I'm obsessed with money?" you chuckled.

"Yeah," he admitted with some guilt in his voice.

"Oh, no, you're not wrong. A lot of accountants are obsessed with money. But some of us -- the good ones -- are just obsessed with numbers and helping people."

He didn't answer immediately, so you turned your head to look at him as the two of you still laid side-by-side on the blanket.

"That... makes a lot of sense, actually. I guess I just never thought about it that way," he told you.

A grin curved your lips, and you said, "So, we're both learning new things tonight, I guess."

"I guess," he chuckled. "But, wow, did we get off-topic."

"You're so right. We were supposed to be relaxing," you grimaced.

Namjoon lifted an arm to check his watch quickly and said, "We still have a little bit of time. How about we just stargaze for two minutes in total silence and then call it a night?"

"Deal."

You yet again rested your hands on top of your stomach, crossed your ankles, and focused your gaze above you.

And you... well, you looked. You looked at the stars. You admired the beauty of the sky. You acknowledged your breathing and tried to keep it steady and deep.

And when you finally couldn't stand it any longer, you whispered, "Has it been two minutes yet?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Namjoon look at his watch again.

"...It's been thirty seconds," he whispered back.

You let out a dispirited sigh, but then the corners of your mouth lifted up when you heard Namjoon laughing under his breath.

"What's so funny?" you teased.

"You can't even relax for thirty seconds!" he replied through his laughter.

"Oh, I'm glad you think it's amusing. Tell that to my blood pressure!"

Namjoon stopped laughing abruptly and lifted himself up onto one elbow. "Wait, are you okay?"

Well, actually, no. You were not okay right now because the look on Namjoon's face showed his concern clear as day -- even though it was nighttime. And that made your heart skip about five beats.

"I was joking," you assured him, hoping you'd hidden your breathlessness well enough. "I mean, we're all dying little by little each day, but that's a conversation for another stargazing session."

Namjoon laid back down and blew out an exhale. "One minute," he breathed. "One more minute, and then we can go inside."

"I make no promises, but I'll try," you answered with a smirk.

And even though it felt like it took an eternity, you did it. You were able to lay there in silence for one full minute -- it helped that you closed your eyes.

Honestly, you might have fallen asleep if Namjoon hadn't sat up and said, "Huh.... those clouds don't look friendly."

Your forehead wrinkled, and when you opened your eyes, you almost jumped when you didn't see a singular star in the sky. How had that happened so quickly?

When you sat up, as well, you also realized the wind was starting to pick up.

"Seems like a storm's coming," Namjoon murmured. "You go ahead inside, I'm going to make sure all the animals are in for the night."

Your instinct was to offer to help him, but honestly, if you spent any more time alone with him tonight... you didn't actually want to think about what might happen. Or what you might want to happen.

So, you stood and prepared to head back inside.

The only problem was, with the clouds covering the stars and the moon, it was now almost fully pitch black, and you had no idea how to get back to the house.

"Here," Namjoon murmured, his voice suddenly right next to your ear. "I'll take you back."

Before you could reply, you felt his hand circling your forearm... and then sliding down until his fingers grasped yours.

Oh great.

As Namjoon held your hand in the dark, leading you back to the house with softly mumbled directions, you were definitely thinking about what you wanted to happen.

This was not good.

(...Or was it?)

[wyllzel]

the thought occurred to me while playing through "return to ostagar," but now i'm almost certain that cailan's body here is meant to evoke saint sebastian 👀

this could be a reference to saint sebastian's role as "a defense against the plague"—i think it's pretty safe to replace "plague" here with "blight," given that cailan was one of the few to actually take the blight seriously and attempt to fight it (however misguided his actions were)

but saint sebastian is also a notable figure of "homosexual desire (indeed, a homoerotic ideal)"—which makes me think that anora wasn't as successful in her influence over her husband as she might have believed... and which i think can be reinforced by cailan's strong interest in the grey wardens (who in da:o's ferelden are a largely fraternal organization)

[ironwhumper359]

Whumper prompt 3, have fun~

The Tenets of Growth: Pt. 1

The Path of Cultivation

CW: submission, allusions to torture, religious themes, religion used to justify torture, whumpee turned whumper, stress position

Word count: 1500~

---

“So, what did we learn yesterday?”

Aster considered the question carefully as she knelt at her Cultivator's feet. She’d learned long ago, when she was merely a Seed, not to speak a single word without considering whether or not it could be misconstrued by the harsh woman as too stupid, too clever, or too disrespectful in general.

"We learned that life...does not flourish without decay. That the rot and filth that surrounds us need not kill us, but can enrich our surroundings and make us stronger. But if we succumb and become a part of it, rather than use it as fuel, that is when we cease to grow and begin to wilt."

Aster desperately wanted to sneak a glance up at the Cultivator's face, to gauge her reaction to her words, but she kept her eyes fixed on the ground, hands clasped behind her back and her head bowed low.

"Then you have learned well," the Cultivator said, and relief and pride flooded through Aster in equal measure. "Rise, and accompany me. There is something you must see."

Aster obediently got to her feet, hands still folded behind her and head down as she walked, but her breath came a little easier after the words of praise. She walked through the Nursery's winding corridors without truly seeing her surroundings, placing her full trust in the Cultivator to lead them on the right path. As was true in all practices at the Nursery, this was to remind her of humanity's dependence on the Goddess Perivyta for all things, but Aster longed for the day she would finally Flower and begin to learn the layout of the halls for herself.

Finally, they stopped in front of a door, and the Cultivator pulled a key from somewhere inside her robe. Unlocking the door, she stepped back to allow Aster to enter the room first. As was customary, Aster stepped inside and immediately knelt at one side of the door.

"Her Ladyship Lantana, Third Cultivator of the Durtham Nursery enters," Aster announced, and the Cultivator swept into the room. Aster rose long enough to close the door behind her, but before she could kneel again, the Cultivator grabbed her by the arm.

"Hold," she said simply, and Aster froze. "You are very close to your Flowering, Initiate Aster," the Cultivator continued. "And in spite of your early difficulties Sprouting, my fellow Cultivators and I have taken note of your growth."

Aster bowed her head.

"I am grateful that your ladyship saw the weeds at work in my heart and Pruned them in time to allow me to flourish," she intoned.

"Your growth is my growth," the Cultivator replied lightly. "Lift your head, Initiate, and observe the room."

Aster did so, and a wave of nausea rolled over her. They were in a small cell, sunlight from a single barred window shining into the room and illuminating a large patch of rough, exposed earth in the middle of the stone floor. A long shadow was cast by a single metal loop bolted to the floor, and Aster could feel her heart beating faster in her chest at the mere sight of it.

"You may speak, Initiate," the Cultivator said, and Aster swallowed.

"Your ladyship, I...I thought you said that my growth was sufficient?"

"Did I also not say that you are nearing the time of your Flowering?" the Cultivator asked, and Aster nodded quickly. "I have meditated upon the will of Perivyta on where to assign you for specialty study, and it has been laid upon my heart that you are to walk the Path of Cultivation."

It took every ounce of Aster's meticulously crafted self control to keep her mouth from falling open. The Path of Cultivation? Her? Aster had only heard whispered rumors of what the path for initiates was like, but everyone knew that to be a Cultivator was the highest honor in the order. Everyone else, not just the initiates, but the Sowers, Tenders, and even Pruners had to answer to the Cultivators.

"I have spoken with the other Cultivators, and they have agreed," Lady Lantana continued. "However, the Path of Cultivation is unlike the other paths of the order. Training is only given to one initiate at a time, and only when the circumstances are right."

Aster nodded absently, their mind spinning with a dozen questions. Why was only one initiate trained at once? What circumstances? What was even the difference between the Path of Cultivation and the Path of Sowing, shouldn't it basically be the same information? Why was she the one chosen, out of the dozen or so Budded initiates who were nearing their Flowering?

"Praise Perivyta for her goodness, for she has provided us an opportunity," the Cultivator said. "This morning, the city courts delivered a guilty verdict to a notorious thief that plagued the streets for months before he was finally caught. He is being transferred here tomorrow, and the First Cultivator has agreed that you, Initiate, shall undertake his Cultivation."

"I...I am honored, my lady," Aster stammered. "But...forgive me, I just...would expect such an important task to be carried out by one with more experience."

Or any experience, she thought, but did not say.

"The Path of Cultivation is not one to be walked lightly," said the Cultivator. "It is one thing to plant a flower in a bed. It is quite another to coax fruit from a tree that has been set upon by rot. Initiates purposely are trained with initiates sent to us by tribute or sentencing, so that in the future they will have the skills necessary to deal with any difficulties in their future plots."

Aster swallowed, then nodded.

"I understand, my lady. What are to be my first steps?"

"Tomorrow, you will start your studies, beginning with the performance of Ritual Re-Planting. But first, you must demonstrate your readiness to walk this path. This cell is to be the site of your study, and must be consecrated. Assume your meditative position."

Aster turned around, and for a moment caught a glimpse of the Cultivator's sharp face before bowing her head again. The expression was unreadable, and Aster forced herself not to squirm as she knelt on the patch of dirt.

She brought her arms out from behind her, clasping her hands over her heart and curling low to the ground. She pressed her forehead to the earth and counted silently to three before straightening again, resting her head on her still clasped hands.

"Thanks be Perivyta, by Her grace I grow," she murmured, tucking her chin to her chest.

She extended her arms out and up until they were raised above her head, palms facing upward in a gesture of acceptance. 

"You are to remain in meditation until I return," the Cultivator instructed. "At that time, if your heart is prepared, you will undergo your Flowering."

Without another word, the Cultivator turned and strode out of the room, leaving the door open behind her. Aster saw her feet disappear, but did not lift her head to watch her go. She inhaled deeply through her nose, held it for a moment, then released it through her mouth and began to murmur softly to herself. 

“Perivyta, Sower of Life, from whom all life derives. All life is your holy and sacred gift, and we give thanks to you in all we do. We are your Purest Seed, created from your being and scattered by your hand into the world to produce your fruit. The Earth is your holy gift to us, yet we also are your gift to the Earth. All we take from it, we return to you in glory. As you nurture us body and soul, so we shall nurture others, and their growth shall be our growth, and our growth shall be your growth. You are the holy giver of life and the holy giver of suffering; when we flourish we rejoice in your bounty, and when we suffer we rejoice in your Pruning. We submit to your will, that at the end of our lives when we are gathered into the Great Harvest, we may be counted among the fruitful and brought to your Table of Plenty. Let us not stray from your ways, lest we be cast aside with the chaff and burned in the fire of your hearth.” 

Aster had never been good with time, but she’d once heard another initiate say that it took less than two minutes to recite the Tenet Prayer. Of course, that was if you were simply reciting the words with the goal of reaching the end; Aster found that if she slowed down and focused on each line, connecting it with the deeper meaning of each tenet in her mind, the prayer would take even longer. Which, on the one hand, made the time spent meditating seem to pass slower, but on the other hand, at least it gave her something to think about other than the deep, persistant ache that was already beginning to develop in her arms. 

She closed her eyes, and began again. 

“Perivyta, Sower of Life, from whom all life derives…”

---

Author's Note: Aaaand that's where I'm leaving off this first installment! Don't worry, there's more coming very soon, and while it won't necessarily have less world building, it will definitely have a lot more whump! If you'd like me to make a taglist for this fic, let me know and I'll definitely do that!

[shepscapades]

[Pt 1] [Pt 2] [Pt 3] [Pt 4] [Pt 5] [Pt 6] [PART 7] [Don’t Let it Reach the Heart]

Nobody Anymore Nobody Anymore

[This comic is part of my dbhc au, following the chaos and panic that ensues after Doc and Xisuma try to get Etho back online at the start of s9 after a very rough s8 finale that leaves him a little. broken. It's set to the vibes of Joywave's Destruction. This part concludes this comic, but this moment doesn't end here: Don't Let it Reach the Heart will be the title of the fic that will follow the end of Destruction!]

[thatsleepymermaid]

Quick post on what's happening in Atlanta right now

So there's this beautiful trail in Atlanta called the South River Forest Trail. As we all know, Atlanta Georgia is renowned for their tree cover and historic forests. 

The City of Atlanta and corporations like Delta, AT&T and Amazon are funding a massive police training center that will destroy the forest.

Dubbed ‘cop city’ by many protesters, this will cost about $90 million  to build. This will be used to further militarize Atlanta’s police leading to more incidents of police brutality in the city. 

On January 18th indigenous activist Manuel “Tortuguita” Teran was shot and killed by the police for defending this historic forest from destruction. Their reason? “He did not comply” (Tort went by They/them/it but report said “he”). Many protests have been going on in Atlanta to defend this forest.

Since Tortuguita's death, the situation has quickly deteriorated

This forest is very dear to me but I am unable to physically protest at the moment, so I am handing this off to Tumblr to spread awareness. Rebloging this may help this tragedy become part of national news instead of just an Atlanta problem.

Donation and petition links to stop cop city

https://www.gofundme.com/f/stoptheswap2020

https://act.colorofchange.org/sign/no-cop-city-atl/

https://defendtheatlantaforest.org/solidarity

[amarguerite]

I think maybe my take away from this national nightmare is that American voters are on average trapped on the first level of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs l. and the price of groceries is literally the make or break issue for most, to the point where it doesn’t matter why the grocery bill is higher or who can control that or how it can be controlled

[decideroffacts]

hey nice heart stardust can i have that

[flygefisk]

happy mother's day oolong is your mom now

[ghastlyaffairs]

for something as trivial and simple those feelings sure are hard to get rid of

also made a gif a version for fun + alt version with no tears under the cut

the gif is in very low resolution...this is a feature (i could make it bigger but that would require saving each frame individually and than glueing it all together. also i feel like low resolution suits it better. aesthetically and fits the mood)

[teeth--king]

I gotta make more dynamic/story telling art, so making some of my boy Elliot. He gets some suffering as a treat.

[solarmorrigan]

Requested by @westifer-dead (I think?? I hope that was directed at me)

This probably wasn't what you had in mind, but in my defense, it absolutely was not what I planned on writing. It sorta snuck up on me. I hope this is okay, though <3

🖤 kissing while crying / goodbye kiss / desperation

Prompt from this post

Tags/CW: transmasc Steve, fairly explicit depiction of menstruation, resulting mentions of blood, mentions of dysphoria, Steve's internal dialogue is rather unkind to himself in this one (soft ending, though??)

-

Steve’s first, horrified thought when he wakes feeling an uncomfortable amount of damp sticking his boxers to his skin is that he’s somehow managed to piss the bed.

The immediate wakefulness caused by that thought, however, is enough to give him a second one – particularly when he feels the ache low in his gut and spreading down his hips as he rolls over to toss the covers back and reveal the red stain on both his underwear and the sheets.

Fuck.

He’s early.

His period shouldn’t have been along for another couple of days, at least, and Steve hadn’t even thought about putting on a pad before getting into bed—he glances at the clock—two hours ago.

“Motherfucker,” Steve hisses.

He’d gotten home from the world’s most frustrating late shift sometime after midnight and had actually managed to get to sleep by one, and now his body is pulling this shit on him – waking him with pain and mess at three in the goddamn morning, days before it had any right to. And now his boxers are probably toast, and the sheets might be salvageable but he’s going to have to get up and change them right now, and he’s so fucking tired, and it’s three in the morning, and when he shifts to sit up, he’s caught for a moment by the sticky-slick feeling of blood drying against his skin.

He does his best to swallow back the feeling of nausea that creeps up on him at the sensation,  but it’s something he hasn’t had the stomach for since being covered in Eddie’s blood after hauling him out of the Upside Down, and the cramps really aren’t helping.

It’s for all these reasons that he’s probably less gentle than he could be when he reaches over to shake Eddie awake.

“Eddie, wake up.”

Eddie groans and rolls over, curling up with his back to Steve.

Steve huffs and gives him a shove. “Eddie.”

“S’early,” Eddie grumbles. “G’way.”

Normally, Steve doesn’t mind Eddie’s steadfast refusal to wake up for anything less than three alarms and the promise of coffee. Sometimes he even has fun with it, seeing how quickly he can rouse Eddie with other sorts of promises. Right now, though, he has less than no patience, and he grabs his pillow and whacks Eddie in the side with it.

“Wake up!”

“Whatthefuck,” Eddie gasps, bolting upright and glancing around the room for his assailant.

Later, Steve might feel bad; for now, he only drawls, “You awake now?”

“Did you hit me with a pillow?” Eddie demands, eyeing the weapon in Steve’s hands.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” Steve says. “I need you to get up for a minute.”

“What? Why, what’s– oh.” Eddie much catch sight of the mess as Steve twists to shove the pillow back behind himself. “Shit.”

Steve’s face heats with embarrassment. “Shut up,” he snaps. “Just get out of the bed.”

Clumsily, Eddie moves to obey. “I didn’t mean–”

“It’s– never mind, I shouldn’t have snapped, sorry, just–” Steve sighs. “Just let me change the sheets.

He strips the comforter from the bed and rolls it up to toss it into the chair in the corner of the room to be put back on when he’s done, but he doesn’t make it much farther before his body betrays him with another wave of squeezing cramps and a dribble of blood sliding down the inside of his thigh from under the loose leg of his boxers.

He swears and lunges for the tissue box on his bedside table to catch the drip before it can hit the floor, and he can hear Eddie hiss a breath in through his teeth – it’s probably in sympathy, Steve recognizes distantly, but in the moment he still feels like he might die of shame.

“Let me– let me get cleaned up. Just a minute,” Steve mutters, balling the tissue up in his fist and making for the dresser. “Then I’ll finish with the sheets.”

“Why don’t you go take a quick shower?” Eddie suggests quietly. “I can finish the sheets.”

Yanking a pair of briefs out of the dresser, Steve slams the drawer shut. “I can clean up my own damn mess, Eddie.”

“I know you can, but you don’t have to,” Eddie says, much more patiently than Steve probably deserves. “I’m betting you’ll feel ten times better if you get the chance to rinse off, so go ahead. You know how much I love wrestling with the fitted sheet.”

Steve should probably say no. It’s stupid to make Eddie clean up after him when he’s perfectly capable of doing it himself.

He should say no, but he doesn’t want to.

He glances back at Eddie, who looks nothing but sincere in his offer, and nods. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and Eddie gives him a little smile and a nod in return.

In the bathroom, Steve makes the water as hot as he can stand it and pops two Advil before stripping and shoving his boxers straight into the trash. If he tried hard enough, he might be able to get the stain out, but he doesn’t have the mental fortitude to contemplate doing that right now. His t-shirt has been spared any blood, but he puts it in the hamper to be washed, anyway. It just feels dirty now.

There are some months where Steve’s period comes and goes without any fuss; it’s an inconvenience and a bit of a drain, but hardly worth comment. Then there are some months that shove Steve headfirst into ten different stages of dysphoria and various neuroses for no apparent reason.

This one feels like it’s going to be the latter.

Even once he’s standing under the shower spray, the blood already sluiced down the drain, Steve doesn’t feel like he’s ever going to be clean again. He knows it’s his shitty brain lying to him, he knows that the feeling will go away in a few days—a week, at most—but that doesn’t help him now.

He wastes an extra ten minutes in the shower, trying to convince himself he’s only staying in because the hot water is helping his cramps (only partially true; he’s so tense that they haven’t really abated, and in fact have crawled up his sides now, seizing on the scar tissue from his bat bites and yanking his whole abdomen in tight, but he’s hoping it will help with his cramps), but he does eventually manage to force himself out and dry off.

With the fuck-off-biggest pad he owns shoved into his underwear, Steve heads back to the bedroom and stops short inside the door.

The lights are still dim, and Eddie is waiting up for him, sitting against the pillows with his book. He’s not only changed the sheets and fixed the comforter, but he’s laid out a pair of pajamas for Steve – the exact pair he prefers when he’s having a particularly bad day. And for some reason, that’s it for Steve.

The tears hit before he can even try to choke them off, and Eddie must not be very immersed in his book, because the first ragged breath is enough to alert him to the fact that something is wrong.

He looks almost wounded when he catches sight of Steve standing in the doorway like a weepy idiot, and Steve would feel bad, but Eddie’s already up and out of the bed and coming towards Steve with his arms open in offering.

And with anyone else, Steve would shy away; this isn’t a part of him that anyone needs to see, this weakness and inability to cope. But from Eddie– even as stupid as Steve feels right now, he knows he doesn’t have much that he needs to hide from a man who will help him clean up his own blood and then offer to hold him while he cries about it.

He accepts the hug, allows himself to be led back over to the bed and sat down, and then lets himself be held.

Eddie presses his lips to Steve’s forehead and then swipes his thumbs over Steve’s cheeks, wiping away whatever tears fall and kissing him there, too, like he can replace the evidence of his distress with love.

And hell, maybe he can.

In a while, Steve will want to get dressed and they’ll both need some actual rest, but for now, Steve thinks he’s more than willing to sit and let Eddie try.

[cometshift]

can nothing help me to regain control?