#me when i am in love with fictional woman

[marythequeen]

hello guys, i'm here to talk about leah toole's fictional book on mary i of england's. it's called the saddest princess.

at first, i want to clarify that i am highly aware that this book is fictional and not a biography. so you don't need to say "hey but it's fictional"

also, before reading her book, leah toole was someone i really liked. i used to follow her on tiktok and was really excited to read her book. however as you can understand, i am very, very disappointed.

let's start.

just after i had read the prologue i knew that many things would piss me off throughout the book because it was horrendous.

the vilification of queen mary is outdated now and seeing even the people that claim to like her doing this, made me feel awful. according to countless reports, in her death bed, she was peaceful and her conscience clean. the people that she had executed were mainly guilty of treason and many others were executed without her knowledge. i don't think that feeling guilty about this would be her main concern.

but do you know who was rather frightened and surrounded by guilt? her half sister elizabeth.

apart from this, if you ever saw a video of leah toole's, you probably know that she's a great hater of the spanish princess because of its inaccurate portrayals. mind you, the spanish princess tv show never ever claimed that it was historically accurate or something like that but leah toole was MAD (and rightfully so!! i totally agreed with her.) about it anyway. so imagine my disappointment when i started to read her book eagerly then realized that it, in many aspects, was a cheap copy of the tv show.

"there was no lone for this useless baby girl." i mean, really? that scene and almost everything about it was in the spanish princess. AND this whole scene could be proved wrong with countless reports. do i think katharine of aragon suffered from a kind of postpartum depression? i absolutely do. but do i think she HATED her own daughter for years? no because that's not what happened in reality.

again, this is a historical fiction book and it doesn't have to be historically accurate but it's called a hypocrisy when you criticize another material because of the same thing you did yourself.

(ps. katharine of aragon had blue eyes, not dark brown.)

mary's birth scene was AWFUL. henry saying mary is a useless girl was highly inaccurate. writing such things while mary's reputation is STILL unfairly blackened is very unnecessary.

"katherine had tried to love her daughter. but no matter how hard she tried, nothing the girl did held any meaning in katherine's eyes." are you kidding me??

also having mary curse constantly? this woman didn't know the meaning of whore until she was forty something. i can't even imagine her saying words such as bastard, harlot, whore etc. (in the book she called anne boleyn names when in reality she simply called her that woman. which is respectful enough.) especially when she used the word bastard when she was nine? now c'mon! throughout the book, the author is obviously influenced by the spanish princess tv show, even though she'd been very critical about the show. there's a pretty word for situations like this :) and it's called hypocrisy.

and *that* scene with duke philip? even the most passionate mary hater wouldn't write something like this. that was worse than wattpad, worse than ao3. (if you didn't read the book, take a deep breath, she had sex with him. again, did not happen in reality.)

apart from all of this, the only thing that i've liked about this book is clearly seeing that mary wasn't as forgiving as her mother was. because that's what actually happened. long story short, i was eager to read the other books of this series but i don't think that i'll be reading the rest. i am so very disappointed with this. it was such a waste of time. and i have to tell you that i am also incredibly sad because i used to enjoy her content a lot.

there are many more issues about this book but unfortunately i don't have enough time or will to live to write a detailed review but i think this'll do anyway.

lastly, at least there are very few quotes that i've liked and would want you to see.

—chapuys shrugged, "it would seem the king himself is struggling to separate the two religions," he said, "and his newest testaments have received mixed reactions from his council. i believe that in his heart he remains a catholic, but he does not wish to be told by anyone whether it be the pope or his best advisor - what he can and cannot do."

—"of all the women in my father's life, i have survived him the longest. and that alone is a great achievement."

—"i survived my father's tyranny for all my thirty-three years. this edward seymour could not scare me if he turned up at my doorstep dressed up as the devil himself."

[imjustasimpxd]

Something Old, Something New

(Chapter Two)

➬ Ken Sato x Fem reader

Summary : At first glance, Ken Sato seemed to have it all. With money, fame, and success surrounding his name, there was nothing he couldn’t get his hands on. They say money can buy happiness. That may be true to an extent, however, can money buy forgiveness? Unfortunately for Ken, no amount of money and influence can turn back time and change the past. No amount of bribery can erase the fact that he had chosen to abandon his wife in favor of pursuing his baseball career. That awful decision he made took place five years ago, when he was just starting out as a professional athlete. But now that he’s matured and had time to reflect on his actions, can he hope for a chance to rekindle his marriage? Or should he accept defeat and live with the consequences of letting the only woman he’s ever truly loved slip away from him?

Word count : 4k words

Warnings : nothing really in this chapter, mentions of abandonment and neglect, mentions of regret, angst

Author’s notes : comments and reblogs are appreciated!! I appreciate all feedback on my writing so that I can know what you guys liked and what you think I should improve on

Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction and should in no way, shape, or form, be taken seriously.

Side Note : This fic, and everything else I’ve written on my blog is mine and only mine. I work very hard on everything I write so do not, under any circumstances, modify, copy, or steal my work.

Please read first!

Hi guys, so, I started a bookstagram! I know a lot of you have expressed a love for my writing on Tumblr, so, to further support me, I would appreciate it if you guys could support my bookstagram too! I am thankful for every one of you and I'm grateful to have such sweet people like you guys who support me through my writing.

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Now, please enjoy the new chapter! Love you guys! <3

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

Kenji glanced upwards, watching his father walk into the bedroom; his movements a bit wobbly as he gripped his cane, shifting his weight on it with every step. “No, it’s okay Dad.” Kenji smiled and shook his head, his eyes turning back towards the suitcase he was piling clothes into. “I appreciate the offer but,” He paused, letting out a sigh as he folded another clean shirt and placed it inside his luggage. “This is something I have to do on my own.” 

Letting out a silent huff of effort, Kenji’s father made his way to his son’s side, his eyes narrowing in an analytical gaze at the contents of the suitcase. The old man stayed quiet for a moment, letting out a soft hum, as if to show an outward display of the wheels turning inside his head. A playful smirk strung across Kenji’s lips after seeing his father’s expression, knowing exactly what he was doing. Even in his old age, the man never seemed to grow out of his perfectionistic habits, always looking for opportunities to improve what was in front of him; even if it was just something as simple as helping pack his son’s suitcase. 

“What? Did I forget something?” Kenji asked, his tone playful as he observed his father’s contrasting gaze.

“You need one of your suits.” The old man spoke, as if the statement was obvious. He then turned away, limping over towards Kenji’s closet, entering the luxurious space and scanning its perimeter with an inquisitive stare. 

“You think so?” Kenji spoke up, following behind his father curiously. “I mean, I’m only going to be staying a few days or so. At least, that’s only if she doesn’t call the police the moment she sees me.” He let out a quiet laugh, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, as if the thought of you doing that didn’t make his stomach turn with nausea. The scenario itself was a bit of an exaggeration, he didn’t actually think you’d resort to calling the cops on him. That wasn’t like you. But still, even if you didn’t send for reinforcements, you were bound to be displeased with him; or even outright angry. And in all honesty, he couldn’t exactly blame you for that if you did happen to react with bitterness upon seeing him again. He had been a sorry excuse for a husband after all, so your anger would be justified. 

“It doesn’t matter how long you’re staying. You need to look your best if you want to win her back.” His father argued, his fingers caressing past the designer suits hung on the closet rack, shuffling by each one to find something suitable for his son to wear. 

“Win her back?” Kenji let out a dry laugh, a little shocked by his father’s confidence in the success of that likelihood. “I don’t know about that, Dad. What makes you so sure she’d even want me back?” 

The old man looked up, his eyes narrowing at his son with confusion; not appreciating the negative self-talk he was hearing. “Why wouldn’t she want you back?” 

Kenji crossed his arms and shifted his weight, his shoulder leaning against the doorway of the walk-in closet, letting an apprehensive laugh escape his lips. “I don’t know, maybe because I practically ditched her in favor of my baseball career.” His tone was diffident as he spoke, clearly stemming from a lack of self-confidence on the subject. “I mean, I don’t think most women want to feel like a single woman in their own marriage.” He spoke with a smile, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to laugh it off.

It was a force of habit for Kenji to downplay things; pretending not to care and masking his insecurities behind that veil of charisma he often resorted to. After all the years he spent bottling things up for interviews and fan events, it was basically second nature for him now. It was his retreat, a desperate attempt at control. An effort to save face and convince others that he wasn’t hurting, as if his heart wasn’t twisting with guilt and anxiety. He had a reputation to uphold as a legend, not some frail human being. 

But his father wasn’t convinced. He knew him better than that. And no amount of humor could reassure a worried parent. 

“But she won’t feel like that, not anymore.” The old man spoke, shifting his weight on that cane once again so he could slowly make his way back over towards his son who stood in the doorway. “You’ve changed, Kenji. Don’t discredit yourself and the progress you’ve made by pretending you’re the same man you were five years ago.” He spoke with such conviction, such confidence in his son’s transformation and maturity; much more than Kenji himself could ever claim to have. “You’ve worked hard to get where you are now, and I have no doubt she’ll recognize that. Even if it may take a little while.” He lifted his hand to give his son a soft pat on the back, his thumb gently digging into Kenji’s shoulder. His grip was strong despite his old age, and his gaze was a mix between affection and seriousness. 

The warm smile on his father’s face was a touching sight, a reminder of the diligent effort they’ve both put in over the last few years to improve their broken relationship. In the past, Kenji never noticed anything more than guilt and shame whenever his father looked at him, but now his gaze was tender and encouraging. A testament to the healthy relationship they now maintained as father and son. 

Having such natural and pleasant interactions with his father was not something that Kenji had previously thought possible, but it was his new normal now; and had been for the past five years. It didn’t happen overnight of course, there was a lot of resentment and grudges to work through first, but, they got there in the end, didn’t they? After so many years of missed calls and absences from holiday gatherings, Kenji and his father finally achieved the wholesome bond they’d always strived for. 

Foolish or not, that reality gave Kenji some hope towards his pursuit to win back his ex-wife. She may hate him at first, she may refuse to forgive him in the beginning, but hopefully, with time and patience, their relationship could be revived; just like Kenji had done with his father. 

“Thanks Dad.” Kenji’s expression softened, his hand lifting to rest atop his father’s, returning his affectionate pat. “I think I needed that.” He spoke, a vulnerable smile stringing across his lips. 

“You’re welcome.” His father returned the smile, his head tilting in a heartfelt manner. “But that’s beside the point.” The old man’s voice reentered the air in a quick and hurried manner, his body turning away with the help of his cane and retreating back into the closet, returning to the luxury suits he was inspecting earlier. “We still need to pick your suit.” His fingers brushed across the fabrics as he spoke, evaluating both appearance and quality as he sifted through them. When his eyes finally settled upon what he deemed to be a suitable option, he gently grabbed the hanger and carefully pulled the suit off the rack, turning it so Kenji could see. “You’ll wear this one.” 

Kenji’s eyes shifted up and down, scanning the suit his father was holding out to him. It was a black suit jacket with pants to match, underneath the set adorned a grey vest and black tie to complete the look. It was one of his more expensive suits, one that gave off a classier feel than the others. It was definitely a head turner, and if his ex-wife saw him in that it couldn’t hurt his chances of winning her back. 

Kenji smiled and nodded his head, speaking in agreement. “I’ll make sure to pack it.” 

“So, Miss L/N,” The woman smiled at you, her legs crossed as she sat up in the chair, making sure to appear sophisticated in front of the large audience. “Tell us about the ending of your book.” She spoke, her tone intrigued, as if she was genuinely interested in hearing your answers instead of simply maintaining a perky façade for the reporters. “Most romance novels end with a happy ending, but in yours, the couple goes their separate ways. Why did you decide to do that? Are you planning to write a sequel to continue their love story?” 

“Well,” you began with a smile, clearing your throat softly, trying not to let your nervousness show in front of a room full of attentive ears. “I’m not entirely sure yet if I want to do a sequel. I think the ending is fine just the way it is for now.” You spoke, your eyes fixated on the interviewer, hardly able to even see the audience with the stage lights centered around you. 

���I agree.” The woman spoke up immediately, her body leaning forward with interest. “So many romance novels end with some cheesy happy ending where the guy and the girl get back together. It’s overdone. We need more of these types of stories, where the woman finds her worth elsewhere instead of from the male lead.” She rambled on, her voice passionate and eager, as if this was a topic she’d invested a lot of thought and credence into. 

“Oh, yeah,” you laughed a bit awkwardly, not really sure what to say in response to her subtle projection of a “strong independent woman” agenda. It was clear she had taken on a more rancorous point of view, convinced that the ending of your story was a push for women empowerment rather than the simple decision to conclude it as an open-ended denouement; as if to say “who knows what will happen in their futures.” 

“I feel like the ending really resonated with you in your own way, I’m glad to know you enjoyed it.” You spoke politely, not wanting to spoil her fun by correcting her interpretation of your novel’s conclusion. Everyone has the right to elucidate their own version of a story, that’s the beauty of literature. And who were you to rectify her? 

“Of course I enjoyed it!” The woman said with a smile, turning towards the audience now as she continued. “I think everyone enjoyed it, right?” She stated, the crowd responding with murmurs and hums that formed a collective “yes.” “See?” She turned back towards you as she laughed, her expression still bright and cheerful. 

You gave her a gracious smile in response, squinting under the glow of the stage lights as you looked out over the sea of people. “I appreciate everyone’s support and feedback. This book was very personal for me and so I’m happy to know that you guys appreciated it.” 

The crowd responded with applause, some people shouting compliments, others cheering. The interviewer let the audience express their support for a moment before she spoke up again. “Are there any questions for Miss L/N?” She asked, her inquiry reciprocated with a show of hands from the crowd. 

One by one, the interviewer chose people to stand, allowing them to voice their thoughts. Some people asked questions about the book itself, while most of the reporters probed about your personal life, anxious to get the latest scoop on any private affairs you were attempting to keep silent.

You answered their questions politely, successfully changing the topic each time someone asked something a bit too invasive. You had dealt with their interrogative tactics before, and you weren’t intimidated by it. You had grown accustomed to simply “smiling and nodding” throughout their inquiries. However, that smile abruptly faded when the next person was chosen to stand and ask their question. Your heart felt like it stopped the moment you heard that voice, his voice. One you hadn’t heard in over five years.

“Miss L/N, I’m curious to know. You said this book was very personal for you. Does that mean you wrote it based off events that happened in your life?” 

The breath seemed to escape your lungs; your body paused in place as you sat in the cushioned chair on stage.

Was that really him? No, no it couldn’t be. Why would it be? 

You cleared your throat, trying to remain calm, convincing yourself that you were just imagining things. That wasn’t him, just someone with the exact same voice. And as you squinted past the harsh stage lighting, peering out into the crowd to prove your negation, you realized the man had the same exact face too. 

“Um...” You stuttered, feeling a wave of emotions rushing towards the shoreline of your sanity. Shock, bitterness, resentment, hope, longing, anger. Your mind was an assortment of emotions, brewed together into a cocktail of unresolved feelings. 

You recognized his hair, his build, his stupid trademark smirk as he stared at you from the crowd. You didn’t understand why he was here, what he could possibly want after all these years, but there was no denying who he was. The man you divorced five years ago: Ken Sato.

The silence was deafening, your discomfort apparent despite your attempts to remain calm. “Well, um...” You tried to get ahold of yourself. There were reporters in the same room as the two of you, watching your every move. If they sensed drama occurring before their eyes, they’d be sure to rehash it in their most recent article; and then the birth of a juicy news story would commence. You refused to give them a reason to suspect a history between you and the man standing in the audience. You wouldn’t let yourself become “Ken Sato’s past fling” in the latest headline. You had to sedate your anxieties and answer the question, without giving way to any suspicion. 

“I apologize, I didn’t realize you were a fan of my work, Mr. Sato.” You spoke with an artificial laugh, trying to play the situation off as humorous. You smiled at him, attempting to hide your discomfort by faking a flattered façade in front of a crowd of intense staring.

There were murmurs amongst the audience, people whispering and pointing, clearly recognizing him as the famous baseball heartthrob. 

He stared you down with a grin, that nonchalant manner of his bringing back a variety of memories from your repressed marriage. “As shocking as it may be, I like to indulge occasionally.” He chuckled, his head tilting as he gazed at you, almost fondly. “Your work feels very relatable, that’s why I wanted to know if you wrote your book based off true events.” 

Your eyes suddenly widened at his words, realizing what he was getting at. You had been so preoccupied with panic at his unexpected presence that his question hadn’t even registered until now. He wanted to know if your book was written in resemblance to your marriage with him, you understood that now. A sense of bitterness engulfed your heart at his attempt to interrogate you here and now, in front of everyone. Even though you two were the only people aware of the history between you both, you didn’t appreciate his efforts to pry information out of you by use of subtle wording. You straightened your posture, your expression becoming firmer and more guarded now. You weren’t going to let history repeat itself, you refused to be tormented by him again.

“No, Mr. Sato. My novel does not reflect my life in any way, it is simply fiction.”  You knew it was a lie, and by the look in his eyes as he stood in the audience, you figured he knew it too. But even so, you refused to admit it, to give him the satisfaction of hearing it out loud. 

It wasn’t clear whether she sensed the tension between you both, or if she simply realized they needed to wrap things up, regardless, the interviewer spoke up, her tone enthusiastic as she encouraged Ken to sit down. “If that is all the questions you have, Mr. Sato, I believe there are other people waiting.” The woman spoke with a smile, making you feel relieved at the change of topic. 

“Of course. Please, continue.” Ken spoke, nodding his head politely before taking a seat once more. 

You were thankful for the chance to breathe at least, to allow yourself a moment of recovery before you had to answer the next person’s question. You tried to stay focused on getting through the interview, your eyes fixated on the woman in the chair next to you as she spoke. You didn’t dare look out over that audience once again, in fear that your eyes would meet with someone you thought would’ve remained a memory of your past. 

You didn’t understand why he was here, why he would show up after all this time; and at one of your book tour events no less. How did he even find out you’d be here?��I guess, if he was following the tour dates, he could’ve easily figured that out. But still, the question of “why” was a mystery in and of itself. Like some annoying pop song repeating in your mind for the next few hours. 

What reason could he possibly have for coming back, had something been leaked to the news that you didn’t realize? How long was he planning on being around? Was this some cheap attempt to rekindle a past love for the sake of entertainment during his stay in America? Or worse, had he come back to gloat? 

Whatever his reasoning was, it had your brain scrambling to stay focused throughout the entirety of the interview. Just ten more minutes, two more minutes, ten more seconds until finally, you heard the words “thank you so much for joining us, we’ll see you next time” and you knew you were finally free. You walked backstage almost immediately after that, praying you’d avoid any further confrontation with the man you so desperately hoped to avoid. Unfortunately, it seems your prayers weren’t answered this time around, because just as you made your way to the back parking lot, speed walking towards your car, a voice made your heart clench in panic. 

“Got time to sign an autograph?” 

You paused, your heels scraping against the pavement as you came to a halt in the middle of the parking lot. You knew there was no getting out of this, he would just follow you to your car if you kept walking, he was stubborn and self-entitled like that. Better to just get the hard part over with and see what he wants instead of letting the questions continue to torment you. That way, at least you’d know what he was here for, and could prepare some sort of restraining order in case he came back for selfish reasons.

So, reluctantly, you turned your head, your eyes falling upon the silhouette of the man you once called your husband. You could seem him better now in the daylight, rather than the dim view you had earlier in the auditorium. And though you wouldn’t admit it, he looked good. Better in fact. He had always been attractive, that much was certain. But as he approached you now, with that fitted shirt and those business casual slacks, you felt your cheeks beginning to heat up; and that sense of determination to drive him away seemed to be forgotten momentarily. 

“…Hello Ken. It’s been a while.” You managed out a response, trying your best to sound calm and nonchalant. 

“Yeah, it has.” He walked up to you, stepping closer than you assumed he would. “I see you’re doing well. Bestselling author, huh?” 

“Oh...” You paused for a moment, expecting some sort of interrogation instead of this casual conversation that was currently taking place. “yeah... yeah it’s been a wild ride.” You let out a laugh, trying to take the edge off your awkwardness. 

He was staring at you fondly, as if the two of you were old friends just catching up; as if your marriage hadn’t ended in shouting and a slam of the front door. 

“Listen, uh...” He shifted his weight a bit, slipping a hand in the pocket of his dress pants. “I don’t know if you’re busy, but, I’m in town this week and so,” He looked up, his eyes fixated on you, analyzing every slight change in your facial expressions as he continued. “If you’re free, it would be nice to grab a drink or something.”

You felt your heart race at his words, shock and confusion filling the entirety of your brain, leaving you dumfounded before him. 

He wanted to go out? To “catch up?” Why? Did he need something? Was this a genuine attempt at resurrecting your failed marriage? Or had your newfound fame and social status brought him back instead? 

You couldn’t tell. He seemed to be acting friendly, friendlier than you expected. But then again, this was your arrogant, self-absorbed, ex-husband we were referring to here. This couldn’t have been genuine, could it? 

Could so much really have changed in the past five years? Could he really be a different person now than the one you divorced back then? 

I guess it’s possible, but, then again, the only way to know for sure was to accept his offer, and you weren’t exactly ready to take that chance just yet. 

“Um, I’m on tour actually, so I’m gonna be pretty busy this whole week.” 

It wasn’t a lie, at least; you had your schedule full of book signings and fan events almost every day this week. You knew you could’ve probably squeezed in an hour or two just to have a couple drinks with him, but, you weren’t exactly eager to prioritize someone who never reciprocated your effort in the past. 

“Oh, okay.” He glanced away, his hand reaching to caress the nape of his neck a bit awkwardly. “Yeah, I get it. Just, um…” He paused for a moment, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “Just let me know if you have some free time, okay?” 

“Yeah, sure.” You smiled nervously, trying to sound polite. “I just... I gotta be somewhere right now.” You clutched your purse a bit tighter around your fingers as you began to take a step back, trying to escape from your ex-husband’s advances. “But um… I’ll see you later.” 

He didn’t move, he didn’t try to prolong the conversation. He simply nodded and lifted his hand to give you a subtle wave. “Yeah, see you.” He spoke, his tone sounding a bit defeated, as if he could tell you were just turning him down nicely. 

You almost felt bad after seeing that hint of despondency in his gaze, but you didn’t act on it. You smiled politely and turned away, heading across the parking lot to retreat to your vehicle. A breath of relief escaped your lips the moment you shut the car door, feeling safe in confines of the automobile. 

What a day this had turned out to be.

But you didn’t dwell on it for too long. You actually did have somewhere to be, and as you pulled out your phone from your purse, you realized you should get going before you risked being late. So, after switching the gear shift into reverse and pulling out of your parking spot, you drove off, leaving a more somber version of your ex-husband behind to watch as you exited the parking lot.

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[utilitycaster]

C3 is a look on colonialism fans died out when imgn proposed the mortals plan. Because suddenly it was all about godlings, uwu cute babies and which characters could raise who either in revenge (Kiki & the Matron) or love (BY and Stormlord). As soon as that option got put on the table I never heard anyone else talking about colonialism. How can you when your blorbo's plan is allowing the "colonist power" to physically occupy the land and become more entrenched in political society.

That is definitely also part of it. Essentially, the problem is when people assign a show's political leanings on this basis of whether they like the blorbos or the ships. It's particularly bad in C3, where the general vibe among its most vocal fans was "anything my blorbo does is okay actually because if you don't like them you are attacking me personally," and where the people yelling about the clear themes of anticolonialism were mostly the descendants of the colonizers talking over if not outright disparaging the colonized. And the even bigger problem and what that original post was about is, of course, whether they do anything political outside posting and fandom, or if they just pretend that they do; not to mention whether they do anything one might consider radical (I know a lot of people who make no claims to be anything but a middle of the road registered democrat liberal who are almost certainly more active in community gardening and buy nothing groups and mutual aid and protecting the vulnerable in their community than the people who incorrectly decided that over-identifying with Ashton Greymoore was a substitute for having empathy for real living human beings who don't agree with you on fandom bullshit).

It is however not unique to C3. Since that recent question about C2 vs C3 criticism I've been thinking of people who suddenly started having massive problems with how Marisha played Beau as a woman of color after it became clear Beau and Yasha were going to get together, despite that being something that would not have changed in the slightest had Beau and Jester gotten together. It's not just "if a character is racist that means the author is racist which means the work is racist which means the fans are racist"; it's also that whether a work is racist or not is entirely determined on whether they liked what was happening in it.

I don't want to entirely decouple what one reads and enjoys from your politics altogether - obviously, someone who hates works on the basis of them including complex women or nonwhite characters or queer characters is going to be a bigot - but there really is a problem of people conflating what is explored in a work with the author of the work with the readers of that work, or people conflating (for example) not liking a specific queer ship or female or nonwhite character with homophobia, misogyny, or racism while themselves not abiding by that same rule, or generally just doing more arguing on behalf of fictional characters in fandom than living out any of their values in the real world. Like, really, am I supposed to believe the people who were assholes to Jewish people flagging how the anti-god arguments sounded uncomfortably close to real world anti-semitic rhetoric (and those people also deciding to put the word 'degenerate' in our mouths for *checks notes* thinking Laudna and Imogen are adults who are in control of their choices and actions and are not owed universal adoration) and who have, according to multiple conversations and some WILD confessions people have had in my tags, spent this entire campaign disparaging the colonized experiences of multiple people of color, particularly those of native/First Nations or Asian descent, are like...doing things in the real world that require interacting with people who aren't like them?

[my-castles-crumbling]

Do you think it's weird to ship two characters, but also their dads? So in a different fandom, (DC) I ship batman and superman because they are cute. But also Damian and Jonathan. Damian is batman's son from a woman called Talia and Jon is superman's son from Lois if you don't know. So like, shipping their dads technically makes them step brothers if they get married but, they are not obviously. Anyway, I feel bad about it in almost every fandom, for example, I ship narcissa and Lily, but also harry and draco. Like am I weird

Nope! It's fiction. Ship whoever you want, you're not weird. If you like reading it, you should read it, free of guilt.

I think this is funny because I've gotten a few questions about ships now. And you all are more than free to keep asking them, I love talking about fandom when everyone can be civil like this. But trust me, I will never judge any of you for who you ship.

[blanketcat31]

my contribution to the fandom

[shiroselia]

Honestly can I just say that I LOVE the way Sanderson introduces characters

Especially how The Layers of Shallan slowly but surely get revealed is So intricate and SO fun and god fucking damn I love her so much

Like the progression of Okay she wants to be a ward to this fancy woman > Okay she's a determined fuck- SHE WANTS TO WHAT. > Ohohoho wait you're FUN girlie WHY are you doing something this stupid > Oh my god she is nuts I love her > Omg she is So stubborn go girl go get that wardenship for reasons you're not admitting to- > **SHE HAS A WHAT**.

[silusvesuius]

i legit love when a character's gender is so integral to their personality (and perception obviously.) like so concrete that if genderbent their whole shtick would just be absolute dookie. anyways i'm just writing this text so i can talk in the tags (My beautiful safe haven)

this 14 minute song is soooooooooooo FYRE

[hopecomesbacktolife]

thinking of rereading the entirety of HoME again. for my health

[fox-mulder-gets-pegged]

Me when I see people reducing fictional women (especially woc and queer women) to The Bitch/The Mom/The Keeper Of The Braincell/The Reason Your Gay Ship Isn't Canon/The Sexy One/etc

[stardustdiiving]

Everytime I tell people who know me pretty well I LOVED Pearl from Steven Universe as a child it’s so humiliating bc they’re always like oh of COURSE you did . I bet you loved her thing with rose quartz didn’t you and I have to admit Rosepearl was an integral part me building an understanding of queerness and they’re like that makes SO much sense. I cannot keep doing this

[daisyachain]

This is generalization but it does make me feel like I’m losing my mind. Anglo-American romance novels aimed at women—‘what if you, a normal person, were forced into proximity with the smuggest most self-satisfied person who physically invades your space, insults you, acts like an attention whore at best, borderline sexually assaults you, isn’t that great’ and then you go to romance manga aimed at young women—‘what if you, a normal person, we’re forced into proximity with a two faced bitch who tries to control your every move and also refuses to speak or engage with you unless it’s to isolate you from your peers or get mad at you for talking to another living person’

[fefairys]

ramble about anxieties with psy that got longer than i inteded so its going under the break

my sibling pointed out that we should be careful with melody's character at the risk of falling into stereotypes of black and trans women being seen as annoying/loud/too much but like she is just such a Real Person to me that if we toned her down to try and avoid those stereotypes it would feel Wrong to me? like to me she is not a stereotype she is just a person who is having fun. and the thing is everyone adores her for it, no one except psy thinks she is annoying or Too Much, they love her. but like that is such a major concern to me that i was sure we were gonna get hate mail the second her chapter dropped (so so thankful that everyone seems to love her as much as we do and that that did not happen lol) and now that someone actually pointed it out (my fucking SIBLING no less) i am so anxious about it all over again when i had previously gotten over it and decided 'no, she's not a stereotype, she's a human with many multitudes!'

toning her down and making her "nicer" or whatever seems like. worse. it's just this loop of like. okay but we wrote her that way and we didnt have to. but shes such a real person in our heads. but shes NOT a real person shes a fictional character and we can write her however we want. idk i dont think it is an issue like i think she is good. i think you just gotta see that shes a very complex individual, as are all of the characters in psy. it would be even worse to make her Perfect and Nice and Never Does Anything Wrong to avoid making a black trans woman look bad on screen. like shes not perfect despite everyone she knows seeing her that way. and her seeing herself that way as a coping tool i have said too much

[narcissusneverknewme]

a very select portion of personalities trigger my latent tsundere traits.

In reverse of the usual order, this feels all the worse if they are fictional.

[asexualbuthorny]

women🤗

[ivipl1]

playing thru hl2 still & got to ep1 and i think i may be unhealthily attached to barney calhoun. whcih sucks because he does not show up a lot & im like a sad lost dog wandering around while the game tries to get me to romance alyx

[steveyockey]

To be aware you might be trans but unwilling to do anything about it is to create endlessly bigger boxes within which to contain yourself. When you are a child, that box might encompass only yourself and your parents. By the time you are a gainfully employed adult, that box will contain multitudes, and the thought of disrupting it will grow ever more unthinkable. So you cease to think of yourself as a person on some level; you think not of what you want but what everybody expects from you. You do your best not to make waves, and you apologize, if only implicitly, for existing. You stop being real and start being a construct, and eventually, you decide the construct is just who you are, and you swaddle yourself up in it, and maybe you die there. There is still time until there isn’t.

This reading of TV Glow’s deliberately anticlimactic, noncathartic ending cuts against the transition narrative you typically see in movies and TV, in which a trans person self-accepts, transitions, and lives a happier life. Owen gets trapped in a space where he knows what he must do to live an authentic life but simply refuses to take those steps because, well, burying yourself alive is a terrifying thing to do. The transition narrative posits a trans existence as, effectively, a binary switch between “man” and “woman” that gets flipped one way or another, but to make our lives so binary is to miss how trans existences possess an inherent liminality.

Humans’ lives unfold in a constant state of becoming until death, but trans people are uniquely keyed in to what this means thanks to the simple fact of our identities. You can get lost in that liminality, too, forever trapped in a midnight realm of your own making, stuck between what you believe is true (I am a nice man with a good family and a good job, and I love my life) and what you know, deep in your most terrified heart of hearts, is real (I am a girl suffocating in a box).

And yet if you want to read the film as being about the dangerous allure of nostalgia, you’re not wrong. I Saw the TV Glow totally supports that interpretation, too! But in tempting you with that reading, the film creates a trap for cis viewers that will be all too familiar to trans viewers. Somewhere in the middle of Maddy’s story about The Pink Opaque being real, you will make a choice between “This kid has lost it!” and “No. Go with her, Owen,” and in asking you to make that choice, TV Glow is simulating the act of self-accepting a trans identity.

See, the grimmer read of the film’s ending truly is a nihilistic one. It leaves no hope, no potential for growth, no exit. Yet you must actively choose to read that ending as nihilistic. If you are cis and the end of I Saw the TV Glow left you with a gnawing sense of dissatisfaction, a weird but hard-to-pin-down feeling that something had broken, and a melancholy bordering on horror — congratulations, this movie gave you contact-high gender dysphoria.

In an infinite number of possible universes, there is at least one where I am still living “as a man,” embracing my fictionality, avoiding looking at how much more raw and real I feel when I “pretend” to be a woman. I think about that guy sometimes. I hope he’s okay.

Consider, then, my cis reader, that TV Glow is for both you and me, but it is maybe most of all for him. I hope he sees it. I hope he breaks down crying in the bathroom afterward. I hope he, after so many years locked inside himself, hears the promise of more life through the hiss of TV static.

Emily St. James, “I Saw the TV Glow’s Ending Is Full of Hope, If You Want It to Be,” Vulture. June 4, 2024.