#they aren’t gay though. unfortunately

[detective-piplup]

I always get scared to use fancy words to describe my guys bc 0% of it is intentional but. miles crow and zeus “birch” nocere are opposites down to most of their colour palettes and their development over their lives. None of you will understand this but I do

[robiinurheart33]

Ok ok Johnny but he can’t accept the fact that people love him?

First girlfriend. Went south real fast and realised he was gay.

First boyfriend. Was bi-curious. First heartbreak too.

Second boyfriend. Only wanted him for his body. Self explanatory.

Third boyfriend. Way too emotionally unavailable, felt like they weren’t even dating at a point. Turns out he already has a partner.

You get the gist.

At a very young age, Johnny was aware of his unfortunate personality. School fights, family scoldings, bedroom sobbing, it’s all just a blur to him now. It’s not like he had the worst life out there, no. But he can’t shake the fact that he can’t really remember anything about his childhood. The trauma stuck though, unfortunately.

He could never really seem to shake off that “unloveable” blanket on his shoulders.

It’s not that bad, in retrospect. His friends like him, sure. They tolerate him. He knows he’s loud, he knows he’s brash, he’s a lot to deal with! He understands. So every once in a while, he’ll just…back off. Leave everyone alone and just spend some time alone. The horrors do get to him when he’s alone in his room, clutching the fabric of his shirt and trying to get ahold of his breathing, but it’s basically nothing to what everyone else has to endure! He’s selfish, he knows it already, always needy, always wanting. This is the least he can do to make sure that his loved ones aren’t tipped over the boiling point and actually leave him for good.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself at times.

Then he meets ghost.

Powerful, strong, admirable Ghost. He blew his fucking lid. He’s even bigger than the rumours suggest. He’s professional, clean. He’s everything that Soap wishes to be.

He’s jealous right off the bat. How could he not be?

Honestly, he feels a bit bad for the guy at the start. Soap’s laying it on thick with the touching and the questions. He’s obviously fucking with him a bit, bit to be fair he’s not really doing much to stop him either. As time goes on, it becomes a weird sort of admiration/jealousy thing. He still is jealous of Ghost, but not to an extreme extent that he could be.

Ghost is another very peculiar case, one that Soap doesn’t seem to mind prodding. After a few missions together, he could see why he was so infamous. But still, Ghost wasn’t pushing back. Has anyone done this to him before? Why was he just letting this happen? Ghost might find him weird, sure, but he’s the most curious disturbing motherfucker soap’s ever met.

The army isn’t exactly a place to find someone to get their dick wet, homophobes around the corner at every turn. Soap’s just accepted it as part of life now, not really wanting to think much on it but having that fact lurk at the back of his mind. It’s a bit depressing, sure, to not have anyone get to know his actual self, but then again he was sure that anyone who truly got to know him wouldn’t talk to him ever again. If it’s not the gay thing, it’s the army thing. If its not the army thing, it the personality thing. Whatever. John’s gotten used to it.

However, though some unexplainable force (the SAS and Price), Soap and Ghost had become some sort of dynamic duo now. They’d fought together, lost together, gone through some of the most horrific weathers known to man, and they’d both survived under some miracle. Well, soap survived. He never doubted ghost would.

He got very close though. Way too close for Soap’s liking. They were in some fuck-ass country upside down the earth, down to his last mag and ghost clipped in the shoulder. They were hauling ass just- away. They didn’t know when exfil would get there, or where. Their main objective was just to survive. Ghost was making a very vulnerable wheezing sound from his throat and Soap’s gun was overheating, burning though his gloves.

“Soap- Sargent.” Ghost whispered, somehow always remaining calm in the most chaotic situation Soap’s been in so far. Either that, or he’s just really fuckin tired.

“No’ now, L.T, tryna get us to safety.”

“Soap, leave me behind.”

“What? Listen, I’ve got no time for your stupid heroism crap, okay? Just- shut up.”

“MacTavish, im serious. I have nothing waiting for me. I’ll be okay. Just go. Stay safe.”

“Whot the hell did i just say?” He snapped, turning towards him. “I’ve go’ no time for this. You’re coming wit me whether you like it or not.” Soap jabs a finger into his chest, leaning in close until he’s sure Ghost can see the faintest scar on his right eyebrow from screwing around with a razor with his friends, trying to give himself a eyebrow slit.

“You’ve got me, haven’t ya? You’ve got Price, and the people on your team are counting on you. I’m counting on you. So you can die somewhere else, in the bumfuck a’ nowhere, but you’re not allowed to die today, now. Ya hear me?”

Like this, gunpowder and dust making his nose itchy, looking intensely at Ghost to make sure his point is drive home, there’s a look in his eyes that soap thinks he’s never seen before. He- he kinda looks like-

How Soap looks at Ghost.

With admiration.

Oh.

So, yeah. They ran out of there on the air of their asses, Soap laughing as the final hits of adrenaline pulses his heart, Ghost leaning against him with the same look in his eye, and they’ve never exactly been the same after that.

Soap chalked it off as it being in the heat of the moment kinda thing, but he’s been consistently catching Ghost’s eye staring at him from a distance away, just staring, with that strange look in his eye. Not always with the same emotion, Soap guesses, but still. It’s close enough. He doesnt know what’s happening, or what he did, but something changed. And it’s driving him insane. It’s not that Ghost wasn’t already friendly in his own weird ghost way, but now he’s being friendly in a normal way.

It’s so weird.

He’ll be waiting at the gun range for Soap like he knows he’d appear there, toss him an apple when he feels peckish, slap his hand away when he needs to change bandages muttering something about him not doing it properly. It’s weird, and it’s nice, and it’s making soap feel all itchy and hot. he can’t even scratch himself anymore as a soothing tick, Ghost will just slap his hand away and grumble a “stop that.”

It’s weird, and soap can’t help but enjoy it.

He feels a bit selfish, feeling like he’s somehow taking advantage of ghost’s kindness, but for what? He’s feeling guilty but what exactly is he being selfish about? Maybe a mental checkup is in order, he’s losing his mind a bit. They’re friends, that’s all. It’s not…that unheard of that ghost would have friends, isn’t it? He should feel honoured to be his…fist? Again, Soap doesn’t know a lot about him.

Time passes. He dips his toes in guerrilla warfare for the first time, can’t say he’s a fan. Been backstabbed, shot, and survived. Hes earned his nickname, and sticks by it. (Hah) Though thick and thin, Ghost’s been there throughout it all. An angel guiding him to the churches, a leader who he would follow to the pits of hell, a friend when he needed one. After all that, the questions just never seemed to slow down. About his family, himself, his hobbies… to keep him awake, to pass the time, just whenever. Mostly Soap would get grumbles and short answers, proper sentences if he’s in the mood (which is all the time) or drunk enough. He’s flustered under all the attention and he knows it, itching beneath the helmet and the layers of armour. Soap is brash, and loud, and a little bit of a pyromaniac. He knows it. He’s fine with it. All jagged edges, no slowing down in sight. He doesnt know what to do with the change coming. He does the only thing he knows to do. He runs. After all of it is said and done, with makarov in the streets now, not much is to be done other than waiting for further instruction.

Applies leave for a few days, rented a airbnb online, have some alone time. Reset. Easy. Simple. Hes done this all his life. But when he was just about to slip out, Ghost suddenly appeared right in front of him.

“Gah- Jesus, fuck, ghost. What’s wrong?”

“You’re leaving.”

“Yeah, I am. You signed off on the papers.”

“Why?”

“Just…some time. To myself.”

“Is that it?”

“…yeah?” What else does he want me to say?

Ghost looks like he.. squirms a bit, which is weird. Ghost doesn’t squirm.

“Just… the countryside. And stuff.” This is the worst casual conversation he’s ever had with Ghost.

“Um… i got you something.” Then he’s holding something out.

“Huh? Really- this is a rock.” What the fuck.

“It’s a rock from Las Almas.”

“You… kept a rock. From Las Almas. What, you couldn’t have stopped by an actual gift shop just around the corner? I think i saw one right around where i found your knife lodged into-”

“-You done yet?” He snaps.

“Apparently not, sir. You wanna explain the rock?” Soap’s being a bitch.

“Just that… you’re going to be alone… and. Makarov.”

“It’s a legitimate place, ghost. you wont find anyone there.”

“Not just that, it’s like-” He groans slightly and scratches the back of his head. “You’re going to be alone, and the last time you were alone..”

Oh.

“It’s just a reminder that like, I wasn’t going to give it to you this soon but, i was there. With you. You weren’t truly alone, johnny. And.. you’re going to be alone now. Actually alone. And i just….its. I’m here. At Redhill. I’m going to be here. You know where to find me.”

You’ve got me, haven’t ya?

Oh shit.

Soap doesn’t know what to say. He can feel the tip of his ears burning, pricking down his cheeks and flush down his neck. He doesnt know how to stand properly, what to say, how to think. Because everything he;s thinking right now should not be applied to his lieutenant.

This doesn’t mean anything, right? It doesn’t change anything. It’s still the same. Soap knows that Ghost cares about him. He’s his Sargent. He’s his Sargent. But not in that way. They’re friends. The rock from Las Almas. He’s fine. They’re fine. It’s just like the rock is a physical manifestation and real evidence that Ghost may or may not like him. Jesus, he shouldn’t think like that. He’s too quiet. He should say something. His lips twitch.

“Thank you.” THAT’S IT?? SAY MORE.

“I’ll know where to look, then.” Soap gives the most half flustered, half assed smile he’s ever given to anyone. He cant even begin to imagine how he looks right now. His heart pulls. Ghost looks away. He feels like he’s going to be swept off his feet in a bad (good) way.

“Right then.” He clears his throat, disappearing down the corner of the hallway. Soap gapes as he stares after him. What was that? What was him? What? He looks down at the heavier-than-it should-look rock in his sweaty palms, and swallows.

This doesn’t change anything. They’re still working together. They’re the lieutenant and Sargent of the 141 Taskforce. He’s fine. They’re fine.

Everything is okay.

[edgeray]

“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

---

Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt. 

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes. 

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them. 

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here. 

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be. 

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead. 

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage. 

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly. 

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it? 

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form. 

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you. 

"Someone wants you." 

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight." 

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight." 

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else." 

"They're not someone you or I can refuse." 

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh. 

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living. 

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.” 

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking. 

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting. 

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both. 

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you. 

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken? 

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself. 

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch. 

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end? 

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face. 

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them. 

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face. 

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily. 

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount. 

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh. 

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client. 

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers. 

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk. 

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation. 

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice. 

“Sit.” 

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own. 

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin. 

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave. 

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly. 

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin. 

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson. 

“Doll.” 

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you. 

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by: 

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds. 

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger. 

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make. 

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge. 

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste: 

They taste like sin. 

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them. 

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds. 

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody. 

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh. 

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact. 

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.  

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips. 

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you. 

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle. 

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf. 

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips. 

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting. 

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear. 

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward. 

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.” 

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

[musicalmoritz]

It’s canon Mitsuba’s gay?

I’m gonna use this as an excuse to yap because Mitsuba’s queercoding is either weirdly downplayed by fans or used solely for BL shipping purposes so I want to talk about it through the lens of what it means for his character, role in the story, and relationship with Kou

Yes, Mitsuba is canonically gay

Things don’t have to be explicitly stated in order to be canon, subtext is a major part of media analysis. This is something a lot of fans miss which leads to a misunderstanding of the source material. I do have some credentials for this, I’ve taken two undergrad college literature classes in which the subject of queercoding did come up multiple times. Meaning analyzing queercoding has literally gone towards my degree so I feel like my opinion holds some weight (not as much as that of an actual English major but yk I assume I’ve had more education on it than the general TBHK fandom)

There are multiple ways to queercode a character, sometimes it can be as simple as feminizing a man or masculinizing a woman. Though that method might be a bit outdated nowadays with gender roles becoming less strict, it’s still worth keeping in mind when analyzing queer characters. Another way is through romantically colored scenes with characters of the same sex, or by having them hint at disinterest in the opposite sex. Mitsuba checks off all three of these boxes and then some

First off, Mitsuba is attracted to men. This is made extremely obvious through his relationship with Kou but I’m gonna explain it anyways because unfortunately I’ve seen a lot of fans say they’re just platonic

Mitsuba and Kou went on a date. When this is brought up, fans typically jump to the excuse of “but Kou said it wasn’t a date,” which is where my American Lit class is going to come in handy. One of the major things we learned is that authors have to understand that everything they write has some sort of real world connotation. If you write a scene with a doctor, you have to understand that your readers already have preconceived notions of what doctors represent. You can choose to either lean into that or subvert it, but you have to be aware that as soon as a doctor enters the scene, readers have already made assumptions about that character

The word “date” is clearly being used in a romantic context here. When Kou texts his friends and brother about it, they all assume he’s talking about a romantic date. While in the actual context of the scene, Mitsuba and Kou aren’t quite ready to use such a strong label yet, the romantic wording here is still very intentional. AidaIro would not have labeled this moment as a date if they didn’t want readers to view it in a romantic light, because they understand that their readers are going to associate dates with romance. Japanese censorship is really strict, it’s hard to publish stories with explicitly queer characters unless the series is labeled as a BL or GL. And so Japanese manga writers often have to find roundabout ways to express that characters are gay without outright stating it- such as suggesting that they’re going on a date with a character of the same sex

In the printed volume for Vol.20, there’s an editor’s note that mentions that when Kou and Mitsuba are making plans to hang out at the school festival, it holds a romantic implication for the Japanese audience. Cultural differences are important to keep in mind, to western fans this scene might not raise any eyebrows but for its primary audience, it is confirmation that Mitsuba and Kou are romantic. I also find it interesting that the editor felt this context was important enough to warrant clarification

And frankly, their relationship doesn’t make a lot of sense if it’s solely platonic. Male friendship is something TBHK writes very realistically, the male characters aren’t as touchy-feely with their friends as they are with their female love interests. Yokoo and Satou don’t directly ask Kou how he’s feeling when they notice he’s upset, instead they give him a task to distract him- similar to how men in real life cheer their friends up through quality time rather than talking through their emotions like women do (not every man ofc but a good majority of them). When Teru is down, Akane doesn’t hold him and reassure him the way he does with Aoi. There are no grand declarations of ultimate “friendship” the way you see in fan servicy series like Haikyuu. Instead, he used his and Teru’s rivalry to indirectly motivate him to get his head back in the game. When Hanako is sad, Kou cheers him up by making donuts for him and then giving them to Nene so she can pretend she’s the one who made them. This is a very healthy portrayal of male friendship, and Mitsuba and Kou are nothing like this

Mitsuba and Kou both cry and vent to each other multiple times (the Mitsuba Arc, the Picture Perfect Arc, the Nightlife Arc), and instead of comforting each other indirectly they do things like offering to die for each other. You would never see Akane offer to die to make Teru feel better, nor would you Aoi and Nene or Kou and Hanako. It stands out so much from other friendships in the series, even Kou’s friendships with other characters. That is a conscious writing decision, AidaIro make a point to show Mitsuba as an exception for Kou. It’s worth noting that in the same chapter where Yokoo and Satou cheer Kou up indirectly, Mitsuba attempts to directly have him talk about his feelings

They’re also incredibly possessive over one another, in a way friends usually aren’t. When Kou was in the Red House, he was shown his greatest desires, and Mitsuba appeared in one of these. Kou said he knew Mitsuba would appear, which is interesting because at that point he had already picked up on the house showing him what he wanted. But what does he want? He wants Mitsuba to rely on him entirely, to be completely useless without him. He wants Mitsuba to be “no good without him,” to need him so badly that he begs him to die so they can be together. I’m not exaggerating, these are lines pulled straight from the chapter (paraphrased but still). Later on in the Nightlife arc, Kou breaks down when he discovers Mitsuba has been relying on Tsukasa for life-saving help. As for Mitsuba, he wants to die by Kou’s hands. He says it wouldn’t be satisfying if anyone else killed him, and that he would be happy if Kou were to be the last person he spent time with before he died. He tries to trap Kou in a picture perfect world just like Hanako does with Nene, because he wants to live a normal life with him. It’s also shown in one of the extras that Mitsuba cries when Kou ignores him

They’re also drawn very romantically, again we don’t see Teru and Akane this intimate with one another unless they’re fighting. We especially don’t see Kou this intimate with anyone other than Mitsuba, and while Mitsuba is sometimes clingy with Tsukasa we certainly never see him posed romantically with a woman. This comes back to authorial intent and real world connotations, AidaIro know that male friends aren’t typically this close, and therefore casual affection like this will be interpreted in a romantic light. We see them hold hands/wrists multiple times too, Kou gives Mitsuba a piggyback ride in one scene, and in ASHK they had a classic “pinned against the wall” page

I’ll also mention the AUs, because those indicate a lot about the characters as well. In Hanako-Kun of the Opera, Kou poisoned Mitsuba so he could take him away from the opera house and protect him from Tsukasa. He basically kidnapped him. He also stayed with Mitsuba at the opera house for a seemingly long period of time despite hating opera. Aaaaand they’re childhood best friends in this au and Kou took care of Mitsuba while he was sick

Then there’s the Ghost Hotel, where Kou is a werewolf who takes bites out of mummy Mitsuba during full moons. Despite this, the two appear to be friends and Mitsuba helps Kou out around the kitchen. Cannibalism is consistently tied to romance throughout TBHK, most notably with Hakubo and Sumire but other romantic pairings have cannibalistic moments or official arts. During the zombie mokke chapter, Nene panicked when Akane tries to eat her because she assumed it would put her in a love triangle with Aoi. So yeah, cannibalism in TBHK is directly tied to romance and we see that with Mitsukou both in canon and in this au. Speaking of which, I’m not even gonna get into the symbolism of Kou holding a heart out to Mitsuba. Connect the dots for yourselves

Now that we’ve got Mitsukou out of the way, let’s talk about Mitsuba’s disinterest in women

Remember how I said one of the ways queercoding is done is by having a character hint at disinterest in the opposite sex? Yeah, very rarely are we going to see a queercoded male character outright say “I have no attraction to women.” Instead they say they just never saw the appeal in dating, or that they never had time to settle down. In more obvious cases, we have scenes like Reiner from AOT joking that Ymir isn’t all that into guys

I couldn’t find the second scene but there are TWO extras where the subject of Mitsuba’s disinterest in women comes up. C’mon guys I’m trying not to be mean here but you have to be blind, oblivious, or in denial to not pick up on that. Whyyyyy would they mention Mitsuba not having a crush on any girls twice if it weren’t to suggest something about his preference?? Coupled with his appearance (which I’ll get to later) and relationship with Kou, these scenes carry a lot of weight. Even if those other aspects weren’t included, scenes like this would still indicate he has no interest in women (which would make him gay or aroace, though due to his relationship with Kou the aroace thing is kind of ruled out)

Compare this to a scene where Mitsuba thinks he’s being asked out by a man. He doesn’t say “hmmm nope no guys, I’m cuter than all of them~” he specifically says “I’m not interested in guys with lame earrings.” The way this is worded implies that Mitsuba is discussing a type, though it’s v much a comedic scene and we know from everything else that he absolutely does like guys with lame earrings, it’s still worded in a way that makes him appear queer. If he were straight, they would have had him say he’s not interested in guys at all (like Dazai from Bungou Stray Dogs, John Watson from BBC Sherlock, Finn Hudson from Glee, idk there are a lot of male characters that are explicit straight sorry for the crazy random list). Also note how he teases Kou about it, he knows that Kou is fond of him and doesn’t hesitate to use that against him (like when he was comforting him during the Nightlife arc)

They don’t go overboard with Mitsuba’s disinterest in women because, well, that’s not really necessary. Two scenes is already a lot, and he doesn’t have any romantic relationships with women in canon (even as a crush/a joke scene). It’s rare for TBHK characters to have absolutely no scenes expressing interest in the opposite sex, since the series is partially a romance. But Mitsuba consistently only ever shows interest in one man, and when girls are brought up he’s quick to brush it off. His mom did think Nene was his girlfriend when they met, but this was depicted as a very awkward and comedic scene. Because the premise of Mitsuba having a girlfriend is objectively hilarious

(Due to Sousuke’s young age it’s reasonable to assume he wasn’t out to his mom yet, he’s around the age where most kids are closeted. It’s even possible that Sousuke hadn’t come to terms with his sexuality yet, though it’s still a prevalent part of both his character and No.3’s)

Now let’s move onto appearances. I want to give a quick disclaimer, not all gay men are feminine and not all feminine men are gay. Androgyny is also very common in anime and doesn’t automatically mean a character is gay, but there are cases when it’s used for queercoding. Mitsuba is one of these cases

Mitsuba is a very feminine character, this is addressed as soon as he shows up in the manga. He was bullied for his appearance (and personality), but unlike his personality he never tried to change his feminine appearance. He kept his hair long, continues to wear scarves and cardigans and earrings. No.3 wears these things as well, and I would argue has a more feminine personality since he seems to be more open about his emotions and idk. I struggle to categorize feminine and masculine traits because imo that’s subjective but there are things society deems feminine vs. masculine. The problem is that I really dislike the whole “men are strong and women are emotional” thing but ehhhh I guess I have to talk about it for this. Hmph. But yeah although Mitsuba isn’t exactly the biggest sweetheart ever, he does act somewhat feminine compared to the other male characters (as I’ve said he’s p much the only man in the series who attempts to work through emotional conflicts directly)

Once again we circle back to intent, AidaIro know that a male character dressed in pink with pink eyes and long pink hair is going to raise some eyebrows. Even by androgynous anime standards, it’s a bit much. And good for him, although not all gay men are feminine, some are and that’s also fine. I can’t speak on how well he represents feminine gay men because I’m a lesbian but he does dress similar to some of the feminine gay men I’ve known irl (or slightly less feminine in some cases…I knew this one dude in high school who used to wear corsets to class and he was so badass I hope he’s doing well)

I could get into how Kou is a bit feminized too with the whole housework thing but this ain’t abt him. I will say that Kou is still a very masculine character but despite this his character is feminized in some ways compared to the other men. I’m not really here to discuss whether that’s good or bad, I’m just stating the evidence as it is, you can make your own conclusions as to how you feel about it

So how does being queer impact Mitsuba’s character arc?

When I get around to writing my analyses of all the TBHK characters I WILL be talking more in depth about the queer allegories with Mitsuba’s character but for now I’ll give ya’ll a quick summary. Supernatural characters have been used for years to represent queerness, the same could be said for villains and any character trope that represents a feeling of “otherness.” Sometimes it’s more broad like X-Men, where the superpowered characters are used to represent all types of minorities (though I believe X-Men is more closely tied to race, there are rampant queer themes as well). Then there’s books like Interview with the Vampire that get more specific with it, where Louis denying his “true nature” as a vampire is used as an allegory for him denying his queerness. Well I’m here to tell you that Mitsuba and Louis de Pointe du Lac are in the same boat

Mitsuba differs from the other supernaturals because he desperately tries to hold on to feelings of normalcy. He wants to be a normal human and live a normal human life. He doesn’t want to be othered, to be outcasted from society for something he can’t control. We don’t see Hanako, Tsuchigomori, Mei, or any of the other supernatural characters struggle with this. You could argue that Akane does but his situation is more related to learning to empathize with others than any internal battles within himself. Hanako may have moments of wishing him and Nene could have something more, but that’s more about romance than his identity.

This desire to be “normal” is unique to Mitsuba’s character, and it’s a very queer desire. Being an angsty teenager who hasn’t fully accepted themself yet and hasn’t realized that being queer is not only normal, but a beautiful experience. It’s also so interesting to me that as he’s trying so hard to be normal, it creates a push and pull between him and Kou. He wants to be normal for Kou but he also feels that he’s hurting Kou just by existing, that this could only end bad for him. Oh the inherent guilt of having your first gay crush and feeling like you're corrupting them hist for pining from afar

So, can you ship him with women? Technically you can do anything, shipping isn’t illegal and we all have free will. Should you ship him with women is more subjective, I personally think no!! Queerness is not just a sexuality, it’s an identity that deeply impacts who you are as a person. It shapes your experiences and your view of yourself, and in an allegorical way it has certainly done this for Mitsuba. Yes, bi people are queer as well and this is still true for them, but bisexuality is not Mitsuba’s experience. Mono-attraction exists and that specification is very important to gay men and lesbians. For some people sexuality is fluid and that’s beautiful, but it doesn’t work that way for everyone

Some queer fans don’t care if gay characters are shipped with members of the opposite sex, and they’re entitled to their own opinions. It makes me immensely uncomfortable tho, so please block me if you ship Mitsuba with women. That goes for any ships between canon gay/lesbian characters and the opposite sex. I respect people’s right to have opinions but that doesn’t mean I have to like the opinions themselves, and I don’t have to engage with anything that makes me uneasy. That goes for all of you btw, never let people convince you that you have to put up with shit you hate on the internet lmao, this is not real life babes. Block and move on

TL;DR

Mitsuba is too gay to function

[wintersera]

17 — round 2 (half written)

cw: smut, omega sub!minjeong, dom!reader, elements of ABO (omegaverse)

wc: 1k

6am.

6am and minjeong was not looking too good. that uncomfortable, tingly, aching sensation between her thighs unfortunately woke her up from one of the best rests she’d ever taken.

no matter how hard she tried to suppress her heat, nothing worked. at all. meditation would be the best thing for her to do, but i mean, she’s dealing with her first ever heat and her animalistic mind couldn’t conceive any other thoughts- you could say that her head was occupied, and i mean occupied, with nothing more than rough and hard sex, with you specifically. even staring at you would instantly turn her on till the sheets would be sticky with slick.

in her state of vulnerability, she shook you hard to get you to wake up, not even thinking about your well being whatsoever. she just really wanted you awake, to obviously bend her over and fuck her rough like you did previously last night.

“wake up y/n, wake up” violently shaking you before giving up moments later.

she had to deal with this on her own, but alas, she couldn’t understand how to use her fingers herself, and the only way to toss aside her pains was you, clearly.

you were sound asleep. actually, you were dead asleep. after over exhausting yourself and going beyond your capabilities, it made a lot of sense to why you passed out after you sent your last tweet.

it was painfully silent. minjeong’s rapid heart beat rammed against her chest; her palms clammy as she proceeded to lift off the thick sheets that laid on your resting body.

was this a good idea? maybe not, but whatever, she had to have your fingers and nothing could stop her from using you as her little play thing.

minjeong took your hand and gently laid it on top of the sheets, occasionally glancing towards your face just to check for signs of you stirring awake. your arm fell with a dull thud, minjeong winced at the sound, even though the noise wasn’t loud enough to wake you up.

then she positioned herself, your hand between her legs. minjeong didn’t really know what exactly to do.

“mmm… morning…. huh?” you woke up abruptly. immediately minjeong sprung back out of surprise, her hand resting on her chest as she felt her own hearbeat, checking if it didn’t stop from the shock.

“m-morning” she shyly squeaked out “sorry, just felt-“

you cut her off “tingly again, right?” voice sort of low and husky. although you were barely awake, your body responded to hers. it was kind of like you both were in sync “gimme a minute jeongie, need to wake up for this'' you stretched in her bed before you got up, realising that your arms sort of ache from all the work you put in last night.

“need you now” she growled, grasping your arm and tugging you closer.

“be patient minjeong, let me-” returning the favour from cutting her off, minjeong stood up from the bed to push you back down. her now straddling your waist with a cheeky grin slowly appearing.

“please” her eyes grew a dark red again, like it did the night before. that's when you knew you couldn’t deny her orders.

“are you naturally this horny?” holding her hips and making her press her cunt against your bare stomach.

“naturally” she responded with a mewl. minjeong placed one of her hands on top of yours, indicating that she wanted them off

“in… please” she begged.

“oh cute. you’re lucky it’s a weekend and you’re lucky that my parents aren’t that strict” you chuckle, taking your hand off her hips. she seemed pretty desperate, and well you being gay ass kwon y/n, you couldn’t deny a pretty girls request, even if you didn’t know her like that at all.

you easily flipped her over in a swift motion, cushioning her head and ensuring that she’s comfortable with the position. it was you on top of her again.

“want it that badly?” you teased her. a smug smirk on your face. you couldn’t quite place why, but there was something about her that made you feel so oddly power hungry. just her being under you felt liberating.

“need it so much” the only thing she could say before you slid three fingers inside her cunt. minjeong gasped at the sudden stimulation. for her, it felt relieving. the tingly, achy feeling subsided and was replaced by waves of pleasure.

“you’re such a handful minjeong” you breathed out, swooping down to kiss her neck. she hums in approval, letting you graze your teeth against her sensitive skin.

you push your fingers even deeper inside of her, searching for the spot that made her feel the best. you think you did a good job, her mouth falling open each time you hit that specific spot. her moans gradually became louder and louder… even more louder. with the sounds from her wet pussy and the added on moans, the need to finger her harder was stronger than ever.

minjeong shuddered. her grasp on your arm turned into a painful grip as she kept your hand still while she shut her legs. a harsh moan came from the back of her throat while she cried out your name numerously.

—

back to reality.

you stood in minjeong’s bathroom questioning what had happened in the last twenty four hours. it was a saturday morning as well, which meant that you had the time to reflect on your sinful actions. it’s not like you regretted it, okay maybe you did a little bit. you could’ve gotten to know minjeong a little better before you did that.

you splashed yourself with cold water. shivering as you pat your face dry. unfortunately you slept in your clothes you wore yesterday too. eugh, you felt icky.

just what on earth had happened. somehow you ended up here. with a girl. in an empty house. no parents, no one. just you and her.

to make matters even worse, minjeong was still violently horny. maybe she should get that checked out you thought to yourself.

but now, you had to get an explanation out of her.

or ask to leave.

prev | masterlist | next

TAGLIST (closed)

@slowlydifferentbluebird @alcoholfreenayeon @myouiiiiiiii @uzumakioden @nasyu-kookies @earthto-eden @omgcatherine @skydreamed @wonysugar @pupyuj @jisooftme @jeongggiiiee @silentreader98 @rinapomu @1luvkarina @demtions @wintersgff @prkchaeyo0 @haerinkisser @huhyunjinwifey @haerinfangs @pandafuriosa60 @thefckghost @nr1chaedickrider @baebeefyburrito @sighsam @magicalmilkshaketimemachine @jigujellee @seulblade @yuki3000

[viviseawrites]

eddie munson knows he’s an anomaly. he has the kind of star power and attitude and talent that takes people far from where they start. unfortunately, his teachers don’t agree; nor does his presentation.

because eddie munson presents as a male omega in a small, backward town in the midwest, and that makes him a freak, makes him something to be sneered at instead of revered, insulted instead of praised.

he takes it in stride, though, because fuck that. he knows he’s gonna get out of here and make it anyway. so eddie munson does what he does best: he weaves a story for himself, around himself.

he imagines the struggles of high school and bigotry as enemies in his righteous quest for glory and vengeance. but at no point does he foresee his story veering into a romance. it’s never been in the cards for him.

because eddie is gay. he likes men; he doesn’t care about designations. but there aren’t any other male omegas in hawkins. and male alphas, at least here, are rude and crass and vaguely threatening.

they don’t like that eddie doesn’t behave the way he should, according to their conservative upbringings. so they talk shit and pick on him and sometimes get physically aggressive. so no alphas either.

and no one ever talks about betas. betas, who are caretakers and workers. who represent normalcy and stability. even eddie thinks that’s boring, and no beta has ever proved him wrong.

granted, it’s not like he talks to many to challenge that idea for himself. mostly he forgets about them. but that changes during spring break. eddie’s story changes. he’s still gonna do big things, only now he wonders if he can do it all in love.

he watches steve harrington face the Upside Down with bat blood in his mouth and bite marks up his sides and he wants. steve is a beta. steve is the most badass person eddie has maybe ever met.

and that latent crush from his second senior year rears its head with a roar because—and this is the trippy part—steve meets him gaze for gaze, step for step. steve calms him, humors him, acts normal. he keeps eddie sane.

eddie should hate it, did hate it for years. but he knows better now, because steve harrington is a steady, normal, boring beta, and eddie is falling in love with his quiet strength and focus. he’s anything but forgettable.

and after vecna. oh, after vecna, stability is all eddie wants. and he’s lucky, because steve is always there. taking his weight when eddie forgets his cane, challenging andy when the basketball team gets ideas, watching the kids.

eddie can’t help it. his heat hits because the bats ate his fucking suppressant implant out of his guts, the bastards, and steve offers to help him through that too. eddie says yes before he’s too far gone. and things change again.

his heat ends and steve just stays. and maybe eddie won’t let him go far, begs him for just a little while longer, but steve just grins and curls back into him, around him.

eddie thinks, sleepily, about how they fit together so perfectly, an anomaly and the ordinary boy who loves him. it turns out normal with steve is better than anything else.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

A lot of good sources linked in the original article!

By Bruce Mirken

As the dangers of Long COVID become more recognized, the country's going backwards on preventing new infections.

While I’m far from the only person worried about Long COVID and our society’s general inclination to look away and pretend it’s not there, people like me certainly feel badly outnumbered. It’s beginning to feel reminiscent of how people with AIDS and their loved ones felt circa 1986—and maybe it’s time for the same kind of response.

For those of you lucky enough not to have lived through that era, by the end of 1986, AIDS had killed nearly 25,000 Americans, but president Ronald Reagan had yet to speak the word “AIDS.” His press secretary had joked about it and the White House press corps laughed. While individual scientists were doing important work, the bureaucracies running the NIH and FDA seemed very much to be in business-as-usual mode. Because the casualties had largely been gay men and injection drug users, it seemed like no one with any power cared whether we lived or died.

So, a group of New Yorkers – mostly gay men – decided it was time to start raising hell. Calling themselves ACT UP, they disrupted the New York Stock Exchange and, as chapters sprang up nationwide, they staged protests that shut down the FDA and NIH. Eventually, people like Anthony Fauci began to see they had a point. I joined the Los Angeles ACT UP chapter in 1988 and ended up getting arrested half a dozen times in protests at the LA federal building, the County Board of Supervisors and the U.S. Capitol, among others. We won major improvements in HIV/AIDS care in the Los Angeles County health system, which cared for thousands of people with AIDS who had no health insurance. When I landed in San Francisco in 1993, I connected with ACT UP Golden Gate.

Here I am (with my late boyfriend Tim at the left) at one of the protests in that L.A County healthcare campaign. Most of my closest friends from that era have been dead for decades.

I get that COVID has played out very differently than HIV/AIDS. AIDS ramped up slowly and seemed not to affect “normal” people until it killed closeted gay movie and TV star Rock Hudson in 1985, and even then officials largely looked the other way. Only scientific breakthroughs in the 1990s finally stemmed the tide of death. In contrast, the much more highly transmissible SARS-CoV-2 virus came on fast and furious, turning Americans’ lives upside-down almost immediately.

But now, we’ve arrived at what seems in some ways like an eerily similar place. When needed precautions to curb a highly infectious airborne virus spurred frustration and political pushback, officials largely threw up their hands and gave up. Even measures that don’t involve mandates or restrictions on behavior have mostly either been dropped or never happened in the first place.

LONG COVID’S GROWING TOLL

Unfortunately, the virus hasn’t gone away, even if the initial wave of mass death has receded. In August, as a summer surge peaked, US COVID-19 deaths exceeded 1,000 per week, though the latest September data suggests the numbers have begun declining toward pre-surge levels, when deaths were generally in the 300-400 per week range. That’s still equal to a 9/11 every eight to 10 days. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention tracking of SARS-CoV-2 levels in wastewater—probably the best data on US viral prevalence now that cases aren’t being reliably tracked—showed 15 states with “very high” levels and another 19 rated as “high” as of Sept. 19.

But COVID is not just a matter of cases and deaths. The disease’s long-term effects have disabled millions of Americans, and the numbers keep growing with each new wave of infection. An updated review published in Nature Medicine puts the current global number of Long COVID sufferers at 400 million and estimates the worldwide economic impact at a staggering $1 trillion.

We now have plenty of people experiencing repeated SARS-CoV-2 infections. The good news, if you can call it that, is that these reinfections may produce fewer new cases of Long Covid than a person’s first infection – but they absolutely produce some, and the Omicron variants circulating in the last year or two seem to produce more Long Covid than earlier viral varieties. Every time you get COVID, you roll the dice with your health – maybe for the rest of your life.

If I sound alarmed, well, I am. As longtime readers may know, I have some first-hand experience with Long COVID, though in milder form than many experience. My January 2022 infection left me with peripheral neuropathy—painful nerve damage—in my legs and feet. It’s incurable and nearly impossible to treat, as conventional pain drugs don’t help. I will likely never live another day without pain and walking more than six or seven blocks at a stretch is a struggle. I used to enjoy hiking, but will probably never do it again. Still, I don’t have the more debilitating symptoms like crushing fatigue or dysautonomia—disruption of the part of the nervous system that controls automatic functions like heartbeat, blood pressure, digestion and breathing—that afflict some Long COVID sufferers. Lots of people have it way worse than I do.

We know that COVID can have lasting impacts on many parts of the body, including the brain. A recent study of 52 COVID survivors—about half with mild to moderate initial illness and half with more severe disease—found that compared to healthy controls, both groups “had a significantly higher score of cognitive complaints involving cognitive failure and mental fatigue” 27 months after their original illness, with no significant difference based on the severity of that initial illness. On a series of tests, researchers found “changes in brain function” that may explain the reported problems.

Just as scary, a study of people aged 65 and up just published in the Journal of Alzheimer’s Disease reports that “people with COVID were at significantly increased risk for new diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease within 360 days after the initial COVID diagnosis.” This review of the medical records of over six million patients found that the risk escalated with advancing age. As with many of these long-term impacts, the mechanisms involved remain unclear.

Survivors of an initial SARS-CoV-2 infection also have increased rates of high blood pressure, now documented in multiple studies. High blood pressure increases your risk of deadly cardiovascular complications like heart attack and stroke.

I can’t help but wonder whether these issues have affected me, but there’s no way to be sure. My blood pressure, well-controlled for a dozen years with a very low dose of medication, began ratcheting upward about a year and a half ago, necessitating three medication adjustments since then. I’m also definitely more forgetful than I was, mostly little things like walking into a room and forgetting why I went there. But those things can happen to older people with or without COVID, and it’s hard to know cause-and-effect in a given individual.

But I sure as hell know I don’t want to get this virus again and risk these and other issues getting worse. Unfortunately, avoiding it is getting harder by the day, and neither government at any level nor public health authorities seem to care.

PREVENTION? WHAT PREVENTION?

While there’s some evidence that the antiviral drug Paxlovid can reduce the likelihood of Long COVID if administered early enough, the results so far are mixed and not overwhelming. The best way to avoid Long COVID is to not get infected in the first place. As a society, we’ve pretty much stopped trying.

The government is still encouraging vaccination, as it should. But it’s been clear for some time that while the vaccines are very good at reducing the chance of severe illness and death if you get infected, they offer only limited protection against getting infected in the first place. “Vax and relax” can prevent mass death, but it can’t prevent mass infection and an ever-growing number of cases of Long COVID, even if most people get vaccinated. And vaccination rates have been declining for a while, with a new Ohio State University survey reporting that only 43% of U.S. adults have gotten or plan to get the new COVID-19 shot.

And in a bit of absolute madness, Florida’s Ron DeSantis-appointed Surgeon General Joseph Ladapo has actually advised against use of the newly updated mRNA vaccines. In a post on Mastodon, Yale epidemiologist Gregg Gonsalves called this “beyond irresponsible. It is malpractice.”

Ladapo is an outlier, but even his saner colleagues around the country downplay the fact that we don’t have to limit ourselves to vaccination. It’s an airborne virus, so there are two main ways to stop it from spreading: 1) Get the virus out of the air, or at least reduce its concentration to a very low level, and 2) Protect yourself from breathing in any virus that’s in the air around you. We know how to do both.

Masking works, but the type of mask matters. As the Mayo Clinic notes, “Respirators such as nonsurgical N95s give the most protection. KN95s and medical masks provide the next highest level of protection. Cloth masks provide less protection.” Two and a half years ago, a CDC study found that those who reported regularly wearing an N95 or KN95 respirator in indoor public settings had an 86% lower risk of catching COVID-19.

Recently, during my first return visit to San Francisco after moving in early 2022, I met my nieces for lunch at the Ferry Plaza. It was a Saturday, Farmers Market day, and the place was jammed. In three-plus hours I saw no more than half a dozen people wearing any sort of mask, and only a couple were N95s. In my new hometown of Hilo, masking is only slightly more common. At the supermarket, I see barely 10% of customers and staff in some sort of mask. In some venues, it’s less.

A recent Ipsos survey found that half of Americans believe they’ll never get COVID again. Only 20% described themselves as “trying to stay as safe as possible.”

None of this is a surprise—people are simply responding to the messages they get from the people supposedly leading on health issues. The CDC promotes vaccination but barely talks about masking anymore; it acknowledges the value of indoor air quality but doesn’t seem to be doing much about it. In interviews, CDC Director Mandy Cohen regularly urges vaccination but almost never brings up masking or air quality and says little about Long Covid. Political leaders mostly talk about COVID in the past tense and pat themselves on the back for a job well done in prior years. The result is what you’d expect: Most Americans now treat COVID like a common cold, disregarding most precautions and not bothering to test when they get sick.

Back in 2022, when public policy on COVID was still relatively sane, the Biden administration published indoor air quality guidance and made congressionally-approved funds available that “that can be used in schools, public buildings, and other settings to improve indoor air quality.” It’s unclear exactly how much of that money has been used and for what, although some school systems have definitely made HVAC upgrades. But we’ve never had either enforceable indoor air standards or a coordinated plan to implement them. As Science noted in July, “The COVID-19 pandemic has clearly shown the vulnerability of society to the spread of infectious diseases. At the same time, with frequent outbreaks in elder care facilities and school classrooms, it became clear that it was a fatal mistake to largely neglect the recommendations of scientists and engineers regarding minimum standards for ventilation and indoor air quality.”

In any case, those federal dollars were aimed at schools and public buildings. It’s been left entirely to the private sector to do, or not do, anything to reduce airborne pathogens in supermarkets, theaters, clubs, malls and other privately owned spaces. Local groups like Chicago’s Clean Air Club and Austin’s Clear the Air ATX have tried to fill the gap by lending HEPA filters and other clean air equipment to arts and performance venues and other gathering places.

A RADICAL IDEA: DO WHAT WORKS

We know what to do. As Clean Air Club founder Emily Dupree and co-author Shelby Speier wrote in Sick Times in May, “We possess the technology to make public spaces safer. Studies show HEPA air purification and far-UVC lamps drastically reduce the number of airborne pathogens in a room and therefore lessen the likelihood of COVID-19 transmission. When combined with other layers of protection, these tools have the potential to finally make our shared spaces more accessible during an airborne pandemic.”

A key word here is accessible. Failure to address indoor air quality and other prevention measures makes public spaces seriously dangerous for those at highest risk, including the elderly, the immunocompromised and those with long-term health issues, including Long Covid.

Such simple, factual messages are rarely heard in official statements about COVID. “What I find the most frustrating about official handling of COVID and prevention is the lack of care, education, and honoring the science around COVID,” comments Clear the Air ATX founder and Long Covid activist Katie Drackert. “Telling people to ‘stay home when they feel sick’ for a virus that spreads asymptomatically? Well, they are just straight up ignoring science.”

Admirable as they are, the small, volunteer-driven efforts of groups like Drackert’s and Dupree’s are not remotely comparable to the scale of the problem. For now, people must take matters into their own hands. “In the year 2024, people still need to be wearing a well fitted KN95 or above for optimal communal and individual protection,” Drackert says. In the absence of reliable information about air quality in indoor spaces, she suggests getting a portable air quality monitor, which can be reasonably affordable. “High CO₂ levels indicate poor ventilation, which may lead to higher concentrations of aerosols that could contain the virus,” she explains. “Some air quality monitors track particulate matter (PM2.5 and PM10), which are small airborne particles. While COVID is smaller than these particles, high PM levels may indicate poor indoor air quality.”

Most of us can’t entirely avoid being in spaces with poor air quality, and that leaves us with masking, which the country has largely abandoned. Worse, we’re starting to see bans on face coverings in public spaces being enacted—for example, in Nassau County, New York, and North Carolina.

These laws typically contain exceptions for people masking for health reasons, but, as New Jersey’s Star-Ledger noted in a recent editorial opposing a proposed mask ban, “t leaves it up to the cops to decide whether someone has a legitimate medical reason for wearing a mask at a public gathering. “How will they know that? It’s subjective. And based on past experience, we know what that means: Police will disproportionately stop and question Black and brown people, who have also been the most likely to continue wearing masks to protect against COVID-19.” It’s hard to imagine a more demented public policy than making disease prevention illegal. And it’s not hard at all to imagine a COVID-19 prevention framework that would make a meaningful difference without causing a nationwide freakout: Encourage masking. Even if mask mandates are a political non-starter, there’s still plenty we can do. First, officials can talk about it and actively encourage people to wear high-quality protection like N-95s when in busy, indoor spaces. They can remind people of its importance—that COVID is not over, not just a cold, and that even a “mild” case can change your life forever. Federal, state and local governments could distribute N-95s or KN-95s free or at minimal cost. Get serious about indoor air purification. Build on what the Biden administration started a few years ago: Develop medically informed, enforceable indoor air quality standards and create a verification system so that people know when a building they enter meets them. Start with public buildings and the largest, busiest private venues, like sports arenas, concert halls and theaters, and move on from there. Give business owners generous technical and financial support in meeting those standards, and a reasonable amount of time in which to do it. While this program is ramping up, fund the local organizations now struggling with limited resources to fill the gap. None of this is that difficult. It’s not even that expensive when you consider that the federal government is in the process of spending $634 billion to upgrade nuclear weapons that with any luck will never be used. What’s missing is political will, and that won’t be there until people scream bloody murder. That’s why I think it may be time for a new version of ACT UP focused on COVID-19. The issues are somewhat different, but less so than you might think. While the original ACT UP focused a lot on research, treatment and care, it also addressed prevention. ACT UP chapters around the country started syringe exchange programs, handed out condoms at high schools, and sometimes succeeded in shaming the system into doing the right thing. And of course, there are issues to tackle around Long Covid research that I haven’t addressed here, but which I will try to cover in a future piece. The fundamental problem is much the same as people with AIDS faced in 1986: a system stuck in neutral, politicians stuck in denial, and a public closing their eyes, covering their ears and shouting, “I don’t hear you!” The first task must be to break the system–and the broader population, as much as possible–out of its present inertia, complacency and denial. I honestly don’t know whether ACT UP tactics like occupying the CDC and disrupting state and local health commission meetings will have the same effect they did decades ago, but at this point I don’t know what else to try. Nothing good lies at the end of our current path.

[emi-writings]

DSMP Fanfics and Women: Passive, Fridged or Worse

I have read a lot of DSMP fanfics in the years I’ve been in the fandom. I’ve read popular fics, unpopular fics, fics that have since been deleted, and everything in between. And unfortunately, there has been a trend I’ve notice in this fandom.

This fandom really doesn’t like it’s female characters.

Now, not every single fic in the fandom fails its female characters, but the ones that don’t tend to be the exception, not the rule.

And no, this isn’t going to be a long post demanding people write fics only focusing on the women of the DSMP. Side characters and supporting casts make up important roles in stories as well, and so this discussion will apply to every single fic in the fandom, because the issues aren’t just the women not being the main characters, but how writers treat them in their fics.

Also, I am gonna be using the terms male and female characters a lot. I know a few characters don’t fit this binary, and I don’t want to exclude them, but I don’t want to over-complicate this post, especially given how different these characters are treated. Ranboo is a character that has no concept of gender, but the fandom mostly treats them pretty well, with exceptions of course – though that can be explained by most of the fandom simply treating Ranboo as a male character. Whereas Eret… oh, some of the things I’ve read could be it’s own post. We’re just gonna keep it simple for now.

Let’s start with the one point that infuriates me the most: fridging.

For those of you who don’t know, fridging is a term that refers to the trope of a female character dying in order to further the a male character’s story, usually via providing them with motivation. This is bad because it basically turns the female character into nothing more than an object. Fridging has been criticised for many, many years now, ridiculed as much as the equally appalling bury your gays trope.

And damn, have I read way too many fics where women are fridged.

Obviously, you can kill off female characters, that’s not the issue. But when you have a character die, and it’s only done for the sake of either getting your male characters to do something, or to give them something to whine about, it’s not a pleasant reading experience.

Of course, it could be worse. In one fic I read where a female character was fridged right near the beginning of the story, two other female characters are introduced and later die. There was a male character these two women had helped out in the very short glimpses of screen time. When they die, you’d expect that male character – who was just saved by one of them, by the way – would mourn them, right? What actually happened is that male character mourned a different male character. A character that he literally doesn’t know and never spoke to. His thoughts are literally how if they had met they might have been friends. Not a single thought is given to the two women who died – again, one of them just saved him before dying.

Even in their deaths, female characters aren’t treated like individuals. They’re objectified by their deaths. They’re either not worth mourning or caring about. Or, they’re only worth attention because of how their death furthers the male characters development.

Now, let’s talk about passive characters, active characters and character agency.

Character agency is a character’s ability to affect or progress the story. Active characters have agency and actively affect the story. Passive characters have no agency, and are affected by the story.

The DSMP is mostly filled with active characters, due to the nature of how the story is played out. But for the sake of an example, let’s bring out Tommy. A time where Tommy was being an active character was when he gave up the discs for L’manburg’s freedom and right to exist. This affected the plot greatly, as without that there wouldn’t have been a L’manburg. A time where Tommy was a passive character was the exile arc. Tommy was kidnapped by Dream, and forced to live out his exile where Dream placed him. This wasn’t Tommy making a decision, this was Tommy being affected by the plot which was being shaped by those around him. Tommy had no agency in these moments.

I’ve noticed that despite the female characters canonically having a lot of agency and being very active characters, female characters are often turned into passive characters. They don’t drive or contribute to the plot in any way, the plot just happens to them.

Now, you might be under the assumption that it’s simply just because the women are rarely the main characters. After all, it’s impossible for side characters and supporting cast members to be active characters, right?

WRONG! It’s not that hard to give characters agency. If a character is included in a scene, they should have a reason to be there. They should have a purpose, a motivation, a goal. They should be making choices. Yet way too often female characters are, at best, just going along with what the male characters say or do. At worst, they’re just basically cameo appearances, a way for the writer to pat themselves on the back for being so diverse without actually putting in effort.

There is also the fact that when writers are picking out their cast, they make some… interesting choices. Female characters rarely get the chance to actively being involved in what the male characters are doing.

Why are SBI fics so… determined to only have male characters in the family? SBI has no basis in canon, and the characters themselves have meaningful relationships with female ones. Kristin is literally Philza’s wife and canonically Wilbur’s mother. Niki has a lot of history and lore with all SBI members, all mostly beginning positive at the beginning.

You’d think that since SBI fans love family dynamics, they’d be down with including more members, right? After all, more characters means you can really explore new and interesting dynamics. After all, if you’re focusing on a family dynamic, it’s better to have a decent sized cast to work with, and five or six allows for more dynamics to form. But when SBI fans want to throw in two characters into the mix, the go with Tubbo and Ranboo. Which is especially confusing given how many fics keep the Beeduo marriage, giving an unintentional incesty angle.

But why does it have to be the male characters? In SBI, why not Niki and Kristin? That adds in a Mother and a Daughter/Sister character, which can add in new relationship interactions. That could be interesting, and actually add in some new twists to a part of the fandom with over 20K fics on Ao3.

It’s not just in family dynamics. In AUs, roles in stories that could be fulfilled by anyone are typically given to male characters. These roles might be needed for the story, but they don’t rely on any dynamics, duos or anything, just simply picking any character who isn’t already part of the plot. And, it would be easy to give a female character a role like this and allow them to progress the plot. But it’s always a male character.

A common defense I’ve seen SBI writers specifically use is that they don’t include Kristin because they want to write a story where Phil/Wilbur/Techno/A combination of all three/etc aren’t being great family members, and Kristin just wouldn’t allow that. It was just too hard and didn’t work. I used to think this was true, until I sat down and wrote my own fic where Wilbur and Phil don’t have a healthy relationship… and Kristin is there… fitting seamlessly into the plot, while not supporting Phil’s actions entirely.

It really wasn’t hard at all, and the only assumption I can come to is that these other writers… don’t really want to try.

There are no real magic solutions to these problems. Fanfics are free, the writers don’t owe anyone a perfect piece of fiction.

But I don’t think it’s too much to ask that the writers behind these fics stop and reflect on why they’re making the choices they do. To sit down and consider if their reasoning behind decisions… are actually excuses to hide behind.

Writers can do whatever they want, but as someone who reads fics even more than I write them, I’m getting tired and bored of this. Is it really too much to ask for where a female character just… can exist? And contribute to the plot?

These are ramblings from someone who is tired, and it’s probably not put together the best, but hopefully this can at least be a starting point for getting at least a part of the fandom to really think about their approach to fanfics and specifically female characters in them.

[turtleblogatlast]

Thinking about the Don Suave scene and what it means in terms of LGBTQ+ representation because my brain does nothing if not torment me with random topics to ramble about on the regular.

Anyway, I just wanted to ramble about why I like the scene but to get it out of the way - the scene can very easily be interpreted in so many different ways, and all of them are valid. I personally see it as Leo having at least some attraction to a man. And the following is an explanation of my own interpretation and thoughts on it and what it means especially for Leo’s portrayal in the grand scheme of things.

Long-winded interpretation under the cut!

Now, to start with, it’s important to me that in the scene Leo looks at Don Suave in the very beginning and then for the entirety of the rest of the time the man is on screen, Leo’s eyes are closed. Yet, in the end, he is still visibly enamored with Don Suave, happily cuddling up to him as he’s being carried away.

You can very easily interpret this as Leo being spellbound and that’s honestly super valid and I believe he likely was at least somewhat in the beginning, but considering how fast he looked away and how he never looked again, I personally think it makes more sense to read it as Leo just finding the man attractive, at least somewhat. (For the record, I personally headcanon Rise Leo as bisexual with a heavy preference for men, but I want to be blunt when I say that any interpretation is valid. Literally any. Ace, pan, gay, bi, none of the above or a mixture of something new literally all of it is more than okay and fair. Hell you could even interpret this entire scene as more romantic attraction than physical and it would still work. Anything goes!! Don’t bother people, guys, really.)

The main reason I take this scene to be at the very least LGBTQ+ adjacent isn’t just because of how it’s portrayed, but because of who Leonardo is. Not in terms of Rise of the TMNT, but in terms of the entire Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles™️ franchise.

Leo’s a character who, while changing with each iteration, has still at his core been around for decades upon decades as “the blue one”. One fourth of the team. He’s the one most are going to look at as the Leader, and oftentimes he is the one closest to having the title of Main Character. Not to say the others aren’t just as important, but Leo’s presence in the A plots of basically all TMNT media is often something very main character-esque.

And that’s very, very important to note. Here we have a Main Character of a prolific and decades long-running franchise distributed by a children’s television network. You can play around with his and his brothers’ characters all you like, but there is always going to be challenges to dodge around, especially since this was still in 2018-2019.

For example, you can play around with their designs so long as they’re color coded turtles, but their sexualities? Now that’s tricky.

“But what about Hypno and Warren?” Not main characters and also they’re Rise originals. They have a lot more room to play around with than a character like Leo does. But even talking about main characters in the franchise, you could arguably have an easier time playing around with Donnie or Mikey’s sexualities than Leo or even Raph, as (unfortunately) the former two tend to get more B plots, so they’d likely have had a little more leeway (still not a lot though.)

So, where does this leave us?

It leaves us in a place where outright stating and/or showing undeniable proof of Leo’s attraction to men is very, very difficult. So, workarounds!

Workarounds like the entire Don Suave situation.

To be honest, as left up to interpretation and lowkey and deniable as it is, this whole scene means a lot to me because of who Leo is as a character. It’s just nice when we get so see even the bare bones of representation with characters that have been such a large part of pop culture for decades, y’know? Even if more would be so much nicer, this is better than I thought we’d ever get for these boys.

And, again, literally nothing I’ve said is the only way to interpret it, I’m more than happy when people interpret media on their own honestly, it’s just something I’ve been thinking of lately and I was wondering if others felt the same way.

Whatever you think when you interpret this scene or Rise Leo as a whole, I just thought this would be interesting to think about, even if it was ramble-y, haha.

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #6301:

I feel like I don’t fit in either the proship or anti side. I take a more nuanced view on the whole “does fiction affect reality” debate and believe both sides have there points, I also ship rather “vanilla” stuff all things considered when it comes to the so-called “proship spectrum.” (Same sex or adopted sibling peer incest between consenting adults) I can’t stand adult/minor ships though or anything lolisho or beastiality. So I really hate that me and my ships are automatically lumped into that crowd, heck even blood related cishet incest makes me uncomfortable. And yet my ships are looked at with an uncritical eye and treated like in they’re the exact same category as lolisho or something like father/daughter incest ships.

Why did incest even get lumped in with Pedophilia with the antis in the first place? They’re clearly two very varying degree levels of bad (incest actually has the capacity to be consensual in and non-harmful in both fiction and reality unlike pedophilia, certain forms of incest aren’t even illegal like pedophilia is in real life either, first cousins can still marry in many countries and places like Germany and Ireland only criminalize heterosexual incest but allow Same-Sex Incest if it’s between consenting adults) Incest like murder is also universally recognized as a taboo/bad unlike pedophilia which is still unfortunately a grey area for parts of the world so there’s no danger of it getting normalized either. It’s also not as creepy to look at two similiar aged relatives and imagine romantic chemistry between them, you can always just say fuck canon and make an AU where they’re not related instead if it really bothers you that much. There isn’t that creeping MAP suspicion like there is with viewing a child character in a romantic light, even aging up the kid in an AU wouldn’t solve the problems there.

What would you even label someone like me? Is there even a place for people like me, those of us in the middle? People who are generally proship but only when it comes to gay or adopted similiar age incest yet draw the line at pedophilia and don’t fully agree with either side of the fiction affecting reality debate?

[nami-moittli]

Ok, thinking again about how both Jonathan and Joseph are bisexual and poly n stuff, but they’re very much different flavors of bi poly

Like, with Jonathan, he’s in love with both Erina and Speedwagon. Ofc, at the time he could only be publicly monogamous and straight bc ✨1800s✨ but he’s still dating both of them (and married, in Erina’s case). However, I do think that Erina and Speedwagon aren’t together. They’re both fine with the arrangement, more than fine really, they’re good friends themselves, but Speedwagon is gay and Erina has no romantic interest in him (to me, at least, if you think all three of them are together then that’s your headcanon!) Also, I think that Erina’s the token straight, but she’s very supportive. Probably the one who told Speedwagon to try to ask out Jonathan, if we’re being real here lol

Then we get to part 2 with Joseph, Caesar and Suzie Q. Caesar and Suzie have probably been friends for a while, with Suzie being Lisa Lisa’s assistant and Caesar being her student, they’ve known each other for a while and get along quite well. When Joseph finally gets added to the equation they have a sort of friendly rivalry, “may the best one win” type situation because (unfortunately (-Caesar)) they both like him. One day Joseph calls both of them out and is like, “I really love you both, so I was wondering if you were fine with me dating both of you at the same time” and at first they’re a bit surprised, but Suzie agrees and eventually so does Caesar. After a while though, both Caesar and Suzie realize that they’re not just in love with Joseph but each other too. Anyway they’re all bisexual and polyamorous

In conclusion, joneriwagon (to me) is, *jonathan voice* “This is my wife Erina and my boyfriend Speedwagon!” And Caejoseq is three bisexual poly people all dating each other, if that makes sense

[quillkiller]

Jen i would absolutely love for you to go on a rant, short or long whatever, about why people seem to hate tall lily so much? Or even lesbian lily? I feel like a lot of people act as though you HAVE to headcanon her as short but if you bring up canon they’re like “nobody gaf about canon anymore” 😭

hello babes i would LOVE to rant about tall lily, feminism & lesbianism.. 🤍

ive said this before, but people hate ugly women!! and an ugly woman is measured by how desired she is through patriarchal standards/a heteronormative lense. and especially, girls are terrified of being ugly. which is honestly really sad:((( i am too !!! still !! as ive also said before, i haven’t shaved my legs (or anything on my body) since i was 20 and i often wear shorts during the summer. it doesn’t make me uncomfortable anymore but i would be lying if i said i didnt notice how certain people (mainly men) treat me differently !! and like. a patriarchal society loves a petite submissive breedable woman and a lot of women have a hard time breaking free from the patriarchal choke hold/are scared of toeing the line outside of male validation. and i get it ! i still fill in my eyebrows and eyelashes because i cant get it out of my head that im ugly or look tired without it. its hard !!!!! people just hate tall lily because people hate ugly women and ugly women are measured by patriarchal standards

people hate lesbian lily because people hate lesbians. as soon as people realise that lesbians genuinely have no interest in men they freak the Fuck Out. and people become hostile. like what do gay men, bi men, bi women & straight women all have in common…… being attracted to men. they all have a common ground, a middle where they can meet. and lesbians dont go there ! lesbians aren’t relatable. lesbians aren’t easy to understand because being a lesbian means being on the outside of absolutely everything. and people like genuinely can’t (and wont) comprehend that. like people honestly dont comprehend that lesbians have no desire to form relationships with men romantically and oftentime even platonically!! like people CANT wrap their heads around that. lesbianism can be very lonely and very isolating because it’s the one and only sexuality about dedicating your life to women only ! it’s the only sexuality that excludes men. and people hate women ! and cant comprehend not prioritizing men or male validation ! so people hate lesbian lily because people just either hate lesbians or simply don’t care for lesbians because they can’t (if they’re not lesbians themselves) make it about themselves lmao and why would they ?? women are the secondary sex (already less interesting) so why would it interest anyone to talk about lesbian lily if she’s a lesbian (exclusively attracted to the secondary sex). thats no fun unfortunately

[preet-01]

For the ask game

A Heart is Drawn Around Your Name!

A Heart Drawn Around Your Name is wag Daniel, but Max doesn't really come into the story until the end since he's the final relationship - the one that finally works out.

Daniel didn’t seek out Formula 1 drivers to fuck or date. 

Despite what the media and fans said – which they said a lot – Daniel didn’t chase after them. He didn’t jump from one to the next as the championship contenders changed and different teams began their dominant years. He didn’t actively seek out Formula 1 drivers, nor did he prey on single drivers in the hopes of getting back into the paddock. Hell, he probably would be perfectly fine never stepping foot in there. He didn’t go after drivers on the up and he didn’t drop the drivers on a downward spiral. 

He had never chased the drivers he dated or occasionally fucked around with. But when they would come up to him with some god-awful pickup line that inadvertently would make him laugh hysterically and promises of everlasting love that almost always ended up with Daniel serving his hand on a golden platter. 

Even when he’d known better, Daniel had never been good at saying no to the men who flirted with him and gave him hopes of something great. While Daniel hadn’t chased Formula 1 drivers, he had always chased happiness and everlasting love. He could never say no to a man who wanted him and wasn’t afraid to show just how much. He could never deny someone who was willing to risk it all just to be with him. 

Unfortunately, that, in his experience, tended to be detrimental to himself and no one else. At the end of the day, he always seemed to be the one the drivers chose for a good time not a long time. 

A hopeless romantic, his family said every time he introduced them to a new boyfriend, a new driver that had shown him a future of love and happiness. They’d always said it with cautious smiles and hopeful eyes that maybe this time they wouldn’t be the ones who had to pick up the pieces. A whore, the media and fans said every time he walked into the paddock in the arms of a different driver. From his very first appearance in the world of Formula 1, the path had been set for him in their eyes. Let it last, he begged whichever higher power that listened. Always desperately praying that for once Daniel would be enough, that someone out there would want to spend the rest of their life with him. Praying that for once they wanted him for more than just a few months together, for his heart and not what they could get from his body. 

____

Max had been 19 when he first saw Daniel. 

Dressed in red and on the arm of Sebastian Vettel, Daniel had shone like the sun and Max had been the sunflower following behind him. 

He hadn’t known who Daniel was then, nothing other than someone that Sebastian was dating, but others knew Daniel. They knew of Daniel, they had things to say about Daniel – some good, but a lot of bad that Max couldn’t reconcile with the man he saw nervously standing with Sebastian’s friends in the Ferrari garage. 

Though the most common thing people said was: you don’t wanna get involved in all of that, he’ll drop you the minute he’s had his fun.

Max was never one to follow blindly, so he does his own research. 

One of the mechanics had given him a name and Google was a wonderful thing. 

Daniel Ricciardo Formula 1

The earliest article is one that concerns Red Bull and Daniel wearing what looks like a 2007 Red Bull race suit alongside Mark Webber. From there it quickly devolves into the territory of extramarital affairs and gay cheating scandals and Mark’s vow renewal that year. 

Then comes Jenson and a bevy of pictures with the two of them in scandalous positions. The playboy and the homewrecker is what the press refers to them as. And by the time the next season of F1 starts, Daniel’s not to be seen and Jenson’s whoring his way around the party scenes. 

There aren’t any articles of Daniel and Lewis, but he does see pictures of them at the same events. 

2017 is when the Sebastian and Daniel relationship begins. 

[15-lizards]

GENDER SWAP RENLY AND STANNIS OUTFITS PLEASSSS. And maybe Robert too

SISTERLY DYSFUNCTION WE LOVEEEEE even tho the character of Robert is kinda tricky bc his character is rooted in his manhood but fuck it we ball maybe we can just make Westeros a matriarchy #Feminism

Fem Roberta (definitely named Roberta) (also the middle Katie McGrath pic is the fc) is the kinda the biggest lesbian bait ever. Non-dutiful eldest daughter set to inherit storms end but she does NAWT give a shit she wants to go play around in the Vale with fem Ned and drink and whore etc etc. Rides and fights like a man and even wears men’s armor but still dresses and (sometimes) acts like a noble lady when the situation calls for it. She’s not a tomboy who chafes at nobility she’s a rowdy noble girl who LOVES her status she loves excess. Charismatic girl who managed to get men to follow her into war to get back Fem Ned’s little brother even though she loves him like a prize. And she loves the idea of being connected to Ned more than that. But other than her homoerotic obsession with her best friend and she is totally and completely heterosexual 👍🏻

Fem Stannis (Stana? Castana?) is kinda so Eva Green do we see the vision people. She’s a flop daughter who dresses like a utilitarian, very little room in her looks for comfort. Internalized misogyny for days bc she thinks if she were a son she could be so much better than her sister is. She’s kinda like if Cersei slayed a little less. When Roberta dies she can’t garner any support bc even though they were both women, her elder sister was always more persuasive and well liked, which is half the reason she became queen. So now she’s behind her bastard nephew and nieces who aren’t even related to her in the line of succession (let’s pretend masc Cersei and fem Jamie swapped the kids or smthn idk 😭). And her new red witch is not doing favors for the people who think magic = dark and womanly and evil. She’s such a flop and gay for the older pirate lady who saved her life and she can never do anything right ily girl

And Fem Renly/Rena/Renia is kinda the baddest bitch in the seven kingdoms. She’s even prettier than Roberta was at her age, and just as charismatic, and far more agreeable, acting more like a “proper” lady. Though she rides as well as her eldest sister, and even took up the sword too, wanting to be a warrior queen when she was little. Her fits always go crazy, a fourth of the treasury at storms end is set aside for her favorite green enameling and gold accessories. She’s kinda the star of court and thinks Roberta has gotten lazy and Stana has too much of a stick up her ass to be a good queen. Ofc in true Baratheon fashion she has a gay who worships her like a god, her trusted lady-knight Lora Tyrell, who gives her the support of her house before she unfortunately gets merked. Rip queen I wish you could’ve been mean on the internet

[nalyra-dreaming]

From Reddit:

The show wasn't performing on a stellar level in S1 when Lestat was in every episode. The fact of the matter is this show had a lot going against from inception. For one, the source material isn't all that relevant today if I'm being brutally honest. That's why it took as long as it did for an adaptation to come to fruition after being scrapped and passed up on other networks. No disrespect to Anne Rice, she did set the path for all these other shows to tread, but vampire media has become a tough sell in recent years and it's popularity is no where close to where it was in even 2010. Fox's The Passage was a wonderful show that was canceled the first season. Morbius was a box office failure, The Strain-canceled, NS4A2- cancele, and Dracula (NBC) - canceled. Now throw in a show centered around a melodramatic gay vampire relationship? Very tough sell because queer shows often have their own set of struggles appealing to a wide audience (RIP Our Flag Means Death, and Good Omens was very lucky to be revived for one more season after being canceled).

I for one love the relationship aspect of the show, but it made IWTV that much more niche. The movie back in 94 was controversial because it was so niche, luckily it had the start power to make it successful but it messed up Tom's career for years. Even if every book reader did show up for this show (and they didn't) it still would have been too small of an audience. And I say this as an avid fan of Rice and a book reader.

I have watched nearly every person who has reacted to the show on YouTube who wasn't a book reader and guess who is their favorite regardless of race, age, or sexual orientation? Lestat. And guess which episode they all have liked best? Episode 5 because it was an escape from all the melodrama and actually had some action. Despite my favorite parts of the show being the Loustat romance, I can admit that most people aren't tuning into AMC, home of The Walking Dead, for that. I hate to say this, but the show would probably have performed even worse if Lestat was not made as extreme and off the wall as he was. You either love him, or love to hate him.

Unfortunately, we live in an age that quality shows such as this don't make it very far. Hence why television is so weighed down with police, medical, and firefighter dramas at the moment (yawn).

Nalyra, it sounds like the show really will be cancelled based on this. Do you agree with this comment? I know AMC owns the intellectual properties. What is stopping them from cancelling the Immortal Universe & selling those rights if it’s not making money & people aren’t watching?

Alright, Nonny, sorry I needed a moment.

cracks knuckles

Let me take that one apart :))

“The show wasn't performing on a stellar level in S1 when Lestat was in every episode. The fact of the matter is this show had a lot going against from inception. For one, the source material isn't all that relevant today if I'm being brutally honest. That's why it took as long as it did for an adaptation to come to fruition after being scrapped and passed up on other networks.”

Nope. It was passed on and from network to network because Christopher Rice wrote the script and wanted to start with “Wolfkiller”. Now, as has been detailed here by @cbrownjc (for example), that wasn’t a good idea, because it would literally give all the story away. And THAT is why it was likely passed on. Note also that when AMC finally acquired all the rights they scrapped that script immediately, and Anne and Christopher likely signed NDAs, because though they were/are Executive Producers… there is no statement, whatsoever. Which MIGHT have to do with Christopher’s rejected script. 😬

Also, I think the show has more than proven how just slight twists can make this source material immensely relevant for today. Their social commentary and color-conscious casting is top notch. Not seeing that… well. What do you want me to say to that? 😅

Fox's The Passage was a wonderful show that was canceled the first season. Morbius was a box office failure, The Strain-canceled, NS4A2- canceled, and Dracula (NBC) - canceled.

… Okay I did not watch “The Passage”, but the other ones. And apart from The Strain’s first season they were all very sub par. Like the first season of NS4A2? Intriguing!!! Second season? I wanted to bash my head against the wall!! The Strain I actually bought, and the initial setup was awesome… and then it just went downhill. Dracula… lol, yeah. I wasn’t surprised. And let’s not even talk about Morbius. (I think I was very drunk by the end of that one, lol)

Imho - it’s not the “vampire media” but the quality of said vampire media. And, let’s not forget - this is the Vampire Chronicles, the very basis for a lot of these re-inventions. It’s a very different kind of beast. And a very distinct universe, imho.

Now throw in a show centered around a melodramatic gay vampire relationship? Very tough sell because queer shows often have their own set of struggles appealing to a wide audience (RIP Our Flag Means Death, and Good Omens was very lucky to be revived for one more season after being canceled).

Yeah well, from what I heard OFMD killed of one of the very beloved characters there in very bad writing and… well. That didn’t go over well. (So I heard.) And Good Omens was never supposed to be more than three seasons afaik (after that initial ONE season).

It's not the gay or queer - it's the quality and setup, imho. It's why the rating is at friggin' 97% this time round. And why there is a whole universe being set up. There is just SO MUCH you can do with the VC.

The movie back in 94 was controversial because it was so niche, luckily it had the start power to make it successful but it messed up Tom's career for years.

WHAT. What are they talking about. Niche??? I was there, in packed theaters. WHAT??? Also Tom's career. Niche... yeah it was controversial, but not because of niche, but because it was very gay for the mainstream 90s!!!!

Even if every book reader did show up for this show (and they didn't) it still would have been too small of an audience. And I say this as an avid fan of Rice and a book reader.

🙄 To be honest (forgive me but), they sound like one of those hardcore book fans who stop after QotD because it’s “not the original trilogy” after. SMH.

I have watched nearly every person who has reacted to the show on YouTube who wasn't a book reader and guess who is their favorite regardless of race, age, or sexual orientation? Lestat. And guess which episode they all have liked best? Episode 5 because it was an escape from all the melodrama and actually had some action. Despite my favorite parts of the show being the Loustat romance, I can admit that most people aren't tuning into AMC, home of The Walking Dead, for that. I hate to say this, but the show would probably have performed even worse if Lestat was not made as extreme and off the wall as he was. You either love him, or love to hate him.

That one… is probably true, I guess. Or at least in parts, I don’t think that everyone liked ep5 best, nor wanted to escape “the melodrama”. But there is a reason why Lestat is the main character of the VC, and why he is so iconic. And Sam…. manages to conjure him, on possession-level, lol shrugs

Unfortunately, we live in an age that quality shows such as this don't make it very far.

At least they acknowledge the quality :)) … this is why it’s so good we’re on AMC. They have experience with shows like this. And they own the books.

_____

Okay. (I think it’s clear I don’t agree with this comment^^)

Nonny, the show won’t be canceled because of takes like this, or through takes like this.

You ask what is stopping AMC to cancel the IU and sell it all?

Well, for one - who would like to buy it if they fail to develop it? They would NEVER get the money back if THEY fail to monetize this. And they did pay big bucks to get all of it.

There is a whole universe in those books. And I mean, Mark Johnson only said just the other day, at the fan premiere, that they’re developing Talamasca and more. Why would they put money into an adjacent show, if they were planning on cancelling the IU?

And, trust me, this IU… is built on the VC. There is a reason why Rolin Jones is on record saying AMC wants to do 10 seasons. They are going to milk this thing, for all it’s worth.

Also - people are watching. It has its audience. I have no idea where this is coming from - from the cable ratings? The show is #1 on all streaming sites. What do you mean people aren’t watching? :)

IWTV has been adapted before, and so I do agree with the OP wrt to some people biding their time. Which is something I low-key understand, even though I do not agree, because they’re missing out big time, and ultimately only hurt themselves with it.

But … trust me - when the truly “new stuff”(*) will happen?

I bet then this show will take off.

(* Mandatory disclaimer: IWTV is brilliantly reimagined, but some people seem to be stuck in the book structure mentally, even though we are far from “only on one book”. Still, for all intents and purposes we are on IWTV for the majority of the story, and (a lot of) that HAS been told before. However… we will enter never before seen territory soon. Have actually already gotten to see a revenant?!!!

Let’s… just wait.

But I actually, sincerely doubt this show will be in any kind of danger.

[endofradio]

FRAGMENTS OF FEAR — CHAPTER 7: TREASON

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6

WARNINGS: gore mentions

NOTES: i lowkey locked in with this chapter WHY IS IT SO LONG. i also decided to spice things up a bit by having sylvie talk to abigail instead of joey doing it (when abigail says that frank is valdez). i am VERY excited to write the scene where abigail exposes everybody because the drama is going to be REAL.

SUMMARY: now that everyone’s locked inside, sylvie decides to make the decision to talk to abigail herself, something that she regrets. after rickles dies next, sylvie confronts frank, which only leaves her feeling more confused and frightened than she already is.

WORD COUNT: 3,290

TAGLIST: @reclaimedbythesea @creelmalfoylaufeyson69 @that-one-gay-aew-enthusiast @evildarliing @maggotmommys @maggotssmichael @13th-floor-in-moonstone @vampireheist @xashleyo03x @blackwolfstabs @atcarpenter

shoot me a message if you’d like to be added to my taglist! and… seriously — reblogs and comments are heavily appreciated. don’t just leave a like! it helps keep me motivated. 🙏

“Come on, Rickles. Hey!”

Rickles was storming straight for the front door, adamant on his decision to leave. Even with Joey calling for him and following after him, he didn’t change his mind one bit. Once he reached the door, he attempted to open it.

Well, unfortunately for him, the door was completely locked. There was no way to get out. In fact, as Rickles attempted to open the door, some sort of silver gate rose up, blocking the door from any sort of access. It was completely shielded by the gate. Everyone stared at the door in confusion. How the hell did that happen?

“Where the fuck did that come from?” Peter asked. He figured that since he was the strongest of the entire group, he probably had a chance at unlocking the door. It was worth a try, at least.

Turns out, being 6’5” and over 200 pounds doesn’t always make somebody the strongest. No matter how hard Peter strained as he tried to break the door free, nothing happened.

Confused, Peter looked up at the door. “What the fuck?”

He turned around to look at Rickles. “Rickles, stand back.”

Rickles took a few steps back, and then Peter threw himself at the gate, trying to use all of his strength in an attempt to successfully break through it. Still, nothing happened. It only resulted in some physical pain that definitely hadn’t been worth it.

“It’s locked,” Peter announced, disappointed.

Frank rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Peter. It’s obviously fuckin’ locked.”

Sylvie and the others watched as Peter still tried to unlock the door. Great, so now everyone was stuck here. Dean had mysteriously been killed, and now the front door was completely unusable. It almost seemed like this entire place was just one big trap.

Frank sauntered over to Sylvie with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, then.”

Sylvie looked up at Frank, a half-annoyed expression on her face. Seeing that infuriatingly smug grin on his face made her want to just smack him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Maybe she was a coward, maybe it was something else. Either way, the fact she couldn’t make herself do anything about it was bothering her. It was as though her feelings toward Frank were slowly beginning to do a complete 180° in the span of just a few hours.

“And I bet you’re just happy about that, aren’t you?” She asked, trying to sound like a total smart-ass. A snarky response was the most Sylvie could do.

Frank’s smirk grew at Sylvie’s response. He only looked cockier. “Well, I’m certainly not complaining.”

“This whole thing is a trap.”

Frank and Sylvie looked to see Rickles walking away in an obvious hurry. If the front door wasn’t going to be any use, then he figured he’d keep looking. He was determined to get out of this place somehow.

Peter watched as Rickles disappeared. “Rickles! Where’s… hey. Where’s Rickles going?”

“Goddamnit.” Frank hissed under his breath. “Don’t worry about it, Peter. I’ll go after him.”

Peter sighed. “Alright.”

Joey then had an idea. “If Valdez is here, perhaps he checked on the girl and left her there to throw us off…” she speculated.

“I’ll go talk to her.” Sylvie then offered. Right as Joey was about to speak, she was already making her way back up the stairs to the kid’s room.

“Wait—”

Sylvie paused, turning around to look at Joey, who was trying to catch up with her.

“You can’t go in there, Ava.”

“She’s already seen my face. It doesn’t matter.”

Before Joey could say anything else to try and stop Sylvie, she continued on her way.

When Sylvie carefully opened the door, Abigail looked up at her, fearfully clutching a blanket. The sight made Sylvie’s heart clench. She felt really, really bad for the kid. None of this was right at all. She should be at home right now, not locked up in some mansion in the middle of nowhere in Massachusetts.

“What do you… want?” The girl croaked, her voice trembling. “Where’s Joey?”

Sylvie sighed, carefully taking a seat on the edge of the bed, making sure to keep her distance. The last thing she wanted was to make the kid even more afraid than she already was.

“I just need to ask you something,” Sylvie explained, trying to sound as gentle as possible. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just need to talk to you, okay?”

Reluctantly, the girl slowly nodded. She still seemed wary of Sylvie, but not as much. Well, that was a good sign at least.

“Has anyone else been in this room?” Sylvie then asked.

Abigail paused, then shook her head. “N-no… just you and… Joey… and the man with the glasses…”

Sylvie slowly nodded. Only her, Joey, and Frank had been in the room, apparently. Just to make sure that Abigail was being honest, she decided to press a little more. She knew how scared kids could lie, speaking from her own experience. Sylvie had personally lied a lot as a child to protect herself. If Valdez had come in here, there was the possibility that he could’ve threatened Abigail into keeping his name out of her mouth. Hopefully, that wasn’t the case.

“Are you sure?” Sylvie asked, slowly raising an eyebrow.

Abigail gave a quick nod.

Sylvie sighed. “Nobody else has been in this room, is that correct? By the way, you can be honest. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

Abigail shook her head. Sylvie tried to search her expression for any sign of hesitation, but… she appeared to be telling the truth. Sylvie couldn’t detect a single sign of dishonesty.

She was about to get up and leave the room when Abigail suddenly spoke up.

“He’s gonna hurt me.”

Sylvie turned around to look at her, noticing how the girl seemed to be completely frightened again. She paused, feeling her chest begin to tighten with concern.

“What do you mean? Who’s gonna hurt you?”

“The man with the glasses.” Abigail continued, her voice growing more panicked. “He said he’s gonna hurt me.”

Sylvie could feel her chest start to tighten even more. “Wait, hold on. Are you telling me the truth?”

Abigail frantically nodded. “Yes! I’m serious… I’m serious. Please… please believe me. I’m really scared. He said I need to keep a secret, or… or he’d hurt me.”

“What secret?”

What she said next made Sylvie’s heart just about drop to her stomach.

“He said he works for my father… he said his name’s… Valdez.”

Fuck.

Sylvie didn’t know what to believe. Sure, Frank was a cold-hearted bastard in all honesty… but a ruthless murderer? Maybe she was just in denial, but she couldn’t picture him doing what had been done to Dean. She wasn’t sure if he was that sadistic, that cruel. The idea of Frank working for Lazar and being a brutal killer was enough to make Sylvie sick to her stomach.

If it was all true… then what else did Sylvie not know about Frank?

“You’re not just saying that, right?” She carefully asked.

Abigail looked so afraid that she seemed as though she was about to break down in tears. She fervently nodded again. “I’m telling the truth, I promise!”

Sylvie had to get out of there. She couldn’t bring herself to hear anything else. She didn’t want to hear anything else.

But, as she started to head for the door, Abigail spoke up again.

“Why are you surprised?”

Sylvie was starting to feel increasingly agitated. She turned around again, suddenly sick of hearing the child’s voice. “What the hell do you mean?” She asked, sounding almost irritated. She instantly regretted it.

“He’s a very bad man. I think you know that.”

Sylvie had enough. Quickly, she rushed out of the room and shut the door, her mind struggling to process everything she had just heard. None of it made sense. None of it seemed… real. She leaned against the door, trying to steady her breathing.

What am I supposed to do now?

As Sylvie remained there, her back pressed against the door, she tried to think. As she reflected on Abigail’s words, she thought about what she said about Frank working for Lazar. As she thought about it… she reluctantly realized that it made sense. She remembered back to when she and Frank were talking earlier, how he had admitted to leaving his old life behind.

What if he had been referring to working for Lazar?

The more Sylvie thought about it, the more sick she felt. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. Maybe the kid’s just lying because she’s scared.

But… why would she say something like that?

Why are you surprised? He’s a very bad man. Those words kept repeating in Sylvie’s brain. But… what confused her the most was Abigail’s next words after that, “I think you know that.” What the hell had she meant by that? I think you know that? Sylvie didn’t even know who the fuck the girl was.

What was even worse was that she was right — Sylvie knew that Frank wasn’t a good person. But… “a very bad man?” What the fuck— nevermind. She was done thinking about this bullshit. The more she thought, the more confused she became.

As Sylvie continued to lean against the door, she heard voices coming from one of the rooms down the hall — Joey and Rickles. Quickly, she hurried down the hall and into the room, clearly interrupting a conversation. Upon seeing the worry on Sylvie’s face, though, Joey and Rickles both became concerned.

“What is it?” She asked.

Sylvie drew in a shaky breath. “Something is really fucking wrong.”

Joey narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Sylvie couldn’t bring herself to explain. “If you want to know, go talk to the girl yourself. I don’t… I don’t know if she’s being serious or not.”

Joey and Rickles exchanged a disconcerted glance before looking back at Sylvie. Joey slowly nodded. “Alright. I’ll… be right back.”

Once Joey disappeared, Rickles glanced at Sylvie again. “You look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost.” He commented. “The hell happened?”

Sylvie shook her head. “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it. If she tells Joey the same thing she told me, I swear to God…”

Now, Rickles just seemed confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Look. Are you sure there’s no other way out of here? I need to get out of here. I… I want to go home.”

Rickles sighed, crossing his arms. “Trust me, I wish there was. As far as I know, we’re all locked up in here for who knows how much goddamn longer. I’m not buying the ‘twenty-four hours’ bullshit. I guarantee this is a trap.”

Sylvie nervously tapped her foot against the floor, her eyes darting around anxiously as she waited for Joey to return, anticipating what she would say. Seconds ticked by, and they were starting to seem like hours at this point.

“You believe Valdez is real, right?” Sylvie then asked.

Rickles slowly nodded. “I’ve heard too much shit about him for him not to be.” He answered, his voice taking on a grave tone.

“Do you really think it’s possible he’s here right now? Like, one of us is actually him?”

“Dean’s head was ripped clean off. That’s some bullshit that only Valdez is capable of,” Rickles explained, “and if the girl’s Lazar’s daughter… gives him more of a reason to be here.”

“Have you two seen Frank?”

Sylvie and Rickles turned around to see Joey briskly walking towards them. Her expression was difficult to read, but she did seem rather pissed. At least, that’s what her tone of voice suggested.

“I can go look for him.” Rickles then offered. “Why? He the next victim?”

Joey scoffed. “No. Actually, he might be the killer.”

Rickles’ eyes narrowed in a mixture of confusion and shock. “Wait, what?”

Sylvie felt like she was going to vomit right then and there.

“Frank is Valdez.” Joey continued, her voice cold. “He told the girl.”

Rickles wasn’t exactly buying it. “He wanted to leave. That doesn’t make any sense.”

He had a good point, Sylvie thought. If Frank was really Valdez, then why the hell did he seem so adamant about leaving after talking to Abigail?

“He acted like he wanted to leave.” Joey then said.

“If he’s Valdez and Lazar’s his boss, then why kidnap his kid?” Rickles questioned.

Sylvie was relieved that at least Rickles was skeptical… but at the same time, if Frank wasn’t Valdez, then who was? Jesus Christ… none of this was making any sense.

“Maybe he and Lambert are planning a power play.” Joey suggested.

Rickles let out a sigh. “You’re telling me that skinny motherfucker rips people apart?” He scoffed. “Something doesn’t add up.”

Sylvie decided that she might as well offer her opinion. “I know he’s an asshole, but I can’t picture him doing some gruesome shit like that, y’know?”

Joey seemed reluctant to believe Rickles and Sylvie, her expression wary. “All I know is that Frank definitely isn’t an amateur. Something about him doesn’t sit right with me.” She spoke. “If Frank really is Valdez, then he definitely knows how to get out of here, which means so would I if I spend about six minutes with him.”

“So… what’s the plan?” Sylvie asked.

Joey sighed, clicking her tongue as she tried to think of something. “You two split up and take the main staircase. I’ll go south. We’ll meet in the middle.”

Reluctantly, Sylvie slowly nodded. “Alright.”

Rickles tried to offer a small, reassuring smile. “We gonna get through this.”

“I have to.”

“You have a kid?” He asked.

Joey nodded. Sylvie felt a pang in her chest. God… she definitely did not belong here. Silently, Sylvie hoped that Joey’s son was safe and well back at home.

Rickles placed a comforting hand on Joey’s shoulder. “We’ll make sure you get home.”

As Sylvie wandered through the mansion, she started to feel unsafe now that she had lost sight of Rickles. Now, she was by herself, and suddenly… everything seemed eerily quiet. Where was he, anyway?

Sylvie stood there in the hallway, her eyes anxiously darting around as she tried to see if she could hear or spot any sign of him. Yet, there was nothing.

And then, she heard what sounded like gurgling coming from the distance. Her heart starting to race with worry, Sylvie dashed toward the direction of where the sound was coming from, leading her to another room. As she stood in the doorway, she saw Rickles standing there, his back turned.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Sylvie asked, her voice cautious.

Then, Rickles suddenly collapsed, and that was when Sylvie caught sight of his face — it was horribly mutilated and looked as though a fucking dog had ripped through his face. His cheek was torn open, and she could see his teeth through the gaping, bloody hole. The wound went all the way down his neck, dark blood staining his shirt.

Covering her mouth, Sylvie took a few steps back, desperately fighting the urge to vomit. She immediately wanted to break down and cry right there, just… scream. “What the fuck…? No, no, no…”

Two people had just brutally died in this mansion. Already, two people were gone in only a brief span of time. Sylvie didn’t know how much more she could handle. Who was going to be next? That was all she could think about.

Quickly, Sylvie ran to the nearest bathroom, opening the toilet seat as she retched. Nothing came up, so all she could do was let out painful dry heaves. Once she was done, she closed the seat and staggered to her feet. Suddenly feeling a rush of anger, she slammed her fists against the wall, as though she was trying to knock some sense into herself. Maybe this was just a nightmare, and she’d wake up from it.

“Wake up… fucking WAKE UP!”

She continued to punch the wall, but nothing happened. She only felt pain… which meant this was either real or a hyper-realistic nightmare. Unfortunately, it was beginning to seem like it was… real.

“Hey, what the fuck’s the matter with you?”

Sylvie whipped her head around, her senses on high alert. Any movement, sound, or voice was enough to make her jump out of her skin at this point.

When she turned around, Sylvie saw Frank standing there, looking at her with a mixture of annoyance and… perhaps a bit of concern, which was rather rare to see from him. It seemed more like an annoyed type of concern, whatever the hell that meant.

Upon seeing Frank’s face, Sylvie didn’t know how to react. One thing was for sure — she didn’t feel good.

“Get… get away from me.”

Frank narrowed his eyes, his annoyance growing. Instead of listening to Sylvie and backing away from her, he only stepped closer to her. She flinched as he moved towards her, almost as if she was expecting him to hurt her.

Frank let out an irritated scoff. “Jesus Christ, would you calm the fuck down? I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Why don’t you have any… blood on you?” Sylvie asked, her voice shaking.

Frank looked taken aback by the question, his eyes widening slightly in a genuine expression of shock. “The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“You… you’re Valdez. The girl… the girl told me.”

Frank went from shocked to annoyed in seconds. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You’re seriously listening to her?”

“Rickles just… Rickles just died. Rickles and Dean are both dead. You…”

Frank rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Sylvie, for the love of God. You don’t have a single clue what you’re fuckin’ talking about, do you? I know you’re smarter than this.”

“Well, can you please tell me what the fuck is going on? I just saw two people die. I’m scared. I want to get out of here.”

“What’s going on?” Frank repeated. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Please tell me the truth. The girl said the same thing to me and Joey, that you’re… that you’re Valdez.”

Frank let out an annoyed huff. “Did she, now? Well, I don’t appreciate people trying to tarnish my fuckin’ reputation.”

Sylvie swallowed, trying to steady her breathing. “So… she’s lying?”

Frank chuckled, the sound devoid of any humor. “No fuckin’ shit. Children love to lie… but lying about something like this? I’d say that somebody needs to be put in their goddamn place.”

“But then… who did it? Who’s… killing everybody?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know. That’s what we’re all trying to figure out, right?”

Letting out an annoyed grumble, Frank turned around to walk away. Just as he was about to leave, Sylvie spoke.

“You’re not going to let anything happen to me, right? Just… tell me everything’s going to be okay. I don’t… I really don’t want to die. Not here.”

Frank paused, looking back at Sylvie for a moment. His expression was unreadable, but he seemed slightly caught off-guard by her sudden vulnerability. In the time that he knew her, he never once heard her ask him for reassurance. Frank had always known Sylvie as a defiant, feisty little brat… yet, here she was, frightened to death because she didn’t want to die. It was a side of her that he had never seen before.

No, don’t let her get to you.

Frank remained silent for a few moments, trying to think of how he would respond.

“You’re not gonna die.” He simply answered, his voice matter-of-fact. Cold. Emotionless.

And then, he left.