#this situation will never not be absolutely bizarre to me

[lemonycranberries]

if i had a nickel for every time one specific fandom i'm in had a fanfic-based scandal which ended up spreading way beyond the fandom itself, pissing off a lot of people and permanently changing something about the functioning of fanfiction website archive of our own, i'd have two nickels. which isn't a lot but it's absolutely fucking wild that it happened twice

[squeakadeeks]

The evil question is if youd draw vore

it was WHAT

[incognit0slut]

Much Ado About Nothing (Act III, Scene I: The Fake Dating)

It doesn’t occur to you how serious the situation has become until you're forced to sign your fake relationship on paper.

Part warning: none, this might be the slowest burn I have ever written Words: 2.4k A/n: The original plan was to update this series twice a week, but I overestimated myself, so I will be posting each Thursday around this time. I hope you understand <3

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Spencer wasn’t sure how he would go through with this. The idea seemed simple enough on the surface—pretend to date, fool everyone, and finally find peace. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more complex it became, and the more complicated it was, the more crazy it seemed.

This was not what he had signed up for when he joined the BAU. Chasing criminals? Sure. Analyzing behavioral patterns? Absolutely. But pretending to date you to avoid the relentless meddling from his friends? Insane wasn't a strong enough word for it. It was ludicrous.

And even that word wasn’t enough. It was downright preposterous. How had rational, analytical work turned into this bizarre social experiment? Yet, here he was, ready to play his part even when he couldn’t ignore the absurdity of it all.

“Well, well, well.” Spencer looked up to see you walking from the opposite direction, both of you stopping right at the entrance of the bureau’s expansive building. “If it isn’t my new boyfriend.”

He narrowed his eyes. Why did you seem… so normal about this? Weren’t you the one who hated his guts? Weren’t you the one who avoided him every time you had the chance? Were you really that desperate to get the team off your back?

“What? You’re not going to greet your girlfriend?”

He forced a smile, trying to hide his irritation. “Good morning,” he replied curtly, opening the door for you.

You walked past him, and Spencer tried not to stare at you, but it was impossible to ignore the way your hair shone under the morning sun or how your perfume subtly filled the air as you brushed by him. He cleared his throat and followed you inside, wondering how long he could keep up this act without losing his sanity.

“We need some ground rules,” he muttered, nodding towards security as you both passed through the entrance.

You raised an eyebrow. “Ground rules? You mean besides pretending to be madly in love?”

“We are not in love. We just started dating,” Spencer said, pressing the elevator button. “So no spontaneous public displays of affection. We don’t want to overdo it.”

“What’s your definition of overdoing it?”

Spencer waited until the elevator doors slid shut, giving you a little privacy. "No touching. Especially no hand-holding," he stated firmly.

You scoffed. "Who on earth wouldn't want to hold their girlfriend's hand?"

He replied without missing a beat. "Do you know how many germs are transferred when you hold hands? An average of 3,000 bacteria from 150 different species, not to mention the potential viruses.”

“Wow, remind me to never shake hands with you during flu season.”

He shrugged. “I’m just stating the facts.”

“Okay, germaphobe,” you deadpanned, leaning back against the elevator wall. “What’s acceptable then? A nod from across the room? Morse code blinking?”

He considered for a moment, then offered a compromise, “How about an arm around your shoulder when we’re sitting? Or a quick side hug?”

“Side hug,” you echoed, mockingly horrified. “How romantic. Our friends will believe we’re madly in love for sure.”

“We are not in love.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” you replied dryly, standing straight again and turning toward him. “Can we at least try to look like a couple who actually like each other?”

That was the problem. You both didn’t like each other. “Fine,” he sighed. “What do you suggest?”

You paused, considering the best way to make this look believable. “How about you hold onto my waist from behind as we walk? It’s a common gesture, and it looks natural.”

Spencer blinked, taken aback by the suggestion. “Hold your waist? As in, really close?”

“Yes, Reid, that’s generally where the waist is located.”

He frowned at you. “That sounds a bit too… personal, don’t you think?”

“Isn’t that the whole point? To convince them we’re a couple?”

He hesitated, the image of his hands on your waist flashing through his mind. He suddenly imagined the warmth of your body against his, the subtle, pleasant scent of your perfume enveloping him. He could almost feel the way you’d be tucked right to his side, your height fitting perfectly against him, your head nestled just below his chin.

His heart unexpectedly started to race. The idea of holding you that close, feeling the rise and fall of your breath, the slight brush of your hair against his cheek—it was almost too intimate, too real. And he didn’t want to acknowledge that. He wasn’t sure if he could trust himself to play the role convincingly without his emotions betraying him.

“Reid?”

Spencer snapped out of his thoughts, realizing he had been silent for too long. You were watching him impatiently.

“You know what? Do whatever you want.” You turned away, facing the elevator door, clearly frustrated by his hesitation. “Just stand there like a statue for all I care.”

His eyes slowly fell to your waist, considering his options... Maybe it wasn’t that bad. The idea of his hand resting there, guiding you, didn’t seem as unbearable as he initially imagined. The gesture seemed innocent enough. Not too much, not too little. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything, apparently. Because it happened all at once.

One, he reached his hand toward you.

Two, the elevator door swung open.

And three, as you started to move forward, his hand managed to slip before it landed onto your ass.

You shrieked at the top of your lungs.

"Reid!" 

Spencer's face turned red as he quickly retrieved his hand, stammering, "I-I'm sorry! That wasn't—"

But he wasn’t fast enough, because standing on the other side of the elevator door was Derek, witnessing the whole thing. His eyebrows shot up, and a slow grin spread across his face.

"What do we have here?” Derek drawled, crossing his arms. "Spencer Reid, getting a little too friendly?"

Spencer's mortification deepened as he tried to explain, "It's not what it looks like, I swear!"

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure, pretty boy. Whatever you say." He stepped to the side. “Well, aren’t you two lovebirds going to get to work?”

Trying to recover from the embarrassment, Spencer nodded quickly, his face still burning. He guided you out of the elevator with a brief, cautious touch on your back that stayed strictly in the safe zone.

You both hurried toward the glass doors, leaving Derek laughing behind you. You slightly leaned closer to him. “I could sue you for sexual harassment, you know.”

“It was an accident! You moved too quickly.”

“Sure, blame it on me,” you retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you pushed through the glass doors ahead of him.

Spencer quickened his pace to keep up, matching your brisk walk. “I am blaming it on you. This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t suddenly decided to move forward.”

“Right, because clearly, I should have anticipated your clumsiness.”

He shot you a sideways glance. “My clumsiness? You’re the one who—”

“There you are!”

You both turned to see JJ walking toward you, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Hotch is looking for you.”

You started to walk away. “Sure, I’ll go see him—”

JJ shook her head, her smile widening. “No, you don’t understand. He’s looking for you,” she pointed a finger at Spencer, then swung it back to you, “And you. Both of you, together.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. “Both of us? Why?"

“Something about filling in paperwork?”

He frowned, but as the implication of Hotch calling you both at the same time for paperwork sank in, he snapped his head toward you, his eyes wide with realization. You turned toward him at the same moment, and the gravity of your seemingly innocent lie spiraled down on him, making the whole situation feel alarmingly real. 

The weight of it pressed on Spencer’s chest. How could he possibly forget about the most important thing in all of this? He had an eidetic memory, he was good at recalling even the smallest details, but how could he not remember the need to officially disclose workplace relationships?

The reality of potentially signing official documents to confirm this fake relationship made his palms sweat.

“This is stupid,” you whispered when JJ finally left the two of you. “Maybe we should think this through.”

Spencer looked down at you. You were right, this was stupid. It was getting out of hand. But as he noticed the way you stared up at him, with your wide, doe-like eyes sparkling under the light, something shifted. This whole lie had started as a means to an end, a way to fend off the relentless teasing. But now, standing there with you, it felt like more than just a plan. Maybe it was the thrill of the unknown, or the strange comfort of the lie. Maybe it wasn’t just about fooling the team.

Maybe he was starting to fool himself too.

Spencer took a deep breath. “No,” he said softly, more to himself than to you. “We started this, we should go through with it.”

Before you could respond, he placed his hand on your lower back, feeling the warmth of your body through the thin fabric of your blouse before his palm slid over to your waist. Your eyes widened in surprise at the sudden gesture, but you didn't pull away.

What have you done?

You couldn’t believe you had actually signed the papers. The weight of the pen felt so heavy in your hand, the ink seeming to dry slower than usual as you scrawled your name on the dotted line. This was supposed to be a simple, harmless plan, but now it was documented. Official.

How did it come to this?

You watched as Spencer took the pen from you, his hand brushing yours momentarily. He glanced at you before turning his attention back to the document. The hesitation was brief, but you saw it—the flicker of doubt before he pressed the pen on to the paper and signed his name next to yours.

What the hell are we doing?

“Alright,” Hotch said, taking the papers and giving you both a nod. “This is a bit formal, but it’s necessary under bureau policy. If there are any changes in your relationship status, you should report immediately.”

You nodded, barely hearing his words over the pounding of your heart.

“Again, congratulations.”

Your stomach churned. You were going to be sick.

“Thank you,” Spencer responded. Hotch then dismissed you both, and as you turned to leave, Spencer's hand gently touched your back. You were the one who urged him to act his part, but it felt too intimate, too real at that moment. You quickly increased your pace, putting some distance between you as you walked down into the bullpen.

Penelope was sitting on your chair, chatting animatedly with the rest of the team in the open space. She looked up when you both arrived. “Well, look who’s back!” Penelope called out. “How did it go?"

You weren't surprised everyone understood what being called in, together at that, by Hotch implied.

“It went… as expected,” you replied, forcing a smile. Spencer stood a bit awkwardly beside you, his usual composure slightly ruffled.

"This is amazing,” Penelope sighed. "Oh! you know what we should do?"

You eyed her warily. "What?"

"This totally calls for a celebration!"

Your eyes widened. "Let's not—"

"Are you guys free this weekend?" Penelope turned toward the rest of the team.

Derek leaned back in his chair with a wide grin. "You know I'm always up for a party."

Spencer looked between you and the rest of the team, clearly uncomfortable. "I don't think that’s necessary—"

"He's right, Spencer isn't much of a party freak," JJ chimed in, joining in the conversation from her desk. "We should do something more relaxing."

"No, that's not what I meant—"

"You know what we haven't done in a while?" Emily asked, walking closer with a thoughtful look before she settled onto your desk, leaning slightly against it. "We haven't gone to the pool lately."

Penelope perked up at the idea. "Rossi's villa?"

Emily confirmed her with a nod. "Rossi's villa. He’s always saying we should use it more anyway.”

At any given chance, you would jump at the idea. You loved relaxing by the pool. You loved basking under the sun with a cool drink in your hand, the smell of chlorine in the air, and the refreshing splash of water on your skin. And Rossi’s pool was the perfect place for that.

It was a villa located an hour’s drive away that seemed more suited to a resort than a private residence. It was far from the city, mostly unoccupied, but always welcoming. You had been there before, stayed overnight there too, and all those fun memories were still vivid in your mind. You even recalled the time Emily was caught skinny dipping at night. Or the time Derek kicked Spencer out of the pool after realizing he had been hustling him at basketball the week before.

It had been fun then, but the more you reflected on those memories, the deeper your frown became. They had happened way before everything fell apart, before the tension had strained your friendship. It was a time when everything felt simpler, when Spencer was one of your closest friends. And now, ironically, he was your boyfriend.

Fake boyfriend.

"So it's settled, then?" Penelope’s voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to the present.

Honestly, you didn’t want to go. How were you even going to pull this off? A weekend by the pool, while usually the perfect highlight for your summer, now felt like walking into a scripted play where your every gesture would be scrutinized. Not just by anyone, but by skilled profilers who could sniff out a lie like a shark smells blood in the water.

The fear of being exposed, of embarrassing yourself—or worse, damaging your career—was gnawing at you. It made you increasingly anxious. Yet backing out wasn’t an option either. It would raise too many questions and invite too much speculation.

So you closed the distance between you and Spencer and linked your arm through his, ignoring the slight panic in his eyes. “Sure,” you said, turning to Penelope as you mustered a smile. “Sounds fun.”

Penelope beamed at you. Spencer, on the other hand, felt the exact opposite. The idea of spending an entire weekend pretending to be in a relationship filled him with dread.

And he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was bound to go wrong.

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Three-Info:you and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Heartbreak, ANGST AF, Dirty Talk, PIV, Praise Kink, Slight Degradation, Semi-Public Sex.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

"Hello? Anyone home?"

Emily's voice echoed through the air of your dorm room, her eyes widening in disbelief as she took in your drenched appearance. There you stood, next to your bed, trapped in the labyrinth of your thoughts, most likely looking like you had genuinely lost your ever-loving mind.

At last, you jerked your head up, locking eyes with her. "Apologies, Em...I'm just utterly drained. Honestly didn't even hear you come in."

"Why are you absolutely soaked?" Emily's tone switched to an almost amused drawl, one you could tell she was attempting to suppress. Her eyes narrowed as she assessed your waterlogged state. "Weren't you with Mattheo?"

Your cheeks flushed under her scrutiny, and you shifted uncomfortably before responding. "Yeah," you admitted, your tone slightly sheepish. "It's a bit of a story, really...Malfoy essentially dared me to jump in the lake, and, well, I couldn't resist the challenge."

Amusement twinkled in Emily's eyes as she settled onto her bed, her curiosity piqued. "Well, that's one way to make a splash," she quipped, a playful smirk gracing her lips. "So, spill the details. Is there some progress being made with those arsehats?"

You cleared your throat, a nervous smile playing on your lips. "I'm trying," you confessed, your voice laced with uncertainty. "It's a work in progress, but I think we're getting there, slowly but surely."

Emily nodded knowingly, her lips curving into a smirk. "Well, if anyone can handle a bunch of mischievous daredevils, it's you," she remarked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Just be careful, yeah?"

"Of course," you replied, managing a meek smile despite the uneasy knot tightening in your chest. "Where were you tonight?”

Almost instantly, Emily's demeanor shifted, her gaze darting away, fixated on her fingers as she nervously twirled her chapstick. "I, uh...I was with Tom," she stammered, her voice trailing off uncertainly.

A sudden wave of realization crashed over you, leaving you feeling as if you were adrift in a stormy sea. Emily was with Tom?

You blinked, struggling to find the right words. "You-"

"I think I like him," she confessed, the words emerging strained, as if pulled through clenched teeth, her eyes avoiding yours. "I...I think I really like him..."

Her confession hung in the air, heavy with tension, sending shockwaves through your entire being. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat reverberating in the silence that followed. You stood there, motionless, breathless, your mind trying to grasp the reality of her revelation. What on earth was fucking happening?

Sensing your stunned reaction, Emily hurriedly left her bed, closing the distance between you two. Her eyes met yours, filled with regret and apology.

"I'm so incredibly sorry," she began, her words tumbling out in a jumbled mess. "I mean, on the night of the party, we connected, and we kissed, and I haven't been able to shake those feelings since...I know you and Tom have been seeing eachother for a while, and I've felt terrible about this whole situation...I'm the worst friend, and I can't believe I let it get to this point...I just...I understand if you hate me or never want to talk to me again-"

"Emily," you interjected, your voice breaking through the heavy silence, your shock slowly giving way to a strange sense of understanding. Despite the chaos in your own life, you couldn't muster any anger. In fact, her revelation felt like a bizarre twist of fate, a surreal kind of perfect. "Me and Tom...we were never anything...I've never had any genuine feelings for Tom, not like that anyway..." you confessed, your words hanging in the air. "It's okay, Em...it's seriously more than okay."

Her eyes, brimming with guilt, met yours. "No… it isn't," she murmured, her fingers absently pushing a strand of hair off her forehead. "I just...I feel like the world's worst friend...I've been keeping secrets and hiding things from you...and that's not like us...I genuinely bloody hate myself for this…”

Her words hit you like a sledgehammer, the weight of your own secrets crashing down on you. How could you judge her when you were harbouring your own tangled emotions for Mattheo? Guilt clawed at your insides, a bitter reminder of your own deception, making it impossible to feel anything but empathy for Emily's confession.

Gently, your touch on her arm was a soft plea for understanding. "Em, please be kind to yourself," you implored, your voice carrying the weight of your own inner turmoil. "I'm far from perfect, and I completely understand...you don't ever have to be scared to tell me anything, I'll always be on your side..."

The desire to confide in her about Mattheo tugged at your heartstrings, but a tempest of conflicting thoughts raged within you. You longed to unburden yourself, to share the intricacies of your emotions--yet, doubts clouded your mind.

You questioned the wisdom of revealing a truth that seemed destined for heartbreak; one that was destined to go no where, especially after Mattheo's own cautionary words. The fear of shattering the fragile semblance of normalcy you'd managed to maintain held you back, leaving you caught between the honesty you craved and the security of your well-guarded secret.

"You're the greatest friend...I don't deserve you," Emily released a long sigh, meeting your eyes softly. "Are you sure you're not upset? I swear I'll never fucking talk to him again if-"

"No! No, Emily...I'm not upset," you said, through chuckles. You were upset, but it had nothing to do with her. "I want you to be happy, Em...Dumbledore once told me that if someone makes you feel, let them..."

"Gods, that man could make a bloody brick wall tear up," she breathed, finally cracking a smile, as though you'd lifted a weight off her shoulders. "I have to say though...I just don't know how you didn't fall for him...I mean, his fucking eyes alone had me melting..."

You released a breath, unable to swallow your smirk. Yeah, his eyes were beautiful, but only because they served as a reminder of Mattheo's--whose deep brown pools were nothing other than completely fucking captivating.

"I know," you said, your voice distant, lost in your thoughts as you stared into the distance. "Tom is wonderful," you continued, your words almost a whisper, the syllables heavy with unspoken sentiments. "It's just that, my heart...it wasn't in it."

Emily's brows furrowed with realization, her eyes darting across your face as though she could read the unsaid words swirling within your irises. "Where is your heart, then?"

Emily's question hung in the air, patiently awaiting your response, but your thoughts were elsewhere, entirely consumed by Mattheo. His captivating eyes, that tousled brown hair, and his infuriatingly complicated demeanor dominated your mind. Despite his dangerous reputation, he had always been your sanctuary--from the way he protected you to the depths of pleasure he led you to, he ignited desires you were hesitant to acknowledge.

Since the day you met him, you had been drawn in, entangled in a web of emotions you couldn't escape. The fear of succumbing to your desires warred with the undeniable pull he had on your heart, leaving you submerged in a sea of uncertainty, unsure if there was a way out of the depths you had willingly plunged into.

Meeting Emily's eyes, you could only confess, "I don't know," your voice tinged with desperation, as if seeking an answer that seemed just out of reach. "I...I have no fucking idea anymore..."

Her face dropped, shock etching lines across her features as she took a few delicate steps back, studying your face intensely. The intensity of her scrutiny made you nervous, your heart pounding so loudly you could almost hear it. You knew she had just realized precisely what the fuck was going on with you lately. You knew she'd finally fucking cracked your code.

You looked away, unable to maintain eye contact, and in a hushed tone, she said, "oh, Gods no...you...he's-he's such an asshole..."

"Yes, he is..." tension gripped your entire being, your body vibrating with nausea as you struggled to find the words. You couldn't bring yourself to meet Emily's eyes, your gaze fixed on the floor as you whispered, "but there's still good in him..."

Emily's eyes widened in disbelief, her shock palpable as she struggled to comprehend your words. "You're going to destroy yourself trying to fix him," she said, her voice edged with desperation. A heavy pause filled the room before she continued, her voice quivering, "He's done terrible things, remember when he sent that poor third year into the infirmary-"

"We've all done terrible things, haven't we?" you shot back, finally looking up at her. The intensity in your gaze matched the fierce determination in your voice. "We're all just sinners judging sinners for sinning differently, but no one ever bloody stops to ask why..."

Your steps were slow, but deliberate, each one echoing with the resonance of your unwavering determination as you closed some of the distance between you and Emily. The intensity in your eyes burned brightly, reflecting the depth of your emotions.

You were acutely aware of how utterly insane you must sound, how irrational and illogical your words might appear to her. Yet, in the depths of your heart, you longed for her understanding, for her to grasp the complexities that lay beneath the surface. You yearned for her to realize that there was a profound depth to your emotions, a truth far more intricate than what met the eye.

"Yeah, maybe he's bad...maybe he's completely fucking terrible," you said, your voice carrying a potent mix of fervor and defiance. "But when he smiles…when I look into his stupid, big eyes...all I see is the good in him..."

A profound silence hung in the air, pregnant with the weight of your words. You gauged Emily's reaction, observing the flicker of disbelief and uncertainty that played across her features.

"I made a promise...to Dumbledore...to myself...to Mattheo," you continued, your voice unwavering, each syllable resonating with unshakable resolve. "A promise that I'd fucking stand by him...that I'd show him patience and compassion...who would I be if I gave up on that?"

"Yeah, but..." Emily's eyes widened, her throat tightening as she struggled to find words to counter your conviction. "He's...he's a monster..."

"He's broken," you retorted, your tone unyielding, the depth of your empathy for Mattheo underscoring your words. "I don't care what happens to me, Em...I am a woman of my word..."

Emily swallowed. "Your heart is far too pure...your heart is going to ruin your future..."

"So be it." You said, flatly, steeling your shoulders as you released a long breath. "I am coming for all the ghosts that have ever haunted him...I am coming for all the demons that twisted his dreams and turned him into the fucking nightmare that he is, and I am going to be theirs, instead."

Without waiting for Emily's response, you brushed past her, your heart racing with anxiety over the fact that you had essentially revealed the truth about your relationship with Mattheo. The weight of your confession hung heavy on your shoulders, but you needed to clear your head. Silently, you made your way out of the dormitory, the echo of your footsteps reverberating in the empty corridor.

The familiar path to the prefects' washroom felt like a lifeline, leading you to the one person who could provide the reassurance you craved. Just as you made your way into the hall, the door creaked open, and a familiar brunette exited, her sly grin sending a shiver down your spine as her eyes met yours. Recognition struck you like a lightning bolt--it was the girl from the library, the one who had been intimately close to Mattheo all those weeks ago. As she disappeared from your view, your stomach plummeted, anxiety tightening into a nauseating knot.

With your heart heavy and anxiety clawing at your throat, you mustered the strength to push open the door. Inside, you found Mattheo, leaning wearily against the sink. His eyes, usually filled with intensity, were dulled by fatigue. His head was bowed, and his shoulders slumped, burdened by the weight of unseen struggles. He remained fully dressed, his appearance reflecting the weariness that mirrored your own inner turmoil.

"What was that?" you questioned, your voice trembling, and your chin quivering with vulnerability, your eyes pleading for an explanation that might soothe the turmoil within. "I thought we were okay?"

The sight of that girl leaving the washroom shattered the reassurance you had desperately sought. Doubts consumed you, racing through your mind like a storm. Had your recent fight driven that big of a wedge between you and Mattheo? Was he seeking solace in someone else's company because he was done with you? The questions multiplied, suffocating you with uncertainty. Your voice emerged as a cracked whisper, breaking the tense silence that hung between you both as Mattheo slowly met your eyes.

"Are we ever bloody okay, Raven?" His voice, laced with a tinge of exhaustion, fell flat, his eyes dark and cold as they bored into you. The endless depths of his gaze seemed impenetrable, hiding any flicker of emotion that might have offered solace. "I'm not even sure what you're going on about, truthfully,"

"The girl," your voice wavered, your vulnerability laid bare, "the same one from the library all that time ago...I just saw her leaving."

Mattheo grumbled irritably, the tension in the room palpable as he pushed off from the sink with a heavy sigh, his movements betraying his exasperation. He spun around, the muscles in his jaw clenched, his eyes stormy with frustration as he leaned back against the counter. His arms crossed over his chest defensively, his entire posture radiating a mix of annoyance and defiance.

"That girl is nothing to me, Raven," he declared, his voice low and gravelly, the words carrying a hint of irritation as he tried to emphasize his point. "Nothing at all."

You desperately wanted to believe him, to cling to his words like a lifeline, but doubt gnawed at your insides, poisoning your thoughts. After everything that had transpired between you, after your last fight, and the way he was acting now, you couldn't simply brush it aside.

"Nothing, huh?" Your voice grew firmer, laced with a mixture of hurt and skepticism. "So it's just a coincidence that you two were alone in here...and that she was grinning ear to ear when she left..."

Mattheo blinked, his surprise evident as he processed your words. This jealousy was uncharacteristic of you, a stark deviation from your usual composed self. His features contorted with a mixture of confusion and frustration, his eyes narrowing and jaw clenching in response to your accusation.

"Do you think I fucked her, Raven?" His words hung in the charged atmosphere, heavy with hurt and disbelief. Each syllable cut through the air, a searing venom that struck your heart like a dagger. "Do you actually fucking think that low of me?"

The raw pain in his eyes mirrored your own, a painful reflection of the trust that had been shattered between you, the wounds now gaping wide open, begging for resolution.

"You don't trust me..." Mattheo's expressions hardened further, his eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and hurt. The room seemed to shrink around you as he pushed off from the sink, his movements deliberate and forceful, closing the distance between you before you could react. "You don't fucking trust me, do you?"

You tensed, every muscle in your body coiling like a tightly wound spring, bracing for the emotional storm that was about to engulf you. Mattheo stopped abruptly, his instincts sensing your reaction, his intense gaze locking onto yours. Your breathing became shallow, your chest constricted, and time seemed to stretch into eternity as you stood there, suspended in the moment.

"I want to..." your voice wavered, a fragile whisper barely audible in the heavy silence, carrying the weight of your longing and doubt. "But...I just...can't, when there you are...directly in front of me, still so fucking far away..."

You took a moment to study his features, the turmoil in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, and the vulnerability that flickered beneath his anger. His chest rose and fell with every ragged breath, as though his heart was laid bare before you.

"A man with a shield for a heart, and a sword for a tongue," you continued, your voice a fragile thread weaving through the charged air. "How do I confide in that?"

Mattheo's eyes softened, just slightly, the storm within them giving way to a glimmer of sincerity. In that moment, he shed every ounce of hesitation, closing the space between you with an urgency that spoke volumes. His hands found your face, cupping it gently, forcing your eyes to meet his. The intensity in his touch, the tenderness in his gaze, told a story of its own.

"Raven...do you think I fucking care about anything other than you?" His voice, once sharp with frustration, now held a raw, earnest sincerity that cut through the lingering doubts and insecurities. "You're the only one I need...you're the only one that keeps me high..."

Your heart thundered in your chest, the sound echoing in your ears like a war drum, each beat reverberating with the intensity of his touch. His palms, warm against your cool skin, sent waves of heat through every inch of your body, cocooning you in a haze of desire and vulnerability. You blinked, your eyes unable to tear away from the depth of his stare.

"But?" you dared to whisper, your voice barely audible amidst the charged silence, the lump in your throat growing with each passing second. "I know you aren't finished, I see it in your expression..."

He stiffened, his hands slowly falling from your face, the loss of his touch leaving a void. His gaze, dark and intense, traced a path from your eyes down to your lips, the unspoken longing palpable between your bodies. The pain that hung in the air was almost tangible, the emotions that coursed through both of you reaching a fever pitch.

"When you close your eyes...when you think of this...of us, what do you see?" He whispered, his voice a mere breath, the words hanging in the air like a delicate thread. "Do you see a future, Raven?"

The question slammed into your lungs like a sledgehammer, stealing the very air from your chest.  You had never truly considered what was going to happen at the end of the school year, but it was evident that he had, his eyes haunted by the uncertainty of the future.

You sucked in a lungful of breath, trapping it there, the oxygen feeling suffocating against the weight of his question. "I...I don't know..."

"Exactly," he murmured, his voice as soft as a breeze, but carrying the weight of an entire universe. "Something's telling me we're running out of time here, Raven...I always said I'd never deserve you, and I meant that..." he paused, averting his eyes only for a moment as he threaded an unsteady hand through his hair. "If we keep this going...something's bound to give...I can't let you throw away your future for me..."

You stalled, pain rushing through you. This whirlwind of emotions felt like a chaotic storm, each moment with him a battle between your hearts, oscillating from fiery arguments to heartbreaking distance. The constant push and pull had left you emotionally battered, but this time, the pain cut deeper than ever before.

"No...Mattheo...I..." your voice stammered, trembling with the intensity of your emotions. "I would much rather be nowhere with you, than somewhere without you..."

He stiffened, his entire being seeming to freeze in response to your words. "No, Raven, come on...don't fucking say that," he hissed, his voice laced with desperation. "You will not throw away your future for me...for whatever this is...you have to know that is fucking insane..."

"Mattheo, why?" you whispered, your voice breaking as you took a step closer, your heart aching with the weight of his decision. "Why are you doing this...I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for everything I said...I didn't-"

"It's not about that," he cut you off, his tone soft yet resolute. "It's not about any of that. We both know this only ends in blood...why prolong it...I’d never be able to live with myself if I ruined everything you’ve worked so hard for…”

Your chest ached, a visceral pain that radiated through every fiber of your being, your eyes darting all over his face as though seeking solace in the contours of his skin, as if something tangible could save you from this nightmare. He was right. Of course, he was absolutely fucking right. There was nothing you could say to deny his words, the harsh reality of your situation hanging heavy between you.

"I know you're right Mattheo," gently, you brought a trembling hand up to his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek as you cupped the side of his head, your own head tilting slightly as you glimpsed his lips, whispering with a vulnerability that laid bare your soul. "But even if it's meant to fall apart...I still fucking want you..."

"I know," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, his lips hovering just millimeters from yours. "I fucking know..."

"I'm scared as bloody hell, Mattheo..." you continued, your fingers digging slightly into his skin, his hands seeking refuge on your hips as he pulled you closer against him. "I'm fucking terrified to want you, yet here I am anyway..."

"I'm scared too, Raven..." he confessed, his voice barely audible, pulling you impossibly closer, your bodies melding into one another. "Godric fucking forbid I ever admit it..."

His lips brushed against yours, soft and tender, a delicate touch that held the weight of a thousand unspoken words. In that moment, you knew, without a shadow of doubt, that you two were one and the fucking same. He was more yourself than you ever were. Whatever your souls were made of, his and yours were intertwined in an indescribable connection.

"Give me this before you go..." you whispered, your free hand gripping his shirt for dear life, your voice laced with desperation and longing. "Please..."

Mattheo pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning your face, searching for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," without a moment's hesitation, you nodded, your eyes locked onto his, your conviction unwavering. "I'm sure."

In an instant, he pulled you back into him, his lips crashing onto yours in a searing kiss, the intensity mirroring the state of your crumbling relationship. His hands, strong and sure, quickly slithered up your sides, finding the buttons on your shirt.

Simultaneously, your trembling fingers mirrored his movements, undoing his shirt with a fervor that matched his own. The kiss deepened, your mouths melding together in a desperate attempt to drown out the world, seeking solace in each other's touch as you shed the barriers between you. The passion between your bodies consumed every ounce of your being, a wild, untamed force that pushed back against the chaos threatening to tear you apart.

As soon as the two of you were freed of your uniforms, Mattheo pulled back, his gaze intense, his eyes smouldering against your skin as he urged you to your knees in front of him. Without a word, you obeyed, staring up at him with a widened gaze, tracing the features of his face and chest that you admittedly loved so fucking much. Mattheo's eyes were doing the same, flickering over your curves, the swell of your breasts, the flare of your hips, until finally, they came to rest between your legs.

“You’re fucking beautiful…” he brought a hand up to your chin, tilting your head back to bring your eyes to his, the pad of his rough thumb tracing over your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly before releasing it. “Don’t you think I’d chose some other bitch over you ever fucking again.”

Breath evaporated as he dropped down to his knees in front of you without warning, directing you to lay back, your head resting on a stack of clean towels.

The cool tile of the floor made your back arch and your body shudder as Mattheo loomed over you, his fingers tracing delicate patterns over your thighs as he hovered mere inches above your skin. Each touch was soft, almost reverent, as though he was worshipping every inch of your body. As he leant down to kiss you, his lips were tender yet demanding, his tongue sweeping over yours in a fierce, fiery embrace. You groaned into his mouth, your hands finding his hair and gripping tightly, until he broke the kiss and began to move lower.

His eyes travelled down your neck, reaching your chest where your breasts rose and fell with each exasperated, eager breath. His mouth descended upon one of them, suckling and teasing with skillful precision, making your head dizzy with burning need. It was as though he was worshipping at a sacred alter, paying homage to the very essence of your womanhood, his nails digging into your skin, chaining you to him with more restraint than any bloody shackles ever could.

His tongue traced spirals around your nipple, sending little shocks of electricity straight through to your core, and you mewled, back arching into him and grip tightening in his hair, silently begging for more. As expected, Mattheo delivered, lavishing attention on each peak in turn, flicking his tongue, sucking, and teasing until you were practically crying for release.

"Matty...please…" you whispered as his lips moved lower, tracing a path of heat toward your sex. "There's no time...someone could come in..."

"Eager girl..." Mattheo hummed, smirking against your skin. "Told you you'd love the way I fuck you."

Unable to suppress it, you smirked at his normal arrogance as he pulled back slowly, your eyes following his every move as he freed himself; letting loose that delicious, familiar groan from deep in his throat as he pumped his shaft a few times, his gaze darting over your body, desperate and writhing beneath him--each meticulous movement he made causing an insatiable tingle within your core.

"Mhm," you murmured, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as your hands grazed over his strong biceps, feeling the muscle tense and contract beneath your touch. "That's what I love...the way you fuck me..."

Mattheo blinked, meeting your eyes, a wicked smile creeping across his lips as he processed what you'd just said. The underlying message in your words went unspoken despite their intentions hanging heavy in the air, and without a word, he slid his free hand down between your legs, shifting your panties to the side before he gently teased and swirled over your clit, making you moan out his name without even realizing it. 

"My filthy little girl..." the anticipation was almost unbearable, you were fucking dripping for him and he'd hardly even touched you. "Always so fucking eager for me…”

Inching forward, he aligned himself with your core, leaning down over you, a strong arm taking purchase beside your head, caging you beneath him. As he pushed inside you, the stretch was unlike anything you'd ever fucking felt--the lack of foreplay resulting in a sensation unlike anything else, a perfect blend of agony and ecstasy, as if he was stretching you open and shaping you just for him.

You whimpered softly, doing your best to muffle your noises as Mattheo pushed deeper and deeper, pausing for a moment once he'd fully seated himself inside your heat, giving you a second to adjust to his thick, throbbing length--his eyes never once left yours, his gaze drilling into you as he assessed your reactions, only breaking the eye contact to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

"So fucking tight...fuck-you feel so fucking good..." Mattheo growled lowly, his voice thick with lust--your walls clenching and relaxing around him simultaneously. "Such a good girl, Raven...feel yourself adjust for me, baby."

His voice had a hypnotic effect on you, calming your racing heart and making you focus solely on the feelings coursing through your body. The pain was gone, a mere figment of your imagination as you revelled in the closeness of your bodies, his hot skin on yours, breathing eachother in, your mind reeling with the thoughts of this being the last time--something you'd both said many times before.

But for some reason, this time felt different. This time felt real.

"Fuck me, Matty..." you whispered, nails digging into his back as if trying to anchor yourself to this moment, to him. "Fuck me like you're going to lose me."

"Fuck...am I, Raven?" Mattheo groaned in response, meeting your eyes with an intensity that took your breath away, slowly beginning to increase his pace to your desires. "Am I going to fucking lose you?"

Mattheo's thrusts became harder and more aggressive as his movements grew more frenzied, his mind getting lost in the haze of lust swirling between you. The sounds of his skin slapping against yours filled the room, matching the sound of his heavy breathing, a whirlwind of emotions coursing through the air.

"N-no, Matty..." you choked, feeling the pleasure building within you like a storm waiting to break. It was almost too much, and you found tears on the verge of exploding from your fucking eyes. "You couldn't...even if you tried..."

"Fuck...I know..." he hissed, the words forced through gritted teeth as he met your eyes, your nails certainly splitting the skin on his back, shredding it raw. "I always know exactly how you feel when I'm deep inside you like this...those eyes don't fucking lie..."

You gasped, the words unable to form as Mattheo pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, hitting that deep place inside your body that made you cry out in toe-curling pleasure. His face was twisted into an intense frown, growling in concentration as he fucked you harder, faster, hitting places you didn't know possible.

"You love this cock, don't you?" Mattheo growled, knowing full well the answer. "You're so fucking wet for me."

"Oh...yes, I do-" you squealed, burying your reddened face back into the crook of his shoulder, pleasure ricocheting through every ounce of your body as his fingers slid down your stomach, quickly teasing over your clit. "Fuck-Matty...oh..."

"You want to cum for me, pretty girl?" he growled, nibbling at your earlobe as he shifted his position, drilling deeper into you. "Let me feel you..."

"I-I want..." the words wouldn't form. Nothing would articulate inside your brain. Yes, you wanted release, but that's not what you were trying to say here. You wanted him, you wanted this, you wanted all of it, never to end. But as he swirled your clit with rough, aggressive strokes, your brain was mush, succumbing to nothing but his touch. "I-I want you...in...I-"

"I'm in you, Raven..." a grunt when he slammed into you--his voice tight, strained, almost pained, lips pressed against your temple. "I'm so fucking deep in you..."

Another shift, and he was striking your cervix with every thrust--and the pain was enough to pop the balloon in your chest. Tears streamed down your cheeks, the pending heartache and insecurity finally breaking through the dam of emotions you had kept bottled up for months. The weight of it all was too much, overwhelming you in a tidal wave of despair. Mattheo's movements remained unyielding, his pace unfaltering, but he was swift to kiss away your tears, his own breath hitched in anticipation of the climax that was about to consume both of you.

"Oh-fuck...Matty..." only a few more thrusts, and you were there, teetering right on the edge of coming undone. “Oh…”

He growled. “Cum for me angel…fuck-“

"Yes-yes, fuck..." you keened, dragged through your climax without question, euphoria tearing through you as your walls pulsed and milked his cock.

He groaned, gripping you tighter as he poured himself into you, hips bucking until the only sensation left was sweaty, heaving, post-orgasmic rapture. And despite that, you held each other, unwilling to move, unwilling to let the other person leave the safety of the embrace.

It was a long moment--long after your breathing had returned to normal, long after you'd both dripped sweat onto each other's skin--before he moved, rolling off of you, gaze roaming your figure. You wiped your damp cheeks with the back of your hand, not daring to make eye contact with him as the two of you slowly began to redress, an awkward silence filling the air.

After both of you had regained modesty, Mattheo’s eyes locked onto yours, his unspoken emotions echoing in the intensity of his gaze. Without uttering a single word, he pulled you into him, his arms enveloping your body, holding you with a grip that felt as if he never wanted to let go, suffocating your lungs in the best way possible. As his hand moved to cup the back of your head, his fingers intertwining into your hair, you felt his throat bobbing against your temple as he swallowed, his vulnerability laid bare in the gentle caress of his touch.

“That girl,” his voice was a low murmur, as though he feared shattering the fragile moment, “she asked me to the masquerade this weekend…I said no.”

You chewed your cheek, your fingers clinging onto his shirt with force, your voice trembling as you responded, “You should go...it might be good to redirect the attention off of us…your friends seem suspicious.”

“Oh, they are…” he chuckled, his hand absentmindedly petting your hair, his touch comforting and reassuring. “But I told Nott to ask you, and only Nott, so if any of the others approach you about it, let me know.”

Your cheeks burned at the revelation, his laughter vibrating through your body, your heart skipping a beat in response. “You told Nott to ask me to the masquerade? Why?”

“He’s the only one I trust not to be a fucking pig,” he replied, his tone flat and honest. “Pretty sure Zabini or Malfoy would try to get you under them before the night even started.”

You huffed, a smirk playing on your lips as you pressed against his chest. Taking a moment to revel in his scent, his cologne, his body heat.

“Is this really it for us, Mattheo?” you murmured, your voice laced with a hint of desperation. “I mean…am I just supposed to be your friend, now? Your mentor? Your tutor?”

“Maybe we just take a break, hm?” he suggested, his voice dropping, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. “Maybe just until the suspicion dies off…until we both have had some time to cool down.”

“I…okay,” you said, your eyelids fluttering as he released you, the weight of the situation sinking in. “I can work with that.”

The acceptance in your voice was laden with bittersweet resignation, a temporary reprieve in the face of an uncertain future.

————————

Chapter 24->

[omgthatdress]

I got a comment on a hurricane from someone (now blocked) who said "this is not a survivable storm. You're going to die. Make peace with your life and go into the light."

and what the HELL. That is NOT a cool way to be talking to people right now. It's a hurricane, not a meteor, and it's still supposed to be down to a cat 3 when it makes landfall.

I'm not going to say that it's going to be a big nothingburger or that absolutely nothing bad is going to happen, but I have sat through more hurricanes than I can count.

Homes in Florida are literally built to be hurricane-proof. It's in all of our building codes as a legacy of countless lives lost before we knew how to build homes that could withstand the storms. Read Their Eyes Were Watching God.

I live a good distance inland, not in an evacuation zone, and in a place that doesn't flood. Srsly I've lived in the same house 36 years and never once have we had to deal with flooding.

We keep our trees trimmed and the roof is in good shape. I can't discount random bizarre acts of God, but I can all but guarantee you that the worst thing that's gonna happen to me is I'm gonna be without power for a day or two. My house usually gets it restored relatively quickly because we're on the same power grid as a hospital, or at least so says my dad. It will suck but I will live.

Helene was bad because it hit an area that doesn't have the same hurricane-proofing and it caught a lot of people off guard. Here in Tampa we are very well used to this and well prepared for whatever is going to come.

This situation definitely isn't good but it is NOT the apocalypse. Don't do anything stupid and you'll be fine.

[nicklloydnow]

“May I be permitted to say a few words? I am an Edinburgh graduate (MA 1975) who studied Persian, Arabic & Islamic History under William Montgomery Watt & Laurence Elwell Sutton, 2 of Britain ‘s great Middle East experts. I later went on to do a PhD at Cambridge & to teach Arabic & Islamic Studies at Newcastle University . Naturally, I am the author of several books & 100s of articles in this field.

I say all that to show that I am well informed in Middle Eastern affairs & that, for that reason, I am shocked & disheartened for a simple reason: there is not & has never been a system of apartheid in Israel. That is not my opinion, that is fact that can be tested against reality should anyone choose to visit Israel.

Let me spell this out, since I have the impression that many students are absolutely clueless in matters concerning Israel, & that they are, in all likelihood, the victims of extremely biased propaganda coming from the anti-Israel lobby.

Hating Israel

Being anti-Israel is not in itself objectionable. But I’m not talking about ordinary criticism of Israel . I’m speaking of a hatred that permits itself no boundaries in the lies & myths it pours out. Thus, Israel is repeatedly referred to as a “Nazi” state. In what sense is this true, even as a metaphor? Where are the Israeli concentration camps? The einzatsgruppen? The SS? The Nuremberg Laws?

None of these things nor anything remotely resembling them exists in Israel, precisely because the Jews, more than anyone on earth, understand what Nazism stood for. It is claimed that there has been an Israeli Holocaust in Gaza (or elsewhere). Where? When?

No honest historian would treat that claim with anything but the contempt. But calling Jews Nazis and saying they have committed a Holocaust is a way to subvert historical fact. Likewise apartheid.

No Apartheid

For apartheid to exist, there would have to be a situation that closely resembled how things were in South Africa under the apartheid regime. Unfortunately for those who believe this, a day in any part of Israel would be enough to show how ridiculous this is.

The most obvious focus for apartheid would be the country’s 20% Arab population. Under Israeli law, Arab Israelis have exactly the same rights as Jews or anyone else; Muslims have the same rights as Jews or Christians; Baha’is, severely persecuted in Iran, flourish in Israel, where they have their world center; Ahmadi Muslims, severely persecuted in Pakistan & elsewhere, are kept safe by Israel; or anyone else; the holy places of all religions are protected by Israeli law.

Free Arab Israelis

Arabs form 20% of the university population (an exact echo of their percentage in the general population). In Iran , the Bahai’s (the largest religious minority) are forbidden to study in any university or to run their own universities: why aren’t your members boycotting Iran ?

Arabs in Israel can go anywhere they want, unlike blacks in apartheid South Africa. They use public transport, they eat in restaurants, they go to swimming pools, they use libraries, they go to cinemas alongside Jews — something no blacks were able to do in South Africa.

Israeli hospitals not only treat Jews & Arabs, they also treat Palestinians from Gaza or the West Bank. On the same wards, in the same operating theatres.

Women’s Rights

In Israel, women have the same rights as men: there is no gender apartheid. Gay men & women face no restrictions, and Palestinian gays oftn escape into Israel, knowing they may be killed at home.

It seems bizarre to me that LGBT groups call for a boycott of Israel & say nothing about countries like Iran, where gay men are hanged or stoned to death. That illustrates a mindset that beggars belief.

Intelligent students thinking it’s better to be silent about regimes that kill gay people, but good to condemn the only country in the Middle East that rescues and protects gay people. Is that supposed to be a sick joke?

(…)

I do not object to well-documented criticism of Israel. I do object when supposedly intelligent people single the Jewish state out above states that are horrific in their treatment of their populations.

(…)

Israeli citizens, Jews & Arabs alike, do not rebel (though they are free to protest). Yet Edinburgh students mount no demonstrations & call for no boycotts against Libya , Bahrain , Saudi Arabia , Yemen , & Iran. They prefer to make false accusations against one of the world’s freest countries, the only country in the Middle East that has taken in Darfur refugees, the only country in the ME that gives refuge to gay men & women, the only country in the ME that protects the Bahai’s…. Need I go on?

(…)

Your generation has a duty to ensure that the perennial racism of anti-Semitism never sets down roots among you. Today, however, there are clear signs that it has done so and is putting down more.”

[catladyhere]

Humans Are Space Orcs

Right?

Okay, so, what if aliens were to see what our kind had developed merely for entertainment purposes, which is a completely baseless IDEA of what we expect aliens to be like.

This is the one that got me thinking. Alien Isolation. The absolute horror that we have spent time and effort to create, to scare ourselves. Because a Deathworld wasn't fucking enough. It's enough to send a human screaming and whimpering. An (apparently) apex predator species.

It was a random day in the space station where sentient beings of all kinds worked at. One of the more adventurous Jlorps, against their good judgement, decided to ask human Oliver about his favourite horror 'entertainment'. Horror was a fairly new concept being slowly understood by the other beings, but how an instinctive reaction in the face of imminent doom, was a pastime, or even a FAVOURITE pastime, was beyond them. However, Oliver could not resist showing them what a Xenomorph is.

Jlorp Ilof watched, frozen in sheer terror, as they saw what the human mind considered terrifying, suddenly remembering all the serious advice that others of his kind, and other aliens too, gave them regarding this particular killer species. What's worse, was that Human Oliver was e x c i t e d to show them their kind's work, which was meant to scare them, which has stopped being scary on account of Oliver not accepting defeat.

"Well.... what do you think?" Oliver asked carefully, as he had observed the previously confident Ilof, slowly start to change their colour from a bright yellow to a dull purple, their kind's indication of feeling fear. He could not help but cringe a little internally, as he really should have thought things through before introducing a prey species to something that scares a good number of his own people.

Ilof spoke after a while, trying to think how they will forget what they saw a minute ago. It was downright traumatising for them. Humans alone were capable of terrifying most of the beings in their galaxy, what were they even thinking, asking their human friend what they were scared of?

"But... why? Why is simulated terror entertaining??" Ilof asked, as they did the Jlorp equivalent of wiping one's cold sweat.

"Because." Olive protested, "It gets our adrenaline flowing. It's a 'flight or fight' response from our brain, when we're in danger. If you subtract the danger from a situation, and add the comfort of knowing you yourself will be safe, it only leaves behind a racing pulse, which... well, it makes us feel alive."

Ilof was at a loss for words.

Human beings liked being in danger, but not dying. But they'd also heard stories about how some humans had readily jumped in the face of danger, where death was certain, to save their comrades. There were too much information in their head, all of them either connected or contradictory.

"Okay, Oliver, so let me get this straight, your kind feels dead at times, somehow, and you simulate death and destruction, to soothe said 'deadness'?"

"Precisely." Oliver beamed, which made the Jlorp further uncomfortable.

"I think I will retire to my work station now."

Ilof never asked another human being, what 'horror' they liked best, choosing to religiously follow the advice from other aliens who have experienced humans and their bizarre rituals and pastimes.

#EarthIsSpaceAustralia

#humansarespaceorcs

[warping-realities]

New Coach

Colton Andrews was worried about his first day as a high school teacher. He knew he shouldn't worry; he had been a diligent student and graduated with honors. One of his professors had even told him at his graduation that he saw in him a natural talent for teaching. Still, facing a bunch of teenagers ready to judge him for any slip-up was a daunting prospect, especially knowing that he was only a few years older than his students, which could lead to some level of disrespect for his authority. In an attempt to differentiate himself from his pupils, Colton dressed in dress pants, a button-down shirt, and a tie, hoping the clothes would give him an air of maturity.

These were idle concerns, for just as his college professor had told him, Colton had a natural talent. The students attentively followed the meticulously dressed young man’s explanations. However, as he spoke about the best way for students to organize their studies for that year, Colton couldn’t help but notice that a handsome blond boy, extremely muscular, followed him with an interest above the ordinary, and he could have sworn that there was a smile playing at the corners of the boy’s mouth.

“Nonsense,” Colton thought to himself and concluded his lecture. However, shortly after releasing the students, the boy approached Colton’s desk, smiling. He had removed his sweatshirt, exposing his impressive arms. Colton admired the boy’s musculature, amazed—how was it possible for a 17-year-old boy to achieve such a size?

“Hey professor, I’m Rod, can we talk for a minute?”

“Rod? Rod? Ahhh, Roderik Thomas?”

“Rod, nobody calls me Roderik except my mother, and only when she’s mad at me.” Besides, Rod is a much more fitting name, if you know what I mean? concluded the boy with a wink.

“So, Roderik? What can I do for you?” Colton asked, pretending not to understand the student’s comment and deciding to maintain the image of authority he was trying to create.

“Rod, sir. I just wanted to say that I’m looking forward to seeing you in the field; all this talk about organization has shown me that you’re going to know how to do a good job.”

“I beg your pardon. Field? I don’t understand.”

“You’re Colton Andrews, aren’t you? Colton Andrews is the name of the new assistant football coach. Coach Colt, funny, haha.”

Colton looked at the young giant in front of him, appalled by the lad’s shallow sense of humor, but mostly because nothing he was saying made the slightest bit of sense.

“Sorry, Roderik, but I’m sure you’re wrong; I’ve never set foot on a football field in my life, and I can assure you I’m not a coach. You are certainly mistaking me for someone else.”

“Rod, coach. And what are the chances that there are two teachers with the exact same name at the same school? You’re a prankster, Coach. Cool, I’m sure you’ll get along great with the guys.”

“I am not a trainer, Roderik,” Colton replied, irritated.

“And I am not a Roderik, coach,” said the young man, a smile on his face as he left the room, ignoring the older man’s irritation.

“What the hell was that?” Colton blurted out now that the room was empty.

…..

Colton spent the rest of the day avoiding thinking about the strange encounter. However, that night, sitting on his sofa with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, absently reading a book, he found himself thinking about the strangeness of the situation. Was this the young man’s idea of a joke? Well, that could be, because Colton wasn’t lying; he had barely watched a few football games on television at home with his father during his childhood, and even he soon gave up trying to pique young Colton’s interest in the game. So the very idea of him walking onto a football field was bizarre; what about training young people for the sport? Absolutely ridiculous!

Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about Roderik’s huge arms. It made a lot of sense that a boy that size would play football. Colton pitied the opponent who got in that kid’s way. Football… it was funny, wasn’t it? The way so many people paid so much attention to a bunch of men fighting each other on a field; it was nothing more than a modern Coliseum. Taking off his glasses and putting the book aside, he followed this train of thought, imagining himself the size of Roderik, being on that modern battlefield, adrenaline coursing through his body, the anticipation of the move, the thud when blocking an opponent, the rumble of his feet on the field, the strength of his powerful muscles… Suddenly, Colton woke from his daydreams, his body feeling tired, as if he had actually done everything he had imagined. Feeling his throat suddenly dry, he headed for the kitchen, thinking of making himself a mug of tea to sip while reading.

Sitting in his kitchen, waiting for the tea to cool before drinking it, Colton again thought about Roderik’s arms, comparing them to his, though it wasn’t a fair comparison. Of course, his toned arms nicely filled out the sleeves of the polo shirt he’d chosen to wear that day; after all, he was no stranger to physical exercise. However, they were far from the gigantic size of his student’s arms. And he didn’t even want arms that big, obviously; imagine the impracticality of having two tree trunks dangling beside his body… yeah, imagine something like that.

….

Still holding the mug with the hot beverage, Colton sat in front of the television, and while he sipped his tea, he randomly switched channels, one after the other, but nothing seemed to hold his attention. Until a sports channel broadcasting a college football game caught his eye. Colton absently followed the heavy bodies bumping into each other, trying to understand the names of the plays and the moves made. Of course, he wasn’t a total novice to the subject; he knew who Patrick Mahomes was and had followed Brock Purdy’s Underdog conquest story with interest the previous year, but the information he had was as basic as it could be. However, he found himself following the match with increasing interest, even cheering and screaming when the team he was rooting for got a play right.

At halftime, Colton stretched, his arms straining at the seams of his T-shirt… dude, he liked that feeling, he thought as he took a swig of his beer. He knew that alcohol on a weekday was not a good idea, but he deserved to celebrate the success of his first day at work, even more so while watching his old college team play. Since he was a little boy, he had been a big fan of the sport, following all the games diligently, even if, to his father’s disappointment, he never showed interest in taking his passion to the field. No, Colton might have been a big guy with hard muscles, but he was still an intellectual by definition, although his relaxed attitude raised some disapproving looks during his college education. But Colton didn’t care about that; he could be an academic and still enjoy sports, working out, and of course, having a drink here and there.

As the game resumed, Colt relaxed even further, sprawled across the couch, but not letting up on play after play, cheering and cursing. Although the sofa was large, Colt suddenly felt confined, as if he had suddenly doubled in size.

“I need to buy a bigger one,” Colt thought. In fact, he couldn’t remember why he’d bought something that didn’t fit him. Colt had always been a big kid, towering over his peers since kindergarten. This, added to an agility not compatible with his size, made him stand out in all types of sports. But football had always been his passion; he would follow the games with his father since before he learned to speak, and when he was old enough, he soon began to practice, going through all the categories of Pop Warner until he reached high school, where he joined the team in his freshman year, assuming the starting position in his sophomore year. Alternating in defensive player positions and due to his size and skill, the joke among his peers was that they were looking at a third Bosa brother. Yet, to everyone’s surprise, Colt went to college not on a sports scholarship, but on academic achievement. He loved football, but there was so much more to life than the game. During college, he faced some difficulties; his professors did not seem to take his aspirations seriously, due to his monstrous size, his language full of slang, and also his partying habits. Even though he was not part of any fraternity, that was the first impression anyone had of him.

“Dickheads. I showed them, didn’t I? I’m a fucking teacher!” Colt thought as he got up to go to the bathroom and take a piss.

“Dude, all that beer had to come out at some point; I’m pissing like a horse, especially with a dick like that… haha,” he said as he swung his huge pole, missing the toilet bowl by a few inches.

“Fuck, tomorrow I’ll clean this up; I can’t miss the end of the game.” Still, he had time to admire himself in front of the bathroom mirror. His broad chest shining with sweat, his gigantic arms were on display, mountain-sized biceps and triceps like a horseshoe. His monstrous legs were hidden by his sweatpants, but if there was anything more that resembled a horse on his body, it would be his huge thighs. Looking at his square face, framed by his blond curls, he remembered his mother telling him that he looked like a little cherub as a baby, but no one today would think of him as angelic. After all, he exuded masculinity from every pore. And small? Never! Colt was big in everything—big feet, big muscles, big dick!

“Fuck, I’m so swole,” he said, staring at the mirror.

Returning to the huge sofa, Colt relaxed in front of the gigantic television in his living room. His powerful muscles comfortably positioned. His huge arms, his greatest pride, laid out at his sides like two big cannons. “Bro, he loved that feeling,” he thought before giving himself completely to the game transmitted in front of him, analyzing each move with the experienced eye of a professional in search of new techniques. After all, that was exactly what he was. Colt had been a promising player in high school, going to college on a full athletic scholarship, with the absolute certainty that only young people possess that he would be a professional player one day. His grades were miserable and his academic performance was poor, but that wasn’t important; he was a machine, a modern gladiator, and one day he would be playing in the great NFL coliseums. His college professors looked down on him and didn’t think he had any teaching skills, but they never said that in front of the behemoth that was Colt.

“A bunch of pussies,” he thought with a sneer. Colt didn’t need the appreciation of a bunch of emasculated old men; he had the football field, he had the crowd, he had his father’s eyes cheering him on every game… and unfortunately, an injury at the end of senior year had kept his biggest dream from coming true. Colt clearly remembered the look of defeat in his father’s eyes when their world had suddenly collapsed. How pleased those academic worms must have been to see Colt’s bright future disappearing. Still, he couldn’t help thinking about the sour faces that bunch of weaklings would make if they knew he was now a teacher too. Not that he cared much about the classes he had to teach. He just accepted the work because through it he managed to get the position of assistant coach of the football team and thus help a new generation to pursue their dreams since he had not been able to. He remembered at that moment the conversation he had with Rod.

“Damn, that kid has what it takes to win,” he thought. Colt had been amazed at how much the boy looked like himself at his age—same blond hair, same giant muscles, those huge arms. If he hadn’t known he wasn’t old enough to father the boy, he would have worried to find out if he had fucked his mother at some point.

“Ha, imagine being a father to a fucking boy, a Mini Colt, teaching him everything, taking him up to the professional ranks.”

After the end of the game and still daydreaming about the future, Colt went to his room. He nearly had to rip his tank top off to get it off. He took the moment to take another look at his body. He was giant, chest formed by two slabs of muscle, abs made of eight defined blocks, monstrous arms, thighs like tree trunks, calves the shape of a giant diamond, and huge size 15 feet, perfect for running on the field. All this accompanied by a square face, with high cheekbones, bright blue eyes, shallow in intellect but full of mischief, framed by his shiny blond curls. Tattooed on his gigantic arms were his varsity team crest and the letters of his fraternity.

After one last admiring glance at his perfect physique, Colt threw himself into the huge king-size bed and slept, dreams of football filling his night.

…..

The next morning, Colt woke up fully energized; today was the day his real work began.

“I’m a fucking football coach,” he crooned in his bovine voice as he picked up his sweatpants off the floor and sniffed one of the T-shirts strewn around the room.

“Fuck, I’m going to have to use this one… Dude, I’m such a pig… Fuck it, I’m going to the field!”

He then took a long shower, jerking off and thinking about the hot math teacher. With water running down his body, he went over the training plans for the day; proper organization was the mark of a good trainer and he would be the best. Even though the whole time he hadn’t stopped playing with his abs like they were guitar strings.

After a breakfast with enough food to feed a baby rhino, he put on his clothes, admired himself again in the mirror, and went to work.

Arriving in the locker room, the first person he found was Rod, with a big smile on his face, showing the dimples that gave a certain cuteness to a face that otherwise exudede masculinity, further accentuating the similarity between the two men. But Colt didn’t mind that; he would hate it if the guys saw him as a boring old man, like his college professors were. After all, he was still one of the guys; respect would come when they saw how awesome Colt was.

“What’s up, Mr. Andrews?” asked the boy with a sly smile.

“What the fuck? Mr. Andrews? Did you eat shit, Rod, my man? I’m no Mister. I’m a fucking coach. You can call me Coach, Coach Colt,” Colt replied with a laugh; that alliteration always got that reaction from him, not that he knew what a fucking alliteration was.

“Sweet, coach. We can’t wait to see the legend on the field.”

“That’s right little bro; it’s time to play football,” he replied with an excited smile. After all, he had spent more time in his life playing football than in a classroom, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

[greenthena]

Why we won't have an Apology Dance in S3--or, why I'm choosing to start WW3

Much as I love the Apology Dance, I have a hunch that neither Crowley nor Aziraphale will perform it in S3. It's such a weird (affectionate) little mating ritual, and I cannot see it without thinking of David Attenborough's "Birds of Paradise" clip from Our Planet. (The little fuckers really get going around the 2:30 mark, if you're interested.)

S2 demonstrates so many of these bizarre little mating rituals. Specifically, I'm thinking about the "Don't hesitate to ask me if you have any questions" moment...

...I mean, Goddamn. Someone damn it. Aziraphale is about to climb that demon like a tree.

And the exchange about borrowing the Bentley...

...which is a battle lost before it's even begun because Aziraphale flashes those pretty eyes and Crowley's too smitten to really put up a fight.

Mah point is (dolphins). My point is that every aspect of their interaction, particularly in S2, is a dance, a courting practice, a mating ritual to which only these two weird (affectionate) little birds know the steps.

And the Apology Dance is one of the key steps in this ritual. We know how important it is because Aziraphale has memorized each year when he performed it for Crowley. 1650, 1793, 1941... And Crowley has now reciprocated. But for all the importance of the Apology Dance, we never hear an actual apology. The words, "I'm sorry" are never exchanged between the Ineffables.

Of course, Aziraphale has forgiven Crowley on multiple occasions (have a tissue), but the absolution is never in response to an apology.

Why does this matter, you ask? Because Crowley has never asked to be forgiven. It's one of his self-identifying traits.

And every time Aziraphale offers him forgiveness, it calls into question Crowley's whole identity. I think this is why Crowley initially refuses to do the dance. He doesn't "do the dance," because he doesn't apologize. Because what's the point? If you believe yourself to be beyond forgiveness, why even bother with an apology.

But that's not what's most interesting to me. See, outside of mending his relationship with Aziraphale, I don't think the demon could give a single fuck about forgiveness. On the cosmic level, it's just another carrot dangled by Heaven. The whole concept of forgiveness of sins demonstrates a pretty fucked up power differential. I mean, who gets to decide whether God has forgiven you when She's not even talking?

I think it's fascinating that despite their squabble, Crowley removes his glasses the moment he steps back into the bookshop, performing the Apology Dance in his "naked" face. It suggests that he knows before he even starts that everything is going to be okay. He can approach the situation in a state of vulnerability because he deeply trusts his angel. But the dance, the mating ritual, still has to be completed. It's similar to how Aziraphale knew Crowley would let him drive the Bentley, but they still had to negotiate their way through the motions.

We've called it the Apology Dance, despite the fact that no apology is offered and no forgiveness given. Remember, Aziraphale's response to Crowley's successful completion of the ritual is, "Very nice."

So here's the crux. All these rituals that they perform, the Ineffable dances, if you will, rely on one crucial element. The result of the ritual has to be established before the ritual has begun. They each have to enter the ritual in a state of vulnerability, knowing the outcome will be safe and satisfying. And I think that's why Aziraphale doesn't say, "I forgive you" after Crowley's elegant spin and bow.

Because forgiveness is something Aziraphale only offers the demon when he feels cornered, frightened and unsafe. Think about the two times he's said it. In both cases, the forgiveness was weaponized.

(Apology Dance incoming for this next gif.)

In a very real way, when Aziraphale forgives Crowley, he invalidates his best friend's lived experience. Crowley doesn't want to be forgiven. He wants to be accepted. Loved. Seen.

So as much fun as it is to speculate about who might dance for whom in S3, I truly hope neither angel nor demon apologize to the other. For me, the most meaningful conclusion would be for them to complete their mating ritual not with some dogmatic, pedantic, fucked up power differential where one forgives the other for perceived iniquities. Nah. Fuck that. I want them to accept and love and deeply see one another and fully embrace whatever that means.

Here. Have some tissues.

[yallthemwitches]

Too Much Birthday

A sequel of sorts to my @jilytoberfest fic for Day 11 (Small Touches) Written for Day 14, prompt:Surprise Party!

Might be a contender for the fluffiest thing I've ever written if I'm being honest...

AO3 Link Here

“Wow, my mates truly have no shame do they?”

Lily creaks open the door to the boy’s dorm. Records and jumpers litter the floor all the way to where James is leaned up in his bed, a copy of Transfiguration Travails open on his knee.

“Nope—absolutely none for the whole lot of them, but don’t act like you are so shocked.”

James puts the magazine down and sits up. Lily tries not to let her eyes settle on where his shirt is unbuttoned three places more than it should, but the backdrop of his bed is making it even more difficult to ignore. She wonders if he hadn’t just broken up with Maelle a week ago would he be somewhere else, somewhere more festive, rather than holing up in his room.

“Ok Evans. Go on, tell me the pitch.” He smirks and crosses his arms behind his head. 

“You aren’t allowed to go downstairs until Sirius comes to get you.” 

She says it in her most stern, prefect voice, specifically leaving out some key words in the paraphrasing. What Sirius actually said was to distract him, but seeing as they were alone with his bed easily accessible, the word sounded too charged to repeat. 

“Mhm, just what I thought.” An amused smile tugs at his face. “And what is stopping me from just muscling my way past you and down the stairs?”

“I guess my bizarre loyalty to following directions.”

James’ eyes narrow and suddenly Lily wishes she hadn’t agreed to be his keeper for the unforeseeable future. After his break-up, things had been weird between them. He had stopped coming to study in the library, no longer even passing her notes when they were both bored in History of Magic. In all honesty, Sirius coming to her for this favor was the only indication that she wasn’t out of his life entirely. 

Perhaps that’s why she agreed to do it, despite knowing how dangerous it is to be left alone with Potter in his room. Because, well, she misses him. 

James stands up from the bed and takes a small step forward, eyes narrowed like a cat on the hunt. Lily plays along. She’s been around him long enough to know what his brand of mischief looks like. She takes a wider stance, arms up and poised to fight.

She waits for him to start running at her, maybe make a zig zag approach and slip past. Instead, he walks slowly— deliberate with his steps and a coy smile curling his lips.

Stopping right in front of her, he pushes his hands in his pockets, wildly amused. It's close enough to where she can feel his body heat emanate into her space. 

“I’d like to get by now.”

“No chance, Potter.”

Quicker than she can comprehend, she is lifted off the ground. They have never touched like this before but inexplicably she is now in his embrace, being pushed against his chest to hover just a few centimeters away from the floor— a far cry from the knee touches and playful smacks they give each other in the library. She lets out a squeal of surprise, then a pealing Oh! as the reality of his arms, his chest, his gleefully stupid expression all click into place. 

He drops her suddenly, eyes wide with remorse. Both hands run through his hair. 

“Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry, that was out of line.” He scrubs a hand down his face, attempting to figure out what compelled him to cross the invisible line that separated friendship from something else entirely.

“Hey, it’s fine. I was playing along.” 

An understatement; it was more than fine, brilliant even to finally feel what the embrace of James Potter felt like. 

He looks around the room, clearly no longer feeling comfortable with the situation. She wants to say there are no hard feelings— but what she really wants is for him to do it again. 

“Look, you can tell Sirius that I’ll keep myself up here and you can–”

“No really, it's fine. We were just having a laugh–calling each other’s bluff.” He looks at her with uncertainty but she ignores it.

“Ok, new idea. Why don’t you give me a grand tour of your room?”

James blinks. Any wariness about their previous incident erases from his face as he raises his eyebrows and gestures broadly to the room, spinning around once in place for effect.

“Well—here it is.”

Lily snorts. “That’s not what I mean asshole—I meant your side of the room. Knowing you, you have all kinds of weird bits and bobs hiding around.”

She doesn’t wait for an invitation, walking past him and towards the bed she found him sitting on when she entered. James follows quick at her heels, juggling between bewildered and excited. 

“Alright Potter, let's see it.”

She looks around his space. In many ways, it's a visual microcosm of him: a little messy, but with a clear method to the madness. He gestures to the bed, amusement fully restored on his face.

“Well, that’s my bed—I use it for sleeping.” 

“Alright, good start.” She can feel a smile cracking on her face. 

“And that’s my broom–I use it for quidditch.”

“Groundbreaking.”

“And those are my books—I use them for reading.”

She can’t help but laugh at the stupidity of it all–not even just the tour but everything about the evening so far. 

“Wow Potter. Have you ever thought of going into the hospitality business? You make an incredible tour guide.”

She flops herself down on the side of the bed nearest to a stack of books on the nightstand and grabs for the one separated from the rest. He stands there for a moment, eyes lingering on her with red blooming beneath the wire rim of his glasses before sitting next to her, knee jostling hers as the bed moves from his weight. 

Lily turns the book in her hand. “The Animal Instinct: My life as the first Animagus.”

He clears his throat. “I like biographies—especially ones written by old bats that make me fall asleep.”

Lily opens the book to where it is marked and recognizes her handwriting on the piece of parchment holding his place. James makes a noise of discomfort, but Lily pulls the note out of his reach.

It is months old, but she recognizes it immediately. It was one of the notes she passed to him during Professor Binns’ lecture on the Thelema Inquisition Act of 1935. Handwriting untidy and smudged, the note reads: 

Remind me to tell you about the stupid thing I did in Potions this morning.

It meant nothing really. She couldn’t even remember what stupid thing she had been referring to. Yet, the note was there nonetheless, passing through his hand each time he read before bed. 

“I just needed something to mark my page and it was the first thing I found,” he equivocates, running a hand through his hair. 

She doesn’t respond, continuing to reread the note. It is a testament to better days—days where James and her were unquestionably mates.

“Hey, can I talk to you about something?”

 Maybe it’s because of the note or maybe because she has just invaded his personal space, but she wants to be honest for once.

“After you and Maelle broke up, you started to act really weird with me–like we weren’t friends anymore.” He doesn’t say anything, looking down at his hands that rest in his lap.

“--I understand that you are probably going through a lot, but—I miss you. I just hope you know that if you want to talk, I’m here for you.”

She is staring ahead, but a calloused hand turns her face towards him and his lips meet hers. Suddenly, she can’t think anymore, can’t even remember why she is sitting in that room with him, but she can feel his mouth: warm and soft and gone as fast as it came. 

“In all honesty Evans, I have just wanted to do that.”

His hand is still on her cheek and she pulls him back, already feeling addicted to the smell of his skin and how his lips know the perfect pressure to press into hers. 

Their kisses are full of smiles and laughter as much as sighs and groans of contentment. Even after what seems like eternity, neither pulls away, both able to feel that anything beyond their space together is a speck of dust in comparison.

“Sirius will probably call for us soon–” She says it just as a matter of fact, but her mind is very far from whatever his mates have prepared for him for the rest of the evening. 

“Don’t care. Don’t need a party,” he says through his kisses, each one as tender and loving as the last.

“You sure? I heard Sirius got you a real lion—”

“I’m not one for extravagance—I’m very modest as you know.” 

She laughs and he catches it with his mouth. Joy bursting from both of them. 

“Going down there would be too much birthday, I reckon. Might as well play it safe and stay up here.”

She lets him keep kissing her, only stopping so they tangle closer together. She knows eventually Sirius will come bounding up the stairs, searching for the man of the hour, but until then, she will keep on holding him close, happiness more infectious with each passing second. 

After all, it is his birthday.

[randomidiocyncrazies]

i think one of the best things about Saionji and Nanami is that they're just. such losers. and the narrative never lets you forget it.

oh sure, Nanami is rich and Saionji is technically popular in-universe; but they're also the comic relief and eat shit every time they show up. They're ALSO some of the most perceptive characters in the cast, with both of them trying to leave the duel game at some point and recognizing on some level that it's bad for them. BUT they also spent most of the show thinking they can win at this bullshit farce system for sure and proceed to get outplayed every step of the way, though I'd argue this is much more a Saionji problem than a Nanami problem—once she's been made aware of what's going on, Nanami is the most resolute in leaving not just the dueling game, but Ohtori itself. (Saionji, on the other hand, only tried to leave the dueling game because he felt he was tricked; he didn't have the conviction or resolution to risk giving up his privileges and leave his comfort zone.) The most perceptive but also the most willfully blind characters.

Like. It's so funny to me that Saionji smugly tells Utena the castle is just a mirage when he tries to assert his superiority over her in ep 1, and then proceeds to treat the castle as totally real and have a whole breakdown about it a few eps later—it's fake (which it is) when he can use it to belittle Utena, but it's real (which it is not) when it's about what he wants to attain. What a goddamn idiot; what an absolute clown.

And Nanami. keeps trying to bully the protagonists but the tables always turn on her in the most slapstick way possible. tries to put Anthy and Utena into humiliating situations, and gets put into the most bizarre circumstances/episodes herself. Girl who tries to make fools of others has the story present her as a fool.

(and that's why they're my faves)

[laundryandtaxes]

I think it's bizarre to believe that one approach to any problem (especially problems we know to be partly biologically mediated or constituted and partly socially mediated or constituted) is likely to universally fit every single person impacted by that problem. And I think there are many situations that have revealed that plenty of people really do prefer magical thinking and lack of any scientific knowledge if they are able to garner some hope from a perspective that is based entirely or mostly in magical thinking. I don't even think this is necessarily a problem, or at least a solvable one- it's essential, as I see it, to the continued existence of religion in humanity, which even I cannot claim has never done any good for any person or for people as a group. So long as this tendency doesn't win out on a large scale as a meaningful approach to problem solving, I don't exactly think it's a threat to humanity.

One of the most interesting examples to me, largely due to my work background and the prevalence of alcohol abuse within restaurant workers, is how absolutely vitroilic a lot of abstinence-only recovering alcoholics become when they make any contact at all with individuals who are trying to lower but not eliminate their alcohol consumption, especially in a systematic and controlled way. It is not just that they claim it is irresponsible to promote programs other than abstinence-only programs to active alcoholics (and even that I find nonsensical- less alcohol is almost always better than more alcohol, because we know for a fact that a lot of the negative health outcomes from alcoholism are a direct result of too much alcohol itself, regardless of whether it was consumed alone at night or while binge drinking at parties, which tells us that the obviously important social element itself does not mediate the biological damage) but that they often claim that it is universally the case that someone who finds themself problem drinking will only ever become more of a problem drinker until they quit entirely. The reason this is so especially striking to me is that it is so obviously and easily proven untrue by experiences which many people have outside of the bubble provided by abstinence programs. It is simply not the case that every individual who drinks more than they're comfortable with during a certain time period is destined to develop cirrhosis if they don't put down alcohol forever, and most people know several individuals whose alcohol use patterns obviously disprove that theory. Almost everyone who drinks knows someone who drank too much for their own personal comfort at one point and had to reel their consumption back in. But, of course, when most people know that someone is an alcoholic, they limit how often they talk about alcohol or their consumption of it out of respect or a desire not to trigger that person into craving alcohol, and the end result is that many alcoholics find themselves just totally cut themselves off from the alcohol use perspectives and experiences of anyone who isn't currently trying to be totally abstinent or doesn't believe that abstinence is the only way to deal with alcohol abuse. And I suspect this will only become more sparkly apparent as doctors begin to try, for instance, off label use of the GLP-1 agonists along with other medications to try to lower the desire for alcohol in patients, etc, or as more and more slightly science-backed but ultimately still pill mill or subscription peddler programs pop up aimed at helping people lower their alcohol consumption. I'm excited to see new perspectives become mainstream, and I think a lot of the pushback is quite literally an attempt to ostracize new perspectives by presenting them as irresponsible, cruel, dangerous, etc.

[tobiasdrake]

Watching episode 2 of Ranma reboot and it remains like a blast from the past.

Gonna be posting spoilers and screencaps to talk about it, so all of that's after the jump.

I'm sorry that I didn't appreciate the slapstick of the original manga because Rumiko Takahashi is kind of brilliant at it.

This gag sets you up to think Akane's about to hit him for yelling misogyny at her early in the morning, but then out of absolutely nowhere his fucking dad erupts from the aether and clocks him for it instead.

That's fantastic. It uses the familiar language not just of Ranma and Akane's established dynamic but of tsundere romances in general to set the gag up, and then hits it with a startling and unexpected swerve that still pays it off but in a way the audience didn't see coming.

Speaking of Genma, bits like this:

Ranma defeats Genma using the "Look, a distraction!" technique and it's funny because he won with what most martial arts anime would consider a cowardly tactic.

But it's funnier when you know the actual art he practices, 無差別格闘流 musabetsu kakutou-ryuu. Separately translated as either "Anything Goes Style of Martial Arts" or "Indiscriminate Grappling". The latter of which is hilariously specific, as 格闘 kakutou can mean wrestling or grappling but simply refers to weaponless styles of hand-to-hand fighting.

He's a fisticuffs brawler by trade, contrasting the various adversaries he faces throughout the series who are mostly tool- or weapon-based fighters, to varying degrees of esoteric oddity.

But what makes this so funny in hindsight is the "indiscriminate" part. Ranma's martial art is built around the idea that there are no rules and whatever gets you to the finish line is fine. This distraction isn't Ranma being cowardly; It's actually part of his martial art. This is how he was trained to fight. XD

You know, I actually forgot that Dr. Tofu... existed.

But setting that aside, once I remembered who this guy is, I forgot that he's implied to be an exceptionally talented martial artist. Capable of masking his presence so thoroughly that even Ranma can't detect his movements.

That's really interesting. To my recollection, Dr. Tofu never has a single fight in the entire series. Instead, his expertise simply serves as an explanation for his familiarity with all the wild and bizarre mystical maladies that come his way.

It lets him be like, "Oh yeah, the reason you're deathly ill is because someone hit you with the 5,000 year old forbidden Chinese Slow Death Syphilitic Pressure Point technique. Here, let me apply the three-step acupressure reversal technique that was lost to history."

But now I.

I kinda.

Want to see him fight.

(Has this dude been like the DBZA Popo of Ranma 1/2 this entire time?)

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA She clocks him with the water kettle to make him respectfully bow.

I did not have the cultural context to understand that joke when I was young.

Rumiko Takahashi is so good at slapstick.

Yeah, okay, I don't remember half of what I said about Akane when I was young but I recant all of it. She is so fucking cool.

Imagine if you had to do this every single morning. Every morning. No exception. Just to get to school. At sixteen.

And keep in mind that this is sexualized violence. These guys are trying to overpower her because they think she'll have to be their girlfriend if they beat her up. Every single one of them is sexually harassing her. With violence.

Fuck this entire situation, y'all. I hope she gives them all life-ruining physical injuries that ruin their ability to get scouted as professional athletes at this critical age and turn them into bitter and misanthropic thirty-somethings whining on the couch about how they peaked in high school.

That's probably not how it actually works in Japan. My American is showing. But nonetheless!

She said "Kuno-senpai". She addresses him formally using his last name because that's a normal thing to do in Japan.

Subtitles, why are you changing the way characters speak to each other? The show is released with a dub and a sub alongside one another. If people are choosing to watching the sub, they don't need you to hold their hand and Americanize it for them.

She correctly calls him Kuno in the dub here. The dub is more accurate than the sub about this line. Don't. Do that.

This guy is such a dweeb he makes Jou-senpai look cool. They nailed Kuno, King Dipshit of the Jackass Mountain Akane has to climb each morning.

This is the guy who came up with the whole "Whoever beats the shit out of Akane may claim her as their trophy" thing. He probably watches Andrew Tate videos and writes internet screeds asking why women don't respect his authority and strength. Fuck this guy.

Seriously. He just. Said this. About some girl in another class. And the boys in the school were all like, "Oh, yeah, that sounds reasonable. First one to break her leg gets the girl! Thanks for showing me the best way to express my masculinity, bruh!"

A wacky setup for Akane's personal background but also a chillingly accurate metaphor for how the Manosphere functions.

For his part, it's pretty clear that what Kuno is attracted to is martial strength. He becomes interested in the "Mystery Girl" that appeared after Ranma "fled" pretty much right after she beats his ass.

He's kind of an interesting parallel to Shampoo in that regard. I never really thought of that before, but both of their interests are predicated on how strong Ranma is.

He also makes for an interesting dynamic for Ranma, from a gender perspective. Ranma's curse and the constant menace of Kuno forces Ranma to endure firsthand the kind of harassment that Akane has to undergo in her day-to-day life.

Of course, this being Ranma 1/2, Ranma's going to be getting that from both genders throughout the series. Rumiko Takahashi created a harem dodecahedron for her story, with Ranma and Akane being beset not just by rival suitors but also by rival suitors for their rival suitors trying to kill them and win the rival suitors' love.

Kuno's just one of the crowd.

But it was nonetheless an interesting choice to give Ranma a toxic male harasser as one of his suitors, that speaks to the interesting gender dynamics at play in the series.

One last thing. Something I really love about Ranma 1/2 is the way it uniquely changes the experience of just. Being around water. Like, the ever-presence of water especially in an island nation such as Japan is a constant threat.

You really don't think about how much water there is in everyday life until you have a Jusenkyou curse.

[physalian]

On Punishing your Characters with SA

***Trigger warning for discussion of SA in fiction***

Because I am still recovering from the bizarre alternate reality I fell into where “SA is hot and if you were a survivor you’d think so too” is at all an acceptable and defensible stance to take, I want to talk about punishing your characters, and the means through which we go about it.

This post is NOT condemning stories that go “we know this is awful, you’re here because it’s awful, we’re all gonna have a good time with it anyway”. Or, your usual Dead Dove.

This is instead critiquing stories (and their authors) who either think:

SA is kinky

SA is just a run of the mill thing that happens in adult fiction, especially fantasy, it’s par for the course

If you’re a fan of either or both and plan to attempt to justify them, you have been warned, turn back now. My tolerance for harassment about this is at an all-time low.

Disclaimer:

I am not hating on BDSM or a character whose kink is feeling helpless and controlled. BDSM is, after all, consensual, and there’s mutual respect involved. Nor am I hating on a character who is attempting to self-medicate in a harmful way and they and the narrative know it.

Keywords being: Consent, mutual respect, and self-awareness

Which is completely lost in stories that either romanticize SA or toss it in there for shits and giggles and cheap drama.

—

In fantasy in particular, rampant SA is kind of ridiculous and getting worse. It may be for “mature audiences” but often the stuff written for kids and families has more “mature storytelling” in that it can show you horrible things without being gratuitously r*pey. Characters suffer other hardships and get the same point across.

And SA is one on the list of many things in fiction that usually isn’t written with the grim reality of a realistic aftermath. Things like broken bones that heal with supernatural speed, head injuries with cherry-picked symptoms, and grief and mourning.

We don’t want to derail the whole narrative to focus on the nitty gritty recovery period of a one-time event that moves characters from A to B. That’s just how fiction works. They absolutely deserve to be written better with proper awareness and understanding, they’re just not what this post is about.

But SA is different, because it’s often treated like this horrible threat, this scandalous thing…while then not being written with the respect and tact it deserves, written like a character merely got tortured, interchangeable with any other kind of suffering but with ~titillating undertones~.

Because, odds are, the average person won’t ever know what it’s like to be tortured, or suffer debilitating injuries from an accident, or have to live with the long-term disabilities of a major head trauma or coma. But far too many of us do know SA intimately, and the flippant way it’s tossed around in fiction will never sit right with me, especially when it’s romanticized and glorified.

So in short, I’d like authors who toss it on like a garnish to pause and think: Are you prepared to write the consequences of the situations you throw your characters into? If not, then write something else.

There is of course many levels to including SA in fiction, and its importance in the story should be proportional to the effect it has on a character’s arc and how much time is spent discussing with it and dealing with it, as with any element of backstory.

Having it be a distant memory in a side character’s backstory as just A Thing that happened to them years ago should demand, bare minimum, a cracking of that character’s worldview. Otherwise, why is it here? What purpose does it serve other than to be tragic, and why is it SA over straight-up torture or any other tragedy?

If it’s just another incident and this character grew up with or is surrounded by those who take advantage of them (first of all, writer beware, that is a daunting story to tackle) the trauma of this individual event might be insignificant to them in the grand scheme of things, but it should still matter to them and how they see themselves and how they interact with those around them. Otherwise, why is it here? What purpose does it serve other than to be tragic, and why is it SA over straight-up torture or any other tragedy?

And if you’re setting up a character’s first encounter with SA, however horrific it is, or it’s this encounter with this character that makes it unique, and it’s going to be a big moment for them and the story, it had better fucking matter to them once it’s over. Otherwise, why is it here? What purpose does it serve other than to be tragic, and why is it SA over straight-up torture or any other tragedy?

It's a whole different world if this is a Stockholm syndrome story, where it is very, very clear that this relationship is fucked-up, but the character has no idea and they themselves romanticize and glorify their abuser—in those stories, it is understood that they’re an unreliable narrator and that their thoughts on what’s happening do not align with the author’s. (Most of the time. People unironically and uncritically love and want to have relationships like Harley Quinn and the Joker, without having any experience on what it’s actually like, but most of the time the comic writer tries to make it clear that she’s a victim. Most of the time).

—

I have two characters in two different WIPs who suffer this, more than once. A handles it a lot better than B. More time has passed and the perpetrator for A was a clear cut villain, while B's was someone they trusted. Neither spends every waking moment defining themselves by their abuser, but the impact of what happened to them shows up in multifaceted ways.

A is self-conscious about their body, as it still bears marks from that encounter. Some intimate things they used to enjoy or would have enjoyed are now off-limits. Certain conversation topics are triggering. And because everybody knows, they have a permanent reputation they can never escape, hanging over them even when nobody mentions it. They have mostly healed emotionally and have healthy romantic relationships, but it’s not something they’re ever going to forget.

B blames themselves and any chance at physical intimacy is now lost to them, though they were already asexual to begin with. They’ve told no one and anyone who would guess or might know, they’ve lied to, to protect their abuser. The SA happened among other hellish circumstances, when they have nightmares, it’s all tangled up together. But they’re also quiet and kind and thoughtful and you’d never know unless you knew.

Did I have to give SA as a backstory to both characters? No. I didn’t have to, I chose to, understanding the responsibility involved, and for these two characters and how it impacts them, SA can’t be exchanged for any other violence. It’s SA, specifically, that hurt them so badly.

People react to and adapt from and heal from SA in different ways and not everyone all the time suffers daily reminders of it—those two characters don’t—but even something as simple as having that survivor always keeping their door locked, or always having their back to the wall of a room so no one can sneak up behind them, or wearing more layers than necessary, or if they are a little bit shy or skittish or skeptical, at least shows that you, as the author, tried?

You didn’t just write it in a vacuum? You acknowledged that SA is its own kind of horror?

And lastly: If you’re using SA as a way to punish your characters’ choices, whether it’s the narrative punishing them for being painfully naïve and stubborn, the villain who “deserves it”, or a symbolic death of innocence, just please be prepared for pushback from your audience if your message is: There are situations where SA is the victim’s fault and deserved.

You don’t have to spend pages and pages distracting from the plot, but if you’re going to have your character assaulted, you owe it to them to let them hurt and heal.

Otherwise, why is it here?

[badchoicesworld]

hiii^^ could i request romantic miles x male reader where reader is really shy and quiet (+ has social anxiety if you're okay with writing that)

and (as a result of being quiet) has headphones on 24/7 and draws a lot?

(maybe add a part where he's caught drawing miles! so cliche><)

miles morales w/ an artistic boyfriend riddled with anxieties

sorry to call anyone out in the title, had a giggle about it

im holding this specific anons hand for a minute if they’ll let me, they radiate energy that makes me joyous (hi anon !!!)

established relationship

warnings: none

pairing: miles morales x male!reader

requests: check status on the masterlist

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

ABSOLUTELY RELATES TO YOU

he likes to think that he’s all suave and chill, but everyone knows he’s sheepish when met with certain situations

man can’t take a compliment, he can’t give a compliment, dates make him shake in his boots and having a boyfriend is something that’s entirely over romanticised in his head thanks to media, let’s be honest

social encounters weren’t a massive problem to him though, we’ve all seen how outgoing he is and friendly

plus, he grew up in a community where everyone knew everyone, wether you liked it or not

so he’s the “he asked for no pickles” half while you stand behind him shitting ur pants

he notices how shy you get while you’re out in public in comparison to in private, and he’s okay with that

doesn’t suddenly baby you though, just likes to check in on you every now and again until you’re back home

literally the most discreet “you good?” while stood in line or something

miles can absolutely understand coping with music, he’s the exact same way

you two share some interests, music and art ! it’s cute

he likes to suggest sharing some earphones either out in public or in private, it’s just one of those things that makes you two feel closer (he’s mad sheepish when suggesting it at first, but it eventually becomes one of those silent exchanges if ur cool with sharing) his version of romance

if he sees you with your headphones on, he won’t actively try to talk to you - from personal experience he can understand how stupidly frustrating it feels and wildly overstimulating

unless it’s something important, then he’ll try grab your attention by like tapping your shoulder or smthn,, a lil wave

makes bangin playlists for you, some to share and would be very happy if you did the same

he’s happy to do anything for his boyfriend to make him feel more comfortable in social situations.

you’re quiet, he doesn’t mind it as long as you have some kinda way to communicate with him - your needs and such

hold hands, your hands got stuck together once thanks to his spider-man-ness

if you didn’t know he was spider-man then, that’s how you found out

he’s a massive fan of drawing you and loves to see your own drawings

he’s a huge fan of you guys doing literally anything and catching you drawing with some bizarre medium without fail

caught you drawing him once- and then a lot more times

luckily, you were wearing headphones at that moment, so he got to have a lil victory emote without you noticing before acting like he never saw anything

does a very obvious, obnoxious greeting in the most cheesy way to clearly convey he never saw a thing

if by some unfortunate twist he is caught watching, man panics and is like “Hoh! I- didn’t see you there?? what’chu up to??” play it cool and smile it off miles “Wow that’s- that’s crazy how you.. caught me”

he’s been caught so many times in the past and he knows that internal feeling of dread

YOU BOTH KNOW YOU DRAW EACH OTHER UR NOT SLICK

but anxiety am i right

will not snatch your sketchbook or whatever you draw on suddenly UNLIKE SOMEONE

completely respects your privacy when it comes to your drawings, he can relate too much

that’s not to say that he isn’t curios, he sometimes likes to tease about peaking but never would without permission

if you’re both into graffiti then he’s takes you to insane spots to tag, especially once you find out he’s spiderman

likes to suggest collaborating on pieces all of the time

miles is great anatomy practice, with all his funky spider-man poses

i cant actually imagine he would hide being spider-man from you if you were dating beforehand, it’s a different conversation if it’s a new relationship

but hey, young love, am i right ?

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 킹덤/Kingdom.

Kingdom is a 2019-2020 Netflix series set in Joseon-era Korea, following the collaborative adventures of an exiled prince, a country doctor, and a scrappy mercenary who's pretty much the only one in this entire zombie outbreak who has a damn gun.

I have very complicated feelings about zombie media. See, in case you hadn't noticed, horror movies are never actually about what they're about. And a whole lot of modern zombie stories wind up being a) metaphors for fears of immigration by mindless subhuman hordes hell-bent on infecting the good, pure people, b) white male fantasies about how the downfall of civilization will put them back on top again and then all you DEI people will be sorry! and/or c) ways to let your protagonists just kill the shit out of a whole lot of humans but it's okay because they're not really human. Soooo yeah. A lot of zombie-flavored things I like, I have to like them despite all that.

But Korean zombie media tends to avoid a lot of these issues. (Maybe because Korea's experience with invasion is less Fox News Lies About Scary Brown Migrant Caravan Again and more [long list of actual historical incidents]? Who can say!) Kingdom is no exception. It's smart zombie fiction, where the zombies are mostly here to make the already-complicated mundane geopolitical situation just that much more of a fucking nightmare.

This is a bloody, violent, grimy, often downright gross drama, so if you're squeamish, you may want to pass on this. If you're into horror, though, and into zombie horror especially, go on and sink your teeth right into these five reasons I think you should watch it.

1. No one here has ever seen a zombie movie

You know how one of the frustrating things about watching a zombie property is seeing a bunch of otherwise competent, regular people act like they had all their cultural awareness of zombies surgically removed, down to making up cute words that aren't "zombie" to keep from saying the word "zombie"?

Everybody in this show has the excuse that they are living several centuries before even the possibility of zombie movies.

This story starts out pretty standard for a historical drama: a sick king, a pregnant queen, a crown prince in a precarious position, questions of succession, accusations of treason, wealth and class dynamics oppressing the poor, shady backroom politics -- you know, the usual stuff. And it never stops being about all that! It just also has zombies. Evil bastards don't stop being evil just because decomposing hordes are breaking down the door. In fact, that just makes them worse! And our heroes are at ends because they have no natural immunity to the genre they've walked into.

Sure, there are some moments of comic relief, but for the most part, Kingdom plays its premise absolutely straight-faced. How would 17th-century Koreans deal with a bunch of walking corpses? With period-appropriate tools, tactics, and mindsets!

In your standard modern zombie setup, everybody has guns, and then some special badass rolls in with a katana and everyone oohs and ahhs. In Kingdom, the wealthy have swords, the common folk maybe have farm implements, and there's one measly matchlock rifle in the party. For a few lucky headshots, you've got archers. For everyone else, things are about to get real up close and personal.

The characters also have period-appropriate worldviews that both inform their reactions to the problem and are frankly bizarre by modern standards. What if you had to deal with zombies in a place with cultural taboos against dismembering or burning dead bodies? What if people felt compelled to treat the corpses of peasants differently from corpses of nobles? What if the scholars won't act in their own defense because it's insulting to ask them to wield weapons? What if you can't ask certain important people certain questions because it's literally treason to do so?

The real moral of Kingdom is that there's not a situation so bad that devotion to Confucian principles can't make it worse.

2. That scrappy bastard

I'm not going to play favorites here-- Wait, what am I saying, of course I am. It's Yeongshin.

You know how, in any given zombie movie, your hapless protagonists survive because early on they find a party member who's about ten levels higher than they are? That's Yeongshin. He's cagey as hell about his shady past -- to the point where we don't even learn his actual name -- but he's going to come in real handy here, because he is also the aforementioned only guy with a gun, and he fucking knows how to use it.

And okay, I'm exaggerating about the gun shortage, but not by much. Firearms are rare, you need training to be able to operate them, and no matter how good you are, they still take time to reload after each shot -- if they even fire at all. (Also, ignore the part where everyone's aim is far better than shitty matchlock rifling should allow.) Guns are not the go-to weapon in this zombie situation. You can't just shove a bunch of pistols in everybody's hands and count on at least a few lucky shots. You could amass all the period-appropriate firepower you wanted, but without specialists, it'd be useless.

Yeongshin is fueled by some very reasonable guilt, since, uh, a nonzero amount of the shit that goes down is kiiiiiinda his fault. But I love that instead of giving him a death wish, it makes him even more determined to survive and do what he can to mitigate the fallout of his unintentionally terrible decisions. He knows he's far more useful alive, so to hell with taking the easy way out. Whether his opponents are living or undead, he's going to make them wish they hadn't messed with him.

This is a good place to note that the whole cast is great, from the thunder-voiced head of the evil family to the prince's wife-guy manservant to the doll-faced bitch queen. And obviously Ju Jihoon and Bae Doona are captivating every second they're on the screen, because they are absolute acting powerhouses and I love to watch them work. His Prince Lee Chang and her physician Seobi are compelling, memorable main characters who perform the important zombie-movie function of being the people you care about when they get put into dangerous situations.

But I walked away from this unable to stop thinking about Yeongshin. Bare-headed in a world of very meaningful (and often very silly) hats, he's feral and bitey and completely unfit for polite society. So of course he's going to wind up side-by-side with the second most you-need-to-be-respectful-to-him guy in the land.

More than anything, I love watching him work. He's a very physical character, but all his stats are in speed and agility, so he will just literally throw himself full-body against doors or into fights and let his momentum do the work. His actor, the handsomely exhausted-looking Kim Sungkyu, brings such a great physicality to the role. Yeongshin may be the Gun Guy, but he's not sniping from the back row. He's right there on the front lines, pulling off stunts none of the other characters would dream of trying. I cannot stress enough what a delight his action sequences are. It's such a good visual counterpart to the zombies, who also have no sense of bodily self-preservation.

And speaking of the zombies...

3. Zombie rules

I find that Korean zombie properties are the best in particular at zombie physics. Their directors seem very interested in pondering exactly what the weight of that many bodies would do. The answer is usually pretty gruesome and visually fascinating!

Kingdom's main use of zombies is by volume. While there are a few (memorable!) one-on-one scenes, the show delights in seeing just how many zombies it can fit in the frame. The danger is always from the sheer number of hostile bodies. You can use those numbers against them, if you're clever, but wait too long and you run the risk of being completely overwhelmed.

I've seen some people criticize the zombie extras by accusing them of not moving like zombies, which is the kind of nonsense you say when your only exposure to zombies is Slow Zombies. Kingdom's zombies are Fast Zombies -- they don't shamble, they swarm. They all just plow on full speed ahead until something stops them, and they definitely don't watch where they're going. Those extras do some incredible work flinging their bodies over obstacles and into solid objects. I sure hope one of the benefits of all that voluminous period-appropriate costuming is how much good padding you can probably stuff under there.

Continuing the thought exercise about what a 17th-century zombie outbreak would look like, Kingdom does some clever things with putting humans and zombies alike in situations you wouldn't find in the modern world, ones made possible only by the time period. I really like that it never forgets that part of the fun of this whole enterprise is making the best of the social and technological concepts that would have been present then. It doesn't feel like a modern zombie movie with incidental hanbok -- it actually makes the most of what a rural medieval setting both gives and takes away.

The rules Kingdom makes for its zombies are also an interesting take. You, the modern viewer, know how zombies work in general, but you don't know all the quirks of these zombies in particular, so you're learning at the same time the characters are. And sometimes you learn wrong! Sometimes you have to rewrite your whole strategy because you realize at a critical moment that both you and the characters misunderstood something very badly.

...And yeah, okay, it plays a little fast and loose with those rules sometimes, but so what? You know how this works! You know that the lead actors will dodge more and get bitten less than the random extras will. You know that named characters will last longer than their NPC counterparts. If you're going to hold that against it, maybe horror movies aren't the thing for you. Go do a Rubik's Cube or something.

4. The parts without zombies

Plenty, plenty of people have made the Game of Thrones comparison, which ... yeah, sure, I can see it. It wouldn't have been my first thought, but I get where people are coming from. And you know what, if you're a Game of Thrones enjoyer, you'll probably like this too. It hits a lot of the same beats and has a lot of the same vibes. It's kind of like if you shrunk Game of Thrones in the wash, until there were only two warring families and not a conlang in sight.

This show isn't historically accurate to the letter -- think of it more as AU Joseon-Era Korea, where specific people are fictional but the larger context is more or less the way things would have been. You never get given a specific year, but from technology and various context clues, you can kinda narrow it down to the 1600s. It never commits to a single year, though, which dodges a lot of nitpicks. Its fictional aspects are nice, too, because that means you don't have to know any real history at all. The show will give you all the information you need to understand the campaign setting, just in case your knowledge of medieval Korean dynasties is not up to snuff.

The conceit of the series is that some very specific devious political backstabbing and corruption has been happening since before the show began, making everything vulnerable to catastrophe. Unsurprisingly, the sudden appearance of zombies does not magically mend those rifts and make everyone come together! In fact, the reason the zombies are happening at all is related to these treasonous power plays, and while we never learn the full story (see my later note on the drama's ending), we get a whole lot of it. And it's a good, complicated reason! Here we return to the idea that zombie movies are always metaphors for something else. Set against the backdrop of multiple Japanese invasions during this period, Kingdom sure does have some things to say about the dangers of considering certain lives disposable in the service of the greater good.

I will be the first to say that IT TURNED OUT MAN WAS THE REAL MONSTER ALL ALONG storylines are tedious, so I'm glad Kingdom didn't decide it needed to beat that drum. The truth is, nobody's surprised when the bastards who have treated other people like shit all their lives continue being bastards in a crisis situation. It's the Joseon Dynasty. Everybody's locked into a rigid neo-Confucianist hierarchy. They don't need an apocalypse to reveal how much the people at the top would sell them all for a single corn chip. They've been clear on that one for a long time.

What this means is, if you're not traditionally someone who goes in for zombie horror, but you like a good political thriller and can roll with some supernatural elements, you might consider giving this one a shot anyway! It's not some hugely complicated and sophisticated plot, but it's still plenty to chew on. (See what I did there?)

5. Time to spend that Netflix money!

This show is gorgeous. It looks beautiful and it sounds beautiful. It's shot beautifully against beautiful sets and even more beautiful landscapes. Everyone's wearing beautiful costumes. What little CG there is is even beautiful. It's just visually a treat.

Light is such an important part of the show that I can't not comment on Kingdom's use of it, production-wise. The show is often shadowy as hell, but in a high-contrast way, as opposed to the awkward near-blackness of so much prestige TV. Even when it's dark enough that faces and details are obscured, there are still light sources that provide visual interest. Besides, I'll cut it some slack because it is a horror property. You should be watching it in a dark room anyway! And sure, there's some awkward day-for-night stuff, and transitions around sunset can be downright goofy, but if that's the worst of the jank we have to suffer through, it's fine.

As beautiful as it is, it's also very ugly. The story takes place over a period of time so short that barely anyone has time to change their clothes, much less take a bath. The grime just accumulates: sweat, dust, mud, sewage, smoke, spit, and all kinds of blood and viscera. By the time the story's done, everyone looks realistically beat to shit. (Bless those poor makeup artists, having to keep such close track of all the damage characters have suffered.)

I feel as though I should note for context that while I'm a horror movie fan, I'm still pretty squeamish when it comes to gore. I made it through Kingdom okay, but there were definitely parts I had to watch through my fingers. It hits the realism middle ground that gives me the wiggins, where it's neither absurdly chaste about bloodletting nor dumping comedic buckets of corn syrup on the actors. It suits the tone of the show perfectly! Just, you know, if you're a little tender (like I am), be ready to look away from the screen sometimes.

Korean historical dramas sure do have a real advantage on the wig front, in that most everyone is wearing some kind of historically appropriate hat or headband that covers the places their wig joins. And then you have Yeongshin, who looks so good all shaggy because that's clearly at least mostly Kim Sungkyu's real hair.

I've seen a lot of shitty low-budget horror in my day, sure -- but I've also seen a lot of shitty high-budget horror, where a production has a lot of money and spends it all on exactly the wrong things. Kingdom uses its funds wisely. It's not extravagant (except for the queen's amazing outfits). There are practical effects aplenty and some beautifully framed shots. It gets a little gimmicky with the camera work in season 2, but you know what? It's fun! The gimmicks are action-movie fun, and I will not criticize something for having fun in the midst of some otherwise grisly subject material.

It's also got great rewatch value. There are just enough secrets running throughout that going back for a second viewing makes a lot of things make more sense -- in, of course, a horrible way! But that's just the way we like it.

caveat: Beware of cliffhangers

The show is two seasons long, and it's clearly set up in expectation of a third season ... which never happened. What did happen was a separate, largely unsatisfying movie that tells the backstory of the cool character you meet in the last ten seconds of the last episode.

But that's it. There was also a prince-focused prequel planned, but that got scrapped before production even began, and that was four years ago. I'm not holding out much hope that we'll ever get anything more from the Kingdom universe.

I am not super-bothered by this, though, and here's why: The two seasons are enough to wrap up the main political plot. Most of what's left is zombie lore, and I am so bored by zombie lore. Still, would I have watched these characters roll around in that zombie lore for another six episodes? Without question! Are there loose ends I wish had gotten resolved? You better believe it! Do I want to know what the super-duper secret behind the zombies is? I sure do!

But I also don't feel like I got cheated out of an ending. Those two seasons hang on a story that's 90% the political succession crisis and 10% figuring out where on earth this whole zombie thing came from. That means what you get feels like 90% of an ending, which is pretty damn good by my standards.

Still, it's enough of a bummer that I feel I should give a little heads-up about it -- working, as I always do, on the principle that something can't disappoint you if you know it's coming. If you go in with the right mindset, you can be happy with what you get while not being sad about what you don't. And what you get in Kingdom is, in my little horror-loving opinion, worth it.

(Also, am I giving it extra credit points for how it did not sink my ship? Buddy, you better fucking believe I am.)

Ready to watch?

Netflix money means Netflix. It's got two seasons, and then you can make the decision about how much you care about the movie. I found it mostly disappointing with a few really cool moments, so it's your call if that's enough to justify your watching it.

The series itself is a pretty quick watch, too -- twelve episodes total, all 30-50 minutes long once you skip the opening and closing credits. You can blow through the whole thing easily in a single weekend, which is not something you can say about your standard Korean television season of sixteen hour-long episodes.

And then pretty please come back and do fan stuff for it! I couldn't find exactly what I wanted so I had to write my own. One Quiet Night remains one of my comfort fics that I self-soothe by rereading, which may be a weird thing to say about a smutty gay fanfic about a violent zombie drama, but hey, we all make our own fun.

Also, I know I usually end these with a cute behind-the-scenes photo, but this promo video is too adorable to leave out, so we're going with it instead. It's slightly spoilery for season 1, but not in a way that makes sense out of context. And if you didn't have a crush on Kim Sungkyu already, well, you will after this!