Ideal ending to WCI is Luffy seeing Sanji cry and then awakening his devil fruit and unlocking Gear Fifth out of sheer RAGE and saying the classic line of “Who made you cry, Sanji?! I’ll DESTROY THEM!!!” and then proceeding to go on a rampage and fucking absolutely EVERYBODY up including the Vinsmokes, Pudding, AND the Big Mom Pirates. Toss in the trope of came back wrong and Sanji can immediately tell something is not right about this Luffy, whose smile is too wide, whose eyes are too distant, who continues to beat upon his enemies long after they’re down, who seems to take a sick sort of pleasure in hurting others, who grins and giggles and tells Sanji he’ll obliterate anything that makes him cry. Eventually he starts to scare Sanji so bad that even Luffy notices his reaction, and immediately turns on himself because if HE’S the one making Sanji cry then he’ll just have to destroy himself too. And that’s when Sanji finally leaps into action and does whatever he can to reach Luffy—including kissing him. Luckily that was exactly what Luffy needed to snap out of it, and when he comes to the Whole Cake Chateau is in broken pieces, the Big Mom Pirates are battered beyond fighting and the Vinsmokes are nowhere to be seen. And softly, tiredly, he asks if they won, if he can bring Sanji home, and Sanji cries again and says yes, take me home to the Sunny, I want to go home with you.
Meanwhile the rest of the Strawhats are like
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the "girls seeking an impossible wish trapped in a system that twists them into hollow shells of grief and resentment used by other girls to fuel their own desperate struggle" pipeline is multiversal
(ID and additional context in alt text)
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Possible nicknames Lenore called Annabel in life go:
"Anniebell": Sometimes the smallest changes are the cutest, okay? Anniebell Lee sounds adorable as hell and I'll stick by it. Imagine Annabel trying to admonish Lenore for saying some wild shit at a Rich Persons Gala™️ or smth but she keeps breaking out into giggles like, "You- you can't just say that pet!" and Lenore playfully replying, "Oh whatever do you mean, Anniebell Lee?" like UGH I hate them somebody throw hammers at em already 💥💥🔨🔨🔨
“My moon”: in relation to the Annabel Lee poem (‘for the moon never beams/Without bringing me dreams/Of the wonderful Annabel Lee’) and also there’s smth so flavorful of the character with a color palette more akin to the Sun (long shiny blonde hair, warm colored eyes, seemingly more outwardly personality, etc) being called the moon like I loveee contrasting design choices‼️‼️
“Angel”: Also a reference to the poem (but like, worse because it was the angels that separated em) and can be easily pulled from Annabel’s name
“Petal”: Or some other variation of a flower based nickname because imma sad, sad bisexual who loves ✨flower motifs✨ just a bit too much
Anything in Dutch: This can be like common ones like “liefje” (darling) or the previous entries but in Dutch idk go crazy go stupid
“Locket”: An unconventional pick pulled from Annabel’s last name Whitlock + lockets containing pieces of hair from your other half being T H E romantic gesture of the century back then, so, like. Idk. Hear me out like okay I think Lenore could be the unconventional route (I mean girly already faked her death via arson and pulled a Mulan to get the girl soooo you see what I’m putting down?) and like like LIKKEEE⁉️⁉️⁉️ Imagine with me Lenore telling her girl, “You’re the locket I keep nearest to my heart” (many necklaces back then had a chain just long enough for the locket to rest above the wearer’s heart) and it evolves to Lenore calling Annabel smth like “my dearest, my locket” LIKE YOU HAVE TO IMAGINE WITH ME!!! GUYS MY VISION IS VISIONING!!! 🦅🗣️🌈🗣️🗣️🦅🦅🌈🗣️🦅🦅
@incorrect-nevermore cmere and witness my madness
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it's the levels of scrutiny too.
a movie that has a largely-female cast has to be well-written, well-shot, well-acted, well-advertised. people will spend 2 hours on youtube talking about a single plot hole; about a moment of bad pacing, about a singular background character's poor scripting. if there isn't something obvious, they will say - well there's nothing specifically bad, but it wasn't specifically good either.
they will turn out another all-male movie, and it's just a movie.
a book that has queer representation in it has to defy every convention of writing while also being true to traditional plot, structure, format, and pacing. it must have no boring chapters, no missteps, no awkward dialogue. it must be able to "prove" that any queer relationship "makes sense", their sparks must fly off the page and their love must be eternal. the writing must be clear and beautiful, the storyline original and fresh, the values traditional but with an undercurrent that is modern and saucy.
they will turn out another book without queer rep, where a man and woman just-fall-in-love, and it's just a book.
i am latinx. i am queer. i am nb & neurodivergent. my father said to me once: you will need to be exceptional to be just-as-good, and you will need to be beyond exceptional before they see you as just-a-person, and not your labels.
i am not beyond exceptional. i am a human person. i am skilled because i worked my ass off to be skilled.
i am currently reading a book that's so-bad-it's-good about a girl that falls in love with a vampire. i was 64% of the way through the book before she figures out tall-dark-fanged is not natural. i like books like these, i like letting myself relax while i just enjoy the read. but i do spend a lot of time wondering - would this have been published if it was about queer people? would this have gotten past the editors if the characters weren't white and sexy?
i want to write a movie about being a woman in a male space, and i want to start that movie with a 10 minute scene where the woman is lectured with the exact same whining that occurs in the youtube comments of even the trailers for those movies: "haven't we had enough diversity?" "we've had enough girl power movies" "sorry, this is just pandering. it's boring."
here's what's fucked up: it shouldn't matter, you're right. my identity shouldn't fold after my name like a battalion of stars: a cry of what i've gone through. what we all know i had to move past and through. i should just be a writer, plain and simple, without my work being shifted through with tweezers - i know everything i make, always, i am incredibly responsible for. beholden to. i don't like knowing that if i fuck up, i am also fucking up for every person like me. every person in a community i belong to.
once, back in undergrad, i wrote a short story about a girl who had been kicked by a horse. it was my first time writing about my experience with my ocd; i felt proud of it. the story was mostly about grief and slow recovery. the queerness of the main character was not important to the plot, my main character was just-queer. there wasn't even a romantic interest in it.
i remember one of my classmates being disappointed. "i just feel like you always write about girls who like girls, and i'm bored of it," he said. "you're a beautiful writer, but i'm like - oh, at some point, it's gonna be gay again." during the workshop, he folded his hands over my story and said, "and okay, i'm just going to say it. she's ocd, she's gay, she's depressed - it's a little much for me to believe is all happening to one person."
it is a little much to be that person (and more besides). i have therapy weekly, after all.
over and over, belonging to exception.
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'I flirted with the idea that instead of being trans that I was just a cross-dresser (a quirk, I thought, that could be quietly folded into an otherwise average life) and that my dysphoria was sexual in nature, and sexual only. And if my feelings were only sexual, then, I wondered, perhaps I wasn’t actually trans.
I had read about a book called The Man Who Would Be Queen, by a Northwestern University professor who believed that transwomen who were attracted to women were really confused fetishists, they wanted to be women to satisfy an autogynephilia. And though I first read about this book in the context of its debunkment and disparagement, I thought about the electricity of slipping on those tights, zipping up those boots, and a stream of guilt followed. Maybe this professor was right, and maybe I was only a fetishist. Not trans, just a misguided boy.
About a year later, on the Internet, I come across a transwoman who added a unique message to the crowd refuting this professor. Oh, I wish I remember who this woman was, and I wish even more that I could do better than paraphrase her, but I remember her saying something like this: “Well, of course I feel sexy putting on women’s clothing and having a woman’s body. If you feel comfortable in your body for the first time, won’t that probably mean it’ll be the first time you feel comfortable, too, with delighting in your body as a sexual thing?”'
-Casey Plett, Consciousness
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the way im gonna be so fucking devastated if we never see we suffer again. the way ill fucking sob if she died on new rho. guys i dont think you understand how much i love commander we suffer and we suffer.
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Have an itty bitty tiny piece of stasis in darkness, just so you all have an idea of where the story is going after the godly reveal. and also have proof that i am, in fact, still toiling away at this (as well as hawkins halfway house.)
A week and a half later, Steve entered a town he’d never seen before. He wore simple traveling clothes and carried no weapons aside from a couple of carefully hidden knives. He’d left his armor and shield behind. His satchel held only the essentials one needed for travel and a single stone as large as his fist. The stone was wrapped in layers of cloth to keep it safe during the journey.
I need you to find someone.
He felt very bare but he hadn’t been given much of a choice. Speed was of the essence for his quest, and little no-name towns tended to be wary of strangers in plain clothes, even more so around strangers decked out for battle. Steve wasn’t sure this place could be called a town. It was so small it hadn’t been on any official map. It didn’t even have an inn. Hopefully, Steve wouldn’t be needing an inn once he found who he was looking for.
He’s too far from me to reach.
He asked around, laying on the charm generously. He explained he had been a friend of a friend and had been trusted to deliver something. Eventually, he was told where to go. The house he found far beyond the village’s boundary was small. It looked like it had once been well cared for but it was old and had fallen to disrepair. Steve took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
A sallow old man opened the door. He was bald but had some scruff on his face still. His shoulders, stooped from age, trembled. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked so tired.
He’s my very last worshiper in all the world.
“Wayne Munson?” Steve asked.
“Who wants to know?” The man’s voice was phlegmy and rough. He coughed into the crook of his elbow almost before he could finish speaking.
“I’m Steve. Ser Steve Harrington, pledged to the Lord of Night.”
Wayne’s eyes widened. His grip on the open door weakened and slipped. Steve caught the door before it could hit Wayne.
“He sent me to you,” Steve explained. “May I come in?”
yep, that's it for now. i told you it was small. i'm not even gonna bother with a read-more here.
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More cringe memes. Lucrecia Edition.
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Headcanon that Seven of Nine and Naomi actually find Neelix’s cooking to be fine because it’s the only food they’ve ever eaten/their first introduction to food and when they get to Earth everyone’s so excited to show them Alpha quadrant foods but neither of them likes anything they’re offered very much. Seven doesn’t really care either way except that she has to get used to a whole new palette and Naomi likes the obvious (Ex: candy, cake) but frequently complains that nothing tastes ‘right’.
Naomi: -pushing away a slice of pizza- I don’t like it...
Tom: You’re kidding me. You don’t like pizza?
Naomi: It doesn’t taste right! Make it how Neelix used to.
Tom: You want me to put gerhalorian beets and yuk mushrooms in the sauce so it congeals into a lumpy, slightly sour mess? Is that what you want, Naomi?
Naomi: Yeah :(
I want Naomi and Icheb to work tirelessly together on a side project for years until finally doing it - being able to communicate clearly with those in the Delta quadrant! Icheb uses it to speak to the other borg children (now adults) and Naomi immediately uses it to call Neelix and ask him to find the nearest time portal and toss a big box of leola root into it. She’s been craving it for years! No one told her the Alpha quadrant didn’t have leola root, she wouldn’t have gone otherwise!
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Murray death scene be like 😭
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one of my favorite things about zhongli is that he doesn’t shut up like i know we like to compare him to neuvillette and alhaitham but zhongli is like inverse of their signature traits. social awkwardness? quiet and reserved? zhongli does not care he will talk like he understands liyue’s social customs very well he just does what he wants. like yeah he’s calm and reserved but he’s not quiet and he enjoys socializing with humans like it’s one of his favorite things to do. the people of liyue describe as someone who is a little odd but very helpful and knowledgeable so he understands people and he seems pretty good at reading their intentions and behaviors so yeah he’s weird but he’s very popular cause he’s always doing shit
tldr zhongli is a yapper he will talk about anything and everything if you give him a chance he does not care if it’s weird or socially unconventional
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Halsin's character in Act 3 post breaking of the Shadowcurse is actually, either intentionally or not, another more quiet and subtle angle of trauma exploration; specifically, the alteration of identity development and its previously existing commitments post traumatic events.
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Lnds fandom.. how are we feeling 🧍♀️
Because I for one, am absolutely losing it
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thinking about scully sitting on the floor of mulder’s apartment just holding him as he wept after his mother’s death and after she told him through tears that it’s time to stop. it’s time to stop looking for his sister.
and how she had already told him that once, seven years earlier, a month into their partnership, when she chased him out of a police station and told him to stop running after his sister because it won’t bring her back.
she called after him to just stop, because she’s the scientist, and that’s the logical conclusion that she had reached.
except later that night, he told her why he does it. that he’s been closing his eyes and walking into that room, thinking maybe, when he opens them, his sister will be there, since he was 12 years old. “every day” of his life.
and she never told him to stop again.
until seven years later, when she rocked him on the floor, and then the next day was asked “why do you want to bring all this back up now?” and answered, “someone owes it to mulder.”
so she started looking. she reopened files, she tracked down records, she went to his mother’s house to dig through the trash. she confronted CSM about what he knew, she flew to california, she held hands and prayed.
she looked at mulder and said “it hurts me to tell you this” and stayed steady in the truth anyway. she listened to him read to her about a 14-year-old girl’s pain, held his hand and told him to get some sleep. she stayed up, kept looking, and found it. “i got it, mulder. i couldn’t believe it when i saw it. it was like it was looking for me.”
the police report from when samantha ran away.
she read the hospital records, went to the home of the nurse who signed the intake report, asked him if he wanted her to go herself.
she left him by the car and walked up and knocked, asked about a patient in 1979. she listened as the nurse described how “you couldn’t forget her or how frightened she was. scared for her sweet life.” and the man who came for her, who wouldn’t put out his cigarette.
earlier the day before, she had been told to just stop. “word of advice, me to you: let it be. you know, there’s some wounds that are just too painful ever to be reopened.”
and she had responded, “this particular wound has never healed. and mulder deserves closure.”
after seven years, she knows now, that you can’t just stop chasing. she knows how heavy grief is, and she‘s seen the effects of carrying it alone. of walking into the worst night of your life every day, eyes closed, hopeful.
you can’t just stop, and you can’t really have closure, but you can help someone carry it.
and ultimately, that’s what made this the end of the road. sometimes the heaviest burden of grief is feeling that pain is all there is left of someone, and that alleviating it would be to abandon them.
scully’s right, this wound has never closed, but there’s freedom in shared remembrance and shared dedication. she doesn’t ask him to stop until he’s ready to know the truth, and she’s willing to find it. she doesn’t ask him to rest until it’s safe for him to, because it’s not forgetting samantha. she knows and she remembers.
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Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.
Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.
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