#not every moment has to be about producing value

[vetteltea]

Max Verstappen and Secret Santa [no warnings]

Day 2 of the Vetteltea Advent Calendar

“Is this my one?” Your voice carries through the small barrage of producers and videographers, a camera transfixed onto your face as you lift the package, attempting to figure out what content was inside of the box.

You were exhausted; despite wrapping up the championship a month ago, simply focusing on obtaining more and more points for Red Bull Racing’s reputation, the tracks had been tough and jet lag increasingly aggravating. Abu Dhabi was the end of the road, one step closer to falling back home into your own bed. However, you could not hide the elation which fell onto your face as the Formula One media team had pulled you aside, letting you know it was time to film the reveal. 

You had been so excited to purchase your present this year; Yuki was always a fantastic pick, having selected him a set of chef knives and a hat, printed with a photo of himself and Pierre. Now, as the deep blue box was handed into your grasp, you couldn’t help but feel your heart race, gently shaking the box, determined to figure out the content.

“It sounds…heavy?” You try to give the best description possible to the woman standing behind the camera, urging you to unwrap the present in your hands. The temptation overrides, slipping your fingers through the silky bow and beginning to unwrap the formal packaging. “Whoever wrapped this…” you trail off. “Got it wrapped professionally. I don’t think any of us could wrap a present this good.” 

The paper eventually falls away, the camera adjusting as you place down the box upon the table, lifting the lid. Immediately, your eyes furrow together, and then soften in confusion, grasping around the item which you had been gifted. 

There, laid upon a pile of soft purple tissue paper, rested a Polaroid camera. It was small, coloured an off-white and was almost identical to the previous one you had owned. 

“What did you get?” The woman behind the camera had prompted, urging to get the content required for the Secret Santa video. Your trance upon the item is snapped away, blinking rapidly and looking up the lens trained on your reaction. 

“It’s a Polaroid camera and a bunch of film!” You lift the camera, showing it to the team, the smile on your face ever-present. “I bring a Polaroid to every race and take a photo but…someone broke it.” Your mind flickers back to your teammate, how he had insisted he could take a photo for Zandervoot; it was his home race after all. He had been nothing but apologetic, though that wouldn’t bring back your camera. 

“Who do you think got it for you? It must be someone who knows you well?” The woman prompts you to continue whilst your fingers trace over the device, elated that somebody must have understood the importance and value held to the memories you capture. 

“I mean…” you trail off. “A lot of us are close. It has to be someone who knows I do it…Daniel, maybe?” You think about the smiley Australian; how the two of you had bonded over your love of taking photos during global travels. The synchronized shake of the team signified you must have been wrong. It wasn’t Daniel. “Maybe Pierre?” He was almost always insistent on being in your photos, after all. 

“Think closer to home.” You misunderstand the woman for a moment, thinking of your neighbor in the city of Monte Carlo.

 “Valtteri?” Though, you’re almost certain he wouldn’t have got you this. You’re so certain it’s time to give up, lifting the camera out of its box, your attention being drawn immediately to the small Polaroid card being left underneath the device. 

There was a photo, a photo of a man holding up a white piece of card, his scrawling hand-writing undeniably recognisable. In lettering, he had spelt out one word, ‘date?’ 

There’s two more underneath, one with the driver holding a thumbs up, the other a thumbs down. You can’t help the grin returning to your face as you look up from the box, seeing his figure sitting a mere meter away from you, eyes trained on you, a smile on his face at the realization you had finally clocked. 

“Max.” You finally solve the problem, subtly slipping one of the Polaroids into your hand as the team take a few establishing shots, thanking you for being part of their marketing and turning their attention to your teammate, adamant on filming his segment next. 

Before they can, you subtly slide past his table, tracing his knuckles and resting the Polaroid in his lap, moving away before he can realize what has happened. Instead, he focused on the photograph in his hand, seeing his own figure staring back with a thumbs up. 

The last thing he sees is you turning the corner, still clad in Red Bull Uniform, a subtle wink thrown in his direction as you leave him to unwrap his own present, undeniably thinking of unwrapping something better later.

#Max Verstappen #MV1 #MV33 #Max Verstappen x Reader #Max Verstappen Imagine #Max Verstappen One Shot #Max Verstappen x You #Reader Insert #F1 #Formula 1 #F1 x Reader #Max Verstappen Blurb #Max Verstappen x Y/N

[furiousgoldfish]

Living with abusive parents made me feel like I need to be productive every day, every moment, and that's the only way I can survive. If I stopped being productive, then I was not worthy of life anymore. It made me into this hyper-stressed individual who would feel bad just from not producing anything within few hours; I'd feel guilty, ashamed and not good enough if a whole day went by without me accomplishing anything.

This lead to me burning out from everything I was trying to achieve, it exhausted me, it brought me endless days of experiencing guilt and shame from being too tired and too stressed and anxious to make or do anything. It made me sick, and ashamed of being sick. It made me compare myself to everyone who accomplished more than me, feeling small and unable to compete. It made me dismiss everything I have done as 'not good enough' because it didn't bring me that feeling that I was now someone, that I had done something important, something I could be proud of. I was proud of nothing. Nothing was notable, nothing was exceptional.

I never stopped to ask myself, for what reasons was I doing this? It was assumed that of course, this constant 'doing something' would bring me somewhere, only I didn't know where, I didn't have a goal. I just knew I needed to keep working, keep producing, or else I would be bad. What was I working for? Who was benefiting from this? I didn't even know.

I was blindly following the path that eroded my mental health, my well-being, my sense of self-value and my time and energy. I was scrambling for seconds of feeling good about myself which should have been mine from the start. I should have been able to feel good while doing nothing, while resting, relaxing, enjoying, taking it slow, caring for my own health, my well being and my emotional stability. There was absolutely no reason in that high-stress environment for me to be producing anything! I just needed to survive, but the pressure put on me to be 'useful' and 'productive' was so huge, I couldn't even see anything else past it. I couldn't comprehend that I was allowed to feel good even if I did nothing, even if I was just focusing on what made me feel better.

It would take me a long time to realize that working only had a point if you were working towards a specific goal, and if you were able to set the conditions of the work so that it doesn't destroy your health and emotional well being on the way. If working isn't bringing you closer to your goal, it means you're being exploited. Other people are profiting from your constant productivity while you're not even aware of why you're doing it. If working is destroying your current life, it's not sustainable enough to bring you towards a goal. No goal is worth destroying yourself over. You have to live in order to be there for when your goal is achieved.

And you can feel okay about yourself every minute that you're not working towards your goal. Taking breaks and letting yourself recover from work has to be a part of the normal, otherwise it's a burnout waiting to happen. The goal will not run away while you're resting. Nothing bad can happen just because you're taking care of yourself and taking it slow. It will give you more stability and make sure you can keep doing what you're doing.

#perfectionism #illusion of productivity #anti hustle culture #being exploited #being forced to feel bad about not working or being productive #productivity #trauma #toxic guilt #toxic shame

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

One of the more interesting aspects of Stayed Gone is the implication that, prior to his disappearance, Alastor must have been producing some quality programming.

Despite it's obvious importance in the modern world, TV apparently only started outcompeting radio in Hell after Alastor vanished. Seven whole years ago. And when Al returns, Vox's first response is to freak the fuck out about whether he's gonna keep his audience.

That's fucking crazy.

And we can be pretty sure that people weren't just listening in out of fear, either. Or because Alastor was making any major effort to crush all other forms of media.

If this was purely about which Overlord was the most powerful, then Vox's verses would surely have focused on emphasising his own strength. Instead, they're all about calling radio outdated. Vox is genuinely worried— apparently based on experience— that Alastor is going to outdo him in terms of sheer entertainment value.

Which raises the obvious question: what were Al's shows actually like? (Aside from those early broadcasts guest-starting the screams of the damned, obviously.)

We get kind of a taster in the song:

“Salutations! Good to be back on the air. Yes, I know it's been a while, since someone with style treated Hell to a broadcast— Sinners, rejoice!— instead of a clout-chasing mediocre video podcast. Is Vox insecure, pursuing allure? Fitting between this fad and that, is nothing working? Every day, he's got a new format! Is Vox as strong as he purports? Or is it based on his support? He'd be powerless without the other Vees! And here's the sugar on the cream: he asked me to join his team! I said no, and now he's pissy, that's the tea!”

Obviously he's doing it to music, so there's going to be some difference in the cadence of his voice from that, but still, he's talking noticeably quicker than he does in person. And he gets right to the point.

Compare it to his commercial in episode 1. There's a big difference in terms of both how much respect he's showing his audience (“well hello there, you wayward sinner!” vs “good to be back on the air”), and how much relevant information he delivers.

Alastor is a great character to watch, but most people who interact with him directly seem to find the experience either annoying, awkward, terrifying or all three.

Mainly because Al seems to go out of his way to put people off even when he's actively trying to get them to trust him, by making condescending asides or constantly dropping references to his own power. On air, however, he greets everyone politely and even drops what is almost an apology for being gone so long (“I know it's been a while”), then immediately gets to the information that he knows they're really listening for.

Alastor may not respect Charlie, Adam or Lucifer, but he does respect his audience.

And the content he's producing makes it clear why people are still tuning in. Al has the gossip. Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench may not be unbiased exactly, but they're clearly trying to provide sources for their claims and maintain some veneer of professional news reporting.

Al, meanwhile, is quite happy to provide strong opinions and baseless speculation about public figures, content that is less fitting with the professional image that Vox seems so desperate to keep up, but that is likely to attract a bigger audience.

What gets me curious now, however, is wondering what else he used to provide.

Again, radio was apparently the medium for news and entertainment in Hell until Alastor left. Implying that a) radio was at the time fulfilling many of the function that TV now provides, and b) Alastor was involved enough in this that it collapsed/got overthrown the moment he left town.

Did Alastor have an empire similar to the Vees? Did he run a bunch of channels? Did he have DJs and sports commentators and presenters on his payroll?

Given that radio seems to have collapsed completely after he left— did they all go running to Vox when he was presumed dead? Was the Vees new empire in part built on the ruins of Alastor's old one?

Or did he do the whole thing solo and just run like, a bunch of different shows. (In which case, since radio's bread and butter has always been music, Helluva Boss fans can now have fun imagining him interviewing Verosika Mayday about ‘Vacay to Bonetown’.)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel meta #hazbin spoilers #alastor hazbin #vox #stayed gone #meta #hazbin hotel headcanons #i'm writing this right before bed so excuse if it seems a bit disjointed #🥱

[shadowdaddies]

Hello! Can i request a cassian x f!reader fic where its the night before cassian has to go on a dangerous mission and reader is really scared and anxious for him. they are sleeping at night but reader can sleep and is silently crying all worried for him. cassian wakes up and finds reader in her state and comforts her. lots of angst with comfort

oh this made me so sad, idk how I'd handle being mated to Cassian or Azriel with their dangerous missions🥺💜 but he's sweet and would comfort you

Stay a Little Longer

Cassian x Reader

warnings: mentions of death

You awoke with a start, tears already streaming down your face, soaking your pillow. Silent sobs wracked through you, your body softly shaking as pieces of your nightmare flashed through your mind. 

Your heart and stomach lurched, anxiety roiling through you as the image of Cassian, dead in the grass, seared your brain. The agony in your soul must been so strong to have awoken your sleeping mate, Cassian rolling over towards you with a sleepy grumble, his broad arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you into his warmth.

Your chest shook, unable to steady your breathing as he felt the wet tears against his chest, rousing Cassian from his half-asleep state. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice raspy from sleep as Cassian tilted your head up to his. Your watering eyes and sniffles broke his heart, triggering his instinct to pull you close. You nuzzled into his chest, heartbeat slowing slightly at the comforting pressure of your love’s arms around you.

“What is it, my love?” Cassian whispered, calloused hand stroking through your hair, lips pressing softly against the top of your head. The question resurfaced those images, the horrifying scenario that felt too real - a life without Cassian. You pulled him closer, arms wound tight around his waist as you breathed in his scent.

“I had a dream, about your mission tomorrow,” you whispered, breaking into sobs again the moment the words left your lips. Cassian shushed you, pulling back as he peppered kisses all over your face, wiping away the salty tears as they fell.

Cassian rubbed his hand in soothing motions across your back, his voice softer than ever. “Do you want to talk about-“ 

“You died, Cassian. You died, and half of my soul went with you. It felt so real, Cassian. I can’t lose you, I can’t, I can’t-“ you tried into his chest until the corners of your eyes stung and you had no more tears left to give. You felt Cassian’s chest take a deep breath, in and out, but he didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt. Merely held you how you needed, remained present as you expressed your fears of his absence.

When you had exhausted yourself completely, Cassian lifted you into his arms, cradling you to his chest as the House produced a glass of water. Handing you the glass, Cassian watched you with adoration in his eyes, still rubbing your back as you drank. He took the glass from your hands, setting it aside where it vanished into thin air, drawing your attention back to the male next to you.

“I will never leave you. I used to be reckless, arrogant when I went into these missions. I thought myself a lowborn bastard whose best value was to die serving others.” He paused, brushing your hair behind your ear as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he rested his face against yours.

“But then I met you, and my world changed. I don’t want to live to die, I want to live to be with you. No matter what happens, I am with you. You are my mate, and I will live with and for you in every lifetime. But I will hold onto you in this one until the Mother herself has to pry me away. You give me purpose greater than that which I have known before. My job is dangerous, but I promise to always come back to you. You will never lose me.”

Cassian spoke with such intensity, it brought you back to his vows from your mating ceremony. The fierceness with which this male would protect you and your life together. You nodded, shifting to straddle his hips as you continued to cling to Cassian. 

“I trust you. But hold me, stay with me for as long as you can before you go,” you whispered. Cassian leaned down, gently pulling your hair as he guided you to look at him.

Hazel eyes shone with a fierce, relentless love as he promised, “I am here until the last moment.”

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #cassian x reader #cassian acotar #acotar cassian #cassian angst #cassian fanfic #cassian x you #cassian imagine #cassian x reader angst #cassian x y/n #cassian acotar x you #cassian acotar x reader #acotar series #acotar angst #cassian fic #cassian fluff #cassian x reader fluff #acotar fluff #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine

[catkyunie]

ateez's love languages (hyung line) ♡

ATEEZ’s captain is ambitious, driven, and dedicated to producing and crafting work that his members and ATINY around the globe can be proud of. That said, Hongjoong has a habit of often neglecting his own needs in pursuit of this goal. Because of this, Joong feels and sees every little thing that you do for him to make his life a bit easier. Whether it’s bringing him his favorite coffee order or a meal over to the studio or refilling his water thermos for him, he feels it and appreciates your acts of service immensely. Though it is limited, quality time is also a huge thing for Hongjoong. Some of his favorite ways to spend time with you is in the studio, immersed in his passion while having his source of inspiration right there beside him. You could be reading, writing, or working on a project while he’s busy producing. That doesn’t bother him. Just knowing you are there, occupying the space with your energy, brings him so much comfort and happiness. Lastly is a love language that not too many are aware of. Hongjoong, despite how he appears on variety shows or when he’s public-facing, adores physical touch. But, mostly in subtle doses. A hand on your thigh while he works, your fingers in his hair while watching a movie or aimlessly scrolling through your phones. He especially loves napping in your lap, nuzzling into your tummy, and curling around your body. The biggest thing for Hongjoong and his love languages is being able to exist in a space with his person without feeling like he is being smothered or asked to divert his attention from other things that are just as important to him. While he loves the times between schedules when he can take you out and spoil you and devote all of his time and attention to you, it’s the comfort in knowing that you’re understanding of his busy lifestyle and are still willing to be present in his life, despite that.

The eldest hyung has a soft spot for gifts, but not for the sake of being materialistic. The sentimental value outweighs the fiscal value tenfold. Every letter, card, painting, or hand-crafted item gifted to him by his someone he keeps in a box that he can look back on fondly and reminisce whenever he feels lonely or is missing them. Whatever book he is currently traveling with? His favorite set of four-cut photos of you is what he uses as a bookmark. He teases you and says it’s photocards of his ult bias. While he enjoys receiving gifts, he also enjoys giving them. Not just for his person, but for his members as well. That cute black cat plush he noticed in the corner store? That would brighten Sannie’s day. Happen to be passing by Yeo’s favorite chicken place? It wouldn’t hurt to pick up an order and drop it off to him. That cute bag you’ve been talking about for weeks now but can’t quite justify spending the money on it? Yeah, it’s your’s now, with no reason attached. Just because Hwa knew it would make you smile (and he happens to think it would look really cute with a few of your favorite pieces). It isn’t only the physical or material things that make Hwa smitten with you. It’s your reassuring words when he wasn’t even aware he needed them that sealed the deal for you two. Though his confidence has grown immensely over the years since his debut, there are still moments when Seonghwa falters under the weight of his past insecurities. Having you remind him of how gorgeous you think he is and how he should never feel the need to hide his smile does wonders for his confidence and his self-image, especially when you remind him that he was crafted from the stars and there’s nothing in the world that can dim his brightness. Like his captain, quality time means a great deal to ATEEZ’s co-leader. When Hwa has the time free from schedules and is able, he makes it a priority to spend as much of that free time with you as possible. While public outings and dates are difficult with his global status, Seonghwa still manages to plan the cutest of dates for the two of you. Evenings making dinner together before curling up for a movie and a nightcap of Animal Crossing. Takeout and soju while building Lego. It's the little moments like these in between that Seonghwa adores with his person and that reminds him how truly lucky he is to live this life with you and his members by his side.

Yunho’s expression of gift-giving comes in ways that some may confuse for acts of service. Instead of super expensive or flashy items, Yunho prefers to buy his partner gifts that he knows they’ll have a use for. A fluffy blanket that he knows you’ll love because you’re always cold. New art supplies, such as expensive brands of colored pencils or acrylic paints. A larger, insolated thermos to replace the one that you drink through too quickly and that can’t keep your water as cold as you’d like. There’s a practicality to Yunho that is reflected in the way he spoils and loves his partner. This form of gift-giving goes hand in hand with another of Yunho’s love languages, that being Quality Time. He’s the partner who shows up on your doorstep to go walking the streets with you, hand in hand, enjoying the weather and scenery. Stopping to try baked goods from this shop, a beverage indicative of the culture and country at the next one. The fact that he gets to do it with one of his favorite people on the planet makes what would normally be a mundane experience memorable and enjoyable for him. He’ll remember that exact feeling he had in that moment with you the next time he passes that landmark or has that treat again. While the pair of you are exploring the cities and, at times, the countryside, Yunho’s hands are always on you in some way shape, or form. Whether his hand is held with yours or he’s holding steadfast to your arm interlocked with his own, physical touch is something that is so ingrained in Yunho that he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it half of the time. Hanging out at the dorms with his members? His hand is on the back of your neck, gently rubbing. Snuggled up on the couch with a movie on and your head on his shoulder? He’s absently tugging and rubbing the lobe of your ear. Don’t even think of trying to pull his hand from your thigh if ever he’s driving, it’ll make him pout.

How Yeosang loves his partner is very indicative of his nature and character; softly, quietly, yet steadfast and true. Though this may be what comes the most naturally to Yeosang, it does not mean that it does not occasionally leave him feeling a bit self-conscious. What if he is not able to express himself properly when it matters most? If he is unable to convey to you just how deeply his affections run, will that perhaps leave you feeling unappreciated or maybe even doubtful of his fondness? This is where his need for words of affirmation is most appreciated. The reassurance that, though he may not feel comfortable or confident in grandiose gestures, you still know and understand just how much he adores you and your patience with allowing him the space to navigate the avenues in which to properly express them to you. One of his favorite ways to do so is by spending quality time with his partner, usually in some form of parallel play. You’ve got work to do, but want to spend time with Yeo? He’s totally okay with that. He has no problem sitting at the coffee table reassembling one of his drones while you’re busy typing away on your laptop. Occasionally he’ll lean his head back and nuzzle your knee, prompting a head pat or quick caress, but then it’s back to business. Yeo will also be the type to go out of his way to plan special dates for you. A picnic and painting in the park, an evening of viewing Christmas lights, and ice skating. As long as he’s spending it with you, Yeosang would be content doing just about anything. Yeo is also always appreciative and quick to notice the little ways in which you spoil him with acts of service. Helping him with getting the attention of his members, making sure the meat is cooked thoroughly and not too hot to eat when you go to hot pot. Even helping him organize his supplements or replacing them when he runs out are acts that Yeo sees and feels deeply in his heart.

#catkyunie fic #cromernet #ateez #atz #ateez fluff #ateez headcanons #love langauges #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang

[umseb]

(extremely long interview that i fed through google translate under the cut)

Life at the limit was yesterday, after retiring Sebastian Vettel got to know each other again. But Seb is back in competitive mode. It's just not about the World Cup now. But around the world.

When he retired at the end of last season, everyone was suddenly good friends again with Sebastian Vettel, the racer that so many colleagues had lost their teeth over for years; who had become world champion four times with Red Bull Racing, then moved on to Ferrari and finally Aston Martin and after 299 F1 starts, 53 wins and 122 podiums, it was good. "Love you, man," said Lewis Hamilton at the end, Mick Schumacher and Lando Norris described him as an "inspiration", Checo Pérez, Daniel Ricciardo and Nico Rosberg in unison as a "legend".

Other things had become important in his life, and in some cases he let us take part in them as an active participant: when he rode his bike to the paddock or drove a historic 1992 Williams with synthetically produced, climate-neutral fuel, it was clear what one of the most intelligent pilots of the present.

Yes, Sebastian Vettel is committed to the environment. And yes, he enjoys driving fast – still. We'll soon be able to see him in action again: at Red Bull Formula Nürburgring on the legendary Nordschleife. He will tackle the 73 corners at the wheel of his no less legendary RB7 - dubbed "Kinky Kylie" - and will do so in a climate-neutral manner thanks to e-fuels. "It's important to me to show that racing cars can drive just as well and quickly with CO²-neutral fuel." Seb sets an example of how to do without a little, be happier and do your part to not burden the world more than necessary.

SEBASTIAN VETTEL: The first few months passed quickly and it was nice to be able to enjoy the freedom to organize my time. Many factors went into my decision to resign. I didn't stop because I didn't like the sport anymore, was too slow or really wanted to do something else. Resignations are very individual. For me, time was one of the determining factors: the many races; knowing how much effort it takes to do the job properly, in my opinion. At the same time I have small children at home. That time will not come again. To answer the question: I enjoyed the driving, the competition, right up to the end. When you only have one shot left in qualifying and it has to hit the mark. racing duels. These are the moments I miss the most.

But? I no longer wanted to make certain compromises. Plus: My children have a right to me being there for them more. I must have outgrown a bit of a world that I used to think was great. Things that I once saw as pure white had been given a certain tint.

In what way? In the context of our time. This is related to interests outside of motorsport that I have developed. Anyone who does not close their eyes perceives social developments. Although F1 has taken up a large part of my life, it is not central to the people of the world. If you think outside the box, you can see the signs.

How are the environment and climate changing? Environment is the issue of our generation. We are in the decisive decade for the climate, and everyone is needed. We have to pull together. I'll take a look at my own nose first. This attitude comes from sports.

What did you do specifically? A few years ago I started measuring my carbon footprint. Car kilometers written down, every flight, every overnight stay. Seeing that number compared to that of the average Joe blew my mind! After that I took action to get the value down.

Do you want to name these numbers? I started with 400 tons - only in connection with the F1. In the end I was down to 60 tons. (Note: The average in Germany in 2021 was about 8 tons.)

How did you do that? Most of the reduction was the elimination of flights. With the exception of Silverstone and Budapest, I drove to all of the European races last season. I don't want to dictate to anyone or portray myself as an angel, but that's how I started with myself. This step didn't feel like giving up anything, but completely logical - like all the other smaller ones that I had taken in parallel. I felt very satisfied.

Because you experienced travel again as being on the road and not as a purposeful movement from A to B? Absolutely! As a teenager, your driver's license was your ticket to freedom. In motorsport, I used to drive a lot at first and soon got tired of driving long distances on the road. That's how the plane came into play, and later the private plane, because the time savings were extreme. But the step back felt good. Plan things better, take things into your own hands. Sure, I couldn't have sailed to Australia, otherwise I would have missed the race, or at least the one that followed. But whenever I could, I enjoyed being back on land and seeing things I would have missed on a plane. I noticed that the supposed loss of time is not actually a loss. Okay, cars are more environmentally friendly than planes, but there's a wide range when it comes to four wheels. What cars do you drive? Porsche Taycan, i.e. electric, and a VW bus with a combustion engine. The bus has the advantage that everything fits in, from bicycles to children. But I think that a decisive factor in the – very exciting – current mobility discussion is missing. Many ask themselves: What am I not allowed to do anymore? The more important question is: How could things look better in the future? When I look ahead, I see more livable cities than today. When I imagine that public transport will be denser and more fluid if the alternative rail is better than it is today, the question of car or plane may no longer arise. As soon as the offer is right, the majority will go along with it. Many lack the vision of improvement. That it will be good. Change scares them at first. It takes imagination how things will be better in the future than they are today.

As an example of improvement that was unthinkable for years: Working from home means fewer commuters, means less CO² and cleaner cities… Like that? Exactly. Change should be perceived as something positive. The change started a long time ago. It's not a question of if, just a question of when. There is no longer any doubt. The majority understands that too. Now it's time to design and make. It might be a bit more difficult, but it takes courage to try something. Like work at home.

How do you determine this change? In my generation, significantly more young people got their driver's license than today because the car is no longer such a central topic. In the fathers' generation, it was still completely clear that you get a driver's license and own your own car. change happens. There were already skeptics when switching from horse-drawn carriages to cars.

What new technologies will help us shape the future the most? In the big picture: artificial intelligence. In mobility, the change to e-mobility is the first step - due to the currently unbeatable efficiency. Hydrogen is super exciting. In general, I don't believe in a single solution, but in a combination of many building blocks. As far as I know, the transition to electric in the aviation industry is not as imminent as in the case of cars. Therefore, a different way of thinking is needed here. Without wanting to restrict freedom: Do you have to fly to New York for three days? Yes, there are actually people for whom this is necessary. But just for fun? I'm the last person who wants to ban anyone from anything. But if you are aware of the bigger picture and know how many people are already suffering from climate change, you probably no longer have to ask yourself this question.

Do you sometimes drive around the area just for fun? Yes, sometimes with my old bikes. That still gives me a lot of pleasure. On the other hand, I understand people who see the climate catastrophe as an existential threat to themselves. I personally work very hard on this balancing act of not letting myself be guided by fear and being able to enjoy the moment. Again: I think it's important not to talk about bans and waivers, but to emphasize the alternatives, and they often already exist. Motorcycles can be operated with synthetic fuels. They still produce pollutants, but only as many as were previously bound. I'm not a fan of biofuels. Land is used here to grow fodder to produce fuel - not so great. We can do better. Cars and motorcycles are cultural assets. A lot of good has come of it. We should not abolish them, but keep them alive. In any case, there is no need to explain to motorsport fans how great it feels when a V8 is fired up. You can feel something there. We just have to make it better.

Okay: The 20 F1 cars will be CO²-neutral from 2026. However, the large production of pollutants happens through the arrival of the spectators. In this respect, motorsport is no different from other major events such as football games or concerts. Aren't 20 CO²-neutral racing cars just greenwashing? F1 has always been at the forefront of technology. The current question is how relevant the highly complex and exciting current drive technology is for series production. More could be done here. But electric drive will not be suitable for F1 in the foreseeable future. The races are too long for that and the required power output is too high. Weight always plays a major role in F1, which is another reason why electric drive is not practical. Synthetic e-fuels are therefore indispensable in the short term. It’s good that this will happen from 2026 – now would be better. But yes, it is even more important to get the emissions under control: How do the teams get to the track? Of course it would be great if everyone came by bike. But it would take far more to put the calendar in order. Flying all over the world and flying to Europe for a few days in between makes no sense and is no fun either. How do the fans get to the track? What is consumed there, which ideals are lived? Water, in my opinion, should be something that is available to everyone at all times. Are these plastic cups needed everywhere? I think organizers of major events have an obligation to ask themselves these questions. You start with the big things and end up with the small ones.

What do you think of the theory that you F1 drivers are like kids who got too much chocolate and ate your fill? Cue Nico Rosberg, who was at Fridays for Future, or Lewis Hamilton, who cleared beaches of plastic. I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that we are very privileged as representatives of a global sport. We experience a lot, see a lot, earn a lot. For a long time, the belief in our society was: the more, the better. Our role model culture also aims to do this. Perhaps the chocolate comparison is correct insofar as the equation itself is often incorrect. More of everything doesn't mean more happiness. Even role models often have major challenges in everyday life, even the seemingly ultra-successful ones. Many of them are not happy, on the contrary. Nevertheless, a large part of society is chasing a goal that does not result in satisfaction: more, faster, nicer, further, richer. My experience in F1 certainly helps me to put things in perspective. Still, I think you can understand them even if you don't have a full bank account.

You mean because you've seen a lot... … I realized that things are going well for us in Central Europe. I have experienced parts of the world where it was completely different. Families who live in cardboard huts and also run a hairdressing business there. Uniform palm plantations where last year there was still a jungle. Seeing all of this not just on TV but with your own eyes triggers something, at least for me. I see it as a responsibility to share these impressions and question our role model culture. I find constant optimization dangerous. Much and many remain on the track. Nobody looks like they do on social media. There are photos of me where I look really good. But I know exactly what I really look like when I get up in the morning.

How do you measure happiness? I can walk up the stairs and don't have to take the elevator. For people after accidents, such trifles are a long way off. There will always be people who are better off - and many more who are worse off. An important thought: to classify how you are doing.

Would today's Sebastian still advise his 16-year-old alter ego to become a Formula 1 driver? I don't want to miss anything in my time. What would I do differently, better? I would have liked to have become more aware earlier. The themes that are dominant today were already there back then, but not as present. Second: I would use my voice more for the positive. I wasn't too aware of the power involved at first, and I felt a little uncomfortable raising my voice. In terms of sport, it was a mega time. The up shaped me as much as the down. Both were important.

Where do you find your fun after your F1 career is over? This question has occupied me for a long time. I was very well prepared when I made this decision. But one unpredictable factor remains. I like doing sports outside. As of today, there is nothing that pushes me to the limit like F1. That's what I miss the most. I have to put the brakes on myself here, because that's exactly what I wanted to get to know about myself: What happens when I'm not in competition mode? At some point, this adrenaline rush of a career at the top of the world will come to an end, whether freely chosen or forced - for example due to injuries. Then it's all about moving on, taking the thrill and tension into the next section. I'm not saying it's easy or saying I've done it. I'm searching, and this process itself is exciting.

Do you want to make the world better? The primary goal is to be there for my family. The dynamic at home is different because I'm present. This is new for me and also for the rest of the family. In general, I look ahead. This comes from my time in sport: How can we improve? I'm way too small to go and save the world, and the world is way too big for that. But I find tasks that excite me. Hopefully I can take other people a little bit with me.

Are you still interested in F1? Very! The first race was a bit weird, but now I really enjoy watching it. I know the sport inside out, I still love it. Maybe I see things differently, but I don't feel sad when I look at ex-colleagues, not at all.

Not even when the green car is performing so well? The first reaction of many people was: The fact that the Aston Martin is so fast this season must frustrate you? Okay, maybe it would be easier if the car was total garbage, in the sense of: I'm not missing anything anyway. No, I'm primarily happy for the team. And I'm happy for Fernando Alonso. For many years he had no car in which he could show his driving skills. Now he can and is up there. Red Bull Racing dominates, and I still have a lot of friends and acquaintances there. I'm really happy when they win.

#sebastian vettel #f1 #formula 1 #fic ref #fic ref 2023 #not a race #2023 not a race #between belgium and netherlands 2023 #summer break #summer break 2023 #retirement #sewis

[nezumidou]

There's a little contrast that I've been thinking about since last night, but hadn't been able to fully articulate until I had time to watch the fight with Otohan again.

During the final minutes of the confrontation at Bassuras, and particularly when Otohan identifies Laudna as someone especially precious to Imogen; there is a moment that keeps capturing my attention. If we interpret Marisha's reaction to Imogen's sudden change in attitude when Otohan asks her if Laudna is her favorite (“I'll go with you! I give in. Don't hurt her.”) as how Laudna would react to that —jaw clenched, looking away from the action and lowering her head, understanding in an instant what that meant—, it's almost like a physical representation that she has failed. Laudna has always put Imogen's safety above her own; in every instance they have found themselves in danger, and has proven it to the rest of the group, and to Imogen, whenever she has had the chance. This is a sum of both the love that Laudna has for Imogen, and the low value she has for her own person: Imogen is the most important thing in her current existence, both because of the love that she openly professes for her (romantic, platonic, take your pick), as for the fact, indisputable in Laudna's eyes, that her existence after being revived, being "dead", and being a "puppet" of the woman who lives inside her head, has a much less inherent value than that of any of her peers, but especially Imogen. So, when Laudna witnesses Imogen being able to offer to drop her resistance against Rudius' influence, letting herself give in to something she's admitted gives her the feeling of walking directly towards death, in exchange for Otohan not hurting her. That is something that produces a physical rejection in Laudna. 

Imogen is the most important thing for her, especially more important than a reanimated corpse; a shadow of a life that never had a chance to flourish, one more piece in the machinations of the executioner who has accompanied her for almost 30 years. The very idea of Imogen sacrificing herself for her is abhorrent to Laudna.

This is in addition to several previous instances where Laudna has expressed this same concern to the rest of the Bells: protect Imogen, do not expose her to unnecessary danger, be aware of your decisions if they may affect the well-being of Imogen.

Laudna would never put Imogen in harm's way if she could help it.

And for all that, I can't help but think of the vulnerability and rawness shown by Laudna in the brief conversation that she manages to have with Imogen, while she is imprisoned in the branches of the Sun Tree.

Whitestone, its dark streets, its ghost inhabitants, and that tree that rises above all the roofs, and whose image is displayed in every corner of the city, does nothing but relive both past and current traumas for Laudna. It's a cage, it always has been, both metaphorical and literal, from which she has never been able to completely free herself, to which she always returns, irremediably. A parade of pain and horrors. So when Imogen's voice reappears in her mind, she can't help but cling to it. Laudna doesn't ask her to turn around and go back the way she came; she doesn't tell Imogen about the dangers that place and Delilah represent; she simply tells her that she has been fighting that woman for 30 years and has never been able to win at all. She doesn't tell Imogen to run.

Laudna doesn't have the strength to lift that old facade anymore, the one she's so used to showing the rest of the world. Whitestone strips her bare: her fears, her hopes. If it were any other circumstance, perhaps Laudna would tell Imogen not to worry about her, to run away from danger while she can, that her welfare trumps that of this non-living being.

But instead, amid the branches of the tree she woke up hanging from decades ago, Laudna asks Imogen to take her home, in one of her first explicit requests for help.

"Imogen? I forgot how much I hate it here."

"I think that depends on you, darling."

#critical role #laudna #imogen temult #bells hells #imodna #southerngothic

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

after - part twenty-two

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

you agree to something...unexpected.

a/n: we're in the SHOW PLOT BABIESSSSS ugh I'm having so much fun with this 🤍

word count: 5.1k

warnings: canon-typical violence, you know the drill.

✨@friskito-library for updates on new parts/works✨

“I don’t know where he is, Liv, I swear.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair, and dig in your pocket. You produce two ration cards, the highest value kind, and slide them across the table. “Now, you and I both know that’s a load of bullshit, Ted. So why don’t you stop wasting my time and tell me where Robert is?”

Ted’s a good kid. A little screwed up, sure, but so is every other kid that was born on the edge of the outbreak. He’s helped you out with a few jobs here and there, but lately, he’s been running shit for Robert, which made him the obvious first choice to find out where your least favourite smuggler had run off to.

You watch Ted’s eyes dart between the ration cards on the table between you and over your shoulder to where Joel and Tess are standing. Joel’s stance is wide, his hands shoved in his pockets, his brow hard. His eyes are glued to you, and you follow Ted’s eyes, glancing back at your husband and your friend.

“Don’t worry about them,” you tell the kid. “Look at me.”

“I told you, Liv, I don’t know where—”

“You don’t know where he is, yep, I heard you the first time. But I know it’s bullshit, because I know for a fact you were running a job for Robert three days ago, before my ass ended up in lock-up. And I also know that I saw you just outside the warehouse district, and ten minutes later, I have FEDRA all over me. You screwed me, so give me this, and I won’t let Joel break your jaw.”

The kid whimpers. 

You reach into your pocket, pull out another card. “Now, Ted. Or I walk.”

His throat bobs, but he reaches for the cards. Bingo. “T-there’s a red-tagged building, Stillman and Cross. He said he was taking the battery there, that he had someone else who would pay triple what Tess offered.”

You stare him down for a moment. “You know what happens if I find out you’re lying, don’t you?”

His eyes shift from your face back to Joel over your shoulder. “I do.”

“Broken jaws take a long time to heal,” you say almost casually, and Ted nods. You slide out of your seat. “See you around, kid.”

As soon as you’re close enough, Joel and Tess start to walk, and you fall into step with them, fitting yourself between them both. “Well?” Joel prompts, his hand finding the small of your back.

“Cost me three cards,” you tell them, “but he told me. Red-tagged building at Stillman and Cross.”

Joel’s brow lifts. “Wasn’t that a Firefly building, back when Tommy joined?”

Tess nods. “It was. Then they emptied out, and Miguel took over.” Her eyes shift to you, and she clears her throat. “It was empty again, last I heard.”

You shake a memory away. “I have a thought. We take the subway tunnel under Haymarket, that gets us into the building from below, and we can take him by surprise. He’ll never see us coming, and if all three of us go, he doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Pay this fucker back,” Joel says, and you can’t help your grin.

+

You go back to the apartment. Tess heads up to her place to get her bag, and the moment you’re through the door, you beeline for the wardrobe, digging out your guns, your knives, the bat. Joel had reluctantly put everything away after you’d convinced him not to go straight after Robert. You needed to be smart about it, to get the battery, and once the plan was more fleshed out, when you realized Ted would know where Robert was and you had a place to start, he softened slightly.

Only slightly.

Time has made Joel harder. It’s made you both harder, both new versions of yourselves you hadn’t anticipated turning into. The last decade has pushed you both to your limits, in every goddamn sense, but still, your love for each other? That’s never so much as wavered. Never.

It’s mostly weapons, in your bags. Ration cards, emergency supplies on the off-chance you need to make a quick getaway after you confront Robert. Bolt cutters. Ideally, you’ll go, scare the shit out of him, get the battery, then come back home. You’ll plan a real route, get the truck from Lee, and off you go.

It’s pouring rain, by the time you meet Tess in the lobby and step back out into the streets. Joel keeps a tight grip on your hand as you head towards the subway, and all three of you are soaked to the bone when you reach Haymarket, you and Tess standing in front, trying to look casual while Joel clips the chain on the door with the bolt cutters.

You all step through, crouching to fish flashlights out of your packs. The bat is tucked between your shoulders, mostly hidden by your bag, but you go for your gun instead. “Ready?” Tess asks, and you both nod, heading down the stairs.

The flashlight beams light the way, revealing mouldy walls, cracks in the ceiling letting rainwater drip down over you. Joel shoves his hand through his hair, wet strands slicking back across his scalp, and you can’t stop yourself from thinking idly that he looks good.

The steps down were at least partially lit between your flashlights and the diffused daylight coming through the windows, but as you descend into the subway tunnel itself, it’s nearly pitch black. Not a shock — you used to meet people down here all the time to trade — but it still makes your gut twist. A few years back, you’d heard rumours about a swarm of Infected that had stumbled in through the opposite end, which fed out into the open city. No more subway drops for you.

There are multiple doorways that lead up from the tunnels, the few you’ve used over the years to get out of the QZ proper, others that have helped when you almost got caught out after curfew. There are a few offices, maintenance rooms and supply bunkers that have served in a pinch.

“That’s the one,” Tess says, pointing to one of the little staircases that lead up from the subway rail itself. She goes first, and you follow, Joel close behind, his hand bumping your leg as you walk up the few steps. Tess opens the door, stepping inside, and you go to follow again, but Joel hooks his fingers into your back pocket, stalling you.

There’s no noise, at first, and you move toward the doorway. When Tess’s shouted oh fuck! echoes through the tunnel, you bolt forward, gun raised, with Joel a half-step behind you. “What?”

Then you see it. The far wall of the office. You can just barely make out the body within the fungus, nothing human left, just cordyceps spreading across the tile. The face open in a silent roar, fungi sprouting from the mouth, the eyes, the ears. Frozen in place, creeping in every direction. Taking over, even buried beneath the earth.

“This one’s done,” Joel declares, shining his light on what used to be the person’s face. That’s one thing you’ve learned about the Infected, over the years: nothing lasts forever. The infection can only push the human body so far, and it gets to the point where there’s nothing left for the infection to puppet.

Beside you, Tess exhales sharply, a hand pressed to her chest. “Yeah, I know, I just…I wasn’t expecting it.”

Joel glances at you. “That wasn’t down here last time?” 

You shake your head. “Nothing was. But when was the last time we were here, Tess? A year? Two?”

“More than that,” she answers, sweeping her flashlight beam over the body. “You think he came down after he was infected?”

Joel sighs, and his words send a prickle through you. “Maybe down here is where he was infected.”

Tess stares at the body for a moment before she turns away. You clear your throat, tap your flashlight to Joel’s. “Let’s keep moving.”

The office leads into a narrow hallway, a series of ladders that have been tied and strapped together leaned against the wall. Probably not up to code, but it’ll do. Tess slides her flashlight into the strap of her bag, and you and Joel do the same, both peering up as Tess grips the ladder and starts moving up. “It’s like they reframed the whole structure,” Joel says, tapping your ass as you move to follow Tess. “Probably in the eighties. Everyone was cutting down on apartment sizes to sell more condos.”

Tess pauses, shooting you a look over her shoulder. “This has been Construction Corner with Joel Miller.”

You sputter out a laugh, the ladder wobbling in your grip, and when you look behind you, Joel looks less than impressed. “Hey, I’d watch it.”

“Sure you would,” he grunts, swatting your ankle. “Keep goin’.”

A few more rungs before you call out to Tess. “How far up we gonna go?”

“Uh,” she pauses, swinging her boot off the rung and onto what looks like solid floor, “this far.”

You all shuffle off the ladder one by one, Joel grabbing your hand when you offer it, while Tess pushes on the makeshift door cut into the drywall from the inside. It’s been a long time since you and her came in this way. “This opens into the hallway,” she says, more for Joel’s benefit than your own. “What the fuck? Someone put a piano in front of this?”

Joel sweeps his flashlight over the ceiling, catching on old pieces of insulation and cracked drywall. As Tess pushes on the door again, something hits your nose and you wince, the telltale tang of wasted ammunition curling at the back of your throat. “Wait,” you whisper, grabbing her forearm, stopping her from moving the door again. “You smell that?”

“Gunpowder,” Joel answers, and the beam of his flashlight traces the door, down to the bottom, where you see a thin drip of blood seeping through the bottom crack, pooling on the floor. “Shit.”

Both you and Joel draw your guns, and you push forward, Joel calling your name as you shove your shoulder into the door, sliding it open. The body that was leaned against it slumps over as you step through, peering around, something in you twisting when you see the dead man’s face.

Robert.

“Fuck,” you murmur, stepping through the door completely, your gun still raised. Joel’s right behind you, his brow furrowed, Tess a step behind him. Both their flashlights rake over Robert’s body, and over the car battery on the ground beside him. Tess steps towards the battery, inspecting it closer, while you turn to Joel, seeing the displeasure on his face. “The fuck happened here?”

He just shakes his head, jaw set, mouth a firm line.

“Well, the battery’s no good,” Tess informs you, nudging it with her boot. “And he still tried to sell it. Twice.”

“You’re shocked?” you scoff, glancing up the hall. There are more Fireflies, all of them riddled with bullets, bodies propped against the wall. “Doesn’t surprise me one bit. Greedy fuck.”

Someone lets out a pained groan, somewhere nearby, and you all jump on the defence, guns raised. Joel steps in front of you as you move down to where the hallway crosses with another, and you move to his right side. There’s mumbled conversation, words you can’t make out as Joel presses himself to the wall, inching towards the corner.

“Shit…Oh god, just…fuck!”

Joel turns the corner, and you’re quick to follow, both of you with your guns raised, steps silent as you creep closer towards the two women toward the end of the hall, one helping the other to her feet.

Suddenly, the door you’re barely in front of swings inward, a young girl shouting as she surges forward, a knife raised. Joel moves quicker than you, blocking the blow and sending her to the floor with a grunted fuck. The knife hits the floor, and Joel swings his gun towards the girl. She looks up at him with an almost feral look in her dark eyes, baring her teeth at him. 

She looks young, maybe thirteen or fourteen. Dark hair, dark eyes, pale. She’s got dark-coloured Converse on her feet, and for some reason, it makes you smile.

The sound of guns cocking rips your eyes from the young girl, and you turn to see the two women at the end of the hallway both with pistols pointed in your direction. “Liv?”

“Marlene?” you reply, officially confused as shit.

She stares at you for a long moment, her face pinched in pain before her eyes drop to the girl. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” the girl replies, her eyes still glued to Joel.

She goes for the knife, but Joel puts his boot over the blade before she can grab it. She bares her teeth again. “Ellie,” Marlene calls, assumedly the girl’s name, but she’s too busy sneering at Joel. “Ellie.”

Ellie whips her head in Marlene’s direction, and instantly, you see the fear that works across the young girl’s face. “Oh, shit!” she gasps.

Marlene loosens her grip on the gun, tilted the barrel of it away from your head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be all right.” You see her face fall slightly. “You can’t be stupid like this.”

Yep, you’re fucking confused.

Tess, who you’d left inspecting the battery, rounds the corner. “So this is who Robert screwed us over with?” she asks, moving up to stand beside you. “The Che Guevara of Boston?”

You scoff, jutting your chin at Marlene. “War must be goin’ pretty shitty for you to be buying from scumbags like him. I know we screwed you once or twice, but at least you didn’t end up with a bullet in your gut.”

“Yeah, it’s been a fucking stretch,” Marlene asks, sagging against the wall slightly. “The merch was bad, and he obviously didn’t take fuck off for an answer.”

You squint at Marlene, but your ears prick when you hear Ellie mutter, “Give me my knife.”

“What do you need a car battery for?” Joel asks, ignoring the girl at his feet. Ellie reaches forward, and both you and Joel swing your guns at her. “Don’t.”

“Not at her,” Marlene nearly shouts, both her and the woman standing beside her lifting their guns again, pointing at you both. Tess lifts hers, aiming for Marlene. “Point it at me.”

Joel gives you a look before glancing down at Ellie, who’s pressed herself against the wall, her hands raised in surrender. She looks fucking terrified. “Joel,” you murmur, pointing your gun away from the girl, toward Marlene and her friend. He follows suit, and you hear Ellie’s relieved exhale.

“To answer your question,” Marlene says, “I need it for a better reason than you do. No offence, but Tommy’s just one man.”

“What the…” Joel mutters, but you reach out with the hand not holding your gun, touch his chest.

“Who told you we’re going after Tommy?”

Marlene almost laughs. “It’s our business to know things. You of all people should know that, Liv.”

“To know things,” Joel repeats, and you can see the anger creeping up his spine, feel it in the heavy beat against your palm. “You’re the cause of it. You turned my own brother against me.”

“Okay, Joel,” Marlene mumbles, nearly rolling her eyes. Your own anger spikes.

“That was a lot of gunfire,” Marlene’s partner says. You don’t know her name. “FEDRA’s gonna be on their way.”

“I know,” she answers, and she stares at the kid at your feet for a long moment before speaking again, her voice louder. “We were gonna move Ellie outta the zone tonight.” Joel’s eyes flick down to the girl, and you watch him for a moment before your eyes move back to Marlene. “But we won’t make it anywhere like this. Not for a while, anyway. So now I’m thinkin’, you’re gonna do it.”

You squint at the woman. What…

Behind you, Tess: “Why the fuck would we do that?”

At the same time, Joel: “The hell we are.”

And Ellie: “I’m not going with them!”

You can’t read the expression on Marlene’s face. She’s in pain, clearly, but there’s something more to it. Something you’re certainly not used to seeing on the Queen of the Fireflies. But then it clicks.

She’s desperate.

“Liv,” Joel says, tearing your focus from Marlene, his gun still pointed at her, “we don’t have time for this.”

You meet his eyes for a sec before your gaze moves back to the Fireflies at the end of the hall. “Oh, you don’t have time?” Marlene calls, and she’s not even hiding the desperation anymore. You can hear it clear as day in her voice.

“Who is she?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, tilting your head towards the kid on the ground.

“To you?” Marlene shoots back. “She’s cargo.”

“We don’t smuggle people,” Joel nearly shouts, and you put your hand on his arm.

“I can do it,” the woman beside Marlene says, and the Queen snaps.

“Kim, you don’t have a fuckin’ ear on your fuckin’ head, could you please!” It’s only then that you realize that Marlene’s friend — Kim — has clearly taken a shot to the head, because most of her ear is missing, blood smeared down her neck. Marlene keeps talking, staring you down. “There’s a team of Fireflies waiting for her at the old State House.” Behind you, Tess scoffs. “I know what’s out there. We were going with an entire squadron for that very reason.”

“An entire squadron,” you repeat, “and you want the three of us to do it?”

“I don’t have a truck, I don’t have a squadron,” Marlene says, “FEDRA’s five minutes away. What I do have is you. And I know what you’re all capable of. For better or worse.” Her eyes slide from you to Joel, and you inhale sharply.

At your feet, Ellie looks at you all warily. “What are they capable of?”

Marlene just keeps on talking. “You get her there safely, and they’ll get you what you need. Not just a battery, but the whole thing. Fuelled-up truck, guns, supplies, all of it. I swear.” Joel’s head turns to you, his jaw set. Somehow, this has become your call. “I swear,” Marlene says again.

Joel slides his boot across the ground, Ellie’s knife spinning out of reach. “Asshole!” she shouts, and as the three of you step away to deliberate, you stoop to the floor, scooping the thing up. It’s a simple thing, short blade, wooden handle with a metal switch. You slide your finger across the wood, feeling the weight of it in your palm, turning it over as you step back.

There are initials carved into the bottom, right along the edge of the wood. ASW.

“You trust her?” Tess asks you as you move away, Joel’s hand settling against your hip.

Joel shakes his head. “Me either,” you agree, giving a slight nod, “but she seems desperate.”

When Joel speaks, you don’t miss the thread of hope in his voice. “Firefly vehicle usually means repurposed FEDRA stuff,” he says, “so better-than-decent chance of makin’ it to Tommy in one of those.” He looks at you. “Get us to Lincoln too.”

You nod.

“The second we hand this kid over—” Tess starts, but Marlene’s voice cuts her off.

“Ya’ll talk it through, but please remember that I’m bleeding out.”

Joel reaches out and grabs your wrist, the hand holding the knife. His eyes are hard as you meet them, but he lifts his chin, and you nod.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” you call to Marlene, turning on your heel. “We take the kid to the State House, but we don’t hand her over until we get everything that we want. Everything. Guns, truck, ammo, whatever we ask for. Anyone so much as pauses, we kill her. Then and there.”

You’ve barely gotten the words out before Marlene agrees. “Deal.”

“Really?” Ellie quips, almost exasperated. “That fast?”

Marlene looks at her, that same desperation still laced in her voice. “You are all that matters. My team will not jeopardize that. Remember what I told you?” Ellie glances up at you, and you try to school your face neutral. “Now go get your bag. Now, Ellie.”

With a huff, the kid gets to her feet and stalks into the room she’d leapt out of. You all just stare each other down until she returns, a green and blue backpack in her hands. She stares at Marlene, and Tess turns on her heel, heading back down the hallway. Joel touches your arm, nodding his head in the direction Tess went. “Let’s go.”

Ellie stares Marlene down until she nods, and then spins, shoving Joel with her shoulder as she goes, plucking her knife out of your hand before pushing past you as well. Joel gives you a look, and you just shake your head.

“Miller,” Marlene calls, and both of you turn to look at her. “Don’t fuck this up. Please.”

+

Thunder rumbles, the moment you step foot back outside. It’s still early, nowhere near curfew, but you’re all quick to move through the city, circling back to the apartments. You need to regroup, gather more supplies, if you’re gonna make it to the State House.

What the fuck did you just agree to?

Tess leads the pack as you stride through the rain, Ellie behind her, you behind Ellie, Joel behind you. You don’t miss the way the kid pulls her hood over her face every time you pass a FEDRA soldier, flinches every time one of those big FEDRA trucks rolls past on the street.

Somewhere between the Firefly building and your apartment, Joel grabs your hand, pulls you back into step with him. “I don’t like this,” he says softly, his tone rough.

You lace your fingers with his. “I don’t either. Doing Marlene a favour wasn’t exactly high on my list of things to do. But if they pull through and get us what we need, then it’s worth it, right?”

The furrow in his brow deepens, but he squeezes your hand, gives a slight nod. “Right.”

It’s not long before you’re inside the building, climbing the stairs up to your floor. Ellie’s foot slips on one of the steps, nearly sending her tumbling back. Out of instinct, you grab her by the arm, pushing her back upright. She shoots you a look over her shoulder, her eyes wide. “Thanks.”

You just nod.

Joel holds his hand out for the keys as you approach the apartment, unlocking the door after you toss them to him. You push the door open, stepping aside for Ellie to enter after Joel gestures for her to step forward. “Give us a minute,” you say, stepping back out into the hall, pulling the door shut. It earns you a shouted what the fuck! from the kid, but you ignore it.

“So, what’s the plan?” Tess asks, hands braced on her hips.

You breathe out a sigh, leaning back against the door. “When’s the last time we even made it near the State House?”

Joel pushes his hand through his hair. “Long way or short way.”

“We took the short way last time,” Tess says, glancing at you. “Nearly got ourselves killed.”

You chew your thumb. “So we take the long way? If things go bad, we’ll figure something out. Drop whatever we have to, head for Bill and Frank’s.”

“And what, leave the kid there?”

“If shit hits the fan, Lincoln first. We check on them, we resupply, and we head for Wyoming. Simple. There are more than enough cities between here and Wyoming with Firefly groups. Chances are we can find another one to drop her at.”

“Nothin’s ever fuckin’ simple, Liv,” Joel grunts, and you shoot him a glare. “Lee had the decency to warn me to stay off the streets tonight. Apparently, the Fireflies freaked FEDRA out, few guys got shot. This is risky.”

“Every single fucking thing we do is risky, Joel. If we wait this out any longer, someone’s gonna come snooping, or Marlene’s gonna rat us out and we’re gonna lose our window. You wanna get to Tommy, this is what we have to do.”

He just glares back.

“I’ll go check out the spot under Lancaster,” Tess offers, and you nod, your eyes stuck on Joel’s.

“Yeah, that’ll work,” you say. “I’ll come with you, keep an eye out. We should leave after dark.” You take a step away from your husband, your eyes still glued to his. “Stay with the kid.”

You start walking away before he can convince you otherwise, but you still hear his protests as you and Tess head back toward the stairs. “Wait. Why do I have to…Liv! Olivia!”

“You’re gonna pay for that one,” Tess mumbles as your feet hit the top step, both of your knees creaking as you make your way back down to the lobby. “He’s right, though. This is risky.”

“It’s all risky. Walking around in broad daylight is risky, these days.”

“You got me there.”

“I knew, you know,” you tell her, gripping the stair rail, “that eventually we’d leave Boston. Just never thought we’d be doing Marlene any fucking favours in the process.”

You reach the lobby, push back out onto the street. It’s still raining, but you weren’t inside long enough to feel dry, and your boots seem to find every puddle as you head toward Lancaster. It was one of the first spots you used, when you first started smuggling. A just-wide-enough storm drain that got hit in the bombings before the QZ walls went up, the tunnel under that opened up on the other side, a large slab of asphalt hiding the exit. More than once, FEDRA’s posted themselves in front of the entrance, close enough to the QZ wall that it gives them a good vantage point.

Today, not a soldier in sight.

“Good,” you mutter, glancing over your shoulder as you and Tess round the corner, trying to look as casual as possible. “We should head back through the market. Pick up some supplies. In case anyone’s tailing us.”

“You know, you’re just as paranoid as your husband, sometimes.”

“Oh, shut it.”

You only make it about ten feet before someone calls Tess’s name. You both freeze, and you haven’t seen Tess go that pale since the last time you ran into a Clicker.

Robin. 

You turn slow, spotting Tess’s ex-girlfriend on the opposite side of the street. She’s dressed in full FEDRA gear, gun at her hip. Last you heard, she was still teaching at the school; what subject, you didn’t know, but clearly something that warranted her carrying a weapon. Maybe teaching the next generation of soldiers how to become shittier shots than the current ones.

Robin’s ponytail swings as she crosses the road to where you’re stood, her dark hair made darker by the rain. “Tess,” she says again, something unreadable in her voice. You don’t know her well enough to get a clear read on her. “Can we talk?”

Tess is rigid as hell at your side, and you turn to look at her. “Tess?”

“Yeah,” she says finally, returning your glance. “Give us a sec.”

With a nod, you wander a few steps back. You’re right at the edge of the market, and you busy yourself trading a couple ration cards for new bootlaces, glancing over at Tess and Robin every few moments. Tess looks exasperated, and when Robin reaches for her, your hand automatically wanders toward the gun tucked in the back of your waistband, hidden beneath your shirt. Tess grabs Robin’s wrist, her expression going hard as she drops her hand forcefully, making Robin stumble back a step.

Without another word, Tess stalks towards you, her face a hard mask. Behind her, Robin lingers in the street for a moment, staring after Tess, before her shoulders slump and she turns away, disappearing around the corner.

“What was that about?”

“Let’s go.”

You wander around the city another hour or so, waiting for the sky to darken, making sure no one’s following you. There are a few people that owe you favours, and you collect on a few, returning to the apartment shortly after curfew with a few extra boxes of ammunition, some dried beef, rolls of bandages.

When you push open the door of your apartment again, they’re both in the living room. Ellie’s perched on the chair by the window, a smug grin on her face, and Joel’s stood in front of the couch, like he just got up, hands braced on his hips. A familiar stance.

He doesn’t say anything as you and Tess step through the door, Tess shutting it behind you. Joel looks at you, then at Ellie, then back at you, his face expectant. “Lancaster looks good,” you say, pulling your coat and Joel’s off the hooks by the doors. Tess swings her back from her shoulders, pulls her own out. “Ellie, you got a jacket in your bag?”

“Yeah,” she answers, a streak of fear in her eyes as she looks at you. 

“Okay,” you nod, “get it. It’s time to go.”

Joel walks over to you, taking his coat when you hold it out to him. He steps close to you, one hand finding a home on your bicep and squeezing. “You good?”

“Fine,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at where Tess is shrugging into her jacket. “We ran into Robin.”

Joel’s brow goes hard. “She…?”

“Tess didn’t tell me,” you reply, reaching up to brush an errant strand of hair from his forehead. “I don’t think she was suspicious. We were in the market, nothing out of the ordinary.” You incline your head toward Ellie. “How’s the kid?”

“Smart ass,” Joel grunts, and you have to stifle your laugh. “Seems scared though. Was askin’ me how many times we’ve done this, if we’d be okay.”

You nod. “We will be.”

“We going or what?” Tess calls, and you tug on Joel’s hand, all of you heading toward the door.

“Wait,” you say, and head for the bookshelf, reaching for the copy of Moby Dick that you’d cut the middle of out. You flip it open, pull out the portable radio Bill had given you. “Just in case.”

Joel just nods to you as you swing your bag from your shoulders, sliding the radio into one of the pockets. “We’ll see them soon,” he reassures you, and you just nod as you all step out of the apartment, pulling the door shut behind you.

You take one last glance around as the door swings closed. Who knows the next time you’ll see this place again.

PREV | NEXT

#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of uis #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x oc #joel miller x liv stone

[inksandpensblog]

The Box

I'm finally watching the episode! These are my stream-of-consciousness thoughts through my initial viewing. This isn't thought-out refined analysis, these are just the thoughts as I have them the moment they appear in my head.

They're getting better at the 3d running/walking animation.

Green being the one to notice details, like in The Village.

Civilization!

Green only drew one but then he just has three more? Cartoon magic or stickfigure magic? Or just saving time on a meta level.

This looks like a nice little toh that's a white-filled head, they're ALL white-filled heads (all look like freehanded circles though)

For a given value of "white," I guess, but they're all very light colors. And they all have head accessories. Interesting...

Okay it's kinda funny that nobody would talk to them and the truck is right there. Did they think the color quartet were giving handouts or something? None of them stopped to listen long enough XD

Ooh, so these are some kind of simulation chambers? Looks like they've simulated a desktop art program.

Hmm, so Orange's ability to just have whatever he wants manifest into existence with the stroke of a pencil is unique to him; these guys try the same motions and all they get are regular lines. (Also if Orange can do all that outside then why are they doing these experiments in the simulation chamber? Is it just for safety or can they not do it outside? Shady could use his toolbar outside just fine...)

Orange's drawings were alive, almost from the first line it seems. Before they even took their shape. These ones aren't.

I don't like how coldly they're treating my boy :(

you.

and then they don't even interact?? okay, so...Victim is pretty single-mindedly focused on whatever is about to happen with Chosen, and whatever it is doesn't involve Orange so Orange is irrelevant to him rn. Why bind him then? Where's he going? :(

he went in. by himself. I'm...not sure how to feel about that. surprised? it's not like the thing had a door. though looking at that control-display, it does look like there's something within the chamber itself that's also containing Chosen. Or is that just the bounding box? I think it's a bounding box actually. So this is also a simulation chamber. (this is giving me all sorts of questions about how the artboard recognizes the toolbar icons as graphics while the tools still retain their functions as tools and I'm gonna stop before I spiral)

oh, it did have a door

WAITAMINUTE why is Victim's bounding box 2d and Chosen's 3d???

...oh. so...Chosen's fire registers as a separate graphic from him, then. good to know??

wait what the- just altering the visual is enough to affect his ability in producing that power??

why did we just cut to the hunter sharpening their spear? don't like that. not while you're stealing all my boy's natural defenses.

that one lingering second after Chosen's lasers die out but before he turns around to face Victim is haunting. Bro's been trapped and depowered again.

Okay nitpick but Victim's head isn't changing shape every frame and it's driving me up the wall. Did he have some work done between the last installment and this one?

I can't tell if I'm supposed to laugh or not at Chosen just standing there and tanking all of Victim's hits, and honestly I like that I can't tell, the dissonance is fun. But putting that aside...Chosen just let the dude have at him like it was no big deal. He didn't actually fight back until he decided he'd had enough. I suppose he could've just been confused about why this guy was attacking him...but he doesn't even block or dodge. He doesn't defend himself, his hands aren't even up, he's not even really in a fighting stance, and it takes him a bit to even retaliate. Even after the first one, his body language is just "bruh why." Which. Is an interesting attitude to have when he's trapped and depowered and being punched by a stranger.

Chosen finally counters, and it cuts to the control panel outside, looks like they're about to raise some setting. I've gotta take a break for a meeting, here's my thought: Victim never left the art program, in AvA1. In a very literal sense, he spent his whole life in it. It's where he found all the things that enabled him to fight back. In a weird way, it makes sense that this is where he's powerful, that this is where he's comfortable fighting. (and I know my personal headcanons are about to get blown outta the water but I'm really glad that I was on the right track in regard to this idea. though something I hadn't ever imagined was that he'd rely on other people to supply those advantages instead of obtaining them himself)

Meeting over, back to the episode! (I wonder if the title of this episode refers to the white chamber Chosen is in or the actual bounding box. Given that the mere appearance of a bounding box in Wanted was enough for many of us to clue in to Victim's involvement, even before he appeared in-person at the end of the episode, I'm leaning that direction. Amazing that it only happened once in the series before Wanted and it was already enough of a legacy to make him recognizable. I'm now realizing that in AvA2 the first thing Chosen did even before attacking the cursor was destroy the bounding box. Also realizing that the bounding boxes in this chamber aren't visible, unlike in the test-chambers in the previous scenes.)

interesting...each of Vicitm's limbs are separate graphics with their own bounding boxes, which is how they looked in the Bloop animation course that Alan made, but it isn't how he was in AvA1. Though he was recognized as a single graphic just a few scenes ago, so that might not mean anything.

why, stop, dude we get it you're strong now you've proved your point stop beating him up-

oh good Chosen's still got his own strength, he's fighting ba- what- okay what, can't take what you dish out??

Ooh, I don't think we've seen Chosen actually throw fire like that (instead of just blasting and halting blasts) since the early episodes.

okay, nice to know that Victim actually can dodge on his own

...don't like how little time it took Chosen to start feeling exhaustion...

...don't like how much trepidation the lasso is giving me. that feels like one of the crueler things to use against Chosen; not because we've seen it used against him before (only Victim and Orange have used it themselves, and only Victim has had it used against him, and good grief Orange and Chosen still don't know how Victim is connected to Alan-) but just because...I really don't want him bound and leashed again, he's been through enough of that. still, I had predicted that we'd see him using the lasso at some point in AvA6. I'm not happy I was right. (man, back before we knew Victim would make a proper return to the series I used to love the idea of him using it again. it's like the clearest example of him outwitting the animator and taking his tools for his own use.)

NOT THE NECK- they've never gone there, I don't like this-

oh what they actually- I was not expecting that. whips haven't appeared in the series before. oh I really don't like this.

God he's crawling back- why-

I had to pause. either the group outside just did something with the controls that Victim wasn't anticipating, or...Chosen felt threatened enough to turn his powers on himself and encase himself in ice as a defense. fuck. someone get him out of there. no flight, can't fight, man was pushed far enough he literally resorted to freeze. The Chosen One. I don't think that's ever happened before.

Fuck, that's just too much, I can't even bring myself to feel excited about seeing the duplicates again. though it is good to know that my headcanon about him needing to be in an art program in order to duplicate himself ended up being accurate. we'll see if my headcanon about it being one Victim with five bodies (as opposed to being five Victims) holds up. if they even have a way to show any difference.

[sighs, pulls AvA1 up in another tab] yep, they're all there. lasso, hammer, extended thumbtack (though it doesn't look like a thumbtack here, which is interesting), whatever that chain-accordion thing is, and the ninja star. why are you doing this? man literally froze himself immobile to get you to stop torturing him, just leave him be.

...haHAHAHA! Oh that felt good, that made me smile. Hopefully this means Chosen has recuperated a bit.

the animation of Victim on fire was so nice I completely missed Chosen breaking the ice XD going back to catch that made me realize that the other Victim duplicates literally just...stood and watched the one burning...

don't let yourself get backed into a corner-

OH he escaped the hold, nice-

I didn't realize until the lasso came back that he'd gotten rid of it when he broke the ice :( but before that he actually uses his fire-breath again, which is always nice to see. interesting to see it concentrated in a thin stream instead of just roaring out like usual.

oh yikes why- him on fire-

...don't do it, man...

OH HE OWNED THAT, LET'S GO!!! Great thinking, Chosen! (heh, nothing about this situation remotely resembles that time Chosen grabbed the cursor and forced it to click him free, but I was reminded of it nonetheless. something about the tool being turned against the user, but in such a different way than Victim does it.)

OH HE- ...oh...I was gonna say oh he learned, he adapted enough that he predicted them flipping his fire and he used that- but then they just nullified it immediately...

Victim don't snap the rope like that, we don't need any more implications we already know you're planning to put him in a world of hurt, why can't you just leave him alone now, what are you trying to prove

hh, back to Orange I guess...

MATH SPOTTED, MATH SPOTTED-

oh! they're bringing him to the- okay that makes sense, if it only works when he does it then obviously the next step to figuring it out is gonna involve him.

wait was he- could he not move when the bounding box was picked up?? (also neat that he immediately got worried once he realized he's in a bounding box, dunno if that's because of what happened in the last episode or if it's just because...he spends a lot of time in an art program so he'd naturally be familiar with what they can do and what it means to be inside one)

...well, nice that they at least get his attention before picking him up

oh now you're being friendly, sure. yeah Orange ain't having it.

okay, [picks up pencil] [instant notetaking] was funny XD

aaw, it's swimming around him

oh it knows what the eraser means

...wait it wasn't an electric eel in the last episode-

hexagons- and the power flickered

okay Orange stumbling around trying to stay out of its way makes it clear that he isn't controlling this thing once he's finished drawing it, it's acting on its own. it...it really feels distressed.

hah, they're all cowering. losers.

oh, back to this.

...did you have to make it so personal, Victim?

a chair

...okay not sure why that happened, could Chosen not just...lean forward? I rewound to watch it again and realized he's exhausted again after the slow-mo ends (is that from the slow-mo itself or just his exertion from the fight before the slow-mo?) and he...doesn't even struggle when Victim lifts him by hand with a lasso to the neck. is...is he just ragdolling now? is he at the point where that's his best option for minimizing conflict?

...he is. he's ragdolling. fuck. (damn you cc!Alan for introducing ragdolling in a comedic short-)

...no? no what?? no, he doesn't know anything about the animator? (which we know isn't true, but why would he deny that?) or no, he isn't going to answer?

don't tie him up, please...

oh now he starts struggling?

...back to ragdolling. good grief, the way they animate his legs just swinging even though they can still touch the floor...

...heh, I appreciate his spirit, especially at this point, but...Chosen you kinda just put yourself in a worse position.

...oh, what is that? I don't think we've seen anything like that before. It's got the floppy disk that's used as the "save" icon in many applications, but it looks kinda like a headset.

...a VR headset specifically, I guess.

OH WHAT- okay rad animation, but WHAT

...oh fuck, I've always wondered if there was a way to see the data that would be a stick's memory. FUCK what are they gonna use this for

wait they're bring Orange here?! Or are they just passing on their way back to the cell? but why are they going back to the cell, was the eel too much for them??

...wait, what? signal lost, I assume because Chosen dislodged it enough to disconnect, and then...instead of picking up where it left off it jumps all the way back to Showdown?? was...was Showdown just on Chosen's mind? or is this the memory of him recalling it right before flying to alanspc to entreat Orange's aid? ...or...are memories from beyond the sky-barrier not compatible? that doesn't make sense...

what's with everyone's reactions to Second's powers?

...I forgot Orange's cell is in here. whoops.

oh this is how he finds out??

hands first ("I did that??") and then his eyes ("Chosen was right??")

...and of course. I expected they'd lock him down with extra security as soon as they realized, but. poor guy.

(dammit I purposefully refrained from making a "dark mode" joke, you didn't have to go and put it on the damn control screen)

...and even after that (which, judging by Victim's reaction, even he hadn't known about Second's powers), the animator is still Victim's priority.

oh, this isn't just any clip of the cursor's involvement in Showdown, this is specifically while Yellow was rendering the cursor in.

and then they immediately pan to Yellow which means that observation is actually gonna be relevant, FUCK-

OH FUCK THE WANTED POSTERS

("earnings growth," so they actually do have a business element to them)

aaand the security cameras caught them peeking out of the truck, they literally just started printing the posters and they've already located Yellow-

that fight is mesmerizing. we haven't seen one like this before, as far as direction and setting. plus it's really interesting to see how the four respond. I might look deeper into that later. also that was a cool transition.

and Yellow is dragged off. The story has never had one of the quartet singled out in-universe by the plot like this before. they aren't even apprehending the others.

...of all the sticks to have a lighter, I never thought it would be Victim.

to be continued. good grief.

I have to eat before work so I'll think on all this and say more later.

#animator vs animation #ava the box #animator vs animation spoilers #ava6 spoilers #ava 6 spoilers

[uglygirlstatus]

Curious to see how you’d rank every Riverdale musical episode

this ask has been in my inbox for months because I could not make up my mind whatsoever and had to rewatch all musical eps 2x each to decide.

Splitting rankings into categories for my own sake: Songs (ranked on both quality and integration), Plot (entertainment value of the storyline points featured), and Iconry (ratio of special/memorable/iconic lines and scenes)

#6. American Psycho

Songs ⭐️⭐️

Plot ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Iconry ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I remember somehow being underwhelmed when I first watched this because I had really hyped myself up after reading the episode description. But now in a post-50sdale world, I realize how lucky we were with this one. We got SlaughterCon, Cheryl and Kevin hexing Toni and Fangs, Betty being gay, Kevin not warning Betty in advance that he added a bit to his musical number where Doctor Curdle Jr dresses as TBK and then getting visibly annoyed with her when she interrupts it fearing for his life, Betty finally killing TBK and he’s literally just wrapped in duct tape and garbage bags, AS WELL AS Archie’s Labour Union all in one episode. However, since this IS a ranking of musical episodes, I’m afraid I can’t let the incredible plot compensate too much for the lack of strong musical bangers.

Stand out lines:

“It’s your dad’s knife. I bought it on eSlay.”

“Betty Cooper, are you hot for agent Drake?”

“You’re one of us. An American Psycho.”

Not a line but shoutout to Lili Reinhart’s boobs in You Are What You Wear.

#5. Carrie

Songs ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Plot ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Iconry ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Cheryls heavily autotuned explosion into “THATS NOT MY NAAAAAAAME” will forever tickle me. And her finale drenching herself in blood and coming to her mother with the candelabra to threaten burning down their mansion for a second time is one of the top ten Cheryl Blossom moments for all time. Everything about the presence of Alice Cooper also kills me like she is IN this high school musical. Madchen I could listen to pitch correction software fighting for its life against your dulcet tones forever. I read in a Twitter thread by the duo who produces all the Riverdale music that Madchen had literally never sung in her entire life prior to this episode. And they still gave her a solo. Amazing. The plot doesn’t carry as much weight for me in this one but the I love the integration of the music, and it also gave us the first ever Beronica duet and Fifi appearance. Oh and rip Midge!

Stand Out Lines:

“I will not succumb to thespian terrorism!”

“I’m not the same girl who burned down Thornhill.” “Sure you are!”

“Nightmare child, what do you want from me?!”

#4. Next to Normal

Songs ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Plot ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Iconry ⭐️⭐️

This one has real emotional impact okay. It was genuinely moving. I love when the musical episodes tackle a huge range of plot lines and still try to apply the niche musical choice of the season to each of them. We have Cooper grieving & family choreography and spite-Jabitha and Cheryl attacking her mother with song & holy water and Varchie being useless and Britta becoming Cheryl’s little child servant/protege. Reggie is there too. Also all of the music hits for real. It’s a shame that “I Am The One” and “I’m Alive” had so much cut in the ep because the spectres of Polly and Charles are killing it on the harmonies in the full versions. I could listen to Lili Reinhart sing all day long. Above all though I think my favourite part is the uncanny photoshop of Alice and Betty and Polly in front of the Next to Normal Broadway poster.

Stand Out Lines:

“YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE JUGHEAD, AND I’M JUST ALL NERVES!”

“I’m gonna eat in the garage.”

“You remind me of Hiram Lodge.” “I don’t know who that is. But please, have a Swelligrino for the road.”

#3. Heathers

Songs ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Plot ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Iconry ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Guys It’s so crazy that Midge literally died in the middle of our musical last year. Anyway time for Heathers! Something fun about this episode is that I first watched it before I was fully Riverdalepilled and was still foolishly rolling my eyes at the show while I watched with my mom and sister. I was like “guys Heathers is actually a great musical, it’s going to be hard for me to see what Riverdale does to it”. We began watching and very soon my mom and sister were commenting on the music. It quickly dawned on me that they were complaining about the aspects of the show that were more or less unchanged from the original musical. And I had a great epiphany moment where I realized 1) Heathers is sort of bad 2) if I loved Heathers the musical in earnest then why should I not love Riverdale? Heathers was actually PERFECTLY CRAFTED to be performed by the Riverdale cast. Anyway. This episode had a lot going for it. Lodge divorce arc straight into Veronica partying. Kevin’s sudden perm. Toni’s threesome fake out. Our favourite Chad Michael Murray Rhythmic cult clapping. And of course KJ Apa doing this

Stand Out Lines

“Did you have a lobotomy for breakfast?”

“Here I invented red. I AM red. *snaps*”

“Evelyn called a closed rehearsal for select members in the Gargoyle Chamber.”

#2. Archie the Musical

Songs ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Plot ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Iconry ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

This one had EVERYTHINGGGGGGGG. Fun with the meta narrative and original songs mixed with covers taken from various obscure and specific sources and by far some of the most fun choreography and sets of all musical episodes since they were able to be so free with it. Seeing Gay Kevin back in his natural habitat of directing the school musical was so heartwarming. Jughead and Reggie quitting immediately. Archie going left. And Archie going right. Bisexually. Julian demolishing Archie vocally every chance he gets. And knowing it. Also every single facial expression and mannerism that Julian has in this episode is god tier. Actually kj apa too. Actually also Lili and Camilla. SANDWICH? The loudest in-song sound effects we’ve ever experienced. Archie the happiest he’s ever been in his life on the back of Toni’s bike. BERONICA - PRIMAL AND INTENSE! My review is barely coherent because this one does fill me with silly giddy joy. Plot loses a star because how the hell are we expected to care about Gay Kevin’s divorcing parents. I know “ohh suffering isn’t a competition ohhh” Ethel just watched her parents get murdered by a milkman and no one sang for her.

Stand Out Lines:

“I don’t wanna be a drip, but it’s super distracting when my understudy is singing literally at the same time as me!”

“You completely captured the longing of being in a queer, interracial relationship in the 1950s.”

“Maybe there are other more emotionally complex mountains to climb.”

“The new Archie, Julian, he’s even better than the real Archie!”

#1. Hedwig and the Angry Inch

Songs ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Plot ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Iconry ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

On a 9 hour flight to Europe in the Summer I had all the Riverdale musical eps downloaded to rewatch and then noticed that among the plane’s complimentary movie selections was the original movie of Hedwig and the Angry Inch, which was pure kismet. I decided to watch the movie for the first time prior to rewatching the Riverdale ep and I was blown away. Knowing the context of all the songs and musical they chose to include in the episode made everything so much more insane. The song about feeling like a stranger in your body after surgical malpractice being used for the Bughead conflict over Juggie prioritizing mysteries over finishing high school and Varchie conflict over Archie not telling Veronica about her dad’s epic fail at the gym. 20? something year old gay Kevin proclaiming WE ARE GENERATION Z before jumping into Random Number Generation. The BIZARRELY spliced version of the best ever rendition of Origin of Love all for BARCHIE FODDER?!? Actually all the rest of the songs were perfectly fitting no notes. Anyway hallway full of students in Hedwig drag one of the top Riverdale shots ever though I forever mourn KJ Apa’s absence. At least he got to kiss a man in this one. The plane hit turbulence while I watching the Midnight Radio scene but I was so happy witnessing it in that moment that I thought to myself “it would be ok if I died right now”.

Stand Out Lines:

“Writing a book report? Now I know how Sisyphus must have felt.”

“It celebrates identities, genders, expressions of all kinds.”

“[scoffs] How queer-phobic of you.”

“There’s a problem that comes once you get caught up on your homework. Your mind wanders and evil creeps back in.”

I was convinced Archie the Musical would come out on top for me due to the obscene level of euphoria I felt upon first experiencing it but after intensive review I do have to say Hedwig wins. Ultimately I miss the original timeline that much and I am all for the events that eventually tear apart everyone’s relationships and most of all it gave us Origin of Love full version Riverdale cast edition. But know that it is so so so so so close between the two. And honestly really all 6 are close in my heart as this exercise reminded me just how much the musical episodes are to watch and rewatch.

#idk why I treated this like a life or death question #riverdale #t #ask #riverdale musical ranking #long post

[spacecowboyhotch]

summary: you’re a cowboy like me.

pairing: cowgirl!reader x cowboy!din djarin

contents: 18+ content, loneliness, alcohol mention, smoking mention, typical Wild West violence & values (light torture, murder, stealing), pining if you squint

word count: 2.6k

an: the urge to write real recognizes real as the summary was strong. just a heads up that these two are NOT GOOD PEOPLE. they aren’t honorable or heroic and some of this will be pretty fucked up. with that being said, here is the first chapter! honestly i’m so excited to share this with y’all, let me know what ya think!

series masterlist | writing masterlist

Being a nomad of sorts has its perks, or at least that’s how you’ve always framed it. You’re slippery as a snake, sliding in and out of rich folks' lives just when they start to thinking you’ll be sticking around. It gets you a hoard of benefits; weapons and supplies for the never-ending road, bonds to sell, and stacks of money to hold you over as you sneak into the quiet of the night. You do your best to leave on decent terms— especially if you can imagine returning to some of these places— but some just can’t understand the way you live. You’ve learned to live with their disappointment.

Your life has been days and days of being misunderstood, what’s another?

It’s not the easiest way to live by any means and at times when the night is too cold or the afternoons too hot you wish that you could settle down like others do. But you are wiser than that. If you were to settle down somewhere, that loneliness that only rears its head every blue moon would become a daily occurrence. Yes, this life can be lonely, but at least there is some semblance of connection you find in learning someone so well that you wiggle into their heart. Charm takes intimacy, and you’re only equipped to handle that on a one-way street. The bridge to your heart crumbled and collapsed with the loss of your family, what feels like eons ago. From that moment on, this wandering shell of a person is who you became.

You’re settled just on the outskirts of a quiet, quaint town named Strawberry. There’s a little rundown shack near a stretch of wood that’s perfect for your party of one. Your first stop after securing the shack and leaving a few things behind is getting a hot meal at the saloon. There’s only so much foraged produce and rice cakes a person can live on before the belly craves more.

It’ll also give you a chance to scope things out— more specifically the people that seem to be in need of lightening their pockets from the tricks up your sleeve. This saloon is tinier than the ones you have been to before, but the mouthwatering scent of garlic and various herbs is mixed with cigarette smoke and the rowdy sound of nightly celebrations and poker chips. There’s a variety of folks here, women and men of all kinds, helpful in making sure you don’t stick out as you survey the place.

From what you’ve seen so far of the town it’s aptly named, the folks are sweet and welcoming. The guilt that used to sit in your heart about conning people like this has faded. You’re surviving, do what you can and must. It’s nothing personal, just the way life goes. But you do go out of your way to go for assholes, and the rich of the rich. Sometimes you even give back. There’s some semblance of honor you live by, even if it’s not much.

It's just a week later that things change— life changes, your path unknowingly transforming in just a matter of seconds. Because the moment you meet him, you know he’s the one.

Not like in those cheesy, bullshit stories girls at every saloon fawn over. Not like the love your mother and father used to spew, the love that was so genuine but as you grew felt more and more unattainable. But like you’ve always wanted— like you’ve convinced yourself you can handle.

He can be your partner, he can make this life a little bit easier.

A partner would make this game easier for you. As a woman in the West, the target on your back was bigger than the noon sun. No level of mastery can make being a woman less dangerous. But, with a man on your side? That could open doors you hadn’t dared try to rattle.

And him? Well when he’d asked you to dance, you were sure he was the one. Mostly because he hadn’t truly asked, partially because of the bright mischievousness in his dark brown eyes. How could his eyes show you the future with a color so deep? Contradictory pulled you in. He could do the impossible and that was exactly what you needed.

He walks in and right up to you, tipping his hat before removing it and placing it on the bar. His head is a mop of messy black hair, his mouth full and soft despite what you can imagine is a rough lifestyle. His hands speak to it, calloused and dry and strong. With broad shoulders and an expansive chest, he’s attractive, it’s impossible to deny it. But that’s as far as you’ll let yourself go, you must think about his ability, about his skills and practicality.

You can tell he’s airish, smoother than the finest leather money could buy. He’s you, but better. You’re good at what you do, and you take pride in it, but there’s something about him that just says he’s better. His competence hangs in the air and the way he holds himself.

His voice is soft, but firm, full of confidence, “Dance with me, girl.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “Depends on what sort of dancin’ you’re looking for, boy.”

His expression stays stiff besides his eyes that somehow glow even brighter at your quip. “The kind where you put one foot in front of the other. Sway a little.”

“That’s not something I’m lookin’ for.”

His mouth twitches ever so slightly, “Don’t I know it.”

“Then why’d you ask?” You question, brows knitting together.

“How else was I gonna catch your attention? Been here the entire week and you haven’t even given me a glance.”

“Seems you’ve caught me at a disadvantage then…”

“Folks call me Djarin. You can call me Din.”

You wince, shaking your head at him like he’s just committed some sin. In the world that you live in, he practically has.

“That your real name?”

“You think I’m lyin’?”

“I’m sure you have some idea what I think about you. But what makes me so special, Din?” You challenge, tilting your head at him.

He shrugs– as nonchalant as ever as he says, “Takes one to know one.”

Try as you might, you can’t hold back the laugh that rises in your throat, “You’re callin’ yourself special?”

He doesn’t bat an eyelash at your mockery— not only has he seen plenty in his day but he can see you down to your core, knowing you don’t mean it. Knowing you see him just the same. “Don’t you think so?”

You can’t argue with that. Instead of saying anything, you throw back the rest of your drink, nodding your head towards the bartender as if to ask Din if he wants a drink of his own.

You and Din don’t dance, and it’s he who ends up buying you a drink. Din clearly isn’t much of a talker but the space that settles between you feels surprisingly…comfortable. The two of you sip and watch the happenings of the saloon, no doubt searching for any possible targets to sink your claws into. There are a few that catch your eye, though there’s one man in particular, clearly drunk and full of himself by the way he won’t leave some of the women alone even after they say no. That coupled with the way he flashes his belt buckle one too many times makes him perfect. You know solid gold when you see it, and just like that he’s on your list.

When he finishes his drink he leans in, voice so quiet you have to lean in too to hear him. His voice is deep, smooth like honey in your ear, “Tomorrow mornin’, meet me on the outskirts of town. The west side near that little quarry. You know it?”

“Yeah, I know it. What’s there?” You ask curiously.

“You’ll see. Just before dawn,” Is all he says before placing a few bills on the bar and leaving.

Soon after you take your own leave, saddling up on your horse and heading back to your shack. Before you slip into slumber, you realize that he never asked you for your name. You’d lie to him even if he asks, a rule of the trade— one he’d broken for you, though you won’t let yourself look too much into that. But until then, you suppose you’ll both be satisfied with mystery.

Sleep is easy and peaceful, filled with dreams of two horses walking down a long winding path to a hidden lake amidst a lush garden. They drink and lounge there for what feels like a sweet eternity.

A summer morning can be many things but this one is damp and muggy– the heat oppressive. The sound of cicadas and early morning birds fill the air despite the sun’s slumber. When you wake you wash in the nearby river before dressing in a lightweight button-down and jeans, ditching the jacket that kept you warm at night. You head to the spot Din had told you about.

You would be lying if you weren’t wary— some random man telling you to meet in a location he’s chosen the night after meeting him is a risky game. But you’re fully armed, even your hunting rifle slung along your shoulders instead of stowed on your horse. Dutiful Augustine. She never disappoints.

The first thing that you notice when Din comes into view is that he’s not alone. There’s a man restrained on the ground and by the way he’s laid, you know he’s unconscious.

Is this what he called you here for?

Din takes one last drag of his cigarette as you approach, flicking it and snuffing the rest of its ember out with his boot.

“You showed,” His expression is tame as before but you can hear the warmth in his voice. It makes your tummy tingle.

“Did you doubt me?” You ask playfully, dismounting your horse.

“Not one bit.”

You bite away your smile, pointing at the man who’s lying on the ground, “Who’s this?”

“A present.” He says simply. At your raised brow, Din removes the cover from the man’s head. “You were eyeing him last night weren’t you?”

The smile that spreads across your face is brighter than the rising sun and Din’s heart flutters.

“I was. How’d you know?”

“We’re the same, ain’t we?”

There’s him reading your mind again. You’re playing it safe, not wanting to get your hopes up or let your guard down so you shrug, training your eyes on the man who’s knocked out and typed up in front of you.

“Wake him.”

Din takes his canteen from his horse and douses the man in water until he sputters awake.

The man takes in his surroundings quickly, panic in his eyes, “L-Look, I don’t want no trouble. Anything you two want you can have.”

You stoop down in front of the man, smoothing the wet hair in his face back, “Well, aren’t you a gentleman today. Last night, now that’s a different story.”

You see the moment the man recognizes you from the saloon. He shakes his head, glancing up at Din as if he’ll be some savior.

“No, no, look at her,” Din says firmly.

The grin on your face widens at his deferrence and your eyes meet his briefly before you look at the man again. “What’s your name?”

“Kurt.”

“Kurt?” Din repeats, disgusted. It almost makes you want to giggle, but you focus on the task at hand.

“Where do you live, Kurt?”

“In Strawberry,” The man says begrudgingly.

Your brows raise at the man’s sass given his current predicament,“Well, I imagined that since you were in the saloon last night.”

“You don’t live here and you were there.”

You reach out, gripping his chin with a firm grip that makes him struggle with the restraints, “Did I say you should speak on me and where I live?

“N-no.”

“Good, then we’re on the same page. Now— where do you live Kurt?”

“Listen, my brother lives there you can’t just—“

Before Kurt can finish his sentence you slap him across the face, hard enough that when he looks at you once more there’s blood in the corner of his mouth. You reach to your hip, hand resting on the hilt of the knife you have sheathed there and Kurt’s eyes go wide.

“You’re mouthy,” You say, displeasure obvious in your voice.

“T-three houses down from the saloon. To the left if you’re facing it.”

You look up at Din, raising a brow at him.

He shakes his head, kicking the man in the back, “Wasn’t the way you were walking last night.”

Through a cry of pain, Kurt tries to rationalize with the two of you, “I was drunk, why d’ya think it was so easy for you to get me?”

“Shit-talking my partner and a liar? You’ve got plenty of nerve for a man at my mercy.”

Din shifts on his feet, his heart fluttering in his chest again at the sound of you calling him his partner. The two of you haven’t discussed a lick of anything. He was right about you— he knew he would be. His eyes are glued to your face, drinking in every sadistic expression that graces your features, every harsh word that comes from your mouth. He’s enamored.

“No, I swear, that’s the house.”

“Kurt. It’s early. Do you see?” You grip his jaw, turning his head towards the light that peaks over the horizon. “The sun is just rising. It is early— I hate getting up early, don’t I, Djarin?”

“She does.”

“And now, you’re making this early mornin’ worse by lying to us. You think that’s wise?”

“I’m not lyin’!”

“I don’t like it when people force my hand, Kurt. I value making my own decisions but look at you, you’ve done it.” You slip the knife from the sheath, pressing it to the column of his throat. “Tell me which house, and we’ll make this fast.”

Kurt’s seen your faces, there’s no way that you could let him live, even if part of you wanted to. This’ll be the test. You know that Din won’t fail, you knew that moment you laid your eyes on him. But, if there’s nothing your daddy taught you, it’s to be thorough. Din is a man after all, and all men fall short at one time or another.

“Wait a minute now— wait just one minute—“

“Shhhh, everything’s just fine, yeah? The house, Kurt, focus,” Your voice is kind, sweet and smooth despite the force you use to press the knife against his skin.

Kurt’s shoulders drop in defeat as he murmurs, “It’s the one across from the general store.”

“See, s’all I wanted,” You take the knife away from his throat before looking up at Din who gives you a slow, understanding nod.

“Now all y’all need to do is untie me, I swear to God I won’t tell a soul. And I don’t swear on God, I don’t take the Lord's name in vain.”

“I believe you, Kurt. I really do.” You pat the man on the cheek before standing. “Din.”

As you back away, Din steps forward, sliding his gun out of his holster. Kurt begs and pleads, he pulls on his restraints and even tries to crawl away despite the way his legs are tied together. Din doesn’t let him get far, not wanting to give him any hope or waste anymore time on the man. Neither of your horses flinch or make a sound when the gun goes off. Neither do either of you.

He bends to take the shining belt buckle from the man’s hips, holding it out to you as he asks, “How ‘bout we go check out his homestead?”

You nod, take the buckle from his hand and slide it into the sack on your horse, “Lead the way forward.”

ch. 2: like it could be love

taglist: @honeybrowne, @hotchs-bitch, @jazzelsaur, @lesbianhotch, @ivyheliotrope, @campingwiththecharmings, @frogers, @juneknight

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #cowboy din djarin #the mandalorian au #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #arson writes mando #gardens of babylon

[woundgallery]

Doubt by Fanny Howe

Virginia Woolf committed suicide in 1941 when the German bombing campaign against England was at its peak and when she was reading Freud whom she had staved off until then.

Edith Stein, recently and controversially beatified by the Pope, who had successfully worked to transform an existential vocabulary into a theological one, was taken to Auschwitz in August 1942.

Two years later Simone Weil died in a hospital in England—of illness and depression—determined to know what it is to know. She, as much as Woolf and Stein, sought salvation in a  choice of words.

But multiples succumb to the sorrow induced by an inexact vocabulary.

While a whole change in discourse is a sign of conversion, the alteration of a single word only signals a kind of doubt about the value of the surrounding words. Poets tend to hover over words in this troubled state of mind.  What holds them poised in this position is the occasional eruption of happiness.

While we would all like to know if the individual person is a phenomenon either culturally or spiritually conceived and why everyone doesn’t kill everyone else, including themselves, since they can—poets act out the problem with their words.

Why not say “heart-sick” instead of “despairing”? Why not say “despairing” instead of “depressed”?

Is there, perhaps, a quality in each person—hidden like a laugh inside a sob—that loves even more than it loves to live? If there is, can it be expressed in the form of the lyric line?

Dostoevsky defended his later religious belief, saying of his work, “Even in Europe there have never been atheistic expressions of such power.  My hosannah has gone through a great furnace of doubt.”

According to certain friends, Simone Weil would have given everything she wrote to be a poet.  It was an ideal but she was wary of charm and the inauthentic.  She saw herself as stuck in fact with a rational prose line for her surgery on modern thought.  She might be the archetypal doubter but the language of the lyric was perhaps too uncertain.

As far as we know she wrote a play and some poems and one little prose poem called Prologue. Yet Weil could be called a poet, if Wittgenstein could, despite her own estimation of her writing, because of the longing for a conversion that words might produce. In Prologue the narrator is an uprooted seeker who still hopes that a transformation will come to her from the outside.  The desired teacher arrives bearing the best of everything, including delicious wine and bread, affection, tolerance, solidarity (people come and go) and authority.  This is a man who even has faith and loves truth.

She is happy.  Then suddenly, without any cause, he tells her it’s over.  She is out on the streets without direction, without memory.  Indeed she is unable to remember even what he told her without his presence there to repeat it, this amnesia being the ultimate dereliction.

If memory fails, then the mind is air in a skull.

This loss of memory forces her to abandon hope for either rescue or certainty.

And now is the moment where doubt—as an active function—emerges and magnifies the world.  It eliminates memory.  And it turns eyesight so far outwards, the vision expands.  A person feels as if she is the figure inside a mirror, looking outwards for her moves.  She is a forgery.

When all the structures granted by common agreement fall away and that “reliable chain of cause and effect” that Hannah Arendt talks about—breaks—then a person’s inner logic also collapses.  She moves and sees at the same time, which is terrifying.

Yet strangely it is in this moment that doubt shows itself to be the physical double to belief; it is the quality that nourishes willpower, and the one that is the invisible engine behind every step taken. Doubt is what allows a single gesture to have a heart.

In this prose poem Weil’s narrator recovers her balance after a series of reactive revulsions to the surrounding culture by confessing to the most palpable human wish: that whoever he was, he loved her.

Hope seems to resist extermination as much as a roach does.

Hannah Arendt talks about the “abyss of nothingness that opens up before any deed that cannot be accounted for.”  Consciousness of this abyss is the source of belief for most converts.  Weil’s conviction that evil proves the existence of God is cut out of this consciousness.

Her Terrible Prayer—that she be reduced to a paralyzed nobody—desires an obedience to that moment where coming and going intersect before annihilation. And her desire: “To be only an intermediary between the blank page and the poem” is a desire for a whole-heartedness that eliminates personality. Virginia Woolf, a maestro of lyric resistance, was frightened by Freud’s claustrophobic determinism since she had no ground of defense against it.  The hideous vocabulary of mental science crushed her dazzling star-thoughts into powder and brought her latent despair into the open air. Born into a family devoted to skepticism and experiment, she had made a superhuman effort at creating a prose-world where doubt was a mesmerizing and glorious force.

Anyone who tries, as she did, out of a systematic training in secularism, to forge a rhetoric of belief is fighting against the odds.  Disappointments are everywhere waiting to catch you, and an ironic realism is always convincing.

Simone Weil’s family was skeptical too, and secular and attentive to the development of the mind.  Her older brother fed her early sense of inferiority with intellectual put-downs.  Later, her notebooks chart a superhuman effort at conversion to a belief in affliction as a sign of God’s presence.

Her prose itself is tense with effort.  After all, to convert by choice (that is, without a blast of revelation or a personal disaster) requires that you shift the names for things, and force a new language out of your mind onto the page.

You have to make yourself believe.  Is this possible?  Can you turn “void” into “God” by switching the words over and over again? Any act of self-salvation is a problem because of death which always has the last laugh, and if there has been a dramatic and continual despair hanging over childhood, then it may even be impossible. After all, can you call “doubt” “bewilderment” and suddenly be relieved?

Not if your mind has been fatally poisoned. . . . But even then, it seems the dream of having no doubt continues, finding its way into love and work where choices matter exactly as much as they don’t matter—at least when luck is working in your favor.

#fanny howe #virginia woolf #simone weil #literature #essay #woolf notes #words #weil notes #favorite literature

[bangtanhoneys]

The Queen's Guard - Grace & Staff

The Queen’s Guard, affectionately given to the team behind Grace’s solo career, was a force of nature the likes the industry had never seen before. Even IU didn’t have this type of team behind her. From Bang Shi-hyuk, PDogg, a team of choreographers, and stylists, Sejin, a team of bodyguards and a whole of team dancers - they were a force that seemed to be unstoppable.

As one ARMY quoted when they saw Sejin, BTS’ manager for many years, back in the fold and leading the way in front of Grace at Incheon airport with a team of bodyguards around the two then what seemed to be another four managers including a woman - “It looked like the queen had arrived with her army. Like everyone parted way for the arrival of the queen and her team wasn’t going to stop anyone from getting in the way.”

Bang Shi-Hyuk

It was hard to get time to see Bang PD when his time was directed overseas or in meetings, dealing with HYBE and other business arrangements. However, when it came to his only female idol, he cleared his schedule for the whole week and flew back to Seoul immediately. The news about BTS's ‘hiatus,’ as the media was calling it, had been announced only a few days later and already he had phone calls from shareholders about the dip in value their stocks had taken.

However, he had no plans to deal with that. He had bigger fish to fry.

He scheduled a meeting for her the day after he flew in and what walked through the door wasn’t the Grace he had met all those years ago. This was a scared young woman who didn’t know what was coming, who didn’t know what the next three years were going to bring her. He patted her on the arm and showed her to his desk, taking the seat next to her instead of the ‘big boss’ chair.

“What do you want to do Hea?” he asked, referring to her Korean name.

“I don’t know. I want to do things differently compared to the boys and I don’t want anything I want to do to interfere with what they want to do. I’d rather wait till they all go to the military or all the days are announced so the boys can enjoy their solo careers.”

Ever thinking about her boys instead of herself.

“We can do that. We can assemble a team who you’re familiar with to start planning and guiding and I’ll be there every step of the way,” he promised and reached over to take her hand, giving it a squeeze.

They stayed silent for a moment. It had been thirteen years since they had first met when she was nineteen years old, straight out of education and looking for a job as a dancer but was hired for her vocals for background use and then as an assistant. Now look at her, one of the biggest bands the world has ever seen.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

PDogg

Her first mixtape, Dangerous Woman, had been an absolute success thanks to the combined efforts of PDogg, Hitman Bang, Yoongi and Namjoon. Two of those people were now facing a career in the military and so now it was down to Hitman Bang and PDogg.

A meeting with what had become the Queen’s Guard, consisting of Hitman Bang, PDogg, other producers at BigHit, Sejin and a few others as well as Grace had taken place a week after Seokjin’s military announcement. A whole day had been dedicated to what Grace wanted her next mixtape to be but she soon surprised them all.

“The boys are doing albums, apart from Seokjin, so I want to do the same. But I want CD one to be the Dangerous Woman mixtape and CD two to be the new songs. All in English. And I want to do a tour with the album, and if it’s not enough, maybe release another mixtape with other songs to fill in the gap.”

Evidently, Hitman Bang hadn’t been expecting that as he sat there at the top of the table and stared at her with his jaw dropped.

“All in English? No Korean?” PDogg asked, making a couple of notes on his pad.

“All in English. I can do remixes of the songs in Korean for maybe a B-Side but I want this to focus on English. This album is all about me and my thoughts and my feelings and everything I see so it has to be English.”

“If you say you’ve got lyrics already, there are no promises I won’t kiss you Hea,” PDogg warned.

Grace simply grinned and lifted up a notebook, the same one she got from Jungkook for Mother’s Day, filled to the brim with lyrics. “Better bring those kisses.”

“Well, look’s like you’re going to be busy,” Sejin laughed at the sight of PDogg pressing many kisses to the top of Grace’s head before stealing the notebook.

Sejin

When Sejin got the phone call from Hitman Bang, he was completely taken aback. He had been promoted to the artist protocol department and a manager for ENHYPEN. He had been with BTS from the very beginning and missed them very much, though he saw them every now and then. He never expected to be getting a call about them, especially from the boss.

“Grace is coming.”

Those three words were all that were given to him.

And he was immediately at HYBE.

“Grace is going ahead with her solo career and I believe she needs a manager who can focus solely on her and her needs. And given your history with her and the history with the boys, I think you’re the best one for the job. Plus she misses you.”

The reunion had been a long time coming and he first saw her again at a meeting with lawyers and executives. She didn’t care for decorum the moment she saw her favourite manager standing at the door, apologising for interrupting.

“Sejin-oppa,” she gasped and quickly ran over to him to give him a big hug.

“Are you coming back?” she quietly asked him and the squeeze she got in return was everything she needed.

The Queen’s Guard had their general back.

Other Staff

New stylists and make-up artists were brought on board for the sole focus on Grace. There were many meetings as the music was being produced as to what themes and colours Grace wanted to pick from, what costumes and clothes, and what would be more suited for her body rather than adapting the boy's costume to fit her.

When the contract for Alexander McQueen, Balmain and Louboutin had all been signed, her stylists threw a sleepover party at HYBE so they could go through all the choices of clothing and shoes the designers had sent Grace.

Her bodyguards were also from the same team that had been around the boys since day one. She had been signed one in particular, ARMY would later recognise him from Yoongi’s concerts as the one that was fancam’d the most. All bodyguards were older than her so there would be no rumours.

Choreographers were spearheaded by the usual team with the added addition of Sienna from In the Labs and Brian Puspos. They were instrumental in creating new choreography for her singles, reflecting more her style to suit her dancing history and body.

Moments with the staff

The airport had a bigger turnout than usual ever since it was announced that Grace would be departing to start her solo career by attending a fashion show in London, with her being the main ‘face’ of it. The amount of fans present was slightly alarming and even local police had been called in to control the public as well as the press.

The slight army of bodyguards hanging around the car was soon pointed out by local press who could be heard saying that this wasn’t normal for idols.

The moment Sejin appeared, ARMY screamed his name causing him to turn and look, giving them a slight bow.

Another manager got out of the car, an older lady this time, and she stood in front of the open door to speak to the bodyguards for a moment. The moment she stepped aside to let Grace out, the noise volume increased.

Sejin went to the front with one main bodyguard, the rest surrounding Grace and the lady who kept an arm wrapped around Grace’s waist, giving her a slight squeeze. But Grace bowed to everyone she saw, stopping briefly for photos before leaving towards the private lounge.

She had gone live while in London as they were prepping for the fashion show and ARMY went nuts when they saw Sejin come in with a mug of hot chocolate, a blanket and a hot water bottle. “That time of the month,” Grace had said with a sigh as she was tucked in.

BANGTAN BOMBS showing Grace in tall heels, being guided by Sejin or her female manager, with her styling and make up team following her. All hands out ready to help her if needed.

#bts 8th member #bts additional member #bts eighth member #bts female member #bts scenarios #bts fic

[thydungeongal]

This is part 2 of my ongoing series where I talk about dice probabilities using examples from actual factual tabletop RPGs while not actually saying much but numbers are pretty

As said before, my tables are absolute dogshit but they do the job. You can find the first two posts where I talk about the maths in D&D 5e and how Advantage affects the odds vs how Pathfinder 2e does it and why individual modifiers are more meaningful in Pathfinder here. This is going to be long so I'm going to put the rest after the cut. Today I'll be talking about 2d6.

Anyway when I started talking about how I visualize probabilities I showed you this table:

That's the sum of 2d6. It's one of the simplest spreads you can do that kind of mimics a normal distribution. I say kinda because it absolutely isn't a normal distribution. But what is similar to a normal distribution about it is that results at the extremes are the least likely while results in the middle are the most likely.

The moment you start using more than one die and summing them or subtracting them you're going to get a smoother distribution of numbers. D&D's traditional method of rolling attributes with 3d6 produces results that mostly congregate around 10 and 11 but with a few stragglers around the 8 to 13 range. Results of 3 and 18 are very rare. Sure, you could achieve the same thing with a single die. You could roll a d20 and then have a table where each result on the d20 is converted into a value from 1 to 8 in staggered steps so that 1 and 8 are least likely and 4 and 5 are most likely... but you'll be going to a lot of trouble for very little benefit.

So summing up those dice is where it's at. Of course what you do with this is important because while that nice curve is great if you set your target numbers wrong it's not going to be a great experience. If you set up the average target number at 10 most characters are going to fail unless you set the modifiers very high. But if you set the modifiers too high they'll end up overwhelming the dice and the dice will become mostly moot.

Anyway so staying in this 2d6 space, how do we calculate probabilities? Well it's simple: as I said last time, this is just geometry. That sum of 2d6 table is just a square. It's got 6×6, so 36, blocks. To figure out the probability of a certain number occurring we simply calculate the number of blocks with that number and divide it by the total number of blocks. So, the probability of getting a 2 on 2d6, or P(2d6=2)=1/36.

If we need the probability of getting a range of numbers we simply total up the area those numbers cover and divide by total area. So, probability of getting a 2, 3 or 4, or P(2d6=2..4)=6/36, or ⅙. (Again, apologies for my notation to all math knower. I'm an English major.)

Anyway, finally I get to talk about a game that I think is a fantastic example of how to use 2d6: Apocalypse World. I know that Apocalypse World has spawned a bunch of other games that use its system (collectively referred to as Powered by the Apocalypse or PbtA) but AW is the great grand daddy of all these games and while it is like thirteen years old at this point I feel it is still a masterclass in game design in its own way.

Also, as a quick aside: shout out to @prokopetz whose post about this was the first to really open my eyes to how well-considered AW's maths are. I have played a lot of PbtA games for a while now and while I do think on an intuitive level I sort of got what the games were doing mechanically, I never actually thought about the maths that deep until I saw that post.

Anyway, AW uses 2d6+Stat in every situation where you need to roll. Stats have a seemingly narrow range of -2 to +3, but we'll eventually see why that range is actually very meaningful. Apocalypse World doesn't fuck with a lot of modifiers. At most you'll have a +2 or -2 if someone is helping you or interfering with you and they roll high, but the most common modifiers are in the +1 and -1 range. Most of the time you won't even have modifiers and will simply go with just your stats.

Another thing Apocalypse World doesn't fuck with is variable difficulty. All moves use the exact same target numbers. The game is much more concerned with modeling consequences than pure difficulty. Fighting against a guy with a knife is easier than fighting against a guy with a machine gun in the sense that if you fail or only partially succeed the first one won't do a lot of damage to you.

What that means is that your roll after modifiers is always read the same way: if your total is 6 or lower you fail and the MC gets to make the hardest move that follows against you. Basically, one of the worst things that could possibly happen as a result of your action happens. A total of 7 to 9 means that you succeed but at a consequence or there is some cost attached to your success. A 10 or higher means you succeed as well as you possibly could. (Note: a 10+ doesn't always mean you're free of consequence. In Apocalypse World if you engage in single combat you always exchange harm. At best you will inflict more harm than usual and suffer less harm than usual, but unless you're really heavily armored and your enemy is unarmed you're not walking out of a fight unscathed.)

As prokopetz stated in the aforementioned post, the statistical trick at play is that if you're going flat with no modifiers the most likely result is going to be a success but with some consequence. A 7 is the most likely result on 2d6. By the pure numbers you will more likely than not at least scrape by (the probability of getting a 7 or higher is 21/36)... but that still leaves a sizable chunk (15/36) in the six or less range.

Anyway, I have charted out the probabilities of the various AW numbers. I have limited myself to a floor of -2 (the lowest possible attribute) and a cap of +4 (highest possible attribute of +3 and a +1 forward), because this will be the most common range of rolls and even -2 and +4 I feel will be very rare.

I feel this illustrates a number of things: first of all, the aforementioned point about flat rolls being risky. The most common result on a flat roll is a success with a consequence and that chunk that represents failure is still pretty sizable. But it also demonstrates how powerful a single +1 or -1 can be. This is due to using the 2d6.

When you're rolling a single die with a flat distribution like a d20 a +1 is always worth 1/dice size. On a d20 with binary success and failure a +1 is always worth a 5% increase in the chance to succeed.

On a 2d6 it depends on what you're looking for. For an example, if we consider any result of at least a 7 a success then on a flat +0 you have a 21/36 chance of success. With a +1 it jumps up to 26/36. Expressed in percentages that means an approximate 14% increase. But a +2 only makes your odds of success 30/36. There is a sort of an inherent system of diminishing returns to using multiple dice, but AW counters this with its use of graded results: a +1 is not only increasing your chance of a pure binary success, but also your odds of gaining a qualitatively better type of success.

But speaking of diminishing returns, that is absolutely something that systems utilizing multiple dice excel at modeling. It's basically built into the math. If you need a 7 to succeed on a 2d6 a +1 is a huge leap in terms of increasing your odds. Going from a -1 to a +0 is even more huge. Once you add more dice you can start getting even more fine-grained with the math. But that's a discussion for another day.

#long post #maths #diceposting

[titleknown]

So, a new anti-AI-art post is making the rounds because of course it is, and while I have not breached the paywall to read the paper, I do think the summarized version of it the author provides has some holes worth poking.

Past the break, because this gets long.

Anyhoo, their core argument is that AI art people are just capitalists who see art as a profitable object and do not exhibit those four fundamental values of But like... this is just casual observation, but I have seen a lot of those values in the AI art community amongst itself.

They share models and tips on how they use the tool! I rarely see them doing it for lucre! I see creators who've used AI art to integrate into other mediums they've worked with! I've seen people with major motor disabilities welcomed. I have seen authenticity in garbage AI art; in aggregate from singular creators.

There is a reason I say that to make good AI art, you need to approach it like an artist.

And like, AI art has genuine logistical issues that make it uniquely difficult to integrate into communities, the "flooding" that turbofucked Deviantart and the harassment problem that is "spite models,"

But beyond that I think it is not just, as they blithely dismiss, "AI art can be used for good" but I think it is even possible to integrate AI artists into communities that share those values. Because I have seen those values at work in AI art communities.

There are simple things that can be done, like normalizing charging as much for AI art commissions as traditional ones, or normalizing showing one's prompts when possible or observing DNP (Do not prompt) lists and so on!

But there's a desire to put up a wall there, specifically because of the fear of original sin, because of the unique nature of the process and the dubious origins of the programs; even if you didn't pay a dime to use them.

Which like... even if the privacy issues side of things is relevant and one I see validity in, in terms of the issue of "they didn't get permission," as friend of the blog @o-hybridity pointed out when we were discussing this, the assumption of the need for permission to adapt (Which is also what annoyed me in this post) is basically a cargo cult for how IP law treats art, attempting to integrate the framework of IP law into a system of communal production that IP law is more or less designed to kill.

Like, the idea that permission is required for derivative works (A notion also in this post I am very annoyed by) resembles none of how art has actually worked in-practice for all but the tiniest sliver of our species' existence, it's tunnel visioned in a way that ignores; say; the history of things like the blues, or jazz, or sampling, or folklore, or hell even fanfic.

Most art has historically been built on top of other art, without permission, because requiring a contract for every derivative work (Especially those "orphan works" without known originators) would make it unworkable.

IP rights becoming essentially inherent to art at the moment of creation and making those contracts almost entirely mandatory have basically killed a lot of models of how art is made within the commons via that sort of unauthorized-adaptation, and IDK about you, but this is an abomination, and the loss of those modes of production wouldn't be fixed by making it a tier system as the article proposes.

The notion of eternal tiered permission ignores that history of art by way of trying to shove the means of communal production into an ideological framework it can't exist in, due to the collective failure to produce better ways of helping creators make a living.

I would also say the idea of tiers system obfuscates the real issue; which is power not permission; and the need for collective organization of labor-power as well; by way of trying to hybridize it with that folk politics system of contracts that dilutes it, but that's its own digression.

But beyond that very long digression, inherent in that fear of the powerful working without permission, I feel there's a conflation of "small-scale creators shitposting or integrating AI art into their work" and "megacorps that want to replace you with an intern on Fiverr and a copy of Stablediffusion," which I think is best evidenced by the insistence on calling all AI art supporters techbros, conflating the small-scale users of the technology with the makers even though we don't do that with; say; artists who use fucking Adobe and the way they normalized walled gardens in their field.

I am not saying the techbro assholes don't exist or even that they aren't prominent, I probably don't run into them because I hate Twitter, but I am saying there are AI art communities and users that are not Like That, and that it is possible for AI art to exist within those norms.

It is not No True Scotsman because, even if it is not the norm (Which I am doubtful on) it is simply a demonstration that is possible and; with some effort and outreach akin to groups like @are-we-art-yet, doable.

But there's a further problem, that their argument heavily relies on the idea of moral rights, as evidenced by their image morally quantifying re-using art. But moral rights are not usually how we enforce most of these issues in a legal sense, in the US they do not even exist in a legal sense.

So their communal rules, drawing from moral rights, have no real material power. At least, aside from strikes, but the small online artisan community is not protected by them in a lot of ways I think are a part of the problem, but that's its own tangent so moving on.

Their argument on operating procedure, if it were to be truly materially effective by legal means, would be implemented by the mechanisms of copyright, which would be merrily smash those communal rules with a hammer, because those rules are scrublord shit in the world of raw power.

And if they don't... well, a wall can only hold for so long, and I think keeping workers within AI art away from the solidarity that is extremely doable is going to bite people in the long run. For an example of that, see how CGI's disrespect as an artform lead to it being wildly undercosted and used to drive out the union-run practical effects folks.

And they have no tools against it because, again, power does not give a shit about your communal rules, and conflating small creators with the assholes in power isn't helping.

Like, you're making the same argument artisans in things like the Arts and Crafts movement or the Luddites made back during the rise of factories, while forgetting that they fucking lost.

And Karl Marx had some ideas why wrt how mechanization uses raw power to make the displacement of individual artisans inevitable, even if I think the way people use them in response to this issue is... wildly unhelpful and cruel.

Like, it's still shitty to say "You're destined to lose your livelihood unless the revolution (Which we are bad at convincing you will happen) happens, no we won't help lol," as I've seen from those in my community.

I think the solution to traditional/digital art surviving if AI art is the existential threat it says it is (Which I have my doubts about) is unite or die, which dovetails into my ideas on the Creative Commons in a way I need to write on further one of these days.

But like... what I'm trying to say is, in all my experience, the way they describe the values of the art community are fundametally not opposed to the practice of AI art, not the people I have seen, and I think the efforts to treat that as untrue is unhelpful at best.

#art #ai art #philosophy of art #long post #rambling #shut up titleknown

[halliescomut]

Y'all want another rant??

I have seen so MANY cracked-out, poorly considered 'hot takes' this weekend, and wow are they aggravating. We can start with the continuing discussion regarding HeartStopper and it's author, who feels the fact that there are no sexual scenes in their work make it inherently better than other queer media. (Edit: The initial comment ppl point to is from 2017, but there has also been no clarity or further statements made despite this being regularly discussed, which is certainly not the norm for addressing divisive statements.) Now, the fact that she's mentioned things like this in conjunction with dismissal of East Asian and South East Asian BL, makes it clear that this is not simply a 'purity' thing, but also has racist undertones. My biggest issue though, is that it clearly demonstrates that they have not attempted to consume any of the available content out there. Are there BLs that focus on the sexual aspects of relationships? Yes, there's the Pornographer, but there's also My Dining Table. You have TharnType, but you also have My Only 12%. Hell, my absolute favorite BL is GameBoys, which first season ends in the ONLY kiss and the couple is still separated by a plastic barrier.

So how can you say that EVERY show revolves only around sex? Realistically you can't. And there's a whole slew of other issues with such statements, like the fact that for a vast majority of romantic couples, sex and physical chemistry is a vital and valued part of their relationships. Or the fact that reducing the queer media of a non-white culture down to sex alone contributes to the misleading idea that people of color are ruled by base human desires, and don't have the intellectual ability to create a romantic relationship based on something other than sex. Honestly, it's giving very British, unsurprisingly.

The reality is that in the world they created in HeartStopper, an overt focus on a sexual relationship would feel vastly out of place. Both because of the age of the characters, but the tone of the story. It's a romanticized coming-of-age/coming out story that revolves around first love. It's intention is to focus on the emotions involved in those experiences in a 'rose-colored glasses' type of way. It's why we've seen plenty of gay men criticizing the show by saying it's unrelatable. And while I don't imagine that it's 100% true representation for every gay man out there, I'd say that's based more on it being distinctly romanticized in a way the real life rarely is. I think it's also intended to be slightly aspirational, it shows a world where more often than not a queer teen's family, friends, community, and society are supportive, kind, and loving; something that has rarely been the reality of many queer adults today. It's not wrong or bad to be aspirational, it's a facet of the queer experience that is necessary, but it should not be taken as a replacement for more 'realistic' queer media, especially in an attempt to sanitize the lived experiences of thousands of queer men.

(I'd like to note that I do intentionally tag any posts that I make about HS as BritishBL because I'm a petty bitch.)

The amount of sex either alluded to or shown in a piece of media does not indicate it's value. If you have done even a mild foray into BL outside of Thailand, then you are likely well aware that Chinese and South Korean BL is often promoted as being more 'tame' or 'respectable' than Thai BL, or even Japanese BL. But if you think critically about it for even a moment, you're able to easily conclude that the reason those countries often produce queer media that's more on the level of a PG or PG-13 rating is because there are still very strict societal AND governmental standards that prevent the presentation of queer media. It's rare if not unheard of to have shows or movies based on queer written media show even a single kiss, and it's because of homophobia, when you move outside of China to places like Taiwan (which China still considers to be part of it's empire) you may see more 'explicit' presentations of queer relationships, but they often still skew towards being more in that PG-13 range. I've inserted below a chart that I pulled for another project, but is applicable here as well showing the legality of same-sex relationship as well as the legal protections of them (i.e. same-sex marriage recognition or adoption)

While for China and North Korea in particular, we have to sort of accept their word, you can see that for the vast majority of East Asian countries, same-sex relationships are not illegal, but they area also not actively supported. And while progress has been made in many places, there is still a long way to go to offering them equal opportunities and protections. And, as is always true, the negative effects of bigotry and homophobia have the largest impacts on those that live in poverty or are members of other marginalized communities. So while, you may see rich and privileged queer people from these countries living their life without much backlash, that is never going to be the lived experience of your everyday gay salaryman.

Just want to pause here and say this next part is not related to Alice in any way, it's just another aspect of upsetting to me discourse I saw this weekend.

Moving on to another very concerning discussion that I saw revolving around Mew and Top in the first episode of Only Friends. The are SO MANY comments being made on edits all over social media dissing Mew for choosing not to have sex with Top once they got to his apartment. With the vast majority saying something along the lines of 'He's hot, Mew should have just done it", "Virginity isn't even a real thing", "He knew what Top wanted when he invited him over", and it honestly gets more frustrating and disturbing from there. The #1 key to consent is that it is ALWAYS ongoing and you have the right to revoke it at anytime. It is an incredibly valid criticism of Thai BL that they waffle a little bit with that consent line, and I feel like some of the same people who argued that the sex between Lom and Nuea in Wedding Plan last week was iffy consent because Lom was clearly drunk, are spouting these bullshit opinions about Top and Mew. Consent can be and often is a VERY nuanced conversation. Mew believing that he was ready for sex with Top when he left that bar, and realizing that he wasn't once they got back to his apartment is incredibly realistic. It happens to a lot of people, and unfortunately those people are often not with someone like Top, who in that moment was willing (even if not precisely happy) to forego sex. This is a scene that shows what a reaction SHOULD be to a removal of consent. You don't have to be happy about it, but as a human who hopefully has respect for the other human involved, you should respect it.

As far as the 'virginity is a social construct thing'--you're right it is. But it is not wrong or weird for a person to prefer that there be a personal and emotional connection between themselves and a potential sexual partner. There's literally a whole sexuality where a person does not feel romantic or sexual attraction WITHOUT an emotional connection.

That's not to say that this automatically concludes that Mew is definitely intended to be demisexual, it's possible that this is fully unintentional on the part of the writer, director, or actor. But in terms of negatively reacting to this scene on public social media, you are actively dismissing the very real feelings of very real people who you may be interacting with. Because just as there is absolutely nothing wrong with being comfortable having sex without feelings being involved, the same is true in reverse. As with all things related to sex, it's about the comfort of the person participating in the act, beyond that there is no 'better' or 'right' way to feel about it.

And moving onto that last incredibly upsetting point...that Mew knew what was going to happen when he left the bar with Top, how disgusting of a take. There are literally thousands of people, most female presenting, who get asked that same question when reporting sexual violence from people they were dating, or met in bars. The dismissal of a person's autonomy because 'they knew what they were getting into' is nothing more than disgusting. It's not just a bad take, or a problematic one, it's a take that feeds into the victim-blaming society that we live in and makes it more and more difficult for survivors of sexual violence to come forward, and impedes our ability to install tenets of consent in our society as a whole. By continuing to spout such ridiculous and disgusting ideas, you are setting a standard that prevents ANYONE from revoking consent at any time and enables assaulters to pressure people into sex, or just bypass their consent completely, knowing that the likelihood of actual repercussions is very low.

So I guess TLDR- All levels of intimacy (both physical and emotional) are important in queer media, from the most innocent to the most carnal, and healthy representations of consent conversations, especially those that show people's autonomy as being fully respect should be praised, not dismissed.

#HeartStopper #BritishBL #only friends the series #TopMew #Thai BL #East Asian BL #South East Asian BL #Nick and Charlie #Nick Nelson #Charlie Spring #HeartStopper season 2 #This has been a rant