#12 year old me is gonna be frothing in the mouth

[kermitbread]

VY1 VY2 but they're boring-ass office workers,,, it's real it's real the yuumamizki fan in me is winning HHDGSGDHDHHHSGG

[ifyouseekay468]

what do YOU personally think the teenagers (mcr) lyrics are about my friend ? like i keep thinking about them but im not sure im going somewhere

okay, ive answered this ask twice on mobile and each time my phone deleted it, so here I go, the FINAL version of this post

It's been a hot minute since I listened to teenagers so I decided to do a quick run-through of the lyrics, and while Gerard&Co were raised catholic the lyrics seem to REEK of protestant trauma, so that's what I'll be going off of, but I'm pretty sure the two denominations overlap here. The first verse is about kids in youth group, Christian GirlsTM especially, who are put there to pressure you into being "normal" into "cleaning you up with the lies in the book" (bible), although the pastor is the one giving the teaching THESE are the people who will get you to BELIEVE, who will get you to lie to yourself, who will get you to church camps that on some level utilize brainwashing techniques, and will DESTROY you with the idea that you're "Just one of them, and just need to change everything about yourself and fake your way through every last sermon to be just a part of the gang",

The part about sleeping with a gun and keeping an eye on you is about two things: one, about the idea that God can see all your thoughts, that THINKING about "sin" (ie; fantasizing about sex) is as bad as COMMITTING sin (which is fucked up entirely on its own because fantasy is SO FUCKING DIFFERENT FROM REALITY and that is a CRUCIAL aspect of sexual expression in order to safely engage in sex), AND the fact that these kids will pretend to be your friend, will prod you into doing things with them, into telling them things about yourself all the while making you feel like "part of the group" when really they're just blabbing either to religious leaders, or are ostracizing you and bullying you behind your back.

"The drugs never work"

This in my opinion points to the fact that this song is specifically about being QUEER in a christian culture. It is common for trans people to turn to drugs or psychedelics in an area that has little to no access to gender affirming care, or acceptance because they both change reality and disconnect one from the body that is causing their dysphoria. It can also help burn away the guilt, so to speak.

The methods of keeping you clean is about two things: one, about purity culture, no smoking, no drinking, no friends who drink, no sex, no porn, no masturbation, no impure thoughts. The second, is the way they're able to subtly manipulate you into hiding yourself, into lying to yourself, into forcing yourself to the point of death into being cishet. They're keeping you clean not just from the vices of addiction, but the vices of the flesh, the vice you can't escape because it's a part of you from the day youre born. On a darker note, this could also be referring to c*nversion th*rapy, given this second interpretation of the lyrics

"Ripping your head and aspirations to shreds," Is again about two things in my opinion: both the idea of "losing yourself to God's will" that usually leads one to losing their identity and getting depression and fucked up mental health, and the "shift" that happens at church when you reach a certain age. You know the kind, right? You're four years old, and church is FUN! You get to go to this big room and sing and dance on stage with all your friends! You get to play GAMES! You get to talk to the ~cool teenagers~ who are ~Just like you~ and ~think youre a "cool kid"~, you have ~best friends~ who will be with you like Jesus and the 12! but then, one day, something happens, something SHIFTS. maybe the Sunday school teacher leaves, maybe there's a new family at church, maybe the church changes buildings. Maybe none of that has to do with any of it, all you know is that now things are forever different. Church isn't fun anymore. The kids classes are repetitive, they're bribing you into memorizing bible verses with money, they DONT reward critical thinking or analysis, but they do call you smart, that's because they dont want SMART kids they want OBEDIANT ones. You have no choice but to stat going to REAL church. Suddenly, your best friends are not your best friends. Suddenly they're avoiding you. Suddenly they're lying to you. Suddenly you're too... well they don't know the word yet but "gay" for them...

"Teenagers scare the living shit out of me"

This is what youth group does to you, it isolates you from your entire generation because there are few people your age and a whole lot older than you, and everyone is so much DIFFERENT from you for some reason, but neither of you know why, not yet anyways. This makes you distance yourself from teenagers, because you can't SEE yourself as a teenager, because youre nothing like other teenagers.

"They could care less as long as someone will bleed,"

This is the martyr complex that permeates youth culture like the smell of wine, the problem? these kids love to make a show of themselves and their martyrdom, but they're unwilling to martyr themselves, so what do they do? They throw someone else to the wolves and take the glory. They ostracize and eliminate the unique in the name of preserving their faith. They convert and convert and god help anyone who doesn't want to convert.

"So darken your clothes and strike a violent pose"

This is about deconversion, how the moment you leave the church you never want to see another cross till the day you die, that you want to avoid christians of all costs because you don't want them To drag you back into the pit that devoured you. So you do anything and everything you can to make yourself repulsive to Christians, which actually coincides with your indulgence of mundane activities previously considered as "sin"

"Maybe they'll leave you alone but not me,"

There's a different between a cishet ex Christian and a queer ex christian, and that difference is that a cishet atheist is more likely to be left alone than a queer one, especially a queer one whose whole demeanor screams "Christians be gone," that shit is like... it summons christians faster than free winter jam tickets! They swarm to you frothing at the mouth with holy water waiting to either convert you or exorcise you into purity, depends on if you want them or not. Again, you don't even have to be OPENLY gay, they can TRACK this shit. it's like fucking... INSTINCT or something.

"The boys and girls in the clique, the awful names that they stick, you're never gonna fit in much kid,"

as alluded to above, this lyric is about how, even from a young age, BEFORE youth group, this toxic culture kind of develops. ESPECIALLY around christian girls. They don't have the vulgarity of slurs, but they can make up for it with slang like "tomboy" "nancyboy" "too boyish" "a sissy" "Weird" etc, youre NEVER going to fit in, because the moment that "shift", from fun games and songs to Real Church, occurs, you have a target on your back.

"But if youre troubled and hurt what you got under your shirt will make them pay for the things that they did,"

This is probably a gun. But that's a tad too boring for my taste. If you were raised protestant you KNOW that being an ex protestant, after the craziness of evangelicalism, you would not hesitate to burn down your old church. It could be a secret tattoo, top surgery scars, hell maybe even nipple clamps. Whatever it is, it's symbolic of revenge. I know that anytime I wore my labrys necklace to church I would always hide it under my shirt. I hid books and CDs under there too. Again, it's about revenge, it's about breaking free, gun or no gun, the point is getting out and getting back at them.

and thats pretty much my take on the song. Again, this is not about artist intent this is just what the lyrics reminded ME of personally (as you can see from the over biographical bullshit I wrote), I'm always open to contradicting interpretations though as I always have like 2+ interpretations of a song or book! I never really saw the song through the lens of youth group specifically but when I went over the lyrics again in retrospect it all seemed to really click (pun not intended) well! Thanks for the ask!

[heartachebf]

16, 17 (Tweek), and 25 -Batz 🖤💜

fandom asks

16. favorite behind-the-scenes insight ive actually got 2 answers for this !! first off, i love the fact that kenny is based off a Real Life kid trey knew growing up, who was Also named kenny n wore an orange coat that nobody could hear him over And was the poorest kid in town. and i rly love that kyle is blatantly based off matt stone ^_^ i have a big gay crush on matt so obvi that makes kyle one of my favs

17. 3 things you love about [insert character]

1. the fact that he can play piano And sing And act ^_^ i love that artsy little dweeb so much 2. the fact that his tics slowly got better over the years... sobbing n wailing.... AND the fact that he barely tics when hes around craig.... love wins 3. i love that he can kick ass should he choose to ^_^ he could maim someone so easily and i think he deserves to bonus number 4 bc i love him so much. i love that he can bake ^_^ i like to think that he stress bakes and will try out new recipes n then he'll take what he baked to school to let his friends try ^_^ hes god tier actually

25. favorite episode of [insert season] u didnt specify which season, so ill give my favs of each season (below the cut bc this post is getting long) (id also probs do this even if u Did specify which season bc. peace and love)

s1: i cant pick between episode 7, black friday (bc i Love the feel of all the early halloween episodes) or episode 10, damien (bc damien supremacy ^_^ im forever obsessed w the fact that he, the son of satan, has a super high pitched voice)

s2: EPISODE 17, GNOMES !!!!! i think that was tweeks first introduction and as such, its my fav ^_^ i rly love his voice in that ep <3

s3: episode 5, tweek vs craig, bc duh ^_^ the beginning of an era <3 plus its proof that tweek is tough n doesnt need protecting

s4: either episode 6, cherokee hair tampons (bc i love how fiercely stan tries to help kyle + its revealed that kyle has diabetes ^_^ i will forever cry over the fact that stan didnt hesitate to offer his kidney to save kyles life) or episode 8, something you can do with your finger (bc i love their silly little boy band + i love wendy joining their boy band + kyle wanting to be the tough one of the band + randy backstory/him being a lil insane but in a funny way)

s5: episode 3, super best friends ^_^ the origin of stan n kyle being super best friends ^_^ i also kinda love episode 10, how to eat with your butt, bc kenny is very endearing in it And we finally get to see what kyles hair looks like <3

s6: either episode 9, free hat, or episode 11, child abduction is not funny bc theres so much excellent tweek content ^_^ i also like ep11 bc of how dumb the parents are in that one, thats always amusing

s7: either episode 8, south park is gay (the fact that everyone was acting a lil fruity ^_^ gay rights ^_^ and also kyle rejecting dressing fruity and getting made fun of for that. so funny considering the fact that he Is gay, i prommy, kyle told me himself) or episode 14, raisins (bc butters was very sweet that episode + goth stan was introduced ^_^)

s8: omg this ones so hard to pick. i love episode 4, you got f'd in the a, bc stan having to get in a dance battle??? comedy gold. i love episode 6, the jeffersons, bc we stan n kyle being dads to blanket, gay ptide. and then i also love episode 11, quest for ratings, bc i love the guys having their own news team And i love that craig had a show dedicated to just showing cute animals. dork craig rights

s9: episode 10, follow that egg ... more silly little stan n kyle content ... stan gets rly fruity here and im obsessed w it. that whole episode gives me silly little au ideas ^_^

s10: episode 14, stanleys cup. froths at the mouth. that one anon of mine, hockey fic anon? theyre writing a silly little fic based off an au of That episode ^_^ that ep is so quality

s11: goes insane. episode 8, le petit tourette bc i loved seeing cartman in anguish + dork craig content. episodes 10, 11, and 12 aka the imaginationland trilogy bc. god. just so good. i cant even explain it. episode 13, guitar queer-o bc it gives me Another great au idea + stan n kyle are fruity in it. and finally, episode 14, the list, bc there was lots of good wendy content And kyle got a little unhinged ^_^ as he deserves <3

s12: this is another one where its so hard to pick... episode 1, tonsil trouble, bc kyle got to go in attack mode again. episode 3, major boobage, bc we got silly little kenny content ^_^ episode 9, breast cancer show ever, bc thats when wendy beat the shit out of cartman <3 episodes 10 and 11, pandemic and pandemic 2, bc. craig content ^_^ and also ive already talked on my blog abt how its the best 2 parter ever. and episode 13, elementary school musical, bc stans gang was particularly goofy n their musical number was so fun ^_^

s13: episode 8, dead celebrities, bc kyle and ike content!!! i love them so much!!! and also episode 11, whale whores, bc stan Attacked And Killed all for the love of animals, n i love him for it

s14: episodes 11, 12, and 13, tha superhero episodes ^_^ i loved getting to see everyones superhero costumes in action And we got to learn more abt kennys immortality, which was so exciting !!

s15: episodes 7 and 8, youre getting old and ass burgers. starts sniffling and crying and collapses on the floor while sobbing. thats all i have to say about that, peace and love

s16: episode 5, butterballs (bc stan is so! hes just so !!! yknow. the anti bullying song in it is So good, And i live for butters standing up for himself ^_^ also the song at the end is god tier), episode 6, i never shouldve gone ziplining (its so fuckn funny, and i live for the live action bit at the end), and episode 11, going native (bc of that sweet, sweet butters n kenny content ^_^ i also live for butters Attacking in it)

s17: episode 4, goth kids 3: dawn of the posers. probably my fav goth kids centric episode ^_^ its so good n funny

s18: episode 3, the cissy. starts sniffling and crying again, but this time in transgender mode. i also love episode 6, freemium isnt free bc we get another Glimpse into stans issues w addiction ^_^ peace and love on planet earth

s19: episode 6, tweek x craig. love wins, gay ptide, etc etc

s20: um. i actually kinda hated this season. but ig if i Had to choose one, itd be episode 10, the end of serialization as we know it, bc it finally ended that season ^_^ no offense to any s20 stans out there, i just thought it was so boring

s21: episode 2, put it down. tweek n craig content, gay ptide ^_^ this is also the one where we learned that tweek can sing, play piano, And bake, and we also got to see craig learn how to support tweek better, which was very sweet ^_^

s22: episode 10, bike parade. i didnt super love this season either, so its kinda a case of picking the one i wasnt bored with. plus in a way it kinda felt like one of the original episodes, it was like a lil blast from the past !

s23: episode 2, band in china ^_^ we got stans band, crimson dawn !! it was great learning more abt how stan felt abt having to move to a farm, plus butters ripping it on a guitar was so funny. and then randy did stuff too idk

s24: this season has just been the 2 specials so far, but i liked the vaccination special, episode 2 the best ^_^ bc 1, the brovorce arc started, n im rly excited to see what happens with that. and also the way it ended left me hopeful that maybe the shows gonna go back to the way it used to be a little bit <3 i also liked how we saw stan gettin really mentally ill with freaking out over the pandemic, but that mightve been in the first episode instead...

[oceanselevenism]

If you're still doing them maybe number 12 with both the ocean's siblings and their partners?

hell yeah!! i’ve put it under the cut :)) it is Very Tangentially holiday-sweater-related but it is too long to not post now! hope you enjoy, and happy holidays :))

It’s the first Christmas they’ve spent together in... nearly a decade and a half, actually. The years had flown by, blurring into a mess of run-ins and arguments and you stay on your side, I’ll stay on mine, but hey, Danny can’t fault his sister for wanting to make up for lost time. No, he can’t fault her (after all, if she had been the one to fake her death, he’d probably have moved into her house for a week, just to make sure she didn’t do it again) but he can make fun of her, so that’s what he does. “Aw, you really did miss me,” he says when she gives him and Rusty perfunctory hugs on her way into his house (Lou just claps them both on the shoulder, and he’s not sure whether to feel snubbed or relieved). “I can’t believe my dear sister actually cares,” he tells her when she brings him a mug of cocoa, ingredients nabbed from some billionaire in Germany. “Pure family bonding for the whole family,” he remarks when she goes off on a drunken, expletive-filled tangent about the Met Gala’s security over a game of poker (they’ve given up on trying to enforce the no-cheating rule, and he’s pretty sure Lou takes the opportunity to peek at Debbie’s cards). But in all honesty, he can’t keep up the ribbing; it really is good to see her, even if she definitely gets along better with Rusty (she’s told him as much, and right to his face, too) and the third day ends in a bitter, wine-fueled not-argument about their mother and their father and they themselves. But on the fourth morning Danny gets up early (it’s five in the goddamn morning, why the fuck has Lou already left a note on the counter saying gone on a run) to make latkes, and when Debbie comes downstairs she scoops out a dollop of his favorite sour cream instead of her usual applesauce, so unless her latke preferences have done a complete 180 since the last time he’s seen her, they’ve forgiven each other.

She and Lou volunteer to go on a grocery run that evening, and Danny’s glad; he hasn’t had the chance to jump Rusty’s bones in, like, five days (turns out cleaning up for houseguests takes up way more time than anticipated) (hey, the only people they’ve had over in years have been the crew from the Benedict job, and he’s heard Reuben threaten to shit on Turk’s feet, they don’t need to clean up for them). And for a minute, as Rusty pins him up next to the to-be-composted bag that is currently overflowing with potato scraps, the only thought in his head is the usual why didn’t we do this sooner. But then Rusty pulls back-- “Rus,” Danny complains-- and he tilts his head in that We Need To Talk manner. Which would be hot, if not for the fact that Rusty probably wants to talk about Debbie.

“You’re good, right?”

“We were never on bad terms.”

“Liar.”

“Well, hostile terms, maybe,” Danny amends. “But never bad.”

Rusty shifts, adjusting his forearms so it’s more like they’re just two good pals having a conversation three inches from each others’ faces instead of two good pals about to do very unsanitary things in a kitchen, and says, “I think you’re putting too much water under the bridge.”

“What am I, a Dutch engineer?”

“You’re very funny.”

“I know I am. Now, are we gonna--”

The door opens. Danny swears. “We were gone for twenty minutes,” Debbie says. “Are you that desperate?” Danny regrets going for the open-concept first floor, and he regrets it even more as Rusty pushes himself off with an air of utmost nonchalance.

“Here,” Lou says, lobbing a ball of fabric at Rusty. Her aim is remarkable, and Danny almost asks if she ever played softball before deciding he likes his well-being more than teasing his sister’s motorcycle-riding, brass-knuckle-owning girlfriend. It’s fine; next to him, Rusty huffs an amused laugh at the unsaid comment anyway. “Happy Christmas Eve.”

Rusty unfolds the fabric to reveal a truly hideous (and possibly offensive) Christmas sweater. It’s got red sleeves, a green torso, and a large, colorful fruitcake emblazoned on the stomach. Above it, in red and yellow, is text that reads FRUIT CAKE. “I love it,” Rusty says, pressing his lips together in that way that says he’s trying his damndest not to laugh. “It’s perfect.”

Lou opens her coat to reveal her own sweater, hers saying Ho Ho Homo. “I thought the theme was appropriate.”

“And for you, dearest brother,” Debbie says, pulling an atrociously-colored wad of wool out of a paper bag and chucking it at him, “you get the best of both worlds.”

With a mounting sense of horror, he recalls the year that he insisted on putting teal and orange streamers across the house, because it’s Hanukkah and Christmas mixed! That was the last year their parents had lived in the same house; Danny used to joke that it had been the final nail in the coffin for their mother. He pinches an edge of the cloth between two fingers and lets the rest fall open. It’s a Miami Dolphins holiday sweater. A teal-and-orange, festively-patterned Miami Dolphins sweater. Oh, his Boston-bred father would be frothing at the mouth. “We’re in Canada,” Danny says, equal parts shocked and awed. “How the hell did you get this here so quick? We were supposed to be meeting in Quebec until three days ago--”

“Danny, please learn what priority shipping is,” Debbie says. “Now c’mon. Wear it.”

There’s no way he can back out of this. If he refuses, she’ll just play the I thought you were dead card. He’s never regretted a decision more.

He puts on the sweater. Rusty-- his partner, his right hand, the love of his life-- wolf-whistles.

“I’m divorcing you,” Danny announces.

“Don’t worry,” Lou says with a grin, and is that her phone oh fuck she’s got a picture-- “Debbie, take off your coat.”

With the air of someone who has suffered the weight of the world, Debbie shrugs off her jacket. She’s wearing a matching sweater, and the dolphin on this one has a lovingly-embroidered smiling mouth stitched into it. Danny tries very, very hard not to laugh. “Shut it,” Debbie warns him.

“Oh, I’m not saying a thing,” Danny replies.

“We actually did get groceries,” Lou says, turning back to the door, “so--”

“Lemme give you a hand,” Rusty says. “Let these two bask in the joy of their new sweaters.”

“Fuck off,” Danny and Debbie say in unison. Rusty grins, cheery as ever, and leaves Danny’s side to follow Lou out the door.

“Great gift,” Danny says. “I’ll be laughed at by Reuben for the rest of my days.”

Debbie snorts, walking into the kitchen and rooting around in his cabinets. “Well, actually he’d-- wait, please tell me you didn’t, like, have gross old people se--”

“Shut up, Deborah,” Danny replies, feeling his neck heat up. “I’m only two years older than you. And no.” He refrains from adding on a “not this time.”

“Thank God,” Debbie says, pulling a glass out of the cupboard. “Anyway. Reuben’s not gonna laugh at you, he’s just gonna talk about your embarrassing baby stories in whatever groupchat you people have.”

Danny wonders how his baby sister got to be cooler than him. It’s very distressing. “That’s worse.”

“Yep,” she says, putting the pitcher down and picking her now-full glass up. She leans on the wall across from him, sipping her water, and narrows her eyes at him. “Are we, y’know... good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Danny says. Besides the thirty years of vaguely pretending the other didn’t exist.

“I’m not gonna answer that,” Debbie says. “But... I’d just like to make sure. ‘Cause you’re the only not-completely-insufferable blood relation I have.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment; Danny picks at a loose teal thread, trying to think of how best to phrase the thoughts rattling around in his head. “I don’t hate you,” he finally says. “And I don’t dislike you, either. You’re a pretty good sister. And a great thief.”

“I know,” she replies. “I’m not gonna say it back, ‘cause then you’re gonna get an inflated ego.”

“Works for me,” Danny says, grinning a little.

“I guess it’s just... I mean, I let all the old resentment get in the way of, y’know. Having a decent relationship, personally or professionally.”

Danny nods. He’s still got the scar from the time they both went after the Ruby of the Isle; he’d won, but just barely, and only because he had Rusty and she hadn’t found Lou. But at the end of the day, neither of them have tried to kill the other, and they still did grow up together, playing in Atlantic City casinos and building sand castles under the boardwalk. “I think we’re too old for that now.”

“You’re the old one here,” Debbie replies, no bite in the remark.

“Only two years,” he reminds her. “But I did the same thing as you, letting petty grudges get in the way of family, and for that I’m sorry.”

“I am, too.”

“Thanks, Debs.” He frowns. “They’re taking a really long time to get the groceries, aren’t they?”

As if summoned, the door opens, and Rusty and Lou, each with a measly two bags in their hands, walk in. And Rusty has his phone in his hands. “Rus, I swear--”

“Too late,” Rusty grins, as the shutter sound rings out through the living room. “That outfit has already been immortalized.”

“Have I already said I’m divorcing you? I’m divorcing you.”

“Does it count as fratricide if he’s your brother-in-law?” Debbie asks.

“Disproportionate reactions,” Rusty accuses. “Besides, I’ve already sent it to Linus.”

Danny’s eyes widen. “Not Linus.”

“You heard me.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket. It’s a text from Linus Caldwell himself, consisting of a single thumbs-up emoji and two grinning cats. “You’re all terrible people. Terrible, terrible people.”

(the sweater rusty is wearing is real) (as is lou’s) (and the ocean siblings’)

[starkeristheendgame]

Peter tattooed Tony's name on his ass after a drunken night on his 18th birthday. And then Tony found out.

I had so many ideas for this and I fucking loved this prompt. Honestly Anon, thank you so much for the burst of inspiration! I absolutely love this concept and spent like two-hours just staring into space and internally fic-writing 😂

Its not exactly a ‘drunken night tattoo’ AU, but that’s because any respectable tattoo shop will not tattoo you if you’re drunk, or if you’ve consumed alcohol within the last 12 hours. So in respect of the professionals and in the interest of promoting safety, this is a slightly different base!

TW: Very light D/s Dynamic | Slight possessive behaviour | Under-negotiated (but consensual)

Peter couldn’t even blame being drunk. He wished he could; really. People did stupid things when drunk. It seemed to be an immediate write-off excuse for anything, instantly accepted as a valid reason for any stupid decisions.

Peter had been completely and utterly, stone-cold sober at every point in this process. He’d been sober when he’d scanned one of Tony’s signatures onto his phone. Sober when he’d booked the consultation with InkSpren Tattoo. Sober when he’d walked into the studio a week later in a pair of MJ’s velvet shorts.

He wasn’t entirely nervous. Pain didn’t really scare him as much as he supposed it used to. Especially not pain from a set of tiny, teeny needles. He’d gone with MJ for her first tattoo, and she’d taken it pretty well. Well enough that somewhere around the first hour, she’d begun to snore.

His tattoo artist was named Dave. That was comforting. Dave sounded like a nice name. Normal. Friendly. Guy-Next-Door-Dave.

Peter faltered in the doorway.

Dave was a 6″1 male with a beard and more tattoos than Peter thought possible to fit on one man. He was in the process of sapping on a pair of gloves, and eyed Peter critically when he noticed him lingering in the doorway, before motioning for Peter to join him.

“Lay down on your front. Arch your spine a little. You’re gonna have to pull those down under the cheek,” he instructed, reaching into a small tub to pull out some sanitary wipes. Peter tried not to feel embarrassed as he did as told, crawling up onto the bed and settling comfortably, before he squirmed, tugging down his shorts and his boxers both.

The wipe was cold and Peter huffed out a breath in surprise, nose scrunching as he forced himself to relax again. It was fine. It was a wipe. “I’m going to apply the stencil now. You wanted it dead-centre on the right cheek, yeah, mate?” Dave asked after a pause, and Peter nodded.

It would be more accurate to say that MJ wanted it there. Or at the least… That was the spot she’d chosen, when he’d lost the bet. Or… The pseudo bet. It was better to say that MJ had simply said she didn’t believe Peter would ever do something like this, and.

Here he was.

The stencil felt a little like rice paper. A little wet, and having some strange, scary dude palming his asscheek was definitely an experience, but Peter lay quietly through it, glancing nervously at his phone. 

God. He hoped Mr. Stark was too busy to call him today. Or worse, face-time him. Was Mr. Stark watching him through the camera? Had he hacked the microphone?

“Alright. Get up and have a look. We can wipe it off and re-place if its not right,” Dave instructed, and Peter moved gingerly, keeping hold of the waistband as he shuffled awkwardly over to the mirror and twisted.

There, emblazoned in dark purple on his asscheek, was Tony Stark. In a perfect replica of Tony’s elegant, eccentric scrawl. “He’s gonna kill me,” Peter breathed, staring at the stencil with growing horror. He caught Dave’s quizzical, raised eyebrow, and forced a grin. “Yeah, yeah. Its perfect. Right in the middle there. Great. Thanks.”

He lay back down, and after a brief warning, Dave begun.

“You lost a bet or something, kid? Or are you just…Really into the whole Iron Daddy thing?”

Peter wheezed.

Iron Daddy?!

“Lost a bet,” he managed to hiss out, burying his face into his arms. Oh, god. Thank whatever Deity was lurking up there that MJ wasn’t here to witness that. She’d immediately demand that the stencil was changed. Dave gave an affirmative sound from behind him.

“Why this guy? You a big fan or something? Or is it the opposite?”

“Uh… I guess a fan? I Intern. At SI,” Peter replied, wincing at a particularly harsh nip from the needles. It wasn’t so bad, all things considered. It stung, but it wasn’t the raging fire of pain that some people mentioned when they spoke about getting tattooed.

“Mmph. Must come with a nice paycheque. You gonna show him?”

“Absolutely not” Peter responded instantly, to Dave’s amused chuckle. Christ. Mr. Stark would fire him on the spot. He’d take back the suit. He’d get a restraining order. What mentor wanted their name on their eighteen year old mentee’s asscheek?

Then again.

Tony was egotistical enough that he’d probably love it, and think it was the most hilarious thing in the world, and Peter really wasn’t sure which one was worse. Not to mention that both involved him dropping his pants in front of his boss.

It was quiet for a little while after that, just the buzz of the needle and the odd puff of breath at the occasional sting from the gun.

“You know anything about knitting?” Dave asked after a pause, and Peter frowned, considering. He knew a little about sewing. He’d made his own suit, before Mr. Stark had showed up. Aunt May had taught him back when he’d thrown a tantrum over ripping his favourite shirt as an eight year old.

“Uh… Not really? I mean, I can sew a little. But I’ve never knit anything,” he remarked back, pondering it. Knitting was soft sweaters and thick scarves. It made him think of little old Russian ladies on their porches.

“My Ma wants to knit. Says she’s at that age. Told me to get her some wool and those special needles. I dunno the first thing about knitting.”

And that was how Peter learned that Dave’s Ma was what Peter imagined Ms. Romanoff would be when she was eighty, and that Dave’s main job was actually as a Doggy Daycare assistant at Paws ‘R Us.

“All done,” Dave announced, squirting a weird, green froth over Peter’s asscheek before wiping it lightly with a series of cloths. “Go take a look.” 

Peter obliging, sliding off the bench and twisting to see his butt in the mirror.

“Aw, man. This is gonna be on my mind literally every time I see him,” Peter complained, clapping a hand over his face. There, in what looked like thick Sharpie across his ass, was Tony’s signature. Forever. If he ever died, it would be with this stamped across his butt.

“He ain’t gonna know none, unless you drop your kick in front of him,” Dave shrugged, peeling off the gloves. Peter had to concede that he had a point. He had zero intentions of ever telling Mr. Stark what he’d done, and in the three years they’d known each other, Mr. Stark had never seen Peter in less than a shirt and bottoms.

MJ looked moderately impressed when she pulled the hem of his shorts down, peering at the taped-up tattoo with her phone flashlight. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” she shrugged, flopping back onto her bed and resuming the video she’d been watching on her phone.

Peter shuffled around to lay on his stomach on the bottom of the bed, slapping at her ankle. “Never tell a Peter Parker he can’t do something,” he announced, and MJ rolled her eyes.

“I never said you couldn’t do it. I said it was a stupid thing to do, and you argued it, and then decided it was your new personal challenge.”

Peter paused, then tipped his head. “Fair.”

Hiding it was both predictably and surprisingly easy. Peter spent the next few days sitting very gingerly and working himself up into a lather about meeting Mr. Stark on the weekend. Would Tony somehow know? What if MJ had emailed him to spill the secret?

What if Peter and his big mouth spilled it for him?

Except… It went fine. Tony picked him up in a sleek, red sportscar and they went straight to the Tower. Peter was taking a gap year in order to process what he wanted to do with his future. 

Spiderman suddenly changing locations would be suspicious, and sooner or later, someone would think to check on new students at local facilities. People moving for jobs, that sort of thing.

Mj was just… Refusing to comply with the Government agenda or something like that. Honestly, Peter was thankful. With Ned moving to San Francisco for college, things could get a little lonely.

Bar the odd self-conscious squirm, it went as any other meet-up went. They stuffed themselves silly with food in the penthouse and messed around with tech and prank-called Steve and by the end of the night, Peter had almost forgotten about his tattoo.

The twitchy, nervous fear that Tony would somehow turn around and demand to know why he had his name tattooed on his ass eventually faded, and life resumed as it had before he’d gotten the ink.

Which, of course, is exactly when things had to go wrong.

Really, Peter should have expected it. His luck ran in a pattern, and he should have walked on egg-shells the moment he realised things were relaxed and easy and his tattoo was still a secret.

It had been about a month since the tattoo. When he was alone, Peter couldn’t help but stare at it, running his finger over the shiny, black skin. Tony’s name, emblazoned like a brand across his ass. 

It became the focal point of more fantasies than his ass could keep up with, lazing floppy and exhausted and lube-covered on his bed, his mind reeling.

He imagined Tony tracing the letters with his tongue. Imagined Tony pinning him down and tattooing it himself. Imagined a different world where the branding was deliberate. A mark of ownership. Or a surprise. The look on Tony’s face when Peter would bend over, revealing his name.

And, as predicted, hiding it was no trouble at all. Peter had his own room in Tony’s penthouse, so if he needed to shower or sleep there, he had complete privacy. It helped that the Iron Spider and that Tony’s Mark II for the fabric Spiderman suit fit over his regular clothing now, so he didn’t even have to strip to do his thing.

The one thing he didn’t factor in, was a disastrous inventory day combined with the decision to wear white boxers. There’d been a raid on a medical facility kidnapping people to experiment on and most of the equipment and tech had been turned over to Tony for examination, classification and destruction. Peter was there to help, sleepy-eyed and not quite as focused as he ought to be.

He didn’t check the lid on the canister was tight before picking it up.

He didn’t see the drop of oil on the floor where Dum-E had been trundling around, moving things.

He slipped with a whelp, still clutching the container as he slid and twisted, bumping canister first into the edge of the table. He was vaguely aware of Tony shouting as his vision filled with pink dust that stung his eyes and seemed to cling to his clothes.

“Peter! Jesus H - Get in the med-shower, now! I turned away for five seconds kiddo, how did you -” Tony’s frantic muttering stops and starts as he grabbed onto Peter’s arm, dragging him across the workshop to the tiny little emergency shower stall in the corner. 

Peter could do nothing but stagger along, blinking frantically to clear his eyes of dust and pink.

It doesn’t even fully register he’s inside the stall until the first blast of water rained down on him, cold like ice before immediately coming something akin to tepid. He spluttered, trying to flatten himself back against the wall as his hair fell down into his eyes and the water streamed down his mouth, his hair, his back.

He gasped as the water trickled down his thighs, soaking through the cotton of his sweatpants and making them heavy. His shirt clung to his torso like plastic wrap and stuck-peeled uncomfortably with each heaving, shuddering breath.

“Yeah, sorry. This thing acts for burns too, so. Gotta keep it cool,” Tony murmured from outside the stall, head tilting sympathetically even as Peter scowled at him from under the battering stream. “Take your clothes off,” Tony instructed, turning to look over his shoulder.

“What?” Peter squeaked, eyes widening as he wrapped his arms around himself protectively. Tony glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Relax, munchkin. My moves are smoother than that. It was a powder. Its likely it got inside your clothes, too,” he pointed out. Peter wanted to argue. Wanted to say if he just stood here long enough the risk was over, but.

“Turn around,” he huffed adamantly, scowling harder at Tony’s snort. But the genius complied, turning away and folding his arms as he observed the settling dust cloud. Peter counted to ten slowly, teeth chattering under the cold spray before he peeled off his shirt. 

The water on his skin was even more unbearable and he gave a whine of protest as he begun to work at the strings of his sweats, letting them fall with a disgusting, heavy slop.

“I was naked in front of you before,” Tony pointed out conversationally and Peter spat out water, shaking his head before pushing his hair from his eyes.

“That doesn’t count. The armour ripped your clothing off in beta deployment,” he pointed out, though he couldn’t help softening at the memory, snickering as he turned his back to Tony, scrubbing at his body. 

It had been hilarious. The actual deployment had gone fine, it was just when Tony had deactivated it that the armour had shrunk in on itself, taking his beaten old tank top and ratty workshop jeans with it.

“Both were an accident. Both involved one of us witnessing the other in a state of undress. Although my back has been dutifully turned since you commanded it, by the way. And both were equally hilarious in that my own armour undressed me, and you essentially became a - What is that?”

Peter jolted, having sunk into a daydream state of listening to Tony talk as he wiped himself down. He looked over his shoulder to find Tony staring straight at him, expression delighted and curious. Or, rather, straight at his ass.

Oh.

Oh no.

“Nothing!” he yelped, twisting to flatten his back against the wall. He’d left his boxers on for the sake of not trusting that Tony wouldn’t forget his vow of not looking, and had completely forgotten they were white. 

Which also meant that his dick was now flat out bared to his mentor. With a howl of frustration he twisted so he was side-on to Tony, curling up and glowering with all the muted rage he could muster.

“Its a logo. On my boxers,” he ground out.

“I think not,” Tony shot back gleefully, leaning on the protective railing with an absolutely manic glint to his eye. Peter almost groaned aloud, head falling back under the spray. It was too late. He was doomed. His heart begun to pound and the air he was sucking in felt like it wasn’t enough.

“You have a tattoo. On your ass. Right there,” Tony pointed out, as though Peter didn’t know it. Peter tried to glare but it came out feeble, weak. Fuck. He was screwed. So screwed! 

“What is it? Who’s name is it? Its clearly a name,” Tony continued, pestering for the information.

“Go away!” Peter barked lightly, shifting restlessly under the cool stream. Tony just shrugged easily at him and leaned through the gap, hitting the OFF button for the water. He seemed unfazed at Peter’s shuffling or his attempted aggression, smiling at him sweetly.

“You can tell me, or I can ask JARVIS. JARVIS is nice, he’ll tell me.”

And Peter’s blood runs cold, because there’s no doubt that JARVIS will. Peter never swore him to secrecy, and Mr. Stark’s name on his ass isn’t anything concerning to the AI.

“Its nothing! Oh my god, its just a tattoo!” he complained, making a shooing motion at his mentor as he side-stepped his sodden clothing. “Go get me a towel. And clean clothes. Please,” he huffed, fingers digging into his sides where he’d wrapped his arms around himself. Tony gave him a devilish grin, then gestured upwards.

“J?”

“It appears to be your name in your own handwriting, Sir,” JARVIS dutifully responded, his voice ringing like church bells through the room. The silence that followed was deafening and panic seeped like ice through Peter’s veins as Tony’s childish, gleeful look faded into complete, lax shock.

This is it. Everything he’s done, the last two years, the friendships and the Internship and Spiderman being Iron Man’s little tagalong… All gone. He’ll never eat day-old pizza with Clint again. He’ll never have Dum-E running over his foot again. The terror and panic bubbled up before he could stop it.

“Oh my god. Mr. Stark - You can’t - I’m so sorry. I swear, I wouldn’t have gotten it and especially not there but I just - I never thought you’d see it and -”

“Turn around,” Tony cut him off mildly, but his tone was firm. It was enough to snap Peter’s jaw shut as he stared, nails digging into his ribs as he blinked under the droplets that fell from his lashes. He sucked in a breath, staring in confusion.

“…What?” he breathed, pressing back against the shower wall as Tony advanced, unlocking the cubicle door to lean against the frame, eyeing him like a prime cut of steak.

“I said turn around,” Tony repeated patiently, raising one hand to make a little spinning gesture with his finger, as if Peter was a trick dog. Peter shook his head, horror quickly dawning as he realised not only what Tony was asking, but also the fact that if his boxers were that see-through…Facing the man directly was probably not the best idea.

He shuffled to the side as much as he could without baring either delicate matter. Tony’s lips quirked in amusement at this and he hummed softly as Peter shook his head. 

“Mr. Stark, its not - Its just your name, I swear. You sign it like every day, you don’t need to look,” he pleaded, shivering in the cool temperature of the workshop as the water begun to dry on his skin, running down in rivulets.

“I don’t sign it on your ass every day,” Tony pointed out, stepping closer. Peter wanted to stall, to argue that technically Tony hadn’t actually signed his ass, except his mentor was moving closer, reaching out slowly as though he might spook if he moved too fast. 

He was so close Peter could see the flakes of gold in his eyes, could smell the minty-motor-oil combination.

The first brush of Tony’s fingertips had his skin jumping like a colts, the touch so gentle it almost tickled. It was on the arch of his hips, skating the waistband of his sodden boxers before pressing just slightly to encourage him to turn. Tony’s gaze was tipped down, dark on his own.

“You can say no,” Tony reminded him softy, the hungry look in his eyes fading for a brief moment, replaced by something tender and careful. Peter sucked in a breath but didn’t resist as he was spun slowly on the spot, hands coming up to brace on the tiles. 

“How long?” Tony asked after a moment, thumbs pressing into the backs of his hips, breath hot across his shoulder.

“A month,” he managed to whisper, pressing his forehead to the wall as Tony’s thumbs slid along the waistband teasingly, catching and pulling but never dipping it more than an inch. 

Peter shuddered under the gentle touches, lips parting when Tony finally begun to slide the sodden material down his hips, over the large swell of his ass.

“You should have told me,” Tony rumbled, head ducking to mouth a lazy, open kiss to his bare shoulder, his stubble scratching just slightly. Peter shuddered as he felt the fabric slip to under his asscheeks, tight in the groove where it met his thigh but not overly uncomfortable. “Should have shown me sooner” Tony murmured into his skin.

And then the warmth of his breath was gone as he leaned back, and Peter could hear the gravelly, husked fuck that he uttered as he looked down, palm sliding around Peter’s flank so he could swipe his thumb across the dark sheen of the ink. 

Peter held his breath, tensing at the touch, though it didn’t hurt. Tony’s hand left his side to slide down between his shoulders soothingly.

“My name. On that perfect, juicy ass. Branded on there forever,” Tony was murmured, voice lethal and rasped as he stroked over it slowly, reverently. “Does that make you feel good, sweetheart? Knowing my claim is on you? In such an intimate place, too? Did you choose this?” Tony hummed, breath ghosting down Peter’s spine as he sank slowly to his knees.

Peter wasn’t about to let Tony know that actually, stamping it on his ass had been MJ’s idea. Especially not when Tony pressed a gentle, scratchy kiss over the tattoo. 

Especially not when he licked over the letters slowly, palms falling down to cup Peter’s asscheeks firmly. It was all he could do to whine, high and pathetic as he trembled under Tony’s hold.

Tony continued to mouth at the tattoo, lavishing it with nips and sloppy kisses as he kneaded at Peter’s asscheeks, almost distracting him enough to spread them with his thumbs, the kisses slowly travelling right until hot air right over there made Peter jolt, eyes snapping open.

“Mr. Star - Ahhhh-Ohhh,” his yelp faded into a gasp, which trickled into a breathless moan as Tony planted a firm kiss to the swirl of muscle between his thighs, sucking ever so slightly before promptly laving his tongue in a fat, wet stripe upwards.

“No idea what it does to me, kiddo. Seeing my name there. Marked on you forever. Marking you as mine,” Tony spoke against him, licking and kissing thoroughly between his words as Peter scrabbled at the tiles, desperately trying to keep himself from rocking back against Tony’s tongue.

One of Tony’s hands left his ass to stroke across his flank, delicate in its search before wrapping around his cock with a surprising firmness. Peter’s hips immediately jumping forwards into the grip and his moan was staggered as Tony paired it with a thrust of his tongue.

He mewled, embarrassingly high and and desperate as he threw one hand back, sliding his fingers gently into Tony’s hair. It was soft, far more silken than he had expected for something that stuck up in odd places when not professionally attacked by a stylist. 

Tony gave a soft sound of encouragement, nipping at him and sliding his hand up to stroke at the tip of his flushed cock.

“Mr. Stark, please,” he gasped, fingers twisting lightly in the soft, dark locks and hips stuttering minutely between Tony’s hot, wet tongue and his firm, slow grip. He wasn’t going to last; not with Tony Stark finally touching him. Not with the scrape of his stubble and the husk of his voice.

Tony chuckled against him, the vibrations making Peter shudder before he rose slowly, kissing a wet path from the small of Peter’s back to his shoulders, never stopping in stroking him slowly, firmly. 

“So eager, sweetheart. So precious,” Tony breathed against his skin, his hand leaving Peter’s hip to fumbled between them, knuckles brushing the round meat of his ass as he tugged his belt free of its buckle.

The slap of cold metal made Peter jolt, hips bucking in Tony’s grip and wrenching a whine from his throat as Tony squeezed him lightly, dipping his thumb into the tip and pushing at the bead of pre-cum that oozed there. 

“Steady, darling,” Tony huffed into his ear, the smirk audible in his voice. Peter opened his mouth to reply, but then there was the sudden feel of a thick, long cock resting in the line of his asscheeks, heavy and hot and he could do nothing but groan weakly.

“Hush, sweetheart. I’m not gonna take you apart yet. Not here. When I do that, you’ll be on my bed, spread out and sloppy for me,” Tony soothed, jerking him off in steady, tight strokes as he rocked his hips, dragging his cock between Peter’s asscheeks with a soft hiss of pleasure.

Tony flattened against his back, careless of the fact that Peter was still dripping water as he nuzzled into his neck, one hand roaming from Peter’s asscheek to his own cock and back, petting and stroking.

 Peter could feel the slow, hot build of an orgasm coiling in his gut, could feel his thighs shaking with the effort of keeping still as he let his head fall back onto Tony’s shoulder with a feeble  gasp.

Tony pressed open-mouthed kisses to his temple, training down to his neck where he nipped softly as he thrust against him, a seemingly never-ending, thick drag of heavy cock that Peter instantly wished was buried deep within him. 

Tony’s moans were deep, slow things, soft in his ear as he pushed his hips back, arching his spine to give Tony a better, tighter angle.

“Fuck, sweetheart. So good for me. That’s it,” Tony purred, one hand dropping to briefly pinch over his tattoo, speeding up his hand and his thrusts as they moved together. It was Tony’s cock catching on his rim that did it, pressing there briefly as though he was slide right in, paired with the ragged gasp the older man gave at the sensation.

Peter’s hips stuttered forwards and his high moan pitched into a yelp as Tony gave him a rough down-stroke, his cock jumping in his grip before painting the tiles in milky splashes. Peter shook in Tony’s hold, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving as Tony worked him through it, continued to chase his own pleasure.

“My sweet boy. All branded as mine, coming on my cock and my touch. Look at you, baby. So good. So good, Peter. Fuck. Seeing my name, my writing on your ass… I’m gonna ruin you later,” Tony promised, voice ragged, hand falling from Peter’s cock to squeeze his ass, thumb sliding over the signature as he chased his own orgasm. Peter fell breathless against the cool tile, rocking back against the firm, heavy slide of Tony’s cock.

“Please, Tony. Fuck me. Mark me. Take me,” he rambled, breath hitching as Tony pulled back with a groan, nails digging into his ass. 

The older man looked down, managing to pull his hips back and angle his cock in just enough time to paint thick ropes of cum right over his tattoo, the thick, creamy liquid sliding over the ink wetly. Peter let out another mewl, his cock twitching feebly at the thought as Tony panted behind him.

There was a fumble, the rustle of fabric, and Peter opened his eyes, looking over his shoulder in time to see Tony snap a photo of it. His cheeks burned with arousal and humiliation, but Tony dived forwards, capturing his mouth in a firm, wet kiss. 

Peter was breathless by the time Tony pulled back, the corners of his mouth tingling with stubble burn.

“Marked as mine. Twice,” Tony murmured into his cheek, pressing another soft kiss there.

[365days365movies]

January 12, 2021: Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (Part 2)

N’SYNC...Britney Spears...Blue (Da Ba Dee)...Blue (Da Ba Dee)...

OK...I think I’m ready to be professional about this masterpiece of a movie again. Whew. If I’m not careful, I’m gonna lose it.

Quick recap: this movie is awesome. Wuxia, vendettas, spurned love, fated love, unrequited love, swords, fighting, no physics, Green Destiny, teachers, students, interesting plot, GORGEOUS cinematography, and an overall great movie so far. Plus, I’m meditating on the year 2000 so that I can review this critically acclaimed movie professionally, and not lose it to my froth-at-the-mouth fervor for it’s AWESOME. Read the first part of this review for more, there’s a lot to cover, and it’s still deceptively easy to keep track of.

OK, let’s get back into it! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

The wedding day arrives, and the heartbroken Lo (Chang Chen) fires a dart at Jen’s (Zhang Ziyi) procession carriage to get her to come with him. As he runs away, he’s intercepted by Mu Bai (Chow Yun-Fat) and Shu Lien (Michelle Yeoh), who tell him to flee to Mount Wudang to stay safe, and that Jen will meet him there.

After the interruption, it turns out that Jen’s taken the opportunity to flee. She disguises herself as a man named Long, and once again steals Green Destiny. Meanwhile, Lo’s display of love appears to have inspired the other love story of this film.

The two finally acknowledge their love for each other, and speak on the nature of their love. Mu Bai reveals a past tie to Giang Hu, referring to it as “a world of tigers and dragons” that he found it difficult to leave.

Meanwhile, Jen's just getting some food, not doing too much.

Ohhhhhh, man. It’s starting again, guys. Think of The Marshall Mathers LP, think of The Marshall Mathers LP,  think of The Marshall Mathers LP...

Who Wants to Marry a Multi-Millionaire? WHO WANTS TO MARRY A MULTI-MILLIONAIRE???

Whew. After COMPLETELY KICKING THE ASSES of an ENTIRE TOWN’S WORTH OF THUGS (Destiny’sChildDestiny’sChildDestiny’sChild), she once again leaves and goes to Shu Lien, playing the innocent young maiden once again. 

She tells Jen that Lo is waiting at Wudan Mountain, and Jen IMMEDIATELY heel-turns, blaming them for a set-up. Shu Lien turns in kind, telling Jen that she ALWAYS knew it was her (remember, the calligraphy comment from earlier), and that their offers of kindness and protection have been met with only contempt. the friendship is over, leading to...

...

MAD COW DISEASE, ELIAN GONZALEZ, HANGING CHADS

THE HUMAN GENOME PROJECT, O MAGAZINE, OPRAH, DIGIMON: DIGITAL MONSTERS

X-MEN: EVOLUTION, X-MEN, ERIN BROKOVICH, GLADIATOR, CROUCHING TIGER, HIDDEN DRAGON...FUCK!!!

OH GODDAMN IT THIS MOVIE RULES

And crazily enough, all of that forceful reminiscing FINALLY reminds me of what I saw when I was 9! IT WAS THIS EXACT SCENE, THE SCENE IN THE BAMBOO FOREST!!! I remember now. They were showing this scene on TV on the news...right before the Oscar Ceremony in 2001!

...Wait. OH. It was 2001. Not 2000.

Well. Guess I know why that wasn’t working. BUT WHO CARES, THIS SCENE IS INCREDIBLE!!! You need to see it in full, but I’m not posting it! WATCH THE WHOLE MOVIE, I’M DEAD SERIOUS

Back to the recap. In the bamboo forest in the mountains, Mu Bai tells Jen that all he wants to do is train her, as she has great potential to be a worthy master of...Green Destiny. He’s telling her of the destiny he believes she’s headed towards...while in a green forest, and in front of a green pool.

I LOVE IT. I seriously love this movie. And maybe that’s all I really needed to focus on this whole time.

Mu Bai seizes the sword, and throws it over the cliff into the green pool. She dives off the cliff for it, nearly drowning. And that’s when she’s found nd seizes...by Jade Fox. Uh oh. Jade Fox tells her that they can stay together at last, and gives her soup in a cave. Except it’s the Oops All Drugs variety, and she falls asleep.

Mu Bai, Shu Lien, and Bo find her in a drugged stupor, where Jade Fox has been waiting for them. And as soon as the ambush begins...

...it’s over. She reveals that she was there to kill not Mu Bat, but Jen, for hiding her progress, and betraying her trust.

You know what poison is? An eight-year-old-girl, full of deceit. That’s poison. Jen. My only family...my only enemy.

Wow. And worse yet, this is a Pyhrric victory, as Jade Fox’s death comes at a cost. One of those poisoned darts hit the mark, and the antidote takes a while to make. For saving her life, Jen pledges to make the antidote for him. She runs back to town to get the ingredients.

But it’s too late. With his literal last breath, Mu Bai tells Shu Lien that he’s always loved her. They embrace in a kiss.

I would rather by a ghost, drifting by your side as a condemned soul, than enter heaven without you. Because of your love, I will never be a lonely spirit.

Jen returns just too late, and rather than kill her, Shu Lien tells her to reunite with Lo on Mount Wudang. She also tells Bo to return the Green Destiny to Sir Te in Beijing. It wasn’t Jen’s after all. The two fated lovers reunite at last, and the next morning...Jen leaves her comb. Lo finds her on a bridge, and Jen asks if he remembers the legend of the boy on the mountain, then tells him to make a wish.

...HOLY SHIT.

THAT’S THE END. THAT’S CROUCHING TIGER, HIDDEN DRAGON.

...I...I...Epilogue coming soon.

[terrebus-fc]

how do all y'all recommend getting into football for a newcomer? just pick a team and start watching them? or like watch previous tournaments or something?

first of all, welcome to football :3

there’s some similarities to the terror so i think you might find it quite familiar:

get ready for some rambling below the cut!

i think it’s easiest to start by watching a bigger international tournament while it’s happening. the world cup, obviously, is the biggest event in football, but other tournaments like the european championships or the copa américa (or whatever is going on where you’re from) also work well and are happening sooner (in 2020). follow the country you’re from if they qualified or pick any other country you like, really, and… just watch.

the advantage of those tournaments are that you’ll usually get to see a good mix of teams that are actually playing to win, that it all happens within the span of a month and that there will be extensive media coverage of the matches, part of it tailored to new viewers. don’t worry too much about the details of all the rules, you’ll get into the important ones quite quickly after watching some matches. part of being a football fan also is angrily disagreeing with the rules so not much knowledge is required. the emotions are the important thing. when the tournament is over you can follow the players you got to know during it back to their clubs and slip nicely into watching club football and selling your soul to the beautiful game.

of course you can also start with club football and randomly see what sticks. football is all about irrational attachments so… whatever works. (if you’re looking for club matches, this is a good site to find a stream!)

we agreed on our discord to each recommend a past match and an upcoming one to watch. i’ve thought about it for a bit and always kept coming back to the same match that’s a classic one and though it’s cliché i’m biased enough not to care. so. world cup 2014 semifinal between germany and brazil. i promise you the pay-off is very good (unless you support brazil).

for an upcoming match there’s a women’s football match between england and germany happening on 9th november. i know we’re all here for guys being lads but if you feel like it, check out the women playing, too.

- frauke

past match: my past match recommendation is Germany vs England, World Cup 2010, Round of 16. I think it’s a beautiful example of football at its best (Germany’s incredibly fluid style of play, feat. one of my favorite goals of all time) and worst (a referee completely failing to call a goal: a farcically monstrous error on the world stage). I love this game because despite everyone’s tactics, despite everyone’s efforts, the entire game arguably hinges on one incredibly stupid, incredibly human mistake, and what comes after. In a way it is a little bit like the Franklin expedition! And even nine years later the thought of what could have been evokes hilarity in some (three fifths of this mod team) and despair in others (one fifth of this mod team). That’s football babey! [WATCH IT HERE]

upcoming match: I’m gonna recommend a club match for this one! I’m a fan of German football and the Berlin derby (Union Berlin vs Hertha Berlin) is coming up this Saturday (Nov 2) at 5:30PM GMT! This is the first time these teams will be playing each other in the top league of German football, and it’s likely to be a good example of what rivalries in club football can be like. Union Berlin has a great underdog story–this is their first year ever in the Bundesliga–and it should be a lot of fun all around! Also, one week later, on Nov 9 at 4:30PM GMT, Borussia Dortmund take on perennial juggernauts Bayern Munich. Over the last decade or so Dortmund’s fast-paced, attacking football has been the only real challenge to Bayern’s throne, and with Bayern (my team, for better or worse) not playing nearly as well as they should this season, this could shape up to be an exciting match!

-ireny

past match: so i heard you like this very english show about these very english boys? you also like to suffer? FANTASTIC! croatia vs. england, the world cup 2018 semifinals, is the only match that matters on the planet and you should watch it immediately. underdog narratives on both sides! nobody expected either team to make it as far as they did – england because they’ve got a long history of disappointing in national tournaments, croatia because they’re considered a small country in football terms and because they hadn’t gotten past the group stages since 1998. england scored early, croatia equalized in the second half to drag them to extra time – their third game in a row that went to 120+ minutes – and despite how ragged and exhausted the team was, my #1 player of all time ever mario mandžukić scored the winning goal that got croatia through to their first ever world cup final. it was a truly transcendent moment. no matter whose side you’re on (i mean, there is only one right side, but who am i to judge) it’s a thrilling, scrappy game to watch. i want you to watch it so badly, i have a link for you.

upcoming match: outside of frothing at the mouth about my national team, i watch the italian league religiously. if you’d like to try out club football, this weekend has a couple high profile games in italy. on saturday (nov. 2) at 7:00 AM PT, you can watch roma vs. napoli, which are two teams that are considered hipster to like despite the fact that they’re actually massive. napoli are, regrettably, usually very good, but have had a poor start to their season, so they’ll be looking to dominate on-fire roma. it should be a shitshow, i can’t wait! meanwhile, at 12:45 PM PT you can watch the derby della mole, torino vs. juventus. juve is the most successful team in serie a, and torino are their cross-town rivals who are EXTREMELY lovable but also Not Very Good At Football. watch it and root for torino and have your heart broken (and then come talk to me about either team/any players you like because i can prime you equally on both!) (not ronaldo.)

- caitlin

past match: W O W do the attacks against england just keep coming and coming huh just like Tuunbaq huh!!!! Aside from that, the perennial sense of crisis, setback after setback, English people suffering, madness and disappointment, and betrayal of everything you hold dear are also some of the ways in which England resembles The Terror and therefore why you should also watch us. 

In the spirit of England, I’m going to recommend a match in which we lose: England 1-1 West Germany, 4-3 on penalties, at the 1990 World Cup. We lose to Germany a lot. (Pls hold: 1966, babey.) But 1990 was the first time that we reached the semi-finals since ‘66, and it was crazily emotionally charged; our coach Bobby Robson was leaving amidst a scandal, there’d been fights between the police and fans, and of course there was a palpable sense of christ, we could actually do it. (I say ‘we’ as in the way football fans say ‘we’, since in 1990 I was -5 years old.) The game is rip-roaring, furious, dramatic - look for Gazza’s Tears - and also introduces you to the concept of extra time, aka sitting in your seats for a full half-hour more than you expected, and penalties, aka something we are so famously bad at that when we finally won a penalty shootout last year we celebrated as if we had won the cup itself.

upcoming match: The Engl attacks made me defend myself and I couldn’t recommend a club game, which I would otherwise have (United 2-1 Arsenal ‘99, for those interested) because my club’s current football is SO DIRE I would not recommend it to anyone unless I wanted to turn them off of football forever. You might want to tune in next week for Liverpool Vs Man City (4:30 PM GMT, 10 Nov), a giant clash with probably entertaining football for everyone except United fans, who will desperately be cheering on Team Sinkhole.

- rach

I have something to add, which is that football has a weird and wild history, and I recommend looking up something like ‘the 10 most inexplicable moments in football’, or ‘five of the most unhinged things the most unhinged managers have ever said’ to get a taste. The sport is about enjoying the actual movement of the ball across the grass, but it’s also about basking in the massive array of bizarre personalities.

past match: a lot of good bases have already been covered re: Germany so I won’t pile on by recommending our 4-0 battering of Argentina in 2010 :3c I present to you instead the FA Cup final from 2014, Arsenal-Hull City. (Have a link!) Arsenal hadn’t won a trophy in nine years. The fan discontent with iconic manager Arsene Wenger was getting nasty. Hull City was the decided underdog. An underdog who promptly scored twice in the first ten minutes. Through a mix of lovely skill and scrappy luck the match ended happily for Arsenal, and even knowing that the Wenger story wasn’t entirely on the up and up after breaking that long drought, seeing the sheer joy and relief on everyone’ faces still makes me feel a whole lot of things.

upcoming match: that aside, Arsenal are currently playing as though they’ve got lost in a damp paper bag and have yet to soggily wander their way out. Despite that I’m going to recommend Leicester-Arsenal next weekend (9 Nov, 18.30 CET). Leicester have been absolutely swanning about (they annihilated Southampton last week 0-9 in the joint-largest prem league scoreline ever) and Arsenal at the moment, with their negative confidence and cotton wool defence are precisely in position to be smashed. But we’ve also done historically quite well against Leicester, and it could be the sort of match where Arsenal get their heads up and deliver the kind of easy-passing, smooth-running performance they’re supposed to be known for. It has great potential to be either a misery or a cheer-up charm for me, and regardless it’ll be a good time for you.

- Sabina

[the-stray-liger]

If you’re considering DMing me with an “I am white but” message: don’t. Literally don’t, I’ll fucking block you, I’m frothing at the mouth right now. White girl body hair positivity doesn’t mean SHIT and I will DIE before I forgive any of them for what they did to my self esteem 

The GALL white french girls had to come to Costa Rica, and bully costa ricans for not being white was immense. And now imagine not only not being white, but having had visible body hair since you were like 5 years old, and then growing up into someone who started developping extremely bad acne at 12, and then to have the disgrace of being ADHD AND think you were safe enough to come out as bisexual when you were 16. If you think I’m gonna forgive anyone for that you don’t know me at all. I’m even ready to make more enemies, fuck with your boy

[nightcoremoon]

this is probably not gonna be a popular post but uuuhhh saying that eminem & tarantino are actively and harmfully antiblack racist is kinda accusing people like dr dre, rza, snoop dogg, nate dogg, xzibit, royce 59, 50 cent, lil wayne, rihanna, kendrick lamar, beyonce, jamie foxx, pam grier, chris tucker, and samuel L jackson of being race traitors since they're colluding with allegedly racist content creators just to turn a profit.

of course all white people are racist, we can't escape our benefits of white privilege and the contributions we make to it through our daily microaggressions, and any and all media we create is going to reflect that in some way or another- which I have to mention or else the 12-year-olds will froth at the mouths, and now that I have mentioned the 13-year-olds will dog me for pandering for woke points so welcome to tumblr where everyone's opinion is wrong enough to warrant being suicide baited- and I'm not trying to dispute that aspect. but there is a significant and marginal difference between subconscious systemic racism, and the KKK.

so yeah technically saying that eminem and tarantino are racist is, well, correct, /I guess/. same way as chris evans or wil wheaton or dolly parton or kris jenner or mark hamill or me. every white person or white celebrity is equally racist. this is a correct statement to make.

but as for the "he's a white man profiting off of black created entertainment", well... did you all know that eminem is just a dr dre side project? that dr dre is responsible for a good 50-60% of the marshall mathers lp, the slim shady ep, the eminem show, etc, and another 5-10% is from other black artists from their contributions to the music, and marshall himself has discussed this countless times in interviews and benefit concerts and donations and SONGS? by saying that eminem is racist BEYOND any other white person, you are calling into question decisions made by every single black person he's ever worked with in his career, which edges into the hundreds.

and "tarantino wrote the script for pulp fiction just to put his character in so he got to say the n word" except he wrote the script to play lance the drug dealer so you don't know what you're fucking talking about, clearly. plus, it's ACTING. you think sam l jackson would stay a constant member of tarantino's casts if he were violently antiblack racist?

now, if a black person has the opinion along the lines of how a rich black person has more in common with a rich white person than a normal black person, just like the clusterfuck that was the oj simpson trials, and that it doesn't matter if nicki minaj or dj khaled or jay-z or will smith or whoever collaborated with a white person because since they have money they can break through the class gate and have white passing privilege and escape the racist treatment in our society, or something, that's one thing. you're entitled to that opinion because it's a subject that directly affects you and you've had more education on it than anyone who isn't black.

I am directly aiming this post at the dumbass discourser white kids who stir up cyber-drama because they don't know how to speak to real humans, and try to get a gold star with takes like "stupid is an ableist slur" and "bitch is a misogynist slur" and "my dude is just another way for white people to say my n*gga" and shit like that. they're the same people to ignore the facts that eminem and tarantino acknowledge that they got where they are today because of the creations of black people (and japanese & latine, in the latter's case, since a lot of his shit concerns samurai/kungfu, hispanic culture, etc) and continue to find work today with the black artists who seek them out and continue to try to collab with them constantly. you, idiot kid on tumblr who sends death threats and suicide baits through anon because they like steven universe or kpop or something, do not have the authority to speak over, for example, dr dre, let alone ANY black person. these shit memes are not funny, and only serve to dilute legitimate claims of racism when they happen and are required. like the massive amounts of fetishism towards black people in the kpop community. nobody is taking that seriously AT ALL, and it is highly concerning especially considering that korean entertainment in general has a HUGE racism problem that's rapidly reaching the same levels as early 00s disney (the crows :/ ).

[rockettransman]

Rocketman Watch #4 Thoughts

i have so many MORE thoughts can you believe it wow here we go

(i wrote these as i watched it so they’re in order im p sure)

man, his intro monologue during group therapy is just as gripping as it was when I first watched it. And the transition to the bitch is back is so fuckin good. My palms are sweating.

There’s some commentary about forgiving and loving your inner/past child, but I don’t have the words for it at this moment. In the beginning he’s staring down, confused and scowling at his child self, but at the end, he embraces him in a way his father and loved ones never did.

Was he in therapy/rehab WHILE touring and doing music? Stomping into the room in his regalia would have me believe so. I know group therapy was a medium for storytelling. Was it just signaling the very beginning of his story, because we go through different stages through his actions and clothing changes?

Lmao I imagine it must take some pretty cool parents to allow their, like, six or seven year old child to be in this movie. He said bitch so many times.

Took me a hot second to realize the orchestra he’s conducting is playing Rocket Man. The violins are so pretty. Imagine being picked to be in the orchestra on set and getting smile up at the tiny little kid who played Elton. My heart would absolutely swell seeing a little kid being so fantastic at this really intense job.

Kit Connor did amazing in his role. He’s fifteen and he’s already done so much! Imagine growing up knowing you played Elton John as a kid. Getting to work alongside him and his husband and the dozens of incredible actors. Wowie. I’d never shut up about it.

I LOVE how 12 year old Elton is playing the piano SO HARD and is trying to rock out as hard as he can while playing classical music. The boy wanna ROCK dammit.

HE GLANCED UP THE TINIEST BIT WHEN THE MAN ASKED IF ANYONE HAD A FAG (slang for cigarette)

SATURDAY NIGHTS ALRIGHT GIVES ME CONSTANT CHILLS FROM THE START TO FINISH

WOOOW SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD ELTON IS CUTE AS HEEELLLL. The hair, glasses, and front tooth gap fit Taron so well. Goddamn I hope I look like 17 year old Elton some day.

The choreography for this number is absolutely breathtaking. You have to get that many people all in sync! We followed Elton running through the crowd and AAHHH it was a lot! The athleticism! And they did it in the rain! Wow I’m blow away.

Elton is JAMMIN in the back of the stage. It’s really sweet to see his smile and enthusiasm and his brain thinking and working.

That guy in the back peed a LOT lmao

I was wondering where thank you for all of your loving came in.

Charlie Rowe plays Ray Williams, and he also plays LEO ROTH from Red Band Society!!! The first time I watched the movie, I KNEW him from somewhere, but I couldn’t place it and it was driving me nuts. Man. RBS was a big crutch during the worst lows of my ED. Had no idea he was English.

Love to see how shy Elton was as a teenager. It’s a hot ass mood. Also, those silk scarves? Ascots? idk but they’re a LOOK.

“One frothy coffee, no froth.”

The acquaintances-to-best-friends montage set to Border Song *chefs kiss*

Rock And Roll Madonna Is A Perfect Song Send Tweet

Lmao Elton is NOT phased at all when he gets accused of being gay. He’s just like. “Nah. I’m like. Not.” Not overly defensive and surprised, like I’m sure other people would be lmaooo

STUMBLING HOME DRUNK WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND IS A MILESTONE IN TEENAGEHOOD!!!!!!!

“You are a ssSSHHIIIITT HOT piano player—”

So delicate of Bernie the way he politely denied a kiss from him. It wasn’t weird or tense at all. Just a gentle “love you, but not that way. It’s okay” Some people may not be able to handle it that well even today.

Taron’s got nice thighs. That robe & underwear getup is a nice look.

Love love LOVE hearing him experiment with Your Song on the piano to find a melody that worked.

Honestly what the shit do these songs even mean. Bernie sometimes these words don’t make any sense. Don’t worry, they still slap. “See I’ve forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue” like what

AMOREENA IS A PERFECT SONG SEND TWEET

Doug flirting with Bernie makes me snort every time. “Oh, really? That’s.. cool.”

THE TROUBADOUR OUTFIT IS GOOD AS SHIT!!!!!!!!

“NO, BERNIE. YOU ARE UNDERREACTING.”

Taron was right. The overalls do make his ass look massive.

A week ago before this movie I was sick and fuckin TIRED of crocodile rock but now I can’t get enough of it. The movie transformed a lot of old songs I was sick of for me.

Imagine being a kind of shy, nervous kid, terrified to go on stage, but two and a half minutes later the entire venue is LOSING IT because they love the jam YOU WROTE. how cool for Elton.

I want a best friend platonic cheek kiss :(

Hmmmmm I’m wondering if they used the studio recordings that went on the album for the movie or have different movie-specific recordings. Tiny Dancer sounds a teeny bit different in the movie version.

Goddamn I sure hope Taron got to keep that jacket.

“So you liked the song, then?” “Not as much as the singer” *Elton glances away in gay panic*

LMFAO John said some weird colorful words to Elton that barely made sense and he was like OH FUCK GOTTA KISS HIM GOTTA KISS HIM

I’ve talked so much about the sex scene I don’t need to go on about it here. Go search the rocketman tag on my blog for my extensive gay thoughts about it.

Now I know glasses come OFF during sex

oh oh oh I was wondering where Hercules fell in the movie. I love how the songs he’s writing or getting notoriety for is played over the transition scenes.

Elton’s hand on his hip, knowing smirk as John enters the studio. “Hello.”

Bernie is like “HELLO are we RECORDING or are y’all gonna FUCK in the CLOSET?”

*vibrating* Honky Cat Honky Cat Honky Cat Honky Cat

Damn, the flowy white button down with the red pants really is a LOOK

The gestures, staring up at each other, leaning into each other, hands on each other’s chests, damn it makes me feel some typa way. Maybe their love WAS good and fun and exciting while they rode the high of everything before it all went so so bad.

Elton searching John’s gaze while he’s talking and looking like he’s not really paying attention, just looking for a kiss on the couch.. GOD I remember the honeymoon phase of my relationships. So much fun.

His dad going “N-Not really my thing.” That was a metaphor for his SEXUALITY TOO, huh.

Damn. He went to his dad’s to come out to him and he never even got to get to that part. He was just like “....nice shoes....” and even after all this time, didn’t show any interest in his music. If he never was into what he did, how could he even talk about being gay? I’m sure during that scene there were a lot of metaphors to sexuality but I didn’t bother to think much about them.

The eyebrow quirk after his dad says “ah—no. Could you make it out to Arthur?” DAMN Elton was like .. “really. This is what’s happening? Okay. Awesome.”

“What do you have to do to get a fucking drink around here, eh?” *cuts to Elton drinking straight from a bottle*

“Elton—” “Elton!”

John saying “don’t you ever put your hands on me” when he was the one who yanked him from the phone booth AND directly after punching him... woof man. What a shitty dude.

Damn, just noticed John talking very quietly and closely to another man right before he goes on and plays Pinball Wizard. Was this the first sign of him having fun with other men when Elton was indisposed?

Pinball Wizard is absolutely intense and loud and fun, but it DOES carry the tone of “god im SO miserable” under it all. You knew Elton wasn’t having fun.

“It is next week.” Jeezus.

LMAO I just caught the “mom, you’re ON my GOWN” when he reluctantly complies to give the Anderson’s a tour.

Damn, flowy, loose dress shirts with the first few buttons undone is a LOOOOK.

How did they do the overdose scene, you think? Surely the pills Taron took had to be like. Empty. Or placebo affect drugs? Idk. He did take a big drink directly after stuffing his mouth with them. I don’t think he spit them out.

God, there is SOMETHING symbolic about how he meets his child self at the bottom of the pool. Rock bottom? Apologizing? Wishing he could be better? Telling him he’ll never be better?

OH I watched a behind the scenes cut about the pool scene, and none of it was CGI. Taron was weighted under his robe and a SCUBA diver was on standby to provide oxygen. The singing and bubbles coming out of his mouth and stuff underwater was all real.

Dying to know about the choreography around the second chorus, about the undressing and twirling and dressing and injection and handing off of the bat and stuff. That sequence was incredible.

Bennie and the Jets. Damn. It fucks. I listened to it almost the entire time on my run today. (Five miles; I felt like garbage the entire time but it was good anyway.) The scene is wild. He’s in the middle of a drug induced haze orgy. He SHOULD be having the time of his life but he’s so goddamn miserable. (Also, the juxtaposition between Chris Fleming’s Bennie and the Jets is so funny.)

Part of the problem was that John never understood Elton. But, Elton broke it off with John, not the other way around like he said it was. He wasn’t the victim in that regard. John did treat him like shit though.

Victim of Love plays right after that lmao

Renate and he aren’t even close when they do the duet to don’t let the sun go down on me. They’re separated in different rooms, mirroring literally how closed off their relationship was.

The shot with them waking up in different rooms.. damn

His shirt is so LOUD I’m going crazy

Watching Taron down that orange juice made me a little nauseous I gotta say

“Not really I’m gAy”

It’s CRAZY to watch Elton and his mom interact at the dinner scene. He gets accosted and accused of so much by his mom, claiming SHE’S the victim of his actions, making it all about HER and then he turns around and does and says the exact same shit to Bernie.

He yells “Oh, don’t be so dramatic!” at Bernie as he gets into a taxi. THE PROJECTION!! THE DEFLECTION!!!!

I know there’s only so much they can put in two hours, but I wish they showed more of Elton’s eating issues. He had bulimia for sixteen years before he got help. It’s Absolutely the Man With Anorexia in me, but seeing that even men deal with eating disorders quells the lonely aching something in me. I feel that much less alone, you know. Eating disorders aren’t a “woman’s disease.”

How do you think they did his hair? A wig adds more hair, not take it away. He didn’t get his hair cut for it did he?

Seeing Elton’s first love fall apart because John was such a selfish, heartless prick in reality makes me sad.

Elton hugs his inner child when he reconciled with everyone in his past. Goddamn. He found peace and forgiveness for himself, who he was, even after all that time.

When Elton asks him not to go, Bernie refuses, saying this is something he had to do on his own. Healing comes from within alone. No one can help you do it. People can guide you, but you have to work at it. It’s fucking lonely sometimes, but it’s so, so worth it.

I used to loathe I’m Still Standing since i heard it so much at work, but the movie changed my entire perspective on it. I love the slow build up as he exits the rehab center. You don’t get thrown into something so happy and fast paced and fun after a cathartic climax you need to drink in. And the pan to his hat with the rainbow stripe to his smile. I get chills every time. Elton feels so right and secure and happy in himself. At first I thought it was a bit cheesy, but accepting your sexuality, especially after all the hell he went through during his life, grappling with unresolved trauma and fear of abandonment, he absolutely should wear it loud and proud. It’s easy to think times are much easier now being gay, and it shouldn’t be such a big deal. Relative to 1975, it is easier. But it doesn’t mean it’s not such a rough personal thing to work through if you’ve been spit on and resented all your life. Being gay, coming out, and accepting and being comfortable with that fact must’ve been such a HUGE milestone in Elton’s recovery and self-esteem.

Love me again after I’m still standing is perfect. The credits make me tear up every time. Jeez. What a good movie. What a good movie. Hit me up if you wanna talk about Rocketman because I absolutely will with you.

[kentremendousblog]

I was deeply honored to stand at the White House July 9 with my wife, Ashley, and my daughters, Margaret and Liza, to accept President Trump’s nomination to succeed my former boss and mentor, Justice Anthony Kennedy, on the Supreme Court. 

This is a long, bad, run-on sentence. Aren’t you supposed to be a good writer?

My mom, Martha—one of the first women to serve as a Maryland prosecutor and trial judge, and my inspiration to become a lawyer—sat in the audience with my dad, Ed.

Cool story. Can we talk about literally anything that’s important?

That night, I told the American people who I am and what I believe. 

I remember! You said a bunch of boring stuff, that the Federalist Society and Don McGahn and whoever else coached you to say. It was very typical, and mostly empty, rhetoric. In its pleasant tone, it reminded me a lot of the things Merrick Garland said when he was in a similar situation in 2016.

I talked about my 28-year career as a lawyer, almost all of which has been in public service. I talked about my 12 years as a judge on the U.S. Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit, often called the second most important court in the country, and my five years of service in the White House for President George W. Bush. 

Fun side-note: literally millions of documents from your time in those jobs were buried, for no reason! Or rather, for the reason of: fuck you, nobody gets to see them, just cuz.

I talked about my long record of advancing and promoting women, including as a judge—a majority of my 48 law clerks have been women—and as a longtime coach of girls’ basketball teams.

Yeah...listen: a lot of people who are racist like to talk about their black friends. A lot of people who are misogynists like to talk about the women they’ve helped. A lot of people who do a lot of bad shit like to talk about the good shit they’ve done instead. Roy Moore’s wife, at a rally, once proudly announced that her husband couldn’t hate women because he made her the President of something or other, and also he couldn’t be a bigot like people were saying, because one of her attorneys was a Jew. So. Just, like, FYI, this isn’t a good defense of anything.

As I explained that night, a good judge must be an umpire—a neutral and impartial arbiter who favors no political party, litigant or policy. 

Oh yeah! You did. I forgot about that, because much more recently you did a bunch of insane crazy stuff!

As Justice Kennedy has stated, judges do not make decisions to reach a preferred result. Judges make decisions because the law and the Constitution compel the result. Over the past 12 years, I have ruled sometimes for the prosecution and sometimes for criminal defendants, sometimes for workers and sometimes for businesses, sometimes for environmentalists and sometimes for coal miners. In each case, I have followed the law. I do not decide cases based on personal or policy preferences. I am not a pro-plaintiff or pro-defendant judge. I am not a pro-prosecution or pro-defense judge. I am a pro-law judge.

First of all, saying you’re a “pro-law judge” is like saying you’re a “pro-hitting-tennis-balls tennis player.” The law is literally the thing you are there to engage with. How can you not be a “pro-law judge?” Second: what you really are is conservative. You’re the most reliably conservative judge on the D.C. Circuit. You rule on the politically conservative side of the issue essentially constantly. That’s why you were standing in the Rose Garden, giving that speech -- because you’re a judicial partisan hack.

As Justice Kennedy showed us, a judge must be independent, not swayed by public pressure. Our independent judiciary is the crown jewel of our constitutional republic. The Supreme Court is the last line of defense for the separation of powers, and for the rights and liberties guaranteed by the Constitution.

Blargdy blargdy blargdy can we get to the part where you started screaming about lifting weights in high school?

The Supreme Court must never be viewed as a partisan institution. The justices do not sit on opposite sides of an aisle. They do not caucus in separate rooms. As I have said repeatedly, if confirmed to the court, I would be part of a team of nine, committed to deciding cases according to the Constitution and laws of the United States. I would always strive to be a team player.

“And the evidence for this is that I have literally never done it in my entire life!”

During the confirmation process, I met with 65 senators and explained my approach to the law. I participated in more than 30 hours of hearings before the Senate Judiciary Committee, and I submitted written answers to nearly 1,300 additional questions. I was grateful for the opportunity. After all those meetings and after my initial hearing concluded, I was subjected to wrongful and sometimes vicious allegations. My time in high school and college, more than 30 years ago, has been ridiculously distorted. My wife and daughters have faced vile and violent threats.

Against that backdrop, I testified before the Judiciary Committee last Thursday to defend my family, my good name and my lifetime of public service. 

Yeah...we remember, man. Because you were screaming. You ranted and raved and blustered.  You said this whole thing was a smear campaign orchestrated by your political enemies. You straight-up lied about what various things mean, like “boof” and “Devil’s Triangle” and you also lied about how much you like beer.  You essentially called a number of women -- women who have accused you of improper sexually aggressive conduct -- liars. You said this was all retribution for what you did to the Clintons. When Amy Klobuchar -- a sitting U.S. Senator -- asked you if you had ever blacked out while drinking, you snidely shot back, “Have you?!” as if the fucking U.S. Senate is not there to evaluate you, but vice-versa. You said “What goes around comes around,” meaning: “when I’m on the bench I’m gonna fuck up the Democrats just cuz.”

You know -- the kind of stuff a Supreme Court Justice is supposed to say.

My hearing testimony was forceful and passionate. 

I’d say more like “scream-y and entitled and whiny and absurd and partisan and embarrassing and awful and terrifying to all non-rich-white dudes in the country.” But “forceful and passionate” works too, I suppose.

That is because I forcefully and passionately denied the allegation against me. At times, my testimony—both in my opening statement and in response to questions—reflected my overwhelming frustration at being wrongly accused, without corroboration, of horrible conduct completely contrary to my record and character. 

It’s not, though, is it? It’s not contrary to your record. Your record is that you drank a ton, and behaved like an entitled dick, and what you were accused of, essentially, was drinking a ton and acting like an entitled dick.

My statement and answers also reflected my deep distress at the unfairness of how this allegation has been handled.

Huh. Dr. Ford’s answers reflected her deep distress at you having drunkenly pawed at her clothes and stifled her screams when she was fifteen years old. And she kept it together.

I was very emotional last Thursday, more so than I have ever been. I might have been too emotional at times. I know that my tone was sharp, and I said a few things I should not have said. 

...I mean, yeah. You did.

I hope everyone can understand that I was there as a son, husband and dad.  I testified with five people foremost in my mind: my mom, my dad, my wife, and most of all my daughters.

Your mom, dad, wife, and daughters made you froth at the mouth and scream that this was a conspiracy perpetrated by your political enemies to avenge your treatment of the Clintons? 

Going forward, you can count on me to be the same kind of judge and person I have been for my entire 28-year legal career: hardworking, even-keeled, open-minded, independent and dedicated to the Constitution and the public good. 

That’s not what you are, man. I know you can’t say this out loud, but we all know that’s not what you are.

As a judge, I have always treated colleagues and litigants with the utmost respect. I have been known for my courtesy on and off the bench. I have not changed. I will continue to be the same kind of judge I have been for the last 12 years. And I will continue to contribute to our country as a coach, volunteer, and teacher. 

Oh okay good as long as you keep coaching basketball we’re cool.

Every day I will try to be the best husband, dad, and friend I can be. I will remain optimistic, on the sunrise side of the mountain. I will continue to see the day that is coming, not the day that is gone.

Stay away from florid language, man. You’re a middle-aged angry rich white D.C. prep school kid.  Poesy doesn’t suit you.

I revere the Constitution. I believe that an independent and impartial judiciary is essential to our constitutional republic. If confirmed by the Senate to serve on the Supreme Court, I will keep an open mind in every case and always strive to preserve the Constitution of the United States and the American rule of law.

No you won’t, man. I know you can’t say this out loud, but we all know you won’t.

Judge Kavanaugh has been nominated as an associate justice of the U.S. Supreme Court.

Yeah, WSJ. I know. Believe me -- I know.

[danfanciesphil]

Some Kind Of Folliful (New Chapter)

Edgelord!Dan x ObliviousBisexual!Phil AU [CHAPTER THREE] (based off the 80′s classic Some Kind of Wonderful)

Synopsis: Dan has one friend, and only because he was forced into it. Phil is loud, excitable, and irritatingly happy all of the time. He seems to find Dan’s perpetual attitude funny, and despite Dan’s best efforts to shun him and everyone else, wants to be around him all the time. That is, until Phil starts talking about Amanda Jones. Word Count: WIP (Estimated 12-15 chapters) updates every Tuesday Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smoking, swearing, implied prostitution, broken home, class divide/classism, pining, light homophobia, sex 

[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Ao3]

True to his word, Phil asks Amanda out that very same day. He begs and pleads with Dan to come with him for ‘moral support’, so Dan is forced to watch the entire shit-show unfold. The only upside is that Dan is able to bum a cigarette off Lee, the annoying Year Ten kid who constantly hangs around him. Lee seems to be under some mistaken impression that Dan is someone to be idolised. Dan doesn’t condone underage smoking, but he’s desperate; watching Phil ask Amanda Jones on a date is going to require some kind of narcotic. Lee offers a full packet to him while they wait on the low wall outside school, watching Phil dither in the parking lot. He’s decided to wait for Amanda by her friend Lilian’s car, because now that she and Hardy are no longer speaking, Amanda will almost definitely be travelling home this way. Dan drags on his cigarette, just about resisting the urge to moan as the nicotine rushes through his veins.

Phil’s plan is stupid, in Dan’s opinion. Lilian is a stuck up bitch, possibly the worst of all the Elite girls; if she’s there to influence Amanda’s decision, then Phil's slim chance of actually persuading Amanda to go out with him will be drastically reduced. Dan's advice was to find Amanda alone somehow, but as she’s literally the most popular girl in the entire school, Dan understands that this might be a bit difficult. Besides, as Phil keeps reminding him, time is of the essence. Dan's blowing a long, satisfying stream of silvery smoke out through his nostrils when Amanda and Lilian swan past him, chattering away, books clutched to their chests. Lilian sends Dan a dirty look as she passes, waving the smoke out of her face in disgust. Dan just about manages to stop himself giving her the finger, and instead watches in pained silence as the two girls cross the parking lot to Lilian’s peach convertible, their skirts swishing about their skinny thighs. They slow to a stop in front of Phil, eyeing him warily, and Dan holds his breath. Dan can’t hear what Phil’s saying, but he’s talking directly to Amanda, ignoring Lilian completely. The corner of his mouth is tilted up in a cute half-smile, and he shrugs his shoulders in a bashful way. Dan wants to be sick, suddenly. He stubs his cigarette out on the wall.

“Hey, uh, was that one no good or something?” Lee pipes up from beside him, sounding anxious. “I’ve got a whole pack here, did you want another?”

“What?” Dan asks, barely listening to him. “No, no. It’s fine.”

“Oh, ok,” Lee says, sounding disappointed by the answer. “So that’s your mate Phil over there, right? What’s he doing talking to Amanda Jones and Lilian Clarke? Are you gonna disown him or what?”

Lee chuckles loudly, forcedly, as though he wants to make clear that it’s a joke, but again Dan barely hears him.

“He’s got a crush on her.”  Dan’s not sure why he says this, especially as hearing the words aloud are not helping his nausea.

“Really?” Lee asks, snatching up the information greedily. “Which one?”

Amanda's polite titter resounds throughout the parking lot, turning several people's curious heads.  

Dan grimaces, turning away from the spectacle. “Amanda.”

Lee laughs. “Woah, that’s fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Dan agrees. He knows Lee is only saying it to suck up to him, but he’ll take the validation where he can get it right now. “Like, what does he see in her, y’know?”

“Fuck knows,” Lee answers obediently, sounding ridiculously pleased to be asked. “She’s just one of the clones.”

Dan turns to Lee. “Right?” He nods in agreement. “She’s so… boring.”

“Totally,” Lee says. “So, is he asking her out then?”

“I guess,” Dan says, frowning. “She broke up with her boyfriend at lunch today.”

“I know,” Lee says too quickly. “I mean, oh. Yeah, I wondered what everyone was babbling about.”

A semi-smile forms on Dan's lips at Lee’s transparency. Just then, the growl of an engine sounds, and Dan turns just in time to see Hardy’s car pull up beside Lilian’s, idling there as he watches the proceedings. Dan’s on his feet in seconds, terrified for Phil’s safety, but to his surprise, Hardy doesn’t even open his door. Phil glances at the Porsche, and then focuses back on Amanda, nodding at whatever she’s saying. Dan perches back on the wall, tense and ready to sprint over at the first sign of trouble. Suddenly, Phil is grinning widely, ridiculously pleased about something. Hardy’s engine revs furiously, and he speeds off, tyres screeching as he glides through the exit, out onto the road. Phil waves to Amanda as she hops in the passenger seat of Lilian’s car, then they too are driving away. Phil stares after the car for a moment, then turns slowly. He jogs back over towards Dan, eyes wide and rounded.

“She said yes,” Phil says mutedly once he’s close enough. Then, the realisation seems to seep in. He fist pumps the air, Breakfast Club style, and Dan rolls his eyes. “She said yes! I can’t believe it!”

Something twists and coils in the pit of Dan’s stomach; a wet, thick snake knotting itself around his organs.

“Congrats,” Dan spits out, not meeting Phil’s eye.

Phil just laughs, wrapping his arms around Dan and shaking him.

“C’mon grumpy, don’t be mad just ‘cause you were wrong.” Phil looks to Lee. “Can you believe Dan tried to talk me out of this, Lee? He thought I’d never be in with a chance!”

“Er, right,” Lee says unsurely.

“I’ve gotta go to work,” Dan says, shrugging Phil’s arms off him and standing up.

“Aw, man,” Phil says, seeming disappointed. “I’ll come see you later on, then we can brainstorm about Prom-plans.” He grins in utter delight, spinning around on the spot.

“No,” Dan warns him uselessly, like always. “We’ve been over this – don’t come to my work, you’re gonna get me fired.”

“Your grumpy attitude is what’ll get you fired,” Phil says, pinching his cheek so that Dan swats at him. “Can you imagine this guy serving you coffee, Lee? I think I’d be too afraid to drink it if I didn’t know what a big old softie he is.”

“Shut up,” Dan growls, rolling his eyes.

“Bye Lee! See you later on, Dan!” Phil calls as he skips off towards the school gate, not a care in the world.

“No! Phil, I mean it, don’t- oh, fuck’s sake.” Dan trails off as he realises Phil is out of earshot. “Lee, I’ve changed my mind, gimme a cigarette.”

Lee scrambles to comply as Dan sticks out his hand, impatient. He’s late already and Louise might be annoyed about it, but he couldn’t exactly say no to Phil begging him to stick around. Dan grabs a cigarette from the pack Lee offers him at once, sticking it between his lips.

He jabs a finger at Lee, irritated.  “You’re too young to start smoking,” he growls. “I’m taking these.”

Dan snatches the whole packet from him, then shoves it into his back pocket. He brings a lighter up to the one in his mouth, inhaling deeply. With a final nod towards Lee, he heads for the school gates.

*

When Phil inevitably shows up to the café, he’s still grinning. He flops down on one of the stools beside the counter, chin in his hand as he watches Dan make a macchiato.

“I cannot believe this is real,” Phil says. “I told her that I thought she seemed like a genuine and lovely person, and that I’d liked her for a while, and she was so sweet about it.”

Dan is really not up for a retelling of the event he saw not three hours ago, but it seems he doesn’t have much of a choice. He begins to froth the milk, not watching the spout, and spills some over his hand.

“Ow, shit!” Dan hisses.

“Hey, are you okay?” Phil asks, sitting up straight, face suddenly full of concern. “Be careful.”

Dan rolls his eyes as he cradles his burnt hand. “Thanks for the advice, Phil.

“Let me see,” Phil says, holding out his hand.

Dan stares at it for a moment, then warily places his own into it. Phil tuts at it, frowning. “Silly billy. Do you have any ice back there?”

“In the freezer,” Dan admits, waving vaguely towards the kitchen.

“Go get some and wrap it in a tea towel. It’ll stop it swelling,” Phil instructs him.

Dan smirks. “Thanks, Nurse.”

Phil flaps his hands at Dan until he does as told. Unfortunately, once Dan’s hand is safely chilled according to instructions, Phil is back on Amanda again.

“I was terrified when Hardy pulled up,” Phil tells him. “You should’ve seen his face when Amanda agreed to Prom. I was so sure I was about to be beaten to a pulp.”

“So was I,” Dan mutters, placing the macchiato on to a tray crammed with several other drinks.    

He walks around the counter and over to Table Ten, a group of older women wearing tennis gear, and begins dishing out the drinks they ordered. Some of them thank him with cautious smiles, and some of them eye him judgily, lips pursed, noses upturned. When he returns to the counter, Phil is gone; immediately Dan is ready to murder him. He pushes through the door to the kitchen at the back, and finds Phil exactly where he knew he would, sat up on one of the metal countertops, nibbling a flapjack.

“Phil! For fuck’s sake, how many times do I have to tell you that you aren’t allowed back here?”

Phil just smirks at him, amused. “At least once more, it would seem.”

Dan rolls his eyes. Then, after a perfunctory glance out into the café floor to make sure there are no new customers, he hops up beside Phil on the counter.

“Give me a bit, then,” Dan says moodily, holding out his hand. Phil breaks off a bit of flapjack, which he then proceeds to feed directly into Dan’s mouth. “Oi! Mmpthhh.”

“Yummy, right?” Phil says, biting off another bit. “Did you make these?”

Dan nods, reluctantly admitting to himself that they’re pretty good. “I have to whip up a big batch of them every Friday.”

“I’m gonna enter you in Bake Off,” Phil says dreamily, swallowing another bite.

Dan shakes his head. “I swear too much for the BBC.”

“True,” Phil agrees, feeding Dan another morsel. This time, Dan just lets him. “So, where should I take Amanda on Prom night? Before we get to the dance, I mean.”

The flapjack starts to curdle in Dan’s stomach. “I dunno. Where d’you wanna take her?”

“Somewhere… unusual,” Phil says contemplatively, leaning back against the wall. “Where would you wanna go, if someone was taking you on a romantic first date?”

Dan snorts, his cheeks warming. “Dates aren’t really… my thing.”

“No?” Phil asks. “Have you never…?”

“The kinds of people interested in me don’t tend to want romance, Phil.”

This time, it’s Phil’s turn to blush. “Oh.”

Dan chuckles at his reaction, hopping down off the counter and brushing crumbs from his apron. “Just take her to a fancy restaurant or something. That’s what she’ll be used to.”

The customer bell pings. Dan sighs, retying his apron as he walks back out to face the public. By the time he’s finished serving, Phil has found his way back to the stool he’d been sat in earlier.

“I don’t wanna take her somewhere she’d expect to be taken,” Phil says. “I wanna show her something different.”

“She’s one of the Elite, Phil,” Dan replies, eyebrow raised. “She’s gonna want an expensive night out somewhere glam. The pricier the better.”

Phil smiles, brushing flapjack crumbs from his lips. “We’ll see.”

*

“That’s nice,” Phil says, softly. “Who wrote that?”

Dan stops playing abruptly, fingers snatching themselves off the keys so fast that it’s almost comical. He balls his hands into fists, embarrassed that Phil’s been paying attention.

“I was just messing around.”

“You mean you just made that up off the top of your head?” Phil asks, peering at Dan over the top of his sketchbook.

Dan shrugs without answering, wanting to change the subject. “What’re you drawing?”

Phil smirks, turning the page around. There are several rough sketches of a girl on the page, all of them action shots. She’s swinging a tennis racket in a tiny, pleated skirt. She’s dancing with a faceless figure, being spun on her heel. She’s running down the school steps, her long curls floating behind her. It’s obvious who Phil is depicting here, even if the sketches lack detail.

“Cute,” Dan says with distaste. “Are you gonna slip little creepy drawings of her into her locker?”

Phil laughs, a soft, tinkling sound. “I was thinking of painting her, actually. Do you think she’d find that creepy?”

“Only one way to find out.” Dan shrugs. “Hey, you’ve been drawing for ages, you can’t have been sketching those little figures this whole time.”

Phil winks enigmatically, closing his sketchbook and tossing it onto his desk. “It’s pretty late,” Phil yawns, glancing at the clock. “Are you going home, or…?”

“Is that a hint that I should hit the road?” Dan asks, heart thudding.

Phil smiles warmly, patting the space next to him on the bed. “No, I was just wondering. Do you wanna stay the night?”

Dan shrugs like it doesn’t mean a lot either way, but he feels the tsunami of relief from his scalp to his toes. “Sure.” Then, because he feels like he should: “Thanks.”

“You can stay here whenever you want, you know,” Phil says for the hundredth time, then lets out a yawn. “Just don’t hog the covers this time.”

It doesn’t matter how many times Phil says it, Dan will never really believe him. He’s very glad that Phil seems to understand he needs an actual invite before he can allow himself to inconvenience the Lester household yet again. In an ideal world, Dan would just wander home after a few hours with his friend, have a nice dinner made for him by loving parents, and be tucked into bed. Instead, the idea of sneaking in the front door of his house and dealing with… everything he’ll find inside is sometimes just too much to bear. Phil’s house is so lovely and homely. His mum is a proper mum, warm and sweet. She makes wholesome dinners for Phil every night and always invites Dan to join them if he’s round without complaint.  Phil’s room isn’t big or particularly luxurious, but he’s got a double bed, and his walls are covered in posters of his favourite bands. He has a falling-apart piano in the corner, which Dan likes to experiment with, and a huge collection of DVD’s, built up through a lifetime of charity shop and boot sale purchases. Phil heaves himself off the bed, heading for his chest of drawers. He pulls out a pair of pyjamas, and turns to Dan.

“Do you want something to sleep in?”

“Okay,” Dan says quietly, because despite having stayed here a zillion times, he still feels like an annoyance. “Thanks.”

Phil throws a big ‘Sunnydale High’ t-shirt at him.

Dan holds it up for inspection, snorting at the design. “Fucking Buffy nerd.”

“Says the guy who practically wept with joy when I got him the Angel box set for Christmas,” Phil counters, and Dan stands up to whip him with the shirt.

“Did not.”

“You’re in love with Angel!” Phil laughs, bringing his Elmo pyjama trousers up to defend himself. “Which is way more embarrassing than being in love with Buffy.”

“Angel is the best character,” Dan says defensively.

“Who chooses Angel over Spike?” Phil says, sounding incredulous. “It’s madness! Spike is so much hotter-”

Just then, Phil’s bedroom door opens, and Phil’s mum stands there, holding two mugs in her hands. “Sorry to interrupt, boys! But as it’s a school night I think it’s bedtime, don’t you? I brought you some hot chocolate to help you doze off. Dan, I assume you’re staying?”

“Yeah, he’s sleeping over,” Phil tells his mum, for which Dan is eternally grateful, because it means he doesn’t have to. Phil takes one of the mugs and hands it to him, then takes the other for himself.

“I-if that’s alright Mrs Lester,” Dan says, his blush deepening. “Thank you for the hot chocolate.”

“Don’t be silly, Dan, love!” She exclaims, laughing. “You’re always welcome, you know that.”

“I keep trying to tell him,” Phil says, slurping hot chocolate.

Dan rolls his eyes, nudging Phil with his foot.

“Well, I’ll let you two get settled then.” Mrs Lester beams, giving them a little wave. “Night, boys.”

As soon as the door is closed, Phil plonks himself down on the bed, sipping at his drink. Despite the interruption, Dan can’t help but rewind to the conversation they’d been having just before Phil’s mum entered the room. Phil described Spike, a male character on a TV show, as 'hot'. While that may be a very accurate statement, it throws Dan a little.  Unless Dan has been very inattentive, he’s pretty certain that Phil has never expressed his attraction to a guy before, fictional vampire or not. He stares at Phil curiously as he sips hot chocolate, wondering if he can bring it up without sounding like a weirdo.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Phil asks. “Waiting for me to strip off?”

Dan flushes without meaning to. “Shut up, rat. I’m going to change in the bathroom.”

He can hear Phil giggling to himself from out in the hall.

*

“What do you like about her?”

Phil rolls over to look at him, and Dan doesn’t have to turn his head in order to know there’s a crease between his best friend’s brows.

“Amanda?”

“Yeah.”

He feels the covers shifting as Phil draws his shoulder up in a shrug. “Lots of things.”

“Her face?”

“Yes, I like her face,” Phil replies, voice tinged with amusement.

“Her body?” Dan asks.

Phil laughs softly. “Yeah, that too.”

Dan swallows around something sharp in his throat. It’s so quiet in Phil’s house. There’s no door slamming or shouting or footsteps pounding up and down the stairs. Usually, Dan leaves his window open so that he can hear the wind and the occasional murmur of a car rumbling by. Phil likes his open too, but in this quiet, suburban street, there’s virtually no sound. Phil shifts beside him, and Dan has to bite his lip. Tonight, laid in Phil’s bed, under his blue and green duvet, feels different to how it usually does. The air is thicker, weightier. Stifling. Phil’s body isn’t touching his, but it might as well be. The heat pours off him, like he’s a crackling bonfire, roasting Dan slowly. As he lies there, taut and unmoving, focused entirely on the body beside him, a slow, creeping realisation begins to spread through Dan’s limbs.

Amanda Jones has never been anything to Dan before now. She’d barely even registered on his radar. Just another boring bimbo in an obnoxious group of high school posers. Yet now, an intense, vicious hatred for the girl is spreading through him, finding every crevice of his body, clogging each pore. He loathes her, from her snub, pointed nose, to the twig legs shoved into clacky stiletto heels. A dawn is beginning to crest over the darkness from the blanket Dan has been holding over his own eyes. It’s only here, in Phil’s bed, with nothing to distract from the sight and smell and feel of him so close, that Dan is beginning to see the obvious. And the sight burns. A flush spreads over his chest, across his neck and shoulders as the weight of his own idiocy settles in. He should have seen it sooner. It should have been blaringly obvious. Dan’s been a fool, ignorant and dully predictable.

Falling for his best friend. How cliché.

A hand on Dan’s warm, bare arm makes him jump.

“Hey, are you okay?” Phil asks. “You’re breathing all weird.”

Dan sends a prayer of thanks to the skies above that the deep scarlet of his skin is likely not visible in the dark.

“Yep,” he lies, trying to will Phil to remove his hand with the power of his mind alone.

Self-loathing courses through the synapses in Dan’s brain, and he curses himself for allowing himself to get into this situation. Phil Lester is the one person that tolerates him. He’s the one person that Dan actually likes, and that – absurdly – seems to want to be his friend. This crush could ruin that. Dan’s never been known for his level-head, nor his ability to keep his mouth shut. If he lets this jealous streak continue, and keeps attacking Amanda every time Phil brings her up, Phil could grow tired of it. He could stop hanging around Dan, could abandon him completely. It might be one of the cruellest tricks life has played on him yet. Not only is Dan now going to have to pretend he has no romantic feelings for Phil, he’s going to have to watch him date Amanda Jones of all people.  There’s no question whatsoever that this revelation must remain a secret. As far as Dan is aware, Phil is likely not interested in men, and even if he were, the two of them are best friends. If Phil knew about Dan’s feelings, it would drive a wedge between them, as Phil would no longer know how to act. The one thing that must be prevented at all costs is losing Phil, even as a friend. The thought is horrific.

Phil sits up then, switching on his bedside light. Dan squints and groans as the light blinds him, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes. Phil apologises, turning down the dimmer switch.

“Dan, are you sure you’re alright?” Phil asks again, frowning. He places a hand on Dan’s forehead; it’s such a sweet, gentle touch. “Are you feeling sick?”

Dan shakes his head, pressing his lips together. “I’m fine,” Dan says; reluctantly, Phil sinks back down into the mattress. “I’m just overthinking. You know me.”

“Unfortunately,” Phil quips, so Dan smacks him in the shoulder.

Phil grabs hold of his hand as it lands, and Dan actually has to hold in a squeak. He tries to pull away, but Phil holds tight.  

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” Phil commands.

Dan swallows thickly; Phil starts to trace patterns into his palm.

“I’m worrying you’re making a mistake,” Dan decides to say, though he hates himself for it. “What if Amanda’s only agreeing to this to make Hardy jealous?”

Phil’s finger stops circling. A silence ensues, and Dan wonders if Phil is angry. It would be unusual, as Phil hardly ever gets mad.

“Maybe she is,” Phil says unexpectedly, starting to draw squiggles up and down Dan’s fingers. “But so what?

Dan blinks at him, turning so that he and Phil are staring into one another’s eyes. It’s not helping to quell Dan’s latent realised desires, but that can’t be helped. “What?”

“I can still show her a nice time,” Phil says with a shrug. “I still think she deserves to be treated well, and I still want to be the one to do it. You never know, maybe she’ll change her mind about Hardy once she sees how different it could be with me.”

Dan worries his lip ring between his teeth, and Phil’s eyes train on the action; it makes Dan want to burrow under the covers and hide.

“Phil… Hardy Jenns isn’t the kind of guy you wanna get on the wrong side of,” Dan says for the second time, trying to load his voice with the appropriate amount of urgency. “He’s scary and he has a lot of influence. If you go on a date with Amanda, you’re gonna be top of his hit list.”

“I’m not scared of Hardy Jenns, Dan,” Phil says, rolling his eyes.

“You should be, though,” Dan says. “Have you ever even taken a punch, Phil? ‘Cause he won’t hesitate to deck you if you piss him off.”

Phil smiles, squeezing a fist around Dan’s fingers. “You’re so cute, getting all concerned for my safety.”

Dan flushes, ripping his gaze from Phil’s. “I can’t protect you from him, Phil. I might be able to scare him off if he’s on his own, but he’s got all his fuckboy friends-”

“Dan, shh. You don’t need to protect me.” Fondness radiates out of every one of Phil's pores. Dan feels suffocated by it, imagines it pouring into his lungs, choking his breath from him. “I get that you’re tough and scary and you could probably kick Hardy’s ass, but that’s not why I hang around with you.”

“So, why do you?” Dan can’t help asking, his voice choked.

“Because you’re amazing,” Phil says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re ridiculously intelligent for a start. You read Sartre and Marx for fun. Your favourite films are all Godard and Truffaut.”

“That doesn’t make me amazing,” Dan says scornfully. “That makes me pretentious.”

“Maybe a little,” Phil says, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile. “But you’re also incredibly talented.” Dan makes a ‘pfft’ sound. “No, seriously. You’re the best pianist I’ve ever heard. I can’t understand how you can create something so beautiful out of nothing. I can’t draw a straight line without inspiration, but you just sit at that rickety old stool and play masterpieces off the top of your head.”

Dan purses his lips, wondering how on earth he can explain that he does have inspiration, obviously, without mentioning that literally all of his pieces are spawned from thinking about Phil.

“You’re sharp and witty,” Phil continues. “You have this spiky exterior to fend everyone off, and you hate almost everyone in school.” Phil pauses, his smile widening. “But not me.”

Dan glances away from him; his palm is so sweaty now, he has no idea how Phil isn’t grossed out from holding his hand. “You wore me down.”

“Maybe,” Phil agrees with a chuckle. “If that’s true, then I’m grateful.”

Dan doesn’t know what to say. He’s mortified from head to toe, probably bright red because he has no idea how to accept compliments and he never has. Phil is being sickeningly sweet for seemingly no reason at all, and honestly the timing couldn’t be worse, because Dan realised only minutes earlier how madly in love with him he is.

“Well, thanks,” Dan says gruffly, rolling onto his back. “You’re really lame sometimes, did you know?”

Phil laughs at him, just like always, never taking Dan’s jibes to heart. Dan’s so glad Phil understands that he never means it when he’s a salty bitch. God, he really, really needs to not fuck up this friendship.

“So, Amanda…” Dan says. He flounders for something to ask about this beaten horse of a topic, and clutches at the first thing he can think of, despite not really wanting to know the answer. “Is she the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen?”

Phil sighs, and when Dan glances over at him, his eyes are shut.  “Prettiest girl, yeah,” Phil mutters.

Dan frowns. “What’s that mean? Is there another category?”

“Mm, o‘course,” Phil mumbles after a moment. “Prettiest boy.”

Dan feels his breath catch in his throat. Don't ask. You don't want to know the answer.

He's never been good with impulse control.  “Oh,” he says, forcing a small laugh. “And who wins that prize?”

Phil’s eyes flutter open briefly, latching on to Dan’s. “You, Dan. Duh.”

Phil’s eyes are closed again in moments, so he doesn’t get to see the astonishment on Dan’s face. Minutes pass before Dan can remember how to speak, or think of any sort of response, and by the time he opens his mouth, Phil is firmly in the land of dreams.

Chapter Four!

[dxstroyergod]

3, 8, 12! please

Childhood Memories 

A fear they used to have (or perhaps, still have)

It’s called T'ka, the main river that feeds the tiny vein-like creeks that split and zig-zag from the shoreline. Life blossoms where the water lands, including where his people call home, just out of reach of the tides. Beerus is nothing more than a toddler when he learns of the river’s nickname: Sun Swallower. This name is, in part, due to the way the suns set on the horizon right above T'ka, making it appear as though the celestial bodies are submerged in the water when night falls. The other reason is due to it’s nature, as every year the waterways would flood, changing the landscape in unpredictable ways, and always taking wayward lives with it when the waters receded, snuffing out the fire of their soul in its waves.

He is five solar cycles old when T’ka’s flood reaches his front door. He’s always been wary the river and its seemingly endless depths. Reckless as he may be, he still always heeded his mother’s words and stayed far from the shore. It wasn’t fear, no, he scoffed at the older children when they told stories of youth being taken by the river at night. He knows he needs to move, the water is at his ankles and froths at his doorway. He remember seeing the sun set behind it and thinks, What if those stories are true? Why does the sight of these waters steel him in place as the pull of the waves threatens to sink him like a stone? There’s noise all around him- voices, maybe at one point, now the creaking of wood and the push of cold water. The water is almost at his knees, he notes, when he feels an arm- warm and strong -loop around his waist. The door to his and Champa’s room begins to buckle and snap under the river’s pressure, and it’s that noise that seems to snap him back to the present. His mother is screaming curses that would make even a soldier blush, and under that he thinks he hears a prayer as she carries her boys out of their sinking home. Champa is in her other arm- crying -soaking wet but alive and holding tight to their mother’s nightshirt. A good distance has been put between the family and the flooding home before Beerus hears the worried chatter of townsfolk somewhere up ahead. Their home disappears into a submerged dot in the distance before his eyes fill with tears and he begins to sob. 

Their earliest memory

It’s… blurry.Hazy, in the suns’ heat, messing with his sensitive eyes. He huffs and yawns, wiping sleep from his eyes and clearing his vision. 

“Do not let go of my hands, not even once.”A woman above him speaks, it’s his mother, he’d recognize that voice anywhere. Beerus leans back, glancing around her long legs to the near mirror image at her other side. Champa glances at him and smiles, which Beerus quickly returns and falls once again in line with his parent. 

The marketplace is an assault on the senses, but in the best way. Colorful silks and cloth hang in the sunlight, catching the colors in just the right way. Food stands are everywhere, fresh produce basks in the warm air. And the sounds- conversation everywhere! More people than he’s ever seen weave among one another in a perfect dance. Everyone is in their own little bubble, the conversation of one never drifting into the conversation of another.

“Momma, can we get a snack?”Champa pipes up from the side, snapping Beerus from his people-watching. He almost rolls his eyes, of course his brother was thinking about food. Though, to be honest, with all the smells surrounding them, Beerus can’t help but think of food too. Their mother is silent, and at first the young boys take this as a silent dismissal, both equally crestfallen for a moment before her firm hold moves them toward a fruit stall, earning excited cheers from her boys. 

A time they got hurt

His landing isn’t graceful, something is forced the wrong way as he tumbles backward. A sharp pain grinds into his shoulders as dust and dirt encompass his form in a chocking cloud. The wind is knocked from him as he bounces and makes landfall a second time, feeling something give under his lungs and forcing him to cough up air he doesn’t have to spare. Beerus shudders at the pain from simply breathing, only to get a mouthful of dust and break into a coughing fit. He’s only there for a few seconds before the air suddenly shifts and the debris are blown away from his face. The God-In-Training knows it’s his teacher that’s spared his lungs the effort of churning through another breath of sand. 

Pathetic.

Wincing, he cracks open one eye to see Whis staring him down, same stoic stare as always. The lanky boy thinks he can see it- disappointment in his teacher’s gaze and it’s what pushes him to heave forward and up onto his elbows. The pain is unbearable, but he forces himself to roll to his side before coughing again, this time tasting copper on his tongue. 

“That will be all for today”Whis’ tone is clipped and Beerus knows- he knows he must look like a weakling. 

It’s infuriating.

“Perhaps this level of training is a bit too much for your body to handle, tomorrow we’ll–”

“NO!”

He interrupts the angel with a snarl, pushing his knees underneath him and forcing his body to obey his commands. Slowly, ever so slowly, he stumbles to his feet, almost knocking into Whis as he does. Hunching over like some defeated animal is beneath him, but at least he’s standing.And when he opens his eyes again he’s sure it’s not the pain playing a trick on him- Whis has a small but notable smirk playing at his lips. It’s enough to elicit a hitch of laughter from the would-be God that almost has him back on the ground.

“Very well, but we will continue with this tomorrow. Come along now and I’ll run you a bath.”

“Whis?”

“Yes Lord Beerus?”

“Catch me first, I’m gonna pass out.”

[vacantgodling]

I was gonna ask permission if i could ask about your wips, but im going to anyway

Who is your favourite character in the paramour cast Which wip is your favourite Why is it your favourite How many wips are you actively working on?

aww 💛 as a blanket statement you can always ask me about literally anything wips or otherwise ur my Faveeee

hya is my favorite character in paramour absolutely ngl. if paramour was a piece of media that i was presented with (that i didn’t make) i would absolutely be batshit insane over this man he checks every one of my fucking boxes 😭😭😭 like i literally made a character i would simp for as a mc i’m not joking. if you look at the two main blorbos from media that i really like (hanzo from overwatch and geralt from the witcher) like hya is. them. It’s Just Him. with less of a good bone in his body he’s way less noble than those two PFF. but yeah i’m not even ashamed to admit that i’m just in LoVe with this terrible man.

so in general paramour and tcol are my favorite wips. i love all of my wips in some way shape or form but these two are currently my favorites! i love the worldbuilding for tcol and the characters so much (like how you’ve had terraclaw for a long time i’ve had tcol since i was like ??? 12-13 years old? so like at least a decade and some change LMAO) and it’s so great finally getting to create the world it always deserved but i was too young to really make. and paramour just scratches my Itch for particular character dynamics and situations so i’m just constantly frothing at the mouth over it.

HAHA so tbh i would say all of my wips i am actively working on just some more actively than others. it’s only bc my brain doesn’t have that amazing focus that you have to genuinely work on stuff i’m constantly all over the place. when i get into certain moods i’ll work on one thing then another (or in moods like the past few days i just whine and work on Nothing) lol.

in total i think i have… 15 wips i’m “actively working on” (to varying degrees) and then i have 9 wips that are currently just chilling in idea land. once i get a gist of the plot or a character fully thought out that’s when i consider a wip being “actively worked on”

[laystudio]

9, 12, 22?

hey cruz! 

9. kamala khan or cassandra cain?

damn u went hard on this kamala was one of the first teenage heroes i’ve read but like….. cass…. is my star, my moon, my center…… so i gotta go with cassandra cain, the one true Batman, for this one.

12. bucky barnes or jason todd?

fuck ur edgy ass cruz!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! why would u do this to me!!!

ok tho bucky was like the ultimate™ circa 2014 i literally froth at the mouth at all and any mention of him in every circumstance imaginable. 15-year-old me was shookt not gonna lie, But jason todd brought that feeling maybe a hundred fold. he murdered me dead sis! so the favorite zombie award goes to jason peter todd on this one.

22. natasha romanoff or selina kyle?

nat is a legend but selina kyle is the hill i will die on. fuck sc*rlett johanss*n tho, she can choke

[dailykanechronicles]

A cited quote on the Apis Bull's value

‘I did not love this place. The steps down led to a wide hall chiseled from golden bedrock. The barreled ceiling was so low, I could touch it without stretching my arms. I could tell that archaeologists had been here, from the bare electric bulbs that cast shadows across the arches. Metal beams braced the walls, but the cracks in the ceiling didn’t help me feel safe. I’d never been comfortable in enclosed spaces.

Every thirty feet or so, square alcoves opened up on either side of the main hall. Each niche held a massive freestanding stone sarcophagus. After passing the fourth such coffin, I stopped. “Those things are way too big for humans. What’s in there?” “Bull,” Setne said. “Excuse me?” Setne’s laugh echoed through the hall. I figured that if there were any sleeping monsters in this place, they were awake now. “These are the burial chambers for the Apis Bull.” Setne gestured around him proudly. “I built all this, you know, back when I was Prince Khaemwaset.” Zia ran her hand along the white stone lid of the sarcophagus. “The Apis Bull. My ancestors thought it was an incarnation of Osiris in the mortal world.” “THOUGHT?” Setne snorted. “It was his incarnation, doll. At least some of the time-like on festival days and whatnot. We took our Apis bull seriously back then.” He patted the coffin like he was showing off a used car. “This bad boy here? He had the perfect life. All the food he could eat. Got a harem of cows, burnt offerings, a special gold cloth for his back- all the perks. Only had to show himself in public a few times a year for big festivals. When he turned twenty-five, he got slaughtered in a big ceremony, mummified like a king, and put down here. Then a new bull took his place. Nice gig huh?” “Killed at twenty-five,” I said. “Sounds awesome.” I wondered how many mummified bulls were down in the hallway. I didn’t want to find out. I liked being right here, where I could still see the exist and the sunlight outside. “So why is this place called a—what was it?” “Serapeum,” Zia answered. Her face was illuminated with golden light-probably just the electrical bulbs reflecting off the stone, but it seemed like she was glowing. “Iskandar, my old teacher-he told me about this place. The Apis Bull was a vessel for Osiris. In later times, the names were merged: Osiris-Apis. Then the Greeks shorted it to Serapis.” Setne sneered. “Stupid Greeks. Moving in on our territory. Taking over our gods. I’m telling you, I got no love for those guys. But yeah that’s how it happened. This place became known as a Serapeum- A house for dead bull gods. Me, I wanted to call it the Khaemwaset Memorial of Pure Awesomeness, but my dad wouldn’t go for it.” “Your dad?” I asked. Setne waved aside the question. “Anyway, I hid the book of Thoth down here before I died because I knew no one would ever disturb it. You’d have to be frothing-at-the-mouth crazy to mess with the sacred tomb of the Apis Bull.” “Great.” I felt like I was turning back into liquid. “Zia frowned at the ghost. "Don’t tell me-You hid the book in one of these Sarcophagi with a mummified bull, and the bull will come to life if we disturb it?”_ _Setne winked at her. “Oh, I did better than that, doll. Archaelologists have discovered this part of the complex.” “He gestured at the electric lights and metal support beams. "But I’m gonna take you on a behind-the-scenes tour.” ’ - The Serpent’s Shadow, Chapter 12, Bulls with Freaking Laser Beams!!!

It’s not the quote that says something about Setne helping to instigate World War 1 but I help this cited quote is helpful anyways.

(Submission by @silverstarcross)