#One without stupid damn fuck gender marketing

[painterofhorizons]

Was at a bookstore today and saw a probably otherwise great book for kids that was titled with "boys club" and "for boys" so I start complaining to my companion about how the unnecessarily gendered title already ruins the otherwise maybe great book to me (I was looking at it for my niece and nephew) and an employer hears me complaining and comes over to ask what's wrong and I tell him what bothers me and how of course that's no issue of the bookstore but of the company making the book but how it's just not necessary to gender this book when you can simply make it an "adventure for kids" book instead of an "adventure for boys" book. And I really appreciate that the employer took time to discuss the matter with us but goodness it is so frustrating.

So I get the whole capitalist "gender marketing sells better" argument and if he had simply let it there I could have probably let it there too. Like I don't like it but I understand that the small store needs to make profit to survive. And the (bullshit) topic of (bullshit) gender marketing is a whole different one and doesn't even need to be addressed here rn.

He even suggested that I as a customer should write that to the company making the book and tell them and how that has more weigth than when the bookstores complain. So that part was even helpful.

But then as the discussion went on he completely started to argue from a biological perspective. That the matter that boys prefer cars as toys and specific activities and girls prefer dolls and other activities was first and foremost a matter of genes.

I wanted to drop to the floor and start to throw a tantrum.

While I am aware of the studies that show that genetic stuff (sorry for not having the correct terms at hand rn, tired non native English speaker at my end) has SOME influence (or can have) on preferences, the much bigger and more definitive part is goddamn socialization and culture and adults. Like, it has REASONS why boys go to this book in the store and girls go to others, and it. Is. Not. Genes. It is not biology. It is not "that's how boys are, I can tell because I see them buy this book and ignore that other book all day long" yes dear sir but have you ever wondered WHY boys go to this book instead of that one. Have you ever wondered about what and whom imprints on children. Have you ever wondered about-

I kept asking him about it and argue with socialization and he kept repeating "no but I know because I see children I read as boys come in and take this book and not that one every day and it's all genes" and aaaaaaaaaaaaaah-

Oh dear cheesecake I aged within those xx minutes of conversation. And really, I appreciate that he took time to have it, but for everything good in this world people like him are not part of the change this world (and the kids!) need to see.

It's not genes that make children prefer this or that book. It's marketing. It's society. It's parents and other folks living with the kids making some activities more attractive to them than others for reasons that are archaic.

I really want to cry.

[khaleesiofalicante]

Ok imma be honest, this chapter moved me to tears and not the sad sobbing but the more inspiring kind. This chapter means the world.

She had told them her dreams were about ducks – since there were the only equally horrible thing she could think of.

Uncle Magnus had given her an odd look then, as if he knew she was bullshitting them. But he hadn’t said anything.

DUCKS AREN'T THAT BAD! HAVE Y'ALL EVER BEEN CHASED BY A GOAT?? I WAS CONVINCED I WAS GONNA DIE

Lexi would be royally pissed if this turned out to be some stupid pointless dream.

YUP

Even though she was only 7 minutes older than Lexi, Selena always acted like she was 7 years older.

That's so cute though

People looked at her pastel-coloured aesthetic immediately assumed she was the soft and sweet Fairchild twin. People saw Selena in her red leather jacket and thigh high boots and assumed she was in the infamous troublesome Herondale twin.

SMH THE DAMN STEREOTYPES

Why Selena hadn’t killed her in her sleep yet, Lexi doesn’t know.

BYE THAT'S EVERY SIBLING RELATIONSHIP EVER

The meals at the Academy were to die for – quite literally. Last week two students from the warlock fraction had almost killed each other over a blueberry muffin.

Oh how times change...they will never know the dreaded soup

NO ANJALI HAS BEEN GONE FOR OVER A YEAR???

IS JAIME OK?? PLEASE BE OK! HE CAN LIVE WITH TREATMENT SO I REALLY HOPE HE'S OK

Selena’s was Idris of course. She was kind of obsessed with it.

Max loved the shadow markets. Lexi thought they were very cool too.

Rafael loved his father’s office – which was weird. There was nothing to do in that room other than ponder about shadow world problems. Besides, the place still weirdly smelled like the tangerine perfume Anjali wore, even though the girl had left New York almost a year ago.

David loved the New York Institute – especially the library.

Gigi of course loved the dining halls.

Dining halls, kitchens, food trucks, vending machines - if a place had food with it, Gigi loved it.

It's so amazing how they all have their favorite places...(same David same)

“You’re supposed to pour the syrup on the pancakes not into your mouth,” Lexi chuckled as she sat down next to her.

“It ends up in my mouth anyway,” Gigi shrugged.

True enough.

AWW ROMAN MAKING GIGI PLAYLISTS!!

Someone make me a playlist.

“His parents fell in love in Rome when they were in Rome,” Gigi pointed out even though Lexi already knew. “I think it’s actually romantic.”

I had forgotten that-

Roman was nice. But not nice enough for Georgia. Lexi didn’t think there was anyone good enough for her parabatai – who was the most perfect person in the world.

Me @ anyone who tries to make a move at my best friend.

AWW GEORGIA LIKES HIM TOO!!

When's the wedding?

(you're telling me you didn't believe you were gonna marry your childhood crush? Liar)

“I like being his friend,” Georgia said. “I like spending time with him and all of that. But I don’t know if I like him…in that way. I feel like I need more time.”

Demiromantic??? YES GIVE US THE REP

Lexi sometimes thought life would be so much simpler if the world was full of women and everyone was a lesbian.

Ikr?? Life would be so much easier.

Lexi says Roman is too-nice-sus

Well well well

The kind of love that cheated death.

The kind of love that sustained memory spells put by princes of hell.

The kind of love that changed the world.

Trust me all of our standards are very high

Lexi successfully survived the class without falling asleep.

Me during English.

Ok who's the blond?

Lexi I thought we weren't gonna fall this soon-

Oh the girl's straight...sigh we've all been there.

which meant they had to hold hands. Kinda.

Lexi was a little scared of that.

Me.

Goddamnit, Alexandra. Get your gay together!

THAT'S SO RELATABLE LIKE?? YES

OH MY GOD IT'S EMMA AND JULIAN'S DAUGHTER GEIDIDHDOHDJSKSJSKGXJDHSODHKDGDDGDJHDJDGDJDGJDHD

Lexi knew Olivia liked boys. She hadn’t dated anyone officially of course. All the boys were kind of terrified of her father.

She could be bi or pan or omni. WE GOTTA HAVE HOPE

vegetable loaf... David I'm so sorry you had to go through this.

Lexi then decided not to do any of her homework over the weekend because she was not coming back to the academy. She was not going to survive the sleepover and whatever else Olivia had in mind.

Bestie...why is this me when I make eye contact with my crush.

“Good stuff?” Max snorted. “Rafe literally ran away from home cause shit got too intense.”

“I didn’t run away!” Rafael rolled his eyes. “Stop telling people that!”

“But you have rumours and shadowhunters getting thrown into silent city and cohort drama and all that exciting stuff!” Liv pointed out.

I-

Liv-

True though.

“Wasn’t there a serial killer when your parents were young?” David asked.

“And didn’t your uncle do necromancy?” Max said biting into a chicken wing.

True and true

“Sorry, Chouchou!” Lexi winced. “I, uh, sensed a mosquitoe on your leg.”

“Girl, your angel powers are weird as fuck,” Max laughed.

MAX LANGUAGE

“I don’t know,” the girl shrugged and threw her a wink. “I wouldn’t put anything past Lexi.”

Lexi looked at Gigi. She was one more compliment away from screaming.

But Gigi of course knew her struggle and therefore quickly stuffed a bread roll into Lexi’s mouth.

I need someone to stuff bread into my mouth when things get like this

There were rumours about David – and how Daddy had an affair. Lexi was yet to find those asshats and shove a witch light down their throats.

When you find them lemme know too.

“Or maybe it’s because you don’t need rumours be interesting,” David pointed out.

Max turned around, looking surprised at that. His cheeks turned purple. Lexi didn’t know why he was surprised. David only ever spoke fondly of Max.

JUST GET TOGETHER ALREADY OH MY GOD

“Oh. Oh! I did hear something a long time ago!” Gigi said suddenly. “Olly, is it true you were conceived at the beach?”

“Georgia, you can’t just ask people where they were conceived!” David sounded horrified.

That is very much possible.

“I heard you were conceived in hell?”

“Oh my god,” Selena looked horrified. “That’s not true! It must have been about Max!”

“Y’all I am adopted!” Max was shaking with laughter and then stopped. “Although our dads could have definitely had sex in hell. I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Oh yes. Both clace and malec.

Then they had of course continued to discuss that cursed topic until Rafael had threatened to tell the Consul about it.

LMAO

Lexi turned around and saw Liv waiting for her. Nope. She wasn’t going to talk a walk – a fucking stroll! – with Olivia all on her own.

“You are coming back to the institute with me or I will un-parabatai you.”

You know there being an un-parabatai ceremony would solve a lot of shit

What if their hands accidentally grazed or something? That shit was lethal.

RIGHT????

She is just trying to be nice. That’s what friends do. They are nice. And they give each other pretty dresses and say they would like to see them in it.

Honey that's gay.

EVERYONE ASKING HER OUT IM DEAD

Selena: Ugh boys

Selena: When I win back Idris, we are leaving all the men behind.

Lexi: Except Magnus? Lol.

Selena: Obviously.

Is that even a question Lexi? Duh.

ALEC LIGHTWOOD THOUGHT SHE WAS STRAIGHT? THE SHAME!

OH MY GOD IM CACKLING

Not everyone can kiss their partner in the Accords Hall. Some people didn’t have access to the Accords Hall.

And most important, some people didn’t have partners!

We're getting a lexi and Alec talk someone hold me

“I’m going to tell you something,” Uncle Alec said. “It might sound simple. It might sound ridiculous. But it’s the truth. So, you must believe me. Can you do that?”

Lexi gave him a small nod.

“It doesn’t matter what other people think,” Uncle Alec said. “Not when it comes to your future. Not when it comes to your identity. They don’t get to have a say in who you are and why you are the way you are.”

Lexi bit her lip.

“Alexandra, people will always tell what to do. But you shouldn’t let them. Never let anyone tell you what to do with your heart or your body. Neither belongs them. It only belongs to you.”

THIS RIGHT HERE MADE ME START CRYING BECAUSE DAMN YES!

“Yep,” she groaned and then hesitated for a moment. “Uncle Alec…Can I ask you something stupid?”

“Can I say no?”

“No.”

“Then go ahead.”

I love her so much

“I feel…I feel it’s something we have to bear, Alexandra. The fear of rejection. It’s something we have to accept as an inevitable part of our lives. Because no matter how much love we have around us, we will always be afraid of people not loving us – simply because of who we are.”

Yeah...

“Besides, they named you after me,” he pointed out. “I don’t know what else they expected.”

EXACTLY! Did they really expect a straight child after naming them after Alec?

“I do like shouting,” Lexi wondered out loud. “That’s good advice.”

“I didn’t mean it literally!” Uncle Alec looked alarmed.

“No, it makes total sense!” Lexi grinned. “Some of these people can be tone deaf. Gotta shout it out. Loud and clear. Awesome advice! Thanks, Uncle Alec!”

DO IT

“Hey, Lexi. I was wonderin-”

“MOVE, I’M GAY!” she yelled as she shoved him aside and kept on running.

ABSOLUTELY ICONIC

“I prefer she/her,” Lexi answered. "But sometimes I prefer she/they. But you can use she/her because some of y'all already shit at grammar."

That's exactly what I tell people when they ask for my pronouns. Istg people are shit at grammar.

alright girl im here to give you a lecture on how someone's dressing doesn't describe their sexuality

OH MY MY GOD THERE WAS A GENDER AND SEXUALITY CLASS IN THE ACADEMY ARE THEY RECRUITING???

One of the boys who had complimented cleared his throat. “So, uh, you don’t like boys?”

“That’s literally what I said,” Lexi rolled her eyes. “I’m gay. I’m very gay. I’m gayer than the Consul. Okay fine, that’s not true. No one gayer than the Consul. But I’m still pretty gay.”

Does the boy have hearing problems?

ALSO YES NO ONE'S GAYER THAN THE CONSUL

“Sexual orientation and gender expression are two different things,” she explained now, remember what Uncle Magnus had taught them. “Sexual orientation refers to who I am sexually and romantically attracted to. Gender expression is how I want to express my gender identity. Those two are not connected. Just because a woman wears feminine clothes it doesn’t mean she is straight. Just because a man embraces femininity, it doesn’t make him gay either. Does that make sense?”

“Ohhh,” the girl nodded. “Yes, it does. Thank you!”

“What I wear does not reflect who I like. It reflects who I am and what I like to wear,” Lexi explained. “And regardless of my sexuality, I like pretty things.”

Exactly.

“This doesn’t change anything. I hope you know that,” he told her. “I mean I have to change the pronouns in my shovel talk. But that’s not a big deal.”

Awwww

Also – my good friend Raziel told me that homophobia is a sin.”

“You mean homosexuality is a sin?” an older man asked.

“No, homophobia is a sin,” Lexi repeated. “That’s what Raziel said.”

“But that’s not-”

Someone cleared their throat. When he spoke, it was in the Consul Voice.

“Are you saying know better than Raziel?” the Consul asked.

Listen to Raziel you dumb shit

“Sure. Let me just call the Lesbian Alliance,” Lexi rolled her eyes.

Ugh I wish

OH NO NO NO NOT THE FAKE DATING. JUST CONFESS AND DATE FOR REAL

“Alexandra, I have a fucking undercut and I have pink highlights and I cuff my jeans and I literally walk around with a sword and I can quote Lady Gaga to perfection! Why would you ever think I was straight??”

Lexi your gaydar is broken bestie.

Don't do this omg this is gonna be a mess

Gigi: THIS IS A BAD IDEA. ABORT! ABORT!

Lexi: Relaaaax. It’s going to be fine!

Gigi: I’ve read enough fanfiction to know the fake dating trope never ends well!

Lexi: I’ve told you to include the ‘angst with happy ending’ tag!

LMAO

Also Gigi which fanfiction do you read?

Jace omg...

That's so him though.

“How about my peeps? It sounds very hip.”

“It does not,” Lexi replied. “Please don’t refer to us as your peeps under any circumstance."

IM SCREAMING ASHSKHSIDBSHSHDH

Her father chuckled at that. “Sweetheart, you’re a Herondale. Being problematic is what we do.”

EXACTLY

Daddy opened the notebook again. “I need names.”

Grabs flamethrower names

“Besides, the Lightwoods and Blackthorns have been hogging the gay genes for too long. Now it’s our turn. I say you gay it up.”

“Gay it up?” Lexi laughed.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “Go for the highest possible level of gay.”

DO IT

He blinked for a second and then it hit him. “OH MY GOD YES! DOES EMMA KNOW??”

Lexi laughed. Yeah, he can never find out it was a fake dating situation.

Hopefully he won't have to because it won't be fake :D

“To love is a privilege and to be loved is a blessing.”

THE GROWTH OH MY GOD

This chapter literally means so much to me. I don't even know what to say. I hope I too can one day have the courage to shout it in front of everyone and not be scared. See ya on Tuesday!

It means so much to me that this chapter meant a lot to you. I hope you find all the courage, strength and support you need. You are amazing.

And here. I made you a playlist.

You can find it here on YouTube. I hope you like it :)

[justjessame]

Starting Over Chapter One

Sitting on a park bench, earbuds firmly lodged in my ears with music turned just this side of uncomfortably loud, my book opened to the same page it’s been on for the past week - the week that I’ve been back from - well I’d rather not think about where I was before. Where at least half the population of this giant ball of gas and bullshit disappeared to for years with no warning and then POOF here we were, back again, unchanged while every fucking thing we left behind was changed. Five years gone, five years lost to us, while the people we left behind had continued to move and grow.

Maybe that’s why I couldn’t focus on my music, or my book, or the scenic park laid bare before me. Why flashes of darkness and light would hit me without warning and crippling fear would strike me with no urging. My parents had died of natural causes while I was snapped into the void. No one was waiting to greet me or was excited when I returned. Friends and family scattered, the earth kept turning, but everything was upside down and inside out, or so it seemed to me.

I was the same as I’d been when the snap happened. Twenty-five years old, still searching for something, but no closer to the answers than I’d been before - and with less guidance now that two of my compass leads were gone. I had a house, thank God for the retroactive inheritance bills that were activated for people like me, whose family died and their property was put into question. I had some cushion, but I knew it wouldn’t last. I had to find something, some means to keep my head afloat and hopefully not make my mind numb to the point that I’d wish for another snap.

I shouldn’t be wasting time in parks with earbuds and books, I should have my feet on the ground looking for a job. What was I even qualified to do? I went to college and got a degree in liberal arts. Yeah, that’s marketable. I loved to read, notwithstanding my current attention span. I earned extra cash during college editing my fellow classmates’ papers, but I didn’t actually have a background in editing. I was considering how best to pad my resume that I hadn’t used for a full five years when he ran past.

A touch faster than the other joggers, a slightly different gait, his left side seemed heavier? I was studying him without actually thinking about it, his dark hair and the chiseled jawline would have been enough to draw anyone’s attention, but there was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on that marked him as different -

My head tilted as I watched him run, his hands were encased in gloves. Maybe that’s what drew my attention, it wasn’t cold after all. He didn’t look like he was running because he was a health nut, not like the other joggers dotting the jogging track, more like he was running for the routine of it. And I had no idea how I came to that conclusion.

I shook myself, watching a stranger run was creepy, verging on stalkerish. It didn’t matter that he was attractive or that he seemed to radiate some type of magnetic attraction that drew my gaze, that was probably just boloney that my mind was cooking up to make it alright for me to stare at him. Banging around in the nothingness for five years was NO excuse for this type of behavior, I told myself while my eyes were still following his course. Round and round he went, hardly breaking a sweat, and not breathing heavily either.

He glanced up and his eyes met mine and I could feel the blood drain from my face. Not because he scared me, but because I was caught being a creeper. And his eyes were like steel, gray and I shouldn’t have been able to tell that from the distance between us. But I could.

Evenings were always loose ends for me. Five years, dead parents, and I know people are going to say “but you have to have SOME friends around.” Of course I do, and most of them are now in their thirties and they don’t know how to handle that I’m not. Or how to handle that I was GONE for five years, while their lives went on, and I have what would have been godchildren and honorary nieces and nephews, but I wasn’t here. And if you don’t think that shit is awkward, well, you clearly haven’t experienced it.

They got to be at my parents’ funerals. They lived through my parents’ grief at the loss of ME. They said their goodbyes to ME. And now here I am. Yeah, it’s much easier to let go. Even if letting go means that I have to start over.

The choices are, make my own dinner - which I am more than capable of doing, or go out on the off chance I could meet and make new friends. Usually I pick option one. Safer, quieter, easier. But after the day I’d had in the park, I thought perhaps I’d give option two a go.

Going for a walk, thinking that I’d choose along the way, I started out with my phone, earbuds, and book. Habits. Old habits die hard.

I know what most people are thinking. A woman alone, nighttime, after everything that had happened and continues to happen, wasn’t I just asking for trouble? Not really. I’m not one of those people that automatically assumes that bad things happen to people because of size, shape, gender, and on and on. I don’t think I got snapped into the void or whatever because I happened to be a petite woman. I don’t think I’ll end up snatched off the street because of it either.

Also, my parents spent a fair bit of extra cash to make sure I was taught self defense, so I felt at least confident in my chances against regular freaks. It was the extra-enhanced freaks I might have issues with.

I bypassed sushi places and burger spots. Ignoring the sub sandwich shops that almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the early night, I was thinking that Italian was what I was craving, and if it hadn’t closed, my favorite spot wasn’t far. So focused on my purpose, now that I had one, I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings and crashed into a steel wall.

“Ow,” I bounced back, rubbing my right shoulder and thinking that maybe I’d been too quick in my bitching about the padding in bras. Looking up I realized it wasn’t a steel wall OR door, but shockingly the jogger from earlier. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t decide if he was surprised by or uncertain about me. His lips were working to form something, and finally managed a sort of smile. “Nothing to be sorry about.” His eyes were in a squint and I wondered how weird he’d think I was if I rubbed my right breast, because DAMN if it didn’t hurt like fuck. “I should get out of your way.”

I blinked again, words, use your words. “Right, I was on my way to dinner.” You’re not fucking stupid. Just socially inept. “I’m sorry I ran into you?” Did I run into him? I mean, I’ve heard about muscles of steel, but REALLY?

“Oh,” he stepped back and cleared the path. “I hope you aren’t late.”

“Late?” He was more attractive up close and I swear it made it a thousand times harder to make words form. His eyes were almost silver and if I’d thought his jaw was chiseled as he jogged, well, holy hell up close? He could cut bread with it. He was waiting and I ran the conversation through my brain again. “For dinner, right. Dinner for one, so I’m only late if I don’t arrive at all.” Shit, now I sound lonely and sad. My eyes snapped shut. “And now I’ll go and disappear into my spiral of shame.”

“Shame?” He sounded so confused that I had to open my eyes, and sure enough his brow was fully furrowed and he looked as confused as a puppy. “Why would you -”

“You’d never understand,” I huffed out a chuckle and shook my head. “I’m sorry for talking your head off, I should go.”

“Wait,” his gloved hand touched my arm, the briefest touch to get my attention. “I’m Bucky -” he took a deep breath like he was really unsure of himself, which was bizarre. “Bucky Barnes.”

Something twitched in my stomach, something I hadn’t felt since long before the snap. And that name, wasn’t it a touch familiar? Butterflies and nerves fought for dominance, and as I bit my lip, I took my own deep breath thinking maybe this was it. The first step since coming back. “It’s nice to meet you, Bucky, I’m Brooke Ashley.”

[shotgun--rider]

One Digit Off

A Jared x Reader Oneshot

After a hard day at work, Y/N just wants some peace and quiet. Instead, an accidental phone call might just change the whole evening. 

Word Count: 2300

Warnings: Brief discussion of suicide attempt (not a main character), bad t-shirt puns, cat Rowena, useless fluff

*Reader gender/pronouns: any

A/N: Some silly apology fluff because I’ve been a useless rat about posting. 

The couch in your living room was an overstuffed monstrosity that liked to consume anyone that sat on it, slowly but surely. It had been a thrift-store purchase in college years ago that somehow left anyone who sat on it pulled so far into the cushions that there was almost no leverage to stand back up. Nevertheless, it made the perfect place to hide at the end of a long week. 

After the exhausting and entirely depressing shift you’d had at work, you wanted nothing more than to give in and let the couch eat you. You were wearing your favorite old, worn novelty t-shirt, the completely stupid one that read ‘SQUIRRELS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN’, and an equally embarrassing pair of shorts with tie-dyed handprints on your butt. Armed with a plate of haphazard snacks, you settled in on the hungry hippo couch, laying sprawled sideways and accepting your fate. You’d already taken a shower and jammed your hair behind a messy bandana, solidifying your look of “disaster got run over by a truck”. It was classy. 

You just wanted to get cozy, watch some TV that you knew well enough not to have to think about anymore, and try to forget the sounds of a hysterical ten year old in your headset, screaming that Mommy was killing herself. 

Working as a 911 dispatcher meant that you heard people in the worst moments of their lives all the time, and most of the time, they hung up without you ever hearing the ending. You were trained to talk down panicked callers, to get the most important information out of them in the quickest and safest way possible, to keep everyone calm and everyone alive until the first responders got there. And you were good at what you did, good at compartmentalizing what you listened to so that it didn’t follow you home, so that it didn’t distract you. And most of the time that worked. 

You blew out your breath and refocused on the TV, having put on one of your old favorite Supernatural episodes as a distraction. Your black cat was huddled up kneading her paws on your feet, the couch was slowly swallowing you between the cushions and the backrest, and the hollowness in your chest eased bit by bit as you listened to Sam and Dean bicker. 

On the coffee table in front of you, just past your snack plate and out of reach, your phone lit up, buzzing with a FaceTime call. You lifted your head halfheartedly to peer at the screen, unable to make out the caller at the angle you were at. It didn’t matter anyway; you weren’t in the mood to talk to anyone. Besides, it wasn’t like you really had anyone in your contacts who would be especially put out if you waited until tomorrow to talk to them. Your friends were all very casual people. 

Stuffing a ranch-dipped cucumber slice into your mouth while you were sitting up, you proceeded to flop back down onto the couch, earning a death look from Rowena for moving your feet. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered to the cat. “You’re the one sitting on my feet, you know what you signed up for,”

And now you were talking to your cat. Great. This was probably the sort of thing that kept you perpetually single, you reflected absently. There weren’t a lot of people out there in the market for a put-crazy-cat-ladies-to-shame introvert who worked weird hours and was more awkward than entertaining. Not that it mattered, though. You weren’t really relationship material in general, you’d found, and after realizing how many boyfriends you just seemed to inevitably disappoint, you’d decided you were fine being single. 

Ten minutes later, just as Sam was losing his shoe down a storm drain, your phone buzzed again. There was no contact photo coming up, which probably meant it was a wrong number, and you ignored it once more. Until it rang again, and again, followed by a flurry of pinging text messages. 

Cursing to yourself as you fought your way upright (dislodging Rowena, who hissed at you), you flailed for the phone, not bothering to read the texts as you picked it up. If a wrong number was going to call you that many times, they either had an emergency or really needed to be set straight. Pushing your bandana higher off of your forehead carelessly, you swiped to answer the FaceTime call, setting it on the couch next to you without even looking at the video loading on the screen as you fumbled to pause the TV. “God, what!” you snapped in the vague direction of your phone. “Stop hissing at me, cat,” you added irritably for Rowena’s benefit. 

There was a long pause, and then a man’s voice. “Um,” he said inelegantly. “I’m sorry?”

Rowena prowled over to the phone, then, batting at it with one paw and nosing the screen inquisitively. “Rowena, you menace!” You reached over, trying to pry the phone out from where she was currently sitting on half of it, sighing heavily. 

“Hey, look, I think you called the wrong number, and I’m really sorry my cat’s sitting on you right now--” you started, just barely able to make out the bottom half of a man’s torso in a loose gray shirt from underneath Rowena’s black fur. 

A laugh, then, “No, it’s a cute cat. Well, as far as I can tell,” 

Your phone’s speaker was muffled by Rowena’s tail, but there was something about that voice that almost sounded familiar. “Jesus Christ, Ro, let me apologize to this guy properly,” you huffed, failing once more to pull your phone free when she batted her paws at you defensively, claws out. 

“Wait, your cat’s name is Rowena?”

“Uh, yeah,” you frowned, trying to figure out why hearing your cat’s name in a stranger’s voice bothered you so much. “Yeah, I--Rowena give me the phone!” you snapped suddenly, making a dive between her paws. Finally, your cat relinquished the phone, fixing you with an Oscar-worthy dramatic look of anger befitting her namesake before flouncing off the couch. “Damn cat,” you grumbled, finally lifting the phone to get a look at who’d been calling you. At least being virtually sat on by a cat meant he got a little payback for harassing you with calls for the past half hour. 

As soon as you brought the phone up to your face, you froze, your slow blinking the only proof that the screen hadn’t just frozen up on you. “Uh.”

He was several years older than the one currently paused on your TV, wearing a black beanie and looking mostly ready for bed, but no, that was definitely Jared freaking Padalecki staring back at you. And you were wearing a squirrel shirt and had a rat’s nest for hair. Clearly, the universe had just built this entire day to laugh at you, because what the fuck. 

He was smiling at you, eyes crinkled up at the corners and looking unfairly put together compared to your gremlin-impersonation in the corner screen. “So, are the squirrels having fun?”

“What--oh!” you looked down at your shirt, embarrassment flooding through you, and decided on the spot to go with it. It wasn’t like this could get any weirder. “They were,” you returned, “until somebody called them six times in twenty minutes,”

Jared’s expression turned sheepish. “Yeah...sorry about that. My buddy got a new phone number and I obviously saved it wrong. I wouldn’t have bothered you if I didn’t think it was just Jensen ignoring me,”

A slightly incredulous sounding laugh burst from your lips, and you shifted on the couch, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you were casually carrying on a conversation with Jared Padalecki. After your cat had sat on him. “You didn’t bother me that much,” you conceded. “Sorry I snapped at you. Rough day.” 

“Oh yeah?” Jared tucked one arm behind his head, shifting around but never taking his eyes away from your face. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Um,” you faltered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t need to spill your guts to a random wrong number who also happened to be one of your favorite actors. What you did need to do was get out of this with some decency, hang up the phone, and forget about it.

“You don’t have to,” Jared was saying softly, his forehead pinched like he was concerned about you. (Which was laughable).

“No…” you shook your head, wrinkling your nose. “I don’t know, I just...isn’t this weird?”

“What do you mean?”

“Uh, talking to a stranger because of a misdial?”

Jared pouted, his eyes turning dangerously puppy-looking. “And here I thought you liked me,” 

“Wishful thinking, Padalecki,” you shot back without thinking, only realizing after the words were already out that you’d just confirmed that you knew who he was. 

Meanwhile, Jared’s eyes had lit up triumphantly. “If you know who I am, then you’re not talking to a total stranger,” he pointed out, smiling easily at you. 

He didn’t seem like he minded, but that did little to put you at ease. Pinching the bridge of your nose to stave off a stress headache, you sighed. “I’m sorry, that’s got to be so awkward, I--”

“What? No,” Jared just looked genuinely confused. “You’ve got a cat named Rowena, I kind of figured you’d know who I was,” 

You groaned, covering your entire face with your hand now as embarrassment burned through your cheeks. “You probably think I’m some crazed wild fan, naming my cat after a character,”

“I don’t,” Jared reassured you firmly. “I think you’re funny, and I like the squirrel shirt,”

You peeked out from between your fingers. Jared Padalecki liked your dumb squirrel shirt. “You’re just saying that,”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, I’m not! This is the best thing to happen to me all week,”

“You must have had a pretty lame week,” you observed sarcastically, leaning toward your phone to better examine your own image in the corner. “I look like a gremlin,”

“You do not!” Jared was laughing at you now, shaking his head emphatically. “You look cute,”

“I look--and feel--like I crawled out of a trash can, but thank you,” you deadpanned, a yawn distracting you from Jared’s further counterargument. You heard the smile in his voice before you opened your eyes to see it, and something caught in your chest at his soft expression. 

“Tired?” he asked gently, shifting onto his stomach on the screen, face propped up on a pillow to look at you. Vaguely, in the back of your mind, that surrealness of being on a FaceTime call with Jared Padalecki was still there, but mostly, it just felt unbelievably normal. 

“Twelve hour shift,” you confirmed with a nod, one hand moving beside you to lazily pet Rowena, who had apparently decided to forgive you. At the look of puzzlement on Jared’s face, you elaborated, “I’m a 911 dispatcher,”

“So when you say you had a rough day…” Jared’s face cleared in understanding, his expression patient. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want,” he reminded you softly, falling silent after that as if just content to watch your gremlin face on his screen. (Which would be ridiculous).

Your mind flickered back to the sound of the panicked girl on your headset, and you sighed. “No, it’s fine. I, uh, picked up a call from a girl today. Moriah. She was ten. She, uh, she found her mom in the bathtub with a knife,”

Jared sucked in a breath. “I’m so sorry you had to listen to that. Did she...uh, is she okay?”

Your mouth twisted wryly. “That’s the thing. Everybody hangs up as soon as the ambulance gets there. I hope so, though. Kid said she had vitals,”

Jared was shaking his head at you. “And you do that every day,”

“I mean, not every day, it depends on shifts. But yeah.” you shrugged. “I try to help,”

“That’s incredible. You’re incredible.” he murmured softly. 

Squirming at the praise, you scowled playfully at him. “You don’t even know me,”

“I’m not taking it back,”

“Yeah, okay,” you feigned annoyance like there wasn’t a blush all over your face. Then you winced, suddenly noting the little red battery symbol on top of your screen. “Crap, my phone’s gonna die,”

That seemed to shake Jared out of just staring vaguely at the phone screen, and you watched him sit up cross legged on his bed, still with that same heart-stopping smile. “Yeah, we should both probably go to bed anyway,”

You sighed with a nod, strangely reluctant to hang up. “I’m still sorry Rowena sat on you,”

Jared laughed, throwing back his head. “I’m not,” he told you brightly. “You probably woulda hung up on me if she hadn’t. Tell her she’s a good cat,”

“I will not, it’ll make her head bigger,” you retorted easily. “Goodnight, Jared,”

Jared touched his fingers briefly to his lips, covering the camera with them a second later. “Goodnight,” he whispered, ending the call before you had any time to process what that meant. 

It only took a few minutes for your phone to buzz with a new text, and you opened it with a laugh, scrolling briefly back through Jared’s pestering of “Jensen” before focusing on what he’d sent you this time. 

So since you turned out not to be Jensen, I need a name for my contacts

Are you sure you’re keeping my contact? You shot back, smirking at your phone screen.

Yes??? Jared sent back carefully, and you could almost imagine his hesitantly sheepish expression. 

Jensen 2. Not-Jensen. Crazy cat lady. 

He sent back a sad emoji. C’mon. 

Y/N L/N

Goodnight, Y/N. 

You tossed your phone back onto the coffee table, falling back into the couch with what was probably a vaguely stunned expression on your face. Jared freaking Padalecki. You fell asleep with a little smile still playing on your lips. 

[alonelytinywriter]

Excuse Me?

Anonymous said to alonelytinywriter:

Can I have a Hawks x reader where she's in japan and she's homeless and she steals Hawks coffee outside a coffee shop and he just - "EXCUSE ME?"

Ooooooo, Darling, you better bet. I still don’t do readers, though, sadly. It just doesn’t flow well with my writing style and makes it where the stories just don’t sound . . . good? I hope you’ll forgive me! If you like what you read don’t forget to drop a big fat heart on this fic (Support your local fanfic writers!), and let me know what you’d like to see next.

Warnings: There be soft smut here. And Hawks actually being a soft guy, and some heavy language because OC is a 2 kool 4 skool. Very soft Hawks. Warm Hawks. Gentle ball of . . . feathers doesn’t sound as good. Lets be honest, this prompt got me feeling a certain kind of way, and I really just wanted some self indulgent comfort.

Soft Yandere! Takami Keigo (Hawks) / Original Female Character

Playlist - Hitohira No hanabina - Stereophony

Name: Sato Ichika ~ Birthday: April 21st ~ Age: 19 ~ Hair Color: Blue ~ Eye Color: Green ~ Gender: Female ~ Height 5’0’’ ~ Quirk: Specter ~ Occupation: Subway/Train Musician

Appearance ~ Ichika is a fairly short girl with a rather full physique despite her willowy appearance. She has dark blue hair that falls just below her collar bones and crystalline green eyes that point slightly outward, which seems to resemble a cats. Due to her Quirk, Ichika’s skin is ghostly pale, almost stark white; using her Quirk causes her skin to fade to transparent at her hands and feet, while her hair begins to float about her head and face as if she has her own personal breeze. ~ Ichika’s appearance has always been a bit of a sore spot for her, making her an outcast at an early age. After becoming a teenager she began to dress to suit her appearance, adopting a punk/grunge style with lots of fishnets, oversized sweaters, dark colors and darker makeup. Now she wears next to no makeup, unless you count chapstix, but she still dresses the same.

Quirk: Specter ~ As her name-sake suggests Ichika, when activating her Quirk, can float, as well as permeate any solid object. - It should be noted that while she can permeate through another living thing, the effort is nearly enough to make her pass out. - She also has the ability to manifest and maintain ghostly images that have been known for their ability to produce sound, though not their ability to interact with the corporal world, something which many thought as the hindrance which held Ichika from becoming a Hero. Ichika uses the ability to preform on the subways and trains to earn money throughout the days and nights. As mentioned before, while her Quirk is activated her hands and feet become transparent and her hair floats - the longer her Quirk is activated, the farther the transparency will travel up her limbs. This can be dangerous for Ichika, as it becomes harder to control her Quirk and once 100% transparency has been archived, Ichika has been known for blacking out and even attacking those she considers friends. Due to this, Ichika refuses to use her Quirk for longer than 1 hour at a time, at which time the transparency will only reach her elbows and knees.

Power - 2/5 ~ Speed - 2/5 ~ Technique - 5/5 ~ Intelligence - 3/5 ~ Cooperativeness - 3/5

~Excuse Me~

~ The first time Ichika stole she thought she was going to throw up. Or maybe that had been the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything in four days and only drank stagnant water from a broken fountain. It had been three rice balls shaped to resemble cat heads from a small grocery market and when she had walked through the doors after slipping the plastic wrapped food under her sweatshirt, she had been sure that the nearest employee would appear and scream THIEF into her face before calling for the police. She would go to jail or worse - go home to her parents and their cross expression as she turned out exactly the way they believed she would. But they didn’t. No alarms sounded, no one tried to drag her back into the market, no one seemed to notice at all. They had tasted amazing - even the one she dropped on the sidewalk and had to fish from the gravels - and the glow of victory had stolen over her like a living thing. Each stole item felt lighter in her fingers as she took them, her natural dexterity and knack for misdirection making her a perfect pickpocket. The fact she could use her Quirk to preform on the train - simple musical sets as she danced and allowed her ‘Ghosts’ to make the music - helped to distract the silly sheep around her and she danced and slipped past. Fingers found wallets, watches, an elderly woman’s bracelet, a single diamond hoop earring, a cup of coffee -

~ “Excuse me? What do you think you’re doing?”

~ Now. Now, Ichika knows she’s going to vomit. She can feel the bile churning in her stomach as she turns towards the voice - Gods above, why did it have to be his coffee? - and confidently meet the bright golden eyes of the Number Two Hero - Hawks. Of fucking course. Of course there was a Hero on the train. But she stamps down the rising horror and smiles brightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But the Hero isn’t stupid and he snags her wrist before she can skip away, turning it so that the hand hold the large coffee showed the name scrawled across the front - HAWKS <3. Him turning her wrist does something worst, though. It rattles to hidden pocket in her sleeve and makes several of the stolen items to rattle to the floor of the train. A man to her left quickly recognizes his wallet at the top of the pile and frowns, looking for all the world as if he might attack Ichika at any moment for having dared stolen his belongings. 

~ “Shit.” Ichika activates her Quirk without thinking, her hair whipping about her face so quickly that it surprises the Hero into letting her go and she rushes to go above the others heads, straight up and through the roof of the train and into the sky above. Her heart is racing painfully against her chest as she slips through the metal as if it’s no more than water, thumping so quickly that she can feel the pulse beating against her sternum when she lays her hand there to calm herself. There was no way the Hero wouldn’t know what she had been doing. He would come looking for her soon, if he hadn’t already called for the train to stop. She needed to leave, and fast. It wasn’t the first time she had been caught in the act of taking what wasn’t hers, and normally it didn’t bother her to know that people knew what she did but there had been something in the Hero’s eyes as he stared at her in disbelief that set Ichika on edge.

~ She landed three miles away panting and covered in sweat from the effort of keeping her Quirk active for so long. Her vision was blurry, and she could feel the Earth swaying beneath her feet, rocking like a ship during a typhoon. She was still holding the damned coffee. Sighing, she allowed the transparency to fade from her skin, until she was whole again, until she was her again, and then she took a long draft from the coffee quickly cooling in her hand. It was intensely sweet, chocked with sugar and caramel until it reminded her of a milkshake instead of a coffee drink. Crinkling her nose at the intense taste of sugar on her tongue, Ichika forced herself to take another swallow before she started walking. She was only a few blocks from the grate that would lead her to the abandoned platform she used as a hideout, and she needed the energy to make it on foot since she had pushed her Quirk so far. Her heartbeat was still beating in her ears, a steady thwump thwump thwump . . . that didn’t match the beat of her heart at all.

~ This is all the time Ichika has before a dark shape hurtled from the sky above her, a laugh as dark and rich as honey sounding through the air. Hands clutched the back of her shirt and her feet her jerked out from beneath her as she was lifted forcefully into the sky. “Well, well, well, look what we found here.” Hawks voice is just as smooth as his laugh. “What do you think you’re doing, kid? Taking things from strangers is dangerous stuff, don’tcha think?” Ichika screamed, her Quirk flaring to life and sending her slipping from his grip. But it was too much. She had used her Quirk too much, since first thing that morning in fact, and the transparency had already been working well up towards her elbows and knees and she was too tired and she really hoped the Hero would at least take the time to make sure she didn’t die when she fell. Between one heartbeat and the next she slipped unconscious, her eyelashes fluttering to hide her sea-glass eyes and putting and end to the chaotic string of thoughts racing through her mind. 

~ She has no clue how long she’s been asleep, how long she floated in the inky darkness, but when she opens her eyes she finds a ceiling above her head that for certain wasn’t the ceiling of the abandoned subway station. And there, next to her, laying in the soft bed with nothing but a pair of boxers was Hawks. He wasn’t ugly - not by any means with his  smooth skin and thick hair and his muscles . . . But why had he taken her? She tried to scoot away but Hawks mumbled something in his sleep - something intellagable - and pulled her closer, forcing her front into his side.

Ichika jerked away so hard she fell from the bed, landing in a heap of blankets and sheets hard, making her cry out as her hip connected with the hard wooden floor. Hawks is up in an instant, looming over her, laughing softly. “What’s the matter, kid? Isn’t this a whole lot better than the place you where heading?” Hawks was already unwrapping her from the blankets and Ichika was trying to desperately separate herself from both them and him. She had to get away, get away, get way - why and the fuck was she in a bed with him and not in jail?? - but then Hawks hands are on her arms, hoisting her up, pulling her against his chest. “Don’t bother trying to use that Quirk of yours, kid. I’ve got a Quirk canceling cuff on your ankle, so you’re not going anywhere.” Ichika wants to speak, wants to ask exactly what the hell is going on, but he continues before she can. “I’ve been watching you for weeks, you know. Letting you get away with picking those peoples pockets. Watching you dance and trick your way into getting away with your loot, kid. It was hilarious watching you, knowing you thought no one knew. And you’re damn good, kid.” Ichika was shaking, pushing against his chest, trying to get away, but Hawks just held on tighter. “Awww, c’mon, kid. This is much better than a jail, isn’t it? I might have taken you, but I also made sure you didn’t turn into a pancake on the side of the road, you know?”

~ Ichika could barely remember her encounter with the winged Hero, and as her eyebrows furrowed, her sluggish memory trying to piece together what his words meant, Hawks wings curled around them both, encasing them in the soft red feathers. “It’s not so bad. I can feel your heart beating, you know? So hard, and fast against my chest. You don’t gotta worry, I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to. I have plenty of time to make you change your mind.” His fingers where running across the skin of her back - she was only clad in her bra and panties - and he allowed his nails to drag across her spine, making her shiver. “But I can already tell you, I decided weeks ago I was gonna bring you home, kid. I knew I wanted you. I just had to wait till I could catch you and guess what, kid - I did!” He hugged her closer to his chest, his cheek resting against her hair. “And I’ll keep you here as long as I need for you to want me the same way I want you. See, not a lot of people know this, but I’ve been working both sides for a while. I’ve got enough saved we can go on a nice long hiatus and it won’t bother me a bit. Pus, I’m raking in loads of cash for all the wrong reasons, and I have all the time in the world to be able to shower you with enough affection and attention, and I can make you love me.”

~ Hawks voice was low and rough, like gravel and Ichika couldn’t stop shivering. She was still held against his chest, desperately trying to move herself off the Hero’s - Villain’s? - lap, but the more she moved the more pronounced Hawks attraction became for her. He was still talking, whispering dirty, senseless declarations of love and affection against her ear as his fingers continued to skim across her skin, but Ichika couldn’t seem to find her voice. She was in shock. What was going on?? what was going on?? What was going on?? What was -

~ “I’m sorry.” Hawks cooed into her ear, his beard scratching softly against the soft skin of her cheek before he forced her to look into his eyes. “Didn’t I make it clear enough? You’re mine now. You’ll be staying here with me, until the unforeseeable future, and you’ll be paying me back for that coffee you decided to steal this morning.” Ichika was already thrashing in his arms before he finished, and he allowed her to tire herself out, panting in his arms before he continued. “It won’t be that bad, kid. Look kid, I’m a mess, but I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure you’re safe and feed and you have a roof over your head. And I won’t hand you over to the police. How does that sound?” Hawks sat there, waiting for her response, knowing that she didn’t have a choice. But for the moment he allowed her to mull over the supposed ‘choice’ he had given her.

~ Ichika’s mind was racing; she could fight - without her Quirk she would loose. She could play along and try to escape but what would she do? What would he do? He would go to the police, tell them everything, and then where would she be? In a jail cell, and there would be no one there to bail her out. Her body drooped as she came to her decision, every muscle in her body going lax as tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. Hawks nearly felt bad as he watched the girl deflate in his arms, and he nudged her cheek with his nose, a teasing smile spreading across his lips. “Maybe you should tell me your name?” It falls from her lips easily, and Hawks repeats it, rolling it across his tongue, enjoying the way it tasted in his mouth. He’s still saying it when his lips begin to brush across her neck, her hair falling across her shoulders like a waterfall. His nails dug into her skin as she shivered, the tears finally spilling. Her skin was so soft, her hair like silk between his fingers. There were freckles scattered across her body, freckles that shone against her skin like fragments of opal when Hawks laid her back on his bed, her bra discarded to the floor. His fingers dipped across her skin, her voice raise’s and falls in sync with Hawks movements, and by the end the blush spread across her cheeks matches Hawks face perfectly.

~ “You’re gonna stay here with me for now on, kid. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

[angrylizardjacket]

only fools {Dominique Beyrand}

Summary: You’re in love with Roger’s new girlfriend. Is it easier to pretend you don’t have feelings or come clean? You say both, eventually! The truth is bittersweet.

A/N: 4331 words. ANGST!! I don’t know much abt Dominique so this is based 100% on borhap, tho there’s a few bits abt the band from real life, but its borhap based for the most part. i hope you like it!! i’m pretty sure the reader is gender neutral, but there may be 1 or 2 female pronouns accidentally. there’s mentions of cheating.

----

You’ve been friends with Queen for arguably too long, know them now in excruciating and almost intimate detail, and are absolutely immune to their various charms and stardom. It started in university, with you as a popular radio jockey on campus, and living in a flat around the corner from Freddie and Roger’s little market stall in Kensington. 

You know of their band, of course, you’ve always got your ear to the ground for local talent, and you jokingly tell them that if they ever get an album together, you’d be the the first to play it. A year and a half later, they hold you to that. 

When they’re making it big in the mid-70s, and you’ve scored your own show on an actual radio station, they start turning to you when they want to release a single, or give an interview, and people start asking why. You simply shrug and smile, which is easier than explaining that you’d spent a good deal of your second year of uni bothering Freddie and Roger at their stall instead of doing your homework, and somehow that became a friendship, and now you and John have tea every Monday afternoon, and Brian tried to teach you guitar once, but ended up waxing poetic about his thesis when you noted that his desk was rather messy.

So yes, you know them rather well, since the start of the band’s musical career, in fact, and have witness, and occasional party to, some of their dumber, post-gig antics, which has given you both regrets, and immunity to their antics. Never again will you be Roger’s look out when he climbs to a third story balcony for a girl - he lost a shoe on the second floor and it hit you in the back of the head. Prick. 

Which makes it rather unfortunate that you’ve taken such a liking to his latest girlfriend. At first you tell yourself that it’s simple and platonic appreciation for another individual with a head on their shoulders, that you liked her in the same way that you like John or Brian when they were being sensible. When you go out with the band, which isn’t a lot these days, but still it’s enough, she seems to make a point of including you, of smiling at you like a friend though you barely know each other. 

Always, she is by Roger’s side, and you think this is the first time you’ve seen him properly smitten, which makes it ache, in such a strange way, when she smiles back at him. You’ve never felt like this over Chrissie, or Veronica, or Mary. But you push it down, and when they invite you to go to their concerts, you find yourself in the wings by her side, and you dance with her at the afterparties when she offers her hand, and she invites you to lunch to catch up every few weeks.

It’s perfectly harmless, you tell yourself as you actively repress the strange sort of desire she unknowingly elicits from you. 

There’s something about her, beyond a pretty face, and a vicious smile, more than her sharp wit and dangerously intoxicating perfume, like she could ask you to walk over hot coals and you’d crawl to make her happy.

When she laughs over lunch, like actually laughs, full-bellied, head thrown back, glowing in the afternoon sunshine at something you’d said, you suddenly remember every stupid and horny antic Roger has ever been party to, often at the expense of whatever girl he was meant to be seeing at the time, and you want to tell Dominique to run fast and far, to try and protect her. But Roger’s told you he’s changed, that he’s in love, and you grit your teeth.

You’re kind of fucked.

And there’s no-one in your life who you can talk to without being judged for feeling like this. 

So you take what you can get. 

You go out with the band when they invite you, you catch up with Dom often when they go on tour, and you realise, with a strange and painful clarity, that she’s become your best friend.

“How come you’ll agree to help Dom with shenanigans, but not me?” Roger plays at being jealous of your not-so-secret favoritism, his arm around Dominique in a hotel bar that had been closed for a private, Queen function, currently buzzing with the band members, their various significant others, members of the press, members of their tour group, and management team. And you. 

You and Dominique share an amused, almost conspiratorial look. 

“Because I actually like her,” you tell Roger, flatly, and he raises is eyebrows when you look back at him. You don’t miss Dominique’s pleased little smile that she hides in her glass.

“That’s just about the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he shakes his head, clearly not actually taking your words to heart, but you huff a laugh.

“And her shenanigans never landed me in the emergency room -”

“Hey, I was the one with the sprained ankle -”

“You acted like you were dying, Rog,” you sighed deeply, “you tried to bribe me to run a red light,” and Dominique gives her boyfriend a surprised, vaguely judgmental look as Roger quickly turned pink.

“I was in grave pain.”

“Darling, you are a grave pain,” Dominique told him sweetly, and Roger pressed his hand to his chest, scandalised. 

“Et tu, my love?” 

But Dominique’s looking at him all fond and sappy when she tells him that you’ve got a point; you excuse yourself right as Roger lowers his voice and reminds her that there’s times she seems to think he’s pretty great, voice laced with heavy innuendo. 

You’re discussing the band’s latest album with their sound tech when Dominique finds you again, looking recently debauched, lips all kiss-bruised despite her fresh coat of lipstick. You quietly and desperately wish you would have been the cause of her unkempt state, the sight alone making you want to do unseemly things to her. 

“Sorry about that, Roger had a point to prove,” she says lightly, as if nothing had happened, and she snakes her arm through yours as she joins the conversation.

“Did he prove it?” You asked flatly, if only to play along for her benefit. Her cheeks flushed for a moment as she cleared her throat, looking over her shoulder.

“Twice,” she had to try and hide her grin from the scandalized sound tech. When you followed her gaze, your eyes met Roger’s; he’s so damn smug. You felt like you were going to put your fist through a wall.

The next time you caught up with Dom, however, a few days later, she apologises again, looking guilty for reasons you can’t quite understand.

“Why are you apologising? You didn’t do anything wrong,” you assured her, gently putting your hands on hers over the table; when she meets your gaze over the table, she blinks quickly, processing the information. 

“I just felt like I should,” even she doesn’t know why she’s apologising again, “it wasn’t... it was inappropriate.” She finally settles on, and you give a fond, if longsuffering smile.

“When’s Roger ever appropriate at a party?”

“I suppose,” she still looks unsure, however, but the waiter comes over and the ordeal is forgotten. 

Except that it’s not. There’s something new in the way she looks at you, almost hesitant, faintly apologetic, and even a little confused. It’s not something you’re used to, Dominique’s always been endlessly confident and forthright, she’s never been cautious in the history of your friendship.

“I’m worried you think less of me,” she says, blunt as always, when you finally ask what’s wrong.

“Dom, nothing you could do would ever make me think less of you,” you tell her with probably too much honesty. After a moment spent mulling your words over, she moves closer on your plush little sofa, until her leg pressed flush against yours.

“I care about you a great deal,” she tells you, with her own sudden burst of honesty, “and it’s been rough with Roger on tour; I don’t think I could have gotten through it half as well without you,” and she’s looking at you, almost nothing in her expression, like she’s gauging your reaction to let her know how to feel about all of this. 

You’re absolutely terrified she can read every feeling and emotion as it passes through you at her words, and the I want to kiss you to make you shut up about your stupid boyfriend that’s flashing like a neon sign at the front of your brain. 

“I care about you too,” is what you manage after a beat of panicked hesitation, trying not to act as flustered as you feel. Her smile is warm and confident, however, and she thanks you gently, turning back to the TV that had become white noise in your ears. You spend a good few moments more just watching her, wondering what that was all about, before she leans against you, and you just kind of have to accept it.

But there’s something different now, a new energy between you both when you spend time together; she’s more tactile, more prone to staying with you at events, more likely to pick you, you realise.

“Are you trying to steal my girlfriend?” Roger once jokes, and you try not to let your panic show.

“If I was, you’d deserve it,” you laugh, but his expression scrunches up, reading the insult and implications in your words. You get the feeling Roger doesn’t much like you anymore.

But Dominique’s skin is always warm against yours, her hand in yours when strolling about the city, and you get lost in her perfume and her laughter, and some nights she comes over while Roger’s away, and you get tipsy together while watching TV or listening to music, and she’ll curl into your touch and whisper you’re too good to me like it’s a guilty secret the rest of the world can’t hear. She sleeps on your sofa rather than going home to the luxurious, empty bed she shares with Roger, and in the morning you wake to her humming and making breakfast. 

There’s something so domestic about it, and she’ll smile at you, sipping tea in the kitchen, and your heart will melt. 

You want to be allowed to love her, but Roger will always come home. 

Once, twice, a slow song will play on the radio, and she’ll ask you to dance, wrapping herself up in you as you sway in your living room, both of you drunk on a Sunday evening, her breathing slow and even, her eyes closed, and you wonder what she’s picturing. Maybe her boyfriend. Fiancé. Fuck.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts that it takes her hands holding your face to register that you’d both stopped moving. Her smile is soft, eyes warm.

“You’d look beautiful in a ball gown,” she says with quiet adoration, and before you can process that that was what she was thinking, your body’s moved of it’s own accord, and you’re kissing her. 

And she’s kissing you back, tasting like wine and fruit, lips soft and gentle, fitting against yours perfectly. She sighs softly against your lips, hands coming to fist in the collar of your shirt as she pulls you closer and I love you tumbles involuntarily from your lips. She pauses.

“I know,” her voice is gently apologetic, barely more than a whisper, “I’m sorry.” You can see she wants to say more, wants to kiss you again, like she wants to live in this moment before it had suddenly turned sour. Her I love you too goes unspoken, but she cups your face in her hands again, thumbs running across your cheeks, across the sudden, faint shock and sorrow written in your expression. She doesn’t step back, she doesn’t even try. 

“I should go.”

“Do you want to go?” You ask, voice soft, the words barely registering to your own ears. There’s a long moment of silence as she considers, weighs her options, hesitates before kissing you again. It hurts, it’s a uniquely masochistic form of torture you’re putting yourself through, but she stays, and the next day you both act like nothing happened.

She’ll make breakfast, smile at you over tea, and in a few months, she’ll marry Roger. 

You’re not invited to the wedding, and part of you is grateful. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me not to go through with it?” She half jokes over coffee a few days before, which shocks you.

“Why?” You’re concerned rather than amused, and she looks a little guilty when she meets your gaze.

“I- do you... still have feelings for me?” She asks, uncertain, and you sigh deeply, sitting back in your chair.

“Do you love Roger, Dom?”

“Of course,” she answers immediately, a little defensive, which seems strange given the situation, but she thaws and takes a long sip of her drink, “I do, I really do.” She admits, sounding almost disappointed in herself.

“Then it doesn’t matter what I feel; do what makes you happy.” You’ve come to terms with the fact that you’d lost to Roger a long time ago; brief affair aside, you don’t want to make Dominique question her world so close to her happy ending. 

So you pointedly don’t ask how she feels about you.

According to the photos in the tabloid, it’s a beautiful wedding, and Dominique and Roger make a picture perfect couple. You spend three days in your house, wrapped in a blanket in front of your TV; you don’t take the phone off the hook in case work calls, but Dom’s on her honeymoon, so you’re not expecting to get any calls from her. 

There’s a full month of radio silence while she’s being whisked off to somewhere romantic, and it’s the longest the two of you have gone without talking since you’d met. The minute she gets back, however, she calls and asks you to lunch, but hesitates, adding that if you didn’t want to -

“Of course I want to!” You’re delighted to hear from her, and only realise once you hang up how much it’s going to hurt. 

Her wedding ring catches the light and you want to immediately flee to the Scottish highlands and become a goat farmer and never talk to another living person again at the sight of it. You smile, and hug her in greeting.

You talk about work, both yours and hers, and about how Freddie’s buying a mansion in London, and how cute John’s kids are, and about everything but the very recent wedding she’d gone through, or the husband she now has.

This time, when you take her hand to traverse the city together, you feel the cold metal of her wedding ring, and something inside you dies, just a little. It’s like she can tell, however, because she immediately skirts around you to take your other hand, tucking you close. And you let her. Every time, you let her. 

Nothing happens between you both, nothing like before, but she still comes over when Roger’s on tour, still sleeps on your sofa, still spends time with you around her busy work schedule, and it hurts to see her hurting, when she gets tired and lets slip about the rumours she’s heard. Apart from one night, she’s practically been a saint to the drummer; his record, however does not appear to be so clean. But she puts on a brave face, and he always comes home.

Freddie throws a party in the early eighties, dressed in a crown and cape, he’s invited everyone remotely outlandish in London, so it seems, and of course his band, and you. You find them all on a cluster of gilded sofas, looking already worn out by the whole affair, despite everyone partying around them. But Dominique brightens when she sees you, and pulls you in to the conversation. Roger, already in a mood, does not even look at you as the rest of the band greets you warmly where you’ve perched on the arm of the sofa by Dominique, her free hand coming up to rest on your thigh. 

They’re teasing Roger about his car song again, which you refrain from, not that you don’t love teasing him about that ridiculous song, but you’re also pretty sure that if you speak to him, he’ll throw his drink at you. 

But Freddie joins them, too exuberant by half for the muted mood of the band amidst the partygoers, and Roger’s ready to leave when Freddie makes a comment that turns your blood to ice.

“Loyalty’s so important, don’t you think Dominique?” 

The world around you fades away to her reaction. No-one’s looking at you, they’re all looking to Roger, because it’s an implicit confirmation of the hoards of rumours Dominique’s been trying to live in denial regarding. 

“Watch it,” Roger warns his bandmate, and Dominique looks pissed, but for the barest moment, she casts her gaze over her shoulder, to you, and you can read the heartbreak in her eyes. 

You wish you’d told her to run years ago after all. 

You wish you’d never believed that Roger had changed.

You wish you’d told her not to go through with the wedding.

You wish a lot of things in that moment. 

But there’s no time, and she’s gone with Roger, both of them furious for different reasons, while your heart lays beating in the seat she’d just left. Looking around, your head is full of a fog in the wake of Freddie’s words, and their departure, and it’s like no-one else can see that your whole world has gone to Hell.

“I need to stay with you,” Dominique calls you the next day, sniffling, and you’re agreeing readily, asking if she needs a lift over. 

She brings a suitcase, and a tearful apology for barging in like this. You wrap her up in a hug, telling her not to worry, that it’s not a bother and she bursts into tears. You order food and wrap her up in a blanket, and stay by her side until she falls asleep against your shoulder. You carry her into bed, tuck her in, and then grab your jacket and go out.

“I should kick your ass,” you snarl after Roger finally lets you in where you’d been kicking at his front door. He looks disheveled, but not like he’d been sleeping, like he’d been crying.

“Are you here for the rest of her things?” He asks flatly, and you do actually shove him, hard enough that he hits the ground and slides against the tiles.

“You stupid, insensitive fucking asshole!” You yell, fuming, “get up, Roger, get up!” You demand, and he does, slowly.

“I’m not going to fight you; you won, okay? She hates me -”

“And she has every right to, don’t play the fucking victim here, don’t try and act like you weren’t the one to sleep your way across the world while you knew she was waiting for you!” Your lip trembled at the thought of all the late nights you’d spent comforting her, reassuring her that it was just the tabloids taking things out of context, “she loved you so fucking much, you stupid fucking slut!” He laughed humorlessly at that, sitting back down on the ground, knees drawn up to his chest.

“We haven’t loved each other for a long time now.”

“That’s not true.”

“She loves you.” 

“That’s not true.” There’s a wobble to your voice, your fraught emotions turning quickly to desperation. 

“I know you slept together,” he says, finally looking at you, and your mouth snaps shut. He doesn’t seem mad, he doesn’t seem... anything. It’s just a fact, no malice behind it. “She told me the day after it happened,” he paused, “and I told her it was okay, told her I did similar stuff in my youth, but if we loved each other, we’d have to be better people, for each other.”

“And she loved you,” you said with dawning despair, realising what he was implying. He nods, gaze drifting, as if not quite registering everything that was happening, “but you...”

“By my own logic, I was already falling out of love; I was a hypocrite. I am a hypocrite.”

“You’re self aware,” you said, sitting down as the fight left you.

“Not really, she yelled it a good deal at me yesterday. She’s right, though.” He takes a deep breath, resting his chin on his knees as he stares at the other wall. “We used to be friends,” he muses and you hum in response, “we used to be a lot of things; young, broke, nobodies, friends.” He lists, and you agree quietly, “I think I knew you would be better for her, even from the start.”

“You knew I loved her from the start?” You ask, not even trying to deny it, and Roger looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m not blind,” he tells you with surprising bitterness, and you clam up at that, “but she loves you because you’re still here, even though she loved me too.”

“Because I’m an idiot,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“Probably,” he agrees, and when you make an indignant noise, he gives a flat look, “you didn’t talk her out of marrying me even though you’re in love with her.” He reminds.

“I never want to be the cause of her unhappiness,” you explain softly, mirroring his sitting position, your chin on your knees. Roger nods, “but you hurt her, and I came here to kick your ass.”

“Will you love her like she deserves?” He asks softly.

“If she wants to come back to you, I won’t stop her.”

“You love her better than I ever could,” Roger says with realisation. You’re not going to disagree with him.

When you get home, she’s still asleep in your bed, and you curl up on the sofa, restless all through the night. Dominique wakes in the morning, and comes out, sees your eyes open, rough from sleeplessness, and tears well in her own as all the memories from yesterday come flooding back. 

“Do you want breakfast?” You ask, voice rough, and she nods. You stand, and head to the kitchen, moving automatically around the little space. She watches, quiet eyes, unsmiling, contemplative, but she’s not crying. 

“What do you want to do today?” You hear yourself asking, voice carefully neutral. 

“Do you... do you still love me?”

You freeze. It takes a moment, but you finally look at her, expression blank. 

“I don’t think this is the time-”

“You’re always telling me to do what makes me happy, asking me what I want, what do you want?”

“I want you to be happy,” you tell her softly; her eyes are getting misty, but she’s still not satisfied with that answer.

“I want you to think about yourself for once; what do you want?”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you try to organise your thoughts. 

“I want to be able to tell you I love you, and not have you hesitate to say it back -” you admit, but she cuts you off, words quick.

“I love you.”

“I -”

“I love you.”

“Dominique -”

“I love you, and I have for years. I love you.”

“Then why did you marry Roger?!” You finally explode, and her eyes go wide, before he gaze drops to the counter with shame.

“Because I thought it was what I was meant to do; I cared about him a great deal, but we- we weren’t meant for each other. I don’t love him like I love you and I’m sorry it took me so long to figure that out.”

“I don’t want you to be saying this just because you just broke up with him and you’re looking for a rebound or a safety net,” you admit, and she looks at you with a calculating gaze, understanding your hesitation, “I do love you, Dom, and you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like, but I don’t want to be with you until you’ve had time to process everything that’s happening. You need time. You’re not in your right mind.”

Dominique swallows hard, nodding very seriously. Her gaze is intense as she watches you get back to making breakfast. Silence hangs in the air, strange, undefinable silence laced with emotions like static electricity. 

“Can I kiss you? Just once?” She asks, and you look at her over your shoulder, spatula in one hand, a warning in your voice when you say her name, “just once.” She promises, eyes wide and the barest of smiles on her lips. You could never say no to that smile. You turn down the stove for just a moment, and step up to the counter, leaning over it to meet her. 

Kissing her feels like coming home and freedom at the same time, and she’s warm when she brings her hand up to your cheek, humming with tentative joy against your lips. When you pull back, you let yourself linger, just inches from her, getting lost in her eyes, in her smile for the barest moment.

“Would you like me to make tea?” She asks, soft, grinning.

“Would love that,” you agree, a little breathless, stepping back to the stove. 

“I don’t...” she paused by the refrigerator, “I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to make sense of this, my whole life, I...”

“That’s why we’re waiting; if I’m not what you want, if you go a different direction, if you just wanna be single for a few years and end up meeting someone else, I’ll respect that,” you assure her, “but if I am what you want, Dom I’d wait forever for you.”

[arcticdementor]

“Hey bro! Check out this Nike ad!” This was my entry point into a new world.

…

Since Carlos had lived mostly outside the United States, he was able to follow soccer on a level I’d never encountered in my hometown. Back then, before social media and the advent of scarf-wearing Northwestern fútbol hipsters, big-time European soccer was like the metric system: Known to almost all but ourselves. But Carlos knew, and immediately used LimeWire to curate me a massive archive of 1990s through early 2000s soccer highlights. What was I doing in the world without them?

Oddly enough, in trying to inculcate me in soccer fandom, he started not with game highlights, but with the advertisements. Yes, Carlos was an educator and a voluntary footsoldier for Big Apparel. Going in, I had no clue about high-quality, internationally popular Nike soccer ads. The ads, written by the legendary Wieden+Kennedy firm, were miniature movies, films that were often creatively daring but also quite funny. The most popular of these ads might be “Good vs. Evil,” from 1996, where Nike’s best soccer players team up to play Satan’s literal army. The blending of sacrilege, theology and comedy just worked, like a more ambitious version of Space Jam that somehow took itself less seriously than Space Jam.

…

Yes, I know ads aren’t supposed to be high art. I understand that they are the purest distillation of manipulative greed. And yet, they sometimes are culturally relevant generational touchstones. While Nike was weaving soccer into enduring pop culture abroad, it was having a similar kind of success with basketball and baseball stateside. These ads weren’t just pure ephemera. Michael Jordan’s commercials were so good that, as he nears age 60, his sneaker still outsells any modern athlete’s. “Chicks dig the long ball” is a phrase (a) that can get you sent to the modern HR department and b) whose origins are fondly remembered by most American men over the age of 35.

Modern Nike ads will never be so remembered. It’s not because we’re so inundated with information these days, though we are. And it’s not because today’s overexposed athletes lack the mystique of the 1990s superstars, though they do. It’s because the modern Nike ads are beyond fucking terrible.

…

They’re bad for many causes, but one in particular is an incongruity at the company’s heart. Nike, like so many major institutions, is suffering from what I’ll call Existence Dissonance. It’s happening in a particular way, for a particular reason and the result is that what Nike is happens to be at cross-purposes from what Nike aspires to be.

…

For all the talk of a racial reckoning within major industries, Nike’s main problem is this: It’s a company built on masculinity, most specifically Michael Jordan’s alpha dog brand of it. Now, due to its own ambitions, scandals, and intellectual trends, Nike finds masculinity problematic enough to loudly reject.

This rejection is part of the broader culture war, but it’s accelerating due to an arcane quirk in the apparel giant’s strange restructuring plan, announced in June. Under the leadership of new CEO John Donahoe, Nike is moving away from its classic discrete sports categories (Nike Basketball, Nike Soccer, etc.) in favor of a system where all products are shoveled into one of three divisions: men’s, women’s and kids’. Obviously Nike made clothing tailored to the specificities of all these groups before, but now, Nike is emphasizing gender over sport. Gone is the model of the product appealing to basketball fans because they are basketball fans. It’s now replaced by a model of, say, the product appealing to women because they are women.

And hey, women buy sneakers too. Actually, women buy the lion’s share of clothing in the United States. While women shoppers are market dominant in nearly every aspect of American apparel, the clothing multinational named after a Greek goddess happens to be a major exception. At Nike, according to its own records, men account for roughly twice as much revenue as women do.

You might see that stat and think, “Well, this means that Nike will prioritize men over women in its new, odd, gendered segmentation of the company.” That’s not necessarily how this all works, thanks to a phenomenon I’ll call Undecided Whale. The idea is that a company, as its aims grow more expansive, starts catering less to the locked-in core customer and more to a potential whale which demonstrates some interest. Sure, you can just keep doing what’s made you rich, but how can you even focus on your primary business with that whale out there, swimming so tantalizingly close? The whale, should you bring it in, has the potential to enrich you far more than your core customers ever did. And yeah yeah yeah, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, but those were birds. This is a damned whale! And so you start forgetting about your base.

You can see this dynamic in other places. For the NBA, China is its Undecided Whale. It could be argued that the NBA fixates more on China than on America, even if the vast majority of TV money comes from U.S. viewership. The league figures it has more or less hit its ceiling in its home country, so China becomes an obsession as this massive, theoretical growth engine.

…

Here’s the main issue for Nike in this endeavor: The company, as a raison d’être, promotes athletic excellence. While women are among Nike’s major sports stars, the core of high-level performance, in the overwhelming majority of sports, is male. Every sane person knows that, though nobody in professional class life seems rude enough to say so. Obviously, there’s the observable reality of who tends to set records and there’s also the pervasive understanding that testosterone, the main male sex hormone, happens to give unfair advantages to the athletes who inject it.

Speaking of which, there’s a famous This American Life episode from 2002 where the public radio journos actually test their own testosterone levels. The big joke of the episode is just how comically low their T levels are. Sure, you would stereotype bookish public radio men in this way, and yet the results are on the nose enough to shock.

As a nerdy media-weakling type, I can relate to the stunning realization that you’ve been largely living apart from T. Before working in the NBA setting, I was an intern in the cubicles of Salon.com’s San Francisco office, around the time it was shifting from respectable online magazine into inane outrage content mill. Going from that setting to the NBA locker room was some jarring whiplash, like leaving the faculty lounge for a pirate ship. To quote Charles Barkley on the latter culture, “The locker room is sexist, racist, and homophobic … and it’s fun and I miss it.”

…

The “Good vs. Evil” ad boasts a “Like” to “Dislike” ratio of 20-to-1 on YouTube. On June 17th of 2021, Nike put out an ad ahead of the Euro Cup that referenced “Good vs. Evil” as briefly as it could. In this case, a little child popped his collar and used Cantona’s catchphrase. As of this writing, the new ad has earned a thousand more punches of the Dislike than of the Like button.

When you see it, it’s no surprise that the latest Euro Cup ad is disliked. I mean, you have to look at this shit. I know we’re so numb to the ever-escalating emanations of radical chic from our largest corporations, but sometimes it’s worth pausing just to take stock and gawk.

…

But today we are in the land of new football, where we take dictatorial direction from less-than-athletic minors. After her announcement, we are treated to a montage of different people who offer tolerance bromides.

“There are no borders here!”

“Here, you can be whoever you want. Be with whoever you want.”

(Two men kiss following that line, because subtlety isn’t part of this new world order.)

Then, a woman who appears to be breastfeeding under a soccer shirt, threatens, in French, “And if you disagree …”

And this is when the little boy gives us Cantona’s “au revoir” line before kicking a ball out of a soccer stadium, presumably because that’s what happens to the ignorant soccer hooligan. He gets kicked out for raging against gay men kissing or French ladies breastfeeding or somesuch. Later, a referee wearing a hijab instructs us, “Leave the hate,” before narrator girl explains, “You might as well join us because no one can stop us.”

Is that last line supposed to be … inspiring? That’s what a movie villain says, like if Bane took the form of Stan Marsh’s sister. Speaking of which, was this ad actually written by the creators of South Park as an elaborate prank? It’s certainly more convincing as an aggressive parody of liberals than as a sales pitch. Why, in anything other than a comedic setup, is a woman breastfeeding in a big-budget Euro Cup ad?

It’s tempting to fall into the pro-vanguardism template the boomers have handed down to us and sheepishly say, “I must be getting old, because this seems weird to me,” but let’s get real. You dislike this ad because it sucks. You are having a natural, human response to shitty art. This a hollow sermon from a priest whose sins were in the papers. Nobody is impressed by what Nike’s doing here. Nobody thinks Nike, a multinational famous for its sweatshops, is ushering us into an enlightened utopia. Sure, most media types are afraid to criticize the ad publicly. You might inspire suspicion that what you’re secretly against is men kissing and women breastfeeding, but nobody actually likes the stupid ad. No college kid would show it to a new friend he’s trying to impress, and it’s hard to envision a massive cohort of Gen Z women giving a shit about this ad either.

Now juxtapose that ad not just against the classics of the 1990s but also the 2000s products that preceded the Great Awokening. Compare it to another Nike Euro Cup advertisement, Guy Ritchie’s “Take It to the Next Level.”

…

Here’s the problem, insofar as problems are pretended into existence by our media class: The ad is very, very male. Really, what we are watching here is a boyhood fantasy. Our protagonist gets called up to the big show, and next thing you know he’s cavorting with multiple ladies, and autographing titties to the chagrin of his date. He can be seen buying a luxury sports car and arriving at his childhood home in it as his father beams with pride. Training sessions show him either puking from exhaustion or playing grab-ass with his fellow soccer bros. This is jock life, distilled. Art works when it’s true and it’s true that this is a vivid depiction of a common fantasy realized.

Nike’s highly successful “Write the Future” ad (16,000 Likes, 257 Dislikes) works along similar themes.

…

The recent Olympic ads were especially heavy on cringe radical chic, and might have stood out less in this respect if the athletes themselves mirrored that tone on the big stage. Not so much in these Olympics. It seems as though Nike made the commercials in preparation for an explosion of telegenic activism, only to see American athletes mostly, quietly accept their medals, chomp down on the gold, and praise God or country. Perhaps you could consider Simone Biles bowing out of events due to mental health as a form of activism, but overall, the athletes basically behaved in the manner they would have back in 1996.

But Nike forged onwards anyway. This ad in celebration of the U.S. women’s basketball team made some waves, getting ripped in conservative media as the latest offense by woke capital.

…

“Today I have a presentation on dynasties,” a pink-haired teenage girl tells us. “But I refuse to talk about the ancient history and drama. That’s just the patriarchy. Instead, I’m going to talk about a dynasty that I actually look up to. An all-women dynasty. Women of color. Gay women. Women who fight for social justice. Women with a jump shot. A dynasty that makes your favorite men’s basketball, football, and baseball teams look like amateurs.”

When she says, “That’s just the patriarchy,” the camera pans to a bust of (I think) Julius Caesar. At another point, the girl says, “A dynasty that makes Alexander the Great look like Alexander the Okay.” Fuck you, Classical Antiquity. Fuck you, fans of teams. You’re all just the patriarchy. Or something.

Nike could easily sell the successful American women’s basketball team without denigrating other teams, genders and ancient Mediterranean empires that have nothing to do with this. Could but won’t. The company now conveys an almost visceral need for women to triumph over men because … well, nobody really explains why, even if it has something to do with Undecided Whaling. In Nike’s tentpole Olympics ad titled “Best Day Ever,” the narrator fantasizes about the future, declaring, “The WNBA will surpass the NBA in popularity!” ​

…

There are theories on the emergence of woke capital, with many having observed that, following Occupy Wall Street, media institutions ramped up on census category grievance. The thinking goes that, in response to the threat of a real economic revolution, the power players in our society pushed identity politics to undermine group solidarity. Well, that was a fiendishly brilliant plan, if anyone actually hatched it.

I’m not so convinced, though, as I’m more inclined to believe that a lot of history happens by happenstance. If we’re to specifically analyze the Nike Awokening, there is a recent top-down element of a mandate for Undecided Whaling, but that mandate was preceded by a socially conscious middle class campaign within the company.

This isn’t unique to Nike, either. Given my past life covering the team that tech moguls root for, I’ve run into such people. They aren’t, by and large, ideological. Very few are messianically devoted to seeing the world through the intersectionality lens. They are, however, terrified of their employees who feel this way. The mid-tier labor force, this cohort who actually internalized their university teachings, are full of fervor and willing to risk burned bridges in favor of causes they deem righteous. The big bosses just don’t want a headline-making walkout on their hands, so they placate and mollify, eventually bending the company’s voice into language of righteousness.

…

All the guilt and atonement transference make for bad art. And so the ads suck. There’s no Machiavellian conspiracy behind the production. It’s just a combination of desperately wanting female market share and desperately wanting to move on from the publicized sins of a masculine past. So, to message its ambitions, the exhausted corporation leans on the employees with the loudest answers.

There’s a lot of interplay between Nike and Wieden+Kennedy when the former asks the latter for a type of ad, but the through line from both sides is a lot of cooks in the kitchen. Based on conversations with people who’ve worked in both environments, there’s a dearth of personnel who are deeply connected to sports. In place of a grounding in a subculture, you’re getting ideas from folks who went to nice colleges and trendy ad schools, the type of people who throw words like “patriarchy” at the screen to celebrate a gold medal victory. The older leaders, uneasy in their station and thus obsessed with looking cutting edge, lean on the younger types because the youth are confident. Unfortunately, that confidence is rooted in an ability to regurgitate liturgy, rather than generative genius. They’ve a mandate to replace a marred past, which they leap at, but they’re incapable of inventing a better future.

…

Ironically, Nike mattered a lot more in the days when its position was less dominant. Back when it had to really fight for market share, it made bold, genre-altering art. The ads were synonymous with masculine victory, plus they were cheekily irreverent. And so the dudes loved them. Today, Nike is something else. It LARPs as a grandiose feminist nonprofit as it floats aimlessly on the vessel Michael Jordan built long ago. Like Jordan himself, Nike is rich forever off what it can replicate never. Unlike Jordan, it now wishes to be known for anything but its triumphs. Nike once told a story and that story resonated with its audience. Now it’s decided that its audience is the problem. It wouldn’t shock you to learn that Carlos hated the new Nike ads I texted to him. His exact words were, “I don’t want fucking activism from a sweatshop monopoly.” He’ll still buy the gear, though, just not the narrative. Nike remains, but the story about itself has run out. Au revoir. 

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Hello! I'm pretty sure I saw you mention a while ago that you were disappointed by confessions of the fox, would you mind explaining why? I've seen mostly good things about it myself. If I misremembered then I'm sorry and I hope you have a good day :))

I think this is one of my less popular opinions. And I understand - we so rarely get historical fiction with trans folk as the titular character (indeed, we rarely get any fiction what that). So I get people’s desire to laud it. 

For me though? It fundamentally didn’t work as a book. As a story.  

Let me count the ways. (Apologies in advance for the length of this.)

First: If you’re trans-ing someone who was historically cis instead of seeking to find a real, historical trans or gender-nonconforming person, I have questions. 

Most of the questions can be summed up as: Why? 

I struggle with historical fiction that takes a cis person and re-imagines them as trans as if there aren’t already literal historical, real trans people out there whose stories can be told. It smacks as (unintended, well meaning) erasure of lived experiences. 

Jack Sheppard, to the best of our knowledge, was a cis dude. There were trans folk in London in the 1710s and ‘20s. You might have to dig a bit for them, but they’re there. Because trans folk have always been there. 

Second: Characterisation 

This is more personal taste, but I found Jack and his girlfriend Bess to be inexcusably boring. How a trans, thief and gaolbreaker in 1720s gin-soaked London can be written as boring is anyone’s guess. But he was. 

Jack had no real personality and I found his story to be uninteresting. Oh, he’s the world’s best thief and gaolbreaker, that’s nice. But on its own it isn’t enough.

He had few to no faults. Childhood trauma isn’t a personality. Nor is being trans. And the author relies heavily on gender + occupation (thief-ness) to equal personality. So it falls very flat.  

Bess, his girlfriend, is a mixed-race sex worker from the Fens (even though actual real-Bess was from Edgeware). She seems to only exist to demonstrate that Jack is good at sex. She also veers a little into the Mystical Woman of Colour Healer Who Aids The White Person on their Journey of Self Discovery trope. 

Neither Bess nor Jack undergo any real change in the book. They exist in a weird stasis and experience no development, despite living through some harrowing things. They’re wooden dolls who move through the story without really engaging with, or being influenced by, the things around them. 

The other “main” character is a modern Academic who “found” this supposed “manuscript” of Jack’s life and is annotating it. His story unfolds in the foot notes and it’s just so messy if not a bit contrived. It didn’t make sense. I think the author was trying to convey that the Academic was in a sort of dystopian future, but if that’s the case it didn’t work. And if that’s not the case, the entire inclusion of the Academic’s story served only to annoy and take me out of the reading experience. 

E.g. There’s a scene where the Academic is being taken to task by the Dean for playing stupid games on his phone during office hours and like honey, lapsed-historian/academic here, trust me the Dean doesn’t give a fuck what you do during your office hours so long as you’re in your office and students can come bother you about their poor marks. 

The manuscript is supposedly being sought after by this pharmaceutical company for nefarious reasons that never struck me as being entirely realistic/believable. Also, the university was spying on this non-tenured, slightly useless Academic as if he somehow mattered? Which made zero sense. Anyway, it was stupid and should have been ripped out of the final version. OR changed substantially. 

Jonathan Wild, the thief taker (main antagonist to Jack), is probably the only interesting person. 

Third: Lack of Follow Through, or, the Fabulism Was Not Used Well 

The book tries to blend in some fabulism to the world by giving Jack the ability to “hear” the thoughts of inanimate objects. This could have been fun and gone to some interesting places, but it failed to deliver. 

I personally found the shoe-horning in of “capitalism commodifies everything” to be sloppy and heavy handed. It was done with little grace and didn’t sit right given that we are dealing with the early modern period. Yes, you can use the past to critique our modern woes, but do it intelligently. Don’t slap modern points of view and understandings of things onto the past and expect them to make sense. 

Anyway, Jack spends the book hearing inanimate objects talk to him, asking him to “free” them, or something. And uh .. .it doesn’t go anywhere interesting after that. 

Also the correlation one can draw from these objects to, you know, slaves, is uncomfortable. Especially as it’s the cargo of the EIC ships that Jack hears. I don’t think it’s intended in any sort of malicious way, but the allusion is there and I always found it to be distinctly uncomfortable. 

Fourth: Misuse of Marxist Theory, or, More Heavy Handed Moralizing that Annoyed the Dear Reader because it wasn’t subtle and, more importantly, it wasn’t done intelligently. 

So, the author is an academic - studies 18th century lit. Which is readily apparent as his Academic (self-insert) character is, I believe, supposed to be a historian and uh ... you can tell that the author doesn’t know enough to wing that. E.g. How he interprets some of the laws and customs of the time. Instead of understanding the social, economic and, most importantly, environmental issues that gave birth to laws like “the corporation of the city of London owns the streets so you can’t muckrake” he chooses to understand them through a very 21st century lens (and a Marxist one at that. I know I’m perhaps a bit uncool for this, but I find the application of Marxist theory to the early modern period to be ... not useful). 

Do you know why, mid/late 17th century London passed these municipal laws? Because of the god damn fucking plague you numb nut. You absolute buffoon. It had nothing to do with “oh the City/government is evil and wants to own you” it had to do with the fact that no one cleaned the goddamn street. So the city took over doing it. 

Prior to this, in London, you were supposed to keep the street in front of your building clear of waste, debris, refuse etc. No one did this, of course. I live where it’s cold and snows a lot and people can barely shovel the 2 sq ft of sidewalk in front of their driveway in the winter. I dread the idea of an average homeowner being expected to keep the street clear and clean. 

Anyway, guess what dirty streets attract? Vermin. Guess what comes with vermin? Plague. Guess what happened in 1665/66? The great plague of London! 

17th century England might not have understood germ theory, but they did understand correlation. (Also, the population of London was doubling at the back half of the 17th century and streets needed to be reliably cleared for through-traffic reasons etc. etc.) 

ugh, sorry, that one in particular drove me up the wall. Not everything is a capitalist conspiracy. Especially when we’re talking about municipal by-laws from the 17th century. 

And I understand the temptation to read a lot of modern interpretation of words like “corporation” and “company” onto bodies that used these same words in 17th and 18th centuries. But the weight, meaning and connotation of “the worshipful company of merchant adventurers” is different from, I don’t know, “the tech company google” or whatever. The early 18th century is when we start seeing the birth of the stock market, of “venture companies” (i.e. merchant adventure companies), of a lot of the language and proto-iterations of what will grow to be economic institutions of our time. But it doesn’t mean they’re the same and that difference is important. Because Jack Sheppard is a man living in 1720 he’s not going to be having our modern 21st century critiques of capitalism because his engagement with the economic systems of his time would have been radically different to our own experiences. 

Fifth:  Unbelievable Top Surgery & Recovery 

So, Jack gets top surgery. In 1720s fever-ridden London. While quarantining in a brothel. 

And he lived! No infection! No tearing! He was up and about in a matter of days. I don’t remember if his nipples survived the operation or not but somehow Jack did. Without anesthetics! Or you know, any concept of hygiene. 

His Mystical Girlfriend Who Exists to Show How Good Jack is at Sex is also somehow Magically Very Literate and also Magically a Surgeon? and performs this surgery on Jack in the middle of a plague. 

The entire ordeal was so poorly handled in terms of believability that I literally set the book down and said “what the fucking fuck” to the empty room then drank wine before finishing the chapter. 

An aside, it is funny thinking about the quarantine chapters at this point. I read COTF when it first came out a few years ago. Sweet summer children, we none of us had any idea how to write quarantine scenes. 

That reminds me: the entire quarantine thing was presented as the government trying to control movement and take away people’s rights etc. instead of a very normal, typical response that cities had been enacting since 1350. Samuel Pepys, who lived through the 1665/66 epidemic, barely even notes the restrictions. He’s like just “hmmm I’d love to go to the pub but I also don’t want to die. so. *shrug*” 

At the time of the author’s writing, most of us in the western world had no idea how normal and day-to-day disease was for our ancestors and yes, sometimes there would be crackdowns to try and curb it if an epidemic hit. That was part and parcel of life. So again, Jack and Bess wouldn’t be like “ooooh we’re 21st century slightly libertarian lefitsts who think the government is doing this to control us and for nefarious purposes”. Much more likely, they would have been like Pepys and viewed it as nuisance, albeit a necessary one. 

Sixth: Overall Lack of Realism 

I think I’ve noted the big moments where I was like “no one in the early 18th century would think that I’m pretty certain”. This isn’t to say people didn’t grouse, complain about London government (and the king etc.), critique or question the world they lived in. They absolutely did! Regularly. With great verve and gusto, if the broadsheets are anything to go by. But their critiques, their complaints, suggestions for bettering life, are not the same as ours. Because how could they be? They lived in a different world, were responding to specific things, grew up hearing and believing certain things etc. 

Jack, aside from having minimal to no character, really did read like a modern slightly-libertarian leftist who was plunked into a novel that takes place three hundred years ago. 

In addition to unrealistic political views, his understanding of body, gender, sexuality and identity also read as incredibly modern. Now this is harder, because we have so few extant sources from that time on those who lived non-gender conforming lives, and from their point of view, so yes creative imagining and interpretation is the rule of the day for writing that. 

But, we do know how in general the average person engaged and understood gender and sexuality and that would, naturally, inform anyone whose experience was different. And that base line of “probably what a typical cis Englishman or woman felt about their body and identity” wasn’t present. At all. 

Indeed, gender engagement at that time was interesting. The concept of the body, the role of the physical body, how it was interpreted is absolutely fascinating and the author could have done some really cool things with that. But he didn’t. He went for slapping a modern interpretation onto the past. 

At this point, write a dystopian novel and make Jack a fictional character. That probably would have gone over better, for me at least. The conceit can remain the same: It’s the year 4056 and an Academic found a manuscript from the year 3045 when the Dystopia Was a Thing - and go from there. 

--- 

I think part of what made this very popular and why people seem so taken with it is that it reads smart. It reads like someone who has immersed themselves in that world etc. because of the slang and language used. 

Yet, for me, as someone who has studied this period extensively, especially queerness in London in the late 17th and early 18th centuries, it read flat and unrealistic. 

I was initially very enthused when I started it. There are some posts to that effect on my blog. But it very quickly went south. It tries very hard to be Radical and Smart and Subversive and Critiquing Everything and so I think it fails at the fundamental thing it should be doing: telling a good story. 

(Note: The book does try and address racism in London at this time. It also felt a bit forced. And Jack seemed to have no prejudices or preconceived notions about Indian and Black folk which isn’t realistic. Like, it might make him #Problematic but my dude, you’re writing a man born in 1702. He’s going to have some iffy views. That can be challenged! Absolutely. But they still would have existed.) 

---

Thank you for the ask! I again apologize for the length of the reply. 

[kalesandfails]

it could still be okay, but if not:

I haven’t written anything public in months, partially because who cares what I think, and partially because I have been engaged in recovering from an eating disorder in a pandemic. I suppose in a perfect world, I would have a more age-appropriate problem, although of course that’s bullshit and a growing number of women over thirty are seeking treatment for eating disorders — because if you haven’t noticed, our world hasn’t become noticeably less hateful towards women or less certain of its right to patrol the bodies of anyone it thinks it can market self-respect to.

The thing is, in the course of therapy I spend a lot of time talking about painful and confusing things that happened to me when I was a kid, and that I don’t want to get into in a public forum. But this same painful detritus has prepared me for a moment where you have to find a way to deal with things that are far from okay, to believe the world is good while also resisting the pressure to agree that the world is fine and what is being done to you is fine.

It’s not fine that people of color are being targeted and that a certain segment of hateful garbage people have taken Trump’s power as a validation of their working thesis that white supremacy and totalitarianism are okay.

It’s not fine that we’ve collectively decided that a response to a pandemic that  relies on our willingness to disregard the lives of those disproportionately dying — the poor, those without access to health care, the disabled and chronically ill, the elderly, people of color — is okay. Remember when Rose was all, don’t you get it mom, half the people on this ship are going to die, and Billy Zane is all, Not the better half? Because that’s the Trump response to the pandemic and it is not okay and if you are like me and love people who lost family members to that exact mindset and still voted for this guy, damn, I am sorry, because I know that is a hard and confusing feeling.

But it is possible to love someone deeply and also be quietly gritting your teeth through the pain of their incomprehensible and shitty actions. I can’t tell you exactly how to manage the particulars of your cognitive dissonance -- how to protect yourself and not let this evil take your dad or brother or grandma from you too. But I know it can be done, because I have been working through how to do just that in the context of deeply personal, far-from-okay behavior on the part of a family member I loved very much.

It’s not fucking okay that your body, if you are ether trans or are assigned female, is not considered your own. That we’re okay both with legislating it as though it were the ideological playground of a bunch of people whose religion is a sham — because yes, if you claim to follow someone whose entire project was about healing and caring for others and you want to take people’s kids away and lose them, want to take people’s health care away and let them die, your religion is fake and you are lying to yourself  —I don’t expect or ask or want anyone to accept that.

But I do want you to believe what I have to make myself believe every day when I think about some of the things that went wrong in my life, so I can refrain from physically hurting myself over them, which is how I managed  the fallout for twenty five years: it is not your fault that this person did this fucked up thing. The inability of others to treat you respectfully, like a human, is not a reflection on your humanity or on your value. The inability to see the inherent dignity and value in another human being is a critical flaw in the nature of the unable, not a reflection of those they are looking at.

You are fine, and valuable, and your skin or your gender or your body or your nationality is not the problem. You should not be afraid for your life and safety. You should not be dying of covid. You should not be forced to carry a child you don’t want or to go without basic necessities or to watch your child die in the streets. 

It is unfortunate that we had been so eager to give our dads and colleagues the benefit of the doubt, to make excuses and believe that if we gave them another chance, we’d see that they didn’t really mean it. But all this means is that we overestimated them. It does not mean that their working thesis —  that some people matter and others don’t — is actually correct. It doesn’t mean that any of it — the sexual assault, the dead grandmas, the lost children, the racism, the stupid cruelty, the violence, the vitriolic hatred of things like love or hope or sacrifice as weakness — is okay. It just means he, the guy whose side they are still on even though he is hurting you, got away with it. It just means you can’t earn your way into being loved well or valued by others. Take it from someone who has been revisiting this very issue in therapy for this entire dumpster fire of a year.

Nothing’s different today than it was yesterday except the people we loved, maybe, have disappointed us again. And that we hoped that we could rest a little, and now we can’t. But one thing that one white guy got right one time is that eternal vigilance is the price of liberty (or was it safety)? Either way, what I want is for everyone to be safe and free, and that will continue to be super fucking hard now. But it’s worth continuing to work for.

[dgcatanisiri]

In making myself watch the cutscenes for Legacy of the First Blade in preparation for Valhalla, I’m hit by the fact that... There’s not a bad story in here.

It just is weighed down by the damn forced heterosexuality and reproduction plotline. A plotline that is unnecessary from the content of the base game, what with Layla retrieving a genetic sample from the spear and not any actual body, and insulting, considering that they drew in queer fans with the whole romance options thing, actually saying in the marketing that players could proceed as interested or uninterested in either gender of options as they wished, only to slap them by making the Eagle Bearer have a child, and, by definition, do it the heterosexual way.

And, again, as I’ve said before, the idea that the Eagle Bearer is determined to carry on the bloodline is just NOT the story I got from Odyssey’s base game - I saw a family destroyed by the way that people treated the bloodline as something that they could use as a weapon, giving them reason to say “this bloodline ends with me.”

Hell, I got the “Alexios alone” ending for the family questline - I killed Nikolaos (justifiably and will only ever do so for the record), and, for the sake of stupid Spartan honor, killed Stentor (I figured he’d never have the respect of his men after his defeat), and then Deimos killed Myrinne, so I had to kill her. So all MY “odyssey” offered was the idea that the bloodline is doomed to a cycle of death.

Speaking of cycles of death, considering that they made this big deal about how the Eagle Bearer’s kid would eventually produce Aya, who canonically only had one child whose death was the driving plot of the game she featured in... What the fuck even WAS the point of making this whole claim of “for the bloodline”?

Hell, the fact that, by the end, Amorgas attacks a village in the name of getting to the damn baby, it’s EXACTLY evidence of what came before, of the message that I drew from the base game - the bloodline is vulnerable to those who would exploit it and will bring death and suffering to others in the name of trying to control it. All the death in the third part of this DLC chain would have been avoided if the Eagle Bearer HADN’T had a child.

And just... I don’t even LIKE children in video games. Because they’re used like this, like Shaun in Fallout - they are plot objects, where the parent (presumed by the developers to be the father) is there to “rescue” them, often treating the other parent (meaning the presumed mother) as nothing but an object to be fridged - their purpose is to provide a child, and, once that’s done, they’re vulnerable to the whims of the plot, and the plot is aiming for vital organs.

Bringing in the Order of the Ancients, a character like the Tempest who acts as a Deimos-equivalent to them, even Darius himself, that’s all well and good. Hell, it’s a decent story there. But by dragging in this forced reproduction, forced pairing with Darius’s kid, it just weighs the whole damn thing and makes it unplayable - the REASON I’m watching cutscenes is because I refused to return to it after I heard what was happening in episodes two and three. I played the first episode, but I will NEVER touch the second and third, and, if I ever sit down and play Odyssey again from the start, I won’t play the first again either. 

Rip out the “romance” with Darius’s kid and the child, it’s not a bad story. Hell, if you want to stick to the kid stuff, here’s an option for you - the kid is Darius’s grandchild, but NOT the Eagle Bearer’s child. Instead, they have the option - let me emphasize that, OPTION - of stepping up as the adoptive parent of this child, because they MAY have feelings for Darius’s kid, and let that be a narrative counterpoint to Nikolaos choosing to, using Deimos’s words, refuse to do as in the world of beasts and let family protect its young, stepping into the role of mater/pater and make a family - BUT, because this is an option, also having the ability to refuse, to let them go without joining.

Yeah, sure, maybe that’s going to be more of a hassle to work with in the terms of programming and working with the decisions in the game. BUT THAT’S WHY YOU DON’T DO IT IN THE FIRST DAMN PLACE.

We were given choice in Odyssey. We were told we had the option and ability to forge our own paths. And then this DLC comes along to impose a path? Fuck. That. Shit.

[collective-laugh]

The Parent Trap - Request

Warnings: Swearing, tomfoolery

Rating: SFW

Word Count: 2100 and some change

So I wrote this with the intent of leaving the child(ren)’s origin ambiguous (whether they were birthed or adopted, etc.) and I didn’t give any of them names, but I did assign them genders and personalities. You either get adorable little children or asshole teenagers. No in between.

Also, the MC is gender ambiguous and referred to as ‘Baba’ by all of the children.

I really, really loved this prompt and it was a lot of fun to write!

Asra

Asra is basically this kid’s parent anyway.

He lets her “help out” around the shop and she likes giving back far too much change to customers she think are nice

MC and their kid, this little girl with the brightest eyes he’s ever seen and two little braids adorning her head like a crown, and it couldn’t be more obvious when she tries to set Asra and the Apprentice up

She’s too young to remember when they were together the first go round, and the Apprentice still doesn’t remember any of that, but that doesn’t deter the little girl at all

While she’s playing outside with the other kids, she walks over to the Bread Man’s shop and asks him for his “finest loaf o’ pumpkin bread”

Obviously, it’s bread daddy, and he gives her best piece of pumpkin bread goddammit

She manages to hide it in the little satchel Asra gave her, and she only eats a little off it, she swears, and joins her friends in their game of tag

She has this whole date planned out in that little head of hers. She wanted to light candles but her Baba is smart enough to keep the candles out of her reach, so she settles on putting two mismatched plates on the dining table and the slightly lumpy pumpkin bread in the center

Baba and Asra are downstairs in the shop, chatting together, and she clears her throat as loudly as her little vocal cords will allow her

“Dinner is served!” She announces, and Asra grins and Baba smiles and shakes their head

“Will you be joining us, milady?” Baba asks, still leaning on the counter

She scoffs, “No. It’s a date.”

Baba lets their head fall in their hands, and they laugh, before looking back at her, “A date, hm? Is it for Asra and the nice Bread Man?”

She just stands there, fuming at how horribly her plan was proceeding, and she scoffs again, “No! It’s for you and Asra.”

They both laugh this time, and Asra says, to Baba, “Well, shall we?”

Baba pauses a second, like they’re considering, but they smile, “We shall.”

She wouldn’t admit to peeping in on them eating their bread, but it was definitely worth it when she saw Baba lean across the table to kiss Asra.

Nadia

Nadia doesn’t know the Apprentice has a child at first - much less two little ones

They have a four year old and a twelve year old

She learns when the Apprentice comes to the palace for the first time, one child on their hand, and the other skipping ahead of them

The twelve year old boy asks far too many questions and the four year old boy is far too attracted to shiny things, but Nadia can’t help but fall in love with both of them. While the Apprentice is doing much of their searching, she volunteers to watch the both of them

And, obviously, the children fall right back in love with her, and devise their plan

The elder of the two decides to work on Nadia, and commands the younger to work on their Baba, because, hey, who can resist their baby?

They go searching for Nadia and Baba, respectively, but end up meeting at the fountain

4 asks, “Did you get them here?”

12 just shrugs and says that he found them at the fountain

The two of them get closer to listen in on the conversation

Baba says, “I don’t even remember either of them being born, Nadia...I don’t really know if they’re of my body.” They sigh, and the boys look at one another, “I love them, more than anything, don’t get me wrong...I just…”

Nadia puts a hand under Baba’s chin, and tells them, “You are the best parent I’ve ever met, regardless.”

And Baba’s little boys squeal with Nadi leans in to kiss them.

Julian

Julian was understandably nervous when he found out that the Apprentice was the parent of a lovely little boy...and even more nervous when he found out that lovely little boy was thirteen years old and nearing the puberty years

Julian knew that more than others, and the kid most certainly did not like him whatsoever when their ‘Baba’ tried to introduce them

But, the Apprentice does their best to make him feel better, and truly, he believes them, and he wants to be their for this kid

So, basically, Julian and MC were already together when MC’s kid met Julian

It isn’t until the boy sneaks out in the middle of the night, after the whole “you’re not my dad!” spiel, and Julian manages to find him before he’s gotten into too much trouble, if you discount the fact he was currently being held up by a pair of ruffians

Julian pulls a switcherooney and manages to get him away from them, running like the goddamn wind

That’s the kind of switch that lets the kid know that maybe this guy wasn’t so bad

The first time Baba kicks Julian out is after a really bad fight, and the kid only catches part of it, something about commitment and sacrifice

Julian leaves, slamming the door behind him, and Baba just breaks down in the kitchen, crying

The kid obviously checks on Baba first, making sure they’re alright, but after they try to tell him to just go back to bed, he sneaks out of his window to try and follow Julian

He finds him, sitting by the docks near Auntie Mazelinka’s house, pushing the eyepatch off his head and ugly crying

Julian basically tells him to go back home, that it was dangerous, and acts like he wasn’t just sobbing by the water in the pale moonlight

The kid has had it up to here with the damn theatrics, and he’s probably the most blunt in telling him to go back, that they belong together, and he looks the most unimpressed, but he’s also probably the most genuine

He sees how happy Julian makes his parent, and...he’s not as opposed to calling him ‘Papa’ as he puts on

Muriel

So Muriel

He doesn’t like the Apprentice, regardless of how much they show up and have supper with him and bring him groceries and talk to him

Fuck no

Okay, so he does like them, and values their company, but their kids give him a headache

They’ve got identical twins, and they’re these teenage boys who think they own the world and compete only with the formerly late count in arrogance, and Inanna fucking loves them, for some reason

The Apprentice - their “Baba” - just smiles when they crack jokes or chastises them when they take a joke too far, and is a fair parent, if a little lax

Muriel honestly does the “Office” camera look (you know the one) whenever they do some stupid shit

Once, whenever Muriel tried to talk to one of them, calling him by name, the other would respond but Muriel knows they’re fucking with him, and then it happens again, until it happens a grand total of fourteen times in the span of their two day visit

Muriel’s just done with these little shits, but MC keeps apologizing for their behavior and giving them That Look™, which has them withering under their stare

They see how much Muriel likes Baba and how much Baba likes Muriel, and figure that they might as well use their “super awesome twin power to hook two of their favorite people up” and the other sneers and says, “call it ‘hook up’ again and I’ll put leeches in your bed”

So, much like Nadia’s, one of the twins heads out to get Muriel and the other works on Baba

He has a note written in Baba’s hand (because obviously they have their handwriting down pat) and gives it to Muriel, and immediately he’s burning like a thousand suns as the implication that the Apprentice wanted to meet him in the market for...a date?

Muriel kind of sets into overdrive, and something very, very similar is happening at home (The Other One is convincing Baba that there’s a sale in the market, so, not too similar but hey)

The twin leads Muriel into town, and, like the bosses they are, slip off in the market when Baba sees Muriel

Before they can get an earful from Baba, they’re already gone

Muriel mentions the note, and Baba is confused as shit until they realize their sons were up to it again, but they end up shopping together, spending the afternoon together in a nice, amicable manner

Also they kiss for the first time but

Portia

So the Apprentice has the most adorable baby son, and Portia melts everytime she sees the little toddler just toddling along

Portia is ecstatic when they bring the little three year old into the palace when Countess Nadia hires them, and Portia is more than excited to watch him when she’s not helping with the investigation

She loves children, but wasn’t too fussed about the whole baby-making, considering the stories she’s heard

So, she loves this ready-made kid, but is kind of worried about when the mystery is solved

She genuinely likes the Apprentice and wants a relationship, but she doesn’t exactly know how to tell them that without making it all about the kid

Now, the boy loves Portia as much as Portia loves him, and has an infinite amount of love for Pepi

The Apprentice is chilling with Portia just outside her cottage, having a picnic, the kid playing with Pepi, who’s careful not to use her claws, and licks him until he squeals

The Apprentice laughs, and they and Portia sit around them, drinking lemonade, and it’s quiet, and nice, and Portia is soaking up the sun, despite the fact that she would burn like a lobster if she was out too long

Then, the Apprentice is ecstatic when the kid manages to pull himself up without a table or anything and toddle over to the both of them, babbling Baba’s name, and then…

“Baba?” He plops down on Portia’s lap and she just

M E L T S

But then it’s a little awkward because oh my gods, this kid thinks I’m his parent, and his actual parent is sitting right here

But the Apprentice just leans over and pecks her on the lips, and she realizes it’s not that bad after all

Lucio

Lucio is definitely used to being the sassiest, most arrogant, person in the room

And then he meets the Apprentice, and he’s like, head over heels, but he can’t really, like...make a move, considering he’s dead

But, when he comes back to life, after stealing their body (he gave it back) he’s pulling out all the stops

And this person will. Not. love him.

He thinks it might be him at first, might be that he’s too extra, so he tries to rectify it by sending a carriage of roses straight to their shop

It isn’t until he comes down to the shop for himself that he realizes that they have a teenage kid - at first he thought it was the Apprentice’s apprentice - who looks at him like he’s an annoying scab

They’re a smartass, and make glib comments, and the only reason they don’t have their head up their ass is because their nose is so high in the air

But they love their parent and try to close the door on Lucio because ‘leave them alone, goddammit’

And almost immediately, the Apprentice tells them, “Swear! Who’s at the door?” They come to the door, and mutter, “Fuck.”

Their kid just has this smug look on this face, and the Apprentice invites him in,

So now Lucio’s the smug one, while the kid’s the one who has this fish out of water look

“Baba, is that really the best -”

“Hush now, and go put the kettle on. We’ve got company.”

So, this is basically the parent trap but...with Meredith and the dad instead of the mom and dad

The Apprentice’s kid can’t stand Lucio, just because they’re so similar in personality, and has heard of all the shitty things he’s done, so they’ll stop at nothing to make sure the Apprentice doesn’t fall for him

They fall for him

Lucio makes increasing visits to the shop, and their Baba visits the palace a ridiculous amount of times, and they just don’t understand it

Eventually, they come to terms with the fact that their Baba’s “playing the field” and whatnot, and they and Lucio get in some of the worst arguments or funniest conversations, and the Apprentice is glad to see their two favorite people getting along

[prettysubpenny]

Not a homophobe or gay icon

You know, not all of us considered Pennywise or Babadook gay icons, not all of us considered Pennydook anything other than a joke. It was a damn joke to me, one that didn’t even carry far, though some may have taken it too seriously. I thought it was harmless, cuz you’d have to be dumb to seriously consider these horror villains gay icons when they literally do nothing to prove that they are. I am a slash fan, and it always felt like a poke at how people think slash fans make every character gay. I am a slasher, so I enjoyed Pennydook, as I also love horror, same reason I like Two Cents. That’s simply all, I never believed they were gay icons. It was a really dumb thing, but I didn’t see it as horrible or problematic. But the antis, the people who don't like that anyone merely likes Pennywise, especially if they want to fuck him, decided to remind us that Pennywise kills a gay man in the book as a reason why we shouldn't like him. And with the gay basher scene in Chapter Two, we are again being reminded of that. This is something they use against us. That’s why I don’t like it being used now. And yes, I’m going to use the word ‘antis’ for the people who don’t like people like me. I don’t think I’m superior because I want to fuck a fictional horror villain, as I once heard for using 'anti’ or 'normie’. They're not superior either because they don't want to fuck a fictional horror villain. No one is superior here.

I wish they hadn’t included the Adrian scene in IT Chapter Two. I understand why Stephen King wrote it. I get it. This is horror and he wanted to express how horrible it was, and the movie did that. The scene was uneasy and terrifying- but that wasn’t because of Pennywise. And I’m not talking about the scene in the book, but in the movie here. People are what’s terrifying about this scene, the people who make the decision to beat up Adrian and his boyfriend and dump Adrian off the bridge simply because they don’t like or accept that they’re gay. Pennywise did not even have to instigate this, he did not have to send homophobes after Adrian. The homophobes assaulted a gay couple of their own free will, because they wanted to, because of their hatred and ignorance. Pennywise just picked up the scraps. He ate Adrian because the poor guy was an easy meal, he was there already scared and beaten up, Pennywise was just hungry. But I still wish they’d left it out. The scene is used so Pennywise can be seen and word can get out so the Losers would know Pennywise was awake and come back to Derry. They could have done that another way without Pennywise eating Adrian.

I hated the scene as someone who despises homophobia. When Adrian kissed his boyfriend, people in the theater said “ew, gross” and I wasn’t the only one to report this experience, which breaks my heart. I was afraid these same assholes would applaud the beating that the homophobes in the movie gave Adrian and his boyfriend, and then cheer when Pennywise takes a bite out of Adrian, but thankfully, they did not. But imagine if they had cheered that.

I didn’t want the scene, because people would misinterpret it and they have. The New Pennywise became popular and there is a ton of merchandise out there right now for him because of the movie and the Halloween season. They've wanted to make money off this character, so making him seem homophobic isn't a good idea. Sure, some of us don't see him as homophobic. But people on here have already accepted him as homophobic as a reason that no one should like him, horror villain or not. This new Pennywise should not have been portrayed in any way that fans could interpret as homophobic. I know the scene is in the book, I understand why King wrote it, but it should've been left out of the movie that Penny eats the guy. There's too much awful shit in real life right now with bigotry. I'm solidly against bigotry, but if I like a character who's seen as even a little biogted, I'm saying it's okay, right? I know it's silly, we like him regardless of the fact that he eats people, especially children, but make him bigoted and you've went too far, but that's how it feels. It shouldn't matter if the killer clown monster who eats kids is homophobic or not, but it does.

A while ago, we were argued that Pennywise molests children and we shouldn't like him for this reason. This isn't true in any canon, for the book, the 90's one, or the remake. But antis used this argument. If they had made Pennywise an outright child molester in the remake, that wouldn’t have done well, I don't think. I wouldn't have liked him if they did that, maybe it's still silly, but that's how I feel. Take Freddy Krueger, he was never portrayed as a child molester in the original Robert Englund Nightmares. Once in part five The Dream Child he is called a child molester, but he never was. Wes Craven himself thought that would have been too awful. It would have been too far and Freddy may not have been as popular. The 2010 remake of A Nightmare on Elm Street does make Freddy a child molester, and I hated that they done that, I didn't like that Freddy and I still don't. I hate that remake, so I was glad they didn’t do this with Pennywise and just let his remake be awesome. I know it's strange, they can get away with killing people, but add in molesting children or bigotry and you've went too far. They're still villains, but not marketable villains. But Freddy and Pennywise can still be villains without crossing lines. Shit, Jason Vorheess kills anyone, he doesn’t care who’s gay or straight or what their color or gender is or about their political beliefs.

Pennywise also gets considered homophobic for killing Eddie, since it’s confirmed that at least Richie is gay and in love with Eddie. And since yeah, Pennywise taunts Richie with knowing his secret. Pennywise taunts adult him with knowing and outing him, but he doesn’t out Richie. Pennywise could have outed kid Richie to fucking Henry Bowers in the arcade. Point is, Freddy, Jason, Michael, etc have all killed poc, and have most likely killed gay people. They don’t really give a shit, everyone is fair game.

I’m fine with it, as I know it’s horror and I do not see Pennywise as homophobic, like I do not see him as a gay icon either. I see him as indifferent. I see him as a predator who doesn’t fucking care, he’ll use whatever he can to scare his victims so he can eat. He could’ve just as well went after the homophobes, and I’d been happier, but I still wouldn’t have saw him as a sudden gay icon.

I'd also like to clarify that the whole wanting to fuck Pennywise thing is also just a joke to me. It's not serious. Come on, this character isn't real. He's fictional. There is no way in the world I actually could fuck this character outside of someone dressing up for me and roleplaying. It's fantasy. I'm not delusional, I know it's not real or possible. I've said this many times, and once someone posted saying "oh, now they're mad that they can't fuck Pennywise cuz he's fictional." This isn't true, I'm not mad that I can't fuck Pennywise cuz he's fictional, that's stupid. This is pretend.

These opinions are my own, this is how I feel. And if you like this character, like him. Some people aren't gonna like that, but boo-fucking-whoo. They wanted Pennywise to be seen as a child molester to justify their bullying of people who like him. They want him to be homophobic for the same reasons.

[ganymedesclock]

Honestly, though, I think the Blue Paladin being a looked-down-upon position and the impetus to try and cast Lance as another- mainly Black, but some people are eager to see him stay with Red or interpret him as a sort of secondary Right Hand figure rather than a Heart figure- boils down to a couple of things:

Heroism that puts supporting others above personal glory is seen as unheroic. Dull, uninteresting, this isn’t the sort of thing we tell stories about- we want to see heroes who take the front lines and take charge and have specific victories that were all them. An example of this is s4e6, where Lance personally inspired and empowered Allura in a very big dramatic manner, impossible to miss- and people don’t consider that a heroic moment for Lance. Only Allura- because Allura’s making the magic happen.

If you’re a character that supports others, there’s a common assumption that only the characters you’re supporting are important here- that you are accepting a subordinate or less important position because of prioritizing your connection over personal glory.

So because of this, a lot of misreading of Lance’s character goes on where he’s assumed to be dismissive of his accomplishments, when if anything, we’ve seen that it tends to be the opposite.

Insecure, needy Lance? Is the Lance who tries to play himself up, usually trying to exaggerate traits he doesn’t actually have. “I’m the cool ninja sharpshooter”? No, Lance, you’re not a cold stoic precision sniper or a too-cool rebel hotshot. You’re a compassionate sweetheart who uses your rifle scope to check on your team and that’s a wonderful thing to be.

Lance’s arc as a character is about outgrowing the need for personal glory. He’s set up in narrative contrast to people like Keith and Shiro whose personal demons are often that they try to give more of themselves than they actually have to lose.

Lance’s demon is trying to get in people’s way for short term glory. He does it in s2e4, he does it in s1e1. And in both situations, things go badly, he messes up, he feels bad. He’s adaptable enough that he is able to take roles from other people, and he’s exploiting a chunk of his real virtues to do so- but being an envious chameleon doesn’t do him any good.

Narratively, in the beginning of s1e1, Lance was acting as “Red Paladin” in a sense. Keith had abandoned his role and fled, burnt himself out, and Lance had moved into his place. This was, he told himself, good. Keith’s role is important, heroic the way people tell you heroes are supposed to be, he’s the cool guy out in front, he just snaps orders and people listen because he’s determined and a prodigy.

Lance is shown to be the one with a greatest sense of stories, who quotes action movies. He’s aware of popular media and what that means.

S4e4 also shows us that Lance is an actor who actively revels in the idea of presenting something that isn’t him, but that he thinks flatters him more, or that other people will like.

Keith is a very stereotypically heroic figure. It makes sense- he’s The Leader in every other continuity, and Voltron is an old property. Tracing back to the original GoLion? An entire generation of heroes were inspired off the original Keith. He’s bright-eyed, passionate, determined, a prodigy, he’s got that troubled temper.

And Lance saw that. And Lance was very jealous of him.

Because Lance isn’t a prodigy. He’s good, but he got there by hard work and diligence. He’s shown to have struggled with school and dislikes it. He’s not a brooding cool guy- he’s actually kind of a bubbly sweetheart.

So I’m not completely mad with the people who write off Blue, and insist that Lance is being sold short, because... they’re sort of being hilariously meta here, in that the whole idea that Lance’s brand of heroism is systematically devalued is something they’re already toying with in-universe when a sneakier underlying point of Lance’s character arc is he feels the desperate need to be anybody else to feel valued and important.

Here’s the thing though: that quest is doomed from the start. Because ultimately... Lance knows who he is. He has to, in order to be an actor.

Lance knew Blue’s virtues, without ever being told them, having specifically interrupted Allura to get her not to tell him those virtues, because he tells them to her in s4e6.

Lance’s story- Lance’s maturation as a hero- is the chameleon needs to shed its skin here. That is to say- Lance doesn’t need to find his sense of self, or his brand of heroism. He just needs to trust it. He needs to come to value, independently, that he himself and his contributions are enough.

Because many prior incarnations of Lance have been competitive hotshots- but that element of his character has always been vindicated by giving him the Right Hand position, where that drive and reckless energy are rewarded, are the natural infrastructure of his narrative position.

It’s VLD that says, “No. That’s not who Lance is. Lance isn’t the cool guy Han Solo archetype. He is more than this.”

VLD Lance, however warm, ‘fiery’ or energetic his outer layer seems, ultimately has a core of water and ice. Elements symbolically linked to patience, compassion, clarity of focus. And fittingly, we see that he has advantages his prior incarnations never did. In many prior continuities- Year One, Third Dimension, Force- Lance was a hazard onto himself and others. He’d take huge risks to show off or feed his own grudges or threaten to split the team over not being made leader. And even when Force made Lance a gunner, he was a short-range gunslinging brawler and his aim was hit or miss.

Conversely VLD Lance’s weapon basically spells out what his deal is. He has a devastating advantage over the entire rest of the team in having the single longest range and the best aim. Lance is preoccupied thinking he’s unheroic for not being right up in everyone’s business the way Keith Shiro, and Pidge fight- but VLD Keith picking up a gun is a markedly terrible shot. He has better weapon accuracy throwing his sword.

The spotlight, up in the center of everyone’s attention, is not a good place for a sniper. But Lance, by his bayard, that took that form specifically to tailor itself to him, is definitely a sniper. He’s the kind of person who sitting back out of the spotlight means he can rain precision-targeted hell onto just about anybody else on the battlefield. In the comics, Pidge’s analysis of her team’s weaknesses specifically has her ID Lance as the most dangerous member of the team, over Shiro, Keith, or Hunk.

Why?

Because as soon as she’s distracted with any of the others, Lance is going to snipe her in the back.

Because Lance is a team player, he fights at a distance, and taking your attention off Lance to focus on Keith or Shiro, the people who are much more natural spotlight grabbers? Is a huge mistake, but one that you’re set up to make. Because the whole point of a sniper is you don’t know they’re there until two of your buddies are dead from projectile attacks.

Consider Lance’s counterpart on Team Sincline.

Ezor is literally a disappearing act. She’s no sniper, but, rather, instead, her contributing factor is being an infiltrator. While other people have seized her enemy’s attention, she creeps around, follows them invisibly. She’s the one given the high-impetus job on Puig in s3e2 as the one who flushes out the leader and captures him, specifically with those same sort of Blue Paladin mentalities.

Because Ezor’s not the spotlight type- she’s the type you forget about right up until she flickers into sight in the middle of nowhere and gets you in a sleeper hold.

Now, it is difficult for Lance to make this adjustment for a deeper reason than just insecurity, and that’s also, Lance is full-stop the feelings guy! He yearns for connection and meaningful emotional bonds, and in that sense, he has some growing and adjustment to do. His reflex is to try and grab people’s attention, be flashy and showy. Again, in s4e4, when basically told to market themselves, Lance isn’t just the only one comfortable, he’s actually genuinely thrilled, and when Hunk points out what they’re doing feels kind of stupid, Lance contradicts him with “they’re loving us!”

Widespread approval is fantastic in Lance’s book. The only problem is, again... his actual brand of heroism doesn’t work very well with spotlights.

There’s a certain amount of growing pains for Lance, where he’s in the process of coming to grips with the realization that he really is a hero, but the kind of hero that shortsighted stereotypical media says isn’t important. Because oh, sure, nobody actually wants to be without the Heart, but nobody wants to give them the time of day or actually admit that any of their rough tough cool guy heroes need something as wimpy as, y’know, emotional labor or anything.

The important thing to keep in mind though is this is a way modern media is absolutely bullshit, and, that’s something that VLD is specifically dismantling the fuck out of. 

Because, spoiler: if you have emotions. you need emotional support. This is not negotiable. There is a reason I call this role the Heart, when the heart is a vital organ that will genuinely fuck you up real good if it’s not working properly.

In s3e3 the reason things did not go to hell was Lance and Blue. That’s not because “Lance is Keith’s babysitter” it’s because Keith has exploitable Red Paladin weaknesses and one of those is instability. So does Pidge. So do Shiro and Allura to a slightly lesser degree.

The thing is that taking care of each other and yourself emotionally is actually a damn important skill in literally any group of people you want to work together for any stretch of time. The other thing is that there is a flat-out gendered devaluation of this, in that this is a kind of heroism frequently demanded from women, but treated as nothing to write home about or actually heroic at all.

People in the fandom genuinely say that Lance is in a bad role, that he’s being shafted, that he can’t be doing anything important when he’s the feelings guy in an environment that has been held down by a dictator for so long that the overpowering sense of despair and hopelessness is genuinely a barrier to progress that they had to grapple with at the Balmera in s1e5 and that nearly got them killed in s1e9.

[cloudycatcalamity]

On the stupid fucking cake ruling and “respecting religion”: honestly, respect is a good concept for all of this to boil down to. Like they dismissed the case for ignoring his sincerely held bigotry and hatred towards gay people but then go on to state: 

“The outcome of cases like this in other circumstances must await further elaboration in the courts, all in the context of recognizing that these disputes must be resolved with tolerance, without undue disrespect to sincere religious beliefs, and without subjecting gay persons to indignities when they seek goods and services in an open market.“

“without subjecting gay persons to indignities when they seek goods and services in an open market.“ 

Are they somehow hoping that eventually a “dignified” way of refusing gay people services will be found or something? And the wording around open market does make it sound like they’re setting up for a “go to the gays only bakery and leave the straights only bakery alone” thing eventually. It’s so vague what “indignities” means, why can’t we just get respect like religion? Besides the obvious answer that the trump administration is staking the judiciary branch with homopobes and crazy ass conservatives. The line about “sincerely held religious beliefs” is very fucking obviously there to pave the way for freedom of religion laws, aka “i think gay ppl are gross and fake and so does my bible, pls dont let the gay be in public around me” laws.

Isn’t refusing service to same gender people seeking a wedding cake on the principle that they want to get married to one another a deep disrespect against them as human beings? As in you are rejecting their humanity as adults who want to get married due the fact that you see their partnership, their love, and their relationship as inherently invalid. 

Pretty damn disrespectful. 

[tumblunni]

its weird how like my fave genre of games could be vaguely categorized as ‘nurturing things’ yet i fuckin hated every single thing of that kind that was pushed on me as a child

like hell yes i love pet games and games where you get customization and a sense of progress on building your character, and like even i like ‘parent games’ when they’re that sort of thing instead of just weird shoddy gross baby diaper changing bullshit. Like wtf who on earth even wants a game about raising a kid where you don’t get to see them grow up and graduate high school and make you proud in one of 63 careers?? seriously i am still so salty that this is such an underutilzed genre and i still have to play creepy anime fanservice dos games from the 90s cos thats ALL I HAVE. Why u showing my perfect sweet videogame child in creepy fanservice costumes I JUST WANT TO SUPPORT HER ACADEMIC LIFE

but anyway lol WHAT I MEAN IS

even though i LOVE that stuff i fuckin hate all that cliche ‘girl toy’ bullshit I love character customization but I hate it when its framed as ~lol girls just inherantly love fashion oo catty girl time~ and you only have this one stupid sexist creepy giant boobs doll and no customization except costumes and the only costume options are either sexualized or really stereotypically ‘girly’ and also you have to be rich as fuck to buy all these stupidly overpriced individual outfit packs and then you cant even DO anything with your barbie! at least in a videogame you can have the novelty of replaying the same cool fantasy adventure with your different characters, and like.. it has actual substance BEYOND just the customization! And I mean you can see your customization in action in a 3D environment and having a Story and Cool Powers and a voice and animations and all that jazz! And interacting with canon characters without having to buy all those separately too, and then do terrible impressions of the voiceacting from the show on your own... cos man that’s what i used to actually do with any ‘girl toys’ i was given, i saw absolutely ZERO appeal in having fifty ordinary houses where you can do nothing but sit barbie on a damn chair and gossip about husbands or whatever. Like fuck that’s already lazy and awful cos you’re telling the kid to make up their own reasons to find any enjoyment from the damn toy, but at least cliche ‘boy toys’ got like... a story template. And one that;s actually interesting and involves fighting n shit, and their accessories actually GIVE THE TOY NEW FEATURES but yeah like even making up a whole new story about barbie being a superhero got boring quick, cos she wasn’t remotely relateable or interesting. Like I’m glad that nowadays they do more with the character but even if they’ve fixed some of the predjudiced shit she’;s still.. not interesting?? just gone from cliche fashion boring to absolutely personalityless ‘good role model’ with no defining traits whatsoever. So I used to just destroy barbies or make her the villain in everything, and had a big box of naked barbies with missing legs and stuff while i gave all their accessories to all the pokemon and digimon. Still really pissed at how few of the outfits would fit on Impmon! Seriously it sucks that also all the good ‘boy toys’ were really stereotypically macho in one way or another so i was barely ever allowed to have them and i felt like they hated me even when i did get to play with them. And the only tv shows at the time that I liked that weren’t ‘for girls’ or ‘for boys’ were pokemon and digimon, which were still kinda treated as ‘for boys’ but didn’t even get the ‘boys style’ of merchandise. like barely ever poseable dolls that i could use in more creative play, they were just like collectables you put on the mantlepiece. I WOULD HAVE KILLED FOR CYNTHIA NENDOROID BACK THEN!!! i used to break all my damn digimon trying to fit them into lil outfits or throw them around doing battles, and then i made myself hella sad. I’m sad I don’t still have that super broken but extremely loved patamon transformer doll, that thing was THE BEST! like man why did they stop doing those after the first season?? actually digivolving your digimon was the best damn idea! did they get sued by transformers or something...??? and I mean GEEZ its not like I didn’t like cute stuff or hugging stuff or being nurturing or friendly or whatever people claim is the ‘wholesome value’ that female stereotypes teach kids. but man all that shit just ruined the stuff i loved! its so alienating! and why is it always super low quality and limited?? fuckin Baby Alive Really Pees And Poops,And Does Nothing Else Ever And Has No Personality. yeah girls you sure wanna see only the bad sides of nurturing and be told over and over that your life is gonna be nothing but this as soon as you inevitably start wanting to marry boys, which is totally gonna happen according to every damn adult, and will feel like a death sentence to any kid with any other sexuality. like I fuckin got my Official Digimon Tamagotchi and it was like the whole world opened up to me, like wow Pets Can Actually Do Things Other Than Shit. And i mean at least in an lcd game thing the pet shitting actually serves some damn purpose and provides resource management gameplay to decide what evolutions you get, instead of just Somehow You Should Enjoy Changing Diapers, You Little Fuck. I loved that tamagotchi so much i fuckin broke it too, like WHY WAS KID BUNNI KRYPTONITE TO TOYS?? the battery crapped out cos like i held it too tightly and the case on the back got loose?? so it’d short circuit whenever it went into sleep mode and wipe all my save data. and i still kept playing even though i could never digivolve anyone beyond their first stage before it glitched out. And then I got THE PLAYSTATION VERSION WITH ALL THE GRAPHICS and just AAAAAA it was like the best fuckin thing ever. and Monster Rancher!! and Princess Maker!! kid me could spend 60 straight hours looking after nonexistant babies and talking dinosaurs and cry like a damn bitch when they died so DONT TELL ME I’m lacking in healthy nurturing skills just because i don’t wanna be mr marketing guy’s fucked up idea of a straight woman...

...man sorry this post turned into a really weird rant why did i think about this at 1am

also like even flash game internet dollmakers are better than the cliche stereotype dolls they were based on god I’m perfectly fine with collecting a bunch of things if they’re not forcing some offensive message down my throat! i still remember how confused and pissed off i was when i figured out that my little pony was supposed to be A Gender Thing too, like geez they’re fuckin horses. and the show was actually like THE ONLY THING i was allowed to watch that had actual adventures and fighting monsters and stuff! its so bad and minimal now that i look back on it, but like man it was all I had. No wonder i got so into pokemon when it came out, look here’s a thing to collect that’s all ABOUT fighting monsters! i always wanted figurines of the monsters from those dumb girly shows, it was so annoying that MLP g1 had that episode about ‘oh the Crabnasties are people too, they’re not evil just because they look gross’ and then WHERE IS MY COLLECTABLE CRABNASTIES THEN?? WHY CANT I PUT CUTE ACCESSORIES ON THEM?? fuck u that was the most memorable episode also actually why did i have to wait so many pokemonn generations for a crab that appealed to me? krabby is so boring, its just a crab with weird human eyes. and i’m inexplicably creeped out by that one from gen 3 cos its like an optical illusion, i thought the markings were its face! thank the gods for crabominable and also damn the gods for it being hated by 90% of the fandom for reasons I will never understand :( ...BUT STILL WHERE IS MY CRABOMINABLE BEAUTY PARLOR PLAYSET YO

fuck its 1am why am i still awake why can’t i stop thinking about dragon quest 9 but you play as crabs THAT WAS THE BEST FASHION SIMULATOR EVER, DAMMIT

[california-doom-merchants]

The Apprentice: S1E2

I wrote the first one of these mid-January in between the election and the inauguration and:

I enjoyed writing it to hell

It's my favourite thing I've written in ages

I'm ill so I've got a big ball of spite that needs directing at SOMETHING

Fuck everything this man stands for

So that in mind let's begin. The US Apprentice, Season 1 Episode 2, aka “Sex, Lies and Altitude”, aka “Fucking Kill Me Dead”

First episode didn't have this theme song which opens with the refrain “Money money money, got to have it”

It's nice to be back, as in “the last time I watched this the star of this show didn't have a big red apocalypse button those sure were the days”

It opens on the two guys who didn't get fired walking back into the group

“David is...departed” motherfucker he lost in a reality show he didn't DIE

Alright so for all the opulence around them these guys are sharing rooms which are smaller than dorm rooms, like why the fuck are those even in Trump Tower

Maybe it's to make the co-eds feel more at homeroigoeinrgre

“The reality is that every board meeting will mean someone goes home” that's the basic premise of the show yeah

The women's group are gonna vote on who they want to be project leader

There's a whole bunch of drama between two of the women and like it's a competition aimed at businesspeople, of course they all want to lead this is Not Exactly Surprising

Trump is meeting the tiny apprentice idiots at an advertising agency

“This is Round 2 in a 13 round fight” too many rounds. too many.

Men's group are like “alright it's an advertising task, you worked in advertising, boom you're the leader”

seeing as yesterday you went to THE MOTHERFUCKING NY STOCK EXCHANGE *AIRHORNS* to get told “fuck you, sell lemonade” maybe not the best plan

but what do I know I don't have a BA in Money

One of the women is wearing a multicoloured bandanna at this business meeting and damn if that ain't Early 2000s Aesthetic right there

They meet up with the president of the advertising agency who's like early 50s and ripped and also in a tshirt and jeans for some reason??

He and Trump are very touchy-feely

He shows off his shitty open-plan office like it's the Taj Mahal and a security guard scoots right by them on a fucking scooter

“Advertising is an amazing thing, it's a powerful powerful tool, weapon”

Just drops “weapon” in there as if that's not actually quite disturbing

“this time you're gonna be working on CORPORATE. JETS” and they grin like 9 year olds

they gotta design an advertising campaign which sounds super tedious but again my name ain't Jonny Business what do I know

“the winning team is gonna be flown from New York to Boston by PRIVATE JET. For dinner”

oh boy I hope the jet is covered in gold

also I really hope they have to make their own travel arrangements home. fuck you peasants, third task is hitchhiking you motherfuckers

the advertising guy is like “cool you gotta make a 30 second advert and also a magazine ad”

he also gives them some friendly advice like “swing for the fences. and failure is not an option”.

Another way of putting that is “Take risks, and also make sure nothing goes wrong” which is ??????? you can't have risks without the chance of failure you chiseled fuck

oh wow so I didn't mention last time that each episode has like a business monologue?? from the big white supremacist himself

this one's titled “Don't Negotiate With Underlings”

alright so the “monologue” is like three sentences and two of them are “Deal with the boss”

like leaving aside a) DUH, b) could have titled that like “Talk To The One In Charge” or “Go Straight To The Top”

“Don't Negotiate With Underlings” makes you sound simultaneously like a total shithead but also a total shithead who's dealing with a hostage crisis

An advert popped up for Geena Davis on Will and Grace and props to whoever recorded this for not just switching channels

I don't even watch W&G but give me anyone who was in Thelma & Louise over this garbo

So the women immediately call up the company they're advertising for

“Hi we're working on your ad campaign” yeah in the same way that Maggie Simpson is driving Marge's car

“okay so we have an appointment today with the CEO and senior vice president of marketing” wow lucky they both happened to be free!!!

They are playing up the “this woman is ambitious and mean” angle to the fucking hilt

the leader literally picks one other woman to go to this meeting and fucks off without giving any other instructions

the next shot is them running out of the building and into a road like zoo escapees

the guy leader is like “we don't need to meet with the people who we're designing an ad campaign for, what do they have to offer??”

the women literally have to run to get to the meeting with the CEO

“one of the reasons you've been put on the Marquis Jet case is to wow us” well it was because you'd get to star on primetime CBS

meanwhile all the other women are looking at the jet they're (tangentially) gonna advertise

“my design idea is something that's very...risky” alright lay it on me

“I want to show a phallic symbol” HOLY SHITTTTTTTTT

but no seriously please don't, this show already has all the dicks I can handle

“I want to show a phallic symbol because it's a plane”

“I want to show a phallic symbol because it's a plane and if you buy the card you're gonna go UP. You're gonna go WAY UP”

Then there's a long lingering shot of the front of the plane

Smooth jazz starts playing

Ron Jeremy is there

“it's gonna be so bad they're gonna LOVE IT”

like credit's where it due, it takes a certain sort of courage to get a task like this and go “what if I make it DELIBERATELY shit?”

they're showing the woman they've established as Angry and Uncooperative talking about what a bad idea this is but I'm 100% on her side

and not just out of fuck-the-editors spite, this is so clearly dumb

Speaking of the editors, they've edited this one scene with the guys so badly it looks like one guy phoned another just to tell him who Warren Buffett is

“our project leader isn't motivating us, he needs to be our cheerleader” ummm

“Mr. Trump's been our cheerleader, Donnie's been our cheerleader” this is rapidly approaching Stockholm Syndrome, the only interaction he's had with you is to tell you that you're bad but not quite as bad as someone else

maybe he just knew some really nasty cheerleaders

There's a montage of these guys directing a TV ad being filmed and it could not be more obvious that they're clueless

It just cut to one guy who said “Victory. Victory for the men” and then it cut to someone else

Or maybe I hallucinated it

Nope it's still there

Fuck

Okay holy shit the women's ad just got referred to very casually as “Tammy's Testicle Ad”

There's two photos where they've shot the plane to look like a dick and like balls

That's like something eight year olds would do if given a budget

One of the guys working back at the office has literally laid down on the conference room floor to sleep

Honestly I don't even have the heart to make fun, I'm here for the obnoxious business people and the fascist in charge, not the guy who's clearly not in the right place emotionally to be on a TV show

The women are getting into full flight attendant outfits to make their pitch because “it's the full experience that sells it”, in which case where are your dongs

they're also doing a direct mail side of the campaign and the guy they're selling to is like “but people just toss direct mail”

She assured him it's “damn good”

I'm just enjoying the moment before he realizes their definition of “damn good” is largely genitalia-themed

These posters are the worst thing I've ever seen

also who the fuck direct mails a fucking private jet renting service? know your audience like what the ass

“alright guys you've set the women's movement back about 70 years”

damn dude imagine being told “hey design an advert for a plane!” and then two days later being told “you are traitors to your gender”

The guys are getting ready to present

“I am the Zen Master of presentation” yes but how capable are you of talking about DONGS

oh my god the men have made a Powerpoint and it actually has the “pie charts woosh onto screen” effects

they don't mention it but the pie chart absolutely mentions direct mail so both teams must have been told to do this very stupid thing

then they hand the committee first class cigars at the end

the committee is torn between the men's “a bit generic but overall good” approach and the women's “DICKS AND BALLS DICKS AND BALLS” approach

Everyone gets called back in so the ad company guy can call “The Big Guy”

The women won

I hate this

The women all get into a limo to go to their private jet and they shout “Donald's Divas!” and I can't anymore

Meanwhile the men are bickering

“Here's my guarantee to you – someone's getting fired tomorrow”

like is this stuff handed to them on a cue card or do people on reality shows just spend all their time re-iterating the concept and premise to other people on the show

“The jet was a taste of the Trump lifestyle” honestly props on making a TV series that is essentially an advert for yourself and getting it to last 10 plus seasons

Then there's this contrast montage of the women eating in this fancy restaurant and the guys eating at their shitty apartment complex

but you know what? the men look like they're happy and the women are all alone in a restaurant and look pretty miserable

why do the rewards always make me envy the losers more

is it because the winners have extra Trump proximity

(yes)

I don't want to get into the “drama” because it's like 95% manufactured but yeah the women are arguing

Race comes into it and frankly I can't imagine a worse forum to discuss misogynoir

but apparently this whole “flight to Boston, dinner, flight back” means they're on the move at 4am and that seems more like a penalty to the next round than anything else

like did nobody think of this?? or is this more of this “successful people don't need sleep” shit

one of the guys (the dude who slept) is very obviously freaking out and one of the guy says “sit down, relax, close your eyes”, puts a cowboy hat on him and gives this monologue like “imagine yourself fishing, the mountains at your back”

the other man thanks him and stays there for a bit

honestly I feel like I'm meant to laugh at this but it's oddly touching

smash cut to someone else - “yeah we need to fire that guy”

the losing team has to pack up all their stuff every time they go to the boardroom and I imagine that being just a hassle rather than genuinely unsettling

Trump walks into the boardroom out of the shadows just like he does in my nightmares

it's surreal watching these guys defend a “losing” idea which was actually professional

“you should have met with the guy who hired you” well YES

the team leader has to pick two other people who were responsible for losing

but the whole reason they lost was due to a decision he made so he picks the “fell asleep” guy and then someone else seemingly at random

this is Not A Very Well Thought Out Aspect Of Your Show

“I had to pick someone!” and then Trump's like “bit disloyal”

No it's literally one of the rules of your shitty TV franchise

The team leader is lying about stuff which is on tape which is a bold move

but dick-themed direct mail was also a bold move so what do I know

“Sam, you're a disaster, don't take offence, everyone hates you”

This is said to the same guy who was like “Donnie's our cheerleader!”

The team leader got fired

Honestly I think it's more because they think the other guy is good TV and they don't want to get rid of him too soon

and for someone who just didn't get fired he looks really quite upset

guy who got fired is like “I'll call you direct in five years when I have my first building”

I googled it, he does not own a building

So in summary – this wasn't fun. This wasn't interesting. This wasn't good television, or even good reality television. At best it got me to laugh at an absolutely terrible ad campaign and at worst it just made me feel bad for the guy who got fired, the guy who didn't get fired, the cast, the crew, the security guard on the ridiculous looking scooter and pretty much everyone involved in this trainwreck besides the walking talking constitutional crisis at the centre of it.

See you for Part 3!