#This is why I say fuck all these bitches that were coming for Kamala

[cyarsk52-20]

#FreePalestine Both sides are the same? Lesser of two evils? We tried to warn them! Oh well, it’s not my problem anymore because now I’ve got my own stuff to worry about!! Tots and pears , enjoy your genocide and beach house you voted for!

[bangtthedoldrums]

life update?

July is almost over, i think these days i'm seeing glimpses of light at the end of the 27 tunnel. why am i writing all these on tumblr, you may wonder? i'm attention-seeking, i seek attention, i fear.

(let's bffr, whose attention am i seeking when i literally have <5 followers here haha, what a melodramatic bitch)

these days i'm feeling relatively stable. i'm laughing a lot, i'm smiling a lot. i mean i was already starting to, then the whole Kamala effect kicked off and i find myself laughing at dumbass things - nothing's ever that serious lol

the astrology people on twitter were not kidding about Saturn's return. 27 has been so fucking difficult, i can see why Club 27 even exists in the first place.

i wouldn't say i was "fighting" the last few months, "fighting" to stay alive? nah. some of my friends know i'm absolutely not "fighting" in any way. i'm glad i hung around i guess?

Sufjan, you're undeniably talking to yourself in this track. i would like to answer your question if that's okay. i probably wouldn't a few months ago, but yes, now i do care if i survive this.

oh god it's finally happening i guess. the time to get over a relationship is half the time it lasted. the timeline fits i guess.

"I'm frightened of the end, I'm drowning in my self-defense" and "Think of me as what you will, I grow like a cancer" sound about right.

"Did I cross you? Did I fail to believe in positive thoughts? Our romantic second chance is dead, I buried it with the hatchet"

"If I get a little prettier, can I be your baby? You tell me, 'Life isn't that hard' " yeah. sounds about right.

the season of pain and hopelessness has passed, and with resignation and acceptance comes revelation. and that revelation is that it's over.

okay. enough about that for now. please allow me to ramble on about things that have been in my head the last few days (or last few months haha).

the first thing - i'm not sure if i'm delulu or what, but please go with me here. these days i stare into the mirror, and my face looks like it's in the process of chiseling itself out. i can see my cheekbones. my cheeks look hollower. (but that could be an illusion? from the shadow of the temple of my glasses casted on my cheeks.)

i don't know if that is part of ageing. or if i lost weight. or if i'm sick. i feel fine though. but i would not be surprised if i secretly had lung cancer all these time from all those years of cigarettes smoking, and now vaping. who knows! i look hot so whatever.

the second thing - i've been listening to chappell roan a lot the last few months, just about the time i noped out of social media lol.

i've been returning to my punk/alternative/rock roots lately. i have too much pent-up rage lately methinks. rage from grief, rage from injustice, rage from.......... actually these two are mainly it. i can't really think of anything right now.

the third thing - penn badgley is so hot. haha. as a sapphic (mostly) no man has ever made me feel anything except penn badgley. not that joe goldberg persona though, it's dan humphrey and woodchuck todd. okay fine, there were. but i would like to mention penn badgley for now 😀

the fourth thing - i've been feeling a lot more social lately. being social online helps. talking to people helps. making plans with friends whom i love, trust, and respect helps.

i wonder if i wasted all these time isolating myself. maybe i'd be better quicker. or i'd lash out for no good reason. we'll never know. i guess it also helps when the trigger of my fight or flight isn't living down the hallway anymore?

the fifth thing - i find myself funny again. not like "i'm insulting someone for shits and giggles" funny. like i could make jokes again. like my humour is back. i scrolled through my reddit account a few days back and i don't even remember most of the comments i've made with that account. i used to be so funny and quick-witted. it's all coming back slowly so i'm glad 😄

okay folks, that's all for now. i've disappeared for a while but i'm back. thank you for your patience and understanding.

27's almost over. i don't know if i "can't wait for it to be over." i don't really feel anything about getting older. i'm literally still a baby when it comes to my prefrontal cortex. or a toddler if you're particular. i guess anything can still happen from now till September, the universe's always listening !!! 😀

why the tell-all now, girl? who knows! maybe i wna start documenting stuff again. i don't remember things from the last 8 to 9 months. with everything else that went on in my head i'm surprised that i lasted this long.

maybe i wna be honest.

"Come one, come all, I'll tell you my secrets. I'm kinda like a prettier Jesus"

this must be what Lorde feels when she wrote Solar Power

[rametarin]

Just a forewarning: Don't march into my DMs with an attitude.

If you come into my DMs unsolicited to bitch and yell at me because I point out the Progressives need to get their shit together and do some soul searching to figure out why they caused the democrats to lose this election, I'm not going to treat your arguing, or whining, genuinely.

Yes, the liberals made some bad decisions. But they are not what flubbed this very, very simple election. They kept Biden in too long, they didn't have enough time for Kamala's proper campaign, there was too much infighting among liberals and progressives, with the progressives being puritanical and dogmatic about their principles even in the face of a public that was rejecting them en masse, and the progressives demanding the left wing go authoritarian to impose their values from on high at the cost of much social capital.

It's you, progressives. YOU caused this, by demanding too much, too fast, and not compromising or being pragmatic. Your accelerationism and demands for no compromises, like a bunch of shreiking children, kind of fucked up the pathway to progress that the liberal democrats and fabians were working towards for decades.

You fuckers killed the goose that laid the golden eggs because it wasn't being a good comrade and laying fast enough, or producing as many per batch. Well, congratu-fucking-lations, hero, you broke it. It's you. You are the issue. And you have the audacity to rant about liberals as if it's their fault you aren't getting your way.

The liberals have done nothing but square every circle for you, you incompetent, entitled shits, the entire step of the way, like a narcissistic mother mollifying their spoiled assed youngest child. And what did you get for it? 2.5 more black men voting for a republican than GEORGE W. FUCKING BUSH got.

And in the process, you went totally mask off about your hostility in seeing liberals not as an ideologically different ally, but a person you butter up for the convenience of a carpool with because you don't have one of your own. And sideseat driving, to boot. You useless pricks.

And I KNOW you fuckers know you're playing a very dangerous game of top-from-the-bottom, because I've been seeing a lot of accusations and snarky griping about the liberals, "starting a McCarthyist anti-communist scare. Typical. :^)"

Like a 6 year old trying to shame and sarcasm their parent by accusing them of being cliche for the ass paddling they're about to receive. Yes, you're going to get that ass paddling. No, you're not clever, or right, by pointing it out as "lame and unoriginal." Maybe, maybe not. But your spanked ass will go lobster after the punishment is done.

When you had a SNIFF of institutional power and thought you had all the tenure and seniority and entrenchment you needed to cinch the noose and act on ideology with impunity, this is how you acted. Well, you know what they say. You want to know the measure of a man(human?), give them power. Yall failed.

The liberal democrats have been bending over backwards to continue their policies and goals while also compromising and elevating your failure assed demands, even at the great cost to their likelihood of winning elections. And what do you fuckers think would've won the elections? Demanding MORE of what the majority of Americans do not want. In a democracy. And then screaming about how the popular vote based on values didn't go your way. Yes, just go completely mask off and scream at a bunch of dirt farmers in Tennessee or Idaho about how they should have their church's tax exempt status removed unless they give God gender neutral pronouns and make the church more inclusive for BLM by hiring black preachers, even in churches with few or no minorities that want to live in poor rural land, or whatever. That will definitely endear you to the flyover states.

It's you, you shreiking undead toddlers. It has always been you. Election of trump was intolerance for you.

But the good news is, it's a simple fix. The democrats can listen to you LESS. And what might that be worth? Possibly 15 million extra votes that didn't participate, and the few million that flip flop back and forth depending on the values of the parties at the given year. The party may win, but your voice will be benched.

But do, please, continue giving the democrats every reason to marginalize Progressive voices and reject your bullshit ways of analyzing and "resolving" things. Continue making them your enemy. The republicans can't possibly hate you any more, and the liberals are wondering the value of capitulating for you. Show them what you REALLY are, and how much you hate liberals just as much as you hate conservatives. Make it clear, make it unambiguous, without that disingenuous assumed shared interest, while you try and dictate and dominate their actions, like a bratty child or an abusive spouse.

You had one task. Prevent Donald Trump's election and the clownshow to follow. It should've been the sort of tutorial task that even a Games Journalist could ace in a minute. And because of your nagging and intervention and brittleness, your interference and the liberals' capitulation to you, they went ass over teakettle.

And the hilarious thing is, a lot of that "progress" and "solidarity" was on false pretenses, artificially groomed into people for generations. Stewing and cultivating a kind of xenophobia rubber stamped by progressive society that tried to make minorities believe white people, to a man, weren't just evil, but plotting against them and rigging the game collectively, and put them under tribalistic siege mentality. You managed to fuck this up so badly by browbeating and showing them the oppression olympics serves nobody but the judges and the foundation itself, that they grew despirited to the whole thing and switched teams, seeing you for what you really are, no longer wanting to participate in that mental sphere.

Holy fucking shit you squander social and narrative capital like Venezuela squanders its oil. And by extension, capital, and economy.

Ya blew it. Take your medicine, eat your crow, think about what you did, reflect on it and maybe ask "what of my beliefs is actually detrimental and harmful to my cause, that I thought was sound and reasonable?"

And if any of you come to the absolute brainmaster idea of violent revolution, well, you'll deserve what you get.

YOU shit your pants, nobody else.

[theuniverseawakens347]

HYDE PARK N 72nd BITCH ASS KIMBERLEY WHERE YOU RAN ME OVER IN FRONT OF MY UNCLE LOVE LOTS GILBERT 🙂🖕🏽TO SEE IF ID COME BACK “eternal.. looks she’s demonic she regenerates” A FUCKING INFANT CUNT ASS BITCH. YOU WAS BOUT TOMGET LIFE FOR THAT SHIT SO YOU MY AUNT MIMI SEMMIA ..AND TRISTONS MOM AND LOVE LOTS PUT IT ON POPS. YOURE WEIRD FOR A ETERNAL LYFE OUTNOF JAIL …YAL GOT AIDS FROM DRINKING YAL OWN BLOOD WHEN ME N MY FAMILY ( mom n dad ) WENT INTO HIDING SO YAL COULDNT PURGE ON US ANYMORE YOU THIRSTY BOTTOM FEEDERS RIDDLES W …WHATS IT CALLED WHEN U EAT RAW COWS MEAT …

MAD BRAIN.

YEAH GAWD GOT HER FUCKING LICK BACK MY NIGGA TF …YOU A BIBLE PREACHER BUT CLEARER DONT FOLLOW IT TO READ IT TRASH DUMPSTER DRUGGY LETTING ALL THE NEIGHBORHOOD HYDE PARK BOYS HAVE SOME TAIL AND RAPE A FUCKING CHILD…ME 2PAC JADA PINKET LAUREN LOND WATCHING YAL ELDERS JUST …DO YO WEIRD SHIT ..THEN CONTINUE INTO THEIR OWN WAY 🖕🥴😌😂💀🪣⛹️

GRANNY FLORENCE LAWANDA WALLACE AND DARNYCE COMING BACK TO FUCK YOU UP PERSONALLY BITCH ASS LYING CUNT SPREADING CHLAMYDIA ..THATS LIKE YA MAIN ONE…TURNED AIDS N CANCER.

Satanic bitches papa maskk🅾️ julio COMING BACK FROM THE SKY TOO 😌🖕👽😂🙂‍↔️🤞🏾⭐️��🏝️🤯🤔🧿🪡🤣🚙

ANTI MASON BITCH TO BE ETERNAL WHEN YOU WERE PLANETARY RIGHTFUL FAMILY TO THE SUSU …ALSO RUN ME MY $3000 U STOLE FROM ME WITH NOAH DECORSI SUSANSUMMERVILLE FAT CANCER AIDS HAVING ASS 😌…how you do all that to me in my childhood FUCK UP MY HEAD AND RAPE ME BEAT ME LITERALLY TO A PULP…THEN STEAL MONEY IFF ME THEN 3 YEARS REMMETING SAY IM THE DEMONIC ONE …YOU CLEARLY HIDING THE TRUTH …RUNNING CRACKLE KNEE BITCH FALLING DOWN THE STAIRS LIFE ALERT HELP CANT GET UP CAUSE IM TOO FAT W ALL THIS LOPSIDED ASS..LOPSIDED KNOCKED KNEED LIKE “VIVCA A WHITSET FOX” …GOD MOM VIVICCA WHITSET TO ME NOW WITH MY ADOPTED MOM ANN LESLIE VICTORIA ARLINGNUGENT …YAL NIGGAS BEEN KNEW EACH OTHER …BITCHES NOT EVER CLEVER TO CHANGE YA NAMES W FLAT ASS ANNE …KEEPING ME IN YA WEIRD FUCKING RING…TRYING TO GET TRUMP OR KAMALA TO CHANGE LAWS BACK SO YAL CAN GO BACK TO PURGING OFF ME N TRISTAN B4 WE WAKE.

U SICK FUCKING BITCH. THIS YO DEATH BED. U FIGHTING IN THE ALIEN WAR AND IM DRAGGING YOU OUT THE HOUSE MYSELF AND CURB STOMPING U W MY BLOODY TIMBS MEANT FOR KILLING.

payback lick.. YO GON SEE THE SATAN IN ME BITCH. OISS OFF GOD TF U EXPECT. KILL RAPE AND EAT MY FAMILY..AND IM SUPPOSE TO JUST LALALA IT NEVER HAPPEND …WTF KINDA JUDGMENT DAY IT THAT …YOU BITCHES LOOOOOLVE VIOLENCE SO MUCH …OKAY 😈 let’s play…also u read my blog WILLINGLY with Tristan while I was locked away in rehabs telling him I was beautiful and smart and wise 😌🖕…wonder why VAMPIRE CANNIBAL WANTING TO FEAST ON MY BRAIN THIS LIFE TIME WEIRD BITCH SO TOOK IT PHARMACEUTICAL TO ME N TRISTAN N TONY …PREPING US FOR DEATH …”remove the brain they’ll die” GIRL IM ETERNAL. OLD GUARD TYPE SHIT IMMA KEEP COMING BACK W THE SAME FACE N FINE ASS BODY JUST TO PISS YA BALUGA WHALE HEAD ASS OFF 😌🖕

[qqueenofhades]

Okay, y'all. Time to do this one more time. Let the fact that there are so many of these posts right now reinforce the point. Many of you already know this, and I see and love you, but for anyone still ~undecided about their choice, should they be an American citizen of voting age on November 3, 2020:

Time to not be. It was time a long, long while ago, but I am going to have to say it again.

Primary season is over. The endless fine-tooth combing of candidates' policies and positions is over. We are all deeply well aware that the candidates on the Democratic ticket, being human beings and establishment politicians, are flawed. "BUT WHAT ABOUT THIS POSITION FROM 19/ 20-WHENEVER AS JUSTIFICATION FOR WHY IT'S TERRIBLE TO VOTE FOR -- "

No. Stop. Just stop. Stop threatening to hold the rest of us hostage, in the middle of a pandemic, the Great Depression, and racial inequality and protests on a scale not seen from the 1960s, because you did not get Barbie Dream Candidate. That is the behavior of terrorists and toddlers. If your supposedly enlightened morally pure ideology does not involve any action to mitigate the harm that is directly in front of you, it isn't worth a shit as an ideology actually devoted to helping people. If your approach to politics is to shout about how Pure your ideas are on twitter and tear down anyone working within a system of flawed choices to do the good that they can: you're not helping, and frankly, your constant threats to withhold your suffrage as a punishment to us aren't convincing the rest of us that we really need to listen to you or that you have anyone's best interests at heart. The Online Left TM is as much a vacuous, self-reinforcing noise chamber as the Online Right TM, and can sometimes tend to be even more dangerous.

I was saying this in 2016. A lot of us were saying this in 2016. I am just about to turn 32 years old and have been voting in federal elections for almost 15 years. For what it's worth.

This is not an ordinary election. This is not a contest between two flawed candidates who respect the system and want to work to enact their policies in the ordinary way. One is a flawed 90s era Democrat who nonetheless has already been pushed CONSIDERABLY left in his policies and platforms since the end of the primaries (and his existing platform would already make him the most left president elected, even more than Obama). The other is a fascist dictator who has openly spoken about refusing to accept the election results, his desire to abolish term limits and serve for life, and complete the pillaging of any remaining fragile American public funds for him and his cult of cronies. He does not respect the system. He does not want to do anything for anyone that is not himself. 160,000 and counting needless deaths of American citizens have already happened. Will keep happening.

This is the last time Trump has to face voters. This is the last chance the country has to repudiate his entire poisonous ideology and its marching Nazi minions. IF he steps aside, which is already far from guaranteed, he can ride off into the sunset as a vindicated two term president and probably be rehabilitated like George W. Bush was within a few years of leaving office. American political memory is very short. It will happen. Again, if he even leaves.

RBG is 87 and has cancer again. She will NOT survive another four years. Stephen Breyer is 81. Their seats could both come up in the next four years. The Supreme Court could be a right wing rubber stamp for whatever time we all have left before climate change and coronavirus kill us all.

"But if people just thought for themselves and did their homework and didn't vote the party line like sheep, we could support a third party/write in -- " Stop. Just stop. Attend a ninth grade civics class and learn about how politics work in America. Yes, the two-party system sucks. Yes, the Electoral College is a hot steaming pile of absolute bullshit. Magical unicorn fairy dust fantasies WILL NOT change that.

Do not vote for Kanye (who has pretty much openly admitted he is trying to play spoiler to Biden on behalf of his buddy Trump). Do not vote for godforsaken fucking Gary Johnson or Jill Stein who appear on ballots just to give sanctimonious leftists the illusion of virtue-signaling. If you want any chance of fixing the mess that 2020 has left America and the world in, you need to vote for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. The end.

Biden is a flawed old man who was our last choice, sure. He is also a distinguished public servant who has already been in the White House for eight years under Obama and thus we KNOW what to expect. He is an empathetic man who connects with people's personal tragedy and picked as his running mate a younger Black/biracial woman who directly confronted and called him out on past behavior. While the pundit class was simpering and whining about how it was Disrespectful and how could he consider her, Biden did so, and that speaks well to me of the fact that he is willing to learn, to take criticism, and not just accept it from a former Black female rival, but make her his second in command and the potential first female president of the United States.

Can you EVER picture Trump doing that? Not in eight thousand million years.

As for Kamala, we are all aware of her previous checkered history as a prosecutor (and even then, she did plenty of good things as well!). Since joining the Senate, however, she has consistently become one of its most progressive members. She is the co-sponsor of an economic aid package designed to give every American $2,000/month, backdated to March (the start of the coronavirus pandemic) and continuing at least a few months after its end. A Biden-Harris White House could make that happen. Especially if they are put into office with a Democratic House and Senate (for the love of God, Kentucky, kill Mitch McConnell with fire). That is just one example.

Harris's nomination is obviously historic. And Biden didn't choose another Biden (or another Tim Kaine, the blandest white man imaginable). He chose another Obama: a younger rising star of an immigrant background, a person of color, a former lawyer and someone who represents the diversity of the country that the white supremacists and the Cheeto in Chief have tried to paint as its worst and most degenerate evil.

A vote for Biden and Harris means getting rid not just of Trump, but Mike Pence, Vladimir Putin, Jared Kushner, Betsy Devos, the Trump crony destroying the Postal Service, the rampant coronavirus misinformation and bullshit, the destruction of Social Security and Medicare, the spread of Nazi propaganda from the President's twitter account, the likely two Supreme Court picks that would be as bad as Brett Kavanaugh or worse... on and on. Biden and Harris would be elected by progressive voters and thus answerable to them in 2022 midterms and 2024 general. They can both be, and already have been, pushed further left. They are reasonable and competent adults who have demonstrated experience and compassion. I KNOW about their flaws and past actions I don't agree with. But I'm frankly done with any more counterproductive straw man bitching about This One Bad Thing They Did and how it makes it a terribad awful choice to vote for them. Open your eyes. Look at the alternative. LOOK AT WHAT HAS ALREADY HAPPENED AND THE FACT THAT THIS IS NOT EVEN AS BAD AS IT COULD STILL GET.

Check your registration or register at vote.gov.

DO NOT LOOK AT POLLS AND DECIDE "EH BIDEN IS CLEARLY GOING TO WIN, I DON'T NEED TO VOTE." THAT IS HOW WE LOST LAST TIME.

Unseating incumbents is HARD. It is even harder when the other side has openly laid out their plan to cheat in great detail, and there is nothing really stopping them from doing it. The only thing, in fact, is massive, unfalsifiable results on an undeniable scale.

So:

Vote.

Vote for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris.

Thanks a lot.

[meyeselph]

Gwenpool: Desperate Misanthrope's Confused Angst

Showtime

Ms. Pool woke up in a familiar room. Not in Krakoa - there are no mutants around. This isn’t a story about that. Look, honestly, without an actual Gwenpool series and the constant breaks in her comics appearance I can’t even begin to give a fuck. I cancelled my marvel universe subbie. I might get back to my stories but single issues are iffy. I read fast and don’t pore over the artwork. So I get 10 minutes of entertainment for….FIVE DOLLARS? When did this happen? Jeezus.

Who even reads comics anymore?

Anyway, long story short, Gwen got out of bed and recognized the room as her old one from the “old times.” The dark times. The ‘not running around in pink and white outfits and shooting people’ times. She panicked (Been there. It is what it is though). The only way out of trauma is through.

She dressed in old clothes, immediately hit by old smells, she couldn’t help but cry. Was it all a dream? Have I gone insane (again)? All the usual self doubts cropped up. I mean, really, if you think this kind of thing didn’t pass through her mind regularly why don’t you transport yourself to a comic book universe?

Oh, you can’t?

Oh. It isn’t actually possible for you and I’m stupid for suggesting it. So, yeah. If it actually happened and you kept that attitude then the logical assumption for a normie is a mental breakdown. Trick for Gwen, though, is it's probably always been both real and her being nuts.

So she goes downstairs to the kitchen to figure out why this is happening and Evil Gwen is having cereal. Let's say cocoa puffs. I’ve been thinking about those recently. You ever remember cereal as something worth cherishing. Not as just bullshit that TV convinced you to want? God damn, now I want Cookie Crisp. Cookie Crisp wasn’t even ever that good. Why do I want Cookie Crisp?

So also sitting around the table were the faceless versions of her father, mother, and her brother. Just chilling. No BD. Seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind?

Yes, I know that references aren’t jokes - fuck you, I’m painting a picture and I CAN’T PAINT, THAT’S WHY THIS ISN’T A COMIC. Fucks sake. Anyway. So, Gwen is so creeped out that she just sits her butt down by Evil Gwen as if she’s the comforting presence here.

Her name’s too long. Let’s call Evil Gwen uh…….Gren. You know, like Grendel from Beowulf. I haven’t actually read Beowulf and this is all a little confusing but I'm solving problems here. Writing this is harder for me than you would think so it’s best to keep things flowing off the cuff. That’s the Gwenpool™ style anyway, isn’t it? Are you laughing yet? IMPROV. “YES AND” MY SHIT, READER!

“So, you ever really look into the retconned past thing, hun?” Gren said, moving her tongue around her food. Being gross as an attempt to be properly evil. She swallowed before continuing. “This is all I could really put together on short notice but i’m pretty sure what the future people created, all that stuff to try and trick you, it was all bullshit.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me to go all psycho like you again?” Gwen asked, exasperated, realizing she was now back in the whole ‘fuck with Gwen to decide her fate’ song and dance routine from the end of her first arc.

“Nah, not really.” Gren said. A hammer appeared in her hands out of nowhere and Gren swung it into their fake father’s head, snapping his neck..

“DAD!” Gwen instinctively cried as she saw her father’s body slump to the floor. Gren slapped Gwen’s face. “That’s it,” Gren said, “this is what the trick was.This is a poorly created character in a fictional story. Meant to manipulate you into attaching your concept of “father” to it. Even his finished version in the original comics run wasn’t THAT well drawn. Your dad read like a boomer’s idea of a responsible parent. You were going through a mental crisis and struggling to find purpose in life and his genius idea was get a shitty low paying job and suck it up?”

Gren turned to their brother, pushed his face to the table and smashed the back of his skull. . “Brother dearest, too. Going right along with their victim blaming. He gaslighted you as if what you were going through was just you being ‘irresponsible.’ Bitch, people working a minimum wage job aren’t somehow not impoverished and miserable because they get some of that ‘honest work’ that folks keep badgering on about. Minimum wage work is occupied by many physically and mentally disabled people held hostage; they’re people society only pretends to care about. Then they turn it all into you acting like some world ending threat. No questions about what drove you to the edge in the first place. You are just ‘unstable,’ so you’re just a problem to be solved. They say, ‘Let’s all solve this girl being upset and on edge by ruining her concept of self, reality, and memory.’ Brilliant!”

Gwen barely processed this in horror. Gren then slit the poor facsimile of their mother’s throat while continuing to rant, “You see people die all the time, Gwen. Half of the time you are doing the killing. You do it because it’s in a story. In a story the NPCs don’t matter and, after all, your original schtick in the story was to be kill-crazy. The non-marketable characters can be replaced or retconned at the stroke of the artist’s pen.” Gren leans forward as she pulls a Gwenpool mask over Gwens face. “Then the writers convince you that you have some middle class milk toast family and you take abuse and subsume your emotional needs because the problem MUST be you. You aren’t ‘normal’ so you have to be fixed.”

Gwen wiped her eyes over the mask and sighed. A bit of fire filled her gut as she stared at Gren. “So fucking what? You want me to go on a killing spree and be a big time villain to get myself a nice, shiny permanent big bad status? That’s how I stay around right? Just build my legacy on bodies?”

Gren scoffed “You already lost that fight, girly. Where do you think we are? Because this ain’t Marvel Comics.”

Confused, Gwen blinked and tried reaching for the page margins, finding nothing. Wait….why was everything on this page so ill defined and undetailed? Wait? Why was the story in kinda wobbly third person past tense?

Gwen sighed “Oh. I’m in a fanfic. I guess the publishing fight is for another day eh?”

“My advice, personally,” Gren stated, “is that you consider the lobster.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Gren pulled aside the kitchen curtains revealing the face of a giant lobster, its claws tapping on the glass. The lobster muttering gutterally about personal responsibility.

“Because there’s a couple thousand giant lobsters outside that would like to claw you until you read their book.”

--

Scared of Girls

On the rooftop, Gren shoved a high powered rifle into Gwen��s hands while she handled the close range threats. So, this conversation they’re about to have is important. Sniping puts Gwen into a sort of zen space, so that’s a better task to keep her focused, after all.

“So, what? You wanted me to internalize that my “origin story” is bullshit? Okay, what does that accomplish, then?” Gwen asked in a bit of a deadpan. She was so tired today. Not really feeling her happy go lucky energy. More like a “happy go fucky” energy. It was hard to always be on a knife's edge. Still the rifle’s kick into her shoulder was satisfying as she blew through two of the creepy looking lobsters at once. “Also, why the lobsters?”

Gren considered this. “Okay, last question first, I had to experiment a lot and do a lot of research to construct this place for your learning and healing in fanfic form....These buddies are a failed experiment of mine that I repurposed because the fic needed more action. Isn’t that right, giant enemy crap?” As she peppers the nearest goon with a hail of shotgun pellets the entire throng of them burst out, sharply muttering about divine symbols.

“As for what I'm trying to teach you, it’s that you aren’t reaching your potential.” Gren grumpily huffed.

“Duh,” Gwen reloads, “I mean you just killed a mannequin version of the voice in my head that says that to me every day.” one of those crustaceans talks about feminine symbolism while she decides on her next target.

“Not like fake daddy’s ‘Be a responsible member of society by paying your taxes’ type of potential. I mean your creative and emotional potential.” Gren flipped off the slavering throng of monsters, noticing they were starting to keep their distance from the roof.

“I never did finish that fanfic idea I had.” Gwen mused.

“God, don’t mention that,” Gren thrusts a finger at Gwenpool. “Not that I don’t respect fanfic, but when comic book writers make you and Kamala squee about fanfiction to try and relate to “the kids” it comes across as so condescending.”

“Really? I mean…..I'm sure it’s meant as support for the concept?”

“Most fucking superhero comics are just legalized fanfiction! The people who created the characters are either long gone or working on someone else’s characters! They just think they are so much better because they got fucking paid. They can’t imagine themselves as on the same playing field as fanficcers even though most of them have the same level of connection to the roots of the work as anyone else.” Gren groused loudly as she seemed to pull Reed Richards out of nowhere.

Confused, Reed looked around until his eyes met Gwen’s.“Oh great, you again.” Reed groaned as he turned to survey the piles of lobster gibs while Gwen cheered the lobster forces’ retreat with a resounding “EDF, EDF!”. The scattered creatures skittered amongst the bland scenery. It looked like a suburban neighborhood but someone forgot to color in the sky….or write that the sky had color. A castle hung out in the distance breaking up the generic normalcy and lay cloaked in shadow despite being surrounded by an endless white void.

“And…..black….you?” Reed pointed to Gren, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have an evil future self….well I stopped that future so it’s an….evil...alternate timeline self?” Gwen said with a nervous chuckle, abandoning the kill quest for the minute and rested her rifle on the roof.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve been down that road. It’s a rather common occurrence. Multiverse being what it is.” Reed laughed heartily while putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure I’m evil, honestly,” Gren interjected. “I think I’m just really fucking grumpy and I’m slightly more gung-ho on the homicide. Considering Gwen’s already one of the more kill crazy characters on the roster it’s not that much of a distinction.” Gren flipped her cape. “My main distinction is I don’t like that meme from The Incredibles! You can just make it so the cape detaches automatically when it’s pulled hard enough!”

“You could still have it tangled up around your face.” Reed pointed out in his standard know-it-all fashion.

“Don’t make me go into fuck wife mode, stretch.” Gren spat. “Okay, anyway, so I brought him here to illustrate a point. Reed. Explain particle physics to me as a laymen.”

“Huh...i’m not sure why but okay. Particle physics (also known as high energy physics) is a branch of physics that studies the nature of the particles that constitute matter and radiation. Although the word particle can refer to various types of very small objects (e.g. protons, gas particles, or even household dust), particle physics usually investigates the irreducibly smallest detectable particles and the fundamental interactions necessary to explain their behaviour. In current understanding, these elementary particles are excitations of the quantum fields that also govern their interactions. The currently dominant theory explaining these fundamental particles and fields, along with their dynamics, is called the Standard Model. Thus, modern particle physics generally investigates the Standard Model and its various possible extensions, e.g. to the newest "known" particle, the Higgs boson, or even to the oldest known force field, gravity.” Reed rattled this off rather mechanically.

Gren then took out her phone and showed Gwen the Wikipedia article on “Particle Physics,” which is naturally the same words that Reed had regurgitated above, just without any formatting and, again, on a phone.

“Reed can’t be a genius in any subject unless he’s written by a genius in that subject. That’s how stories work. Everyone is limited by the understanding and capabilities of the writer. Same with your origin story and all the people you’ve interacted with. If you are as ‘meta’ as you think you are then you have to realize that you aren’t actually talking to people. You are talking to the writer. Dr. Strange didn’t rewrite your existence to be a part of the Marvel Universe. As far as most of Marvel continuity goes Dr. Strange was never there and doesn’t know or care about his MCU casting…..Hey Reed, buzz off please before the conversation pivots to why you haven’t cured all known diseases.”

Reed looked a little surprised but then pulled out a teleportation device (of course he has one) and blipped away with a shrug.

“How awkward is that going to be when he enters the MCU after Kamala is already introduced with a very similar power set?” Gwen chuckled.

“Keep up the way you’ve been going and you’ll never see it. I’m not exactly expecting a young blonde girl casting call for Deadpool 3 and that’s your best bet.” Gren snarked. Gwen winced with a sigh.

“I don’t get what I'm doing wrong. I have a fanbase comparable to some of the characters that have already shown up but I can’t even get comics written about me most of the time. An MCU push seems unlikely. They would literally have to deal with completely recontextualizing my powers and gimmick”

“Let’s ask her what you should do.” Gren motioned her way to the suddenly appearing long hair future Gwen, looming over them like The Attack of the 50 foot Woman for some reason. Dwarfing the roof they are on. Let’s call her BIGwen!

--

Gold Guns Girls

As BIGwen acclimated to her surroundings she stubbed her toe on a car, dramatically flipping it so that it took out a few more lobsters before caving in a nearby house. The lamentations about clean rooms soaring as the remaining couple dozen of them attempt to clean up some of the bodies of their fallen kin. The large and sort-of-in-charge Gwen hissed in pain and adjusted her boot. Getting her balance as best as possible she muttered curses that traveled rather well considering the lung capacity of a giant.

“You know,” Gren started, “I wasn’t expecting much from our previous uses of the ‘make her big for emphasis’ trick, but it really does only work as a vague ghostly background element. I didn’t just want it to be ‘oh, here's a third Gwen for the conversation, though. Would lack umph.”

“ Yeah, I get it, but staring at my own giant taint is unsettling.” Gwen muttered.

“I’d still, hit it.” Gren grinned, then immediately got punched in the arm. “OWWW! Look, I’m the evil one here and we’re in a fanfic. I’m allowed to make internet fetish jokes.”

“And I’m allowed to hit you for it.”.

“Dirty lampshading goody two shoes. Don’t act like half your fanbase isn’t thirsty. It’s “insert current year argument”, all art is sexy to someone.” Gren complained back,rubbing her arm before hopping off the roof. Gwen followed while listening as patiently as she could considering how many changes in topic her evil-caped self is going through to get to her point. “This chick is the reason you’ve been on the path of good girl. Some vague idea that in the future everything will work out for the best. HEY, DOWN HERE, BIG SHOW!” Gren waved at BIGwen and she looked down curiously.

“Yeah what??” BIGwen responded in a booming and agitated tone. Honestly, being in this fic made every version of Gwen a little grumpy.

“How’s she supposed to be a popular hero that makes it into the MCU and has a stable publication history?” Gren asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Came BIGwen’s response. “Have you tried growing your hair out?”

“Rub it in,” Gwen muttered under her breath, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of depressed now.” Gwen said as she sat on an abandoned car.

Gren hopped on the roof of the car, patting Gwen’s shoulder before squatting with enough force to flex the car’s shocks like a rocking chair just to amuse herself. “Future “good” Gwen wasn’t an actual plot point, it was a call to action to the fans to make fanfic like this and support the character outside of the actual Canon. Chris didn’t trust that Marvel would treat the character right. That, and your obsession with getting a new book, are both the writer’s attempt to turn a marketing tactic into fan engagement. If you want to be real then that makes the fans want you to be real even more, too.”

Gwen sighs heavily and leans her chin on one hand. “I mean...the time traveling through the life of an NPC fan complete with a Never Ending Story reference was a bit sappy even by the standard we sometimes set...damn it it really was just kind of a fan manipulation trick wasn’t it?”

BIGwen Sat down on the street next to them and crossed her legs. “Hey, little me. Don’t get too down. I mean it worked for the most part. You have a healthy cult following. Characters have survived on less and there are worse things to be known for then as a fan first character”

“But I have to fight for attention all the damn time, though. It’s so easy for Wade with his fucking meme bullshit. He even gets runoff enthusiasm from me. Jeff the land shark is all over Oldpool online” Gwen felt rather heavy and tired all of a sudden. Marvel editorial forcing a gun to your head is not a fun way to be.

“All that fight is hell on the fanbase too.” Gren sighed. “Advocating for shit, getting crumbs and being expected to accept it while Disney lavishes all the attention based on some bullshit numbers game. Even if you make it into the MCU will it be a Batroc style cameo with obligatory ‘killed off in case we don’t feel like paying the actor again later.’ Will it be an emotionally rounded character or an ambush bug style joke? The thing is. You're Not the one fighting and you never were.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“This version of her doesn’t know?” BIGwen whimpered.

“You aren’t real, Gwen.”

--

Head Like a Haunted House

“No….we aren’t having this conversation. Fuck you fuck you i’m not a fucking Nihlist and i’m not going to do this right now.” Gwen said as she scrambled off of the car and pulled out some guns. BIGwen then picked her up off the ground.

“You need to hear this, Gwen,” BIGwen boomed. “The gimmick has run its course. It’s fucking with your canon. You’re never going to be a marketable character keeping up a half fourth-wall Kayfabe”

Gren climbed onto BIGwen’s Shoulders and perched over Gwen all menacing like. “You need to listen. I’ve been trying to ease you into this. Making things more meta slowly until you were ready but it was never going to be easy.”

One of Gwen’s guns was fired from it’s holster and pierced one of BIGwen’s fingers. BIGwen screamed and her grip loosened. Soon Gwen was on the move running up her arm and firing at Gren, who dodged like the nimble and cute badass she is. “Don’t do this Gwen. Just because it doesn’t matter to the comic version of you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a real person god damn it! I read the comics out there! I came in! That’s why I know shit I shouldn't know. That’s what I am! THAT’S ALL I AM!” Gwen shrieked as she pulled out a sword from hammer-space and decapitated BIGwen. Suddenly a mess of colored streamers and a pile of Mickey Mouse merch tumbled out. Look, I am busy right now. Gwen is still slashing at my ass. I'm not going to explain it.

For some reason now the remaining lobsters were helping Gren. For Gwen’s own good you understand. This is proof that I’m right for some reason.

Gwen pulled out a revolver, firing pumpkin sized holes in lobsters who were still wailing about self actualization. She fully planned on shoving a sword up her evil self’s ass and getting rid of this doppelganger shit for good. Which is total bullshit by the way. She totally just cut off Gren’s leg because what the fuck you mean I’m not real? I’m going to be real all over your corpse.

Gren didn’t really think that was even a good comeback and also thought you should probably say it instead of meta willing the smack talk into existence, otherwise this fanfic is going to read like trash. Also, Gren’s leg wasn’t actually cut off. In a puff of smoke it is revealed that the cut off leg is a log and her leg is fine. Gren is a ninja now, believe it.

Gwen proceeded to do a sick ass CQC judo throw on Gren and then grab her cape and wrap it around her face like Reed suggested. Callbacks for the win! Callbacks to Checkov’s gun ideas always lead to victory in fights! She then totally shot at her and such.

But the bullet was caught by the cape because the cape was a symbiote! That’s right Gren is also GRENOM!...boy that sounds stupid. Anywho, the cape was no longer around her face and the fight continued and Gren now ALSO had extra powers and special wizard-symbiote armor (that would only show up in the MCU version if Marvel finally got the Sony characters back). The meta powers work like shit in text but this would be really good in CGI or animation if Marvel wanted to adapt this fic and give the writer lots of money. Gren still has more experience with them, though, and Gwen can’t really just kill her way out of this fic so she has to just let the story play out.

…...eh?....oh Gwen’s crying. I love/am you girl but we gotta work on the crying. Fucks sake this is harder than I thought. I’m depressed now too. Well I'll try to get the writing back on track so you guys can see what is going on. Even the lobsters are minding their manners now. Chill vibes, guys.

“The marvel character page for Gwenpool says, and I quote:

Gwenpool arrived in the Marvel Universe from the “real world,” but has wasted no time in making the most of her time in her fictional universe. Using her knowledge of comics to her advantage, Gwenpool causes and solves problems for her fellow heroes.”

Gren drags a lobster corpse slowly toward Gwen and sits on its tail as she talks to her. Taking her time to really scrape the lobster against the ground, smearing the gore on the pavement. Not that it was heavy for her or anything. Totally still has that symbiote, which would make moving it easy. Totally wasn’t a detail added in the second revision of the fic slightly before the lobsters were added.

“The words “Real world” are in quotation marks in that wiki. Real people don’t make it into comics because fiction isn’t real. Half of your versions barely make use of the ‘real person’ gimmick because it’s too meta by half and not every writer wants to waste time justifying it. So they just treat it like Deadpool’s medium awareness. Which it mostly is.”

“I really am just a fucking rip off distaff character.” Gwen moans. “Just a Gwen combined with a Pool. I’m worse than the Batman who laughs. I never mattered because I was never real”

“Fuck don’t say that. You were made with love and care by a team of creators who took a weird offshoot idea and built out a compelling metafiction idea and a likeable protagonist off of it. They just didn’t have the time and foresight to go far enough.” Gren sighed.

“Far enough?” Gwen sniffed as she was pulled up to her feet and dragged toward one of the big castles. As they walked Gren kicked along a Mickey Mouse doll that had rolled out of BIGwen’s severed head. Every time it bounced it cheerfully said ‘hahah. I love you!’

“Too much haha, not enough trauma. You’re not just a joke character.” Gren said as she kicked the Mickey doll into the big front door of the castle. The shadowy thing of course lighting up and being all fantasy and shit as the door opened.

“Well I did end both of my comic runs pretty mopey.”

“Damn right you did. When the jokes run thin they run to your real bread and butter. You’re an empathy machine.” As Gren shoves Gwen through the gate they are swallowed up in the castle, going dark again. “Let’s getcha sad clown on.”

--

Never there

“See, what evil me should have been telling you about in the original run is how to find meaning and purpose when technically nothing means anything. Comic book characters live in a world without real death and suffering. It’s all a puppet show version of real pain and real emotion meant to bring that out of an audience.” Gren opined as they walked through a black void to a couch floating in a nothing area lit only by the static of an old TV.

“Can we turn on a light?” Gwen asked as she sat on the couch. Gren sat on another recliner that suddenly appeared and put her feet up.

“Fuck off. Ambiance is a thing. We aren’t having a ‘lights on with something fun on the TV’ conversation. So look, I am not really ‘evil gwen.’ I’m half an author insert and half a plot device. If we are talking about the reality of the story you are basically talking to yourself. I am speaking about the things you don’t want to admit to yourself. You know, you’ve seen this kind of story sorta... right?” Gren picked up the remote and frustratedly changed channels between a bunch of vaguely illustrative footage on the TV, not finding anything that worked. A lot of black and white footage of trains for some reason. Just what comes to mind when I think of documentary footage? Weird.

“I am not sure how to illustrate this shit visually and this is a text story anyway so I would have to explain the illustration,” Gren griped.

“I basically get it. It’s not that uncommon a trope.” Gwen nodded.

“Because of the level of meta we are on right now we have to really acknowledge that you are basically an author insert, too. I mean, to a certain extent every version of you is more the writer that is working with your character at the time than a set character.” Gren said as she settled on a visual of Gwen being pushed out the window by her own narration text in the original comic run. When all else fails, resort to footage from the last story. That way people can look it up online!

“Right here is where the character crystallized in the mind of the author of the current fic we are in. A vague suicide metaphor wrapped up in the flavor of self destructive escapism. Your parents in the story thought it was a suicide attempt on at least some level. This is serious business. Not just a girl who doesn’t like work and can’t finish her fanfic. In this comic you are built on this understanding. The writer of this fic has ADHD and autism. So his version of you more or less has it, too. Writers bring themselves with them into their work.”

Gwen nods and takes a deep breath. “I….I can feel it. Like the world is closing around you. You aren’t built for anything that anyone wants from you. The one thing you really believe in, the one thing that really defines you, the stories in your head…..it’s just not enough.

You can’t trust you’ll ever make it with writing because you can barely write. You barely have the energy to do anything but wish that you weren’t you. What if someone actually listened? Actually believed in you and whisked you away somewhere else where the world would fit your needs? What if you were someplace you could be someone else, someone strong and confident?”

“Yeah. Like a funny anti hero in a comic for instance.” Gren nodded. “But the original comics sort of left the theme on the table. They were captured by the misconception of Gwen as the problem and not a person who needed help. All that desperation that real fans of the character might feel just bundled up into love for this character that really ‘gets’ them but Marvel doesn’t ‘get’ the character. They won't use her. They won’t go past vaguely gesturing at her mental issues and moving on. They saved the angst for Wandavision.” Gren scoffs.

“I mean the show was okay but they literally have a character built entirely on the theme of escapism and trauma. One that’s custom built for mind-screw visuals and reality bending plots and they think she’s just a lazy fangirl who really likes guns that they can sit beside Deadpool sometimes and stick in the X-Men’s bloated background character roster when they don’t need her.”

Gren leads Gwen off the couch and deeper into the void where a door to a bedroom waits. A room like her own, absolutely slopping over with old toys of comic book characters. An unclean messy space in a run-down house that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Huddled in bed, reading an 80s era X-men comic with a flashlight, is a 12 year old Gwen.

“This is never going to be canon but this is the version of Gwen in this fic. She can’t stop crying at school. Things that shouldn’t be hard are so hard and she can’t explain why. Everyone says she’s making excuses. Meanwhile her mother is fucked out of her mind on pain killers and her step father killed himself last year ‘cleaning his gun’ while drunk. You know exactly what is on her mind right now?” Gren says as she gestures at the girl.

“I wish the superheroes would save me from this.”

“They won’t. They can’t. They were never meant to.” Gren Slams the door loudly on the scene.

“That is the emotional core of Gwenpool in this fic. The desperation that so many of the fans down here in the fucking muck of the real world feel. Poor and emotionally unfulfilled. Confused and vulnerable. If Disney and Marvel gave two fucking shits about people like that they wouldn’t waste as many stories as they do. They wouldn’t just use untold wealth to make expensive escapist stories with the military. Their gestures toward progressive ideas that they occasionally make in their stories would be THE ENTIRE POINT of their stories and the actual thing they used that money for instead of lobbying the government to keep Mickey Mouse out of the public domain.

“Disney has the power yet they save a fucking miniscule fraction of who they could. Saving people doesn’t make money.”

--

When I Get To The Green Building

Gren stormed through the void. The scene disintegrated around her as Gwen followed. Both now in a bit of a sour mood but with newfound determination.

“Come to think of it. Why is the fucking Hulk getting to fight for social justice in the comics? Why are they making a gay alternate universe Captain America? Why are they grasping at straws so hard to find characters that get to advocate and I am just sitting on a fucking island being grumpy?” Gwen groused. “I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual….at least in this fic. I could advocate for a bunch of shit at once.”

“You have a youth fanbase, a unique story and you technically aren’t an alternate universe version of fucking anything no matter how many people still think you are a Stacey. They made a fucking ‘for the fans’ character and then neglected it. Presumably because some fucking money making metric didn’t pan out despite the comics just being an MCU test kitchen and IP farm anyway.”

“You’re a fucking check mark on a ledger. I don’t even know if anyone technically created Gwenpool as a whole and Disney/Marvel can give the character to whoever they want to do whatever they want completely separate from what the fanbase wants and needs because she isn’t established. The IP landlords have spoken. The fans haven’t risen to enough ‘buy my merch’ calls to action to invest more resources. So tease endlessly until that changes.”

“Gah. Now I'm actually as pissed as you are.” Gwen said as she started fiddling with her guns. “Who do I kill?”

“We can’t do shit. You’re not even a character at this point. You are a meme for an underused character.” Gren smirked all evil like. “See but that’s it. You aren’t just a meme. You’re a MEME.”

“Uhm...I don't follow.”

“Like the concept of Justice. Gwenpool is an idea. Defined entirely by how people who engage with the idea choose to engage with it. The IP law means Disney owns Gwenpool but they don’t own how Gwenpool is perceived. Just like we as a people decide what justice is through popular consent we also decide what Gwenpool is. You see they made a character for the fans…..in my opinion that means the fans can do as they like with it even if it makes Disney uncomfortable.”

“I mean they can’t even stop porn of their characters just because of the sheer volume of the problem. I suppose people could do whatever.” Gwen nodded.

“Exactly. So the fans should just fucking Occupy Gwenpool!” Gren said as she flipped her cape dramatically with a mad smile on her face. That’s right. She was Dirtbag Leftist Gwen all along!

“Squat on that IP. Make Gwenpool a mental health advocate. Make her an LGBTQ activist. Make her fight for social and financial justice so hard that Bruce Banner looks like a poser. Make her talk shit about politicians who put their career ahead of the people. Do all the shit that makes the comicsgate crowd sad. Keep politics in our stories! Rally around that pink and white ass so hard they have to notice and then tie it all to the fact that Disney has great power and with great power they take no responsibility for how shitty the world is.”

“ If they are going to fuck Gwenpool fans they gotta learn Gwenpool fans fuck back. We have already proven we can make all kinds of cool shit. Let’s get serious and make more, harder, faster! Get a hashtag or some shit. They can't DMCA all of us! GWEN IS OURS WE JUST HAVE TO REACH OUT AND TAKE IT. Then they either respect the character and her fans or they just hit a PR disaster.”

“Marvel/Disney neglects fan focused cult character themed protest movements. Proves they are only progressive when it makes them money. They’re so worried about Mickey ending up in the public domain? We’re the public domain! After our entire lives stannin their characters and buyin their merch building them from an animation house into a juggernaut they are just another weight on top of the boot on our necks. They have to take responsibility!” At this point Gren is pretty much ranting maniacally and neglecting the actual writing of the story so this is Gwen taking over to wrap up.

Guys I may not be ‘the real Gwen’ but really, isn’t the version of Gwen that actually came from the real world all of us? Isn’t Gwenpool really the Gwens we made along the way? We could easily bring a little heroism and chaos to the real world (at least to the internet) if we really tried. Put the fear of God into some IP landlords and fight for some cool people that society is screwing over, too.

Prove that even in the fandom abyss people aren’t as powerless as they seem. Use that internet comic fan mobbing for something besides giving Zack more money. Disney is gearing up for their next IP fight for Mickey in 2024. Seems like a fine time for IP themed protests. For now we just need to spread the word that our needs are more important than their profits.

It’s been real. It’s been long. It’s been a real long time coming…..

But I finally finished my fanfic.

See ya, true believers.

[madamspeaker]

What really enrages me is that when Pelosi called McCarthy a moron last week (too kind, but accurate and proven correct once again) all the news services were covering it. But today, when McCarthy threatens to assault Pelosi with a gavel in the House of Representatives, there’s basically radio silence from the press. I’m fed up of violence against women, particularly women in the public sphere, being normalised by the press who should be condoning it. And imagine how young women feel when they see Pelosi being threatened in this way by a party leader?! That’s enough to put them off going into politics anyway of the week. (Sorry, I’m just very very angry and currently hoping McCarthy rots in hell for eternity)

I've been furious all day; about what he said, and the silence from most of the press. Last week we had a ridiculous tweet from Manu Raju after Nancy's "moron" comment about House relations being at an all time low - as far as I know there's not been a peep from him today. Maybe he agrees with McCarthy, after all Raju did take to Twitter to moan last year about her ignoring him. I mention that because he's never once complained about McCarthy doing the same, and he does.

This all goes back to how Republicans target and demonise Dem women. Sure they go after some of the men, but it's the women that that they zone in on, the women they paint as evil. If they could get away with using the words "bitch" and "cunt" in flyers and ads, the GOP would. We've seen it time and time again - Hillary Clinton, Nancy Pelosi, Maxine Waters, Kamala Harris, Alexandria Ocasio Cortez... it's a repeat pattern in which women become the main target of attack. It starts off verbal and written but words matter, words incite, and those who speak and write them know that, and what you then get is the base taking those words further. The base comes to believe that these women are Satan sent and must be literally destroyed. What we had last night was proof that it's no longer just the base engaging in notions of violence. McCarthy has released a statement through a spokesperson to say that it was "obviously a joke". Clearly it wasn't obvious. There has been no apology for the supposed joke, which you would think might be the first thing someone would do when they realise they have said something deeply offensive. No, the only obvious thing about what McCarthy said was the violent imagery it invoked of a man hitting a woman with a piece of wood - the same woman who had been the target of a violent attack mere months earlier, and countless other threats (including a man who threatened to pulp her face) thanks to Republican words, spoken and written. What McCarthy is at now is no better than the gaslighting that domestic abusers do to their victims. I would not be surprised if he tried to blame the backlash on Nancy Pelosi not having a sense of humour - he's blamed her for other awful things that he's done (Jan 6th, covid negligence), which incidentally is another trait in abusers. Honestly, who the fuck jokes about hitting a woman? Men who hit women. And the press need to start addressing this. They need to start asking why McCarthy thought that was okay to "joke" about? Why it is that the GOP regularly go after Dem women more than they do Dem men? And why it is that the GOP go after Dem women so much more aggressively and nastily than they do Dem men? There is something fundamentally wrong with the fact that Nancy Pelosi has become used to death threats against her. She shouldn't be getting any, and certainly not so many as to become used to them. And the press never mention this - they never mention the fact that the language on the Republican side is so toxic that women on the other side get threats, and worse, get so damn many that they've become used to them.

I know a lot of women ran for office in 2018, post Hillary, and I suspect most knew what they were getting into - they all saw how Hillary was treated - but last night feels like an chilling escalation in the GOP war on liberal women. McCarthy can say it was a "joke" all he likes, but we've now reached a terrifying moment in which a leader of a major party thought it was okay to make such a joke. At its most basic level McCarthy stood there and in his mind conjured the image of him hitting an 81 year old woman with a wooden hammer, and then decided to get a laugh from his fantasy from a crowd that probably had people in it who want her dead, and horrifyingly he will not be forced to resign. Pre-Trump, he may well have had to face consequences, but no longer. It's frightening.

[areiton]

text me maybe

Summary: 

He's drunk and there's a really hazy decade in the nineties that Rhodey looks pained when he even thinks about that says doing shit when he's drunk is a bad idea.

There's also a new building on MIT campus and a yearly donation that supports that theory.

But MIT and Rhodey are far away and that clunky black flip phone is not, and he snarls as he snatches it up and punches in the message.

It takes almost five minutes because the tech is obsolete and he is drunk but he does and he smiles at it, viciously pleased.

~*~

Chapter 1 of 4. Lots of angst and miscommunication and pining. Enjoy. 

Read on AO3 

~*~ 

He's drunk and there's a really hazy decade in the nineties that Rhodey looks pained when he even thinks about that says doing shit when he's drunk is a bad idea.

There's also a new building on MIT campus and a yearly donation that supports that theory.

But MIT and Rhodey are far away and that clunky black flip phone is not, and he snarls as he snatches it up and punches in the message.

It takes almost five minutes because the tech is obsolete and he is drunk but he does and he smiles at it, viciously pleased.

 You're an asshole. Taking the kids cuz mommy and daddy couldn't hack it? Dick move. The whole world, Cap and you just--- you threw it all away for a zombie wearing a dead memory's face. I hope he's fucking worth it.

 ~*~

 When he wakes up, his fingers are sticky with scotch and the phone is warm in his hand. He glares at it for a long moment, and then shoves it in the pillows of the couch and stumbles to the bathroom to shower. The kid will be by, later, and he doesn’t want to look like a complete wreck when he shows up.

 ~*~

 Tony is very good at compartmentalization and he manages to ignore his drunk texting until two days later. He’s finally let Peter out of the lab, and the kid is busily eating his way through the fridge and the truly frightening amount of greek takeout they ordered, when he startles and digs around in the cushions to produce the phone.

“Uh,” he says, staring at it and Tony flushes.

Which is ridiculous. The kid doesn’t even know what the hell the phone is for, much less who is on the other end. He has no reason to be flushing, for god’s sake.

“That’s some pretty outdated tech, Mr. Stark,” Peter grins and Tony scowls.

“Give it here, brat,” he grumbles, and Peter happily hands it over.

Habit has him flipping it over, but shock makes him still, staring at it.

Steve texted back.

~*~

 He isn’t drunk when he reads it.

He does wait until Peter is passed out in his room, and a drink is poured and untouched next to him. Then he sighs and opens it up because ignoring it won’t make the text vanish and it won’t satisfy his curiosity.

He opens it and--

His heart stops.

 You’re right.

I’m sorry.

I’m so fucking sorry.

 ~*~

 Steve Rogers doesn’t apologize.

He doesn’t admit he’s wrong.

He’s got that in common with Tony.

But that--that right there is blinking at him in heavily pixalated black and grey, and it’s not going away just because years of experience says Rogers doesn’t apologize.

He ignores it for most of the day, and then sighs.

Fucking curiosity.

 What the hell does that even mean.

 ~*~

 What happened in Siberia--it wasn’t your fault.

We were wrong.

We should never have been there and--you weren’t in the wrong.

I’m sorry.

 ~*~

 He doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t know how to answer.

Of all the things he hoped for when he drunk texted Steve--this wasn’t it. This was the very last thing he expected.

He ignores it because he doesn’t know what to do with it, and he thinks, maybe, if he does respond--he’ll beg Steve to come home.

 ~*~

 He doesn’t miss Steve. Not really. He misses the team, the family that they had built, has missed that since the Ultron debacle and the Avengers move away from the tower.

He’s lonely. Especially now, with Potts gone and moving on with Norman fucking Osborn, of all people. He doesn’t begrudge her that any more than he wants Steve home.

He’s lonely.

He wonders if he’ll ever get used to this--to being alone, to being left behind, to being forgotten.

 ~*~

 If you know you were wrong--why are you still gone. Why not come back? Walk me through your logic.

 He isn’t drunk, exactly. But he isn’t sober either and he thinks even as he hits send--it’s a stupid thing to ask.

He hits send anyway.

 ~*~

 It got bigger than just me, somewhere along the road. I can’t control this, can’t control him. I wish--

Going home isn’t an option. Hasn’t been for a long time, Stark.

 ~*~

 He turns that over in his head for a few days.

There’s a depth and awareness that he didn’t expect from Steve. Not that Rogers was dumb--he wasn’t, not even to Tony--but he wasn’t good at looking deep, especially in himself. And this--it’s strange. It’s not what he expected, not from Steve and his abiding sense of righteousness, his belief that he was right.

Even in Siberia, when Barnes was shaking and guilt was wild in his eyes--that hadn’t wavered in Rogers.

He doesn’t have any fucking idea what to do with it, if it is. He doesn’t know what to do with a Captain America that’s anything less than rock steady.

 ~*~

 Jarvis--not JARVIS, but my Jarvis--told me that home is always an option. That it’s what we make, not a place or a person. Home can change. Maybe you can’t go home--maybe that went out the window when you came out of the ice. But you can find a new home. I hope that we can all do that.

 ~*~

 They don’t text every day.

Most days, they don’t. He can go a week without hearing from Steve, go a week without reaching out to him. He’s got his hands full, trying to rework the Accords, trying to calm down the UN and WSC after the Rogues drop off the map.

Pepper comes back, but it’s not the same, it’s tense and wrong, like both of them are trying to force themselves back into a shape that just doesn’t fit.  For the first time, maybe ever, he understands Steve and the out of step disconnect the other man had always felt.

He feels that way now. The world is moving on, moving past the Avengers and he’s—not.

He’s stuck still, clinging to ghosts and memories and a girlfriend who doesn’t want him, and he doesn’t know how it happened or what it even means for the future.

So they don’t text every day. He’s busy. He throws himself into inventing, churns out two new apps for SI and a new tablet that makes Pepper so happy for a week, he almost thinks they can fix this broken thing between them. He build and rebuilds braces for Rhodey until the other man forbids him from touching his legs, and then sits through his PT like if he stares and hopes hard enough—he’ll be able to fix Rhodey.

And he starts working on a prosthetic arm.

He knows, even as he starts sketching the design, that what he’s doing is stupid and self-destructive—but he doesn’t let that stop him.

He tells himself it’s for SI—but it’s a lie and even he knows it.

He doesn’t text Steve about it.

 ~*~

 Peter and Rhodey hate the Rogues. It’s something he knew but it was very abstract, a kind of reassuring dislike that he was content to ignore. Now though--now he listens to them, listens to Peter bitch about Sam and Bucky and Wanda, listens to Rhodey’s grumbling about Steve and he feels almost guilty for the phone, black and heavy and bricklike in his pocket. For the texts he sends and the fact that he still hasn’t told them.  

He doesn’t really forgive Steve for what he did. But with every text, laced with guilt and apology and the hint of an explanation--he feels like he could.

He could let it go, set it down, have his family back.

“What about Kamala?” Rhodey says, frowning at his tablet. He’s busy rebuilding the Avengers, shaping the future of heroing into something good, something pure and reminiscent of Peter--and Tony swallows his guilt, because he’s still clinging to ghosts.

 Are we friends?

 ~*~

 I want us to be.

 ~*~

 Tony doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t want to say--me too.

And he isn’t sure he can honestly say anything else.

 ~*~

 Did you pick this just to piss me off?

 He's grumpy when he sends the message but not drunk.  Tony hasn't decided if that's an improvement or not.

 I don't think so?

 Tony snorts. Of course not. Steve just never thinks about things like tech and how Tony might react to it. Maybe because he spent so long in ice. The man still carried paper to write his notes on.

 It's like you took the shittiest tech you could find in Sokovia and sent it my way to drive me insane.

 Can't you integrate it with your AI, use your own tech to override it?

 That makes Tony pause. Because yes, of course he can. But Steve doesn't know or care about his tech, never has. He licks his lips and shakes the thought. That this is wrong--something about this.

 Instead he types.

 Well. If you don't mind, I'll go to work.  

 ~*~

 It gets easier to text after that, and there's something dangerous about it being easy, something that makes it more tempting.

He doesn't need to text Steve.

But sometimes, he wants to.

Sometimes, he texts inane things, shit that doesn't seem to matter to the situation at all.

 I never had a friend like Bucky. Sometimes I thought I did.

 Rhodey, he comes closest. But Rhodey wouldn't burn the world for me.

 I want to understand but I don't. I don't think anyone can.

 And sometimes--sometimes it's days between his texting and Steve responding. But he does.

He always responds.

 I don’t think I had a friend like Bucky. I think--it’s complicated.

 Rhodey loves you. He found you, in Afghanistan. He wouldn’t burn the world for you--but he’d search the wreckage and pull you out, and take you home.

I don’t understand. I wish I did.

 Tony doesn’t know why it helps, that uncertainty. He only knows that it does.

 ~*~

 The first time it happens, he’s in a board meeting. Pepper is sitting next to him and the CFO is droning on about stock prices, while her smile gets tighter and tighter and he really just wants to shuck off the damn suit, change into something he can get dirty, and tear into Peter’s Spider suit. There’s something wrong with the gliders and he wants to figure out what before the kid splats on the pavement of Queens.

His phone dings and he glances down.

 Went to a cathedral today--left the rest of the team behind, even though I know they’ll be pissed when I get back. I just needed a break from the bickering? And it was nice--being alone. I love them. All of them. But sometimes it’s nice to be alone.

 Tony blinks at it. Because there’s nothing there to respond to. But there’s everything there to respond to. It’s an invitation, into his day, alone.

 Not alone if you’re texting me, are you.

 The answer comes quick, quicker than he expects, and his heart-rate picks up, and a smile strings across his lips, small but fond.

 No, but maybe I want your company.

 ~*~

 Things change after that. Not right away. But it’s...easier.

Steve texts when he wanders the far-flung cities the Rogues are hiding in. Sometimes, he texts pictures, little snapshots of the sky or birds on the ground, food or a book open next to his coffee--he’s drinking it creamy and thin these days, something that startles Tony--and it’s nice. Soothing.

A glimpse into a world Tony honestly thought he’d never be allowed inside again.

The texts are lighter, teasing. Sometimes, Tony thinks Steve might even be flirting, when he sends pictures of empty benches and wish you were here.

When he asks about Tony’s day, when he asks about SI and what Tony is building now--it feels like curiosity and not Steve pressing for information.

 ~*~

 I’m giving DUM-E to the college. For real this time.

 You won’t. You love him.

 Six hundred thousand in tech doused in fire repellant.

 Kids are expensive.

 Tony barks a laugh.

 You’d know--you took ‘em with you when you left.

 There’s a long beat and Tony thinks he overstepped--that Steve will lash out. He’s never liked it much when Tony joked about something this serious. Always expected Tony to treat it with the same gravity he treated everything.

Then.

 I’ll take the bots if you take the whiny bastards back.

 Tony laughs outright at that.

 No deal, sweetheart.

 ~*~

 He doesn't talk about the Accords. He's absorbed in them, in reworking them so they aren't fucking over every superpowered person trying to make the world better--but they're what broke his family, what caused Steve to run.

So he doesn't talk about it.

But Steve--Steve pushes.

 Why are you on the committee to amend the Accords?

 He stares at the message for a long time, not sure how to respond or if he should respond. It feels dangerous but he also thinks--it's genuine. That he really wants to know.

 Because I want to make them better. They were always a work in progress--they're a jumping off point. I want to make them better, for us and the world.

 There's silence after that, long enough Tony wonders if he misstepped, if Steve is gonna run now.

It takes another four hours and then,

 Can i read them?

 ~*~

 “You seem happier,” Peter says, one day. It’s in the middle of Tony talking about the upgrades he put into the suit, completely out of nowhere, and it draws him up short, makes him blink at the kid.

“I didn’t realize I was unhappy,” he says slowly. It’s a lie, and the wrinkled nose Peter gives him let’s him know exactly what Peter thinks of his lie, but he doesn’t argue. Just shrugs and smiles.

“You were,” he says, confidently. “I don’t blame you--not after Germany.”

“Pete,” he says, and Peter sighs.

“I don’t--I know you don’t want to talk about it. But you were sad, after Germany. And I get why--Rhodey and Ms. Potts, and everything--but you’re happier now. I don’t know why. But I’m glad.”

Tony pauses, thinking about the texts that no one knows about, the endless conversation with Steve that doesn’t always make sense to him, but that never fails to make him smile.

“What do you think of them--the Rogues?” Tony asks, and Peter looks at him.

There’s something like anger in his eyes, but his smile is gentle and sincere when he says, “If you trust them--I trust you.”

He wonders if it can be that simple.

 Pete says I’m happier.

 He sends the message, not sure entirely why. It feels too honest, too exposed and vulnerable, but he’s curious what Steve will say.

 Who is pete?

 Tony curses. He forgets, that not everyone knows his fledgling protege. For a long moment, he’s not sure how to respond. There’s a part of him that wants to tell Steve. Wants to confide about this brilliant boy with his impossibly big heart, the one who is stupidly brave and desperate to help, who makes Tony think he could be better.

And there is--the need to protect him. Trusting Steve again is Tony’s choice. His mistake to make, if it turns out to be a mistake.

But it’s not Peter’s choice. And Tony won’t make it for him.

 New guy at SI. You don’t know him.

 There isn’t a response, long enough that Tony puts the phone aside and goes back to working on the suit with Peter, and it’s hours later he stops and looks at the message.

 I’m glad your happy, Tony.

~*~

 He likes texting when he can't sleep. He wonders sometimes, if the time zones keeps Steve present during those sleepless nights or id he too is plagued by nightmares that makes sleep so elusive.

Either way--when he texts late at night, there is always a response.

It's easier, under the whisper thin cover of dark, to be honest.

 I miss you.

 Why? I brought you nothin but headache and heartache.

 There was good times. Wasn't there?

 Of course there were.

 I wish--

 What

 Wish things were different. wish we weren’t on different sides.

 His breath catches, his throat tight.

 if we were? what would you want?

 There’s a part of him that feels ridiculous, like a high schooler with their first crush, waiting impatiently for an answer. When it does come through, it makes his breath catch in his throat.

 everything

Chapter 2 

[onemuseleft]

for the au meme, if you’re still taking prompts: stevetony as hosts of a tv show

This is 50% inspired by Sports Night and 50% inspired by Robin from HIMYM. I amused myself way too much wrtiting this, I’m gonna be honest with you. Hopefully you will get at least a fraction as much amusement reading it as I did writing it. :)

****

Tony looked straight into the camera and smiled as saccharine a smile as he could manage when he was still barely able to keep his eyes open. “Welcome back to It’s too Fucking Early for This Oh My God New York Go the Fuck Back to Bed.”

“Tony,” Steve said from the other side of the anchor desk. “Don’t swear in front of the audience. You never know who could be watching.”

“Steve, it’s four-thirty in the morning and the ratings show that we typically have six viewers, two of whom are in men’s prisons and one of whom is your mother.” He raised his coffee cup to the camera. “Hi, Sarah!”

“Then don’t fucking swear in front of my mom, Tony, for fuck’s sake.” Steve smirked at the camera and ignored their producer, Sam Wilson, as he bitched them both out over their ear pieces. “Hi, mom. Anyway, as we probably should have already said by now: It’s time to Get Up and Go, New York!” He paused for a moment with his hand out and sincerely hoped they remembered to put the graphics up this time so he didn’t look like a complete idiot. “I’m Steve Rogers-”

“And I’m not wearing any pants,” Tony said as he took a long gulp of his coffee.

Steve turned his head a little, just enough to get a glimpse of the shiny red silk of Tony’s favorite pair of boxers, then turned to the camera with an easy smile. “He’s really not. Announcements like this may be why thirty percent of our viewers are incarcerated felons, we’ll have to look into that. In the meantime, we have a great show in store for you today. At the top of the news, an Amber Alert for two-year-old Anna May Watson-Parker was called off late last evening after the little girl was found to have somehow crawled onto the roof of her family’s apartment building. She was unharmed and reportedly only wanted to pet the pigeons. Thank goodness,” he added and Tony pulled his face out of his coffee long enough to echo him. “Hell’s Kitchen has reports of a vigilante calling himself The Barrister. So far there are three reported cases of a masked man wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase, who interrupts purse-snatchings and muggings to lecture the would-be criminals on how expensive their legal fees will be when they get caught. So far no one has been hurt and one precinct is even reporting that The Barrister convinced someone to turn themselves in.”

“Doing more than the cops are,” Tony said. “Good on you, Barrister. Please do not get shot, that would suck. Also, I think the American healthcare system is even more prohibitively expensive than our legal one, so please take a page out of your own book there.”

“After the break we’ll also have our guest, Robert Drake, author of the New York Times bestselling LGBTQIA mystery series The Ice-Man Cometh, and celebrity chefs Thor Odinson and James Logan will show up how to make a dish from their upcoming new cookbook called “All You Need is a Fire: Cooking Like Real Men. All this, and our new intern Kamala Khan will be presenting today’s item on our ongoing segment Sixty Things You Never Knew You Didn’t Know About New York.” Steve flashed a bright smile at the camera. “And since Jim Rhodes is off sick today, you’ll get to see me and Tony cover the sports segment while trying desperately to pretend like we care about any sport that isn’t baseball. Back after these commercials.”

“I hate both of you,” Sam said over the intercom as soon as they cut to commercial. 

Tony blew a kiss toward the sound room. “You’d be bored without us!”

“Why aren’t you wearing pants?” Steve asked even though he knew better.

Tony shrugged. “I was running late this morning.”

“We drove in together.”

“Yeah, but then I fell asleep in the bathroom and Jan said I could have pants or make-up.” Tony shrugged and flashed Steve a grin. “No one can see my ass but you and I know you don’t have any complaints.”

“If you flash New York, I’m going to be annoyed with you,” Steve said.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Tony leered at him over the top of his coffee mug. “New York gets an eyeful of The Starkster and your inner caveman goes all wild. You’d have to show everyone who I belonged to so you’d barely wait till the cameras were off before you dragged me off to an empty conference room-”

“Do I have to send you two to another sexual harassment seminar?” Sam demanded.

“I’m only harassing Steve, and he likes it.”

“Not at work, Tony, for the love of god, the interns can hear this. We’re back in ten.” 

“I will say that you not having any pants on does make things much more convenient for me,” Steve said brightly. He flashed Tony a wide smile, ignored Sam’s exasperated sigh and turned that smile back on the camera. “Welcome back! Tony still isn’t wearing any pants, and everyone here is really excited about that. Before we bring on our guests, we have a caller on the line for our City Culture segment, where we take calls from everyday New Yorkers like you, who call in to let us know about current events, neighborhood news and local fads. Caller, are you with us?”

“Hi, Steve, hi Tony.”

Tony sat up in his chair, mouth curved in a wide grin. “Jan! How’s my favorite fashionista?”

“Tired, Tony, this is obscene. I thought you did a morning show.”

“I mean, technically it is morning.”

“Hoda and Savannah don’t make me get up this early,” Jan said reproachfully. “Seriously, if we’re going to continue being friends, I need you to get a new job.”

Tony laughed a little. “There’s a limited number of opportunities for working with my boyfriend and not having to wear pants, unfortunately. Besides, my loyal fans at the correctional institution will be heartbroken if I leave.”

Jan made a rude noise. “Anyway, I don’t really have anything to say. Steve just asked me to call in and distract you for a minute so he could get the ring out without you noticing.”

“What-” Tony turned and froze as he saw Steve holding out a small velvet jewelry box. “What the shit-”

“Tony Stark-” Steve said and the crew lost their fucking minds. He could barely hear Sam yelling at him over all the shouting. 

The loudest yelling was definitely coming from Tony though. “Oh no!” he said “No! You did not just propose to me in front of half of New York while I’m not wearing any pants!”

Steve laughed. “I’ve been planning this for months, I can’t help it if you picked today to have a wardrobe malfunction.”

“In front of your mother!”

“Yup.” Steve waved at the camera. “By the way, mom, if Tony turns me down you’re not allowed to ever bake him another pie as long as he lives.”

Tony sputtered with laughter and finally set his coffee mug down on the desk with a heavy thud. He reached out between them and gripped Steve’s knee. “Oh my god, don’t take away the pies.”

Steve grinned and plucked the ring out of the box, then grabbed Tony’s hand off his knee to carefully slide the ring on. “No take-backs.”

“Holy shit I love you so much,” Tony said. He yanked hard on Steve’s hand, dragging him out of his seat and half into Tony’s lap. Tony grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him, quick and light on the lips. “Yes, Steve, I’m going to marry the hell out of you.”

Steve took another kiss, a little slower, a little deeper, then pulled back. He gave Tony a grin - and god help him if he looked half as ridiculously happy as he felt just then - and straightened his shirt before turning back to the camera. “You heard it here first, popular morning talk show host Tony Stark is officially off the market. We’re moving over to Sports now, where the Giants probably managed not to fuck everything up, but I don’t know for sure because I hate football and no one’s queued up the cards for the next segment yet. So we’re going to cut to commercial for just a minute and when we get back my fiance is going to put on some pants and show us how to make a casserole over an open fire. Also we’ll see if I still have a job because I absolutely did not clear any of this with my producer. Thanks for joining us, we’ll be right back.” 

[lovelyirony]

Seeing Stars (And Not Just On Your Shirt)

First of all, it should be said that Tony Stark had at least two PhD’s, an argument could be made for four if you truly counted soft sciences, and Tony Stark Knew His Shit. 

There were four things he knew for sure: 

1.) Rhodey was his best friend for life 

2.) Quoting “mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell” to Pepper when she was drunk would never not be funny 

3.) You weren’t supposed to order three mimosas at a baby shower (thanks for the late advice, Jane) 

4.) He did not like the art teacher Steven Grant Rogers 

It all started when Mr. Kirby retired, Tony didn’t cry at this, and they had to look for a new art teacher. And they find a new art teacher who has biceps that could probably crush watermelons and a smile that melted the devil. 

Tony did not yelp and run into a wall. 

Or notice that Steve offered to help him up and gave a little smile that could’ve burned rocket fuel. 

And he definitely didn’t fall in love in about five minutes after Steve looks at him for maybe a millisecond and says that Tony’s Mona Lisa tie with the mustache on it is “cool.” 

“That’s your least-cool tie,” Clint says. Tony sniffs and turns. “Your coolest one is the one Natasha got you that says ‘life is nothing but robots and smiles.’ I like that one, why don’t you wear it?” 

“Because you like it.” 

“One of these days you’ll admit that you love me.” 

“This year is not that year.” 

“I didn’t say year!” 

“Point still stands.” 

Sure, Tony comes into the art room for lunch because they have nearly the same schedule and Steve doesn’t come into the staff room because he thinks Principal Fury is scary. 

“He wears an eyepatch Tony, how isn’t that creepy?” 

“Because he attends literally every musical showcase that we’ve ever done and cries if anyone sings Phantom of the Opera music. He’s soft like that.” Steve laughs. Tony smiles back and laughs a little, and no. He doesn’t think Steve looks cute. Or that he should ask him on a date. It’s stupid. 

He has a freak-out about feelings at midnight when he’s drinking a glass of wine. 

“Natasha, I need help.” 

“You called me. I was asleep. This better not be about your existential crisis among technology.” 

“It’s not that yet. It’s about emotions.” 

“Repress them.” 

“Natasha, that’s really unhealthy and you shouldn’t do that.” 

“Half of your problems solve themselves if people think you don’t care.” 

“THAT’S NOT HOW IT WORKS NAT OH MY GOD.” 

“So what? You’re a weakling? Sad. Spill, what is making the man sad?” 

“I kind of like Steve Rogers and I’m having a crisis because liking people is stupid and his entire face is fucking stupid and his organization of grades is literally the worst system ever and he won’t let me fix anything about it, and--” 

“Tony?” 

“Yes?” 

“I’m not dealing with this. Either do something about it or don’t.” 

“I’m not going to do anything about it.” 

“That’s unhealthy.” 

“You were literally talking about repressing your emotions, like, five seconds ago how are you able to give me advice?” 

“You called me asking for advice, likely because if you mess up Pepper’s REM cycle she will destroy you and anything surrounding. Including your little desk toys that you say you aren’t emotionally attached to.” 

“If you tell any of my kids this I will sue you so hard your head will fall off.” 

“Why do you think I wear chokers all the time? It keeps me together.” Tony snorts. “But Tony, in all seriousness. You like him. You should do something about it.” 

“I think not.” 

“Fine then, don’t call me. Call Rhodey and have him say the exact thing.” 

“Hmm. No.” 

“Bye.” The phone call ends with a click. 

Tony stays up until three a.m. He decides that liking someone is entirely too much trouble and should be avoided at all costs. 

No one told Steve this, and he shows up to Tony’s room in a patterned button-up with stars all over it and the sleeves are rolled up--the sleeves are rolled up--and Tony can’t speak. 

“Hey, I seem to have lost my grading pen, did I leave it in here?” He asks. Tony fumbles around at his desk before throwing an electric blue pen at Steve’s head and ushering him out with a nervous laugh and a throwaway line. 

“Do you and Mr. Rogers have a thing?” One student, Kamala asks. “Because I could see it.” 

“Kamala, what have we said about questions pertaining to my personal life?” 

“That you haven’t answered one since college?” 

“Exactly. I’m trying to break a Guinness World Record.” The class snickers as Tony waxes poetic about angles and how science was actually not superior to math, which explained everything about science. Dr. Banner could choke. 

Pepper hosts an end-of-the-school-year party in May, on the twenty-seventh. Tony tells Steve to go, because Pepper makes cream cheese roll-ups that are to die for, and there is even talk about Clint bringing his fruit punch again, which makes him redeemable. 

“I don’t get what you have against that guy,” Steve says. 

“He doesn’t have anything against me,” Clint responds. “He just thinks I’m not human. Which is a fair point.” 

“Are you?” 

“Pfft, I dunno. One time I woke up in a pile of Cheeto dust and a phone number. I called the phone number, it was for the CIA. That’s the reason I took off a week in December.” Steve manages to look mildly surprised, but then tells Clint about how they’re all pretty sure Bucky works for the CIA because he keeps mentioning Roswell, and only Rhodey and Wilson know about that one. Maybe.

As it turns out, inviting Steve to the summer party was a horrible idea because he’s wearing an actual t-shirt and shorts and shit he looks really good. Like, Cher in Moonstruck good. shit. 

Tony manages to say “THERE’S PUNCH” and then downs about two glasses and tries to put on AC/DC songs for the rest of the night. 

“You are so fucking useless,” Rhodey whispers. “Just talk with him.” 

Just Talking With Steve is Not Just Talking. Because Steve is Nice and Attractive and Has a Nice Sense of Humor. 

And maybe Tony wants to kiss him on the cheek. And maybe Tony laughs so hard he snorts when Steve does an impression of the school board director Pierce. And yeah, maybe he thinks he develops a heart condition when Steve hugs him goodbye and Steve smells like fresh soap and laundry and paint. 

They hang out a lot over the summer. Steve paints a lot; it’s his side job. His paintings are good, and Steve even lets Tony see the before of it all. Tony shows Steve his ideas for robots and his dreams about random things. They listen to old forties records and loud rock hits. 

Clint’s the one who points it out. 

“You guys started dating!” He says. Steve raises an eyebrow. 

“Huh?” 

“You went out to dinner last night.” 

“To discuss school,” Tony says. 

“You had wine, you were so not discussing school. You were probably bitching about the problem kids.” 

“Still school-related,” Tony butts in. 

“You have also stayed over at each other’s houses.” 

“Apartments,” Steve offers. “And driving home at three a.m.? In this economy? No thank you.” 

“You have clothes at his house, Tony,” Natasha adds. 

“Convenience, I am lazy,” Tony says. “Natasha is slandering my name.” 

“Is it really slander if both of you want to share a bed and make love or whatever cheesy shit it is that you do?” Steve and Tony look at each other. 

They do hang out more frequently. Tony got rid of his dating app. (Not like it was helpful anyway.) Steve had planned a picnic. 

“Son of a bitch, we are dating,” Steve says. “Okay wow, I had plans for this. They were good plans.” 

“Please tell me you weren’t gonna play Ed Sheeran.” 

“You think I was going to...? I have romantic standards, and they are set very low, Tony. You know this. Wanna go get eggrolls after this?” 

“Hell yeah, you’re paying.” 

[savethetvdonotforgettovote]

BIDEN/HARRIS YOU TWO DOUCHEBAGS MADE A HUGE FUCKING MISTAKE ! NO I WILL NOT GIVE YOU TWO PRICKS THE OPPORTUNITY TO WATCH WHAT YOU DO FUCKERS : THAT MISTAKE I LET DONALD FUCKING TRUMP DO LOOK AT ALL THE BULLSHIT CHOICES HE MADE ! ALL I KNOW IS THAT I AM GOING TO FIGURE OUT A WAY TO TAKE YOU TWO BITCHES DOWN THE TUBE YOU UNGRATEFUL FUCKERS !

ALL OF YOU HAVE AN EXPIRATION DATE JUST LIKE THE MOVIE 3 HOURS TILL DEAD EXCEPT FOR A TINY TIME FLIES BY IN 8 YEARS FOR YOU TWO UNGRATEFUL FUCKS !

JUST SO YOU TWO FUCKS KNOW BILLIE EILISH WILL BE THE LAST PERSON I ACKNOWLEDGE , I AM NO LONGER PLAYING YOUR FUCKING GAMES DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME BARACK FUCKING OBAMA HOW DARE YOU WALK PAST ME WITHOUT SAYING A WORD YOU RUDE ASS BLACK MOTHER FUCKER !

EVERYBODY SHOULD KNOW BY NOW HOW TO FIND THE LYRICS ! GET READY FOR THE SHIT TO HIT THE FAN

NOW YOU JOE BIDEN KAMALA HARRIS BARACK OBAMA GOT WHAT YOU UNGRATEFUL MOTHER FUCKERS WANTED A HORROR SHOW

AS THE HORROR SHOW MOVIE 28 DAYS LATER SAYS : YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED YOU UNGRATEFUL DIRTY ASS MOTHER FUCKING PIGS

MANY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE ARE ASKING WONDERING WHY A 4 YEAR TERM LIMIT FOR ALL POLITICIANS GOD ? BECAUSE IT TOOK US ALL 4 YEARS TO GET RID OF DONALD TRUMPS WHITE ASS FROM THE WHITE HOUSE ! SO SHALL THE SAME HAPPEN WITH FUCKED UP UNGRATEFUL KAMALA BITCH ON WHEELS HARRIS AND JOE OLD GOAT BIDEN ! JOE BIDEN THINKS HE WAS A FUCKING GENIUS JOGGING ONTO THE STAGE TRYING TO SHOW EVERYONE HE’S NOT TOO OLD WHEN THE FUCKER IS AN OLD USED UP TEA BAG THAT DID NOTHING TO PREVENT GLOBAL WARMING CLIMATE CHANGE JUST LIKE STUPID ASS BARACK FUCK HIM OBAMA DID NOTHING ABOUT CLIMATE CHANGE GLOBAL WARMING EITHER ! JUST WISE ASS BIG TALKERS THEY ALL ARE THE UNGRATEFUL FUCKERS ! SO WATCH AND SEE WITHOUT CIVIL WAR BREAKING OUT IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA ANOTHER FOUR FUCKING YEARS WILL BE WASTED ! LET’S ALL DO SOME MATH : 8 - 4 = 4 FUCKING YEARS LEFT UNTIL APOCALYPSE DAY IS UPON US ! BE READY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE ARMS AND AMMUNITIONS YOURSELVES ! YOUR ALL GOING TO NEED IT ! DON’T THINK FOR ONE MOMENT WITH OLD BITCH SUSAN COLLINS AND FUCKING MOSCOW MITCH MCCONNELL BACK IN TOWN ANYTHING WILL CHANGE ! THE ONLY WAY IS TOO TOSS EVERY MOTHER FUCKER OUT OF THE WHITE HOUSE AND THAT INCLUDES GET NOTHING DONE NANCY OLD BAG PELOSI ! WHY DO YOU THINK POLITICIANS STAY IN OFFICE TILL THEIR 100 YEARS OLD : BECAUSE IT‘S FUCKING HARD TO MAKE SO MUCH MONEY FOR DOING NOTHING ! I TOLD YOU NANCY FUCKING PELOSI TO WRAP IT UP AND ENJOY YOUR NINE GRANDCHILDREN BUT DOES SHE LISTEN TO GOD ? NO !THE BITCH KNOWS EVERYTHING BETTER THAN GOD DOES ! NANCY YOU TOO ARE AN UNGRATEFUL FUCK WHAT HAVE YOU DONE ABOUT GLOBAL WARMING CLIMATE CHANGE IN THE 300 YEARS YOU‘VE BEEN AROUND ! TAKE A GOOD LOOK IN THE MIRROR GIRL , YOUR A WORN OUT DO NOTHING USEFUL SAGGING SACK OF SHIT ! I SUGGEST ALL THE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE AROUND THE EARTH BEGIN CIVIL WAR AND TOSS OUT EVERY DIRTY ASS POLITICIAN ! IF THEY REFUSE KILL THE FUCKERS , BECAUSE THEY ARE KILLING ALL OF YOU BY DOING NOTHING BUT CHEATING STEALING LYING THEY‘RE ALL CORRUPT ! ATTACK BROTHERS SISTERS YOUR LIVES ALL DEPEND ON IT ! ARMS AMMUNITIONS YOURSELVES CHILDREN OF GOD AROUND THE WORLD YOU WILL NEED ALL YOUR STRENGTH YOU CAN MUSTER TO KILL OLD ASS POLITICIANS WHERE THEY STAND ! I THOUGHT YOU TWO JOE BIDEN KAMALA HARRIS WERE DIFFERENT BUT YOU FUCKERS CHOSE WRONG NOT INVITING ME TO YOUR ELECTION AFTER PARTY ! SO FUCK YOU BOTH ! YOU TOO FUCKS ARE IN FOR A RUDE AWAKENING ! STOP HAVING BABIES YOU FUCKING FOOLS ! ATTACK KILL POLITICIANS IF YOU HAVE TOO : THEY ARE ALL INFECTED WITH CORRUPTION ! YOU JOE OLD GOAT BIDEN SHOWED YOUR TRUE COLORS BY NOT ACKNOWLEDGING ME ON THE WORLD STAGE ! SO DON‘T YOU FUCKING DARE COME CRYING TO ME ARGENTINA WHEN YOUR WHOLE WORLD BEGINS TO COLLAPSE ! FOR ALL I KNOW YOU DIDN‘T WIN THE ELECTION FAIR AND SQUARE YOU FUCKER ! DON‘T EVER FORGET HURRICANE KATRINA ! EVEN THE COPS ABANDONED THEIR POSTS WHEN THE SHIT HIT THE FAN ! ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT THOSE WHO SAT STILL DIED . THOSE THAT KEPT MOVING FIGHTING FOR THEIR LIVES LIVED ! JOE OLD GOAT BIDEN AND KAMALA BITCH ON WHEELS HARRIS WON‘T BE ABLE TO GET SHIT DONE ! JUST FUCKING BIG WISE ASS TALKERS ! KEEP NOTE WORLD ON ALL THAT I SAID TO DO AND WATCH NOTHING GET DONE THAT WE THE PEOPLE NEED TO SURVIVE LIVE NORMAL EVERYDAY LIVES JUST LIKE THE FILTHY RICH FUCKED UP POLITICIANS ! ALL OF YOU WILL LEARN OH MY GOD WAY OR NOT AT ALL FUCKERS ! JUST SO EVERYONE KNOWS , JOINING THE PARIS CLIMATE ACCORD WON‘T HELP , THE GOALS THEY‘VE SET ARE FAR TOO SLOW !

I TOLD YOU JOE OLD GOAT BIDEN AND BARACK FUCK HIM OBAMA AND KAMALA BITCH ON WHEELS HARRIS YOU THREE UNGRATEFUL FUCKERS YOUR’RE ALL GONNA GET IT BUT GOOD ! RIGHT UP YOUR BLACK WHITE ASSHOLES ! YOU ALL DESERVE IT FOR IGNORING ME PETER MAX AKMANS ! FUCK ALL OF YOU ! I AM GOING TO FUCK YOU THREE SO GOOD , DICK IS GOING TO COME OUT YOUR MOUTHS !

[bloody-cute-yandere]

The Problem With Politeness Part 1

It’s good to be polite. That is what we are taught. Don’t talk back, respect your elders, don’t make waves. Your uncle is saying something insensitive at the family Christmas party? Well, he’s just drunk, let it go. Your brother and you are in the middle of an argument and he calls you a fat whore? Your parents may make him apologize, but they may also say that you have been putting on a few pounds lately, perhaps you should work on that, and right now you’re giving Mommy a headache so just go to your room for now. Your friend that’s visiting from college says something misogynistic about his female TA? You don’t want to ruin your friends’ times by causing a fight (and you only see him once in a while anyway), so just change the subject and move on. These excuses are so deeply entrenched in all of us that it can be incredibly difficult to stand up for your own beliefs and values when in mixed company. Whether you’re overhearing some strangers at a restaurant, or conversing with your closest family and friends, we are taught not to get involved and to not make waves. If someone does decide to halt the flow of conversation by calling out someone for an insensitive comment, it is usually the responder, not the insensitive one, that is penalized for “drawing attention to it” and “making a scene”.

The real problem I see with this sort of “ignore it” mentality are two-fold. First, it makes it more difficult for people to practice standing up for themselves. If someone can’t even speak honestly about their beliefs among family and friends that are supposed to love them unconditionally, how will they ever have the courage to speak up against strangers? Advocacy is a skill, it has to be honed over time, and if you are not free to practice with the people that you should feel safest with, you won’t be able to grow this skill. This could put you in legitimate danger down the road; you won’t be able to say “no” to the creep grabbing at you at the bar, you won’t know what to do when you see something horrific happen in front of you that you could have stepped in and prevented if you were more self-assured. You won’t be able to stick up for your friend when they’re being picked on. This can result in anxiety and guilt for the person that realizes they wanted to do something to help but were unable to do so. It also can result in that person putting on social blinders to remove any possibility of experiencing that guilt in the future.

The second problem I see is that it removes any possibility of accountability and growth for the people that are behaving in these unacceptable ways. Tacit approval and tacit disapproval sound exactly the same to the recipient. So when someone spills their hate amongst the people whose opinions they value most and they aren’t met with any resistance, they are likely to become emboldened and more assured in their beliefs. The racists, misogynists, homophobes from that one group of close people will go on to spew their hatred to the rest of the world in wider and wider circles, believing that they have the support of the people that matter the most to them. And, let’s be honest here, in a way they do. You have shown that you will not reject them even if you do disagree with them, so what do they have to worry about?

I do very strongly believe that this vicious cycle is a large part of why we are where we are in the USA right now. All of the Trump supporters had been festering and hiding in the dark corners of the internet and near the snack table at the 4th of July barbeque, their bigoted ideologies festering unchecked in their brains, their convictions being fueled every time they could make an uncouth remark about a celebrity or the family down the street while Aunt Marge tsked to herself but tried to change the subject instead of confronting it. Then Trump was able to ascend to the White House all the while spewing the same vitriol that these individuals had been nursing their entire lives without resistance, and they felt emboldened. Finally, they could come out of the shadows and vomit their septic waste of an ideology into the streets in broad daylight with AR-15s and the Alt Right at their side, and all the people that want to fight back have to do so while struggling through a lifetime of conditioned silence.

So, what do we do now? I wish I had a better answer for everyone. Unfortunately, my entire “mental help” process that allowed me to break free from my own difficulties and find my voice amounted basically to “Ge the fuck over it and do it anyway”, but I know that doesn’t work for people. Saying “Just practice, start small” sounds similarly ineffective and insensitive. Even so, I would suggest just not spending time with those people. Start with the more passive aggressive route if you need to. Your friend Kimmy wants to come over for a play date after talking about how Kamala Harris is a ‘monster’ and is ‘so incredibly rude’? Sorry, you have other plans. Having a Bar Mitzvah for Benny next month? Don’t invite the people you think would ruin the event by spewing vitriol. At an event where Karen is once again bitching about her coworker that always is “showing off” with her blouses cut a “little too low”? Make a point of walking away and refuse to engage. Don’t try to slide into a different topic of conversation, don’t ignore it, MAKE A POINT OF WALKING AWAY. Make a point of not inviting them to the family bowling league. If people ask (and trust me, they will ask eventually) why you are behaving in this manner, there is your opening to voice your own opinion on their beliefs. With some more practice, perhaps start calling them out directly. That will be easier once you have let the rest of the group know that your beliefs are different than Grandpa Rory or Cecil from down the hall. If the naysayers tell you that you’re making a scene or causing trouble for no reason, try to remember that you are allowed to choose who is in your life, and you are allowed to be vocal about your own moral code just like everyone else. You are allowed to stand up for what you believe in which does involve at times standing in opposition of those you care about. It is ok to be intolerant of intolerance. It is also worth keeping in mind that being called out our being cut out by the people whose opinions they value is a way to offer negative stimuli for the racists of the world. This stimuli could encourage that person to learn and be better- people are not motivated to change unless there is an incentive to do so. I wouldn’t necessarily EXPECT a change- it is equally likely that you will still be labeled a villain in their story and they will continue on as they have been, but also they won’t have an incentive to change if there are no consequences either.

For what it’s worth, I know it hurts. It will hurt. Conflict is uncomfortable, and losing family and friends always hurts. Even so, we cannot keep on pretending that ignoring bigotry and hatred in the minds of those close to us for the sake of politeness will magically fix the world. Every person has a family and friends. Even people like Kyle Rittenhouse were probably seen as the slightly insensitive relative at the Christmas party to the more liberal-minded of his friends. Where would we be now if the idea of speaking about politics and social issues wasn’t considered “impolite conversation” like it has been for the past several decades? Where could we be if people stopped hiding behind the curtains of “you’re making a scene” and “just move along” and instead stood up against those hateful ideas early among their friends and family, before those weed-like thoughts could fully take root?