#again my fucking opinion so you kindly can ignore my page as well

[mischiefbuckley]

"none of buck’s inner circle of friends/family are thrilled about him" How can you say that when there's literally a scene of Bobby telling Buck that Tommy is good people and he's good for Buck?

lol again I said “my opinion” in regards to my last post but also Bobby never really worked with him and was probably trying to be nice on his end towards the relationship and given Buck’s parental father figure type relationship he shares with Bobby again I viewed it as he was giving him a shoulder to lean on if ever wanted to talk about it in the future but again my opinion. Hen and Karen’s reactions are very much valid and yk you can tell they were thrown off by his commentary towards the questioning being as yk Hen worked with Tommy and again grown ass man that very much knew the type of behavior he was exhibiting towards both Hen and Chimney which again they are minority/BIPOC characters that are not being treated fairly by their white privileged coworker… but again my opinion I haven’t said anything negative towards Tommy’s character as I don’t want to waste my energy on repeating time and time again that I don’t like his character and don’t find his relationship with Buck lasting very long but I’ll just say it once and it be done with cause again I don’t like his character and the actor himself that plays Tommy as he has political ideals/beliefs that I don’t support as a Mexican Bisexual women myself so that’s that and this will be the last time I mention this cause again very much not a topic I want to discuss on my blog and if you couldn’t tell from my commentary buddie truther through and through so if that ain’t your cup of tea sorry can’t change my mind and don’t really care I work full time and don’t have the time for arguments over characters I could care less about

[smokahuntis]

Weightless

Nothing Personal

Pairing: Javier peña x reader

Warnings: set last name, cursing, mentions of sex and death. Masterbation, night mares.

Summery: he embassy calls in a new agent to assist agents Peña and Murphy

Authors note: I’m back and I’m going to try and start a series! Based on the album Nothing Personal by All Time Low. This would be chapter one.

Word count: 3.4K

Manage me, I’m a mess

“Agent (y/n) Carter” the ambassador said as she gave them the files “she will be joining, this is everything you need to know in her and she will be here later today.

Javier nodded as he picked up the file “of course, madam ambassador” he stood with a crooked grin and looked her over “and may I say, you look amazing in pink” he said softly and kindly. Steve just rolled his eyes and walked towards the door.

“Keep dreaming Peña” she shook her head and let them leave to review the file.

Turn a page, I’m a book half unread

“Agent Carter ” Javier handed Steve the file. “ ‘DEA’s finest’” he mocked and lit up his cigarette as he set back. Letting the smoke fill his lungs as he took a long drag of his Colombian cigarette. He watched Steve waiting for his opinion.

Steve only chuckled and set the papers down “I went to academy with her...” he said, javiers eyes lit up before he shook his head

“I didn’t mean-“

“We aren’t friends it okay” Steve chuckled.

I wanna be laughed at, laughed with, just because

“Oh- okay... okay...” pena leaned back again as the smoke clouded the humid air around them.

“She was always an overachiever, no one really liked her in my class” he chuckled and put the file away. “Way to smart to be choosing dea, but there she was. Didnt talk to anyone, didn’t let anyone talk to her.” He shrugged “I’d be surprised if she talked to us”

I wanna feel weightless and that should be enough

“So beware shes a bitch?” Javier chuckled and put his cigarette out

“Yep” Steve got up and grabbed his empty coffee cup. “Want a coffee?”

“Not from here...” he shook his head and got up.

“You know back home I always chose Colombian brew coffee, and now I’m in colombia and I don’t see why I thought it was good” Steve chuckled as they walked together to get a drink at the coffee place across the street.

“I’ve spend out money on more valuable things then coffee machines that aren’t from the 60s and beans that aren’t 2 years old” Javier joked and shook his head as they strutted the halls. They were such a duo, splitting them into a trio is a sin, but they’d have to get used to it.

Well I’m stuck in this fucking rut

Meanwhile back in LAX (y/n)’s brother tried to convince her it wasn’t worth it. “Colombia is dangerous right now, you could get killed- or- or worse!” Thomas said following her.

“What’s worse then dying?” She watched him with a bit of a cocky grin.

“You could end up like- like Kiki” he said without thinking before she grabbed her brothers collar roughly.

“You don’t say a damn word about Kiki... plus” she let him go and wiped her Dainty hand on her white button up. “After what the US did to the Sinaloa I think I’m safe from that” she sighed and kept walking.

“(Y/n) listen- please... I can’t loose my sister, not to- Pablo Escobar” he grabbed her hand. She turned and looked at him with upset eyes. “You’re all I have left...” he whispered

Waiting on a second-Hand pick-me-up

It was true, she was all he had left, dad was away over seas and mom was gone. Their oldest brother died years ago, it was just her and Thomas. But they were both adults now, she could do what she wanted, and she had been. But now she was a little worried for Thomas.

“I’ll call, and I’ll visit when I can, just go home Thomas... I’ll be okay” she said looking at him, before the warning for her flight went off, 10 minutes now. “I love you, I have to go” she hugged her younger brother before she left.

I’m getting over getting older

(Y/n) looked over her files on the plane, she knew it was a matter of time before escobar knew who she was so she didn’t hide it. She didn’t care, she knew he was almost untouchable. Almost.

(Y/n) had been all over for the DEA, her most frequented place however was Mexico. She worked in Mexico for a long time, she was young and stupid and she kinda thought it was the DEA’s way of getting rid of waste, expecting her to die at the hands of the Sinaloa. However she returned very much alive, and very much tearing open at the seems. She still has nightmares of her time there, but she didn’t care, she had to keep going, for him.

If I could just find the time

Javier set up the stuff in the meeting room before he made his way home for the night. His little two bit apartment given to him by the Embassy. It was nice, he knew that, but it always felt cold and empty, that’s why he filled it with girls, smoke, alcohol smells. It was like a fucking bar. He tried to not bring work home with him but he couldn’t help it most nights, things either bothered him to much or had to be done sooner then later. Some days he wanted to feel weightless, and those days he could escape the heavy burden of people lives depending on him. The ones he couldn’t save, or the ones he’s trying to save. He was trying so hard, but he couldn’t escape.

He needed air, that’s what it was. Right now when he felt his chest collapse on him, he needed aid, real air. So he was quick to make his way out the door and to the front steps of the apartment building, he almost didn’t see her. The (h/c) girl standing there at the steps with her bags. He almost took her out, but he stopped in time.

“I’m- im sorry uh- can I help you?” He asked clearing his throat as he looked at her. She pulled her hood off and looked up at him holding her bags close to her

Then I would never let another day go by

“This is the embassy apartments right?” She asked with a soft shivering smile. He was quick to answer, maybe to quick.

“Yea! Yea this is- this is them yea... you’re-“ he started but she cut him off.

“(Y/n) Carter, yes- hi- um- sorry I didn’t mean to cut you off I’m just tired and cold and really want to get inside. He nodded understanding, completely forgotting why he came out here as he looked into her eyes, illuminated by the yellow street lights behind him.

“I’ll show you to your apartment” he smiled and took her in, she was just across the hall from him. Her apartment identical in most ways, however her kitchen was bigger and so was her bathroom.

I’m over getting old

“Thank you, you must be Agent Peña” she smiled as he got the key from the leafy palm in the corner, unlocking her door for her.

“That I am” he smiled and helped with her bags. If he was going to be stuck with her he wanted to be nice. He didn’t want another agent, him and Steve were doing just on their own, but the embasssy expected things to be done instantly, but they are putting to many cooks in the kitchen.

“Thank you for helping, you didn’t need to” she smiled and set her bags down on the bed and looked at him.

“Of course” he smiled and set her things down with the rest. “So, we’re you invited or did you request to be transferred”

Maybe it’s not my weekend

(Y/n) looked at him and pushed hair behind her ears and shook her head. “I requested it actually, I requested it months ago really but-“

“Why would you want to be here? You know what’s happening-“

“That’s exactly why I want to be here” she stood straighter and looked at him. “You need all the help you can get it seems- and I understand if you don’t want me here because I’m a women”

“No! No no- no that isn’t it I promise” he said feeling a bit of his earlier panic come back, but it was only a little. “I don’t care you’re a women I’ve seen your file you’ve done amazing things but we were doing just fine without you...” Javier said looking at her, his hand up in defense.

“Then why did the embassy want me here ASAP?” She asked crossing her arms.

“Because they think we are stupid or something... they expect things done instantly and it’s impossible.” He explained. She nodded and sighed

“I understand that feeling. But I’m here to help... I promise” she looked at him as the moon light filtered threw her window

But it’s gonna be my year

He nodded and sighed “I’ll just let you get some sleep, I’ll see you at the office” he walked out of her room, giving her one last look as he smiled “goodnight Agent Carter” he walked out to his apartment again.

(Y/n) sighed and unpacked all she could tonight and took a few melatonin and went to sleep, trying to get on the schedule.

It wasn’t hard for her to get up in the morning, making her own coffee and getting ready early. She wanted to be there before them so she could go over things and get caught up. So getting ready quickly she tied her hair up in a tight ponytail and made her way to the office. She was always on time or early, wanting to get ahead of things or finish work so she didn’t have to bring things home.

I’m so sick of watching all the minutes pass as I go nowhere

Javier however, couldnt manage to get himself out of sleep. Stuck in a long nightmare that has his body aching and sweating to wake up but he was stuck there, in that spot in the sticky cotton sheets. He tossed and turned but al he could see was the blood, every scene he’d been to, it took a toll on him. He couldn’t help it anymore, couldn’t hold them back, couldn’t stay up and drink a shit ton of coffee and just keep going.

He was hurting himself even more trying to ignore it. He was lost in a sea of sound, until finally he woke up, alone and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“Fuck....” he shook his head and got out of bed, throwing his things in the wash before he got in the shower. He felt so exhausted from sleeping, that’s not right. He hated this constant feeling, it was so much. He couldn’t even escape at home. Seemed the only time he felt fine was when he was baring himself inside a women of the night and telling her how perfect she was, only to wake up alone and try to relive that moment in the shower by himself.

This is my reaction to everything I fear

It was no secret, Javier Peña was a ladies man. To get in the head of the cartel he slept with the same women as the cartel, did it work? Yes occasionally. But it wasn’t that anymore, it wasn’t just work, it was a form of escape now. Was he a sex addict? Yes, most definitely. Did he care? No, because it was release in more ways then one and that’s all he wanted.

He did have a talent tho, remembering every name, every face. Every women. He was a talented man. But right now that didn’t matter, what mattered to him in this moment was making himself feel weightless as hot water ran down his body. He was alone last night, after showing (y/n) her apartment he went home and to bed. So he had nothing to relieve, no face to see when he closed his eyes. Oh... how he was wrong.

Cause I’ve been going crazy, I don’t wanna waste another minute here

There she was, the beauty he met last night. (Y/n) carter. Why was she what he thought about right now? He just met her. She was his partner and he’d only see her face and hands, that’s not even enough for a weirdo to get off. But it was enough for him to wrap his hand around his throbbing cock and leaning his head back as he stroked himself.

His chest heaving and his eyes rolling back as he pumped his fat cock in his hand. Soft grunts escaped his mouth before the words left it “(y/n)... fuck...” he groaned.

He didn’t even know the girl and he was getting off in his shower to her.

This could be all that I’ve waited for

He didn’t know why he felt like this, but in his mind he had her on her knees, her lips wrapped around his tip as she took him down her little throat, just that image made him let out a loud moan. Soon his balls tightened and he was coming all over her face, and down the drain.

He shook his head as he opened his eyes and looked at the mess he made. Causing him to sigh heavily and clean up before he got dressed and ready, trying to get the idea out of his head. It was his first day with her, and he wanted to fuck her. Wow.

This could be everything I don’t wanna dream anymore

When he got there she was already liking over things, remembering faces and writing in her notebook. She looked peaceful there, just staring at a cork-board of killers and drug lords. He could tell quickly this is her environment.

“Hey” he said setting down his coffee and taking off his brown leather jacket. She turned with an other bright smiled and looked at him, her smile lit of the room and made his chest feel tight, but not like his panic the night before, this was warm and different.

“Hey” she said in her silk tone as she set her note book down. “ I hope you don’t mind I’m taking my own notes.”

“Not at all, whatever makes you comfortable” he smiled at her softly. At that moment Steve walked in with his own coffee and pen. He was way to quick to notice the look in javiers eyes, the interest he had in her.

“Thanks” she smiled before looking at Steve “Steve Murphy, wow... hi” she smiled and shook his hand.

“Hey Carter, it’s been awhile” he chuckled and shook her hand

“It’s been more then awhile” she smiled and looked up at him

Maybe it’s not my weekend, but it’s gonna be my year.

“Well it’s good to know we have a good agent on our team” he smiled. “So what are you working on”

“Just taking my own notes so I can memorize things faster and get caught up” she smiled at them.

“Oh did you color coat them too?” He asked a little to condescending. She sighed and caught on quickly but went on.

“No I did not. I’m not a preppy teenager.” She stated simply before walking back to take notes.

“While you do that we are going to go do real things okay?” He grabbed his coffe and walked out with Javier. (Y/n) was pretty used to sexist comments or people thinking she couldn’t do things so she brushed it off, however Javier didn’t.

I’m going crazy, I’m stuck in here

“What the hell was that?!” Javjer looked at Steve and closed the door as they got into their little office.

“What was what?” Steve asked and set his things down.

“You being an asshole to her, what did she do to you?” Javier said taking up for her.

“I don’t know Javier what’s up with you? Staring at her like you’re guess engagement ring sizes!” Steve argued, they argued way to often. Like a married couple really.

“I was not!” Javier scoffed “I can’t be nice to my new coworker?”

“Just yesterday you were dreading her! And now you have heart eyes all over her” Steve said

Maybe it’s not my weekend but it’s gonna be my year

“I don’t have heart eyes, I’m just looking at her, damn” he sat down and opened his earliest files and started work.

“I’m sure” Steve shook his head before starting to work.

Soon (y/n) made her way to the office and walked in and almost fell over with a heart attack “my god, how do you work in such mess” she asked looking around.

“Mess? I think it’s pretty clean” Steve said looking around

“The only clean place here is my desk and it’s still covered in papers. “ she looked at him and set her things down.

“ okay I’ll admit, it’s a bit messy, but we know whether everything is” he leaned back. Just as he said that, Peña who wasn’t paying attention spoke up.

“I can’t find that file from yesterday” he sighed, giving (y/n) the perfect example.

“See!” She looked at Steve.

“Okay fine, we could organize...” he sighed.

I’m so sick of watching am three minutes pass as I go nowhere

After hours of cleaning the office was organized and they found things much easier, so much quicker and efficient. So much so that Javier could ask

“Okay now I need the First Medellin file” he said softly and it was quickly put on his desk.

“See that’s not bad...” (y/n) smiled softly and looked between them.

“But we just wasted so much time doing that” Steve said

“But we are going to save so much more now that it’s organized” she crossed her arms. She was right, organizing the office was the best decision they’d made all year, it helped get things done faster and cleared their minds.

And this is my reaction to everything I fear.

It was a small thing, to organize the office, but when Javier got home he decided to clean the apartment too, washing the bed sheets and making everything up after. Cooking a meal instead of ordering. Just have a day of cleaning up and doing normal people things, it made him sleep better already. The nightmares had calmed down and everything was fine. He was peaceful for a moment, a minute, a few seconds. And then there it was, the scream that made (y/n) drop everything and go to his apartment, he left the door unlocked so it was easy for her to get in and get to his bed side instantly.

“Javier!” She said grabbing his shoulders and shaking him awake. He was starting to sweat again, just as she grabbed him, her touch alone calmed down the terror of his mind, causing him to wake.

“(Y/n)...” he whispered tiredly as he looked at her, she was in a robe, her hair wrapped loosely in a towel.

“Hey buddy” she smiled softly, trying to comfort him in anyway. She didn’t know anything about him but she wanted to try her best to make him feel better, to make him feel weightless.

“What are you doing here...” he asked laying back. She pushed his hair out of his face and massaged his scalp softly as she spoke.

“You screamed and I came as soon as I could... I thought something happened” she answered and watched him, he was gorgeous here, with the moon light covering his glistening chest, highlighting his face and messy hair.

“I’m sorry- I- I didn’t mean too” he said as he sighed.

“It’s okay... I understand... I used to do the same thing after Mexico” she admitted. They barely knew a damn thing but they both felt comfortable with each other.

“How did you get it to stop...” he asked

“Well I did go to therapy but it never seemed to help, so I did what I did as a kid, I get something to read and read till I can’t keep my eyes open, it makes your mind think on the topics of the book rather then the other mess...” she whispered and pulled his covers back over him. He nodded and smiled “I could read to you tonight if you want...”

“You don’t have to do that”

“I don’t mind... get comfy I’ll find something...” she smiled and went to get a book. His eyes trailed her long legs as she walked out to get a book, why did he feel so open and comfortable with her, he just met her.

Cause I’ve been going crazy, I don’t wanna waste a minute here

Taglist: @thinemineours @morgannope @thisis-theway @onabouteverything @blxwjobsforclones @a-dorin @everythinggeeky

This will be a series I hope, so if you want to be tagged in this or more Javier peña stuff please let me know!

[akechicrimes]

so i wanted to talk about why i really like the way royal portrays the interactions between haru, futaba, and akechi.

in royal, insofar as i can see, haru is treats akechi with a sort of kindly polite working relationship. i actually cannot determine whether or not that’s because it’s akechi, or if it’s just because he’s a boy. her relationships with girls tend to be focused on spreading positivity and being kind, while she doesnt seem to be anything less than formal and shy with the boys--except mona, of course, but that’s a little different because he’s a talking cat.

futaba, on the other hand, seems to treat him like a potential traitor for comedic effect, which i can’t imagine she’d be doing if she thought he was going to betray them for real. (we already know what futaba did when she knew akechi was going to betray them, which was put everything on lockdown and bug his phone.) on the other hand, people do tend to make jokes about things that worry them, so akechi’s betrayal does seem to be on her mind either way.

haru is, notably, the first person to advocate for bringing akechi on the team, seconded by futaba. both of them cite the fact that they need the manpower, and both of them seem to be of the opinion that if he betrays them again, they’ll just squash him like they did the first time.

which is a very notable difference from the direction fandom interpreted that relationship. and i like the way that fandom interpreted haru and futaba as potentially never forgiving akechi for what he did, but i do think there’s a lot of merit in royal’s take.

in royal, haru and futaba’s concern seems to be primarily that he’ll backstab them again. specifically, when they’re discussing akechi joining the PT a second time, both of them reference akechi’s betrayal rather than necessarily his murders.

for some reason, the issues with wakaba and okumura aren’t even on the table. even when futaba and haru talk about losing their parents a second time in their third-tier awakenings, they talk generally about losing someone they love, like they’d died of illness, or an accident, or natural causes--like it was something unfortunate for which nobody is really to blame.

to be fair, it seems that they’ve already blamed someone: shido, who’s in jail. the situation has been resolved. they’ve done what they can to hold the people accountable to task. futaba at one point specifically says that shido is the one who killed her mother. i don’t think haru gets as far as saying “shido killed my father,” but considering the way she behaves in royal, i’m going to wager she’s on a similar page. 

the stance here seems to be that although akechi may have really truly and outrageously fucked up, the deaths of wakaba and okumura are still ultimately shido’s fault. shido was the one who ordered those hits, for one. for two, shido’s the person who created and masterminded the entire government conspiracy that eventually led to both wakaba and okumura being silenced for what they know. and, considering that okumura was the one ordering literal assassinations of his business rivals to grow his own business through his connection with shido’s conspiracy, and that okumura was assassinated because shido’s conspiracy cut him loose, we should also be fair and add that okumura’s death was partly his own fault anyway.

so, from what i can see, the attitude isn’t necessarily that haru and futaba have completely forgotten that akechi is technically the person who shot and killed their parents. but they’re also very aware that the situation was more complicated than that, that shido is primarily responsible, that akechi was a victim in his own ways, and, at the end of the day, they kind of do need him to get back to reality. 

the vibe is almost like, sort of like the p5 fandom, the PT don’t really know what to do with akechi. he’s not outright a villain. he’s not one of the PT. they’re sympathetic, although understanding that he’s done terrible things. what’re you supposed to do with that?

i think, in particular, this is reflective of a very interesting dynamic that’s widespread across royal: everyone in royal seems to be much more forgiving of akechi than akechi is.

forgiving might be a too strong of a word, but at the very least, the phantom thieves’ treatment of akechi is almost hilariously understated considering what he’s done. they sometimes rib him in mementos, but not really any more seriously than they rib, say, ryuji. there’s several mementos dialogues where people make small talk with him--nothing super personal, but general platitudes that you’d exchange with someone you don’t know extremely well, like talking about your health and good sleep. they’re notably wary of him as a potential threat on several occasions, but obviously not so wary that ann won’t cheerily talk to him about thrift-shopping. 

as uncomfortable as i imagine those group dynamics must be, from an outside perspective it’s fucking hilarious because akechi is literally just the awkward villain-turned-friend that sometimes they invite out to parties but he just stands there awkwardly in the corner because nobody knows what to fucking do with him, least of all akechi himself. 

but from a more serious perspective, i do think that again, there’s a bigger issue at play. 

saying “akechi is not the one who killed okumura, it was shido” erases the fact that akechi was--apparently--willingly involved in the operation. i think royal makes it clear that he had mixed feelings on it, and wanted to back out of it on several instances (see: his confidant with akira where he hints at bad things to come, and warns akira not to proceed), but in the end, he did still go along with it. he sure did walk into that interrogation room and make the conscious decision to shoot joker in the head. in the end, even if it wasn’t enough to refuse shido’s orders, akechi still did have some measure of agency.

in order to respect that akechi did have agency in the situation, that means he needs to be held accountable for his piece of it, which means that he feels he needs to be held accountable and tried before the law. 

so, any amount of apparent forgiveness from the phantom thieves--particularly from haru and futaba--would seem like they’re ignoring that he was (or at least felt like) a willing participant in shido’s conspiracy. 

(i would go into a further discussion about how in royal, akechi seems to hold agency as a good purely in and of itself. agency should not be given up under any circumstance, even if the rewards for doing so are immense. it doesn’t matter if maruki is solving worldwide problems with his gigantic dreamworld palace, what matters is that it’s removing free will and the ability to make your own decisions for your own life. akechi holds that nothing is worth losing your agency--nothing, not even a perfect happy end. it means a lot to him. enough that he’d insist on it, even if it means that this means insisting that he should be held accountable for all his bad decisions and murders.)

that, in turn, probably explains a lot about akechi’s insistence on returning to reality, his insistence on going to trial and being held accountable in joker’s stead, his stand-off-ish behavior with the rest of the phantom thieves. haru’s and futaba’s and the phantom thieves’ general willingness to shift the blame onto shido goes against akechi’s own insistence on himself as a meaningful actor in his own life. 

...in any event. with that analysis of royal’s character interactions out of the way, i sort of do want to address the fact that some people are unhappy that royal did not address wakaba’s and okumura’s deaths more, or centralize haru and futaba’s losses in royal’s narrative. i’ve seen 1000 takes and 1000 fanfics in which futaba and haru hold akechi accountable for their parents’ deaths and do not forgive him for it. akechi is, quite literally, the person who pulled the trigger on both of their parents, so it’s fair. and i’ve seen a lot of fanfics and fans who’ve built up haru’s and futaba’s entire characterizations on their inability to forgive akechi.

i’ve seen discourse saying that “even if it’s not really akechi’s fault that okumura died, haru’s feelings are still valid.” which is also true, of course. she did grieve over her father, and in some universes, haru would not come to the conclusion that shido is primarily to blame. i think there’s a really compelling story in which haru knows logically that her father died because of his own mistakes, flirted with a government-wide killing ring and got hiimself killed for it, and she knows that it’s shido who killed okumura, but she still cannot find it in herself to really forgive akechi. it’s a very good and cool angle that i personally like a lot.

i like those stories too, is what i’m saying. it’s not the route that royal went with, clearly. but i sort of wanted to throw my hat in the ring about why i think that the interactions between haru, futaba, akechi, and the general PT in royal are also interesting in their own right.

EDIT: literally JUST saw this really good compilation post of haru and akechi’s mementos dialogue!!!

[velvetdestroya]

A Vigil, On Birds and Glass. I woke up this morning still dreaming, or not fully aware of myself just yet. The sun poked through the windows, touching my face, and then a deep sadness overcame me, immediately, bringing me to life and realization- My Chemical Romance had ended. I walked downstairs to do the only thing I could think of to regain composure- I made coffee. As the drip began, in that kind of silence that only happens in the morning, and being the only one awake, I stepped outside my home, leaving the door open behind me. I looked around and began to breathe. Things looked to be about the same- a beautiful day. As I turned to step back into the house I heard sound from within, a chirp and a rustle. And I noticed a small brown bird had flown into the library. Naturally, I panicked. I knew I had to see the bird to safety and I knew I had to retain the order of things in our home, and he very well couldn’t take up residency with us. I chased him (still assuming he was a he) into my office, where I have these very large windows. Just then, and luckily, I heard Lindsey’s footsteps coming down the stairs, and naturally being composed as she is, she grabbed a blanket and stepped into the office. He was impossible to catch, and I began to open the windows, via Lindsey’s direction, only to find out they were screened. The bird began to fly into the glass, over and over and in all different directions. Smack. Smack. Smack! I heard another set of footsteps, Bandit’s, running down the stairs in anticipation of the new day. Her entrance into the situation caused just the right amount of chaos (she was very excited to meet the bird) and we found ourselves chasing the bird into the living room. Knowing that this where it could potentially get sticky, being the high ceilings and the beams to perch on, I opened the front door as Lindsey did her best to encourage our new friend out the door. After some coaxing, flying, chirping, a wrong turn back into the library and a short goodbye to Bandit, he simply hopped out the front door- taking off on the fifth leap. We cheered. I was no longer sad. I didn’t realize it, but I stopped being sad the minute that bird had come into my life, because there was something that needed doing, a small vessel to aid and an order to keep. I closed the door. I decided to write the letter I always knew I would. It is often my nature to be abstract, hidden in plain sight, or nowhere at all. I have always felt that the art I have made (alone or with friends) contains all of my intent when executed properly, and thus, no explanation required. It is simply not in my nature to excuse, explain, or justify any action I have taken as a result of thinking it through with a clear head, and in my truth. I had always felt this situation involving the end of this band would be different, in the eventuality it happened. I would be cryptic in its existence, and open upon its death. The clearest actions come from truth, not obligation. And the truth of the matter is that I love every one of you. So, if this finds you well, and sheds some light on anything, or my personal account and feelings on the matter, then it is out of this love, mutual and shared, not duty. Love. This was always my intent. My Chemical Romance: 2001-2013 We were spectacular. Every show I knew this, every show I felt it with or without external confirmation. There were some clunkers, sometimes our secondhand gear broke, sometimes I had no voice- we were still great. It is this belief that made us who we were, but also many other things, all of them vital- And all of the things that made us great were the very things that were going to end us- Fiction. Friction. Creation. Destruction. Opposition. Aggression. Ambition. Heart. Hate. Courage. Spite. Beauty. Desperation. LOVE. Fear. Glamour. Weakness. Hope. Fatalism. That last one is very important. My Chemical Romance had, built within its core, a fail-safe. A doomsday device, should certain events occur or cease occurring, would detonate. I shared knowledge of this “flaw” within weeks of its inception. Personally, I embraced it because, again, it made us perfect. A perfect machine, beautiful, yet self aware of it’s system. Under directive to terminate before it becomes compromised. To protect the idea- at all costs. This probably sounds like something ripped from the pages of a four-color comic book, and that’s the point. No compromise. No surrender. No fucking shit. To me that’s rock and roll. And I believe in rock and roll. I wasn’t shy about who I said this to, not the press, or a fan, or a relative. It’s in the lyrics, it’s in the banter. I often watched the journalists snicker at mention of it, assuming I was being sensational or melodramatic (in their defense I was most likely dressed as an apocalyptic marching-band leader with a tear-away hospital gown and a face covered in expressionist paint, so fair enough). I’m still not sure if the mechanism worked correctly, because it wasn’t a bang but a much slower process. But still the same result, and still for the same reason- When it’s time, we stop. It is important to understand that for us, the opinion on whether or not it is in fact time does not transmit from the audience. Again, this is to protect the idea for the benefit of the audience. Many a band have waited for external confirmation that it is time to hang it up, via ticket sales, chart positioning, boos and bottles of urine- input that holds no sway for us, and often too late when it comes anyway. You should know it in your being, if you listen to the truth inside you. And voice inside became louder than the music. Now- There are many reasons My Chemical Romance ended. The triggerman is unimportant, as was always the messengers- but the message, again as always, is the important thing. But to reiterate, this is my account, my reasons and my feelings. And I can assure you there was no divorce, argument, failure, accident, villain, or knife in the back that caused this, again this was no one’s fault, and it had been quietly in the works, whether we knew it or not, long before any sensationalism, scandal, or rumor. There wasn’t even a blaze of glory in a hail of bullets… I am backstage in Asbury Park, New Jersey. It is Saturday, May 19th, 2012 and I am pacing behind a massive black curtain that leads to the stage. I feel the breeze from the ocean find its way around me and I look down at my arms, which are covered in fresh gauze due to a losing battle with a heat rash, which had been a mysterious problem in recent months. I am normally not nervous before a show but I am certainly filled with angry butterflies most of the time. This is different- a strange anxiety jetting through me that I can only imagine is the sixth sense one feels before their last moments alive. My pupils have zeroed-out and I have ceased blinking. My body temperature is icy. We get the cue to hit the stage. The show is… good. Not great, not bad, just good. The first thing I notice take me by surprise is not the enormous amount of people in front of us but off to my left- the shore and the vastness of the ocean. Much more blue than I remembered as a boy. The sky is just as vibrant. I perform, semi-automatically, and something is wrong. I am acting. I never act on stage, even when it appears that I am, even when I’m hamming it up or delivering a soliloquy. Suddenly, I have become highly self-aware, almost as if waking from a dream. I began to move faster, more frantic, reckless- trying to shake it off- but all it began to create was silence. The amps, the cheers, all began to fade. All that what left was the voice inside, and I could hear it clearly. It didn’t have to yell- it whispered, and said to me briefly, plainly, and kindly- what it had to say. What it said is between me and the voice. I ignored it, and the following months were full of suffering for me- I hollowed out, stopped listening to music, never picked up a pencil, started slipping into old habits. All of the vibrancy I used to see became de-saturated. Lost. I used to see art or magic in everything, especially the mundane- the ability was buried under wreckage. Slowly, once I had done enough damage to myself, I began to climb out of the hole. Clean. When I made it out, the only thing left inside was the voice, and for the second time in my life, I no longer ignored it- because it was my own. There are many roles for all of us to play in this ending. We can be well-wishers, ill-wishers, sympathizers, vilifiers, comedians, rain clouds, victims- That last one, again, is important. I have never thought myself a victim, nor my comrades, nor the fans- especially not the fans. For us to adopt that role right now would legitimize everything the tabloids have tried to name us. More importantly, it completely misses the point of the band. And then what have we learned? With honor, integrity, closure, and on no one’s terms but our own- the door closes. And another opens- This morning I awoke early. I quickly brushed my teeth, threw on some baggy jeans, and hopped in my car. I gently sped down the 405 through the morning fog to a random parking lot in Palo Verde, where I was to meet a nice gentleman named Norm. He was older, and a self-proclaimed “hippie” but he also had the energy of Sixteen year old in a garage-rock band. The purpose of the meeting was the delivery of an amplifier into my possession. I had recently purchased the amp from him and we both agreed that shipping would jostle the tubes- so he was kind enough to meet me in the middle. A Fender Princeton Amp from 1965, non reverb. A beautiful little device. He showed me the finer points, the speaker, the non-grounded plug, the original label and the chalk mark of the man or woman who built it- “This amp talks.” he said. I smiled. We got coffee, talked about gold-foil pickups and life. We sat in the car and played each other music we had made. We parted ways, promising to stay in touch, I drove home. When I wanted to start My Chemical Romance, I began by sitting in my parent’s basement, picking up an instrument I had long abandoned for the brush- a guitar. It was a 90’s Fender Mexican Stratocaster, Lake Placid Blue, but in my youth I had decided it was too clean and pretty so I beat it up, exposing some of the red paint underneath the blue- the color it was meant to be. Adding a piece of duct tape on the pick guard, it felt acceptable. I plugged this into a baby Crate Amp with built in distortion and began the first chords of Skylines and Turnstiles. I still have that guitar, and it’s sitting next to The Princeton. He has a voice, and I would like to hear what it has to say. In closing, I want to thank every single fan. I have learned from you, maybe more than you think you’ve learned from me. My only regret is that I am awful with names and bad with goodbyes. But I never forget a face, or a feeling- and that is what I have left from all of you. I feel Love. I feel love for you, for our crew, our team, and for every single human being I have shared the band and stage with- Ray. Mikey. Frank. Matt. Bob. James. Todd. Cortez. Tucker. Pete. Michael. Jarrod. Since I am bad with goodbyes. I refuse to let this be one. But I will leave you with one last thing- My Chemical Romance is done. But it can never die. It is alive in me, in the guys, and it is alive inside all of you. I always knew that, and I think you did too. Because it is not a band- it is an idea. Love, Gerard

(Source Rock Sound March 25, 2013) [photo credit; ashley bird]

[blindtaleteller]

Gin being an Ass for a page (Quotes & Exerpts) [draft 1]

Rogers looked about as convinced down the negotiations table as the rest of the natural world probably had been when one of the previous rulers had claimed he hadn’t inhaled; and proved as much when he said “ You’re the god of lies. “ managing to push Loki’s face into a lean into one set of knuckles at the cheek “ Why should we-- “ and cut him off with a projected and exasperated “ Father. “

      Which drew the blond’s brows immediately, along with a defensive “ What. “

“ I’m the father, of lies; you insufferable tit. Not, the God of. “ he waved two fingers briefly in dismissal kicking out before he could be interrupted. “ If you’d like to conceive a few; come down the table and bend over it: I’m certainly becoming mildly irritated enough with you to give it a try. Though! “ as he sat back in his comfortably padded seat at the end of the table to cut Fury off in particular, and stop Steve’s reddening face from spewing anything else along those lines. Well at least the Frenchman laughed, even if he was trying not to; once that had been translated for him. “ Given your particular brand of excess I wouldn’t be surprised if their quality was reduced to the label and boring effect of the very white sort, once birthed. “

“ I don’t see why you feel the ne-- “

             “ Oh do shut up, Nick. “ Did work, if only because he was in a mood; and the cyclops still owed him big time. That and Loki wasn’t in the mood to continue along these lines; Rogers had been on it long enough. “ It’s a bloody waste of everyone’s time entertaining Rogers’ too late venture atop his soap box. And let’s not pretend, the Captain wasn’t attempting to defame me and my intent at this table farther than he already has in front of the rest of those powers present at the table by ignoring even your own historical literature on my background; mythical though much of it may be. Regardless of the fact that I myself bloody well helped write it with those here: yourself included.” Loki’s middle finger tapped at the arm-rest pointedly. ” Frankly, Rogers should not even be here in my opinion since we’re stating them. This isn’t, a bloody debate. This is an agreement; one we’ve already reached and have only to sign on. Not a difficult one, either. No more fucking nuclear bombs. From either side, now that I have a few of my own. “

      TAP, and Rogers inhaled audibly.

                  “ No mass military aggression within the already taxed North American continent affected by the last bomb thrown in this general direction; outside, of the currently allotted space in our ‘neutral’ zones. Want to assassinate me? Fine and try. Seriously, good luck with that. Want to go to open war on my soil however and make things worse for those I rule.. fuck off, I will destroy you and be sure to return the favor tenfold. You lost. Mostly because you decided to try and kill every living thing in Manhattan. End-fucking-game. “ he waved that off though; that went both ways, as far as intent went. Unimportant.

TAP. That had been part of the discussions to get them here. “ Border defenses and checkpoints, of course allowed and encouraged for both. “

                            Another TAP, annoyance resounding with it down the table, and he heard Natasha shift on her feet behind him and to his right against the floor to wall ‘windows’ that gave them such a lovely view of the Chicago Skyline from up here. “ My remaining Chitauri will settle where they need, beneath the ground and out of the way of folk they otherwise have no great interest in anyway; there is plenty of room for that even with he dead zone along our easternmost coast: allowing both sides’ civilian populations the ability to recover properly without interruption, just as a start.”

His eyes landed on Rogers again.” So. Ending your bullshit: as my fiancee puts it? Unless the populace these terms protect mean that little to you as to continue without such agreements and punishments already set in ink, Captain: kindly shut up. You’re here as a witness, not as a world leader. A disruptive one, might I add. Another, can be obtained; if you should refuse. ”

         Of course, the Russians still had and jumped in immediately with a few concerns; and he heard them as he and Steven had their not so subtle staring contest across the length of the table: but Loki was past caring about the stab behind that blue eyed gaze. About the opinions behind it too, and about the shift Rogers’ eyes made to latch onto Natasha where she stood silent against the windows behind his own high backed chair.

          Loki didn’t have to look to know she was looking right back in those long seconds; and decided to smirk at him, just for funsies when Rogers did finally tear his eyes away from Loki’s bride to be. He might as well get something fun out of working up the framework for their very blatantly political marriage incoming. Maker knew neither one of them wanted anything else to do with each other in that regard. The look paid off with a scrunching of Steven’s brow; before their  attention was called back to the current speaker with a very important question.

               Loki took the moment Rogers looked back to him to flip the good Captain the two fingered bird with a smile before he answered; making certain no one else saw it of course. Illusion was some of what he did after all. And, the man seriously annoyed him; but he wasn’t worth risking any one of those present not signing, the same. “ Yes, we do still intend to continue pursuing Hydra outside of our borders.. “ They had something of his, after all; and just as a start...

[conceptstage]

Beau woke up like a hangover, fuzzy in all the bad ways but without the pleasant hum of alcohol to dull the shame. She blinked open her eyes, wincing as the sun hit them. It wasn’t as bad as it probably could have been, the sun was little low, pink-purple with dusk, but it still stung like a bitch. Her eyes started to water and she groaned as she wiped at them, slowly starting to sit up when suddenly there were hands on her shoulders. She instinctively went to attack but paused when she recognized the voice that spoke.

“Sit up slowly, now,” Caleb said, kneeling somewhere behind her. “I moved too quickly right away and threw up.”

“Caleb? What happened?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“We were… talking. You were talking to that red head man that creeps me out.”

Caleb sighed and she finally opened her eyes to see him crouched next to her, his hair a tangled mess (worse than usual, most mornings he would at least run his fingers through it or something) and his face pale like he was about to get sick. “That’s what I remember too. I don’t know what happened. Shiße,” he cursed under his breath.

“Where are the others?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only seen you so far.”

Beau grunted as she forced herself to stand, holding onto Caleb’s shoulder when she was hit by a wave of nausea. She started looking around and frowned. They were in a field of some kind with tall, pale grass that came up to their chests (well, Caleb’s chest, Beau’s collar bone). There were trees far in the distance, maybe twelve miles away in Caleb’s opinion and nothing but grass going the other way.

“Where are we?”

“I have a theory. And I hope I am incorrect. I believe we are in the feywild.”

“The what?”

“Feywild. It’s a plane, parallel to ours that-”

“Yeah, I know what the fucking feywild is, doofus, I worked in the biggest library in the fucking empire. It was an expression, I was shocked.” She brushed off her pants and took a second to fix her bun which was laying lopsided and loose down by her ear. “Why the fucking hell are we in the goddamn feywild?”

“The last words I remember hearing before things went dark was… ‘Have fun’. I don’t remember the context, I don’t know if this is some kind of test, some kind of lesson, or just a big trick. There could be something out there watching us, hoping we succeed or there could be something laughing at us while we stumble around.”

“Why does there have to be anything watching us at all? That just makes the entire situation so much creepier.”

“Something sent us here. There must have been a reason.”

“The fey are tricky creatures, there is never a reason for what they do, at least not one that follows any semblance of logic. I’ve read about one fey who gave four people a love potion just to see what would happen and one of those people fell in love with an ass. Not a person who is an asshole, an actually donkey.”

“So, what do we do?”

She looked around and crossed her arms. “The best thing to do is send up a flare and stay put so that, if our friends are out there, they can find us. But I don’t want to do that, I want to know what the fuck happened and the only way to do that is to investigate.” She cried out in frustration and kicked the dirt angrily. “Goddamnit! This is bullshit!” She huffed and turned to look at him. “What do you want to do? Those are our options.”

“I agree with you. Staying put is probably for the best. But I don’t want to do that. Let’s see what we can find out.”

She grinned and moved over to stand behind him, putting her hands on his shoulders. “Stand still.”

“Was machst du gerade?” he asked, trying to look over his shoulder at her.

She pressed her hand on his cheek to turn his face to look forward. “Stand still, jackass.” With a huff she pressed down on his shoulders and used his body to lift herself in the air. She threw her legs around his neck from behind and sat on his shoulders. She cried out when he stumbled back but caught himself. “Don’t fall, fucker!”

“You are very heavy! Some warning would have been nice!”

“I did warn you, I told you to stand still.” She could tell he was shaking from the effort to hold her up, but managed to power through as she started looking around. The height definitely helped, she got a clearer picture of how far the trees were and she could also see some kind of lake in the distance where the grass fell away. “I see a lake. Less tall grass. It’ll be safer to head that way, more defensible, more visibility.”

“Do you see our friends?” he said, his voice strained.

“Umm…” She started looking closer, trying to spot any movement, when she finally caught some. In the direction of the lake she saw a dark head of fur poke out of the grass and then fall back out of view. A few seconds later, it popped back out again and then fell back down. “Not our friends,” she said quietly to him. “But we are not alone.” She hopped off his shoulders and pointed in a direction that was towards the lake, but it was not a direct path and it sort of went around the figure in the grass. “Go that way. I’ll catch up.”

“I don’t think we should go off alone.”

“I’ll be close, don’t worry, if something goes wrong scream at the top of your lungs.”

“Do not worry, I would have done that anyway.”

“Go.” She crouched down under the top of the grass and started moving towards where she saw the creature while Caleb moved forward in a line about thirty degrees left of her path. She peeked out of the grass every now and then to see if she could spot the creature and, sure enough, every few seconds she caught it popping out of the grass and it was slowly following Caleb. It seemed like it was keeping its distance, but it was absolutely trailing behind her friend. She moved through the brush as quiet as possible, planning each step she took to make the least amount of noise she could. Finally she got to where she could see the creature through the grass and he seemed to be paying her no mind. She waited a moment, and then lept at him, grappling him to the ground as he squirmed in her arms.

“No!” he screamed, kicking his little satyr legs. “Not again! Let me go, I was only taking notes, leave me alone!”

Beau held him easily and stood to her full height to see Caleb looking back at her about forty feet in the distance. “I caught something!” she called, moving forward to meet him in the middle. “Check out our little stalker here.” She noticed he was clutching a book in his hands and snatched it from him, tossing it to Caleb. “Check that out. I want to know what he’s up to.” She wrapped one of her scarves around him to keep his arms pinned to his sides and then turned him around to look at her. “Alright. Who are you and why are you following us? Did you send us here? Do you know who did?”

“I wasn’t doing anything! Honest! Following you, puh, I wasn’t following per say, I was merely... observing! Let me go, vile woman!”

“Vile? Now that’s just rude. Caleb, what’s in there?”

Caleb’s face a bright red and he was covering his mouth as he flipped through the pages. “Um… well… he’s a bit of an artist.”

“What, he was sketching us? Like Jester?”

“These are eerily similar to Jester’s works, yes.” He cleared his throat and flipped the book around and she realized suddenly that he wasn’t red and covering his face because he was embarrassed, it was because he was trying not to laugh out loud.

Beau had no such reservations and when she saw the picture of an elf with a nose so high in the air that it circled up and around his head she cackled madly. “Holy shit! That’s brilliant! Flip to the next one.” The next one was just as good and showed a woman in a long, otherwise elegant dress that was made entirely of penises. Beau had to fight through laughter to speak and Caleb was biting his lip. It was harder to control his own laughter when he saw her laugh with such abandon. Her joy always got to him because she was just so free about it. “Alright,” she said through tears. “Flip to the end, what was he drawing of us?”

“Wait!” the satyr screamed, fighting against her hold once more. “There’s no need to-!”

Caleb flipped and they were both silent as they took in the drawing. It was Caleb’s body up to his shoulders, with both of his thumbs shoved up in his armpits. Where his body ended, Beau’s torso began. Her waist grew where Caleb’s neck should be and she had giant boobs that were thrown over her shoulders like scarves. Her face was small and pinched and the bun on her head was replaced by a third boob. They both remained quiet for a few more seconds as they took it in and then simultaneously exploded in laughter. Even Caleb couldn’t keep it in, he threw his head back and nearly dropped the book and Beau was so focused on not tumbling over in her mirth that her grip on the satyr loosened and he wiggled away. He started fighting against the scarf around him but didn’t run.

“Can I have that?” Beau asked, gasping for breath. “Please, I want to have that picture for the rest of my life.”

Caleb tried to speak but kept getting interrupted by his own snorts from trying to hold in the laughter. “We should- pfft! We should ask- haha- if he’s seen our friends. If he knows- shiße- where we are.” Their laughter pettered off and they both turned to look at him expectantly.

“Well, I’d be happy to send you on your way if you would release me and kindly give me back my book.”

Caleb started to close the book but Beau stopped him with a hand on his arm. She reached over and ripped the picture of them out, ignoring the squeak from the creature. Underneath their picture, she saw a picture that was clearly Jester with long horns that curled and curled like giant curly fries before ending down at her feet. “Wait. This girl, where did you see her?”

The satyr frowned, staring at the piece of paper she’d torn out before glancing at the book. “A few weeks ago, she came through with a little green girl who stole my glasses.”

“A few weeks? That can’t be right, we were just with them.”

“No, I know for certain, it was a few weeks ago. I haven’t seen a soul since.”

Beau untied him and held the drawing of her and Caleb in the air when the creature reached for it, turning to her friend. She easily ignored the Satyr as he jumped around her feet, trying to grab it from her. “This is worse than we thought. We’re not only not in the same place as our friends, we might not even be in a same time. If Jester and Nott came a through a few weeks ago, who knows when the others came by.”

Caleb nodded. “We should still head for that lake, you were right it’s more defensible. We can set up there and try to get our bearings.”

She nodded and shoved the satyr away with her foot. “Go away and don’t follow us anymore. We’re keeping this, because you were a dick.” She grabbed one of the books from Caleb’s holster much to his annoyance, and shoved the paper between two pages to keep if safe and uncrinkled.

Caleb snatched it back from her and put it back where she got it before they both continued onward, almost immediately forgetting the strange satyr and focusing on finding their friends.

[whalefairyfandom12]

ALT ER LOVE

Summary: Dan is the breakout star of the newest international sensation, SKAM Britain, with the upcoming season centered around his character Isak. The only problem is that the actor portraying Isak’s love interest is enough to send the carefully labeled details of Dan’s life into disorder.

Phil had never wanted to be an actor, but peer pressure and having a film credit on his uni application was enough to make him audition. Somehow his meager talent lands him the role of Even, starring opposite one of the biggest names in the industry and his not-so-secret celebrity crush. The reality of the situation is more than he’d ever signed up for, and as fiction starts to bleed into reality the only thing anyone knows for certain is that understanding love isn’t nearly as easy without a script.

A/N: Though this certainly talks about Skam and its characters, it’s not necessary to have seen the show to understand what’s happening. It’s really just an actor au with an excuse for me to talk about the show haha. (But really, you should watch it if you haven’t already as it’s amazing.) I hope you enjoy!

Masterpost

Week One

Wednesday 10:30

    The poster was hanging from the bulletin board, already wrinkled and torn in several places.

    Following the success of the Norwegian hit show SKAM and its subsequent British remake we are currently holding auditions for the upcoming season! The series is an international phenomenon praised for its authentic portrayal of teenagers and focuses on telling real stories based on the hardships and pressures of being in college. We’re conducting an extensive search to find British teenagers for the cast. NO ACTING EXPERIENCE REQUIRED.

     Phil Lester was not an actor. The last time he’d participated in a play was in Year Two during a retelling of the birth of Jesus, and he’d almost passed out from stage fright. He had no interest in acting, and he hadn’t watched any of the iterations of Skam. He did, however, want to get a degree in video post production, which was why he was standing in the middle of the hall trying to determine if he thought he’d pass out if he tried to audition.

    Rosie came to a halt beside him, adjusting her grip on her backpack. Her hair was back to its natural blonde color, falling loose around her shoulders. “Are you going to audition?” she asked.

    “Are you?” he countered.

    She laughed. “No, definitely not. I can’t act to save my life.”

    “I can’t either, but it would look really good on my application.” He paused. “Is it bad I’ve never seen Skam?”

    Rosie’s eyes widened in horror he hoped was mock but looked fairly genuine. “How have you lived?”

    “I’ve seen gifs on Tumblr,” he said defensively. “And I keep meaning to, but I don’t have time.” He was even following some of the gif blogs, but that was more because of Dan Howell than anything about the show.

    “You’d get to make out with Dan Howell if you auditioned for Even’s role,” Rosie said, apparently reading his mind. “That’s reason enough.”

    “I didn’t know Dan was your type.”

    “He’s a little bit everyone’s type, but I know he’s yours.” She raised her eyebrows, nudging him suggestively. “You forget I’ve been on your Tumblr.”

    Phil flushed. “Skam is everywhere,” he said, protest weak even to his own ears. “It’s impossible to avoid it.”

    “Uh huh,” Rosie said, looking entirely too smug for his liking. “But seriously, you should go for it. You fit everything they’re looking for and I think you’d make a good Even.”

    “Yeah?”

    “You both like film, for one. But if you do get the part you have to bring me Dan’s signature.”

    “I’m telling Rose.”

    Rosie rolled her eyes. “Like she’s one to talk. She’s had a crush on Hannah Witton since season one.”

    “Hannah’s a little bit everyone’s type,” Phil echoed, earning himself a snort of laughter.

    “Exactly.” She patted him on the shoulder, grip surprisingly firm. “Alright, I have Classical Literature but I’ll talk to you after you get the part.”

    Phil shook his head, gesture fond. “It’s not going to happen!” he called after her. “I don’t even know if I’m going to sign up.”

    Rosie laughed, ignoring his words in favor of a wave as she disappeared around the corner. Phil watched her leave before turning his attention back to the poster. He sighed, trainers scuffing against the floor. He stretched a tentative hand towards the paper before faltering at the last minute.

   At this rate he was definitely going to be late to maths.

   Signing up didn’t mean he had to go. He could always change his mind, even if he was offered the part. He’d probably end up in the background anyway, no speaking required.

   Phil tore one of the paper strips off the bottom, folding it in half and tucking the URL into his pocket. It wasn’t going to hurt anything to just see what happened after all. He was sure nothing was going to come of it, and if it also presented a convenient excuse to meet Dan, well, what Rosie didn’t know wouldn’t kill her.

::

Wednesday 10:30

    At age sixteen Daniel Howell was quickly rising through the ranks as one of the most influential up and coming English actors. SKAM Britain had taken off internationally, being praised for its loyalty to its source material while still giving it a fresh cultural spin.

    It was everything six year old Dan had fantasized about: fame, recognition, finally being a real actor. But despite finally living the childhood dream sixteen year old Dan just really wanted a nap.

    Unfortunately, Tyler Oakley had other plans.

    Said pain in his ass whacked him in the arm with the script, jolting him awake. “Focus!”

    Dan winced, rubbing the undoubtedly forming bruise. “I am!” A pregnant pause. “Fine,” he amended. “I’m trying. It’s just...it’s been a long day. Week. Life.”

    Tyler’s expression softened slightly. Because unlike Chris he respected Dan’s boundaries, he kindly didn’t point out the fact that it was only 10:30 and therefore too early to really make the classification as a ‘long day.’ “Okay. I think we know the lines anyway.”

    Dan exhaled, flopping back onto the other boy’s bed. His relief was probably obvious, but he was too tired to care. “Thank fuck.”

    Tyler mimicked his movements, staring at the ceiling. “Any luck with casting Even yet?”

    “Not yet. There are a few auditions left today and tomorrow, but I have to decide before Friday.” He rolled over and buried his face in the pillows, closing his eyes. Maybe if he was lucky he’d suffocate to death. “I don’t know. I think Nick would like Felix or a person like that. Someone who's already well-known, but nothing feels right yet. There’s a…” Dan trailed off and snapped his fingers, looking at Tyler expectantly. “You know?”

   The other boy was staring at him uncomprehendingly, brow furrowed. “No, not really.”

    “It’s like when you meet someone and there’s a spark or chemistry or whatever you want to call it, but you click and everything feels like it just works.”

    Tyler bolted upright, holding up a hand. “Hang on. Are we still talking about acting or have we moved on?”

    Dan rolled his eyes. He didn’t know why he bothered, honestly. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

    “Because we can totally talk about your love life,” Tyler continued, glee thinly veiled. “Or wait, you’d actually need to have a love life to talk about it.”

     Dan scowled, flipping him off. He retracted any and all previous statements about Tyler being a good friend. “I told you, I’m not--”

     “Interested in a relationship,” his friend finished, pulling a face. “I know. We all know. But imagine how cute it would be if you started dating whoever was cast as Even.” Dan frowned, opening his mouth to respond but Tyler cut him off again. “I know you’re not gay. I’m just saying, everyone loves a good costar romance and imagine how much hotter the sex scenes would be.”

    Dan let out an undignified yelp as he tumbled off the bed, resisting the urge to bang his head against the wall in an attempt to scour the images from his brain. His face was burning as he stumbled to his feet, yanking open the door. “Bonding time’s over! Thanks for going over the lines with me.”

    Tyler smirked, stretching out on the mattress. “There’s something I like about the idea of two really tall men--”

    Dan jammed his fingers in his ears. “Goodbye Tyler,” he said loudly, but unfortunately not loudly enough to miss the rest of the sentence. At this point he’d give half of every paycheck for the creation of brain bleach.

    Tyler laughed. “Have a good time meeting your future lovers.”

    Dan picked up one of the shoes laying by the door, aiming it at his costar’s head. In his visions of fame, six year old Dan hadn’t accounted for the assholes that would become his colleagues and only friends. Which was more than a little depressing to think about, really. He wrinkled his nose as he stepped outside, heading towards his trailer.

    And they say to follow your dreams.

::

Wednesday 17:15

    The world looked a little better upside down. Phil’s mum had always been a big advocate for approaching problems from multiple angles, and though she probably hadn’t meant it literally he found it kind of relaxing to pretend he was a fruit bat whose biggest problems were surviving until the next night.

    His laptop was open to the audition application, name and email already filled in which was as far as he’d gotten before panicking. If he thought he could screw his head on enough to focus actually watching some of the episodes instead of relying on Tumblr’s slightly biased opinions would probably be a good place to start.

    From what he did know, Dan was playing Isak Valtersen, the main character of season three. Isak was gay and his storyline primarily revolved around accepting himself, coming out, and meeting Even. Dan was one of the original cast members, and from the numerous crying gifs on Tumblr was popular with the viewers.

    Even Bech Næsheim was Isak’s love interest, and that was basically all Phil knew about him. He’d skimmed the wikipedia page once out of curiosity and seen the film connection that Rosie had pointed out and a lot of gifs of Even and Isak kissing. Like a lot. Like so many he was already blushing thinking about having to do all of that with Dan.

    Phil had been an out and proud bisexual since he was twelve and had his share of boyfriends since then, so it wasn’t the thought of kissing another boy that had him so nervous. It was that the boy in question was Dan.

    Who, not that he was looking or anything but from a video he’d found of Dan making out with some girl from another movie, looked like he was a great kisser.

    He exhaled, puffing out his cheeks as he rolled right side up. The room spun, and he blinked a few times rapidly to try and unsuccessfully clear his head. He reached for his laptop, entering his password. The audition form loaded again, and he finished filling out his information and pressed send before he could angst about it again for another six hours. Now all that was left to do was wait.

::

Wednesday 19:23

   Dan was ready to implode and take the rest of the world with him. He didn’t understand how it was possible to make an improv scene about hiding a body boring, but most of the actors were finding a way. He slumped in his seat, sighing loudly enough for Nick to shoot him a dirty look. The director held two fingers and Dan gave his best impression of a ‘what the fuck is that supposed to mean’ face.

    Nick’s lips thinned. “Twenty two more people,” he said as Peter exited with a flourish. “And then we’re done.”

    Dan groaned. “That’s twenty two too many. And then a hundred more tomorrow.”

    “Have you see anyone you like?” Bertie asked before Nick could respond. Dan almost felt bad for him. The screenwriter spent a lot of his time smoothing things out between Nick and the rest of the cast. “They don’t have to be from today.”

    He shrugged. “Peter was okay.” He’d wrung a laugh out of him with his improv anyway, which was more than could be said for everyone else.

    “He went off script quickly,” Bertie said, flipping through his binder. “Since we’ve left casting Even five days before we start filming,” Dan cringed, sinking further into his seat. “It’s important whoever we cast can think on their feet.”

    “I’m going to let the next one in,” Nick said. “Try to look less like you’re being held against your will.”

    Dan rolled his pencil between his fingers, picking at the places where the wood had started to chip. Twenty two more people and he could go back to staring at the walls in his trailer. At least filming started soon, and even if everything else was going to shit at least that was something that still made sense.

::

Thursday 16:27

    Phil had moved three meters in the past two hours. The rest of the crowd snaked around the block and into the audition building, better looking and infinitely more talented candidates making excited conversation. He estimated there were still a good few hours before he reached the door, but he was already starting to feel ridiculously anxious. His nerves weren’t helped by the fact that despite leaving the flat with plenty of time to spare, he was the last one in line. He made a face, prying his fist open and wiping the sweat against his shirt.

    The crowd inched forwards.

    He jumped as his phone vibrated, a thumbs up from Rose and a gif of Dan in a beanie from Rosie. He smiled, the encouragement only slightly lessening the urge to throw up. He’d never been very good at job interviews and this was a million times worse.

    Then again, the application had had a lot of unusual questions so maybe the experience wouldn’t be as painful as he was anticipating. Only one of the questions asked about prior acting experience, and most of them were assessing with what he liked to do in his free time or if he had any social media accounts. He wasn’t sure how any of that was relevant to acting, exactly, but the less he had to advertise his faults the better.

    The line moved forwards, three centimeters, this time.

    Phil sighed, eyeing the pavement dubiously before sitting down. He had a feeling he was going to be here for awhile.

::

Thursday 18:43

    “I'm sure that in a parallel universe there's an Isak and an Even who're lying in the exact same way in the exact same place, only, like the curtains are a different color or something.”

    Mark was quiet. He met Dan’s gaze evenly, voice subdued. “So yellow curtains, then?”

    “Yeah.”

    A melancholy smile. “I think you’ve had enough jay now.”

    “Haven’t you ever thought about that?” Dan asked, trying to keep his tone wistful. He couldn’t be the only one that spent every night wide awake and imagining the other versions of himself in realities where he regretted his life a little less.

    “Yeah, but I guess I’m just starting to feel so...I don’t know. Lonely.”

    “It’s interesting though,” he insisted.

     Mark sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. “I don’t like it. Freaks me out.”

    “It freaks you out?”

    “Not freaked out like a horror movie, but like feeling alone. That sort of freaked out, I guess. That like it's your head it's you and your head and all of your thoughts.

    “Alone in your head, what do you mean?”

    “A ‘The Mind is Alone’ feeling.”     Dan frowned. “A what feeling? The mind is alone?”

    “Because the only thing that exists is you and your thoughts, right? You can't escape from your own thoughts, The only way to do that is to die.” Mark curled further in on himself, averting his gaze. Dan had a feeling he was trying to portray the heaviness of the dialogue, but he’d already started out the perfect picture of forlorn that he had limited ways to try and look more depressing.

    “That's dark, though.”

    “Yeah, but haven't you ever thought about that?”

    He did a double take. “No?”     Mark laughed, a more than a little bitter sound. “Jesus! I'd forgotten how young you are.”

    Dan’s smile was more of a grimace as he dropped his script on the table. Both Nick and Bertie were nodding appraisingly in Mark’s direction, and his heart sank. It was rare that the two ever agreed on anything, and it was looking more and more like Mark was going to get the part. He retreated to his seat, rolling the pencil between his fingers as Nick gave Mark the usual speech about expecting-a-call and -thanks-for-your-time.

    “Thanks!” Mark said cheerily. He shot Dan a bright smile, offering a wave. Dan returned the gestures with considerably less enthusiasm as the other boy left the room.

    “I think Mark is the best we’ve seen so far,” Bertie was saying. Dan tried to pretend he was interested.

    “I agree,” Nick said. “What do you think, Dan?”

    He hesitated. “Fine. Yeah, he was great.”

    The director and writer exchanged exasperated looks, which he thought was rather unfair. Sure he could be a little high maintenance sometimes (read, most of the time) but he didn’t have anything on someone like Jake Paul.

    “What didn’t you like about him?”

    “Nothing really. It’s just, don’t you think it should’ve had more lightheartedness?” Dan said in one breath. “In the beginning lines, at least. Isak and Even have spent all this time chasing after each other and trying to figure out what this connection is between them while all of these other tensions and pressures keep piling up until finally they kiss and realize that the idea of Isak-and-Even isn’t so crazy after all.”

     “And?”

    “And don’t you think after spending the night together and the way both of them feel free and safe enough to let their walls down that the morning after wouldn’t seem so much like someone died? And if the scene starts mellow there’s nowhere else to go.”

    Nick sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard. “You’re right,” he admitted. Dan tried not to fall off his seat in shock. “I noticed that too, but there’s never going to be a perfect actor that gets everything right the first time. Not even Meryl Streep. If you keep waiting for someone like that you’re never going to be happy.”

    “Maybe. I guess we’ll see.” Dan set his jaw, dropping his gaze to the table determinedly. There was a challenge if ever he’d heard one. Now he just had to hope the actor was out there that could prove him right.

::

Thursday 20:15

    Phil’s trainers squeaked against the floor as he followed the man into the audition hall. The sound was uncomfortably loud in the silence, and despite his nerves he was relieved when they finally reached the room. The man pushed the double doors open, entering without hesitation. He could make out the silhouettes of a table and two people sitting at the head, flanking the empty seat. They looked like they were engrossed in a conversation, pausing as Phil took a hesitant step forwards.

    The first thing he saw was Dan, head bent over his phone and dark curls soft where they fell against his forehead. The actor was wearing a biker jacket unzipped over a gray shirt and black skinny jeans, outfit complete with the bored and slightly tortured look on his face. Beside him was a blond haired man in glasses, and the red haired man who’d let him in.

    The latter cleared his throat, stepping forward with a practiced smile, “My name is Nicholas Young and I’m the director of SKAM Britain. This is Bertie Gilbert, our screenwriter. And of course, Daniel Howell who plays Isak Valtersen.”

    Phil wet his lips reflexively, trying for a smile. “Hi. I’m Phil, it’s nice to meet you.” Dan looked up at his response, and he almost wished he hadn’t because wow. He’d never really understood the whole ‘the eyes are everything’ shtick everyone was always on about in the movies, but clearly he hadn’t been around the right people.

    “We’re glad you could make it,” Bertie said. He pulled one of the empty chairs away from the table and Phil took a seat, unable to resist glancing back in Dan’s direction. The other boy was still staring back and he dropped his gaze, face warm.

    “As you know,” Nick took over. “Skam is unusual in how interactive it is. It’s not just a show, it’s an experience.” Dan snorted quietly, and Phil smiled despite himself. “Clips are released in real time, and filming and writing can be very intensive to meet the deadlines. The characters have real social media accounts, and pictures need to be shot outside of filming. Even doesn’t have an Instagram, but you’ll be required to be in Isak’s photos as well as some groups shots and promo pictures. The point is, this is not a commitment to be taken lightly and we’re only looking for candidates that will invest the time and effort necessary for an experience this time consuming.”

    “Okay,” Phil said weakly.

    Bertie flashed him what he assumed was supposed to be a reassuring thumbs up. “Just focus on the audition for now. You’ve got this.”

    Actually Phil was becoming more and more convinced he didn’t got this, but he nodded anyway.

    “We’ll start with a short reading of one of the scenes to warm up,” Nick said. “Followed by an improv and a final read through with Dan.” He pushed the stack of papers Phil’s direction. “It’s in order.”

    Phil shuffled the stack, scanning the first page. A hotel room. EVEN is eating a mini burger. His energy is infectious, almost too much so.

    “Whenever you’re ready, Phil,” Bertie said.

    He relaxed his death grip where it was starting to wrinkle the script, nerves back with a vengeance. He let his eyes drift shut, envisioning the walls of a hotel building around him.

    Even was feeling on top of the world, Isak sitting across from him. Affection overtook him at the sight, knocking him off his feet and dissolving his expression into a smile. After everything they were finally here, and maybe it wasn’t going to last forever but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to keep it for as long as he could.

    His eyes snapped open. He met the other boy’s gaze with a smile.

    “You don’t think we’ll get married?” he asked, surprise mingling with genuine fondness. It had become impossible to do anything without feeling ridiculously, stupidly, improbably in love. “We’re so fucking getting married.”

::

Thursday 20:45

    The door slammed shut as Phil left the room, Nick taking the now empty seat across the table. Bertie had left a few minutes ago for a meeting, and Dan steeled himself for the impending interrogation. Strangely, the prospect didn’t bother him as much as it normally would’ve, black hair and a bright smile lingering every time he closed his eyes.

    Fuck.

    “Now that auditions are finally finished, who did you connect with the most?” Nick asked, cutting straight to the point.

    Dan hesitated. (Phil, his brain helpfully supplied in the pause. You want Phil, possibly in more ways than one. He told it to shut up.) “I don’t know. They all seemed like good candidates.”

    Nick released a long suffering sigh. “The original season three of Skam was what brought it to international prominence. If we want to replicate that success in any way we need to make sure you’re comfortable with whoever plays Even. I still think Mark seems like a good choice.”

    The thing was, deep down he knew Nick was right. Mark had already made a name for himself and had plenty of experience. He or someone with his background would be the obvious choice. Not some gangly eighteen year old who hadn’t acted since he was six. But even though Mark was fine and his audition had been fine there was something missing.

    Auditioning for Skam was one of the first things Dan had ever done for himself, and despite living the acting dream and getting to work with his friends everyday between his success and the popularity of the show his career was becoming yet another thing he was losing control over. Picking the Even he wanted seemed in some small, pathetic way like he was taking over his life again.

    There was the whisper of a laugh again, tongue poking out the side of Phil’s smile as he looked at Dan. And while he knew it was just Even looking at Isak and it didn’t mean anything, suddenly he felt more real than he had in a long time and really there was no dilemma was there?

    “Phil Lester,” he said. “I felt the most chemistry with him.”

    He held his breath, waiting for Nick to say something disparaging, but to his surprise the other man merely looked contemplative. “Hmm. You two did have a natural connection and your chemistry was very good, but he doesn’t have any acting experience.”

    “The sign up sheet said he didn’t have to,” Dan argued. “A lot of us don’t, and that’s part of why people connect with it so much. It feels authentic--there isn’t any of the polish or glamour from the industry. And it seemed like he already really understood the character in just a few hours.”

    “Okay,” Nick said, expression contorted like he was making a life or death decision and he’d chosen death. “Fine. If that’s what you want and Bertie agrees, Phil Lester can be your Even.” He narrowed his eyes, finger jabbing Dan in the chest. “But you better prove me right.”

    It was ridiculous how much Dan had to fight the urge to smile. “I will,” he promised. He waited until Nick had left the room before letting his grin split his face. A laugh escaped before he could stop it, relief and adrenaline coloring it slightly hysterical. He’d done it--he’d finally found an Even.

    His steps were light as he ran towards the door, knocking Carrie down the stairs where she was waiting outside with PJ. Not even the fact that it looked like they’d been talking about him was enough to dampen his mood.

    PJ helped the girl to her feet, giving him a suspicious look. “What’s got you so happy?”

    “Can’t I smile sometimes?” he protested.

    “Not like that.”

    “I agree,” Carrie chimed in. “Black clothes and gallows humor is more your style.”

    Dan would be more offended, but they were kind of right. He’d known PJ and Carrie since the start of Skam, as they were two of the original cast members. PJ played Jonas, Isak’s best friend, and Carrie played Vilde, one of the main recurring female characters. By this point they’d known each other so long it was impossible to get anything past them. “I hate you both.”

    She patted his back. “We love you too.”

    He glared at her. “I hope you both get eaten by a moth.”

    “Are you going to tell us what’s going on?” PJ interrupted, looking at him expectantly.

    Part of Dan was tempted to leave them guessing, but he really was excited. “I found an Even.” A moment of stunned silence.

    Carrie unfroze first. “You found an Even!” she shouted, pulling him into a hug. “That’s amazing!”

    PJ clapped him on the back, more reserved but smile wide. “Who is it?”

    “Phil Lester,” Dan said once Carrie had released him and he could breathe again. “He’s eighteen and from Rawtenstall. He read the hotel scene and we did yellow curtains again but it just worked this time.”

   “What does he look like?”

    “Tall. Like, I know I’m freakishly tall but he might be a little taller actually. Black hair, his eyes are like a blue, green, yellow shade?”

    “Isak and Even together at last,” PJ said seriously. “And you and Phil really sound like you have chemistry. The sexual tension is essential.”

    “What color are his eyes again?” Carrie asked innocently.

    Dan rolled his eyes. “How are you and Chris getting along Carrie?” he asked pointedly. “Or PJ and--who is it you’re with now?”

    “You’re deflecting,” she said. “And for the record, Chris is lovely. We haven’t spent that much time together so far but I’m sure that’ll change once we start filming.” She threw an arm around his shoulders. “Seriously though, I’m happy for you. And that my job is safe for another six months.”

     It was starting to become stupid how he couldn’t stop smiling, and once the shock wore off he was sure he’d revert to his usual state of dark nothing, but for once he shut off his brain and reveled in the feeling. “Yeah, well, I’m happy for me too.” It wasn’t a lie in the slightest.

::

Friday 15:16

   Phil was trying to pretend he wasn’t staring at his phone waiting for it to ring. His English teacher was giving a lecture about the final paper that he should probably be listening too, but instead he was staring at his empty notifications. The longer the day went on the more convinced he was that he hadn’t gotten the part. It stung more than he thought it would’ve.

   He’d spent the entire day fielding questions from his friends and hiding in the bathroom, hating that he was so excited. He’d even watched the first four episodes of the original Skam last night and started the first two of Skam Britain, and found that he actually enjoyed it far more than he thought he would’ve. Granted, Dan was in the British version so he would always be slightly biased towards that, but there was definitely an appeal in the original version that made him understand its success.

    His phone rang on the table beside him, vibrating against his pencil and sending it rolling to the floor. Phil ducked his head, reaching to silence it. He froze.

    It was an unknown caller.

    His heart leaped into his throat, chair squeaking across the tiles as he bolted for the door. The pencil would have to wait. “Sorry,” he said, pausing long enough to meet the dumbfounded expressions of his classmates. “I have to take this.” His hands were shaking as he pressed answer, sinking onto one of the benches lining the hall. “Hello?

    “Is this Phil?”

    “Yes?”

    “This is Marie from Skam Britain. I’m calling to inform you that you’ve received the part of Even Bech Næsheim in our upcoming season. Congratulations!”

    The phone clattered to the ground. Phil scrambled to recover it, his cheeks starting to hurt with the force of his grin. His brain was starting to short circuit, thoughts frozen somewhere between received the part and congratulations. “Thank you!” he blurted, elation lifting his words into something nonsensical.  

    Marie huffed. “You’re welcome, I guess?” she said, humor lacing her voice. “From what I can tell you’ve earned it.” Phil couldn’t bite back his smile this time at her words, and settled instead for leaning against the back of the bench and listening. “Filming starts Tuesday, but we want you and Dan to spend Sunday together if you’re available?”

    “Yes!” he said, trying unsuccessfully to curb his excitement and sound professional. “That works great.”

    “I’ll email you the address and more information, but welcome to the cast.”

[bixgirl1]

The Sexual Awakening of an Innocent Pureblood, Dating the Randy Prat Who Lived - Chapt. 5

*trumpets blaring*

And now, @l0vegl0wsinthedark and I bring you the delightfully awkward continuing saga of inexperienced Draco’s foray into the world of dating very experienced Harry.  And Draco needs some advice.

Previous chapters can be found on either one of our pages under #virgin draco. 

Yay!  Let the discomfort begin! 

(Also, these are getting long–forgive us in advance, please. lol)

Chapter Five: Lunch With Pansy–Who Wishes Draco Would Read The Goddamned Book

Pansy, rolling eyes: –So I was shocked when she actually wore the green robes.  I mean, it was a joke, of course, green washes her out entirely–

Draco, poking a fork into his salmon, clearly distracted: Mhmm…

Pansy, slyly:–which is not my problem, and did take care of Marcus from accounting always staring at her.  Besides which, the robes were from three seasons ago!  It’s her own damned fault if she’s so hopeless as to not bother buying new ones.

Draco, staring into his glass of water with glazed eyes: Yes, you’re right.

Pansy, exasperated: Draco!

Draco, starting slightly: What?

Pansy, scowling: I did not agree to a Monday lunch with you out of nowhere just so you could ignore me!  What is wrong with you?

Draco, guiltily chewing on his lip: Nothing… Nothing is wrong with me, as such… It’s just… I just– *visibly struggling to form words*

Pansy, suspicious: What does that mean?  *observing him; concerned* …Draco.  What happened?

Draco, breathing hitched slightly: I– I– Today, this morning I– *abandons fork and grabs his glass, gulping down the water desperately*

Pansy, frowning: Goddamn it Draco, you know I prefer not to do genuine human emotions like worry, just tell me what the fuck is going on!

Draco, wild eyed: I– ItastedPotter’stongue!

Pansy: *drops fork with a clatter* *reaches for wand, casts shaky Silencing Spell* *knocks over water glass with wand* *numbly casts cleaning spell*

Pansy: You did what?!

Draco, white lipped and trembling lightly: I– He– We… mouth pressed. And– and we… tongue licked! *looks slightly stricken*

Pansy, shocked: When? I didn’t even know you were– When did he– Did he just… *angry; titillated* assault you out of nowhere?

Draco, anxiously: What– No! God, no! I– I asked him to, alright?! I asked him to mouth press me! *pauses; waves a shaky hand* A couple of hours ago.

Pansy, mouth hanging open: I– I’m not even–  *shakes head vaguely, wide-eyed; blinks* It’s called kissing, Draco.  You kissed Potter.  You asked Potter to kiss you. *disbelievingly* Is that what you’re telling me?

Draco, scoffing, finally looking like himself again: Kissing is for children, Pansy. Adults mouth press. I’ve seen Mother and Father mouth press on occasion - such as mouth pressing for goodnight– *suddenly uncertain* I’m not sure they’re aware of the… the tongue licking though. *turns pink at once*

Pansy, distracted: It’s called kissing!  French kissing, for the tongue thing, snogging if you’re base.  Fucking hell, Draco, if you would just read that book I got you back in fourth year–

Draco, sneering a little: French kissing? French?! Why is called that? Why do the French get to have it named after themselves?!

Pansy, smirking: Because the French are delightfully filthy creatures, darling, they’re going to claim all the best things, if they can–wait.  *irritated* I didn’t even know you and Potter– Why would you ask him to kiss you?  How did this come about and why didn’t you tell me?

Draco, apologetically: I’m sorry, alright? I really am. He– I was taken by surprise when he asked me to dinner and– and we didn’t even have a chaperone so I wasn’t even sure if we were officially courting or not and– and Potter… *suddenly upset* Potter thinks I’m insisting on a chaperone because I don’t like being alone with him which is absolutely untrue, Pansy, because I– *hesitantly* I really like him, Pans. I don’t know if you think that’s mental or– He says he likes me too and– *sighs* Chaperones are sort of mandatory, right? When people court? 

Pansy, brows knitting; pursing lips: *gently* Draco, I know you have– certain ideas about the way things are supposed to go, but… *sighs*  Darling, it’s not like that most of the time.  I suppose some people require chaperones, but it’s more a matter of tradition at this point– archaic, pointless traditions that don’t even really count as such  because no one abides by them anymore and were, anway, created by some snotty pureblood ancestor who was worried that his child would get up the duff with some muggle-born wizard’s baby and dilute the line.  In my exceedingly expert opinion, they can shove those traditions up their dead arses, love.

Draco, smiling wryly: Alright, so I regret coming to you with this now, seeing as you don’t possess a shred of respect for Pureblood traditions.

Pansy, snorting delicately: Well, no, then I’d have to give up the loads of men I take home every night, wouldn’t I?  *quirking a grin at him*  It’s not as bad as all that, Draco.  But what did you mean about Potter thinking you don’t want to be alone with him?  Just because you mentioned a chaperone?  Does he not know how you are ab– Oh. *blinking, murmuring* He wouldn’t know about all that, would he.

Draco, biting his lip and nodding: He doesn’t and– and he doesn’t really get any of it. He– *purses lips in embarrassment* He tried several times to… initiate physical– to mouth pr– I didn’t permit it… I mean– *weary sigh* I think I gave him the impression that I’m not serious about this? That– *swallows* That I’m not attracted to him or some such nonsense…

Pansy, trying to keep a straight face; eyes begin to water for not blinking: *strained* I can assure you that no one has ever thought that.  *pause; conceding* Well, alright, maybe Potter.  But did you ever bother to actually explain your thoughts on the subject?  Talk to him about kissing and the like?

Draco, fiddling with his fork again: No, we haven’t talked yet. The mouth press today was completely spontaneous and I mean, I didn’t know– *blushing hard* –I didn’t know it would be so… *lamely* nice.

Pansy, amused: I believe I tried to tell you that in fifth year. *curiously* What precipitated it, though? What made you ask him? I rather thought it’d be the other way around; I mean if I’d let myself think it could ever happen at all…

Draco, quietly: He was upset… He thought I was playing with his feelings and wanted to call the whole thing off despite openly admitting that he likes me. And well– *bashful, but determinedly thrusting his chin up* I like him too and didn’t want lose hi– this, before it’s even begun properly and– *slightly desperate* He looked so… sad, and I don’t know where it came from but I really, really wanted to– to mouth press him…

Pansy, looking at him kindly: Well, it’s not as if there isn’t precedent for him thinking that.  Though it’s been a long time… *mischievous* So then he kissed you. And you, of course, got flustered and ran away, right?  Did you need my help figuring out what to owl him so he knows you’re still interested?

Draco, scowling: For your information, I reciprocated. *haughty* And our next meeting has already been arranged.

Pansy, faintly: You reciprocated? …How?  *leaning in, wide-eyed, speaking fast* Draco, did you Fre–lick his tongue back?  When is your next meeting? What are you going to do?

Draco, flustered: Merlin, Pans! *fidgeting with his napkin* I– I didn’t know how to but I sort of– went along with it? And don’t be nosy! *frowning even as he relents* It’s tonight, at– *nervous blushing* –at his place.

Pansy, insistent: But you liked it, right? *giggling* Did you get funny feelings in your bits, Draco? You can tell me–

Draco, snapping irritably: For heaven’s sake, Pansy, stop being so crass, it’s highly unbecoming of a well-bred Pureblood witch such as yourself! *scowling at her amusement* Now be of some use for once and tell me what to do while I’m at Potter’s tonight. Do I need to behave differently now that we’ve mouth pressed? Should I pretend it never happened? What if– *panicked* What if we– we end up mouth pressing some more?!

Pansy, visibly reigning herself in: I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  *more seriously* Did you really like the kissing, Draco? Tell me that, and then I’ll tell you what to do.

Draco, not looking up, chewing on his lip: …Yes. Very much. I didn’t think anyone could– *colouring once more* He was very– *raising one hand to his forehead* He’s very skilled at it and– *weakly* God, I’ve barely been aware of myself since it happened, Pans, and– *under his breath* Merlin.

Pansy, carefully: All right, then. *touches his hand* You do what you want. You don’t need to act differently; Potter obviously likes you as you are. If you don’t want to kiss him again, just tell him. If you do...  *pausing* I think you should trust yourself more than those rules you’ve always held close.  And I think you should– *tiny grimace* –trust Potter, too.  I don’t think he’ll take advantage; just be open with him and do what feels good and right.  I can’t help you more than that, love.

Draco, listening intently: *slowly nods* …Right. It’s not– I’m not the only one breaking the rules, so… And– *smiles crookedly* Call me mad but I do trust him. There’s something about the man– it’s impossible not to put your faith in the bastard… *biting his lip over a small smile as he looks down at his hands*

Pansy, smiling: Might have to do with the whole vanquishing of the Dark Lord.  …Might just have to do with the way you’ve always looked at him, even when you couldn’t admit it to yourself.  Go, and have a good time tonight.  Try not to think too much about the rules, for once. *light laugh*  Although I’m not sure Potter will even give you the chance to.

Draco, shaking his head while blushing: No, he said he wouldn’t try anything and– *frowns lightly* Aggravating Gryffindor that he is– he’s bound to keep his word. *looks slightly disappointed at the prospect*

Pansy, delighted: You want to kiss him again!  *thoughtfully*  You know, I’ve often wondered what it would be like to kiss Potter, myself. Nothing serious, of course; a single shag would suffice.  All that intensity… *eyes go distant*

Draco, snapping sharply: Pansy! *glares dangerously* Do keep in mind it’s me he likes? Ask your current boy-toy to service you better if you can’t keep it in your knickers for one afternoon and instead spend lunch daydreaming about other people’s romantic interests!

Pansy, raising eyebrows and mouthing the word ‘knickers’: Of course, love.  It was just a thought.  *trying not to laugh* That I promise never to think again, alright?

Draco, sullenly: Whatever. *checks his watch* Merlin, is that the time?! I’m sorry, love, I’m running terribly late for a meeting. *pushes his plate away and fishes out some Galleons* We’re meeting for drinks on Wednesday, yes? *leans over and pecks her cheek* 

Pansy, archly: Are you sure you won’t be with Potter?

Draco, trying to scowl but grinning sheepishly instead: That’s a fair point; I’ll let you know. *laughs lightly at her dark frown* Alright, then. Floo you later? *leaves with a final wave*

Pansy, rolling eyes and waving him off with a shooing gesture: *watches him go* *mouth slowly spreads into a devious smirk* *fumbles in her bag and pulls out phone; dials* Pansy: Blaise? *dissolving into laughter* You are not going to believe what Draco just told me!

[gnj9ata]

Good Business Vs Morality

“The World is a Business, Mr. Beale.” - The Network (1976)

When I sit back and think about these two separate constructs from an objective viewpoint, that quote comes to mind. In order to abide by the capitalism rule of the country of the United States, every business has to be profitable. That money is used to keep the company afloat and it goes into the collective pockets of every business man and woman who works for these corporations so they can provide for their respective families and maintain a decent way of living. 

It’s just the way the world works. Always has. And perhaps always will.

However, it is frustrating that morals get warped or sometimes completely lost in some cases when we discuss what makes great business sense, but we completely ignore the moral implications of being a good business person. When making more money is more important than just simple empathy. And I know it’s a matter of perspective in terms of overall morality. Like I stated above, these people who run these million dollar corporations will think about the well being of their friends and family first, and try their hardest to maintain their collective luxuries lifestyles before thinking about how their business decisions will effect the rest of the country, and who can really blame them. On the other hand, Maybe it isn’t about money at all. Perhaps these people are just trying to protect the longevity of their businesses. I am sure most would do the exact same thing if they were in their positions. Then again, some won’t. 

As a gamer, I highly respect Nintendo’s former president Satoru Iwata. He was a great visionary and a beloved icon in the gaming community. Not only because of his achievements, but because of the type of person he was. 

Here’s what I mean:

When the Wii U became a commercial failure, Nintendo was starting to lose money fast. However, instead of laying people off, Mr. Iwata and other Nintendo executives decided to take a pay cut and reduced their salaries by 30% percent.  This story always spoke to me and shows people why I not only love Nintendo as a company, but also shows why Mr. Iwata was highly regarded as an individual. They put people before profit. Now, I know Nintendo isn’t a perfect company and, YES...they even have their own set of issues when it comes to the public. (Streamers aren’t particularly too fond of them) However, more then most, I still feel like out of most corporations, they still care about the people first.  I could be wrong, but that’s how I see it. 

I wish the same could be said about YouTube and The FCC. 

Ok. Let’s tackle these issues one at a time, Shall We?

Now I know the entire YouTube issue isn’t that simple when you look at it. When the company first came on to the scene, essentially the site was about free expression, and to a degree, it still is. You can make any video you want and share it with your friends, family, or millions of others from across the world with just a click of a button. It’s truly a revolution thing when you think about it. However, as a company, it just makes business sense to seek investors in order to keep the company afloat. When they were brought by Google back in 2006, it WAS a great business decision. I know this was the beginning of the end in most people’s eyes, but I felt in order to keep around a site that I loved alot, it had to find ways of making money. That’s just how these things work. 

I still continued to have that understanding mindset throughout the years of YouTube slowly transitioning from the main focus being about the average joe with a video camera to being completely taken over by every entertainment corporation on the planet. I knew as YouTube got bigger, the more people would come knocking to get a piece of the pie, and the more YouTube would GLADLY say “HELL YES” to all of these deals. Sure...they can still somewhat focus on the communities and personalities that made them big in the first place, but with companies like Netflix on the rise and YouTube wanting to say competitive, of course they would start signing deals with Hollywood in order to bring more cash to the site. Again, It’s just how these things go unfortunately. So when one of your biggest names on the site starts to make certain types of insensitive jokes or getting into scandals with big corporations, and this in term scares away potential investors, You damn right that YouTube will start censoring content in order to keep said investors around. And here lies the dilemma of the whole YouTube “Adpocalypse” situation. 

Making Profit Vs. The People. 

You could make the argument that if YouTube didn’t abide by these new changes, then YouTube probably wouldn’t be around right now, which is totally a valid point. However, it’s almost like a double edged sword now because content creators are leaving the site anyway to seek more creatively free alternatives or viewers are being forced to watch watered down versions of their favorite content creators considering this profession is most of these individuals main source of income. So, it’s either make a family friendly video or you don’t have food on the table or rent money. (Which I always thought was weird because making YouTube a main source of income always seemed silly to me because the ad-sense program is wayyyy too fickle for my taste, but that’s a different topic entirely.) It’s a shitty situation for everyone involved, but a huge undertaking YouTube has to make. Either you lose the possible financial longevity of the company or lose the element of what made YouTube what it is. Now before I make my overall point about all this, I need to lastly bring up the FCC and Net Neutrality since these issues both align themselves within the theme of “What is Good Business Vs. What is morally right?”

Now, in YouTube’s case, they are sort of caught in between a rock and a hard place, so a solution to that problem isn’t so simple. However, this entire net neutrality battle is mostly about greedy corporations making more money and completely not caring about the long time ramifications of their actions. If you aren’t aware of what Net Neutrality means, then I suggest you doing a bit of research before reading further. (There are numerous people that have made videos or written articles about it that can probably explain it better then I can.) 

Here are a few I am aware of:

The Internet Is UNDER ATTACK - Phillip Defranco 

They’re Trying to ban anime - Lost Pause

Battle For Net Neutrality Reddit

I know the internet has been battling this particular issue for a while now and I wasn’t fully aware of the seriousness of this issue until now. Now since I can finally grasp the magnitude of this entire situation, the proper response that I could immediately articulate is......

WHAT THE FUCK!?!

The whole idea of fast lines and slow lanes going to certain websites and you paying more to get “access” to other sites.....DON’T THEY ALREADY FUCKING DO THIS IN A SENSE? Don’t internet service providers already make you pay too much for certain packages in order to get a specific type of service?

 With AT&T Uverse, you already have to pay $40 a month for basic internet which is probably only 50 MBPS, which probably isn’t good for streaming anyway. In order for me to have good quality internet for everything I needed to do, I needed to get 100 MBPS speeds, which cost about $100 a month already. So, you mean to tell me that ISPs not only want to make you pay for these internet speeds, but if this bill passes, they will also be able to charge you more to even access certain sites? They want to put half of the internet I already access behind yet another paywall? 

YOU CAN GO KINDLY FUCK YOURSELF!

....and the excuse of switching to just other provider....Yeah...Good luck finding another one in your area. 

So this net neutrality & YouTube all go into this huge problem that I want to finish off with. I understand from a business perspective that these certain decisions have to be made. They are running a business and you have to do what ever is best for the company long-term. However, when making a good business decision starts to cannibalize the idea of what made these things what they are in the first place, it feels like these men in business suits are missing the point. The Internet without Net Neutrality isn’t the internet. YouTube with Heavy Censorship isn’t YouTube. We didn’t subscribe to these channels for dilute versions of the persona we come to know and love. YouTube and the overall internet aren’t just lines of HTML code on a series of pages, it’s for some, a second home....A Refugee from the world. A place where introverts like myself can finally have social lives with like minded people. People have meet friends, formed bonds, and found love through both of these things we both take for granted.

Say the FCC gets their wish and they kill Net Neutrality, what if sites like Emerald, Google Hangouts, Discord or Reddit get completely blocked or locked behind a pay wall? New online business might not just suffer, but people may lose contract with individuals they hold near and dear to their hearts. Friendships gone...Long Distance Relationships gone...and for what? So yet another million dollar corporation can make more money? And the same goes for YouTube. What if YouTube completely disregards the element that made them big in exchange for a more corporate censored platform? Are they essentially killing off these thriving YouTube communities, which in my opinion was the biggest element YouTube had to separate it’self from other platforms on the internet moreso than any Hollywood deal. I mean, they have essentially made making videos, a simple thing in concept, something cool to the entire world. They have made the world at large want to be a bit more creative and yet they are turning to the thing that everyone wanted to move away from. Why does everything have to be about the DAMN price tag? Why can’t it be about the betterment of the people before the GODDAMN profit margin? When did the value of a dollar become more valuable then someone’s emotions? 

This country already makes me pay too much for education.

This country already makes me pay too much for basic healthcare.

This country already makes me pay for unfinished video games.

Now every mouse click will be attached to an extra fee?

Now let me ask you this, corporate american. How much does it cost for your compassion?

[callmeblake]

@gerardway

25th Mar 2013 from TwitLonger

A Vigil, On Birds and Glass. I woke up this morning still dreaming, or not fully aware of myself just yet. The sun poked through the windows, touching my face, and then a deep sadness overcame me, immediately, bringing me to life and realization- My Chemical Romance had ended. I walked downstairs to do the only thing I could think of to regain composure- I made coffee. As the drip began, in that kind of silence that only happens in the morning, and being the only one awake, I stepped outside my home, leaving the door open behind me. I looked around and began to breathe. Things looked to be about the same- a beautiful day. As I turned to step back into the house I heard sound from within, a chirp and a rustle. And I noticed a small brown bird had flown into the library. Naturally, I panicked. I knew I had to see the bird to safety and I knew I had to retain the order of things in our home, and he very well couldn’t take up residency with us. I chased him (still assuming he was a he) into my office, where I have these very large windows. Just then, and luckily, I heard Lindsey’s footsteps coming down the stairs, and naturally being composed as she is, she grabbed a blanket and stepped into the office. He was impossible to catch, and I began to open the windows, via Lindsey’s direction, only to find out they were screened. The bird began to fly into the glass, over and over and in all different directions. Smack. Smack. Smack! I heard another set of footsteps, Bandit’s, running down the stairs in anticipation of the new day. Her entrance into the situation caused just the right amount of chaos (she was very excited to meet the bird) and we found ourselves chasing the bird into the living room. Knowing that this where it could potentially get sticky, being the high ceilings and the beams to perch on, I opened the front door as Lindsey did her best to encourage our new friend out the door. After some coaxing, flying, chirping, a wrong turn back into the library and a short goodbye to Bandit, he simply hopped out the front door- taking off on the fifth leap. We cheered. I was no longer sad. I didn’t realize it, but I stopped being sad the minute that bird had come into my life, because there was something that needed doing, a small vessel to aid and an order to keep. I closed the door. I decided to write the letter I always knew I would. It is often my nature to be abstract, hidden in plain sight, or nowhere at all. I have always felt that the art I have made (alone or with friends) contains all of my intent when executed properly, and thus, no explanation required. It is simply not in my nature to excuse, explain, or justify any action I have taken as a result of thinking it through with a clear head, and in my truth. I had always felt this situation involving the end of this band would be different, in the eventuality it happened. I would be cryptic in its existence, and open upon its death. The clearest actions come from truth, not obligation. And the truth of the matter is that I love every one of you. So, if this finds you well, and sheds some light on anything, or my personal account and feelings on the matter, then it is out of this love, mutual and shared, not duty. Love. This was always my intent. My Chemical Romance: 2001-2013 We were spectacular. Every show I knew this, every show I felt it with or without external confirmation. There were some clunkers, sometimes our secondhand gear broke, sometimes I had no voice- we were still great. It is this belief that made us who we were, but also many other things, all of them vital- And all of the things that made us great were the very things that were going to end us- Fiction. Friction. Creation. Destruction. Opposition. Aggression. Ambition. Heart. Hate. Courage. Spite. Beauty. Desperation. LOVE. Fear. Glamour. Weakness. Hope. Fatalism. That last one is very important. My Chemical Romance had, built within its core, a fail-safe. A doomsday device, should certain events occur or cease occurring, would detonate. I shared knowledge of this “flaw” within weeks of its inception. Personally, I embraced it because, again, it made us perfect. A perfect machine, beautiful, yet self aware of it’s system. Under directive to terminate before it becomes compromised. To protect the idea- at all costs. This probably sounds like something ripped from the pages of a four-color comic book, and that’s the point. No compromise. No surrender. No fucking shit. To me that’s rock and roll. And I believe in rock and roll. I wasn’t shy about who I said this to, not the press, or a fan, or a relative. It’s in the lyrics, it’s in the banter. I often watched the journalists snicker at mention of it, assuming I was being sensational or melodramatic (in their defense I was most likely dressed as an apocalyptic marching-band leader with a tear-away hospital gown and a face covered in expressionist paint, so fair enough). I’m still not sure if the mechanism worked correctly, because it wasn’t a bang but a much slower process. But still the same result, and still for the same reason- When it’s time, we stop. It is important to understand that for us, the opinion on whether or not it is in fact time does not transmit from the audience. Again, this is to protect the idea for the benefit of the audience. Many a band have waited for external confirmation that it is time to hang it up, via ticket sales, chart positioning, boos and bottles of urine- input that holds no sway for us, and often too late when it comes anyway. You should know it in your being, if you listen to the truth inside you. And voice inside became louder than the music. <At this point, I take a break to receive a visit from old friends, all of which were instrumental in some way to the beginnings of the band. We talk about the old days, and we talk about music, we talk about new things. We laugh and drink diet soda. We say goodbyes, I go to bed, to resume my letter in the morning, which is-> Now- There are many reasons My Chemical Romance ended. The triggerman is unimportant, as was always the messengers- but the message, again as always, is the important thing. But to reiterate, this is my account, my reasons and my feelings. And I can assure you there was no divorce, argument, failure, accident, villain, or knife in the back that caused this, again this was no one’s fault, and it had been quietly in the works, whether we knew it or not, long before any sensationalism, scandal, or rumor. There wasn’t even a blaze of glory in a hail of bullets… I am backstage in Asbury Park, New Jersey. It is Saturday, May 19th, 2012 and I am pacing behind a massive black curtain that leads to the stage. I feel the breeze from the ocean find its way around me and I look down at my arms, which are covered in fresh gauze due to a losing battle with a heat rash, which had been a mysterious problem in recent months. I am normally not nervous before a show but I am certainly filled with angry butterflies most of the time. This is different- a strange anxiety jetting through me that I can only imagine is the sixth sense one feels before their last moments alive. My pupils have zeroed-out and I have ceased blinking. My body temperature is icy. We get the cue to hit the stage. The show is… good. Not great, not bad, just good. The first thing I notice take me by surprise is not the enormous amount of people in front of us but off to my left- the shore and the vastness of the ocean. Much more blue than I remembered as a boy. The sky is just as vibrant. I perform, semi-automatically, and something is wrong. I am acting. I never act on stage, even when it appears that I am, even when I’m hamming it up or delivering a soliloquy. Suddenly, I have become highly self-aware, almost as if waking from a dream. I began to move faster, more frantic, reckless- trying to shake it off- but all it began to create was silence. The amps, the cheers, all began to fade. All that what left was the voice inside, and I could hear it clearly. It didn’t have to yell- it whispered, and said to me briefly, plainly, and kindly- what it had to say. What it said is between me and the voice. I ignored it, and the following months were full of suffering for me- I hollowed out, stopped listening to music, never picked up a pencil, started slipping into old habits. All of the vibrancy I used to see became de-saturated. Lost. I used to see art or magic in everything, especially the mundane- the ability was buried under wreckage. Slowly, once I had done enough damage to myself, I began to climb out of the hole. Clean. When I made it out, the only thing left inside was the voice, and for the second time in my life, I no longer ignored it- because it was my own. There are many roles for all of us to play in this ending. We can be well-wishers, ill-wishers, sympathizers, vilifiers, comedians, rain clouds, victims- That last one, again, is important. I have never thought myself a victim, nor my comrades, nor the fans- especially not the fans. For us to adopt that role right now would legitimize everything the tabloids have tried to name us. More importantly, it completely misses the point of the band. And then what have we learned? With honor, integrity, closure, and on no one’s terms but our own- the door closes. And another opens- This morning I awoke early. I quickly brushed my teeth, threw on some baggy jeans, and hopped in my car. I gently sped down the 405 through the morning fog to a random parking lot in Palo Verde, where I was to meet a nice gentleman named Norm. He was older, and a self-proclaimed “hippie” but he also had the energy of Sixteen year old in a garage-rock band. The purpose of the meeting was the delivery of an amplifier into my possession. I had recently purchased the amp from him and we both agreed that shipping would jostle the tubes- so he was kind enough to meet me in the middle. A Fender Princeton Amp from 1965, non reverb. A beautiful little device. He showed me the finer points, the speaker, the non-grounded plug, the original label and the chalk mark of the man or woman who built it- “This amp talks.” he said. I smiled. We got coffee, talked about gold-foil pickups and life. We sat in the car and played each other music we had made. We parted ways, promising to stay in touch, I drove home. When I wanted to start My Chemical Romance, I began by sitting in my parent’s basement, picking up an instrument I had long abandoned for the brush- a guitar. It was a 90’s Fender Mexican Stratocaster, Lake Placid Blue, but in my youth I had decided it was too clean and pretty so I beat it up, exposing some of the red paint underneath the blue- the color it was meant to be. Adding a piece of duct tape on the pick guard, it felt acceptable. I plugged this into a baby Crate Amp with built in distortion and began the first chords of Skylines and Turnstiles. I still have that guitar, and it’s sitting next to The Princeton. He has a voice, and I would like to hear what it has to say. In closing, I want to thank every single fan. I have learned from you, maybe more than you think you’ve learned from me. My only regret is that I am awful with names and bad with goodbyes. But I never forget a face, or a feeling- and that is what I have left from all of you. I feel Love. I feel love for you, for our crew, our team, and for every single human being I have shared the band and stage with- Ray. Mikey. Frank. Matt. Bob. James. Todd. Cortez. Tucker. Pete. Michael. Jarrod. Since I am bad with goodbyes. I refuse to let this be one. But I will leave you with one last thing- My Chemical Romance is done. But it can never die. It is alive in me, in the guys, and it is alive inside all of you. I always knew that, and I think you did too. Because it is not a band- it is an idea. Love, Gerard

[joshlerisvvreal-blog]

I’m sorry for bringing this back into your life

A note from Gerard Way about My Chemical Romance's breakup:

A Vigil, On Birds and Glass. I woke up this morning still dreaming, or not fully aware of myself just yet. The sun poked through the windows, touching my face, and then a deep sadness overcame me, immediately, bringing me to life and realization- My Chemical Romance had ended. I walked downstairs to do the only thing I could think of to regain composure- I made coffee. As the drip began, in that kind of silence that only happens in the morning, and being the only one awake, I stepped outside my home, leaving the door open behind me. I looked around and began to breathe. Things looked to be about the same- a beautiful day. As I turned to step back into the house I heard sound from within, a chirp and a rustle. And I noticed a small brown bird had flown into the library. Naturally, I panicked. I knew I had to see the bird to safety and I knew I had to retain the order of things in our home, and he very well couldn’t take up residency with us. I chased him (still assuming he was a he) into my office, where I have these very large windows. Just then, and luckily, I heard Lindsey’s footsteps coming down the stairs, and naturally being composed as she is, she grabbed a blanket and stepped into the office. He was impossible to catch, and I began to open the windows, via Lindsey’s direction, only to find out they were screened. The bird began to fly into the glass, over and over and in all different directions. Smack. Smack. Smack! I heard another set of footsteps, Bandit’s, running down the stairs in anticipation of the new day. Her entrance into the situation caused just the right amount of chaos (she was very excited to meet the bird) and we found ourselves chasing the bird into the living room. Knowing that this where it could potentially get sticky, being the high ceilings and the beams to perch on, I opened the front door as Lindsey did her best to encourage our new friend out the door. After some coaxing, flying, chirping, a wrong turn back into the library and a short goodbye to Bandit, he simply hopped out the front door- taking off on the fifth leap. We cheered. I was no longer sad. I didn’t realize it, but I stopped being sad the minute that bird had come into my life, because there was something that needed doing, a small vessel to aid and an order to keep. I closed the door. I decided to write the letter I always knew I would.

It is often my nature to be abstract, hidden in plain sight, or nowhere at all. I have always felt that the art I have made (alone or with friends) contains all of my intent when executed properly, and thus, no explanation required. It is simply not in my nature to excuse, explain, or justify any action I have taken as a result of thinking it through with a clear head, and in my truth. I had always felt this situation involving the end of this band would be different, in the eventuality it happened. I would be cryptic in its existence, and open upon its death.

The clearest actions come from truth, not obligation. And the truth of the matter is that I love every one of you. So, if this finds you well, and sheds some light on anything, or my personal account and feelings on the matter, then it is out of this love, mutual and shared, not duty. Love. This was always my intent.

My Chemical Romance: 2001-2013

We were spectacular. Every show I knew this, every show I felt it with or without external confirmation. There were some clunkers, sometimes our secondhand gear broke, sometimes I had no voice- we were still great. It is this belief that made us who we were, but also many other things, all of them vital- And all of the things that made us great were the very things that were going to end us-

Fiction. Friction. Creation. Destruction. Opposition. Aggression. Ambition. Heart. Hate. Courage. Spite. Beauty. Desperation. LOVE. Fear. Glamour. Weakness. Hope.

Fatalism.

That last one is very important. My Chemical Romance had, built within its core, a fail-safe. A doomsday device, should certain events occur or cease occurring, would detonate. I shared knowledge of this “flaw” within weeks of its inception. Personally, I embraced it because, again, it made us perfect. A perfect machine, beautiful, yet self aware of it’s system. Under directive to terminate before it becomes compromised. To protect the idea- at all costs. This probably sounds like something ripped from the pages of a four-color comic book, and that’s the point. No compromise. No surrender. No fucking shit.

To me that’s rock and roll. And I believe in rock and roll.

I wasn’t shy about who I said this to, not the press, or a fan, or a relative. It’s in the lyrics, it’s in the banter. I often watched the journalists snicker at mention of it, assuming I was being sensational or melodramatic (in their defense I was most likely dressed as an apocalyptic marching-band leader with a tear-away hospital gown and a face covered in expressionist paint, so fair enough). I’m still not sure if the mechanism worked correctly, because it wasn’t a bang but a much slower process. But still the same result, and still for the same reason-

When it’s time, we stop.

It is important to understand that for us, the opinion on whether or not it is in fact time does not transmit from the audience. Again, this is to protect the idea for the benefit of the audience. Many a band have waited for external confirmation that it is time to hang it up, via ticket sales, chart positioning, boos and bottles of urine- input that holds no sway for us, and often too late when it comes anyway.

You should know it in your being, if you listen to the truth inside you. And voice inside became louder than the music.

<At this point, I take a break to receive a visit from old friends, all of which were instrumental in some way to the beginnings of the band. We talk about the old days, and we talk about music, we talk about new things. We laugh and drink diet soda. We say goodbyes, I go to bed, to resume my letter in the morning, which is->

Now- There are many reasons My Chemical Romance ended. The triggerman is unimportant, as was always the messengers- but the message, again as always, is the important thing. But to reiterate, this is my account, my reasons and my feelings. And I can assure you there was no divorce, argument, failure, accident, villain, or knife in the back that caused this, again this was no one’s fault, and it had been quietly in the works, whether we knew it or not, long before any sensationalism, scandal, or rumor.

There wasn’t even a blaze of glory in a hail of bullets…

I am backstage in Asbury Park, New Jersey. It is Saturday, May 19th, 2012 and I am pacing behind a massive black curtain that leads to the stage. I feel the breeze from the ocean find its way around me and I look down at my arms, which are covered in fresh gauze due to a losing battle with a heat rash, which had been a mysterious problem in recent months. I am normally not nervous before a show but I am certainly filled with angry butterflies most of the time. This is different- a strange anxiety jetting through me that I can only imagine is the sixth sense one feels before their last moments alive. My pupils have zeroed-out and I have ceased blinking. My body temperature is icy. We get the cue to hit the stage.

The show is… good. Not great, not bad, just good. The first thing I notice take me by surprise is not the enormous amount of people in front of us but off to my left- the shore and the vastness of the ocean. Much more blue than I remembered as a boy. The sky is just as vibrant. I perform, semi-automatically, and something is wrong. I am acting. I never act on stage, even when it appears that I am, even when I’m hamming it up or delivering a soliloquy. Suddenly, I have become highly self-aware, almost as if waking from a dream. I began to move faster, more frantic, reckless- trying to shake it off- but all it began to create was silence. The amps, the cheers, all began to fade.

All that what left was the voice inside, and I could hear it clearly. It didn’t have to yell- it whispered, and said to me briefly, plainly, and kindly- what it had to say.

What it said is between me and the voice.

I ignored it, and the following months were full of suffering for me- I hollowed out, stopped listening to music, never picked up a pencil, started slipping into old habits. All of the vibrancy I used to see became de-saturated. Lost. I used to see art or magic in everything, especially the mundane- the ability was buried under wreckage.

Slowly, once I had done enough damage to myself, I began to climb out of the hole. Clean. When I made it out, the only thing left inside was the voice, and for the second time in my life, I no longer ignored it- because it was my own.

There are many roles for all of us to play in this ending. We can be well-wishers, ill-wishers, sympathizers, vilifiers, comedians, rain clouds, victims-

That last one, again, is important. I have never thought myself a victim, nor my comrades, nor the fans- especially not the fans. For us to adopt that role right now would legitimize everything the tabloids have tried to name us. More importantly, it completely misses the point of the band. And then what have we learned?

With honor, integrity, closure, and on no one’s terms but our own- the door closes.

And another opens-

This morning I awoke early. I quickly brushed my teeth, threw on some baggy jeans, and hopped in my car. I gently sped down the 405 through the morning fog to a random parking lot in Palo Verde, where I was to meet a nice gentleman named Norm. He was older, and a self-proclaimed “hippie” but he also had the energy of Sixteen year old in a garage-rock band. The purpose of the meeting was the delivery of an amplifier into my possession. I had recently purchased the amp from him and we both agreed that shipping would jostle the tubes- so he was kind enough to meet me in the middle. A Fender Princeton Amp from 1965, non reverb. A beautiful little device.

He showed me the finer points, the speaker, the non-grounded plug, the original label and the chalk mark of the man or woman who built it-

“This amp talks.” he said. I smiled. We got coffee, talked about gold-foil pickups and life. We sat in the car and played each other music we had made. We parted ways, promising to stay in touch, I drove home.

When I wanted to start My Chemical Romance, I began by sitting in my parent’s basement, picking up an instrument I had long abandoned for the brush- a guitar. It was a 90’s Fender Mexican Stratocaster, Lake Placid Blue, but in my youth I had decided it was too clean and pretty so I beat it up, exposing some of the red paint underneath the blue- the color it was meant to be. Adding a piece of duct tape on the pick guard, it felt acceptable. I plugged this into a baby Crate Amp with built in distortion and began the first chords of Skylines and Turnstiles.

I still have that guitar, and it’s sitting next to The Princeton. He has a voice, and I would like to hear what it has to say.

In closing, I want to thank every single fan. I have learned from you, maybe more than you think you’ve learned from me. My only regret is that I am awful with names and bad with goodbyes. But I never forget a face, or a feeling- and that is what I have left from all of you. I feel Love.

I feel love for you, for our crew, our team, and for every single human being I have shared the band and stage with-

Ray. Mikey. Frank. Matt. Bob. James. Todd. Cortez. Tucker. Pete. Michael. Jarrod.

Since I am bad with goodbyes. I refuse to let this be one. But I will leave you with one last thing-

My Chemical Romance is done. But it can never die. It is alive in me, in the guys, and it is alive inside all of you. I always knew that, and I think you did too.

Because it is not a band- it is an idea.

Love, Gerard

[shewantstobebeautiful]

I wanna be mad

I guess that’s what I can say. Even if it’s not true. I don’t wanna be mad. I don’t want to hate. I try to forgive. I try to forget. I try to move on. But I’m only human. And I’m a human controlled by the negative emotions. The ones nobody wants to feel. The ones I tend to feel too much. The curse of mental illness.

That all being said, in this case I’m having a very hard time not being mad. Not hating. Not forgiving, forgetting, and moving on. I keep trying. But the mountain of emotion, no matter how much I try, ceases to fall. Maybe it’s because I haven’t processed and addressed...the mountain in general. To which I say, I have talked about it before. With Patrick, with my mom, with my therapist, with my new therapist. And yet here I sit, still stewing in hatred and holding on to the past.

Thinking back to the past...the past past, like things that happened years ago. Not the stuff that’s going on now. I’ve moved past a few things. I’ve moved past all--literally all--the bullshit that I’ve gone through with Kendall and we’re all good now. I’ve moved past the messiness that was the ending of my relationship with Cal. I’ve accepted my father for the asshole that he is. I’ve accepted the shit that went down when I was younger and moved on with my life, knowing that I can’t change it.

So why is this different? Is it even different?

Maybe it’s different because I’m just over this bullshit and I was over it before it started. Maybe it’s because I’m 25 (was 23 when this fuckery started) and I went through this drama in high school. Maybe it’s because it has to do with my child. Maybe it’s because he is acting selfish, a trait that I cannot stand in people. Maybe it’s because he knew what was going on before and still didn’t care, making his selfishness in my eyes, even worse.

If you haven’t guessed, I’m talking about Nicholas [Last Name]. So much shit went down between learning I was pregnant and now that I just can’t let go and I don’t know why. Maybe because this is some serious shit to me. Maybe because it’s my child, the child I’ve been dreaming about and wanting and fearing I would never be able to have. Who knows really? Maybe I will by the time I’m finished typing.

It starts with him telling me that I should abort my child upon first learning that I was pregnant. Yes, that is right. When Nick learned I was pregnant, he told me to abort the thing. It was after he and Celia had “broken up for good” and Celia was going to move out. Patrick and I were set to move in with Nick and then the three of us were going to move to Wisconsin when the lease was up in March. But the problem with that was March was 8 months away and I wasn’t going to move to a new state while 8 months pregnant, away from my family and support. Nick’s opinion didn’t matter anymore. Everything was now my and Patrick’s choice to make and he just had to deal with it. But for him, he was inconvenienced and on his own to figure his shit out because we were too.

The next problem issue that I have was about a month later in October. I was already on my leave of absence because of the hyperemsis. Nick knew this. He also knew that Celia was having a panic attack or something at work and he wanted to be with her. But Julian was being a brat and he didn’t want to bring the demon child along. So he called me to watch Julian for a while so he could make sure Celia was okay. This one isn’t as bad as the others. But it still irks me. He called and asked if I could sit in the living room while Julian was in time out in his room. It was my decision to call Nick and see if the kid could come out and eat since he was calmer. It wasn’t that bad, I didn’t vomit while I was there and it wasn’t for that long. But it still happened and it still adds to the mountain.

Fast forward to around December if I’m not mistaken, as I was wearing the Christmas joggers that Patrick bought me, and I went to the ER for the second time because I couldn’t stop vomiting and was very dehydrated. I was dizzy and needed help standing. It late, I think Patrick may have come home early to take me to the ER. For whatever reason, Nick and Celia took Celia’s dying car to pick up Julian. They were somewhat close to the ER, picking up Julian when the car died. Nick’s first thought was to call Patrick. “brother, come jump my car.” Patrick at first time him no, that he was in the ER with me. Two more calls from Nick saying he had nothing else and trying to justify why it would be fine for Patrick to leave his pregnant girlfriend in the emergency room. I finally gave in just so Nick would stop fucking calling and told him to go. The third time he called, Patrick went. He was gone for over an hour because he tried to jump their car, then had to drive them all the way back out to Nick’s apartment to get his car keys, drive them to Walmart to pick up Nick’s truck, and stop somewhere else so Celia could pee, before coming back to me. The minute he left I got scared because suddenly I was alone. I wasn’t being well taken care of by the nurses, they were barely responding when I was paging so I could have help to go to the bathroom or so they could turn off my beeping IV stand or to bring me a blanket. They never did any of those things. The whole time he was gone, I kept texting Patrick asking when he would be back, where he was, begging him to come back, telling him what was going on with me, and eventually because I was crying and scared and he was taking so long, telling him that I hated him. Yes, he did came back and held me and told me he was sorry. Nick never apologized for taking Patrick from me or thanked me for letting him use me car. All he said was I didn’t need Patrick there and he had nobody else to help him.

Next, I’m halfway through the pregnancy and back to work. I was working with Nick in pharmacy and we were stocking the pain killers. For the life of me I can’t remember what we were talking about. I just know that there was context to his remark, but all I remember is the remark. “I kinda feel like it’s my kid too. I’m gonna be real protective of him.” First of all, no. Just no. That statement can imply so many things and to me it fucking does. It implies that him and I fucked. That there could be some possibility that the child is Nick’s. That Nick will try to raise this child. So many things that are by no means true at all. Never once did Nick cross my mind in the conception of my son. Never have I ever wanted to fuck Nick [Last Name]. In no way, shape, or form, is my son Nick’s and in no way will he partaking in raising him.

Up next is my labor and delivery, which I’ll never be over. It was my first child and it didn’t go the way I wanted because nobody listened to what I wanted. But that’s a different post entirely if it even becomes on.

Moving in with us when Grayson was only two months old. Not upholding his promises and responsibilities like he said he would while he lived with us. The stupidity and selfishness that was his taking more of his and Patrick’s security deposit because he felt more entitled to it because of a situation he and he alone caused when they both put of half of the money for the deposit. Still keeping his fucking shit stored here despite having a storage unit. Constantly telling us “it’s only gonna get worse” whenever Grayson is a handful because he feels like he knows what it’s like to raise a child because he spent a year with Julian, a toddler.

Julian was 2 when Nick met him. Grayson is a newborn and cannot be compared to Julian, who was basically passed around from family to family before ending up back with his birth mother who originally didn’t even want him and didn’t bother to really parent him. Grayson was wanted in every sense of the word and it will only get better from here because Patrick and I plan on raising our child with love and compassion and actually raising him, not just tolerating him.

The mountain is now huge and I don’t know what to do about it. Honestly, it goes back even further than just to when I learned I was pregnant. I’ve written about all of that though. Laundry, using us as his personal therapist, ignoring us when we gave him advice, come back crying later after it went wrong again after ignoring our advice, constantly dragging us into his shit with Celia even when I asked multiple times for him to kindly leave us out of it and keep it out of my home. The whole thing was a trigger for me. Shit, it still is.

I already knew what the problem was. Writing it out helped a little. At least it isn’t stewing in my brain. But do I like Nick again? No. Will I ever be able to like Nick again? I hope so. We shall see in the future.

[ehentha]

Maldives Twitter wakes up to a fever dream where everyone is Ali Rameez

At 12AM on Friday the 23rd of November 2018, a whole bunch of Maldivian twitter users changed their profile pictures to the one above. It shows a young Ali Rameez leaning back, relaxing his head against his arm. The incident is referred to by some as #NationalAyyaDay.

This is a bipartisan effort, okay? Whether you’re a snowflake or a YAG supporter or a feminist or a humanist, please come together for this one day so we can all celebrate the greatest Maldivian singer of all time: Ali Rameez. Happy #NationalAyyaDay! ♥️

— KeehveFA (@ShafaRameez) November 22, 2018

Mass confusion spread as everyone’s notifications looked the same.

Yup, giving up on trying to figure out who is who.

— Azzam Pompi Mohamed (@Pompeee) November 23, 2018

To make things worse, many users changed their names to song lyrics by the one time Maldivian king of pop. There was once a time when you could not walk two feet in the Maldives without hearing one of his songs on the TV or radio. I’d post more screenshots of the incident, but most people have already changed their pictures and names back. Guess the world can only take so much Ayya.

Of course I say one time because Ali Rameez is currently a violent extremist “sheikh” who constantly spreads hate and fear speech against Maldivian minorities such as non-Muslims and LGBTI+ people. While being a massive sexist of course. On top of this, he also regularly promotes such lovely things as child marriage.

In the above screenshot, the Dhivehi text reads “Islam dheenun beyru vejje meehaa; gathul kuraasheve’”, which roughly translates to “Slaughter those who leave Islam”. The first comment below it reads “It is best if such children move to a country where they can get the freedoms that they want. No space for atheist in this country”. It doesn’t take a genius to see how this encourages vigilante violence against non-Muslims. I suppose it is also worth pointing out again for the thousandth time that the Maldives is one of the few countries in the world whose constitution bans freedom of conscience. Ali Rameez promotes these views on his official twitter account and his facebook page, where he also pimps out his extremist buddies from religious NGOs like Jammaiyathul Salaf.

With all this in mind, it shouldn’t be surprising to anyone that Ali Rameez hates his pop star past. He did famously dump all of his CD’s into the ocean after all.

Is singer/songwriter Ali Rameez and haabee Ali Rameez the same person? 🤔

— Refty (@Refty) November 23, 2018

So while people took the opportunity to mock / celebrate him by sharing his music and reminiscing about the days when he wasn't a psychopath, others took the opportunity to gaslight Maldivian minorities by claiming that the good sheikh was being bullied.

we advocate for tolerance and acceptance yet we are intolerant to those that have an understanding different to us. I really don't believe @aliramyz should be bullied and bashed like this. This has gone beyond a simple friendly joke. This needs to stop.

— Ghaanim (@Qhaany) November 23, 2018

This kind of gaslighting is typical from “liberal” Maldivians who fall head over heels to defend extremists yet never utter a single word in support of Maldivian minorities whose very existence is criminalized. As such I am sure these people are not ignorant of Ali Rameez’s extremism. Instead I think they are sympathetic. I think extremists like that say what these people are afraid of saying. What they really think.

You will never get any of these people to admit whether they support something as basic as freedom of conscience. However they will rarely admit they don’t support it either. Instead, they will prop up the extremists who have the courage to actually express such darkness. This is why I respect honest extremists who will say to my face that they want to kill me. I have no respect at all to closet conservatives like this who pretend to sit on a fence while they crap on minorities below. It is not an equal conversation when one side has their existence criminalized.

“liberal extremism” is a thing

— Shani 🍂 (@shani1i) November 23, 2018

Can you believe the audacity of such a statement from people who do not think their fellow Maldivians deserve constitutional recognition?

Wait till you are bashed and joked about for saying this.

— Mushfiga Waheed (@MushfigaWaheed) November 23, 2018

Comments like this one are referring to an incident in the past when a woman on twitter made extremely homophobic remarks. For once a lot of people on Maldivian twitter called out this woman for her blatantly bigoted remarks. Not this crowd of closet conservatives though. Much like this incident, back then they sided with the bigot being roasted. How could you bully such an innocent person they all decried.

This past event, and the common occurrence of conservatives and extremists to claim to be victims of “bullying”, is what has led to the creation of the local meme of “bleeing”.

stop bleeing ayya 😭😭 stop bleeing his extremist opinions 😭😭😭 stop admiring his flawless voice 😭😭😭 SAY NO TO BLEEING 😩 https://t.co/Bg2lymNMtV

— imran (@imlatheef) November 23, 2018

This type of gaslighting would be funny if it wasn’t the norm. Gaslighting, for those unfamiliar, is when an oppressor makes a person doubt their own memories and self. It is a common tactic used by abusive people against their partners. Wikipedia defines it as “a form of psychological manipulation that seeks to sow seeds of doubt in a targeted individual or in members of a targeted group, making them question their own memory, perception, and sanity. “

They states that the signs of gaslighting are:

Withholding information from victim;

Countering information to fit the abuser's perspective;

Discounting information;

Verbal abuse, usually in the form of jokes;

Blocking and diverting the victim's attention from outside sources;

Trivializing the victim's worth; and,

Undermining victim by gradually weakening them and their thought process.

When have he ever advocated killing anyone he deems as infidels? Any reference?

— Mohamed Allam Naeem (@8laam) November 23, 2018

Observe this clear example from a tweet calling the original one out.

When he is okay with underage marriage. When he blames the rape victim always. These are the different views you talk about? Yes. I do have a problem with that.

— 𝕲𝖎𝖗𝖑 𝕴𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖚𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖉 (@Thathu182) November 24, 2018

Look at the response above. Ali Rameez is well known for blaming rape victims and his support for child marriage. Yet the original tweet dismisses this as having a “different understanding”.

It’s nice that everyone’s having a bit of fun. But do try to keep in mind that @aliramyz thinks it’s okay to marry 13 year olds, promotes violent jihad, is a core member of Jamiyyathul Salaf, and advocates the death penalty for those he considers laadheenee.

— Mohamed Shuraih (@MohamedShuraih) November 23, 2018

The day led to some clashes within the more progressive parts (relative to the Taliban) of Maldivian twitter as well, with some people thinking that the incident downplayed Ali Rameez’s extremism.

Just for fun, would you put a pedo on your Twitter DP? I don't think so. kthnksbye

— @waddey (@waddey) November 23, 2018

Isn't Ali Rameez known for his extremist religious views? 🤔 Love his songs but finding it strange to be so obsessed with him given who he is now.

— 🍞🌹 (@kopitaaaa) November 23, 2018

Some responses from the twitter cult leader responsible for this madness:

Haha hello my cult, what else should I do today after renouncing feminism and supporting Ali Rameez’s extremism, might fuck around and drop all my morals and principles and become someone N E W

— KeehveFA (@ShafaRameez) November 23, 2018

I would also like to tell you it’s not only Ali Rameez’s beautiful voice that mesmerizes me, it’s also his promotion of extremism (obviously), and presence in Jamiyyathul Salad (OBVIOUSLY) also in other news @imlatheef hates Ariana Grande 😭😭

— KeehveFA (@ShafaRameez) November 23, 2018

Kindly fuck off and let people fucking enjoy today, good lord! 😂 People woke up to an abundance of Ali Rameezs on their TL today, that is fucking AMAZING that it was pulled off. An, miothy than thanah thadhuvaa kudhinnah khaassa lavayeh ♥️https://t.co/hw61dHt1Jf

— KeehveFA (@ShafaRameez) November 23, 2018

Now that we’ve dealt with the drama and my existential bitterness, here are some of the funnier tweets from the day:

Kaia asking me the name of a random internet cat that popped up on my timeline. Told her the first name that popped into my mind. Ali Rameez. Thanks, twitter.

— EhJu (@EhJu) November 23, 2018

If you people don’t get sarcasm that’s really on you at this point. Brb listening to Nudhaashe Mage Loabiva for the 50th time today. :) https://t.co/TOb4K9xIaO

— KeehveFA (@ShafaRameez) November 23, 2018

Brain reading the entire timeline in Ali Rameez voice. Ali: I'm no one's crush. Ali: this cabinet is bullshit. Ali: here's a cat. Ali: I'd rather use tampons but they're too expensive W E I R D

— EhJu (@EhJu) November 23, 2018

me, before and after listening to ali rameez’s emotional masterpiece maruvedhaaney maadhamaa gaimey pic.twitter.com/AzhMts5nDO

— imran (@imlatheef) November 23, 2018

#NationalAyyaDay Ayya: Capitalising on his Freeze Band to make a Freeze Brand!

— Yuna Waheed 🎈❓ (@YuAeKito) November 23, 2018

Ali Rameez towards the end of his music career was in a band called “Freeze Band”. Once he gave up music, he capitalized on this by creating “Freeze Brand” - a company that sells dried fish and other products. Gotta admit that some of their stuff is pretty delicious though.

Ali Rameez and me in the same frame #happiestmoment 😂 pic.twitter.com/kfdXFccxCx

— ⚫️⚪️TEDRY🎈❓ (@tedry) November 23, 2018

With all these Ali Rameez songs floating around, I’m sad I haven’t seen a single “Bunebala ladhu ganefaa erey”. Definitely one of my favourites. #NationalAyyaDay

— Shubbi (@shubaadam) November 23, 2018

On this auspicious day I was just blessed to see Ali Rameez on the road. 😱😱😱😱

— S-laughter (@heyshaha) November 23, 2018

I give up on checking who’s who, I’m liking everything in bulk now

— KeehveFA (@ShafaRameez) November 22, 2018

I can't pic.twitter.com/BmK40l9i3f

— Saaif Shiyad 🇲🇻 (@SaaifShiyad) November 22, 2018

Ayya had moves. #NationalAyyaDay pic.twitter.com/TT8s4o8mjQ

— immi 🐑 (@immimmii) November 22, 2018

The other day at uni i saw ali rameez and randomly started singing “dhanee dhanee” bc obviously i was leaving the uni

— salty (@thelulifaiyy) November 22, 2018

the first time ali rameez looked at me. i was walking on sosun magu with a friend when we saw ali rameez and involuntarily shouted “EY ALI RAMEEEZ”. he looked, but looked away even faster. 😥#NationalAyyaDay

— Naura 🇲🇻 (@ayshathnaura) November 23, 2018

Since @ShafaRameez wanted me to do this so badly, like this tweet and I'll be brutally honest about your Twitter profile picture.

— Mi dhehiy vaathee, loabin gulhifaa (@haesham) November 23, 2018

Tb to the time i made eye contact with Ayya for a split second while eating pani puri @ the place infront of Iskandhar. He was having tea and looked away at the speed of light. Ma iny anga haluvan ves neyngifa

— KirimJehiBanas (@meynakambulo) November 23, 2018

The best part about this is how much I hate Ali Rameez and he still hasn't blocked me.

— San (@dontcallmesatan) November 23, 2018

Did you call him a finifenmaa ?

— Althaf🎈؟ (@AlthafAli_) November 23, 2018

pic.twitter.com/hbrqaLvwh0

— Musal (@FoniLunbo) November 23, 2018

The cat is screaming out lyrics to one of Ali Rameez’s hit songs “Finifenmalakey” (like a rose).

At the end I listened to all the heart broken Ali Rameez songs and now I feel like I have fallen out of love, hard. 😭💔 https://t.co/eVnWk4tmgQ

— Azzam Pompi Mohamed (@Pompeee) November 23, 2018

legends say people are still trying to get over the double vision of ayya from their twitter feeds 🤣🤣

— Awhosun (@awhosun) November 23, 2018

Marinating a chicken with bae. It's so hot man

— Shady 🎈❓ (@shadyfish) November 23, 2018

Ali Rameez had a particularly saucy hit video where he sensuously marinates a chicken with a beautiful woman. Probably one of the sources of his paranoia about his past sins.

#NationalAyyaDay, a day to honor the legendary Maldivian singer @aliramyz 🙏 pic.twitter.com/dTtVKU1WTw

— 🙏 آدم محمد (@Adamiington) November 23, 2018

I’d like to point out the fact that @semiicold has had his photo way before this started and I didn’t see it till after @FoniLunbo suggested this photo so a round of applause for him because we’re living in 2018 and he’s living in 3018. We stan! 👏🏾

— KeehveFA (@ShafaRameez) November 22, 2018

[nastywomenblr-blog]

The kids are alright

Since I can remember, I've been asked if I wanted to have kids.  When I was a child myself, it seemed like a harmless, albeit odd, inquiry.  Unfortunately, I've yet to outgrow the question.  I'm hoping by my forties, people will let it go; but advances in medicine is not helping me here.  Somehow, my male counterparts didn't face this question until well after marriage.  (Unless they asked me first and my reply was "do you?" and then they couldn't tell if I was being an asshole or hitting on them, so we'd just silently stare at each other.)   Any-who! More often than not, the mothers of any guys I ever dated were the biggest proponents. What a bizarre situation to experience.  A teenager put through the third degree by overprotective mothers whom didn't have the balls to question their own sons.  Or the mental fortitude to recognize it was not their right to know.  I'd love to say I've become well versed in a witty response, but alas....I have not.  As a teen I sputtered things like "I'm in high school!" or "I'm just trying to finish college!"  or "You don't even like me!"  None of these satisfied the mothers as they were prematurely concerned with a wedding that didn't exist.  All I wanted to do was put them in their place.  But the intimacy of the question left me with little desire to speak at all on the subject.  Naturally, this left mature adults to talk shit about me to their family.  Again, these are adults. I was a teenager or fresh into my twenties.  Said adults would whine about my lack of commitment to make believe children, in some fantasy world far into a false future.   As I got older, the question followed me like Pig-Pen's dust cloud, eventually encompassing my husband as well.  Although it is nice to have my best friend understand completely how infuriating and intrusive the question is, ( misery does love company) it's painful to watch him squirm like I used to.  I feel like I have an unfair advantage of 26 years shitty experience on him.  Still, we are forced to play out this exhausting charade that's left me usually just ignoring kids.  Because I've learned, if I show "too much" attention on a kid, someone inevitably elbows my husband and says to the entire room, "get ready, she's caught the bug!" har har, wink wink.  And if he shows "too much" interest in a kid, someone will touch my arm and say, "say goodbye to that nice stomach and those casual weekends, huh?!"  As if one of us must inherently be miserable in order to reproduce for the other.  This is a marriage, not a dictatorship.  The concept of bringing an innocent kid into the mix is talked about before, during and after the wedding.  It's not a sickness the blushing bride catches  to derail her husband's weekend plans and it's not a sacrifice a woman takes lightly because her guy suddenly decides "kids sound cool!" I understand society has made this question so natural.  But maybe it shouldn't be.  It's a complex and/or personal decision that does not involve your unique opinion on the matter.  People have assumed I don't have children because I'm too selfish, because I'm not motherly, and lastly, because I don't want to "get fat".  I was not aware people I cared about assumed I was capable of this level of petty.  Kindly go fuck yourselves.   If you think I'm such a horrible person, why in the fuck do you associate with me?  And if you don't think I'm a total piece of shit, maybe stop insinuating (or outright fucking saying) godawful things about me not carrying a child for your entertainment. Unfortunately, my experience is not unique.  Which would make me feel better except that means loved ones are making a shit ton of couples feel like garbage at every family function.  Happy Easter!  In reality, most childless couples don't have kids because of 1. medical reasons, 2. financial reasons, or 3. selfless fear of not being ready to parent.  Notice the lack of petty in the actual reasons vs the perceived reasons assigned to you?  Neat. I know best friends are still going to ask.  Personal questions like that can be asked by a best friend, without judgement.  But if you aren't my bestie, reconsider commenting on my lack of parenting skills or how lucky I am kids haven't destroyed my body.  My personal circumstances are not open for your comments.  Contrary to popular belief, this is not a Google reviews page.  It's my actual life and I've turned off all commenting and rating features.   Pro tip: consider treating every other human as if their comments page has also been turned off.   I promise if someone wants to know how you feel about their life choices, they'll ask.